The left side of the river is still all flats as far as one can see, but about 17 miles below Russian Mission human bones came out of a bank there (on a slough). MARSHALL At 3 p. m. reach Marshall, a little cheerful-looking mining town, high on a bank. See the place, identify the skeleton from the above-mentioned bank as that of a missing white man, see telegraph operator, postmaster, teacher, commissioner. Sun comes out, is warm. Almost no mosquitoes here and no gnats. Hills above and beyond town belong already to the coast range and are barren of trees, even largely bare of shrubs and bushes. Leave 4.30. Soon after Marshall--after passing by an Eskimo village (white man's style of buildings)--leave the hills and enter flats on both sides. This is the beginning of the delta region. River like glass, and it is warm in the sun but very perceptibly cooler when sun is hidden. The boat has only three bunks, and there are five of us with the two pilots. But on the last trip up, there were, fortunately only for about eight hours, seven, including two women and a child, and that without any privacy or conveniences whatsoever. It is almost criminal, and they charge a very steep fare. However, for me it will soon be over--only about 36 hours. Still it is hard to believe this is yet in the United States and presumably under some sort of supervision. Which brings me to a realization that the first half of my journey--the preliminary survey of the Yukon--is slowly closing; a little, and it will be the sea and other conditions, which also brings the realization that I have seen much but learned not greatly. What should be done would be to own a suitable fast boat; to locate on each of the more important old sites a party for careful, prolonged excavation; and to try to locate, in the rear of or on the higher places on the present river flats, more ancient sites than are known to date. These steps, together with the enlisting of the interest in these matters of every prospector, miner, and trader, would before many years lead to much substantial knowledge. Friday, July 9. Must keep up these notes, for they alone keep me posted on the day and date; even then I am not always sure. There are no Sundays in nature. Slept in my bag on the roof of the _Agnes_. Her namesake must have been one of these goodly but insufficient and but indifferently clean native women, plodding, doing not a little work, but wanting in many a thing. It was cold and dreary, but I found an additional blanket, and so, with mosquito netting about my head--one or two got in anyway--would have slept quite well had it not been for a dog. At about 1 a. m. we stopped in front of a little place called also "Mountain Village." And almost at once we began to hear a most piteous and insistent wail of a dog who either had colic or thirst or hunger, and he kept it up with but little stops for what seemed like two hours, making my sleep, at least, impossible.