They had struck the timber line at last, some distance from their camp, but presently, having ascertained their whereabouts, they covered the remaining interval, and with glad hearts flung themselves into the tents. CHAPTER XIII DALTON'S POST The storm continued all the next day, which was Sunday, and both parties remained in camp, the Bradfords according to their custom, and the others because of the weather. "We stole a good march on them yesterday," said Uncle Will at breakfast, "and I believe we shall come out ahead. While they are making their ten-mile cache and returning here, we can make a straight march and camp on the other side. We shall be just one day ahead of them then, and I think we can hold that lead. At the same time, we must not overtax the boys. I would rather lose all the gold in the universe than injure their health." The plan suggested by Uncle Will was carried out, and camp was pitched in due time among the straggling spruces beyond the pass. Nothing worth mention occurred on that march, save the discovery of a sulphur spring at a place called Mosquito Flats, and the shooting of several ptarmigan, from which was concocted a delicious stew with real dumplings and gravy. Being far too tired after their long tramp to search for tent-poles and soft boughs in such an unpromising place, the boys decided not to raise their tent. Instead they laid it flat upon the snow, spread the blankets and down quilts upon it, and covered the whole with the rubber blanket. They turned in soon after supper, curling far under the coverlets, in which they arranged a small opening for breathing purposes, and slept warmly and well. What was their surprise, when they awoke, to find that snow had fallen during the night and covered them, so that the ptarmigan, seeing only a white mound, were clucking and calling almost within arm's reach. So tame were these birds that even when the boys jumped up and shook the snow from their bed, they only flew to a distance of twenty or thirty feet, where they paused to eye the strangers curiously. The Bradfords brought in their cache that day, in spite of violent snow-squalls which evidently prevented the Thirty-six from making their final dash across the summit. Thus they gained another day in the race. They were now at a place called Glacier Camp, near the headwaters of the Alsek River, which flows first to the north for fifty miles, then makes a great sweep to the west past Dalton's trading-post and the village of the Stiks, and finally, turning to the south, cuts the massive St. Elias Range, and enters the Pacific at Dry Bay. They were glad to take advantage of the smooth and level surface of this river, with its alternate patches of ice and firm snow, but there were considerable stretches where, to avoid the windings of the stream, the trail took the shortest course through the woods, in spite of soft snow and the many irregularities of the ground.