The first few miles of the long portage were reasonably easy, for the trail was blazed on the trunks of a straggling stand of spruce. When the spruce gave place to open country the girl cut a slender sapling, sharpened it, and walking ahead of the dogs, prodded the point down through the foot and a half of new snow, locating the trail by the increased resistance of the packed snow. They took turns trail breaking, which of itself is no light job in loose snow. The broad snowshoe is useless for this work so one must resort to the narrow trail shoe that packs down the snow rather than overrides it. The trail breaker must walk ahead locating the trail as he goes, then return to the team, and walk ahead, again, thus traversing every foot of the distance three times, while his companion follows at the handle bars. Ten to fifteen miles of this is a big day’s work, and it took the two four days to make the fifty miles, including one-half day spent resting on the head waters of Hog River. The evening of the fourth day found them at the cabin on Lake Noyutak that Rim Rock had marked on his map. All Alaska even to the remotest outland, is dotted with these decaying cabins, mute monuments to dashed hopes. Some lone prospector forces his way far beyond the outposts, builds his cabin, works like a slave in the muck for a year--two years, swallows his disappointment and moves on to build another cabin until at last the North claims him--drains him dry of everything but his vision of gold--starves him, freezes him, and when at last he falls a mottled, marbled thing into the snow, she feeds her wolves with his bones. Years later some traveler of the wastes, fighting the strong cold and the shrieking wind, stumbles upon the cabin, and in the blessed life-giving warmth of its shelter, gives fulsome thanks to its builder--but the builder never knows. Another day’s trail breaking took them well onto the Kobuk, and early the following morning a small party of Eskimos mushing up river gave them the benefit of a trail. The trail shoes were returned to the sled, and that day they made thirty miles. The third night on the Kobuk brought them to another cabin which they shared with two Eskimo boys who were journeying up river with sealskins to trade. The sun, so long in seclusion, shone every day, and travel on the good trail of the river ice became a pleasure rather than a hardship. At Shungnak they replenished their supplies and a week later rested for two days at Squirrel River native village. They were now well into the coastal country, and the trail ceased to be a matter of supreme importance for the reason that the hard, wind-packed snow was crusted to a degree that gave good footing anywhere upon its surface.