While the rest of the party was engaged in landing supplies, Rivers ordered Gersup and his assistant, Bulson, to strike inland a short way in the direction of the volcano, Redoubt Peak, distant about twenty-five miles, in the expectation of finding a trail near by. It seemed obvious that there must be a route along the coast, and that it must lie between the waterside and the foothills of the Chigmit Mountains. Less than an hour elapsed before the men returned with the news that the trail had been located, but that it was entirely snowed under. The dogs accordingly were hitched to the three sleds, one of the outside dogs leading, and the topographer going ahead on snowshoes to point out the trail. Roger had always had the idea that "mushing" or driving a dog team, consisted of sitting in state on the sled and cracking a conspicuously long whip at the dogs, but he speedily found out his mistake. Instead of sitting on the sled he had to walk behind it, and in a great many instances to help the dogs by shoving it along. Instead of being able to take things easy and let the teams do the work, the boy learned that the "musher" had to labor far harder and more continuously than the dogs themselves. [Illustration: A GRIM AND ICY BARRIER. Alaskan glacier, causing an obstacle to travel, almost inaccessible, yet crossed at last. _Photograph by U.S.G.S._] They had not traveled far when Gersup called from in front: "There's the trail!" and pointed ahead to the right. Roger looked eagerly in the direction pointed out, expecting to see a fairly well-beaten road, over which the succeeding day they could travel with comfort, but look as he might he could see no signs of a trail. The chief's grunt of satisfaction, however, was evidence enough to the boy that the trail really was there, and as he did not want to expose his ignorance by asking any unnecessary question, he kept his wonderings to himself. Having got fairly started on the trail, however, the boy found travel easier, yet he was glad when the word was given for a halt, near some heavy timber, affording the materials for a fire. The tents were quickly pitched, wood gathered for a roaring blaze, the animals fed and the sleeping bags laid out, and in a surprisingly short time the party was gathered around a savory supper prepared by the cook while the rest of the men were pitching camp. The party carried a light-weight, sheet-iron stove, which was a great convenience inside the tent, but, of course, the food for the dogs was cooked on an outside fire. With slight occasional changes, the food given was rice with a little bacon, and usually dried salmon besides. Roger noted that they were fed but once a day, and could not help thinking how hardly used the petted dogs of civilization would consider themselves if they were to be subjected to such treatment.