Reaching the overflow we found it covered with a thin coating of ice. We had just succeeded in getting on to this “glare” ice when, with a crack, it broke under us, and we sank up to our knees in ice-cold water, while the poor dogs were nearly covered. Having once got wet, we thought we might as well try to get through; but it was impossible for the dogs to pull, as they could not get a foothold, and the noses of the sleds were blocked with “slush” ice. We accordingly hitched our eight dogs on to one sled, and I walked ahead in order to encourage the animals to follow me. Every time I put my foot down I broke through the ice, and it was easy to follow my course by the holes I left behind me in the trail. The farther I went the deeper the water became, and at last I realized that the only thing to be done was to return to the cabin, as it was impossible for either dogs or men to stand the deadly cold of the water much longer. As soon as I arrived at this decision the two hunters, who had come out to assist us, went back to the cabin and prepared a big fire and hot coffee. We succeeded in getting the dogs on to solid ice again, and the water on the dogs, sleds, and harness--to say nothing of ourselves--immediately turned to ice. We reached the cabin in a few minutes, got the dogs inside in order to thaw them out, and proceeded to change our frozen clothes. The cabin could hardly be described as pretentious, as the dimensions were only about eight feet by ten, by five feet in height. Put four men and eight dogs, all ice-coated, in this space, with a big fire going, and it will be easily seen that the atmosphere is likely to become somewhat oppressive. To add to our discomfort, the cabin became so hot that the snow on the roof commenced to melt and find its way through the numerous cracks. The floor, consisting as it did of plain mother earth, soon began to take on the form of a small duck-pond, so we were compelled to make a thick carpet of spruce boughs. Next morning, after a hearty breakfast, we were ready to try the overflow again. My partner at this time began to show himself in his true colours. He was ready to return to Fairbanks, for he had developed a disease variously termed “cold feet,” “crawfish,” or “white feather.” Reaching the overflow again, we repeated the previous day’s programme, with the same result, but we found that the ice was a little thicker than before. We returned to the cabin, resolved to wait a few days. After staying two more days in the cabin, in an atmosphere resembling a Hindu bazaar or a Turkish bath, another man came up the river with four dogs, and we determined to make a combined attempt to get through.