"This is about as chilly as we shall have it," said Uncle Will, as he deftly turned the bacon in the frying-pan; "and it's nothing to what I had on my first trip in. Fifty below is a nice bit colder than three. It's too late in the season for any more of that, and I'm not sorry. We shall be unlucky though, if we don't reach the Alsek River before the ice breaks up, for cross-country travelling in that region is a hard proposition."
"How far away is the Alsek?" asked David.
"About thirty miles on the other side of the Pass."
"And where do you suppose the mysterious gentlemen are now?"
"Oh, they are doubtless working up toward the summit. If they cross first, we can hardly hope to catch them, for I have no doubt the Alsek ice is firm yet, and on that they can move as fast as we can."
"Why is it we haven't overtaken them?" inquired Roly.
"I suspect they don't stop on Sundays as we have."
"Then it's not a fair race," said Roly. "They have an advantage over us."
"Only an apparent one," observed Mr. Bradford. "They are likely to wear themselves out with such unremitting labor. We shall see."
Two days later Pleasant Camp was reached, and the sleds were drawn up from the river flats to the top of a low plateau covered with a fine forest, mostly of spruce. To the west and north rose the massive white summits of the Coast Range, like giants guarding the gateways to the interior.