"All aboard for Eagle!" cried Connie, as he cracked his long-lashed whip and led out upon the broad river trail. And McDougall's big malamutes as though they understood the boy's words, humped to the pull and the heavily loaded sled slipped smoothly over the surface of the softening snow. Upon the trail from the divide, protected from wind and sun by high walls, the snow had remained stiff and hard, but here on the river the sled runners left deep ruts behind them, and not infrequently slumped through, so that Connie and O'Brien were forced to stop and pry them out, and also to knock the balls of packed snow from the webs of their rackets.
"Saints be praised, ut's a house!" called O'Brien, as toward evening he halted at a sharp bend of the river and pointed toward a tiny cabin that nestled in a grove of balsam at the edge of the high cut-bank.
"Ut's th' fur-rst wan Oi've seed in six year—barrin' thim haythen igloos av' dhrift-wood an' shnow blocks! We'll shtay th' night wid um, whoiver they ar-re—an' happy Oi'll be wid a Christian roof over me head wanst more!"
The outfit was headed for the cabin and a quarter of an hour later they swung into the small clearing before the door.
"Them dawgs has be'n heah," remarked Waseche Bill, as he eyed the trodden snow. "Don't reckon nobody's to home." O'Brien pushed open the door and entered, closely followed by Connie.
Save for a rude bunk built against the wall, and a rusted sheet-iron stove, the cabin was empty, and despite the peculiar musty smell of an abandoned building, the travellers were glad to avail themselves of its shelter. Waseche Bill was made comfortable with robes and blankets, and while O'Brien unharnessed the dogs and rustled the firewood, Connie unloaded the outfit and carried it inside. The sun had long set, but with the withdrawal of its heat the snow had not stiffened and the wind held warm.
"Betteh let in the dawgs, tonight, son," advised Waseche, "I'm 'fraid we ah in fo' a thaw. Still it mout tuhn cold in the night an' freeze 'em into the snow."
"How long will it last—the thaw?" asked the boy, as he eyed the supply of provisions.
"Yo' cain't tell. Two days—me'be three—sometimes a week—then, anyway, one day mo', till she freezes solid."