Well, after to-day there remains no doubt that Olson stays away purposely—unless he’s sick or dead. Rockwell’s theory that Seward has been totally swept away by a terrible fire, with every man, woman, and child of its inhabitants, I disproved to-night. We walked down the beach and there were the lights of the great city brighter it seemed than ever. Either there has been no mail boat at all since early in December or there has been no mail from Juneau whence Olson’s “check-que,” as he calls it, comes. Well it profits us nothing to speculate on this.
The day has been glorious, mild, fair, with snow everywhere even on the trees. The snow sticks to the mountain tops even to the steepest, barest peaks painting them all a spotless, dazzling white. It’s a marvelous sight. Rockwell and I journeyed around the point to-day and saw the sun again. To-night in the brilliant moonlight I snowshoed around the cove. There never was so beautiful a land as this! Now at midnight the moon is overhead. Our clearing seems as bright as day,—and the shadows are so dark! From the little window the lamplight shines out through the fringe of icicles along the eaves, and they glisten like diamonds. And in the still air the smoke ascends straight up into the blue night sky.
VICTORY
Saturday, January eighteenth.
Two beautiful days, these last. And to-night the wind blows and the snow falls and it is very cold. The days are uneventful. We journey many times down the beach over our snowshoe trail. That’s our out-of-doors diversion,—to look up the bay toward Seward. But the view is beautiful. Loftier mountains, more volcano shaped are about Seward, and they’re dazzling white.
Yesterday Rockwell found otter tracks crossing from the salt water to the lake,—a lot of them. It’s wonderful to think that those fine creatures have crossed the five long miles of water. Their footprints are as large as a good-sized dog’s. They seem to have a great time frisking about as they travel. On one little slope they have made a slide. No footprints are there at all,—only the smoothly worn track. We see no wild life as a rule but the eagles. They’re all about in plenty, magnificent birds when seen close to, and when flying at the mountain’s height still surprisingly large.
The milk goat is dry,—so that’s one chore less. Rockwell feeds the goats every day, but I can’t trust him with the foxes; he’d leave the door open as likely as not. (It was reserved for Olson himself to let this happen. May twenty-ninth he writes in a letter to me:
“Had a skear or acksedent on the eighteenth, i vas putteng som grase in to the fox Corrals an i most heav left the hok of van i turnd around the dor vas open and 1. fox goan the litle femall in the Corall naxst to the goat Hous. And the fox var over at the tant i cald to em et vas suppertam to Com bake and get som sepper and He sat down and luckt at me bot finly mosed of op in the Hill. i take the other fox and put em in the other Corall and left the 2—tow Coralls open and put feed in the seam es nothing ad apen. the first night i did not sleep vary val. the sakond night and not showing up, bot naxst morning i Came out to the Corall the feed vas goin en the pan and the fox vas sleping on the box var he allves du and i felt a litle Beatter van the doors ar shut.”)
