looked curiously
like the face of harlequin in the pantomime. It did become literally
intolerable, and when Arthur said that he knew there was a cabin right
across the river, we made our way thither and shortly found it and lay
there the rest of the day, the gale blowing incessantly. This was
disappointing, because it meant that I could not reach Rampart for the
Sunday I had appointed.

Next day the wind had ceased and the thermometer went down to 30 deg. below
zero. In places the ice was blown clear of snow; in other places it was
heavily drifted. By midday we had reached the lonely telegraph station
at "The Rapids," and were very kindly received by the signal-corps men
in charge. They gave us to eat and to drink and would take no money.
There is little travel on this part of the river nowadays, and the
telegraph men are glad to see any one who may chance to pass by. We
pushed on heavily again, and had to stop and cut a gee pole presently,
for it was hard to handle the sled without it; but the gee pole always
means laborious travel. The cold was welcome; it meant no wind; and we
were glad to see the thermometer drop lower than 50 deg. below zero that
night at the old mail cabin. The mail goes no longer on the Yukon River
from Fort Yukon to Tanana, and, barring this point, Rampart, towards
which we were travelling, which is supplied across country from the Hot
Springs, over the route we should traverse, no spot on that three
hundred and fifty miles of river receives any mail at all. The
population is small and scattered, it is true; on the same grounds
Alaska might be denied any mail at all. There has been much resentment
at this abandonment of the Yukon River by the post-office and several
petitions for its restoration, but it has not been restored.

[Sidenote: THE WIND-SWEPT YUKON]

We travelled all the next day at 50 deg. below zero, and it was one of the
pleasantest days of the winter. There was not a breath of wind, the
going steadily improved, and, best of all, for three hours we were
travelling in the sunshine for the first time this winter. Only those
who have been deprived of the sun can really understand how joyful and
grateful his return is. There was no heat in his rays, this last day of
January; the thermometer stood at 49 deg. below at noon, and had risen but
5 deg. since our start in the morning; but the mere sight of him glowing in
the south, where a great bend of the river gave him to us through a gap