It rained hard that night, and the next morning the clouds were so low that it was impossible to go in search of the rams I had seen the evening before.  I, therefore, determined to push immediately to the main camp, which we reached three hours later.  We at once lunched, and, putting our light outfit in one of the boats, rowed up to the head of the lake.

This range of hills is surrounded by a mighty glacier, and at the foot of the glacier is a moraine some ten miles long extending down to Kenai Lake.  On one side of this moraine you can walk by skirting the shore and using care, but on the other side the quicksands are deep and dangerous.  We camped for the night in a place which my friend had used as his base of supplies.

The next morning opened dull, and I felt the effects of my hard work and did not greatly relish the idea of shouldering a fifty-pound pack.  But my time was now getting short.  In two weeks the rutting season of the moose would begin, and in the meantime I wanted four more fine specimens of the white sheep.  Any day we might expect a heavy fall of snow, for the northern winter had already begun in the hills.

We soon found the tracks of Blake’s party, which led up the moraine, and carried us over quicksand and through glacial streams, icy cold.  Finally we came to where Blake had started up the mountain side, and with all due regard to my friend, his trail was not an easy one.  About noon it began to rain, but we pushed upward, although soon soaked to the skin, and came out above timber just at dark.  We were all fagged out and shaking with cold by the time we reached Blake’s old camp.

The next morning broke dismally with the floodgates of the heavens open and the rain coming down in torrents.  I lay among my rugs and smoked one pipe after another in order to keep down my appetite, for there was little chance of making a fire to cook with.  In fact, most of the day was passed in this way, for all the wood had become thoroughly water-soaked.

Late in the afternoon we succeeded in getting a fire started and had a square meal.  While we were crouched around the blaze the natives saw sheep on the hills just above us, but it was raining so hard that it was impossible to tell if they were rams.  In fact, when sheeps’ coats are saturated with water they do not show up plainly when seen at any distance, and might easily be mistaken for wet rocks.

The next day opened just as dismally, with the storm raging harder than ever, but by eleven o’clock it began to let up, and we soon had our things drying in the wind, for the clouds looked threatening, and we feared the rain would begin again at any time.

As we were short of provisions and depended almost entirely upon meat, my head man and I started at once for the hills.  The little stream by our camp was swollen into a rushing torrent, and we were obliged to go almost to its source—­a miniature glacier—­before we could wade it.  Climbing to the crest of the mountains on which we had seen the sheep the evening before, and following just under the sky line, we soon saw a large and two small rams feeding on a sheltered ledge before us.