After feeding himself and dogs, he lighted his pipe and strolled out to get a better idea of the situation.  The island, like all its river brethren, stood higher at the upper end, and it was here that Donald and Davy had built their cabin and piled many cords of wood.  The far shore was a full mile away, while between the island and the near shore lay a back-channel perhaps a hundred yards across.  At first sight of this, Montana Kid was tempted to take his dogs and escape to the mainland, but on closer inspection he discovered a rapid current flooding on top.  Below, the river twisted sharply to the west, and in this turn its breast was studded by a maze of tiny islands.

“That’s where she’ll jam,” he remarked to himself.

Half a dozen sleds, evidently bound up-stream to Dawson, were splashing through the chill water to the tail of the island.  Travel on the river was passing from the precarious to the impossible, and it was nip and tuck with them till they gained the island and came up the path of the wood-choppers toward the cabin.  One of them, snow-blind, towed helplessly at the rear of a sled.  Husky young fellows they were, rough-garmented and trail-worn, yet Montana Kid had met the breed before and knew at once that it was not his kind.

“Hello!  How’s things up Dawson-way?” queried the foremost, passing his eye over Donald and Davy and settling it upon the Kid.

A first meeting in the wilderness is not characterized by formality.  The talk quickly became general, and the news of the Upper and Lower Countries was swapped equitably back and forth.  But the little the newcomers had was soon over with, for they had wintered at Minook, a thousand miles below, where nothing was doing.  Montana Kid, however, was fresh from Salt Water, and they annexed him while they pitched camp, swamping him with questions concerning the outside, from which they had been cut off for a twelvemonth.

A shrieking split, suddenly lifting itself above the general uproar on the river, drew everybody to the bank.  The surface water had increased in depth, and the ice, assailed from above and below, was struggling to tear itself from the grip of the shores.  Fissures reverberated into life before their eyes, and the air was filled with multitudinous crackling, crisp and sharp, like the sound that goes up on a clear day from the firing line.

From up the river two men were racing a dog team toward them on an uncovered stretch of ice.  But even as they looked, the pair struck the water and began to flounder through.  Behind, where their feet had sped the moment before, the ice broke up and turned turtle.  Through this opening the river rushed out upon them to their waists, burying the sled and swinging the dogs off at right angles in a drowning tangle.  But the men stopped their flight to give the animals a fighting chance, and they groped hurriedly in the cold confusion, slashing at the detaining traces with their sheath-knives.  Then they fought their way to the bank through swirling water and grinding ice, where, foremost in leaping to the rescue among the jarring fragments, was the Kid.