INTO THE KENAI 203 



descended gradually, stopping once or twice to cut away 

 a "sweeper" — a tree which had fallen across the track — 

 and ran carefully over the bridge of the Snow River, which 

 flows into the head of Kenai Lake. 



At mile eighteen we reached this long, narrow body 

 of water and at mile twenty stopped to put off my three 

 hunting companions and their outfits. This place was 

 called Grandma White's, in honor of an old woman who 

 kept a road-house, and from here my friends were to take 

 launches and proceed down Kenai Lake as the first stage 

 of their journey into the wilderness. The rest of us, how- 

 ever, went on to Roosevelt at mile twenty-three and a half. 

 ''Wild Bill" and Charley Emsweiler had recently built 

 here a log cabin for a road-house and with them I spent 

 the night, as it was already dark when we reached the 

 station. 



Most of our stuff we placed in the station storehouse, 

 since we were to leave m a launch the next morning from 

 the pier at the station, and we walked about a half-mile 

 to Bill's cabin. 



It was a large house, this log cabin, two stories high. 

 A new stove with all modern fiixtures stood in one corner 

 and up-stairs each had a bed to himself. Some anxiety 

 was caused by the discovery that the rowboats which had 

 been pulled up at some distance from the water, were 

 swamped, the lake having risen several feet since the men 

 went to town, but they were fortunately found undamaged. 



Early the next morning, therefore, we turned out, 

 loaded a large dory belonging to Alex Bolam, my cook, 

 and Fritz rowed it to the dock. Bill took a light round- 

 bottom boat which had been confiscated from some 

 Japanese seal-poachers and sold by the Government. 

 Our remaining things were placed on board the "Bat," 



