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Show 117 wall with a flowered cretonne curtain which pulled across. Mine was the bottom bunk, and Caribou built his along the west wall, forming an L. In the center of the cabin stood our trusty Yukon stove, and hanging above it from the rafters was our precious tin of sourdough starter, bubbling away. We had rigged up a pulley to lower or raise it according to the temperature of the stove. We built a small table and two benches from birch logs, which we placed next to the window. After that, there was not much room left for anything else except for firewood and our supplies. We stacked them wherever there was an empty spot. It had been a long time since I had climbed into bed with a real roof over ray head. And this cabin had a real roof. I knew. I had hoisted the spruce logs up there myself, and I had hauled moss and sod and gravel up a ladder to layer on top. "Start snowing, start blowing, start freezing," I said, as I curled up on ray mattress padded with fragrant wild hay. "I'm ready!" So it started. In September, One morning the water in our drinking pail turned to ice. Caribou hopped around in his red flannel underwear, waving the tin ladle, "Rattling roosters! Let's go after the gold!" "So where do we dig?" I stood on the frozen ground with my |