It was bitter cold, at least sixty-five below zero, and when Kama harnessed the dogs with naked hands he was compelled several times to go over to the fire and warm the numbing finger-tips.

Together the two men loaded and lashed the sled.

They warmed their hands for the last time, pulled on their mittens, and mushed the dogs over the bank and down to the river-trail.
According to Daylight's estimate, it was around seven o'clock; but the stars danced just as brilliantly, and faint, luminous streaks of greenish aurora still pulsed overhead.
Two hours later it became suddenly dark--so dark that they kept to the trail largely by instinct; and Daylight knew that his time-estimate had been right.

It was the darkness before dawn, never anywhere more conspicuous than on the Alaskan winter-trail.
Slowly the gray light came stealing through the gloom, imperceptibly at first, so that it was almost with surprise that they noticed the vague loom of the trail underfoot.

Next, they were able to see the wheel-dog, and then the whole string of running dogs and snow-stretches on either side.