But the dawns of these days were chilly and gray.

Mists and fogs settled in the valleys, and like thin smoke rolled down the sides of the mountains to the sea, so that a ship traveling the inner waters felt its way like a child creeping in darkness.
Alan loved this idiosyncrasy of the Alaskan coast.

The phantom mystery of it was stimulating, and in the peril of it was a challenging lure.

He could feel the care with which the _Nome_ was picking her way northward.
Her engines were thrumming softly, and her movement was a slow and cautious glide, catlike and slightly trembling, as if every pound of steel in her were a living nerve widely alert.

He knew Captain Rifle would not be asleep and that straining eyes were peering into the white gloom from the wheel-house.