 And on I went, though the dogs were spent, and the grub was getting low. And the trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I'd not give in. And I'd often sing to that hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin. Till I came to the marge of Lakely Barge, and a derelict there lay. It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a thrice it was called the Alice May.