On our wanderings around the island we frequently came upon an abandoned winter home of the natives. They fish and trap principally, for a livelihood. Early in the fall they take their families into some remote nook, build a barabara out of logs, thatch the entire outside surface with native red-top hay to keep out the cold, and pile large logs all over the hay to keep it from blowing away. They dry salmon, cod, and flounders for their winter supply. When the fur becomes prime they set their traps for fox, ermine, and land otter, and in this way eke out a miserable existence. It is said of them that in their early days they were honest to a fault, theft being punished by death, but on associating with the whites they acquired all the faults of the latter with none of the good.

The dawn of another day brought a hazy sky and the indications foretold wet weather. True to our expectations it rained the greater portion of the day. In the afternoon it cleared up somewhat and towards evening the sun came out bright. We then visited Gull Island to get a few fresh eggs for breakfast. The Arctic tern (Sterna paradisæa) had a large community on the rocky island. When we approached they hovered over us in great numbers. The kittiwakes (Rissa tridactyla) also had a colony. In many nests on the island, the eggs were blotched and streaked in various shades. They were about the size of an ordinary hen egg, were palatable, and we used quite a number to make pancakes. After photographing several nests with eggs and a few wild flowers that grew very abundantly on the rocks near the water’s edge, we returned to camp, had supper, consisting of eggs, bear steak, etc., after which we retired for the night about ten o’clock, it being still almost daylight, for during June the days are twenty-two hours long.

We again desired to change our camp into the adjoining bay, so we pulled stakes and started for a fifteen-mile trip. The tide was in our favor, but with a head wind we pulled our little dory down to the turning point, where tide and wind helped us on our way.

When we were about half-way up we came upon a camp of Italian fishermen who had just arrived from “Frisco” to fish for salmon during the season’s run. We turned our boat towards shore and landed to meet our neighbors. They were a villainous-looking lot, about two dozen in all, and could speak no English, except the foreman, and we could understand him only with difficulty. We succeeded in letting him know we were anxious to have a few fish for supper, and soon several of the men were making a haul with the seine for our special benefit, so we had all the fish we wanted. After exchanging compliments, our little sail was hoisted, and as the boat sped over the water we waved a good-bye to the “bunch,” although we understood they wanted us to spend the night with them. Before we had gone very far the wind died down to a gentle breeze, and much to our disappointment we had to take down our sail, for it flapped around like a wounded bird, here, there, and everywhere, without wind enough to make it taut. We took the oars about seven o’clock and before long the water became so calm that the snow-capped mountains reflected their peaks on the waters of the bay, seeming to use the smooth surface for a mirror, as they stood majestic in their garments of white. We rode along in silence, hour after hour, past the huge mountains of granite, slate, and sandstone, with here and there a stringer of quartz. I could not but wonder what a force must have been at work to have caused such an upheaval. Beautiful clusters of pink, yellow, and purple flowers were clinging to the perpendicular face of the rocks, and relieved much of the severity of outline. As we advanced toward the head of the bay, the eagles, in their solitude perching here and there on the topmost pinnacles, eyed us with suspicion. Now and again one would leave the cliff, soar round and round overhead until we passed out of sight, doubtless wondering what strange creatures these were. We arrived at the head of the bay about midnight in this land of twilight, and soon had a good wood fire alongside a big cottonwood tree, where with “spuds” and flounders, hard tack and a tin of hot “Old English Breakfast,” we were quite contented. After a corncob pipe and a short story or two, we threw our blankets on the beach and were quickly in the Land of Nod.

The next morning we were up about the time the sun was casting his rays over the eastern snow-capped peaks. What a picture for an artist! If painted true to nature almost any person would say, “Overdrawn, overdrawn!” yet with the deep blue sky for a background, the white mountains in bold relief, pushing their tops into the blue, and the green foothills and the placid waters of the bay in the foreground, how could the scene be overdrawn? In that dawn of morning the flight of ducks to and from the feeding grounds was numerous, the most conspicuous of them all being the harlequin duck (Histrionicus histrionicus) because of the prominent black and white stripes. It builds its nest along the mountain stream which dashes and tosses down the gorge, and when the young are hatched leads them to the sea.

Just as soon as we got a bite to eat, with our rifles and field-glasses we started for our daily hunt. On our way up the mountain a little brown body streaked with black fluttered out from beneath a tuft of grass underneath the pussy willows. Stooping and separating the dry grass, we exposed the four whitish eggs of the white-crowned sparrow (Zonotrichia leucophrys). In about an hour we saw a large bear traveling at a rapid gait—at times running—along the mountain just at the snow-line. We sat down and watched him through the glasses, hoping he would soon find a place to his liking to take a little snooze. After paralleling the entire base of the mountain he passed behind a small group of rocks and emerged on the other side against the snow, where we could see him very plainly as he turned back toward the rocks. We were quite sure he had found a bed that would suit his purpose. We knew if he once lay down he was more than likely to stay for a long nap.

In about twenty minutes we started after Old Bruin in earnest. Into alder and elder we plunged, plodding along just as fast as we could, bringing out the perspiration in beads on our red faces. The sun was very hot and our tramp was difficult,—over rocks, under limbs, using the toes of our guns as alpenstocks, we puffed and blew, going higher and higher. “Oh, how deceiving!” often I thought as we climbed each little knoll, only to find on arriving at the top that our objective point was still in the distance. To be sure, we rested many times before we reached the place. The uncertainty of the wind annoyed us greatly, and often the only way we could tell how it was blowing was by tossing a few crushed leaves into the air.

After two hours’ hard work we arrived at the place best suited for us to get a shot at Mr. Bear, when he should leave the thickest of the alder. We maneuvered around the top a considerable time, found his trail following a ravine up the mountain, and in this way he reached the opening of an extinct crater. At the very time when we were expecting a shot at any minute, he must have been on the other side of the mountain. Wearily we slipped, slid, and tramped our way down. By the time we reached camp, hungry and tired, it was well along in the afternoon. After getting something to eat we took a couple of hours’ nap, and again watched the foothills in the hope of discovering the object of our search, but in vain.

We had several beautiful days; in fact, the middle of the day was too hot to hunt with any comfort. If you had been watching, you might have seen a solitary pair wending their way up along the river flat; one tall and well built in proportion, with a broad-brimmed western hat on his head, the other small in stature, with a small slouch hat set on the back of his head, one carrying a Winchester and the other an Eastman kodak. If you had observed closely, you would have noticed that both hats were constantly turning in a semicircle from side to side, as the eyes were busy scanning every direction, expecting that the quarry would put in an appearance somehow, somewhere; for we had arrived at the conclusion that we would have to work harder in order to get a big specimen of the Kodiak bear. We followed the river valley for ten miles without seeing any fresh signs. About noon we ate our lunch, stretched out in the warm sun, and slept peacefully for several hours, then turned towards camp, hunting on our way back.

Up to this time the bear seemed to live up on the very tops of the mountains and occasionally to come down about the snow-line and again return. We had several wild-goose chases after them, only to discover that they were somewhere else. Now we noticed they were beginning to feed on the grass and come down into the valley. The leaves were pretty well developed by this time. Hunting big bear in the alder is very dangerous sport, for at any minute a big she with her cubs might rise up close by and make a charge. If our guns should catch in the brush, the jig would be all up, for the bear are large and hard to stop at close range. My guide said that not many men will hunt them in this way and told me he had had several narrow escapes himself. On one occasion he dropped a big fellow right at his feet. They vary in size; the largest skin in the picture on page 105 measured eleven by nine feet. They also vary in color from a dark brown to yellow. The specimens I have seen have a tawny crescent just back of the neck.

The natives do not hunt the bear by following them through the brush, and have a wholesome fear of stalking them afoot. I have been told that the only way they will hunt is to follow the coast line in a bidarka, and when the bear come out to feed on the fish along some stream they kill them. My guide, who has had a great deal of experience with the natives of the peninsula, told me that he could sell all the bear intestines to the natives, getting a good price for them. Out of these intestines they make water-proof coats, called kamlaykas. In the early spring they examine the intestines very carefully. They consider that in bear killed as soon as they come out of hibernation the intestines are useless, for they believe the bear retire to their winter quarters in the fall gorged with fish. The fish bones perforate the intestines and it takes several weeks for them to heal enough to make the best water-proof coats.

We worked our way up to the snow-line and hunted until ten o’clock without getting a sight of one, although we trailed a large bear a long way through the grass. They are great tramps and will travel many miles without stopping. Where this one crossed the creek the water was not yet dried on the leaves when we came up. For four days the weather was fine and as it was not necessary to put our tent up, a great deal of time could be saved in this way.

On our wandering about the island, about five o’clock one evening the fishermen’s camp was reached and they treated us royally, gave us a square meal of candle fish, some tobacco, sugar and tea, and sent us on our way rejoicing. We pulled along all day without any incident of much interest. Once two bald eagles soared over our heads, and my guide could not resist the temptation. Up went his rifle and three times in succession the shot brought some feathers out of the wings, while the fourth brought the bird pitching headlong into the bay. At one point we watched an eagle in the air with two crows after him. It was evident the crows had their nest nearby and the eagle had ventured too near. The crows seemed to have the best of the fight, for they would take turns in darting down on their foe, while the eagle seemed to be helpless in the air, for the crows would strike and be away before he could harm them.

Now our thoughts turned homeward, but we realized that it would take some time to pull with oars seventy or eighty miles in a dory to Kodiak. Breaking camp one morning about two o’clock, we tried to get out with the tide, but unfortunately we were caught on the flats and were forced to spend six hours until the tide returned. Being anxious to get home as soon as possible, we were using every effort to gain time, and one little experience we had I shall not forget as long as I live. The wind had been blowing a gale all day, and about nine o’clock in the evening, after making slow progress, we came to a point which would require us either to lie by for the balance of the night, then follow the shore line for about ten miles, or cross directly over a distance of about three miles to the other side of the bay. The wind had died down considerably and was blowing toward us from the other shore; we were anxious to cross and discussed the advisability of trying it, finally deciding that we could do so safely. With both at the oars, the dory loaded to within three or four inches of the water, and the breakers running, we started across and got along fairly well until we were about midway over. We naturally expected the whitecaps would diminish in size and the wind would be going down, when to our dismay the wind rose, the waves grew more boisterous, and about every seventh wave would toss part of its volume clear over us. Occasionally I would ship the oars, grab the tomato can, and bail frantically until the water was almost all out,—then to the oars again to assist in keeping the boat under control. My companion was skillful in handling the boat, and while I was bailing out the craft he had to make desperate efforts to keep the bow cutting the rollers diagonally; but gradually the wind seemed to get the boat out of its safest course, and then I had to take up the oars and help to right her again. To say the least, I realized the predicament we were in. At the time, I had almost given up the idea of reaching the shore in safety, and one who has never had a similar experience cannot understand the feeling of hope that rose within us as we advanced nearer the other side.

While we were still battling with wind and wave, I promised myself that if we reached safety I would never again risk a similar experience, and yet on the following day we pulled the boat fourteen miles across the mouth of another such bay, with the water as smooth as glass all the way over. Knowing the rapidity with which the wind can rise over those treacherous straits and the risk we were taking after the experience of the previous day, neither of us spoke more than half a dozen words during the entire time until we landed safely.

Returning at last to Kodiak, we caught a boat for Valdez, whence we engaged passage on the homeward cruise. Taking the outside route from Valdez to Seattle, we experienced a rough voyage. At the captain’s table were seated about a dozen passengers, all in high spirits in anticipation of reaching home, and thankful that we had not taken passage on the Valentia, the preceding steamer, which was wrecked on the rocks before it got rightly started. One by one the members of the party would fail to put in an appearance on account of seasickness. One day the captain complimented the author on being such a good sailor, but in answer I suggested that he wait a little. I felt it coming on, and sure enough the captain had the table to himself at the very next meal.

One night while lying in my bunk I was aroused from a doze by a shout from the occupant of the under bunk: “There’s a rat in your bed! There’s a rat in your bed!” I looked out to see my informant standing on a chair. In a short time we had a light, and in the bunk we found a Mother Carey’s chick that had been attracted by the light on the boat and entered the room. We caught the little bird and kept it until morning. It seemed not to be disturbed by our attentions, indeed was content to cuddle down in our hands. Its apparent tameness was probably due to the fact that its habits are partly nocturnal.

After three or four stormy days, with the sea running high and breaking in whitecaps over the deck, not a thing to be seen save the sailors and the albatross following in the wake of the steamer, we reached the port of Seattle. The vision and the sensation of the tossing and pitching waters remained with us, and on landing we found that our “sea legs” made walking on terra firma a very awkward process.

CHAPTER III

HUNTING BIG GAME ON THE KENAI PENINSULA

We arrived at Seldovia, on Cook’s Inlet, on the evening of August 28th. Between the steamer landing and the town, a creek, unbridged as yet, enters the bay, and except at ebb tide the passengers are compelled to cross the arm of the bay by rowboat. The tide being then at flood, it was necessary to get a dory before we could reach the village. One of the natives who hailed from the cannery nearby was the proud owner of an old dugout. We knew the water was quite shallow across the arm of the fiord, yet some of the party were fearful of the craft. We all got into the boat, and how quickly the inexperienced displayed their awkwardness. Instead of stepping carefully to the center they landed on the side, causing the dugout to ship water. After righting matters we started across, when “Clumsy,” in trying to make himself comfortable, rocked the craft and “Timid” gave peremptory commands to return, which we did. Two of the party got out and the rest were landed safely on the other shore. In a few hours we were all aboard a home-made tug of six tons burden, called the Bydarky, and on our way up the inlet some sixty miles to Kenai. We retired to our bunks shortly after the boat got under way, and when we awoke in the morning we were lying at anchor near the beach at Kenai. The captain of the boat, being very anxious to get out on the tide, asked us to unload our duffel as quickly as possible, so that he might start at once. In our haste we overlooked Doc’s hand satchel but did not discover this until too late.

Kenai is a little village built on a plateau overlooking the inlet, a sixty-foot sand embankment down to the water’s edge, lending it the appearance of a fortified town. We ascended the road, entered the post-office and store, and began to make inquiries about guides, boats, and equipment. We soon learned that we could get white guides for ten dollars per day and “keep,” and natives for five dollars; white packers for five dollars per day and “keep,” natives for three dollars. After scouring the village we found two licensed native guides and two packers and gave them instructions to get our boats and provisions ready as quickly as possible, so that we could leave on the next flood tide for the Kenai River. In selecting guides and packers, I think it is a mistake to take natives, as they are naturally indolent, lack the interest the white man has in his work, are over-sensitive about their treatment, and sulk upon the least provocation; and then one never can impress upon them the eagerness of the party to secure, in the limited time at its disposal, photographs of big game in its natural haunts, or a desirable trophy. Time is the only object to them when they are out with a party at five dollars a day. To illustrate, on this occasion we had made an agreement with the head guide that the packers would go with us for three dollars a day and “keep,” but we were not out more than a three days’ “line” of the river until they demanded three fifty, and when refused began to sulk and lag behind with their work, and for fear they would leave us before we got up the river we were obliged to grant their demand. Indeed, they will sometimes purposely lead parties away from the best game country in order to keep them out as long as possible.

The evening before we arrived at Kenai, two miners had come to town for provisions and had sold their dust. They then started out for a good time, landed in a “joint,” consumed all the “houch,” after which they proceeded to “paint the town red.” They succeeded fairly well, ended up with broken heads and limbs, and with a bullet in the breast of one. In the village was a doctor, some eighty years of age, who had long been in the habit of locating for the summer at Kenai to practice medicine. When the old man learned that there was a doctor in our party he looked us up and invited a consultation. Doc accepted the invitation, and on examination found the lead had entered the side, glanced around the ribs, and embedded itself in the muscles. He was very much surprised to find that the patient was wrapped in an extremely dirty towel, and everything was filthy. He said to the local physician, “Are you not afraid of the wound becoming infected?” Whereupon the latter informed him that no pus ever formed in wounds in that country and that infection was unknown. Our doctor made considerable inquiry about the matter, for he was very much interested, and learned that this was true.

The man who did the shooting was arrested and placed in the custody of the town bailiff, but was permitted to roam over the country at will. The authorities well know, and so do the prisoners, that it would be suicide of the worst form for the guilty to try to escape to the woods, for it means death of the most horrible sort—by exposure and starvation. The only avenue of escape was by boat that left twice a week. Inquiring about the case on our return trip, we learned that the commissioner had arrived, a day was fixed for hearing, the testimony was beyond a doubt conclusive against the prisoner, and he was held without bail for trial at Valdez, whither he was taken by the commissioner. However, the injured man recovered and the gallows was again defrauded.

Our party consisted of four, and for brevity’s sake we will call them “Doc,” “Old Sourdough,” “Cheechalker,” and “Esau.” The provisions had all been purchased at Seattle and packed carefully in water-proof bags and cans. Many and varied were the suggestions made by the party as to what should be taken along. Doc suggested talcum powder, frostilene, and vaseline, with pills of various colors, red, white, and blue. He had a special satchel well filled with antiseptics, anodynes, astringents, styptics, and bactericides, but unfortunately for his peace of mind he discovered, too late, that the precious satchel had been left on the Bydarky, the little boat that brought us over from Seldovia to Kenai, and there were no immediate prospects of recovering the important parcel. Doc looked wistfully after the little boat disappearing in the distance as it plowed its way through the tide-rifts, and submitted with such grace as he could command to the chaffing of his companions.

By way of firearms Cheechalker (northern name for “tenderfoot”) had quite an assortment,—a ten-gauge shotgun with five hundred rounds of ammunition, one Springfield army rifle, model of 1909, a Winchester .30-.30, and several others. Cheechalker insisted upon his tin bathtub, but Old Sourdough finally pacified him with a description of a bath à la Wilderness. This is accomplished by erecting a tepee, like that the Indians build, around a fire in a small depression filled with stones, then, when the bather is ready, removing the fire and pouring water on the stones, thus producing steam enough to open the pores of the skin, after which a good rubbing at the hands of an Indian valet completes the ablution. In this way one might get along for a few weeks at least without his tub. For this substitute Cheechalker finally consented to give up the useful article.

After the packing was completed we embarked upon the Kenai River in two twenty-foot dories, with the tide in our favor. The river meandered like a wriggling snake for about a mile through the marshy flats; beyond, the shore was lined to the water’s edge with cottonwood, birch, and spruce. On our way, ducks, geese, and many other water-fowl were flushed by the noise of the oars in the locks and the splash of the blades as they dipped into the water. The guides were making all haste, being anxious to get as far up the river as possible, knowing it was no mean task to pull, line, and pole the mile or more to the head of tide water without the aid of full tide.

When we reached our first camp the flies and mosquitoes were very plentiful. The boys were loud in their forceful expressions against the songsters and their near cousins, the black flies. All hands were busy, some erecting the tents, others cutting spruce boughs for a good bed, and the rest getting something to eat for the hungry party.

Pitching camp very quickly developed the inexperience of Cheechalker. Always willing to lend a helping hand, he started the fire on the windward side, filling our eyes with smoke. The site he selected for the tent showed plenty of roots, well calculated to furnish an uneasy experience for the night. When he pointed it out to us, we soon overruled him. The duffel was hardly unloaded until Doc was ransacking the outfit for his .22 rifle to shoot some Canada grouse (Dendragapus canadensis). They are very plentiful in the spruce timber and when flushed will fly to a limb, where they sit and crane their necks at the hunter, who, if he is wise enough to pick off the lowest bird at each shot, may, if he so desires, clean out the entire covey. In the meantime one of the party had shot a red squirrel, and at the suggestion of Old Sourdough it was nailed to the limb of a tree in anticipation of a little fun at Doc’s expense. On his return the old Indian said in his guttural voice (pointing at the squirrel), “Look! look! him big squirrel, shoot!!” Old Sourdough, meanwhile helping the fun along by craning his neck in every direction, said, “Where? where?” In the meantime Doc was making a mad rush for his .35 Winchester; crack went the gun, off went the ears of Mr. Squirrel, and he gently swayed on the nail; once more the gun cracked, and this time the body fell to the ground in fragments. Then the woods rang again and again with the shouts of the party, while Doc threatened dire vengeance on those who perpetrated the joke.

After dinner, a smoke, and a few stories, the Indians departed to their tent and we all stretched out in a row for our night’s sleep. But too soon, for one fellow pulled the blanket from his neighbor. Then there was a “rough house,” and after that duels to the death with mosquitoes, all punctuated with such a variety of exclamations that the vocabulary of each was exhausted before quiet was restored.

On the way out next morning the hunters were boasting about the number of fine trophies they were going to take home, for all reports indicated plenty of sheep and moose. About that time one of the party remembered we had forgotten to bring salt along for curing the “fine trophies;” then a call was sent out for a meeting to discuss ways and means to procure the necessary salt. At the caucus it was decided to send the packers back to Kenai with a boat, and a halt was called until the following day, when the return of the packers was expected. They arrived in good time with a bushel of coarse salt.

Kenai River is very swift and cannot be ascended in a dory pulled with oars, so the boat must be “lined” along the shore. There is no beach along the river and the shore is almost impassable by foot on account of trees growing at every conceivable angle and hanging over and under the water.

In the morning we started, two natives and two hunters to a boat, the leader with his two-hundred-foot line well in advance, carefully keeping the rope on the river side of all obstructions. Doc selected the position of captain (steersman) of one of the dories. Cheechalker took hold of the rope, but before long he was panting for breath, being quite fleshy and tipping the scales at two hundred pounds. He soon found that carrying his weight on the many ups and downs over fallen timbers, with the washouts along the bank and the alder growing thick at places along the shore, was not a joy ride over a macadamized road in an auto, nor was it conducive to easy respiration. The advantage a man of experience has over the inexperienced individual, in making his way over and under logs and overcoming other difficulties with the least resistance, is wonderful. For instance, experience has taught the veteran that he must not step on a slanting stick, a slime-covered stone, or grass concealing a washout in the bank. He likewise learns to avoid many other little indiscretions that cause heavy falls and bruising of the limbs and body, which will wear out the vitality of the strongest. Before long Cheechalker, who had had several tumbles into the water, had to have assistance to get out. He was soon lagging behind, and ere the first lap of the journey was completed he was begging us to let him get into the boat. Travel was delayed long enough for him to don dry clothing, and when we started he refused to walk any more, saying it was out of the question,—he was completely “tuckered out.” It was then that one of the natives hesitated for some time before he would consent to go on, for it required all the red men’s strength and skill on the line to get the boat along without this additional load of two hundred pounds. Cheechalker, with his red face, looked for all the world like a lobster, so Old Sourdough took pity on him and had a heart-to-heart talk with the natives. His argument was, “Him sick, heap sick,—like turtle, no walk!” This and similar logic was used for a period of about five minutes, whereupon the two natives looked at each other, emitted a few grunts, and started up the river.

At the end of the first day’s work we had made about eight miles and built our camp-fire for the night. Nothing unusual happened that evening, but the inevitable “no-see-ims” and mosquitoes had sufficient time to gather and kept us busy moving at short intervals from place to place, following the smudge smoke. Cheechalker, although naturally sluggish on account of his avoirdupois, was quite active now, first to windward and then to leeward of the smudge, between periods of relief from smoke and “no-see-ims.” Doc complained at frequent intervals about the “pesky critters,” donned his veil, and with hands in his pockets strutted around, restless and impatient.

Ever to our ears through the night came the roar of the river, here two hundred yards wide, rushing day and night to the sea, grand and powerful, glistening here and there in the morning twilight as the raging waters boiled and seethed over the hidden bowlders that threw the water as though some huge monster were trying to “buck” the current.

As soon as breakfast was over every man went to his task, the blankets were rolled in separate bundles, the entire equipment packed carefully, the guns tied fast for fear of the boat capsizing in the strong current. The leader started with the rope, two others followed, each taking a hold in turn, and the captain steered. The leader in advance put the rope on the river side of all trees, rocks, and debris; the other two, climbing out on the trees that extended over the water, assisted in pulling and keeping the rope clear. Occasionally we struck rapids, where the current was swift and caused much trouble to the boats by driving one or the other against a hidden bowlder, where it would hang as on a pivot, swinging backward and forward until one of the Indians would wade out in the ice-cold water up to his waist and release it.

The mania to kill was very strong in the hunters and at dawn the most bloodthirsty was astir, exhorting the cook to build a fire in the Yukon stove and hustling the packers to get ready for our up-river trip by loading the boats with the duffel. Across the beautiful river, sparkling with the silt of the glaciers, aglow with the morning sun, stood a solitary, snow-white herring gull, breakfasting upon a king salmon that had been cast by the swift current into an eddy and gently washed ashore. The passion for wilful destruction was uppermost in the heart of the gunner, and as quickly as possible he had a leaden missile on its way across the water. With the field-glasses could be seen the white bird with its graceful wings spread helplessly over the water and the beautiful white feathers crimsoned with its life blood, slowly moving with the current to the sea.

In a short time stakes were pulled, duffel packed, lines adjusted, and we were on our way. There was a little commotion at the head of the line when Simeon, one of the Indians, spied a large porcupine plodding his way deeper into the forest. Letting go of the rope he made a rush for the “porky,” caught it by the tail, held on till he got a club nearby, and proceeded to pound it over the head. The natives are very fond of “porky,” and when we pitched camp in the evening Simeon was very busy singeing the hair over the fire before boiling.

On our way up the river we were agreeably surprised to see a stranger walk into camp. Tall, erect, with clean-cut features, he looked the very picture of health. He wore a broad-brimmed hat with the garb of a hunter. Lunch was about ready, and on invitation he dined with us. In conversation we soon learned that he was a college man, a graduate of one of the leading colleges in the East, and had come from our own eastern city some fourteen years before. He told us that for several years he had corresponded with relatives and friends, but finally quit writing because he had not yet made his stake. However, he now had many encouraging prospects, and before long expected to make good and return east. It was surprising to us how an educated man could spend fourteen of the best years of his life in his little tent, with mosquitoes and “no-see-ims” as his only companions, dreaming, dreaming of the find that never came, and with his pan, pick, and shovel digging every here and there, with color, color everywhere, but not in paying quantities. On our way down we found him as usual, dreaming of the prospects he had staked, and when we left him a sack of flour and a few other necessaries of life he was very grateful, showing that a warm heart beat beneath the rough exterior. We bid him good-bye, and a large tear coursed down his cheek as he said: “I wish I were going with you, boys; but not yet; soon, I hope.” Is it any wonder that the steamers on their return trips carry so many insane men to the States? The entire river has been prospected and staked; the blazed trees and indelible pencil marks are about the only method of indicating that a claim has been staked. About half-way up the river we came to the deserted tent of the fellows who had participated in the shooting at Kenai.

In order to have a pleasant time on a trip of this sort it is very essential to have companions accustomed to “roughing it.” Every man in the party must sacrifice individual comfort for the benefit of the camp as a whole. I have in mind a trip taken to Alaska with another party where one individual was so selfish that every action was for his own comfort and enjoyment. For instance, he was always first to eat and managed to get a double portion of everything, cooked and uncooked. If there was one duck, one grouse, or one trout, he managed to cook the one and gorge himself and eat all to his own satisfaction. In the morning he was always first up and ready for breakfast, taking care of his individual interests and paying no attention to others. In fact, he would even permit the destruction of goods not his own without showing the least interest. In the same party was another character in many ways the opposite, always last to the table and never looking out for his own things; going around growling about this, that, and the other thing,—never in time for breakfast, lunch, or supper. There is no better opportunity to find out the good qualities of a companion than to go camping with him in the wilds. A selfish disposition soon becomes unbearable, and many a good outing has been spoiled by having such a fellow in the party. Few men are so constituted that they can stand “roughing it” very long under trying circumstances without showing the “yellow streak.”

After seven days’ hard work we reached Lake Skilak. The sun was just setting, casting a mellow crimson reflection over the placid waters. The beautiful lake was hemmed in on all sides by verdured slopes and snow-capped peaks, the dark green of the spruce intermingling with patches of cottonwood clothed in autumnal colors, “the sear, the yellow leaf” predominating. On the surface of the water, idling away the time, were little flocks of ducks, and in the air were black cormorants heavy in their flight. This serene panorama filled the nature-lovers in the party with joy and delight, and they felt themselves well repaid for all the hardship of the week. The Indians wanted to make camp at once, and showed their displeasure when they learned that we desired to take advantage of a strong fair wind and hoist our sail regardless of their wishes. We made elegant time to an island, on which we camped for the night. The next day we reached the head of the lake, where we expected to spend several weeks.

The party had decided to make a try after white sheep on the mountain beyond the divide. By this time Cheechalker had had enough of tramping and quietly informed us that we might count him out; he was perfectly satisfied, he said, to remain with the cook at the permanent camp. This was located at the mouth of a little stream which entered the lake after a precipitous course from the glacier at the summit, down the mountain canyon, through the narrow gulch of the upper foothills to the wooded valley, chasing and tumbling under and over moss-grown and decayed trees, fallen giants of other years. The under foliage had been destroyed by a fire which was still smoldering here and there among the moss, and the sun, entering the opening between the trees, shimmered and fluttered on the spray-moistened bowlders like fantastic rays of Aladdin’s lamp. Here we pitched our tent among the stately birches, intending to make this our headquarters for some time.

Taking a stroll a little way up the beach we were agreeably surprised to find we had neighbors, and were interested to know who they were and what they were doing. One suggested prospectors, another hunters; in the meantime, while we were looking at their outfit for a suggestion, a collection of stones in the niche of a tree, the skull of a rodent, an insect or two, answered the question beyond the shadow of a doubt,—a naturalist in pursuit of data that the world might be benefited by his researches. The following day his packer came into camp with a beautiful specimen of Dall’s sheep (Ovis dalli nelson). We then learned that it was Mr. Bell, from the University of Minneapolis.

We left camp for the top of the mountain, every man with his pack. The tramp along the trail was interesting, leading as it did through spruce, birch, and cottonwood until we reached the end, where we were obliged to push through low alder and “devil’s clubs.” The latter average about one inch in thickness, and in this locality grow as high as a man’s head. They are usually straight and branchless, of a yellowish-green color, and are thickly covered with slender sharp spines that readily penetrate the clothing and cause great discomfort to one who undertakes to pass through a thicket.

The ascent was very steep from this point until we reached the altitude of “little sticks.” One of the Nimrods was in advance a short distance, and so anxious was he to reach the sheep country that he went off the trail and had to be recalled. But his aggressiveness was short-lived, and long before midday he was shouting at the top of his voice from the rear end of the string of packs, “Wait! Wait! You’re going too d—— fast!” In a short time we ran into a bees’ nest, and you should have seen the party scatter to get out of raiding distance of the nest, every man for himself, packs bouncing, hats waving, all shouting until we reached a safe distance.

As we ascended the mountain the mosquitoes grew scarcer and scarcer. About the “land of little sticks” we stopped for a light lunch. Looking in the direction indicated by the guide we saw a large moose feeding in a little swale. Doc could not see him, try as he would. The Indian endeavored to assist him by locating the animal with reference to a good-sized rock, but his untrained eye, even with the aid of field-glasses, could not make out the outline and we had to give up in despair, although he was very keen to see it. Blueberries were quite plentiful all around us and after we ate our lunch we filled up with them as a dessert. We came to a little pond of crystal water at the foot of a small glacier, and as soon as we reached the margin some twenty-five or thirty ptarmigan took flight in all directions. They were still in their moulting plumage. By this time the largest man in the party was unable to keep the pace, and lagging behind kept the entire party back. In starting up the canyon the ambitious member turned up the right side, but erelong came to a place that was impassable and began to shout, “I can’t go any farther along here.” One of the others answered, “Slide, slide!” and the mighty Nimrod took the suggestion and slid down the shale to the bottom and then began the ascent from another point on the opposite side, where he found traveling much easier. This is the common experience of the over-zealous tenderfoot.