Jack the Young Canoeman: An Eastern Boy's Voyage in a Chinook Canoe

CHAPTER XII

THE ISLAND DEER CHAPTER XII THE ISLAND DEER The next morning, after the canoe had been loaded, Hugh said to Fannin: "What's the course of the canoe from here? Are you going to cross over any of those channels, or shall you follow the shore?" "We'll follow the shore," said Fannin. "If this canoe wasn't so heavy we could carry it across this little point and save ourselves three or four miles of paddling, for you see, we've got to go way east and then come back west again, and follow around the bay that lies just over there." "That's just what I thought," said Hugh. "Now, suppose instead of my going into the canoe, and helping you fellows to paddle, I take it afoot across this neck, and along the shore; and see if I can't kill something. We need meat and there must be lots of deer here, though we've not seen any yet. There's plenty of sign, though." "That's a good idea," said Fannin, "and I wish you would do it. You'll have a lot of time to hunt, but keep close to the shore and if you see us coming, get down on the beach and make a fire as a signal for us; otherwise we might overlook and pass you." "All right," said Hugh, "I'll do so." "Don't you want to go along, Jack?" asked Mr. Fannin. Secretly Jack did want to go, very much, for he had an idea that Hugh would find some game, and that there would be a chance to kill one of these Island deer; but on the other hand, he thought he should not shirk his share of the paddling, and that one man could kill any deer that was seen just as well as two. So he said: "No, I'll go in the canoe;" and they pushed off and were soon growing smaller in the distance. Hugh started across the open meadow, which lay between them and the other side of the long point. As he passed along through the grass, he saw many deer beds, and a number of tracks of wild animals among which was one in a muddy place, made by an enormous wolf. He walked slowly and watched the country, and at last came to the shore, followed it and was soon walking under the tall evergreens that grew down to the beach. Turning into the forest, he moved quietly along among the great tree trunks. The ground was free from undergrowth, and moss covered, and here and there little rivulets trickled over the ground, sometimes bridged by fallen tree trunks, over which great bunches of soft green moss hung down to the ground. Here and there, in the moss, were seen the sharply defined tracks of deer, seemingly just made, yet no indication of life was seen, save the occasional shadow of a bird, moving among the tree tops far above him. Hugh had gone perhaps half a mile, keeping nearly parallel to the beach, and back from it about a hundred yards, when without warning, a deer stepped out from behind a group of tree trunks, and stood looking curiously at him. There was no wind, and the animal did not seem in the least alarmed. The shot was an easy one, and it was the work of but a few seconds to fire. The animal fell at once, and stepping up to him, Hugh found that it was dead. It was very small, scarcely larger than a yearling black-tail of the Rocky Mountains, although it was a full grown buck. It resembled the Rocky Mountain black-tail somewhat, but its ears were small and the tail was quite different, being haired below. In a very few moments Hugh had prepared the animal for transportation to the beach, and putting it on his back walked down to the shore. The canoe was not yet in sight, and Hugh considered a little if it would be better to go on farther to see whether he could get another deer, but after thinking a few moments he determined to be satisfied with the one he had secured. So he built his fire as a signal for the canoe, skinned his deer, and for an hour or two sat waiting. At last a black speck was seen on the water close to the shore of the point, and as it crept forward, it grew larger and larger, until Hugh could recognize his fellow travellers. When they came up to him, they wore broad smiles of satisfaction at his success, and when he had stepped on board the canoe went on again. It was not long after this that they were obliged to run Seymour Narrows, a contracted channel through which the tide boils, making eddies, whirlpools, and tide-rips, and where it was hard to see how a canoe could live. Just before reaching it they passed a cliff on Valdes Island that was full of interest for Jack and Fannin. The dark gray precipice, crannied and creviced from base to summit, was occupied by a multitude of sea birds which were nesting in the holes and fissures in the rocks. Of these, by far the most numerous were the pigeon guillemots, thousands of which were fishing in the waters close to the shore, or flying backward and forward between the water and their secure homes in the rocks. It was a pretty sight to see them diving for food, emerging from the depths with something in their bills, rising from the water, and each one swiftly flying toward some hole in the face of the precipice into which it disappeared without checking its flight; or at the mouth of which it alighted, and, clinging swallow-like to the inequalities of the rock, was met by its mate who took from it the food it had brought. Then the bird would leave its position, fly horizontally over the water for a little distance, and drop vertically into the water, striking it with a great splash. The scene was a busy and noisy one, for the birds were continually chattering and calling among themselves. Gracefully floating on the water, or winnowing their slow way to and fro over its surface, were white-breasted seagulls of several kinds; and fishing and hunting along the shore were ravens and crows, while white-headed eagles rested in the tall trees. Before attempting the passage of Seymour Narrows, it was necessary to ascertain the stage of the water. To pass the Narrows when the tide was against them was obviously impossible; nor would it do to attempt a passage at half tide, even if it were in their favor, for at that time the tossing waters would prove extremely dangerous to the canoe,—so the Indians told Fannin, and so Fannin reported to the others. The bowman and two or three of the party landed near the head of the Narrows and climbed high enough on the hillside to see the whole of the sluice-way, and as soon as the Indian had looked at it, he turned about and started back, declaring that it was just at the end of the flood, and they should start without delay. To Jack, the sight of the boiling water, the tossing waves and hurrying tide-rips seemed rather alarming, but there was no time to think of this. They embarked, and a few strokes of the paddle sent the canoe dashing along the rapid current. For the white occupants of the canoe, there was nothing to do but to paddle hard, each in his own place. It was interesting to watch the skill with which the Indians guided the craft. It was of the first importance that steerage way should be kept on the canoe, for there were constant eddies and whirlpools, which must either be avoided or taken advantage of; and yet at the rate at which the craft was being hurried along by the tide, it was not easy to add to her speed. Before long, the run became very exciting. Hats were torn off and thrown into the bottom of the boat, perspiration started from every brow, and the men tore at their paddles as if their lives depended on it. Even Hugh, who was rarely moved, seemed to partake of the general excitement and his eye glowed and his color rose as his white hair and beard flew out in the wind. Hamset, standing erect, in the bow of the canoe, flourished his mighty paddle, and in his own language shouted directions to Jimmie, and in Chinook to the remainder of the crew. At length the channel was reached, and here it became evident that the vessel had been a little late in starting; for, meeting the beginning of the ebb-tide, the canoe was checked, and presently it stood still and for nearly half an hour obstinately refused to move forward. But at length the efforts of the paddlers seemed to overcome the current and the boat started on, very slowly at first but fast enough to encourage the motive power. Redoubling their efforts they rounded a little point, and taking advantage of a favoring eddy, passed out into quieter water and camped half an hour later in a little bay, which Fannin said might fairly be named Fatigue Bay. That night, after the evening meal had been eaten, there was still an hour or two of daylight; and while Fannin and Charlie got out their lines and prepared to go fishing, Hugh and Jack took their rifles and climbed a thousand feet or so up the hillside to look at the view that lay before them, up and down the channel. During the climb they saw fresh bear-tracks and a number of familiar birds,—the Louisiana tanager, the black-throated green warbler, and some others. Not far away, a ruffed grouse was heard drumming. While perched on the face of the hillside, Hugh told Jack the simple story of the killing of the deer. "There was no special hunting to it," he said, "I just went through the timber, quietly, and presently the deer walked out and got shot. I didn't even know that it was there, but I'm glad to have the meat." They sat there until the sun had set, delighted with the calm beauty of the scene. In the trees above their heads, the little birds moved about uttering soft, faint notes. Up from a ravine on the right came, again and again at short intervals, the vibrating thunder of the ruffed grouse's drumming, low and muttering at first, and finally dying away into the silence. Twilight was upon the hill before they returned to camp, and as they picked their way down the steep rocks they heard from the direction of the boat a shot, and then another—both from Hamset's rifle, and learned a little later that the Indian had been shooting at a seal. Fannin and Charlie had caught some rock-cod, curious red and black fish with staring eyes, said to live at great depths. As the cliff rose straight up from the water's-edge, and there was no beach on which the canoe could be drawn, it was necessary that night to anchor it at a distance, and the two Indians slept in it and chanted their plaintive songs until the middle of the night. Around the camp fire the white men sat in silence, watching the strange shadows cast by the dancing flames on the overhanging rocks, or listening to the faintly heard rushing of the waters in the Narrows, which they had just passed; or to the moonlight drumming of the grouse on the mountain side above them. It had been a hard day, and there was little inclination to talk. Charlie, however, who was gratified at the killing of the deer, commented on that, and on deer hunting in distant lands. "Why," said he, "you ought to see them Pueblo Indians go deer hunting down in Arizona! They start off without anything but a knife, and when they find a deer, they just start to run after him and don't stop until they get him." "You don't mean," interrupted Jack, "that they run him down?" "They do," said Charlie; "run him down, catch him and cut his throat. Why, sir, they are the best trailers in the world, and as for travelling, they can kill any horse that was ever foaled. They start after the deer, and when he sees them coming, of course he lights out, and is not seen again for some time. The Indians take his trail, and start off at a dog trot, which they can keep up all day. Every time they start the deer, he lets them get a little closer, and at last he's so tired that he only keeps a few yards ahead of them, but they keep on until he fairly drops, plum give out! I have known them, when the deer got pretty tired, to turn him and drive him right into the camp and kill him there, to save themselves the trouble of packing in the meat—make the game pack itself, you see." "That's a pretty tough story," said Hugh, "but I guess it's all right. I've heard something about those fellows, though I never saw them. I once walked down an antelope, myself, and I wouldn't have believed it, if I hadn't done it. The antelope was wounded, of course. "The camp needed meat the worst way, and nobody seemed to be able to kill anything. There were antelope in the country, but very wild. I started on foot one afternoon, to try to get something, and after travelling two or three miles I looked over a little ridge, and saw three buck antelope feeding up a ravine toward a table-land above the valley where I was hunting. I could easily get around to the head of the ravine up which they were going, and if I could get there before they reached it, I would be sure to kill one of them. I started running as hard as I could, and had got within a quarter of a mile of the ravine, when, on taking a look, I saw that they had nearly reached the top. I was still about a hundred and fifty yards away when I saw the horns of one of them, as he walked up on the mesa. I dropped, and, when I had a fair shot, fired. I ought to have killed of course, but whether it was because I was so anxious to get him, or because I had been running hard and my hand was unsteady, I only broke the buck's hind leg just above the hock. All three started off, but the wounded one soon tailed out and then turned down a broad valley which led into the one up which I had come, but several miles farther from camp. Well, I started after that buck, and after a long walk found him lying down in the valley. He saw me and ran off down the valley, long before I was able to shoot. I followed as fast as I could, running till my wind gave out, and then walking till I got it again. Whenever I could get near enough, I fired a shot, just to keep him going. At last he grew so tired that he would let me get pretty close up to him before starting, and finally he lay down behind a bank, where I could creep up and kill him. I carried the meat into camp that evening, but when I got there I was so thirsty that I could not speak. My throat was swollen and my tongue was half as big as my fist." "Well," said Jack, "the antelope is a tough beast and will take a lot of killing, and of course you know better than I do, Hugh, that the plains Indians always speak of it as the swiftest and most long winded of animals." "Yes," said Hugh. "A man often ties an antelope's horn round his horse's neck by a string, to make the horse swift and long winded." "I saw a few antelope," said Fannin, "when we crossed the plains, but not many, and I never killed one. They are mighty interesting animals, and what always seemed to me the most extraordinary thing about them is that they shed their horns." "Yes," said Hugh, "that's so, of course, all mountain men have always known that, but I heard only a few years ago that them professors that claim to know everything about all animals only found it out within the last fifteen or twenty years. Something strange about that." "Yes," said Fannin, "but I suppose, maybe, these professors never had a chance to see many antelopes or know much about them." "Yes, likely," said Hugh. "Well," he added, "it's getting late, and I expect we're all ready for bed. Let's turn in;" and they did so. The next morning an early start and a full day's paddling carried the travellers to a point known as Struggle Cove, which they reached several hours before sundown. The country here looked better for hunting than any Jack had seen, and he determined to start out to see if he could not find a deer. The woods were open, the ground carpeted, and the trees draped with a luxuriant growth of bright green moss, on which the foot fell as noiselessly as on a cushion. Higher up on the mountain side there was the usual tangle of underbrush, but a little valley that skirted its base was comparatively open. As soon as dinner had been eaten Jack set out. He had not gone far from camp when he came on to fresh deer tracks, which, after a little, turned up the hill and into the thick brush, where it seemed useless to follow. Two or three other tracks were seen, all of which led into the same thick place; but at length he saw one that kept up the valley, and as it had been made but a short time before, he had strong hopes that he should see the deer. He followed the track very slowly and carefully, and as it grew more and more fresh, his caution became greater. He entered a low growth of hemlock, going very slowly, and, just as he was passing out, on the other side, he heard a deer jump, not fifty yards away, and in a moment saw it bound off up the mountain side. He threw up his gun and was just about to press the trigger when the animal stopped and looked back, giving him a certain shot. With the sound of the rifle the deer sank and rolled part way down the hill. This was very satisfactory. They had now two deer—enough to keep them in fresh meat quite a long time, for the weather was so cool that meat would not spoil. The deer taken was a buck, whose horns, still in the velvet, as did also his teeth, showed that he was full grown. Yet, compared with the Rocky Mountain deer that Jack had seen, he was quite a small animal. Jack was doubtful about his ability to carry the carcase to camp, which was quite distant. But after dressing the deer and removing the head and shanks, he got it on his shoulders and slowly staggered toward the camp. It was a heavy load, and he was often obliged to stop and rest. Before he got half way to his destination he was rejoiced to see Hugh striding toward him. "Well," said Hugh, as he came up to where Jack was sitting, "I had half a notion that you had killed something, and knew that if you had you would find your meat a pretty heavy load, so I came up to spell you in carrying it in. Pretty heavy, isn't it?" "Yes," said Jack, "it weighs something, and the hardest part about it is to get it upon my back again after I've dropped it off to rest." "Well," said Hugh, "I'll smoke a pipe, and then take it the rest of the way. I guess I'm something more used to big loads, to say nothing about being some bigger and stronger." After Hugh had finished his pipe he swung the deer on his shoulders with hardly an effort, and Jack could not help envying him the splendid strength that he displayed. The advent of the second deer in camp was greeted with rejoicing. The Indians grinned at the prospect of unlimited meat; Charlie was delighted because he knew that the party would rather eat deer than bacon; and Fannin and Hugh realized that the provisions would hold out just so much longer for this reinforcement of food. It was at this camp that a slight modification of the manner of propelling the canoe was proposed and carried out. When the party had left Nanaimo a couple of long, heavy, rough oars of Indian manufacture had been thrown into the boat; and during the many days of paddling that had elapsed, the idea had occurred to Fannin that if these oars could be used, more power could be applied to them than to two paddles. He therefore consulted with Hamset on the question of rigging some rowlocks for the canoe, and this was easily arranged. The Indians chose a couple of cedar saplings, each of which had two small branches growing from it on the same side, at right angles to the stem and three or four inches apart. He cut off about six inches of the main stem, trimmed down the side branches to within three inches of their point of outgrowth, and then split the main stem lengthwise so as to leave the branches standing up, looking like two thole pins. With a large awl he punched several holes in the side of the canoe just below the gunwale, and, taking some cedar twigs, warmed them in the ashes of the fire, and when they had become hot and pliable he sewed the piece of wood holding the thole pins firmly to the gunwale, afterward driving wedges beneath it so as to make it tight. This formed a capital rowlock. This was done on both sides of the boat, and thereafter Fannin and Charlie handled the oars, and their influence was felt at once in the increased speed of the canoe. Rowing was much harder work than paddling, but it was also much more effective. The next day, however, the oars were not needed; the wind blew fair, the sail was hoisted, and the party ran through Cardero Channel and up Loughborough Inlet to its head, camping late in the afternoon. The scenery was very beautiful, with rounded or dome-shaped mountains timbered to their summits, and occasionally a sharp granite peak which ran up much higher and was covered with snow. The hills stood back at some distance from the water, and thus looked lower than they really were. It was not easy to find a good place to camp here. The meadow at the head of the inlet looked as if it might shelter many mosquitoes, but a little farther down the inlet was a flat, grass-grown but dangerously near to high-water mark. Fannin shook his head doubtfully when he looked it over, for on the grass were a few fragments of seaweed; though the fresh meadow grass seemed to show that the flat was seldom covered by the tide. Camp was made, and after supper Fannin and both of the Indians started off to look for game. Jack and Hugh were keeping camp, when suddenly Jack observed that the water was rising higher than had been expected, and it was soon evident that a few inches more would cover the flat. They waited for a little while, in the hope that it would recede, but presently all hands had to rush about to keep things from getting wet. It took but a short time to roll up the bedding and carry it into the forest, to pull down the tent and to lift the provisions and mess kit up on drift logs. Half an hour later camp had been remade in the forest, and six inches of water covered the flat where they had expected to sleep. CHAPTER XIII AN ADVENTURE OF THE CASSIAR The next morning the canoe started down the inlet, following the opposite shore. As they rounded a point of rocks, a few miles below the camp, they saw standing on the rocks close to the shore two deer, a buck and a doe. The sun was yet low, directly behind the canoe, and in the eyes of the deer. The deer saw the vessel, but did not seem able to make it out. The various members of the party got their rifles in readiness and put them where they could be easily reached, and then continued their steady paddling toward the deer. They had come to within a hundred and fifty yards of them, and might have pushed much nearer had not one of the Indians fired a shot. This was the signal for a general fusillade, the result of which was—nothing. It is very often a fact that when several men are firing at one object it is missed by all. There is always a little excitement; each man is anxious to fire as soon as he can, for he is nervous and wishes himself to kill the game. The hurry and confusion throws every one a little off his balance, and the result is poor shooting. After the deer had disappeared into the forest, and the paddling had been resumed, Hugh said: "Well, I expect I've seen that happen fifty times. When you get a lot of men shooting at a group of animals they almost always get clear off, or if one of them is killed it's just an accident. I remember once seeing half a dozen antelope gallop by not more than fifty yards from a company of soldiers that were halted, and I believe every man fired half a dozen shots and not a hair was touched." "Yes," said Fannin, "you take even a couple of men who know each other, and who try to fire at game at the same time, and the result is always likely to be a miss; and if there are a lot of men firing at will they send their bullets in every direction except the right one." Jack felt mortified at his failure to hold his gun as he felt he should have; but he was a little consoled to think that he had done no worse than the two older hunters who had also been shooting. Charlie, on the other hand, not having a gun, seemed to be quite delighted with the result and did not hesitate to deride the other members of the party on their bad shooting. At the mouth of the inlet and between that point and Philip's Arm the tide was running very strong. The canoe had a fine sailing breeze behind it, the sails were spread, and the men worked hard at the paddling, but they were barely able to overcome the tide. Jack was interested in the appearance of the current as it ran through the narrow channel. He could see that the surface of the water, instead of being level as we always suppose it to be, was here inclined, and that the water was evidently higher at the point from which it came than at the point toward which it was flowing—in other words, it was like the water in a stream flowing from a high level to a lower one. Jack called Hugh's attention to this singular appearance, and Hugh at first hardly believed that it could be so. But, after carefully looking, he acknowledged that it seemed to be. Fannin said that this was often the case in these narrow channels where the tide ran swiftly. Just before they reached Philip's Arm the wind fell, and all save the Indians landed on the shore, and, tying a rope to the bow of the boat, pulled it up around the last point into the quiet water beyond. Here they took to the paddles again, and went on until dark, for some time looking in vain for a place where they could camp. The shore rose steeply from the water, and there was no place for one to spread his blankets. At last, quite after dark, as they were coasting along the shore, the sound of the running water was heard; and, landing near the mouth of the creek, they found a bit of moderately level ground. Now, by the light of the fire, brush, stumps and rocks were cleared away and holes filled up, so that a comfortable night was passed. The next morning there was a fine breeze, and with some help from the paddles the canoe made good progress. During the day the mouth of two broad but short arms of the sea were passed, which Fannin told them were Frederick's and Philip's Arms. They enter the coast between mountains three or four thousand feet high, and are spots of great beauty. About the middle of the morning Jack saw a couple of canoes, each of which held two or three Indian women. Jack asked Fannin who these people were, and Fannin appealed to Hamset, who told him that they were women who had been gathering berries. While they were still a long way off Hamset hailed the women with a curious singing call, and they replied with the same call, faintly heard across the waters. As the canoe approached the shore there was much conversation between the Indians who chattered at a great rate. They all seemed disposed to stop and visit for a while, but Fannin was anxious to push on, and after a few inquiries of one of the women about the rapids which were just ahead, the vessels parted company. Long after the canoes were out of ear-shot of ordinary conversation the Indians continued their talking to each other, in musical tones, laughing at each other's jokes as they came across the ever widening stretch of water. Soon after leaving the Indians, the canoe reached the mouth of a narrow channel through which ran a rapid, swifter than any yet seen. The passage was less than a hundred yards in width, and the water, so far as it could be seen ahead, presented to the eye nothing but a milk-white torrent, whose tossing waves were from three to five feet high. The Indians seemed to hesitate a little about running this rapid, and both went ashore and followed down the bank for a little way, looking for the best course to follow. On their return they said that the passage might be made, and in a few moments the canoe was darting over the white water. All that could be done was to keep her straight. Her motion was so rapid that it was quite impossible to feel the water with the paddles. While it lasted the run was quite exciting; but it was soon over, for the channel was only half a mile in length, and there was but little time to think about their possible danger or the pleasure of the passage. To Jack it was a delightfully exhilarating ride, and there was enough uncertainty to it, a possibility of danger, in fact, which made it the most exciting experience of the trip. As the canoe moved slowly along over the stretch of quiet water at the foot of the rapids Jack happened to glance over the side of the canoe, and saw, lying quietly on the white sand, a large school of beautiful trout. The fish were very large, some of them apparently a foot and a half long. He felt a great longing to stop there and take some of these fish, but they all felt that they had no time now to go fishing. The trout paid no attention to the craft, lying perfectly motionless, except when its shadow fell upon them. Then they moved slowly away into the sunlight. Threading its way among the beautiful islands which dotted Cardero Channel, the canoe moved slowly along until a point was reached where its course must be changed from southeast to northwest, to pass through the narrow passage between the mainland and Stuart Island, through Arran Rapid and then up into Bute Inlet. Here there had been a fishing station for dog-fish—small sharks, valuable only for the oil that their liver contains, and destructive to all fish life. For some distance the shore was strewn with the carcases of dog-fish captured by the Indians; and in some places the trees were almost black with the crows and ravens which had gathered here in great numbers to feed on the dead fish. The birds were very tame indeed, and often sat indolently on a limb, under which the canoe was passing. Cocking their heads to one side they looked down on the travellers in an unconcerned and impudent fashion that was amusing or provoking according to the mood of the individual at whom they were gazing. At the head of the bay, just beyond the point where the ravens were so plenty, is an Indian village where nearly a hundred years before the explorer Vancouver had spent a winter during his voyage along this coast. The village is at the head of a deep bay. A beautiful clear stream of ice-cold water runs by it, and there is a considerable area of arable land on either side of the stream. The canoe stopped here, for the Indians who were navigating it said that they wished to inquire of their friends about the passage of the rapids just ahead. As they waited, Jack noticed running across the bay a number of small logs in a line, and finally inquired of Fannin what this meant, and Fannin asked the Indians. After some little conversation Fannin turned to Jack and said: "Why, that's a line running across the bay from one side to the other, and supported, as you see, by these log floats. About every twenty feet or so, smaller lines, six feet in length, and each one carrying a baited hook, hang down from the main line. You can easily see that as this main line runs right across the bay, no fish can get up or down without passing the baits. I expect they catch a whole lot of fish." "Why," said Hugh, "there's something that looks like home! That's nothing but a trot line, such as I've seen a thousand times when I was a boy back in Kentucky. It's a sure good way of catching cat fish, but I never would have expected to see it out in this country and among these Indians." Beyond this village the canoe, after passing the very noticeable mountain which stretches across Stuart Island, and which looks like a high wall built along the coast, ran Arran Rapids. Before entering the passage the party landed and climbed the hills, from which the whole stretch of troubled waters could be seen. To Jack and Hugh, and possibly to Fannin, the prospect seemed rather terrible, and the roar of the torrent was not assuring. In some places the water was tossed up as if by a heavy gale, and white-capped waves reared snowy crests high in the air. Near such an area of agitation were seen other spaces where deep whirlpools sucked away the water, leaving their centres much lower than the neighboring level; and scattered about among the waves and whirlpools were other stretches of water less violently agitated, where the green oil-like fluid rolled over and over with a slow, repressed motion. All the time the dull roar or a muffled moaning rose from the channel. "This," said Fannin, "is what the Indians call a ' Skookumtsook '" (strong water). The Indians were watching the flood, waiting for the proper time to make a start, and at last Hamset rose and led the way down to the canoe. The tide was just at the full; and at the end of the rapids the ebb was met and a hard struggle ensued, the paddles and oars flying as fast as they could. The canoe began to go backward, and as it slowly yielded to the irresistible force, Hamset, the bowman, turned and shouted that they must make for the shore. They did so, and when they had nearly reached it he turned again and declared that a present must be given to the water or they would all be drowned; but before this sacrifice had been made, a few strokes carried the vessel into an eddy, which enabled it to creep along close to the shore until the more quiet water at the mouth of Bute Inlet was reached. Just after leaving the rapids they came upon an Indian camp, whose people had come down from their main village at the head of the Inlet. The canoe pushed to shore to enable the travellers to talk with the people of the camp, and to make inquiries about the Inlet, and what was to be found at its head. The Indians had pleasant faces and manners, and seemed a kindly folk, much interested in the movements of the three "Boston men," for they were quick to recognize Hugh, Jack, and Charlie as different from Fannin. They said that their village stood on a flat at the head of the inlet where the Homalko River entered it. On the mountains about the village they said there was much ice, and that a trail led from the village to one of these glaciers. "Now," they said, "our houses are empty, all our people being scattered along the coast fishing." This camp was the last to start out to try its luck. For provisions they had a porpoise, which they had killed on the way down, some herring, and one twenty-five pound salmon. Charlie, who discovered the salmon, seized it at once, and lifted it up to view; and Hugh, who was always amused at Charlie's interest in the question of eatables, joked him about the way he "froze to" the fish, which Fannin presently bought for "four bits" or half a dollar. A little later Hugh, who was wandering about the camp, called Jack, and pointed out to him one of the rakes with which the Indians caught herrings. It was just as the sailor had described it to them when they were on the steamer; and it was easy to see how the keen points of the nails which projected from either edge of the pole could pierce and hold the herring. After they had left the village of the friendly Homalko Indians the canoe moved slowly along up the inlet, and an hour or two before sunset made camp on a gravelly beach two or three miles above the Amor Point. Near camp there were a few trees, and noticeable among them a tall dead spruce, in which was a huge eagle's nest. From the time of their arrival until dark one of the eagles was coming and going, bringing food to the whistling young, whose voices were plainly heard and whose movements were sometimes seen. No feature of this coast was more interesting or more surprising to Jack than the abundance of the eagles. They were seen everywhere and at all times. Sometimes during the morning fifteen or twenty of the great birds were passed, and half a dozen of their nests. Jack talked with Fannin about their abundance. "Of course they're plenty," said Fannin, "and there's no reason why they shouldn't be. You see they're absolutely without enemies; no one ever thinks of injuring them, and none die except from old age or accident. They breed undisturbed, and there is, as you have seen, an unending supply of food. Why shouldn't they increase? I can fancy that a time might come when the eagles would be so abundant here as to be a pest. Though, just what harm they could do, it is hard to say. I hate an eagle, myself, and would be glad to destroy them all if I could; but then, I have a special reason for it." That night, as they were sitting about the fire, Jack asked Fannin what his reason was for disliking the eagles; and after a little hesitation Fannin told him a story. "It was back in the sixties," he said; "and I had joined the rush to Cassiar, and my partner and myself had struck a prospect late in the summer. It looked well, and we held on until too late. The snow came, and fell heavily, and we made up our minds that we would have to winter there, yet we had practically nothing to eat. We had built a cabin, but it was not fitted up for winter, and there was no stock of provisions. The question was, what should we do? If we started to go back to our own cabin, two hundred miles away, where our main supplies were stored, we could probably get there on short commons. On the other hand, this would mean wintering away from our prospect, doing no work on it through the winter, and wasting some weeks of time in spring to get back to it. On the other hand, if one of us stayed in the cabin with what provisions we had, and the other went back and got a fresh supply, we could winter by the prospect, work on it during the winter, and be on hand in the spring to push the summer work. This seemed the best thing for us to do. Then came the question: 'Who should go for the grub?' We were both willing to go. There was no special choice between going and staying. The man who stayed behind would have a pretty lonesome time of it, but would have enough to occupy him. The man who went would have a lonely time, too, but he would be travelling constantly and working hard. We could not make up our minds which should go, and finally we drew lots for it, and it fell to me to go. I took my snowshoes and toboggan and some grub, and started. As I would be gone some weeks, most of the food must be left with my partner, and I could depend in some sort on my rifle. I should have no time to hunt, but there was always some likelihood of running on game. "I started early one morning, and that afternoon it began to snow, and it kept on snowing for four days. I travelled slowly, for the ground was covered deep with a light, fluffy snow, on which snowshoes were not much good; and it was hard to haul the toboggan. Moreover, the ground being hidden, I could not choose my way, and two or three times I got among rocks and timber, and broke one of my snowshoes. That meant a halt to mend it—a further delay. It was soon evident that I was going to run short of food. I kept going as fast as I could, and kept a good lookout for game, but saw nothing, in fact, not even a track. "About the tenth day out I saw one of these eagles roosting on a tree in the trail ahead of me; and, without seeming to notice it, I pressed on, thinking that before long I would be near enough to kill it, and that would give me so much more food. Before I came within reach, however, it left its perch and soared into the air. But instead of flying away, it merely wheeled high over the valley; and at night, when I went into camp, it alighted in a tree not far off, and sat watching me. This continued for days, and all the time my grub allowance was growing smaller. I cut myself down first to half rations and then to quarter rations. I was beginning to grow weak, and still had a long distance to go before reaching our cabin. Two or three times when the eagle had flown near me I had shot at it on the wing, hoping to kill it; but with no result except to call forth the whistling cry, which some writer has described as a 'maniac laugh.' "What with my hunger, my weakness, and my loneliness, it got so after a while that that eagle got on my nerves. I began to think that it was following me; just watching and waiting for me to get weak, and stumble, and fall, and freeze to death; and that then it would have a good meal off me. I began to think it was an evil spirit. Every day I saw it, every day I looked for a chance to kill it, and every day it swung over me in broad circles and laughed at my misery. "I had now been travelling twenty days and knew that I must be getting close to the cabin. My grub was all gone, and I could hardly stagger along; but I still clung to my toboggan, for I knew that without that I couldn't take food back to my partner; and the thought of him back there at work on short allowance, and sure to starve to death unless I got back to him, added to my trouble. "At last one day about noon I came in sight of the cabin, just able to stagger, but still dragging the toboggan, which had nothing on it except my blanket and a little package of ammunition. I went up to the cabin door, opened it, went in and partly closed the door, leaving a crack through which I could watch for the eagle. I hoped that he would stop on one of the big trees near the cabin, and watch for me to come out. He did so, lighting on a limb about a hundred yards from the door. He made a big mark. I put the rifle through the crack, steadied it against the jamb, took as careful a sight as I ever took at anything, and pulled the trigger. When the gun cracked, the eagle spread his wings, soared off, and taking one turn over the valley, threw back his head, laughing at me. He sailed away over the mountains, and I never saw him again. "Two or three full meals put heart into me once more, and with a good load of food, I started back to my partner. Although the way was all uphill, I got to him in about two weeks. On the way back I killed two deer and some rabbits, and did not have to break into the load of provisions on my toboggan. When I reached him, I found that he was living in plenty. He had killed four caribou that had wandered down close to the cabin one night, and still had the carcases of two hung up, frozen. Since that time I have never had any use for eagles." CHAPTER XIV BUTE INLET Bute Inlet is the most remarkable as well as the most beautiful of the larger fiords of the British Columbia coast. Its great length and the height of the mountains that wall it in make it unequalled. Nowhere at the sea-level can such stupendous mountains be seen so near at hand, nor such sublime views be had. At its mouth the Inlet is only about a mile in width, and in its widest portion it is not more than two and a half miles. At the entrance, the hills are not especially high or rugged, but rise from the water in a series of rounded undulations. Densely wooded to their summits, they roll away in smooth green waves to the higher more distant mountains of the interior. No sharp pinnacles of granite nor dark frowning precipices interrupt the green of the forests. The dome-shaped hills come into view one after another, always smooth and ever green. The scene is one of quiet picturesque beauty. A little farther up the inlet the scenery changes. The shores rise more abruptly from the water's edge, but though the mountains increase in height the soft green foliage of firs and cedars still rises toward the summits in an unbroken sweep. Then masses of rock lift themselves above the timber line, glittering in the sunlight as though studded with jewels, or when shadowed by clouds frowning down cold, black, and forbidding. Soon patches of snow begin to appear on the mountains; at first visible only as narrow white lines nestling in the deeper ravines, but farther along large snow banks came into view and before long extensive snow fields are seen, glittering white on the summits, or even down among the green of the mountain sides. The canoe started early and a fair wind enabled them to set the sail and to sit back at ease all through the long day and view undisturbedly the enchanting scenery which they were passing. Jack had often heard his uncle describe a trip that he had made to Norway, and his journey up some of the fiords of that rock-bound coast. As he now watched the shore and the mountains of Bute Inlet slip by, these descriptions were constantly brought to his mind. Scarcely less impressive than the wonderful cliffs and mountains that he was seeing, were the beautiful streams, fed by the melting of the perpetual snow high upon the hills. These streams plunged over the precipices in beautiful falls and cascades. Long before the water reached the rocks below, it was broken up into finest spray; and a white veil of mist waved to and fro before the black rocks, in fantastic and ever changing shapes. Here the mountains had become much higher than any they had approached before. Instead of peaks from twenty-five hundred to four thousand feet in height, they were close to those that reached an altitude of six or eight thousand feet. One of these was Mt. Powell, a naked peak stretching up like a pyramid, more than six thousand feet high; and farther on there were others still higher. The first of the glaciers was seen just to the north of Fawn Bluff, and was recognized by Hugh, who called out to Jack: "There, son, there's a chunk of ice. Don't you see how it shines, blue in the sunlight, just like one of the glaciers that we got sight of in the Piegan country?" "So it is, Hugh. I recognize it. My! Don't I wish we could get up close to it; but it's awful high on the mountains and terribly thick timber below it." "Yes," said Hugh, "I reckon it would be quite a climb to get up there." "How different these mountains are," said Jack, "from our Rockies. They rise so much more steeply; but like the Rockies, there is a big cliff of wall rock on the top of each one of them." "Yes," said Hugh, "in the mountains that we see from the plains the slope is more gradual; first foot hills, and then a long timber slope, and then lastly the rocky peaks that rise above the timber line. But here there are no foot-hills, and there are no gradual rising slopes between us and the main peaks. A man's eye doesn't get a chance to adapt itself to the highest hills by measuring the gentler slopes that are nearer to him. Here the mountains rise either in a continual slope or else in a series of cut walls, one above the other, to the straight up peaks. I don't believe the distance on foot to one of these mountains is more than twice the mountain's height. I don't believe many people that have not been here have had a chance to stand at the sea-level and look straight up to a snow peak right above them as high as these are. That is what makes these mountains seem so high and so wonderful." A few moments later the canoe rounded a point and a long reach of the inlet was exposed to view. "There," said Fannin, "look off to the right! There's something that I don't think many people have seen." "My! I guess not!" exclaimed Jack. Off to the right was a tall mountain whose summit was hidden, but which seemed to end in a long horizontal crest crowned by a wavy covering of palest blue, the lower end of a great glacier. It could be conjectured that, running down from some very high point, this river of ice reached the top of this mighty precipice, and little by little was pushed over, breaking off in huge masses, which, from time to time, fell over the cliff and down into the hidden recesses at its foot, where possibly another smaller glacier made up of these icy fragments ran, for a little way, down the valley. "Look at those little grassy spots scattered here and there along the mountain side," said Fannin; "how are those for goat pastures? How bright those little meadows are by contrast with the dark foliage of the forest, the gray of the rocks, and the white of the snow banks. Those must be great feeding places for the goats, and there, I guess, they are never bothered except by the eagles that try to catch the kids. Surely there they must be safe from everything except enemies that can fly. Except for the goats and the wood-chucks, I don't believe there are any living things up there but birds. I'll bet there are lots of ptarmigan up there, brown in summer and white in winter. The little mother bird scratches out a hollow in the turf and moss near some fringe of willows, and lays her brown spotted eggs there, which by this time are hatched. The young are queer, downy little chicks, buff in color, and streaked here and there with brown. You would hardly think it possible that they could stand the cold winds, the fogs, the rain, and the snows that they must be exposed to." "Did you ever find a nest, Mr. Fannin?" asked Jack. "Yes," said Fannin, "when we crossed the mountains on our way from the East, nearly twenty years ago, I found the nest of a white-tailed ptarmigan high up on the range, but I have never seen a nest of these black-tailed ptarmigan, such as we killed up on the head of the North Arm. Once or twice, though, I have come across a mother with her young ones, and I tell you the mother is a plucky bird. If you catch one of the young birds she will come back and attack you and make a pretty good fight. I have had one come up to my very feet and then fly against my legs, pecking at my overalls and rapping my legs with her wings, trying to frighten me into letting the young one go; and, of course, I always did it after I had finished looking at it." "I don't suppose there's much game up here," said Hugh to Fannin, "except these goats that live high up in the mountains. It seems too cold and damp here for anything like deer." "Well," said Fannin, "I don't know much about that. I, myself, have never been here before, and Bute Inlet is as strange to me and just as beautiful as it is to you." While all this talk was going on the canoe, pushed along by a good wind, had been hurrying up the inlet. They passed one great gorge between two mountains, so nearly straight that, as they looked up at it, they could see on the mountain's crest a great glacier; and, pouring out beneath it, a thundering torrent, which rushed down the gorge toward the inlet. From beneath the blue mountains of ice a tiny white thread ran down the slope, constantly increasing in size, its volume swollen by a hundred lesser streams which joined it on its way. Always a torrent, and always milky white, it swept on, sometimes running along an even slope, at others leaping down precipices a hundred feet high, now undermining a thick crust of soil green with spruces, again burrowing beneath snowdrifts which almost filled the gorge. Long before they came to it they heard the roar of its fall; and as they passed its mouth they could not hear the words that one called to the other. The rush of this great mass of water Jack thought enough to frighten one. When they reached the mouth of the Homalko River, at the head of the inlet, the sun had disappeared and the great walls of rock about them cast dark shadows. The peaks of the mountains were still touched by the sun, and the snow took on a rosy tint; and even the black granite walls were lightened and softened by a ruddy glow. But over the snow fields, on the high mountains, the rock walls and peaks cast strange, long shadows. As the sun sank lower and lower these shapes seemed to lengthen and to march along as if alive. Slowly this glow faded, until only the highest peaks were touched by it; and then, one by one, as they grew dull, twilight, with stealthy footstep, cast shadows that softened and blended the harsher outlines of the scene. At the mouth of the Homalko River began a couple of miles of long, hard pulling against its hurrying current. At last, however, after winding through wide meadows and among clumps of willows, they saw before them an open spot, and presently the houses of the Indian village appeared, standing close to the border of the timbered stream. Soon they had landed close to the houses, transferred their load to their shelter, and lifted the canoe up onto the meadow. The day had been one of excitement, if not of continued effort, and all were tired and hungry. Moreover, as soon as the river had been entered, vast swarms of mosquitoes attacked them and made life miserable. Happily, the insects did not enter the Siwash house that they had appropriated, but any one who ventured out of doors was at once attacked. That night the party went to bed with little delay, hoping to spend the next two or three days in an investigation of the mountains that walled in the narrow river valley on both sides. When Jack awoke next morning he saw that it was daylight,—gray dawn, as he thought,—and he turned over and settled himself for another nap, to await Charlie's announcement that breakfast was nearly ready. A little later some movement awakened him, and when he opened his eyes he saw Fannin standing by the fire already dressed. Jack asked: "Is it time to turn out, Mr. Fannin?" But Mr. Fannin, with an expression of much disgust on his usually cheerful countenance, answered briefly: "You can sleep all day, if you want to." "What do you mean?" said Jack, in some astonishment. "Mean?" replied Fannin; "why, it's raining, and you can't see across the river." Jack hardly understood what this meant, but as he got up to dress he heard the heavy patter of rain on the building, and when he looked out of doors he saw that the valley was full of a white fog, almost thick enough to be cut with a knife. Nothing could be seen of the surrounding mountains, the mist hid everything except a few yards of muddy water by the house, and the lower branches of the forest behind it. It was useless to venture out of doors, because nothing could be seen. It would have been folly to attempt to climb the mountains in such a fog. The rain continued all day long, and the white men sat around the fire and smoked and talked and grumbled. The Indians had a better time. Immediately after breakfast they returned to their blankets and went to sleep. After lunch they slept again until dinner was ready, and after dinner they went to bed for the night. Every little while one of the white men would go to the door in the hope that he might see some sign of fair weather, but none greeted him. The second day at the Indian village was like the first; it rained all day long, and this was followed by a third day of downpour. There seemed no prospect that the rain would ever stop. Fresh provisions had given out, and the party was once more reduced to bread and bacon. The fourth morning it was still raining, and, after consultation, it was determined that the bow of the canoe should be turned down the Inlet and that they should seek fairer weather on the more open water of the Gulf. To all hands it was a disappointment to go away without seeing something of the mountains they had so much admired at a distance. But the flight of time and the scarcity of provisions made it seem necessary to proceed on their way. Accordingly, on the morning of the fourth day the canoe was loaded and the travellers clad in oil skins and rubber coats, headed down the Homalko River. The rain still fell with the steady persistent pour of the last few days, the mountain sides were veiled with a thick mist, and the party had only the memories of the wonderful beauties of the sail up the inlet to console them, as they swung their paddles on the return journey. The mountain climbing, the exploration of the glaciers, the views of the towering snow-clad heights, and the hunting of the sure-footed goats—these pleasures must all be abandoned. So they paddled down the Inlet through the fog, with nothing to see and with nothing to do but to paddle. During the next two days the weather continued bad, with wind and rain. The party camped at Clipper Point on Bute Inlet and at Deceit Bay on Redonda Island. On the third day, near White Island, a heavy gale sprang up, blowing from the quarter toward which the canoe was headed, and the paddlers not only were unable to paddle against it, but could not even hold their own. It was therefore necessary to land, unload the canoe, and take it up on the beach out of reach of the waves, and to wait until the wind went down. Fresh meat was still needed, and Hugh, Jack, and Fannin started out to see whether they could get anything. The country was a pleasant one to hunt in, and consisted of open ridges with bushy ravines between, and a little scattering timber on the ridges. Deer and bear signs were plentiful, and Jack was much interested in noticing the great size of the stones turned over by the bears in their search for worms, bugs, and ant eggs. One large piece of granite, lately turned out of its bed by a bear, was not less than two feet in any direction, and so heavy that Jack could not stir it. Jack was walking quietly along a ridge, watching on either side of him, when a small buck that he had passed unseen, ran out of the brush and half way up the slope of the ravine, and stopped to look back. It was a fatal error, for a moment later Jack's ball pierced his heart. Like all the deer here, this one was small. Jack remembered his struggle with a previous deer, and only attempted to carry half of it into camp. When he got there he sent one of the Indians for the remainder. Hugh had also killed a small deer, which he had brought into camp; and so, for the present, all anxiety about fresh meat was at an end. They had a good dinner that night. After it was over, they lounged in much comfort around the crackling blaze, for the rain had gone with the gales that had blown, and the night was fair and cool. "Hugh," said Jack, "you must have seen bears feeding often, and I wish you would tell me how they do it. Of course I've seen places where they have torn logs to pieces, and turned over stones; and the other day I saw that black bear gathering berries up on the river at the head of the North Arm, but that's the only bear that I've seen feeding. I wish you'd tell me how you've seen bears act when they were feeding." "Well," said Hugh, as he pushed down the fire in his pipe with the end of his forefinger, "that's asking me to tell you a good deal. I've happened to see bears feeding a number of times; but, of course, usually I was more interested in killing the bear than I was in seeing how it gathered its grub, and when the time came for a good shot, I fired." "Yes," said Jack, "that is natural and I suppose that is just what I would have done; but I can't help wondering how the bears, which are such big, strong fellows, living as everybody says, on berries, mice, beetles, and ants, ever get enough to eat to keep themselves alive; and yet, as I understand it, they always go into their holes fat, in the Autumn." "So they do, so they do," assented Hugh. "Well," said Jack, "tell me, then, how do they keep themselves alive?" "That's hard to tell," said Hugh. "Of course, on the plains, as long as there are buffalo, the bears get a plenty. There are always buffalo dying of old age, being mired in the quicksand, drowned in the rivers, blinded by fire, or killed by the wolves; and the bears, being great travellers, come across these carcases all the time, and feed on them. Then, of course, they catch buffalo sometimes, by crawling on them through the brush; and at other times, by hiding near a buffalo trail and grabbing an animal that goes past. You've surely heard Wolf Eagle tell about the big fight that he saw once up in the Piegan country, between a buffalo bull and a bear, and if you have, you will remember that the bull killed the bear." "Yes," said Jack, "I think I heard of that, but don't know that the story was ever told me in detail; what was it?" "Why, the way Wolf Eagle tells it, he was cached down near a little creek waiting for a bunch of buffalo to come to the water, so that he might kill one. They came on, strung out one after another, and had got nearly down to the edge of the water when, as they were passing under a cut bank, a bear that was lying on the ledge of this bank jumped down on the leading heifer and caught her around the neck. Of course, the buffalo all scattered, and the bear was trying to bite the heifer and kill her, and she was trying to get away. In a minute, however, a big bull came charging down the trail, and butted the bear, knocking him down and making him let go the heifer. Then there was a big fight, and one which scared the Indian a whole lot, so much that he did not dare to show himself, as he would have had to, to get away. The bull kept charging the bear, and every time he struck him fairly he knocked him down; and every time the bull charged, the bear struck at him and tried to catch him by the head and to hold him, but this he could not do. They fought there for quite a little time, both of them fierce, and both of them quick as lightning. After a while, the bear had had all the fight that he wanted, and tried to get away, but the bull wouldn't have it. He kept knocking him down and goring him, until at last he had killed him. Even after the bear was dead, the bull would charge the carcase, and stick his horns in it and lift it off the ground. The Indian said that the bull was a sight: that he didn't have any skin on his head and shoulders, but that he was mad clear through, and seemed to be looking around for something else to fight. Wolf Eagle was almighty glad when at last the bull went off and joined the band." "That's a mighty good story, Hugh," said Jack. "I guess in those old days, bears killed a good deal of game, didn't they?" "I expect likely they did," said Hugh. "I know that whenever you hear any story about anything a bear has done, the Indians speak of his killing something. You remember Old White Calf Robe? You must have seen him in the camp. He was there two years ago at the medicine lodge. I remember him there, distinctly." "No," said Jack, "I don't think I do remember him." "Well," said Hugh, "he tells a story about being carried home by a bear, one time, many years ago, after he had been wounded in war. I don't doubt but that the old man believes that he is telling the plain truth, just as it happened; but in that story, he travelled along with a bear and a wolf, and I know that he says that the bear killed an elk for him to eat, and I think the wolf killed something for him, too, but I can't be sure. "But of course," Hugh went on, "bears don't get very much meat. Certainly they don't live on meat, by any means. When they first come out in the spring, they generally travel pretty high up on the bare ridges, and live largely on the fresh green grass that starts early on the hillsides. They are always on the watch for mice and ground squirrels, and they dig out a good many wood-chucks, but I fancy their main food is grass. Then, a little later, roots start up which they like to gather,—pomme-blanche, camas, and a whole slew of other plants,—and that carries them along pretty well until the berry time. In the early summer I have seen them in little mountain parks, digging out mice or ground squirrels. A bear will see where a mouse or ground squirrel has a run close to the surface of the ground, and if his nose or any other sense tells him that it is inhabited, he will quickly run his paw along the tunnel, digging it up, and if the animal happens to be there, throwing it out on the surface of the earth. Then it is fun to see a big bear that will weigh three or four hundred pounds, and maybe twice as much, dancing around and striking the ground with his paws to try to kill the little animal that is dodging about, trying to get away. You'd never think how mighty active a bear can be under those circumstances. "When berry time comes the bears spend a great deal of time around the sarvis berry patches, the plum thickets, and the choke-cherry groves; and every now and then a number of Indian women gathering berries, will run across one, and the women will get scared half to death, and light out for camp. Once in a long time an Indian gathering berries will suddenly come on a bear, and the bear will kill him; or, perhaps, sometimes an old bear that is mean will lay for an Indian, and kill him just for fun. "The Indians say that when the sarvis berries are ripe, bears will ride down the taller bushes, pressing the stems down under their breasts, and walking along them with their forelegs on either side of the stem. I never saw them do it, but I've seen plenty of places where the bushes have been ridden down in this way, and had bear hair stuck to them. I once saw a mother and some cubs picking huckleberries high up in the mountains during fall. They walked about from one bush to another, and seemed to be picking the berries one by one, though I was so far away that I couldn't tell much about it. "It's fun to see them turn over stones, and they're mighty cute about it, too. Now, if you or I have occasion to turn over a stone, the chances are we'll stoop over it, take hold of it by its farther edge, and pull it over toward us, and of course, unless we straddle it or watch it pretty close, we're likely to drop it on our toes; but a bear always turns a stone over not toward himself, but to one side. He gets his hind feet well under him, braces one fore foot, and then with the other fore foot turns over the stone, swinging it out from him to one side, and after he has finished the motion, he drops his head into the bed where the stone lay and gobbles up whatever insects are there. Sometimes he makes a claw or two with one foot into the bed, perhaps to turn up the ground to see whether there are some insects below the surface, or to see if there may be the hole of some little animal passing close beneath the stone." "That's mighty interesting, Hugh," said Jack, "and I am greatly obliged to you for telling us about it. Now, Mr. Fannin, have you seen much of the way bears of this country feed?"

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