Travels in Alaska 



After luncheon we set out for the highest point on 

 the dividing ridge about a mile above the cabin, and 

 sauntered and gazed until sundown, admiring the 

 vast expanse of open rolling prairie-like highlands 

 dotted with groves and lakes, the fountain-heads of 

 countless cool, glad streams. 



Le Claire's simple, childlike love of nature, pre- 

 served undimmed through a hard wilderness life, was 

 delightful to see. The grand landscapes with their 

 lakes and streams, plants and animals, all were dear 

 to him. In particular he was fond of the birds that 

 nested near his cabin, watched the young, and in 

 stormy weather helped their parents to feed and 

 shelter them. Some species were so confiding they 

 learned to perch on his shoulders and take crumbs 

 from his hand. 



A little before sunset snow began to fly, driven by a 

 cold wind, and by the time we reached the cabin, 

 though we had not far to go, everything looked wintry. 

 At half-past nine we ate supper, while a good fire crack- 

 led cheerily in the ingle and a wintry wind blew hard. 

 The little log cabin was only ten feet long, eight wide, 

 and just high enough under the roof peak to allow one 

 to stand upright. The bedstead was not wide enough 

 for two, so Le Claire spread the blankets on the floor, 

 and we gladly lay down after our long, happy walk, 

 our heads under the bedstead, our feet against the 

 opposite wall, and though comfortably tired, it was 

 long ere we fell asleep, for Le Claire, finding me a 

 good listener, told many stories of his adventurous 

 life with Indians, bears and wolves, snow and hunger, 



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