The Journal of a Sporting Nomad 
back he gave up the obnoxious habit altogether. 
I was now one step nearer my ambition. I soon 
discovered that Hunter was not a “* blow-hard,” 
and that I could depend upon what he told me. 
He was living at Kenai, a small village situated 
on a river of that name, seven or eight miles 
farther up the inlet. Here he had a wooden 
shack he had built for himself, and to which 
he now invited me, pending the making of our 
arrangements. Accordingly the next day, after 
saying good-bye to Mr. Wetherbee, we rowed 
the boat that this gentleman had lent me to 
this other river. 
Now, the Indians in this locality are very 
devout members of the Greek Church. They 
are looked after by a Russian priest, who — 
keeps them very much up to the mark. One 
of the principal feasts of the year was shortly 
to be observed, and both Hunter and I found 
it quite impossible to persuade any of the 
Indians to accompany us into the mountains 
until after they had observed the proper keep- 
ing of this time. We had over a month to 
wait, therefore we decided to cross the inlet _ 
and hunt for bears on the mainland in the neigh- 
bourhood of Snug Harbour. We were helped 
in our trip there by the captain of one of the 
Kusiloff Cannery tug-boats, who was going over 
to the depot ship with a load of cased salmon, 
and who offered us a lift. We took our boat on 
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