CAMP FIRES IN THE YUKON 85 



hurried, tripping over low willows, splashing 

 through watery morass, falling into small gulches, 

 but with no sign of a welcoming camp fire. One 

 shot from the rifle brought an answering shot from 

 afar, which heartened us to continue our discourag- 

 ing course ; half an hour, on trying another shot, we 

 found the answering crack to be just below us, and 

 forging onward came to the edge of the canyon and 

 slid down the side to a roaring camp fire, a pile of 

 caribou steaks, and a comfortable couch of spruce 

 boughs. 



This little circle of light looked better to us than 

 any palace we had ever seen; we arrived at 11.30 

 P.M., absolutely faded and unable to take another 

 mile; at 12.30 we were still eating caribou steaks and 

 drying out our wet garments close to the blazing logs 

 and feeling almost ready to start out again. In- 

 stead, we sat around and smoked our pipes in quiet 

 contentment and watched Wright baking bread in a 

 fry pan, which turned out a pastry product about an 

 inch thick and nicely browned, but of the consistency 

 of leather. Baker looked at it, felt of it, and 

 chewed a piece for a moment and then remarked to 

 Wright: " You call yourself a baker, but you evi- 

 dently worked a few days in a leather shop and you 

 are nothing but a darned tanner." Wright, how- 

 ever, claims to be " only a horse wrangler " and will 

 give Baker a " chance to do some real baking to- 

 morrow night." 



