AMONGST THE WILD GOATS OF THE CASCADES. 305 



large canoes, very little water was shipped except in 

 the shape of spray, and we soon found ourselves in 

 comparative stillness, but drifting rapidly until we 

 reached the beach. At the edge of the trees, along 

 the narrow margin above high water, stood two 

 wooden Indian houses rudely constructed of logs; the 

 mountains rose immediately in rear. A grand-looking 

 old Indian came out to welcome us, the first human 

 creature we had encountered for several days. In the 

 second hut, which was empty, George and Jack 

 located themselves, and immediately made a huge fire 

 of driftwood to dry our things, the owners seeming 

 to have departed in order to attend the annual Indian 

 meetings which take place on the mainland in June. 



The old Indian who had assisted us to land soon 

 reappeared with an enormous tin basin filled with ripe 

 red salmon berries (I believe a peculiarity of the 

 Pacific coast, resembling a cross between a raspberry 

 and a blackberry), which the men proceeded to devour. 

 He also offered us a bright crimson or blood-coloured 

 fish, weighing 51b., shaped like a rock cod. The best 

 time was approaching for trolling in the bay for 

 salmon. The old man and his squaw had already 

 embarked in a small and very dilapidated dug-out 

 canoe, and were hauling in some lines. Meantime, I 

 prepared a spoon bait, and we dragged another little 

 canoe, which was lying above high water, down the 

 skids, the larger one being too weighty, and embarked. 

 Jack steered, but George, in place of a paddle, took a 

 fiat piece of wood about the same length, having the 



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