50 ANTHROPOLOGICAL SURVEY IN ALASKA [BTH. ANN. 46 



out several times to quiet them. Fall asleep at 3.20 and oblivious 

 until near 7. Meyer forces on me six bottles of root beer. I leave 

 him some prescriptions, and taking my bed roll we go down to the 

 boat. My men still sleeping, as I expected. And then slow awaken- 

 ing, breakfast, and late starting. 



Meyer never saw any Indian bones or stones, but promises cheer- 

 fully to watch for them hereafter and to make inquiries. Of course, 

 he also, like so many in these lands, tells of a " prospect " of a gold 

 find, and is quite confident he'll " make good." As usual, also, it 

 is a " lead " that was " lost " and he believes he has found it. And 

 all the time the gold is inside, not outside, of these hunters of the 

 yellow star. 



Hills on the right again; flat islands, banks, etc., on the left, 

 Meyer's is 18 miles down from Ruby, right bank. About 5 miles 

 farther down on the slopes of the right bank is a pretty little In- 

 dian graveyard (pi. 1, 6), and a little lower down there are three 

 now empty Indian huts. 



Hills and mountains seen also now beyond the wide flats of the 

 left bank. The hills on right, along which we pass, are more or less 

 forested, but often just bushy and grassy. They rise to about 600 

 to 700 feet and the slopes are seldom steep. Along their base there 

 are many elevated platforms, low swells, and nooks, that could have 

 served of old — as they serve here and there now — for native habita- 

 tion, though only few could have accommodated larger villages. 



Pass an Indian camp — the inevitable staked dogs; a swimming 

 boy — first being seen bathing in the open. 



Whiskey Creek next. Sixty-two dogs, all along the bank, and 

 each one-half or more in his own cooling hole ; holes they dig down 

 to near the frozen ground. A settler, and two Indians — a photo- 

 graph. No relics or bones now, but will watch ; promise also to save 

 some animal skulls, etc. 



Twelve o'clock. Off again. Day better now, less squally, warm. 



Hills above and below lower and earthy — loess, at least much of 

 it. The right shore is all along sunnier, higher, more beautiful, and 

 more open to wind (less mosquitoes). These are the reasons, doubt- 

 less, why it was of old and is still the favored side for habitations 

 by natives as well as whites. 



Just before reaching "Old Lowden," overtaken by a rather crazily 

 driven small motor boat with four young Indians, who hand us a 

 crude message for the storekeeper at Galena, telling him that a baby 

 in the camp is to die to-night. I offer to see the baby. Find a boy 

 infant about one year or a little over, ill evidently with bronchitis. 

 Father and mother, each about 30, sit over it brooding in dumb 

 grief, each on one side. Respond not to my presence, and barely so 

 to my questions. And when I begin to tell to the fellow who intei*- 



