52 
THE BED MOUNTAIN OF ALASKA. 
squatting in the traditional Indian fashion, and, having 
replenished his pipe (which, however, soon died out), 
began as follows. I do not attempt to spell out his pecu- 
liar dialect, or indicate the expressive grunts and gut- 
turals which served as punctuation marks. 
"About ten years ago," he said, " I was guiding, near 
Fort Churchill, with my brother, John Feathertop." 
" I didn't know you had a brother, Joe," interrupted 
Nat. 
" Dead now," remarked the narrator, laconically, 
then resumed his story. 
" We started out, one fine morning, from the fort, and 
by the end of the next day reached a lake about thirty 
miles away, where the fishing w^as good. 
" Two men — white men — were with us. They were 
from a big town in the States — New — New — " 
" York ? " suggested Rob. 
" That's it. They paid us well, and were full of fun. 
On the lake we had two good canoes, hidden in the bushes 
at different points. John and I soon found one of 
them, drew the paddles from a hollow log close by, and 
started across the lake for the other canoe. 
" We paddled straight across a wide bay, in a north- 
east direction, took our bearings from a bunch of rocks 
just above water (there were half a dozen gull's-nests on 
them, and the birds flew up slowly as we paddled past) ; 
then worked up to a point heavily w^ooded with black 
growth, and John landed. 
