112 THE BED MOUNTAIN OF ALASKA. 
the pale waters of the glacial river rushing by the dark 
forests, and, behind all, the huge, silent forms of the ever- 
lasting hills, with their gloomy ravines, glittering peaks, 
and streams of ice. 
At length the Buttons, weary with the day's exertions, 
and uncertain what plan to pursue, turned toward the hut 
allotted to them for the night. As they did so, they 
brushed against an old, wrinkled squaw, who had been 
eying them narrowly for a considerable time. 
Something white fluttered from the filthy folds of her 
garment. Kobert had it in his hand in a moment, for it 
had a strangely familiar look. 
It was a delicately embroidered handkerchief, and in 
one corner were the words, in raised letters, — 
''FLOSSIE, FROM MOTHER." 
