They
were an Indian, his son, and two women with a load of fish-oil and
dried salmon to sell and trade at Fort Wrangell.
They camped within a
dozen yards of us; with their sheets of cedar bark and poles they
speedily made a hut, spread spruce boughs in it for a carpet,
unloaded the canoe, and stored their goods under cover. Toward
evening the old man came smiling with a gift for Toyatte, - a large
fresh salmon, which was promptly boiled and eaten by our captain and
crew as if it were only a light refreshment like a biscuit between
meals. A few minutes after the big salmon had vanished, our generous
neighbor came to Toyatte with a second gift of dried salmon, which
after being toasted a few minutes tranquilly followed the fresh one
as though it were a mere mouthful. Then, from the same generous
hands, came a third gift, - a large milk-panful of huckleberries and
grease boiled together, - and, strange to say, this wonderful mess
went smoothly down to rest on the broad and deep salmon foundation.
Thus refreshed, and appetite sharpened, my sturdy crew made haste to
begin on the buck, beans, bread, etc., and, boiling and roasting,
managed to get comfortably full on but little more than half of it by
sundown, making a good deal of sport of my pity for the deer and
refusing to eat any of it and nicknaming me the ice ancou and the
deer and duck's tillicum.
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