Rob pointed to a valley which made down to the bay some distance ahead.

“There must be a stream somewhere in there,” said he. “Besides, it looks flat, as though there were a beach. We’d better pull over there.”

So, weary as they were, they tugged on the oars until finally they drew opposite this narrow beach. A long roll from the sea came down the bay, but the surf did not break here so angrily, so that they made a landing with nothing more serious than a good wetting. They pulled the dory as far up the beach as they could, and made it fast by the painter to a big rock.

They now found themselves in a somewhat singular country. The beach, of rough shingle, rose at an angle of thirty degrees for perhaps a hundred feet, where it terminated in a long, low ridge which, like a wall, paralleled the salt water as far as they could see on either hand. Inside of this wall, which was not very many yards across the top, they beheld a flat valley lying between the ocean and the foot of the mountains, perhaps a quarter of a mile across. A part of this valley was occupied by a long lake or lagoon, into which the water from the mountains seemed to come, and which found its outlet through a creek, which made off to the sea, far to the right.

All this country is covered with the heavy moss, or tundra, peculiar to Alaska, which, when covered with a heavy growth of grass, as was the case here, affords rather difficult walking. But as the boys left the edge of the sea-wall Rob uttered an exclamation.

“Here’s a path!” he cried. “It must go somewhere. There have been people here!”

“Look yonder!” said Jesse, pointing ahead. “There is the reason. There’s a house over there!”

The three now stopped and looked ahead anxiously. There was, indeed, a low hut built of drift-wood and earth—such a dwelling as is used by the Aleuts in their native condition and is called by them a “barabbara.”

“There’s no smoke,” said Rob. “Maybe it’s deserted. We’d better be careful, though.”

They had been told by Uncle Dick that there lived on the east coast of Kadiak Island a part of the Aleut tribes who still remained savage, and who never visited a white settlement unless obliged to do so. Many tales of theft and bloodshed came from these natives, who had always refused to come under the influence of the missions or schools, one or two of which are established near Kadiak. In short, as Rob especially very well knew, there was no wilder or more dangerous portion of Alaska than that in which they now found themselves. It was very well to be cautious when approaching the dwelling-place of any of these wild natives, who had reasons of their own for putting out of the way any stray white man who might come into the country.

Thirst, however, drove them on. They watched the low house for several minutes, and then cautiously advanced along the path. They found the place to be a typical native camp. Pieces of drift-wood lay about, mingled with skeletons of foxes, bones of salmon and codfish—all the uncleanliness of an Aleut dwelling. The only opening of the low, round hut itself was fastened by a square door about three feet across. No sound came from it.

“Who’s afraid?” said Rob, at last, and boldly pushed open the door. He stooped and entered, and the others followed him.

They found themselves now in the interior of a low hovel, perhaps fifteen feet across, and rudely circular in form. A wall of roughly laid timbers extended all around, perhaps three feet from the ground, and from these eaves to a conical point there rose the rough beams of the roof, which was covered heavily with dirt, grass, and moss. A hole was left in the middle of the roof for the smoke to escape. In the centre lay the white ashes of many fires, on opposite sides of which stood two half-burned sticks which had supported kettles. The plan of the barabbara, in fact, is precisely similar to that of the tepee of the Plains Indians, except that it is not movable and is lower and even less roomy than a good tepee.

“Nobody home!” said Jesse, looking about the dark interior, where the smoke had blackened all the wood, and where only a little light came through the door and the smoke-hole, there being no window at all.

“Nor has there been for a long time,” said Rob. “These bits of fish are all dried up. The ashes have been wet with rain for a long time. See, back there under the eaves there are a lot of klipsies. That’s what they call their fox traps. Yes, this no doubt is the camp of a trapper or two who live here in the winter-time.”

“But where do they go in the summer?” asked John.

“Probably to some of their own villages. It’s almost too late now to trap foxes for their furs, so the chances are there will be no one here until next winter.”

“Why, then,” said Jesse, his eyes brightening, “we could use this for our house, couldn’t we?”

“Precisely,” said Rob. “That’s just what we will do.”

“That’ll be fine,” said John, his eyes brighter than they had been for many an hour. “Now if we only had something for a good meal.”

“Here’s an old tin lard-pail they no doubt used for a water-pail,” said Rob, kicking about in the heavy covering of grass which lay on the floor. “Now, I tell you, I’ll go get some water; you clean the hut, Jess; and, John, you go to the boat and bring over the box of crackers and tomatoes.”

With light hearts the others complied, each glad that now at least they were free from the dangers of the sea.

“I believe we’re going to be all right here, John,” said Jesse, as the latter started toward the boat.

“Surely we will,” said John. “Only I know I want a drink pretty badly.”

When they met at the door of the hut a few moments later Rob offered them his kettle of water, from which he had not yet drunk. John took a deep draught and spat it out with a wry face.

“Salt!” he exclaimed. “That’s awful!”

Rob looked at him in surprise.

“That’s strange,” said he. “I saw the creek tumbling right down through the alders into this little lake, and it must be fresh water.” He scratched his head. “Oh, I know,” said he. “The tide backs up in here to the foot of the little falls. Give me the kettle. It’s shallow out there in front, and there’s rocks. We’ll cross the lake to get a drink!”

Suiting the action to the words, he went off on a run, and this time when he returned he had the pail full of excellent fresh water, cold as ice.

“I got my feet wet,” said he; “but never mind that. I’ve learned something else—or, at least, I think I have.”

“What’s that?” asked Jesse.

“Why, it’s this. Our crackers and tomatoes won’t last very long, and we can’t eat moss or dried grass. We’ve got our fishing-lines done up in the bedrolls in the boat, and if we can’t catch any codfish in the bay, there’ll be a time before long, unless I’m mistaken, when there’ll be salmon in this creek. They say they run in every river on the Alaska coast, and I suppose it’s the same here.”

“We’d better not eat up all our crackers right away,” suggested Jesse, hesitating.

“No,” said Rob, who seemed to drop into the place of leader. “We’ll have to do the way people do when they’re shipwrecked and cast away. We’ll go on short rations for a while.”

“Well,” said John, “let’s have a cracker, anyway, and the rest of that last can of tomatoes we opened. I’d like a cup of tea pretty well; but it may be some time before we see tea again.”

“Worry enough for the day,” said Rob. “And what we ought to be is mighty thankful we got off as well as we have. Anyhow, we’re alive; and, anyhow, we’ll camp here to-night. Now you boys go over to the boat and get the bedrolls, while I pick up some wood and get some fresh grass for the beds. It’ll be dark now before long. We’ll make a fire and cook the tomatoes in the can.”

Following Rob’s advice, each now busied himself at these different tasks. In the course of an hour they had a fire glowing at the centre of the barabbara, which now would otherwise have been quite dark. The smoke did not seriously trouble them after they had learned to keep down low on the floor. Each unrolled his blankets on the deep, sweet-scented grass near-by the fire. Thus, alone and far from home, in a situation stranger than any of them had ever fancied himself about to see, they lay about the fire at midnight of the short Alaskan darkness. Each without instruction took his rifle from its case and put it on the blankets beside him, taking care that it was loaded. Outside they could hear the calls of flying birds; otherwise deep silence reigned. They felt, although they could not see, the presence of the surrounding walls of the great white mountains. Now and then they could hear the faint boom of the sea on the opposite side of the inner wall. It was a wild and new experience for them as at last, one by one, each nodded and dropped back upon his blankets for such sleep as he could find in his first night in camp on the unknown Kadiak coast.