“

Well,” said Rob, finally, looking around at his friends and grinning, “I don’t know which of us is the worst scared; but, anyhow, we’ve got our game, and a lot of it. Do you suppose we can skin these big fellows?”

“We’ll have to,” said John. “There’s meat enough to last us a year. That old bear is bigger than any horse in Valdez.”

“And tough as any horse, too,” said Rob. “The cubs may be better to eat. I have heard my father say that bear liver isn’t bad; and certainly we can get all the fat we want to fry our fish. Lucky we’ve all got our hunting-knives along; so here goes!”

They now arose and began the difficult task of skinning out the great bear—slow work for even an experienced hunter. They kept at it, however, and had made a good beginning when all at once a slight sound at the edge of the creek bank attracted Rob’s attention.

As he turned the others noticed him, and all three of them stood staring an instant later at the same object: a round, dark face gazing at them motionless through the grass—a face with cunning little eyes set slantwise, like those of a Japanese, and long, stringy locks of dark hair hanging down about the cheeks. Instinctively each boy reached for his rifle, which he had left leaning against the carcass of the great bear. Apparently not alarmed, the face kept its place, staring steadily at them. Rob now guessed the truth, which was that this Aleut savage had heard the shots and had entered the mouth of the creek in his boat. Not knowing whether he was friend or foe, Rob motioned the others to follow him, and approached him with his rifle at a ready.

Seeing that they were not afraid, nor disposed to be driven from their place, the Aleut savage—for such it proved to be—arose, and with what he meant to be a smile stretched out his hand as though in friendship. His gun, a rusty old affair, he left lying on the ground at his side. Rob kicked it away as he approached.

They now saw how the Aleut had reached them. His boat, a long, native bidarka, lay in the creek, up which the native had paddled silently on his own errand of discovery. This boat interested the boys very much. It was nearly twenty feet long and not more than two feet wide, covered entirely with tightly stretched skin. In the deck were two round holes, around each of which there was a mantle, or hood, of oiled hide or membrane, which could be drawn up about the waist of a man sitting in the hatch. On the narrow and sloping deck there was lashed a long spear and an extra paddle. The boys also noticed sticking to the deck a stringy-looking mass of grayish white, which at first they could not identify, though later they found it to be a collection of devil-fish, or octopi, which the native had gathered among the rocks for later use as food. Peering into the hatches they saw a copper kettle partly filled with a whitish-looking meat, which later they found to be whale flesh. There was a ragged blanket of fur thrust under the deck between the hatches.

“He’s been cruising along the coast,” said Rob; “but this is a two-hatch bidarka, so probably he’s got a partner somewhere around.”

“Maybe he’s up at our house now stealing everything we left there,” suggested Jesse.

“Yes, and maybe it’s his house that we’ve moved into,” added John.

Rob, the older of the boys, and the one on whose judgment they had come to rely, remained silent a moment.

“Boys,” said he, at last, “this fellow looks like mischief to me. We can’t let him go away, to come back after awhile and rob us. We can’t leave his gun here with him and go on with our work. The only thing we can do is to take him in charge for a while.”

“Let me get his gun away from him,” began John.

Possibly the Aleut understood some of this, for all at once he made a sudden spring and caught at his gun.

Quick as a flash Rob covered him with his own rifle. “No, you don’t,” he said; “drop it! That settles it for you!”

Again the Aleut seemed to understand, for he stood up, tried to smile again, and once more held out his hand.

“Take his gun and chuck it in the boat, Jess,” commanded Rob. “Now you mush on!” he ordered the Aleut, pointing to the carcass of the bear. (“Mush on,” in Alaska dog-train vernacular, means “march on,” being a corruption from the French word marchons.)

The native sullenly walked on ahead, and finally sat down by the side of the bear.

“You watch him, John,” said Rob. “I’ve got to go on skinning this bear.” So saying, he resumed his work, presently rejoined by Jesse.

The native watched them, but finally began to smile at their clumsiness.

“I’ll tell you what,” said Jesse; “if he’s so smart about this, let’s make him help skin.”

“A good idea!” added Rob. He began to make signs to the Aleut. “Here, you,” said he, “get up and go to work—and keep on your own side of the bear.”

He pointed to the crooked knife which he saw in the native’s belt. The latter, none too well pleased, sulkily arose and began to aid in skinning the bear. It was easy to see that it was not the first work of the kind he had done. He laid the hide off in folds, with long, easy strokes, doing twice as much work as all the other three. After a time the boys stopped their work entirely and stood watching him with admiration. The Aleut paid no attention to this, but went on with his work, once in awhile helping himself to a piece of raw fat. In the course of half an hour or so he had the great robe spread out on the grass, with the difficult work of skinning out the feet all done, and the ears, nose, and all parts of the head skinned out without leaving a slashed spot on the hide.

“This beats doing it ourselves!” said John, who was not especially fond of work.

“We ought to thank him some way,” said Rob. “You know a little Chinook, John; why don’t you talk to him?”

John grinned.

“Kla-how-yah, tillicum!” he began.“Klosh-tum-tum, eh? Skookum! Skookum!”

Again the Aleut smiled in his distorted way, but whether or not he understood no one could tell.

“What did you say to him, John?” asked Jesse.

“Asked him how he was; told him that we were all pretty good friends, and that he had done mighty good work,” interpreted John, proudly.

“Well, it didn’t seem to do much good, anyhow,” said Rob. “But what shall we call him?”

“Call him Jimmy,” said Jesse. “He looks as though his name might be Jimmy as much as anything else.”

“All right!” agreed their leader. “Here, you, Jimmy, catch hold here! I’ll show you a better way of getting this hide up to camp than carrying it there.”

He motioned that they should put the hide on the deck of the bidarka, and in time this was done, although the great weight of the green hide, a load for two strong men, sunk the bidarka so deeply that half its deck was covered.

“Now get in, Jimmy,” ordered Rob, pointing to the rear hatch. The native stepped in lightly, paddle in hand, and showed his ability to handle the little craft, even heavily loaded as it now was. Rob pointed up the creek, but with a sudden sweep of his paddle the Aleut turned the other way and started for the sea.

“Quick, get the guns!” cried Rob. “Head him off across the bend!”

Quick as were their movements, they were none too soon, for as they rushed across the narrow part of the creek bend they saw the Aleut almost upon them. He made no attempt to get at his gun, which was buried under the hides in the front hatch, but was paddling with all his might. Without hesitation Rob fired two shots into the water ahead of his boat, and held up his hand in command to him to stop. These things were language that even an Aleut could understand. Scowling and sullen, he slowly paddled up to the bank. He understood the fierce menace of the three rifles now pointing at him. This time he obeyed the gestures made to him, and, turning about, proceeded to paddle slowly up the creek, followed by the boys along the bank.