“Try it,” said Uncle Dick, whittling himself a little fork out of a willow branch. And very soon Billy also was a believer that the ‘old way’ of the Arctic Indians is about the best way to cook a fish.
Now, having appeased their hunger, they saddled again and made their way slowly to the ranch of Mrs. Culver at the Picnic Spring, as the place was called—in time for Jesse and John each to catch a brace of great trout before dusk had come.
They now were all willing to vote their experience of the past two days to be about the pleasantest and most satisfying of any of the trip, which now they felt had drawn to a natural close. That evening they all, including their sprightly hostess, bent late over the table, covered with maps and books.
“I surely will be sorry to see you leave,” said the quaint little woman of the high country. “It’s not often I see many who know any history of the big river, or who care for it. But now I can see that you all surely do. You know it, and you love it, too.”
“If you know it well, you can’t well help loving it, I reckon,” said Billy Williams.
CHAPTER XXX
SPORTING PLANS
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