“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.”