“Yes,” said Rob, “it would be all the better for our bear meat in this moist climate. But we’ll have to do the best we can by drying it with smoke.”
They now pulled the dory into the mouth of the little creek, turning it at the face of the high rock wall, and noticing the thousands of salmon that swam round and round the deep pool just above the entrance of the stream. From this point up the crooked bends to the place where the dead bears lay was perhaps a quarter of a mile. But presently they all met there.
“There is pretty near a ton of meat,” said Rob, looking down at the dead bears. “We ought to have skinned those young bears yesterday, but will do that now before they spoil. Then maybe we can make Jimmy understand what we want to do about saving the meat.”
They all fell to work now, the boys at one of the cubs and the Aleut at the other. The latter, with a grin of triumph, held up his fresh hide entirely skinned out before the three boys together had finished theirs. In some way he seemed to understand what they wished to have done about the meat, perhaps himself being inclined to see that plenty of food was on hand, since his captors were not disposed to let him go away. The Aleuts, who never see any fresh beef, and who live in a country where not even caribou are often found, are very fond of bear meat, which the more civilized ones call “beef.” The captive seemed to understand perfectly well how to take care of this “beef,” and he took out the long tenderloins from the back of each cub and separated the hams. For the big bear he did not seem to care so much, and made signs to show that it was tough and hard to eat. Rob insisted, however, that he should take some of the choicer parts of the bear also, since it seemed a shame to let it waste. They loaded their dory down as heavily as they dared, and so, dragging on the painter and poling with the oars, at last they got their cargo up to camp, mooring the dory alongside the bidarka.
Without much more ado Jimmy began to search around in the grass and found some long poles, one end of which he rested on the roof of the barabbara, supporting the other on some crotches which he set up. Across these poles he laid smaller sticks and made a rough drying-rack. He showed the boys how to cut the meat into long, thin strips, and under this, after it was stretched on the rack, he built a small fire, so that the smoke would aid the sun in curing the meat—none too sure a process in a country where rain was apt to come at any hour. After this the Aleut turned toward the dory, and hauled out something which the boys had not noticed before. He busied himself at the edge of the lagoon.
“What’s he doing, John?” asked Rob.
They all stepped up and watched him.
“Why, that’s the intestines of the old bear,” said Rob, at last. “I didn’t see him throw them into the boat.”
“I know what he’s doing,” said John. “He’s going to clean ’em out. They make all sorts of things. For instance, that hood around the bidarka is made out of this sort of thing, I believe. And then they make other outfits—”