The climb was a stiff one–almost straight up, it seemed to the boys. Three miles of this through a forest-bordered trail brought them to the village.
“This certainly is some town,” laughed Tad.
They saw before them a general store, two or three shops that looked as if they were for the purpose of supplying miners’ outfits, with a few scattering cottages here and there. To the left they could make out the smoke from the new Thlinkit village. Squaws from the latter were sitting about the village street weaving baskets. Such beautiful baskets none of that party ever had seen before. The boys could hardly resist the temptation to buy, but knowing that every pound and every inch of bulk in their packs counted, they contented themselves with admiring the handicraft of the squaws.
Ponies or horses were seldom seen in the Yakutat street, so those of the Pony Rider outfit attracted no little attention. A swarm of Indian children gathered about them, chattering half in English and half in their native language.
120The keeper of the general store came out to greet the outfit, scenting some trade, and shook hands with the Professor warmly.
“Anybody’d think the Professor was his long-lost brother,” chuckled Stacy.
A bevy of dark-eyed squaws surrounded the Professor. In several instances papooses were strapped to their backs, the youngsters looking as if they did not enjoy it any too well.
“Why do they tie them up in splints?” asked Stacy.
“To keep them from getting broken,” answered Rector.
A squaw offered Stacy a pair of beaded moccasins that were gorgeous to his eyes.