"He try spear salmon."
"What will he spear him with?" I said. "Sharp stick?"
"No. He bring spear in him pocket," said John.
We were standing on the bank of the creek again, and as he spoke there was a crashing in the brush overhead, and an immense salmon, nearly three feet long, landed on the ground between us. Seymour had indeed brought a spear with him in his pocket. It was made of a fence-nail and two pieces of goat horn, with a strong cord about four feet long attached. There was a sort of socket in the upper end of it, and the points of the two pieces of horn were formed into barbs. As soon as Seymour had dropped his pack he had picked up a long, dry, cedar pole, one end of which he had sharpened and inserted between the barbs, fastening the string so that when he should strike a fish the spear point would pull off. With this simple weapon in hand he had walked out on the vast body of driftwood with which the creek is bridged for half a mile below the lake, and peering down between the logs, had found and killed the fish. We made a fire in the hollow of a great cedar that stood at the water's edge. The tree was green, but the fire soon ate a large hole into the central cavity, and, by frequent feeding with dry wood, we had a fire that roared and crackled like a great furnace, all night. It
"Kindled the gummy bark of fir or pine,
And sent a comfortable heat from far,
Which might supply the sun."
SUPPER FOR THREE-SAUMON RÔTI.
Seymour cut off the salmon's head, split the body down the back, and took out the spine. Then he spread the fish out and put skewers through it to hold it flat. He next cut a stick about four feet long, split it half its length, tied a cedar withe around to keep it from splitting further, and inserting the fish in the aperture, tied another withe around the upper end. He now stuck the other end of the stick into the ground in front of the fire, and our supper was under way.
I have often been reduced to the necessity of eating grub cooked by Indians, both squaws and men, and can place my hand on my heart and say truthfully I never hankered after Indian cookery. In fact, I have always eaten it with a mental reservation, and a quiet, perhaps unuttered protest, but I counted the minutes while that fish cooked. I knew Seymour was no more cleanly in his habits than his kin—in fact, he would not have washed his hands before commencing, nor the fish after removing its entrails, had I not watched him and made him do so; but even if he had not I should not have refused to eat, for when a man has been climbing mountains all day he can not afford to be too scrupulous in regard to his food. When the fish was thoroughly roasted on one side the other was turned to the fire, and finally, when done to a turn, it was laid smoking hot on a platter of cedar boughs which I had prepared, and the savory odors it emitted would have tempted the palate of an epicure. I took out my hunting knife, and making a suggestive gesture toward the smoking fish, asked John if I should cut off a piece; for not withstanding my consuming hunger, my native modesty still remained with me, and I thus hinted for an invitation to help myself.
"Yes," he said. "Cut off how much you can eat."