In the afternoon I returned, and finding my Indian punctually on hand at the appointed time, we went back to the Yukon together.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE LOWER YUKON.
The next day we broke camp, and floating down the river, soon entered the main range of the Rampart Mountains. They were not high, but picturesque, and the lower parts and the valleys were gay with green and gold. It was a perfect day, cool and clear. We stopped for the night below the so-called rapids, which at this time of low water were hardly noticeable. An Indian came to our camp from his village across the river, and we traded a can of condensed milk with him for a silver salmon. I got into his little narrow birch canoe, and managed to paddle it with the feather-like paddle, thanks to my experience in rowing a racing-shell; but it required infinite care in balancing. I could not help admiring the ease with which the Indian managed the delicate boat when he left us for home again, and wondering how these people catch salmon out of canoes like these.
A Yukon Canoe.
Indian Fish-Traps.