“No, indeed!” cried Serge, vehemently. “In spite of its hardships, I have enjoyed it too much to be glad that it is nearly ended. But most of all, Phil, is the fear that its end means a parting from you; for I suppose you will go right on to San Francisco, while I must stay behind.”
“I’m afraid so,” admitted Phil. “But, at any rate, old fellow, this journey has given me one happiness that will last as long as I live, for it has given me your friendship, and taught me to appreciate it at its true worth.”
“Thank you, Phil,” replied Serge, simply. “I value those words from you more than I should from any one else in the world. Now I want to tell you what I have to thank the journey for besides a friendship. I believe it has shown me what is to be my life-work. You know that missionary at Anvik said he was more in need of teachers than anything else. While I don’t know very much, I do know more than those Indian and Eskimo boys, and I did enjoy teaching them. So, if I can get my mother to consent, I am going back to Anvik as soon as I can, and offer my services as a teacher.”
“It is perfectly splendid of you to think of it,” cried Phil, heartily; “and all I can say is that the boys who get you for a teacher are to be envied.”
So late did the lads sit up that night talking over their plans and hopes that on the following morning the Indians had arrived and were clamorous for them to start before they were fairly awake. By sunrise they, together with the three dogs, were embarked in a great long-beaked and marvellously carved Chilkat canoe, hewn from a single cedar log and painted black. Two of the Indians occupied it with them; while the others and the sledge went in a second but smaller canoe of the same ungraceful design as the first.
As with sail set and before the brisk north breeze that ever sweeps down the glacier, the canoes sped away among the ice floes and bergs of the inlet, our boys cast many a lingering backward glance at the little cabin that had proved such a haven to them, and at the stupendous ice-wall gleaming in frozen splendor on their horizon. Under other conditions they would gladly have stayed and explored its mysteries. Now they rejoiced at leaving it.
So favoring were the winds that they left Glacier Bay, passed Icy Strait, and headed northward as far as the mouth of Lynn Canal before sunset of that day. During the second day they ran the whole fifty-mile length of the canal, which is the grandest of Alaska’s rock-walled fiords, entered Chilkat Inlet, passed the canneries at Pyramid Harbor and Chilkat, which would not be opened until the beginning of the salmon season in June, entered the river, and finally reached Klukwan, the principal Chilkat village.
Here, as the smaller canoe had preceded them and announced their coming, our travellers [were welcomed by the entire population] of the village. These thronged the beach in a state of the wildest excitement, for it was known to all that the long-lost fur-seal’s tooth was at last come back to them. Even the village dogs were there, a legion of snarling, flea-bitten curs. Ere the canoe touched the beach, Musky, Luvtuk, and big Amook were among them, and a battle was in progress that completely drowned the cries of the spectators with its uproar. The fighting was continued, with only brief intervals, throughout the night; but in the morning the three champions from the Yukon were masters of the situation, and roamed the village with bushy tails proudly curled over their backs and without interference. “For all the world,” said Phil, “like the Three Musketeers.”
