“Tore your clothing!” cried Phil, regarding his friend from head to foot; “I should say he did. Why, man, you are in rags! If that doesn’t beat all the bear-hunting I ever heard of, though! Seems to me you have had about as exciting adventures as I have. But, by-the-way, did you say you had some groceries? Do let’s go and sample them, for I know I’m hungrier than that bear was. I am curious to see if I shall recognize a grocery, too, it’s so long since I’ve met with one. What are they? Coffee, sugar, milk, butter, flour, jams, biscuit, syrup, mince-meat, pickles, canned peaches, and—”
“Hold on!” laughed Serge. “How much do you think an undressed bear-skin, out of season and full of knife-holes, is worth in this country? They only valued it at two dollars; but they gave me some flour, tea, and sugar, a little lard, a few biscuit, quarter of a pound of baking-powder, a small iron kettle, half a dozen empty tin cans, a sail-needle, and some twine, which seemed to me a pretty good price under the circumstances.”
“So it was,” retorted Phil; “and if you haven’t eaten all the tin cans let’s go and tackle them.”
Kooga, who had hauled up his bidarkie, and waited patiently for the lads to finish their conversation, followed them up to Serge’s camp, at sight of which he uttered an exclamation of amazement. Kooga’s tent, neatly repaired, had been re-erected, and a stone wall, about four feet high, had been built along two sides to serve as a wind-break. A small fire burned brightly, and above this a kettle of water boiled merrily. The interior of the tent was filled with a bed of softest moss, and it all looked so cosey that Phil declared he felt as though he had got home again.
In a short time Serge had ready such a supper as made the returned wanderer repeat this sentiment more emphatically than before. The ingenious lad had converted several of his tin cans into cooking utensils. On one of these he had baked a sort of thin biscuit, made of flour, salt water, lard, and baking-powder. Another was his fry-pan, in which he cooked a quantity of small fish, like herring. A third was his teapot. A dozen fat little birds that he had trapped were nicely cleaned and spitted ready for cooking, while the bill of fare was completed by smoked halibut and thin strips of bear meat.
“Well!” cried Phil, as he sat down to this bountiful meal. “If there is anything finer than this in Alaska, then I don’t want to see it, that’s all. To think of having biscuit—actually hot biscuit—baked on a piece of tin, too! Serge, you are a genius! A genuine out-and-out genius! And if my aunt Ruth could see this lay-out I really think she would turn green with envy. And tea with sugar in it—real, truly sugar! Say, Serge, if you don’t promise to take me in as a regular boarder, I’ll—I’ll—well, I’ll go and get married, that’s what I’ll do!”
“It is pleasant now that you are back,” said the young Alaskan, modestly. “It has been terribly lonely, though, and I had to work at something all the time to keep from thinking. I wanted awfully to go to the north side of the island and see how Mr. Coombs was getting along, but as it would have taken the best part of two days to get there and back, and you might have come in the meantime, I didn’t dare to. Now, if he were only here!”
“Yes, and old Kite Robinson, our family party would be complete, and we’d be almost as well off as if we were in Sitka. I declare I could kick myself when I remember that if I’d only taken your advice we might have been on our way to Sitka in your schooner by this time!”
“I don’t know about that,” responded Serge. “We couldn’t have gone off and left Mr. Coombs alone on the island.”
“That’s so! I never thought of that. Poor old Jalap! I wonder how he is getting on all alone, and what he thinks has become of us. We must go over to-morrow and relieve his anxiety, and take him a cup of tea. Perhaps his schooner hasn’t come along yet, and we shall be all right, after all.”