"The blamed pipe won't draw at all," growled Jalap Coombs.
"While I," continued Phil, "am bothered. I know we must go with those fellows, but I don't trust them, and shall feel uneasy so long as we are in their power."
"Do you think," asked Serge, "that these things go to prove that there isn't any such thing in this world as perfect happiness?"
"No," answered Phil; "only that it is extremely rare. How is it with you, old man? Does the approaching end of our journey promise you perfect happiness?"
"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 staid and explored its mysteries. Now they rejoiced at leaving it.