“One could listen to her stories all day and not tire of them,” said Rossiter to Mr. Percival afterward. “The sufferings and the superstitions of these poor creatures are almost incredible.”
Shortly after returning from the Mission, he mailed to Fort Wrangell the valuable letter of which we have spoken.
The young people scattered through the village as soon as the steamer was moored. Mr. Percival rode off with two gentlemen who met him upon the wharf, to look at the Silver Bow Basin gold mines, of which he was part owner.
Tom and Fred strolled along arm in arm, in front of the houses and stores that lined the beach, now and then stopping to speak to a native, or examine the trinkets and furs that were everywhere exposed for sale.
They were handling an unusually fine brown bear rug, when a curious-looking man, perhaps fifty years of age, halted by their side.
TOM AND FRED AT JUNEAU.
His hair and beard were long and rough, and his garments seemed to have been made for a wearer much shorter and stouter than himself. He was over six feet in height, and had a kindly, almost child-like look in his blue eyes, which, however, were keen as a hawk’s, looking out from under a pair of shaggy eyebrows.
“Pretty good pelt, that,” he remarked, running his hand over the skin. “Thinkin’ o’ buyin’?”