Presbyterian home in the old fort. There was nothing like a tavern
or lodging-house in the village, nor could I find any place in the
stumpy, rocky, boggy ground about it that looked dry enough to camp
on until I could find a way into the wilderness to begin my studies.
Every place within a mile or two of the town seemed strangely
shelterless and inhospitable, for all the trees had long ago been
felled for building-timber and firewood. At the worst, I thought, I
could build a bark hut on a hill back of the village, where something
like a forest loomed dimly through the draggled clouds.

I had already seen some of the high glacier-bearing mountains in
distant views from the steamer, and was anxious to reach them. A few
whites of the village, with whom I entered into conversation, warned
me that the Indians were a bad lot, not to be trusted, that the woods
were well-nigh impenetrable, and that I could go nowhere without a
canoe. On the other hand, these natural difficulties made the grand
wild country all the more attractive, and I determined to get into
the heart of it somehow or other with a bag of hardtack, trusting to
my usual good luck. My present difficulty was in finding a first base
camp. My only hope was on the hill. When I was strolling past the old
fort I happened to meet one of the missionaries, who kindly asked me
where I was going to take up my quarters.

"I don't know," I replied. "I have not been able to find quarters of
any sort. The top of that little hill over there seems the only
possible place."

He then explained that every room in the mission house was full,
but he thought I might obtain leave to spread my blanket in a
carpenter-shop belonging to the mission. Thanking him, I ran down to