of my stay was the megaphonic
recapitulation of the heads of the instruction, after each session, by
an elderly Indian who stood out in the midst of the tents. What on earth
this man, with his town-crier voice, was proclaiming at such length, we
were at a loss to conjecture, and upon inquiry were informed: "Them
women, not much sense; one time tell 'em, quick forget; two time tell
'em, maybe little remember." So when we stopped for dinner and for
supper and for bed, each time this brazen-lunged spieler stood forth and
reiterated the main points of the discourse "for the _hareem_," as
Doughty would say, whose account of the attitude of the Arabs to their
women often reminds me of the Alaskan Indians. It was interesting, but I
should have preferred to edit the recapitulation.

When all was done for the day and we thought to go to bed came an Indian
named "Bum-Eyed-Bob" (these white man's nicknames, however dreadful, are
always accepted and used) for a long confabulation about the affairs of
the tribe, and I gathered incidentally that gambling at the telegraph
station had been the main diversion of the winter. It seems ungracious
to insist so much upon the evil influence of the white men--we had been
cordially received and entertained at that very place, and our money
refused--but there is little doubt that the abandonment of the
telegraph-line will be a good thing for these natives. Put two or three
young men of no special intellectual resource or ambition down in a
lonely spot like this, with no society at all save that of the natives
and practically nothing to do, and there is a natural and almost
inevitable trend to evil. To the exceptional man with the desire of
promotion, with books, and all this leisure, it would be an admirable
opportunity, but he would be quite an exceptional man who should rise
altogether superior to the temptations to idleness and debauchery. One
may have true and deep sympathy with these young men and yet be
conscious of the harm they often bring about.

Ten miles or so from the encampment brought us to Chicken Creek, and
from that point we took the Fortymile River. The direct trail to Eagle
with its exasperating mule tracks was now left, and our journey was on
the ice. But so warm was the weather that 16th of March that we were
wet-foot all day, and within the space of eight hours that we were
travelling we had snow, sleet, rain, and sunshine. Leaving the main
river, we turned up Walker Fork