ly spoil his day and endanger his life as well as my own.

That night I baked a good batch of camp bread, boiled a fresh kettle of
beans and roasted a leg of venison ready for Muir's breakfast, fixed the
coffee-pot and prepared dry kindling for the fire. I knew he would be up
and off at daybreak, perhaps long before.

"Wake me up," I admonished him, "or at least take time to make hot
coffee before you start." For the wind was rising and the rain pouring,
and I knew how imperative the call of such a morning as was promised
would be to him. To traverse a great, new, living, rapidly moving
glacier would be high joy; but to have a tremendous storm added to this
would simply drive Muir wild with desire to be himself a part of the
great drama played on the glacier-stage.

Several times during the night I was awakened by the flapping of the
tent, the shrieking of the wind in the spruce-tops and the thundering of
the ocean surf on the outer barrier of rocks. The tremulous howling of a
persistent wolf across the bay soothed me to sleep again, and I did not
wake when Muir arose. As I had feared, he was in too big a hurry to take
time for breakfast, but pocketed a small cake of camp bread and hastened
out into the storm-swept woods. I was aroused, however, by the
controversy between him and Stickeen outside of the tent. The little
dog, who always slept with one eye and ear alert for Muir's movements,
had, as usual, quietly left his warm nest and followed his adopted
master. Muir was scolding and expostulating with him as if he were a
boy. I chuckled to myself at the futility of Muir's efforts; Stickeen
would now, as always, do just as he pleased--and he would please to go
along.

Although I was forced to stay at the camp, this stormy day was a most
interesting one to me. There was an old Hoonah chief camped at the mouth
of the little river which flowed from under Taylor Glacier. He had with
him his three wives and a little company of children and grandchildren.
The many salmon weirs and summer houses at this point showed that it had
been at one time a very important fishing place.

But the advancing glacier had played havoc with the chief's salmon
stream. The icy mass had been for several years traveling towards the
sea at the rate of at least a mile every year. There were still silver
hordes of fine red salmon swimming in the sea outside of the river's
mouth. But the stream was now so short that the most of these salmon
swam