So saying, he stripped off his outer coat and, throwing it over a post, picked up a fifty-pound bag of flour and swung it lightly across one shoulder, calling to his brother to place a second bag on the other. Having thus obtained his hundred-pound load, he started up the incline to the cannery. Mr. Bradford now followed him, David swinging up the second bag to his father's shoulder. David took a single bag, finding that he could not manage two, and Roly staggered along with another. On the next trip Mr. Bradford advised Roly to bring a bag of dried apricots, which was lighter, and thus, each carrying what he could, all the supplies were at length stowed safely above high-water mark. "Next," said Uncle Will, as he resumed his coat and wiped the perspiration from his forehead, "we must have these goods taken over to my camping-place on the west shore of the harbor. Suppose you boys stand guard while your father and I see if we can get a boat. All you'll have to do will be to keep the Indian dogs away from the bacon." The boys assented to this proposal, and the two men walked away in the direction of the Indian village, which lay not far from the cannery toward the harbor's mouth, where the watchman said they might find a canoe. They had been gone but a few minutes when several Indian men and boys approached, dressed in the clothing of civilization, but quite ragged withal, followed by a number of wolfish dogs, which lost no time in running up to the pile of provisions as soon as they scented the meat. David promptly sent a snowball at the largest cur with such good effect that he beat a hasty retreat, while the others, seeing his flight and hearing his howls, for the snowball had struck him in the nose, slunk away and sat down at a respectful distance to await developments. The Indians now came up and with much curiosity began to inspect the goods. They seemed to take no offence at the treatment of the dogs, much to the relief of the boys, who half expected they would consider it a declaration of hostilities. "Me Chilkat Indian," said one of the older men, addressing David and pointing to himself. David nodded to show that he understood. "Where you go?" asked the Indian. David did not know that the place to which they were bound had any name, but he remembered how his uncle had dated his letter, so he said, "Rainy Hollow." "Ugh!" grunted the Indian. "Rainy Hollow there," and he pointed to the north. "You go get gold?" "Yes," said David. "Me go too?" "I don't know," replied David. "Ask my father." He motioned toward a large black two-masted canoe which now made its appearance from the direction of the village. One of the natives and Uncle Will were paddling, while Mr. Bradford was sitting in the stern and steering. The Indian turned and scrutinized the craft. "Chief's canoe," said he. "Him chief's son."