Kalitan, Our Little Alaskan CousinNixon-Roulet, Mary F.
General
Kalitan, Our Little Alaskan Cousin
Nixon-Roulet, Mary F.
Children -- Alaska -- Juvenile literature
There are many kinds of people there, from Indians to Esquimos, and they
are under the American Government, yet they have no votes and are not
called American citizens.
It is about this country and its people that this little story is
written, and in the hope of interesting American girls and boys in these
very strange people, their Little Alaskan Cousins.
Contents
CHAPTER PAGE
I. KALITAN TENAS 1
II. AROUND THE CAMP-FIRE 12
III. TO THE GLACIER 26
IV. TED MEETS MR. BRUIN 38
V. A MONSTER OF THE DEEP 48
VI. THE ISLAND HOME OF KALITAN 60
VII. TWILIGHT TALES AND TOTEMS 71
VIII. THE BERRY DANCE 82
IX. ON THE WAY TO NOME 93
X. IN THE GOLD COUNTRY 108
XI. AFTERNOON TEA IN AN EGLU 119
XII. THE SPLENDOUR OF SAGHALIE TYEE 129
List of Illustrations
PAGE
"KALITAN FISHED DILIGENTLY BUT CAUGHT
LITTLE" (_See page 3_) _Frontispiece_
"AWAY WENT ANOTHER STINGING LANCE" 57
"A GROUP OF PEOPLE AWAITING THE CANOES" 64
MOUNT SHISHALDIN 99
"'LET'S WATCH THOSE TWO MEN. THEY HAVE
EVIDENTLY STAKED A CLAIM TOGETHER'" 113
"TWO FUNNY LITTLE LAPP BABIES HE TOOK
TO RIDE ON A LARGE REINDEER" 134
Our Little Alaskan Cousin
CHAPTER I
KALITAN TENAS
IT was bitterly cold. Kalitan Tenas felt it more than he had in the long
winter, for then it was still and calm as night, and now the wind was
blowing straight in from the sea, and the river was frozen tight.
A month before, the ice had begun to break and he had thought the cold
was over, and that the all too short Alaskan summer was at hand. Now it
was the first of May, and just as he had begun to think of summer
pleasures, lo! a storm had come which seemed to freeze the very marrow
of his bones. However, our little Alaskan cousin was used to cold and
trained to it, and would not dream of fussing over a little snow-storm.
Kalitan started out to fish for his dinner, and though the snow came
down heavily and he had to break through the ice to make a fishing-hole,
and soon the ice was a wind-swept plain where even his own tracks were
covered with a white pall, he fished steadily on. He never dreamed of
stopping until he had fish enough for dinner, for, like most of his
tribe, he was persevering and industrious.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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