I readily assented. So our first night's camp was scarcely twelve miles from where we had started in the morning. It was a fine camping place. A beautiful pebbly beach extended almost to the water's edge even at low tide. There was a grassy level spit, a background of evergreen giant-fir timber, and clear, cool water gushing out from the bank near by. And such fuel for the camp fire!--broken limbs with just enough pitch to make a cheerful blaze and yet body enough to last well. We felt so happy that we were almost glad the journey had been interrupted. Oliver was the carpenter of the party, the tent-builder, wood-getter, and general roustabout, while I, the junior, was "chief cook and bottle-washer." An encampment of Indians being near, a party of them soon visited our camp and began making signs for trade. "_Mika tik eh_[1] clams?" said one of the matrons of the party. "What does she say, Oliver?" "I'm blessed if I know, but it looks as if she wanted to sell some clams." After considerable dickering, with signs and gestures and words many times repeated, we were able to impart the information that we wanted a lesson in cookery. If she would show us how to cook the clams, we would buy some. This brought some merriment in the camp. The idea that there lived a person who did not know how to cook clams! Without saying by your leave or anything else, the motherly looking native woman began tearing down our camp fire. [Illustration: _Edward S. Curtis_ Indians gathering clams on the beach.] "Let her alone, and see what she's up to," said Oliver, noticing that I was disturbed at such interference with my well-laid plans for bread-baking. She covered the hot pebbles and sand where the fire had been with a lighter layer of pebbles. Upon these the clams were deposited. They were covered with fine twigs, and upon the twigs earth was placed. "_Kloshe_,"[2] she said. "_Hyas kloshe_,"[3] said her husband, who squatted near by, watching the proceedings with evident approval. "What did they say?" I asked. "I know what they said, but I don't know what they meant," responded Oliver, "unless it was she had done a good job; and I think she has." Thus began and ended our first lesson in the Chinook jargon, and our first experience with a clam bake. This first clam bake gave us great encouragement. We soon learned that the bivalves were to be found in almost unlimited quantity and were widely distributed. The harvest was ready twice a day, when the tide was out, and we need have no fear of a famine even if cast away in some unfrequented place. "_Ya-ka kloshe al-ta_,"[4] said the Indian woman, uncovering the steaming mass and placing the clams on a sliver found near by. "_De-late kloshe muck a muck alta._"[5]