On our trip he soon proved himself a queer character--odd, concealed,
independent, keeping invincibly quiet, and doing many little puzzling
things that piqued my curiosity. As we sailed week after week through
the long intricate channels and inlets among the innumerable islands and
mountains of the coast, he spent most of the dull days in sluggish ease,
motionless, and apparently as unobserving as if in deep sleep. But I
discovered that somehow he always knew what was going on. When the
Indians were about to shoot at ducks or seals, or when anything along
the shore was exciting our attention, he would rest his chin on the edge
of the canoe and calmly look out like a dreamy-eyed tourist. And when he
heard us talking about making a landing, he immediately roused himself
to see what sort of a place we were coming to, and made ready to jump
overboard and swim ashore as soon as the canoe neared the beach. Then,
with a vigorous shake to get rid of the brine in his hair, he ran into
the woods to hunt small game. But though always the first out of the
canoe, he was always the last to get into it.
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