Yes, this was a glorious company, from which a boy might learn much.
So, in a line, the eight boats proceeded up the Missouri, through present North Dakota. The wind blew sometimes fair, sometimes adverse; sometimes so strong that it lifted the fine sand in dense clouds above the river and the men’s eyes were made sore. Captain Lewis’s tightly-cased watch stopped and would not run.
At the end of the first week, when the night’s camp was breaking up, for the day’s journey, George Shannon espied a black animal slinking through the grass.
“Wolf!” uttered Pat. “An’ a black wan, for the captains’ collection. Wait till I draw a bead on him.”
“No! That’s a dog, Pat!” And George whistled. “Don’t shoot.”
The black animal crept toward George, stomach to earth, tail wagging.
“Assiniboine dog,” pronounced Chaboneau. “He sled dog. Draw ze sled in winter, an’ ze travois—ze lodge pole, in summer. He from dat ol’ camp we see yesterday. Mus’ be los’, poor leetle dog.”
“He’s only a puppy, and nigh starved,” said George, patting him.
So the black shaggy little dog was taken along.
That night at camp Lepage and Chaboneau consulted together.