“I never been up-river furder dan dees,” announced Baptiste. “I t’ink once I stop right at dees spot, an’ turn back. Chaboneau, he stop once ’bout t’ree mile below.”
“Then it’s our own trail from here on,” spoke John Shields.
Where North Dakota and Montana meet, George Drouillard was sent out to explore south up the Yellowstone River. He returned with report of many sand-bars and much coal.
Beyond the mouth of the Yellowstone, in the morning of October 26, while the boats were slowly sailing on up the Missouri, Captain Lewis suddenly appeared, at a clear spot on the bank, and signaled with a rifle-shot.
“Faith, the cap’n’s been in a hurry,” observed Patrick Gass, as the boats turned in.
And so he evidently had. He was still out of breath.
“We’ve killed a large white bear,” he panted. “Some of you men come and help Drouillard bring him down.”
“Good work, Merne,” called Captain Clark. And enough men tumbled ashore to carry half a dozen bears.
Cruzatte ran, Peter ran, the Fields brothers ran; all ran. Back a few hundred yards they found Drouillard working with his knife on the carcass of a bear.