“Soon de river make t’ree forks, Sa-ca-ja-we-a say,” informed old Cruzatte, at the evening camp after Captain Clark had been gone almost nine days.
“An’ which is the trail then, I wonder,” mused Sergeant Pat. “Sure we ought to be crossin’ the mountains before we get much furder south. It’s near August, already.”
At breakfast time the next morning, July 27, the crew hauling the leading boat against the stiff current suddenly cheered, frightened the big-horn sheep that had been following along the tops of the cliffs and peeping over curiously, watching the strange white men.
“De Sho-sho-nes!” gasped Lepage, who was on the line of the second boat, wherein Peter sat, fending with an oar. This was Peter’s job, when the current was very swift.
“Hooray!” cheered the men all.
Everybody expected to see Captain Clark waiting with some of the Snakes. But the first crew had not cheered because of any Indians. They had cheered because the cliffs ceased, and now there extended a broadly-rolling green meadow-land rimmed about with high mountain ranges white and gray. The mountains closed in behind, on the east and north and west; and the meadow lay before, on the east and south and west. All lovely it looked in the sunrise.
First, a river came in on the left, from the southeast. While breakfast was being cooked Captain Lewis, climbing a rocky outcrop on the bank of this river, saw, beyond, two other forks—a middle fork and a southwest fork, where the Missouri again split.
“The Three Forks, Sa-ca-ja-we-a?” he inquired.
The Bird-woman nodded, smiling.
“We’ll breakfast and go on to those upper forks, men,” informed the captain. “We may find word there from Captain Clark, as to which is the better. Sa-ca-ja-we-a doesn’t know.”