“Dat she say is w’at ze Snakes call ze Beaver’s Head,” explained Chaboneau. “Ze Snakes spen’ deir summer ’cross ze mountains jes’ ze odder side, an’ she t’ink some sure to be on dis side, too. She t’ink we meet some of dem on dees river, furder up a leetle way.”
“To-morrow I’m going in yonder and not come back till I find the Snakes and their horses, Will,” declared Captain Lewis.
Immediately after breakfast Captain Lewis resolutely slung his knapsack on his back, donned his cocked hat, and with Drouillard, John Shields and Hugh McNeal, struck into the west.
“Keep traveling up river, Will,” he directed, as last word. “I’ll stay out this time till I find Indians and horses. You won’t see me again, before.”
This was August 9. For a week the canoes were hauled and pushed on up the crooked, rapid Jefferson, with never a word from the search party.
“We’ll all be turnin’ into fishes,” groaned Pat. “Me toes are webbed like a beaver’s, already. Sure, it’s an awful empty country; an’ we’re thray thousand miles from home.”
On August 16 they approached where the river forked once more. It was always forking, decided Peter. Before, not many miles, was a gap in the mountain range. The river seemed to lead for the gap. Were they going to follow it in? And then where would they be? The trees were ceasing. There were only three in sight. What would the camps do for wood? Ahead were brush and rocks; and this night the camp fires were made from willow branches. Whew, but the water was cold—the source of the river evidently was near, in the melting snow.
The river doubled in a great curve, before it reached the forks. Captain Clark had sent Reuben Fields and George Shannon ahead, to the forks, but they reported no news. In the morning he set out, with Chaboneau and Sa-ca-ja-we-a, to walk across the bend, while the boats were hauled around by way of the river.
As all were hauling and puffing, somebody cried aloud. It was Sergeant Ordway, on the foremost rope.
“Look, lads!” he bade. “The captain’s sighted something!”