So, with Cruzatte leading, down through the wild channel of the first rapids in the Dalles of the Columbia raced the canoes. And from the rocky shores the Eneeshur Indians opened their mouths wide in astonishment.
“The Irish an’ Frinch together can lick the world,” boasted Pat.
But the place of Tim-tim, or “Timm,” for short, was close ahead. It was reached the next evening, and they camped above it, at a village of the Echeloots, or Chinook Indians, who also flattened their hats, and spoke more cluckingly than did even the Oo-tla-shoots.
They were the enemies of the Pierced Noses, but they agreed upon peace, in a council with Chief Twisted-hair. Now, after a final “smoke,” Chiefs Twisted-hair and Tetoh left, on horses, for their home. They had been good and faithful guides.
The place of Timm, at the foot of the Dalles of the Columbia, is to-day called the Long Narrows. It was three miles long and in some stretches only fifty yards wide. But the canoes, guided by Cruzatte, went through without one being wrecked. They had been badly battered, however, by the many rocks; and the next day was spent in caulking them. That night Cruzatte brought out his fiddle, a dance was held, about the fire, and the Echeloots appeared much entertained.
In the middle of the night, soon after the camp had gone to bed, Peter was awakened by Pat’s suddenly squirming out of the blanket.
“The fleas are ’atin’ me entoirely,” declared Pat. “Into the river goes ivery stitch o’ me clothes.”
Peter was glad to follow the example. By morning nearly all the men were stripped, and needs must stalk about in blankets while their clothing was being cleaned.
“’Twas the mosquitoes east of the mountains,” laughed George Shannon. “Now ’tis the fleas west of the mountains.”
But the fleas were a slight matter, when amidst grand scenery the Columbia River ever bore the canoes onward, toward the ocean and the end of the long, long journey.