“No, no! Tyee ka-mo-suck!” refused the Indian. “Chief beads.”
But Sa-ca-ja-we-a gave to the captain her own girdle of blue “chief beads,” and for it he bought a robe.
There were several new roots that the men grew to like. One root, sha-na-taw-hee, was a thistle root, purple after it had been roasted.
“Tastes like a parsnip, only swater,” declared Pat.
Another root was cul-whay-ma; two feet long and slender. It also was sweet and wholesome. But the best root was the wappatoo—“a rale Irish p’tatie,” said Pat.
This was brought down by Skilloots and the Wah-ki-a-cums, from up-river. It was a species of lily, and grew in the lakes. The Indian women waded in, breast-deep, and poking with their toes loosened the bulbs, which rose then to the surface. That was cold work.
The wappatoo roots were held at a rather stiff figure, because they could be traded to the other Indians, if not to the white men.
The Clatsops were the best Indians. The Cath-lam-ets were treacherous; one would have killed Hugh McNeal had not a Chinook woman warned Hugh. The Chinooks were thievish.
“No Chinook shall be admitted into the fort without special invitation,” finally ordered Captain Lewis.