“I think not, sir. Surely any one coming up the river would have turned in at our camp.”
Lewis turned to Gass, to Pryor; but both agreed that no boat could have gone by unnoticed.
“And no man has come into the camp from below—no horseman?”
They all shook their heads. Their leader looked from one to the other keenly, trying to see if anything was concealed from him; but the honest faces of his men showed no suspicion of his own doubts.
He dismissed them, feeling it beneath his dignity to make inquiry as to the bearer of the mysterious letter; nor did he mention it again to William Clark. He knew only that some one of his men had a secret from his commander.
“The men will find Shannon and bring him in ahead—we can’t afford to wait here for them. The water is falling now,” said Clark. “We are doing our twenty miles daily. The men laugh on the line, for the bars are exposed, and they can track along shore easily. Suppose Shannon were out three days—that would make it sixty miles upstream—or less, for him, for he could cut the bends. I make no doubt that when he found himself out for the night he started up the river; even before this time. En avant, Cruzatte!” he called. “You shall lead the line for the first draw. Make it lively for an hour! Sing some song, Cruzatte, if you can—some song of old Kaskaskia.”
“Sure, the Frenchmans, she’ll lead on the line this morning, Capitaine! I’ll put nine, seven Frenchmans on the line, and she’ll run on the bank on her bare feet two hour—one hour. This buffalo meat, she make Frenchmans strong like nothing!”
“Go on, Frenchy!” said Patrick Gass, Cruzatte’s sergeant, who stood near by. “Wait until time comes for my squad on the line—’tis thin we’ll make the elkhide hum! There’s a few of the Irish along.”
“Ho!” said Ordway, usually silent. “Wait rather for us Yankees—we’ll show you what old Vermont can do!”