When William Clark returned from his three days’ scouting trip, his forehead was furrowed with anxiety. His men were silent as they filed into camp and cast down their knapsacks.
“It’s no use, Merne,” said Clark, “we are in a pocket here. The other two forks, which we called the Madison and the Gallatin, both come from the southeast, entirely out of our course. The divide seems to face around south of us and bend up again on the west. Who knows the way across? Our river valley is gone. The only sure way seems back—downstream.”
“What do you mean?” demanded Meriwether Lewis quietly.
“I scarce know. I am worn out, Merne. My men have been driven hard.”
“And why not?”
His companion remained silent under the apparent rebuke.
“You don’t mean that we should return?” Lewis went on.
“Why not, Merne?” said William Clark, sighing.
“Our men are exhausted. There are other years than this.”