All were now content to lie for a few days at the Shoshone village. A brisk trade in Indian horses now sprang up—they would be footmen no more.
“Which way, Sacajawea?” Meriwether Lewis once more asked the Indian girl.
But now she only shook her head.
“Not know,” said she. “These my people. They say big river that way. Not know which way.”
“Now, Merne,” said William Clark, “it’s my turn again. We have got to learn the best way out from these mountains. If there is a big river below, some of these valleys must run down to it. Their waters probably flow to the Columbia. The Indians talk of salmon and of white men—they have heard of goods which must have been made by white men. We are in touch with the Pacific here. I’ll get a guide and explore off to the southwest. It looks better there.”
“No good—no good!” insisted Sacajawea. “That way no good. My brother say go that way.”
She pointed to the north, and insisted that the party should go in that direction.
For a hundred miles Clark scouted down the headwaters of the Salmon River, and at last turned back, to report that neither horse nor boat ever could get through. At the Shoshone village, uneasy, the men were waiting for him.
“That way!” said Sacajawea, still pointing north.