“Sacajawea,” said Meriwether Lewis, when the hour for departure came, “I am now going to finish my trail. Do you want to go part way with us? I can take you to the village where we started up this river—St. Louis. You can stay there for one snow, until Big White comes back from seeing the Great Father. We can take the baby, too, if you like.”
Her face lighted up with a strange wistfulness.
“Yes, Capt’in,” said she, “I go with Big White—and you.”
He smiled as he shook his head.
“We go farther than that, many sleeps farther.”
“Who shall make the fire? Who shall mend your moccasins? See, there is no other woman in your party. Who shall make tea? Who shall spread down the robes? Me—Mrs. Charbonneau!”
She drew herself up proudly with this title; but still Meriwether Lewis looked at her sadly, as he stood, lean, gaunt, full-bearded, clad in his leather costume of the plains, supporting himself on his crutch.
“Sacajawea,” said he, “I cannot take your husband with me. All my goods are gone—I cannot pay him; and now we do not need him to teach us the language of other peoples. From here we can go alone.”
“Aw right!” said Sacajawea, in paleface idiom. “Him stay—me go!”
Meriwether Lewis pondered for a time on what fashion of speech he must employ to make her understand.