“She seems to go in long sweeps, the old Missouri,” said John, pointing with his finger.
“First we went almost west, to Kansas City, Missouri. Then almost north, to Sioux City, Iowa. Then northwest to Pierre, South Dakota, and then north to Bismarck, North Dakota. Then she runs strong northwest to the Yellowstone, and then straight west to here. From here she takes one more big angle, and runs almost south to the Three Forks.”
“Look it!” pointed Jesse. “She starts below Forty, at St. Louis, and goes north almost to Forty-nine, and then she drops down again to Forty-five at the Three Forks. And Lewis had observations on latitude and longitude right along. Wonder what he thought!”
“He did a great deal of thinking,” said Rob. “He had the conviction that so great a river must run deep into the Rockies—he insisted on that. Then he had the Indians at Mandan to give him some local maps. And he had Sacágawea, worth more than them all for local advice in a tight place where no one else had been ahead. It’s wonderful, if you study it, to see how he made all those things work together, and how he used his brains and his reason all the way across. Even about his pet portable boat, he didn’t sit down and cry. He did the next thing.”
“And proceeded on!”
“And proceeded on, yes.”
“Well,” concluded Jesse, “even if my eagle and my island are gone, I suppose I’ll have to admit that this place is the real portage. They saw the Rockies right along now. They threw those canoes into the high, too!”
“Tracking and poling, pretty soon now, and a fine daily average,” nodded Rob. “And now I don’t suppose that we need just feel that we’ve funked anything by not sticking to our boat all the time, and taking a pack train here; because Clark or Lewis, or both of them, and a good many of the men, walked a lot of the time from here, hunting and scouting and figuring on ahead.”