August 17, 1805
I slept very little last night, worrying about what I will do if Captain Clark does not arrive today. What could be keeping him? Any number of things, I realize. It is so frustrating to wait here knowing that with each passing minute the Shoshones may bolt like frightened deer. They have been raided so many times in recent years, they trust no one. I cannot blame them. According to Cameahwait, their numbers have been greatly reduced from disease and starvation as well as war. They have been left with barely enough men of fighting age to defend themselves.
I sent Drouillard downriver with an Indian, hoping he can intercept Captain Clark and hurry him along....
"There's ink spilled over this page," Colter says.
"Pass me that canteen."
Drouillard hands it over.
CAPTAIN LEWIS spilled the ink when the brave who had accompanied Drouillard came running into camp yelling that there were white men in boats coming upriver.
Captain Lewis jumped to his feet. He didn't notice the ink he spilled because Chief Cameahwait had him in a bear hug. Though Captain Lewis hadn't understood the brave's words, he understood Cameahwait's enthusiasm and it was hard to say which of them was more excited. Captain Lewis could now get his horses and perhaps get through the mountains before winter set in. But Cameahwait had even more at stake. The arrival of Captain Clark meant he had not led his people into an ambush.
A few minutes later Captain Clark, Charbonneau, Bird Woman, and Drouillard walked into camp ahead of the men in the canoes. The Shoshones swarmed to Captain Clark. When Chief Cameahwait finished hugging him, the chief tied a bunch of seashells in Captain Clark's hair. Then Captain Lewis was finally able to cut through the crowd and reach his friend. The two men embraced and there were tears in the eyes of both.
I stood off to the side to save my paws from getting tramped upon. Bird Woman saw me and reached into her pouch for a dead mouse, which I swallowed in one gulp. She hunched down and turned so I could see Pomp. He seemed to have grown a great deal during our short separation. Bird Woman was going to have to make a bigger cradleboard to accommodate him soon. He grinned and laughed, and I gave him a wet lick across his brown face. I was about to give him another for good measure when Bird Woman squealed in delight, running toward a young Shoshone woman about her age. The women hugged and cried and laughed and cried and chattered in rapid Shoshone. I was able to understand enough of their conversation to learn that this was Bird Woman's friend Jumping Fish, the girl who had gotten away the day Bird Woman was captured by the Hidatsas.
The other Shoshones were too busy with Captain Clark to notice this reunion. Jumping Fish led Bird Woman away from the crowd. They took Pomp out of the cradleboard and while they talked, I played with him. I was surprised at how much I had missed him. I let him pull my fur and crawl around after me.
As we were playing, Charbonneau walked up and told Bird Woman that he had been looking for her. "We're ready to parley and we need you to speak Shoshone for us."
"We will talk again when I finish," Bird Woman said to Jumping Fish. "Will you watch my son while I'm gone?"
Everyone was already gathered beneath the awning when Bird Woman arrived with Charbonneau. The large circle of men stopped talking as she approached and sat down next to her husband with her head lowered. Captain Lewis explained that the words would flow from him in English to Labiche, from Labiche to Charbonneau in French, from Charbonneau to Bird Woman in Hidatsa, and from Bird Woman to the chief in Shoshone.
Bird Woman looked up and saw Cameahwait for the first time. Her eyes got wide and she yelled out, "Ah-ah-hi! Ah-ah-hi!" She jumped to her feet and rushed toward the chief. The captains stared at her in complete shock. Before they could stop her, she was in Cameahwait's arms.
For the next few minutes there was a great deal of confusion. Cameahwait and Bird Woman were hugging and crying, and the other Shoshones were on their feet jumping up and down as if they were standing on hot coals.
"What the devil is going on, Mister Charbonneau?" Captain Lewis asked, irritated that the dignity of his parley had been shattered.
"Well..." Charbonneau struggled to explain. "Well ... it seems—"
"Spit it out, man!"
"Chief Cameahwait is my wife's brother!"
"I thought he had been killed in the Hidatsa raid."
"Apparently not," Captain Clark said, grinning. "And if Cameahwait had any suspicion about our sincerity, this will certainly put an end to it."
Cameahwait continued hugging his sister. Tears flowed down his face and several of the Shoshones were now crying along with him.
After a time things settled down enough for the parley to begin, and they talked until after dark. Every once in a while Bird Woman would be overwhelmed with emotion and begin weeping, but she managed her part of the translation. Cameahwait promised to provide the party with as many horses as they needed. He also said that he would lead us to the trail the Indians used to cross the mountains.
August 18, 1805
Captain Clark rode off this morning with 11 men to scout the river and determine if we can ascend it with our canoes. From what we've heard, this now seems doubtful. The rest of the men are in camp with me, making saddles for the horses and preparing for our push over the mountains.
Cameahwait has promised to take us to the mountains, but not over them, as he has not been that way himself and he must head to the buffalo grounds soon to gather meat for the winter.
Today is my 31st birthday. I fear I have done little with my life to further the happiness of the human race. I view with regret the hours I have spent in indolence, and now wish I had those hours back to spend more wisely. I will endeavor to do better....
Colter shakes his head. "Now, isn't that just like the Captain? He's led us nearly all the way across the country, discovered dozens of new animals and plants, made friends with hundreds of Indians, and in the process lost only one man. And he thinks he hasn't done anything with his life?"
"It's a puzzlement, all right," Drouillard says. "But I guess that's just the way Captain Lewis is. What's he have to say next?"
August 29, 1805
We are ready for the mountains. We have 29 horses and the word of Old Toby that he will guide us.
The possibility of a Northwest Passage seems to have come to an end with the tremendous mountains we must cross. Captain Clark has returned with the belief that there are no navigable rivers through the mountains, so the primary objective of our journey cannot be fulfilled. This is not a failure on our part, but I am very disappointed, considering the hardships we have endured searching for something that does not exist.
Surprisingly, the men seem little bothered by this. Even Captain Clark does not seem overly concerned His only comment was, "life have solved a 300-year-old mystery. The answer is, there is no Northwest Passage. "He laughed heartily, as if this were the funniest irony he had ever heard.
The only thing that keeps me going and dulls the pain of this disappointment is my concern for the men. I pray the mountains will not take any of them and that there is ample food on the other side.
Old Toby is a frail old man, and I fear that he is not strong enough for a journey such as this. Fortunately his two sons are with him....
BENEATH OLD TOBY'S loose wrinkled skin was a core of iron that eventually put all the men to shame, but Captain Lewis was right to worry about our crossing.
The trails through the foothills leading to the mountains were steep and slippery. There was little food. Horses fell and tumbled down deep ravines. In our first few days we lost two horses from exhaustion and another was crippled and had to be shot.
When Old Toby's sons left to rejoin the Shoshones to hunt buffalo, Captain Lewis nearly begged them to stay.
"We cannot," one of them responded through Bird Woman. "We must help with the buffalo."
"You can return as soon as we get to the other side of the mountains."
"Winter may stop them from returning," Old Toby said. "What then?"
"We will pay them generously."
Old Toby shook his head. "My sons and their families cannot eat your gifts. I am too old to hunt. I will not be missed. I will take you over the mountains alone."
September 3, 1805
Two inches of snow on the ground. Sleet filling. Captain Clark shot four pheasants, which we divided among ourselves, along with some corn. Our guide eats virtually nothing. I caught him sharing his portion with my dog....
Colter shakes his head. "That Toby was one tough old cuss."
"He was that."
THAT TOUGH OLD CUSS saved me from starving. A few handfuls of bird guts would not have gotten me far.
When we moved from the foothills into the mountains, we met up with a group of Flathead Indians who were on their way to join the Shoshones to hunt buffalo. Their chief was named Three Eagles.
"We have been watching your tribe for the past several days," he explained in hand-talk. He pointed to York. "I thought this man was painted with black paint because you were going to war. But by the casual way your tribe was riding and the fact that you had a woman and child with you, I knew you were not a raiding party. So I decided to greet you as friends."
I'm not sure the captains understood how fortunate we were. Three Eagles had eighty warriors in his camp and could have easily overwhelmed us. Instead they fed us from their meager supply of food and shared information with the captains about what lay on the west side of the mountains.
Captain Lewis tried to trade for food, but Three Eagles's people had none to spare. They did have extra horses, though, and we'd ended up with several of them by the time the Flatheads proceeded downhill and we proceeded up.
That evening the hunters killed only two small birds, which we made into a stew with corn. Divided between so many, the meal was hardly worth the bother of cooking. Once again Old Toby shared his small portion with me.
Each day we encountered steeper terrain, narrower trails, and dropping temperatures. Food became a distant memory.
September 7, 1805
Raining. Cold.
September 9, 1805
Arrived at a stream we are calling Traveler's Rest because that is what we intend to do. Drouillard killed a deer, and another man an elk.
September 10, 1805
Sent the men out hunting. Snow on the ground. Very cold.
Colter looks at Mountain Dog and grins. "This was about the time I first laid eyes on you, Mountain Dog," he signs. "'Course you were just a boy then. You've filled out a mite over the years."
Mountain Dog smiles back. "I ran away from you," he signs.
"Like a jackrabbit."
I was with Colter. We were hunting, but most of the animals had moved down to the plains for the winter, so we were not having any luck.
I SAW WHITE FEATHER flying through the trees and I barked at him. Colter got excited. "What is it? You on to something, Sea? Let's go get it, boy!"
White Feather led us up a steep hill. Halfway to the top I picked up human scent. Not fresh, but not too old, either.
Colter sensed my interest. "You're on to it now, Sea," he said breathlessly. "Let's get that cuss!"
I hurried ahead. On top of the ridge was a pile of huge round boulders. Sitting cross-legged on the highest boulder was a young boy, maybe fourteen or fifteen years old. And except for the buffalo robe under his bottom, he was stark naked.
The wind was howling up on that ridge, snow blowing everywhere, but that boy looked as cozy as a pup suckling his mother. He had his eyes closed and was quietly singing something in a tongue I had never heard. White Feather was standing right in front of him. I sat below the boulder looking up at them, somehow knowing I had stumbled across something I wasn't supposed to disturb.
Colter slipped on an icy spot just as he topped the ridge, and let out a yell. The boy's head snapped up and his eyes locked on mine for a second or two and he smiled. But the smile disappeared when he saw Colter coming up behind me.
"What the devil?" Colter said. "I'll be a—"
The boy and the robe were up and gone before Colter could describe what he would be.
We searched for a good hour, but other than the boy's footprints in the snow we could find neither hide nor hair of him.
The boy was not the only Indian we saw that day. On our way back we came across three mounted Indians who seemed even less pleased to see us than the boy had been. Their faces were as taut as their bowstrings-all three of which were pointed right at Colter's heart.
"Flatheads," Colter said.
But I could tell they were from a different tribe altogether.
"Now, don't get riled," Colter said, and gave them his most charming grin, which had absolutely no effect on them. Their forearms began to tremble from the strain of the loaded bows. Colter laid his rifle on the ground. The Indians relaxed their pull but kept their arrows notched.
With very poor hand-talk Colter attempted to explain who he was and what he was doing on the mountain. The Indians didn't catch all of his meaning, but they understood enough to agree to follow us back to Traveler's Rest.
The captains smoked the pipe with the Indians and learned they were from the Nez Percé tribe, or the Nee-mee-poo as they call themselves, meaning "the people." The Nez Percé explained to the captains they were after a band of Shoshones who had stolen twenty-three of their best horses from their village on the west side of the mountain. Captain Lewis fed them, then asked if they would lead us to their village. He was still doubtful that Old Toby was up to the task.
The Nez Percé braves discussed the possibility among themselves, then signed to Drouillard that they had to pursue the thieves who stole their horses and they could not delay.
"Sorry, Captain," Drouillard said.
"We have to convince at least one of them to take us over, Drouillard! I don't think that Old Toby is up to the task. Ask them again. Tell them we'll give them gifts when we reach their land safely."
Drouillard tried again. Finally one of the braves said he would guide us, but he seemed to agree more out of politeness than desire.
September 11, 1805
No meat taken today. The Nez Percé who agreed yesterday to guide us over the mountains was gone this morning and has not returned, so we are still relying on Old Toby to take us across....
I WAS NOT SURPRISED the brave had a change of heart. After his friends left he sat around camp looking forlorn and confused. I saw him get up in the middle of the night, load his horse, and leave, making no more noise than a mouse walking on damp moss. I let out a couple of barks when he left, but the men were too cold to crawl out from beneath their blankets and look.
The next day the most difficult part of our journey began. The hillsides were covered with downed trees, snow, and slick ice. I was as cold as I had ever been in my life. The frigid air burned my eyes, the ice froze on my muzzle, and the snow balled up between my toes, making each step a painful ordeal. As cold and miserable as I was, it was nothing compared to what the men endured. Swathed in blankets and furs, they plodded ahead in hungry silence, knowing if they stopped moving the cold would consume them. On the narrower ledges the men had to get off and lead their terrified mounts across, but the horses still slipped and fell, sometimes all the way to the bottom of the hill. Wearily, the men followed the horses down, picking up spilled gear on the way, catching and repacking the animals, then starting back up again from where they had started. The delays caused the party to string out along the trail for miles. Some of the men didn't arrive in camp until well after dark, when they found the men who had gotten there earlier fast asleep.
September 13, 1805
A few of our horses strayed this morning, causing further delays. Four grouse and one poor deer for dinner. Camped at a hot springs....
I STAYED IN FRONT of the fray with Old Toby—out of range of the men's foul tempers, which were not improved by their empty bellies. We were the first to arrive at the hot springs, which were something I had never seen before. At first I mistook the steam rising in the cold air for smoke and thought the pools were on fire. I barked in alarm. Old Toby smiled at my apprehension, then took his clothes off, and to my surprise sat down in one of the pools with a satisfied sigh.
While he bathed I dug around the old campfires and found some bones to chew. When I had harvested everything I could find I joined Old Toby in the pool, and that's when the first men stumbled into camp and found us. They were too tired to take their clothes off and partake of the soothing water, but a few of them managed the strength to shed their moccasins and soak their swollen feet.
September 14, 1805
Rain, hail. Horses and men very fatigued. Killed a colt to eat.
September 15, 1805
Old Toby got us lost.
September 16, 1805
Eight inches of snow on the ground, making it very difficult to follow the trail. There is no water up here so at night we boil snow over the fires. Killed our second colt....
OLD TOBY ONLY made that one mistake in all our time in the mountains. He hadn't been over the mountains in ten years, and he got a little confused by the fallen trees and snow on the ground.
He didn't discover his mistake until we had gone four miles, and compensated for it by leading us up an incredibly steep, tree-strewn hillside to the top of a high ridge, with the men grumbling all the way.
"Looks different now," was his only comment when Captain Lewis asked him why he had led us astray.
The next afternoon I joined Captain Clark and Colter as they forged ahead of the main party to find a good campsite and start the fires. As they brushed against the trees on the narrow trail, small icy avalanches tumbled onto their heads and down the necks of their shirts. By the time we found a likely site both men were nearly frozen. It was a wonder they could get the fires started with their numb hands.
"We have to get off this mountain," Captain Clark said through chattering teeth.
A few hours later the men began to straggle in, looking as grim and haggard as I had ever seen them. They squatted around the fires in wooden silence, watching steam rise from each other's buckskins.
Captain Clark killed the second colt and started the red flesh roasting.
The next day and night were much the same. The men grew weaker with every passing hour. The horses' legs trembled from lack of food, from strain, and from terror at the dizzying heights along the narrow slippery trails. Several fell, smashing the fragile loads as they tumbled down the steep embankments. The men killed the last colt.
"We can't continue like this," Captain Clark said. "We'll never make it to the other side."
Captain Lewis looked around the camp at the men and nodded. "What do you suggest?"
"I don't like to split up, but I think one of us should go ahead with our best hunters. Try to reach the west side, where there must be more game, or at least Indians we can buy food from."
Captain Lewis nodded wearily. "I'll stay back."
"We'll travel light. I'll try to get food back up to you as soon as I can."
The Captain looked at the men again. "You had better, old friend, or we won't need it."
September 18, 1805
Captain Clark has gone ahead. No food. Our spirits very low.
I KNEW THAT IF I didn't get some food soon I wouldn't have the strength to get through the mountains. I joined Captain Clark and the hunters. We made a forced march of more than thirty miles, up and down the difficult terrain. At the end of that terrible day we were rewarded with a view far below us of an immense green plateau.
"We should reach it by tomorrow," Captain Clark predicted.
Early the following morning we proceeded on. Reubin Fields caught a horse in a glade and brought it to Captain Clark.
"Shoot it," Captain Clark ordered. "We'll eat some and leave the rest for Captain Lewis and the others."
The next day we reached the plain and came upon three young Nez Percé boys playing with toy bows. As soon as they saw us they ran like antelope and hid themselves, but I found the frightened boys easily in the tall grass.
Captain Clark gave them some trinkets, which helped soothe their nerves. They led us to their village with their shoulders thrown back and their bony chests stuck out, like the proud warriors they would one day become.
The camp was filled with women, children, and old men. They explained through hand-talk that their men were away on a raiding party, but they expected them back soon.
Captain Clark asked for food and we were given baskets of camas root—a bulblike plant the men found delicious. I was famished but could not make myself eat the plant. I started sniffing around for something else to fill my belly.
A couple of Indian dogs followed me as I rambled through the village, but they kept their distance because I was considerably bigger than they were, despite having lost some of my bulk crossing the mountains.
The Nez Percé lodges were made of poles overlaid with bark mats. Outside the lodges were piles of camas and other roots, and I reckoned we were in a temporary camp set up to gather these roots in the nearby meadows.
"You," someone called in French, "big dog..."
I was surprised to hear this language. The Nez Percé who greeted us had said we were the first white men they had laid eyes on.
"Over here..."
The words came from a very old woman sitting on a log outside a lodge. I walked over to her.
"I have heard of you, big dog," she said.
I was pondering how this could be when a teenage boy stepped out of her lodge into the bright sun rubbing his eyes. He looked a bit different with clothes on, but there was no mistaking him—it was the same boy Colter and I had discovered up on the mountain. When the boy saw me, he started jumping up and down, screaming and pointing at me. His wild gesticulating frightened me, and I was on the verge of running off, but he beat me to it, disappearing behind the lodge as fast as he had on the day we first saw him.
The old woman started laughing. When she stopped she said, "The others said my grandson couldn't have seen a big black dog during his quest for his wyakin. They said he must have seen a wolf, but you look more like a bear to me. I will call you Yahka—Black Bear.
"By showing yourself here, you have made my grandson very happy. For that you deserve some salmon. Come with me, Yahka."
I had not heard the word salmon before, but I hoped it meant food. The word wyakin was also new. I learned later it meant "spirit guide." When the Nez Percé reach a certain age they go to a sacred place to fast and pray until they are visited by an animal spirit who will guide them throughout their lives.
I followed the old woman over to a long scaffold made of sticks. Hanging on the sticks were dozens of colossal fish, split in two lengthwise, drying in the sun. She threw one down on the ground in front of me.
"Eat."
I was not fond of fish, but my hunger drove me to try the orange flesh. To my relief it had a different taste than the fish I had eaten previously, but was a far cry from buffalo, deer, and elk flesh.
"You had better get used to salmon," she said. "It is all you will be eating for a long time."
I did get used to it. But my taste for it was not shared by our tribe, which was a shame, as there was enough of this fish drying on the scaffolds in this one camp to feed them for several months.
Halfway through my salmon the boy returned with an old man and a group of boys, pointing at me and shouting excitedly as he approached. The old man grinned as he watched me eat, then said something to the boy.
From that day on they called the boy Mountain Dog. He and I were to become very good friends.