of fixing
himself upon one of the upper branches of the Columbia. What had become
of him and his party was unknown. The most intense anxiety was felt
concerning them, and apprehensions that they might have been cut off
by the savages. At the time of Mr. Hunt's arrival at St. Louis, the
Missouri Company were fitting out an expedition to go in quest of Mr.
Henry. It was to be conducted by Mr. Manuel Lisa, the partner already
mentioned.

There being thus two expeditions on foot at the same moment, an unusual
demand was occasioned for hunters and voyageurs, who accordingly
profited by the circumstance, and stipulated for high terms. Mr. Hunt
found a keen and subtle competitor in Lisa, and was obliged to secure
his recruits by liberal advances of pay, and by other pecuniary
indulgences.

The greatest difficulty was to procure the Sioux interpreter. There was
but one man to be met with at St. Louis who was fitted for the purpose,
but to secure him would require much management. The individual in
question was a half-breed, named Pierre Dorion; and, as he figures
hereafter in this narrative, and is, withal, a striking specimen of the
hybrid race on the frontier, we shall give a few particulars concerning
him. Pierre was the son of Dorion, the French interpreter, who
accompanied Messrs. Lewis and Clark in their famous exploring expedition
across the Rocky Mountains. Old Dorion was one of those French creoles,
descendants of the ancient Canadian stock, who abound on the western
frontier, and amalgamate or cohabit with the savages. He had sojourned
among various tribes, and perhaps left progeny among them all; but his
regular, or habitual wife, was a Sioux squaw. By her he had a hopeful
brood of half-breed sons, of whom Pierre was one. The domestic affairs
of old Dorion were conducted on the true Indian plan. Father and sons
would occasionally get drunk together, and then the cabin was a scene of
ruffian brawl and fighting, in the course of which the old Frenchman
was apt to get soundly belabored by his mongrel offspring. In a furious
scuffle of the kind, one of the sons got the old man upon the ground,
and was upon the point of scalping him. "Hold! my son," cried the old
fellow, in imploring accents, "you are too brave, too honorable to
scalp your father!" This last appeal touched the French side of the
half-breed's heart, so he suffered the old man to wear his scalp
unharmed.

Of this hopeful stock was Pierre Dorion, the man