of wild and unknown land, they met now casually, as though it
were only what should be expected. Their feat would be difficult even
today.

William Clark, walking up and down along the bank, looking ever
upstream for some sign of his friend, hurried down to meet the boats,
and gazed anxiously at the figure lifted in the arms of the men.

"What's wrong, Merne?" he exclaimed. "Tell me!"

Lewis waved a hand at him in reassurance, and smiled as his friend
bent above him.

"Nothing at all, Will," said he. "Nothing at all--I was playing elk,
and Cruzatte thought it very lifelike! It is just a bullet through the
thigh; the bone is safe, and the wound will soon heal. It is lucky
that we are not on horseback now."

By marvel, by miracle, the two friends were reunited once more; and
surely around the camp fires there were stories for all to tell.

Sacajawea, the Indian girl, sat listening but briefly to all these
tales of adventure--tales not new to one of her birth and education.
Silently and without question, she took the place of nurse to the
wounded commander. She had herbs of her own choosing, simple remedies
which her people had found good for the treatment of wounds. As if the
captain were her child--rather than the forsaken infant who lustily
bemoaned his mother's absence from his tripod in the lodge--she took
charge of the injured man, until at length he made protest that he was
as well as ever, and that they must go on.

Again the paddles plied, again the bows of the canoes turned
downstream. It seemed but a short distance thence to the Mandan
villages, and once among the Mandans they felt almost as if they were
at home.

The Mandans received them as beings back from the grave. The drums
sounded, the feast-fires were lighted, and for a time the natives and
their guests joined in rejoicing. But still Lewis's restless soul was
dissatisfied with delay. He would not wait.

"We must get on!" said he. "We cannot delay."

The boats must start down the last stretch of the great river. Would
any of the tribesmen like to go to the far East, to see the Great
Father? Big White, chief of the Mandans, said his savage prayers.

"I will go," said he. "I will go and tell him of my people. We are
poor and weak. I will ask him to take pity on us and protect us
against the Sioux."

So it was arranged that Big White and his women, with Jussaume, his
wife, and one or two others, should accompany the brigade down the
river. Lo