n the bank above them. The Bird Woman was mourning.

The little Indian dog, Meriwether Lewis's constant companion, now,
like Sacajawea, mercifully banished, sat at her side, as motionless
as she. Both of them, mute and resigned, accepted their fate.

But as for those others, those hardy men, now homeward bound, they
were rejoicing. Speed was the cry of all the lusty paddlers, who, hour
after hour, kept the boats hurrying down, aided by the current and
sometimes pushed forward by favorable winds. They were upon the last
stretch of their wonderful journey. Speed, early and late, was all
they asked. They were going home--back over the trail they had blazed
for their fellows!

"_Capitaine, Capitaine_, look what I'll found!"

They were halting at noonday, far down the Missouri, for the boiling
of the kettles. Lewis lay on his robes, still too lame to walk,
watching his men as they scattered here and there after their fashion.
It was Cruzatte who approached him, looking at something which the
voyager held in his hand.

"What is it, Cruzatte?" smiled Lewis.

He was anxious always to be as kindly as possible to this unlucky
follower, whose terrible mistake had well-nigh resulted in the death
of the leader.

"Ouch, by gar! She'll bite me with his tail. She's hot!"

Cruzatte held out in his fingers a small but fateful object. It was a
bee, an ordinary honey-bee. East of the Mississippi, in Illinois,
Kentucky, the Virginias, it would have meant nothing. Here on the
great plains it meant much.

Meriwether Lewis held the tiny creature in the palm of his hand.

"Why did you kill it, Cruzatte?" he asked. "It was on its errand."

He turned to his friend who sat near, at the other side.

"Will," he said, "our expedition has succeeded. Here is the proof of
it. The bee is following our path. They are coming!"

Clark nodded. Woodsmen as they both were, they knew well enough the
Indian tradition that the bee is the harbinger of the coming of the
white man. When he comes, the plow soon follows, and weeds grow where
lately have been the flowers of the forest or the prairie.

They sat for a time looking at the little insect, which bore so
fateful a message into the West. Reverently Lewis placed it in his
collector's case--the first bee of the plains.

"They are coming!" said he again to his friend.

CHAPTER XII

WHAT VOICE HAD CALLED?

They lay in camp far down the river whose flood had borne them on so
rapidly.