A gust of wind struck the sail, while Chaboneau was steering. Chaboneau lost his head, dropped the oar, began to cry aloud with fright. The canoe tilted, tilted, water flowed in――and over on its side turned the boat. The sail’s rope had been jerked out of Cruzatte’s hand.
“Seize de rudder, Toussaint! Ketch de rope――queeck! Pull on de sail! We all drown! Do de right t’ing or I shoot you!” ordered Cruzatte, scrambling along the gunwale.
Only young Sa-ca-ja-we-a was calm. Holding her baby, she reached right and left and gathered the articles that were floating off. In a moment more the canoe righted, but was full of water. Baling and rowing, the men got her beached just in time.
“Dat stupid Chaboneau! Hees wife is better man dan heem,” scolded Drouillard. “He near los’ all de fine instruments an’ de papers of the captains. Mebbe drown ever’body, too.”
As it was, a great deal of medicine had been spoiled by the soaking.
The six victors over the one bear brought him in at last. Because of the battle, this place was known as Brown-bear-defeated Creek.
“Wirrah, but tired I am!” groaned Patrick Gass.
It was June 3, and in the nineteen days they had come more than 300 miles from Brown-bear-defeated Creek. What with the constant wading and tugging to conquer the narrow, swift current and the strong head winds, well might all groan.
Night alarms had disturbed the camps. Once the men had been aroused only just in time to drag the captains’ hide lodge away from a spot upon which a burning tree was about to fall; and, again, a stupid buffalo bull had charged through, and only the little black dog had saved the camp from much damage.
But the Rock or Shining Mountains were nearer. On Sunday a week ago Captain Lewis, climbing a hill, had seen them, to the west. The Sho-sho-nes or Snake Indians might be expected any day. Their country was near, also.
Now the river had split: one branch for the north, one for the southward; and the captains did not know which branch to follow. So they ordered camp here at the forks, below present Fort Benton in north central Montana.
A travel-worn camp it was, too――of bearded, long-haired men, their buckskin and elk-hide suits shriveled by water, their moccasins in tatters, their hands blistered and their feet sore from rocks and the prickly-pear cactus.