The Captain's Dog (10 page)

All during this disaster Bird Woman was as calm as could be. With Pomp strapped on her back, she had gathered every paper and box within reach, saving a great many items from being swept away in the current.

"Unload the supplies," Captain Lewis said. "We'll camp here until everything has dried." He looked at
the only remaining passenger through narrowed eyes. "Charbonneau, I'd like a word with you."

Charbonneau, still holding the rudder, did not budge. Captain Lewis ignored him for the moment and began taking his instruments out of their cases and drying them. Eventually Charbonneau gathered enough courage to wade across the boat to shore. Bird Woman had a wry smile on her face as she spread the papers she had saved on the ground and weighted them with rocks.

"Looks like we'll be getting
boudin blanc
for the next few days," Private Shannon said.

Every time Charbonneau got in trouble he made his specialty,
boudin blanc,
or buffalo sausage—Captain Lewis's favorite dish. After a few plates of sausage the Captain always seemed to forget what inspired Charbonneau to make it in the first place.

"Come with me, Mister Charbonneau," Captain Lewis said.

Charbonneau hung his gray head and followed.

That same afternoon I picked up a scent I hadn't smelled since I was with Brady. It brought back happy memories of grand chases with few consequences.

At every dock along the Ohio River there were fish, and where there were fish, there were nimble cats. I didn't expect to find a cat out here, but the scent was unmistakable. I followed it for a couple miles to a cave
above the river. The space was too narrow for me to squeeze through, but I didn't let this stop my fun. I stuck my head inside the cave and barked as loudly as I could.

Something rushed me from the dark cavern, hissing like no cat I'd ever heard before. I backed away, and a cat nearly as large as I was burst through the opening with such force it over jumped me by fifteen feet. She turned around in midair and landed, facing me in a crouch. Her eyes were fiery yellow, her fur was the color of antelope, and her snarling teeth were sharp. But what had me most worried were her unsheathed claws. I had been swiped a time or two on the nose, but these daggers were big enough to turn me into a pile of Charbonneau's
boudin blanc.
Cats were not supposed to come in this size! It just wasn't natural.

I thought once again of the river, knowing that cats do not like the water any more than wolves do. Unfortunately the enormous cat was in my way. Her thick, black-tipped tail lashed back and forth as if it were tied to a string from the sky.

Just then a rifle discharged below us with a loud bang. The cat jumped at the sound and I launched myself past her, landing on my chin and rolling all the way to the bottom of the hill, where I stopped at Colter's feet.

"What is it?" Colter looked around in terror, recharging his rifle as fast as I've ever seen a man do it.
"Grizzly?" He swung the rifle in the direction of the hill.

The cat was not there.

"Sea, you've got to stop surprising people like that," Colter said, relaxing a little. "It's not funny. You'll get your head blown off."

He walked over to the deer he had shot and quickly gutted it. I stared up the hillside, shivering like an Indian rattle.

"Aren't you hungry, boy?"

I was, but I didn't even look at the pile of guts. My full attention was on the hill.

"Suit yourself," Colter said, hefting the deer over his shoulder. "I'm heading back to camp before the others get all the
boudin blanc
."

I stuck to Colter like hot tree pitch, glancing behind me all the way back to camp.

May 19, 1805

Two nights ago the tree directly above our lodge caught fire. If it hadn't been for my dog warning us, everyone inside would have perished. As soon as we crawled out, fiery branches fell on top of our shelter and collapsed it.

And today I am afraid my fine dog might die. One of the men wounded a beaver and Sea jumped into the water to retrieve it. The beaver bit him on the leg, severing an artery, and he has lost a great deal of blood. I have stemmed the flow, but he is doing poorly. I fear his luck has run out....

GRIZZLIES, WOLVES,
the enormous cat—but it was a beaver that nearly did me in.

Cruzatte shot the beaver from the bow of the pirogue, and not having the best eyesight of the men, he only wounded it. I was onshore at the time and, fearing that the beaver was going to escape, I jumped in the
water after it The beaver's hind leg was broken and I easily overtook it, but as I was about to take hold, the beaver dived and took hold of me! It bit my leg deep with its razor-sharp teeth and the water turned pink with my blood. By the time I got to shore my strength was gone and I couldn't get to my feet.

Captain Lewis directed the pirogue to shore and was out of the boat twenty feet before it landed, splashing his way to where I lay.

"Get the medical kit!"

The next thing I remember I was in the lodge. It was dark, except for a single flickering candle. My head was in the Captain's lap. He was sound asleep, with his hand resting on my head and the red book open on the blanket covering me. My leg was wrapped up tight and it hurt terribly.

The next morning the Captain would not allow me to stand up. He carried me to the pirogue wrapped in that blanket and told the men to take it easy on the water so I didn't get bumped around—a command impossible to obey.

For the next few days I rode in the boat and the Captain wouldn't let me put any weight on my sore leg. My luck had not run out, though. I recovered well and it wasn't long before I had so much energy built up I could not stay still. When the men weren't looking I jumped into the river, swam to shore, and found
Captain Lewis. I thought he might be cross when he saw me, but instead he laughed.

"So you gave them the slip?" He scratched my head. "I thought you might when you felt up to it."

The leg healed, but it has never been quite the same since.

May 26, 1805

Today I beheld the Rocky Mountains for the first time. I could see only a few of the snow-covered peaks above the horizon, but with the sun reflecting off them they were a wonderful sight to see. I could hardly contain my pleasure, knowing that we are now nearly at the end of the Missouri River, but this pleasure in seeing the mountains is somewhat confounded by my fear of crossing them. I know it is a crime to anticipate evil, so I am trying to imagine an easy passage through those peaks....

THE MOUNTAINS
were whiter and taller than any of us could have imagined, and Captain Lewis stared at them until sunset. He was right to worry about getting through them, but before we reached the mountains we would face a number of other dangers. Like the lone buffalo who stampeded our camp one night.

Since my injury I had been sleeping toward the back
of the lodge, next to Captain Lewis, where it was warmer. Because of this I didn't hear the buffalo swim across the river, clamber over the white pirogue, smash York's rifle, and damage the blunderbusses.

What I did hear was
Caw! Caw! Caw!
My eyes snapped open at the familiar call, then I heard Charbonneau, who had sentry duty that night, shout. I was up in an instant, scrambling past the captains, Drouillard, Bird Woman, and Pomp. By the time I got through the flap the buffalo was charging right through the middle of camp.

The big brute ran straight for our lodge, where the Captain and the others were still stumbling around inside. I ran at the buffalo head-on, as I'd seen the wolves do on many occasions. Just as we were about to collide I stepped to the side and bit into the buffalo's ear. The beast veered to the left, missing the lodge by five feet, and I went for a wild ride until I remembered to unclench my jaws. When I stopped somersaulting over the rough ground and looked up, the buffalo was gone.

"His hoof didn't land a foot from my durn head!"

"I thought it was a grizzly!"

"Lucky some of us weren't killed!"

"The dog saved the captains' lives!"

"I saw him! He went right for that bull!"

"Hung on to him like a prickly pear!"

The captains walked down to the white pirogue with torches to survey the damage. Everyone followed.

"Who was on sentry duty?" Captain Lewis asked.

This quieted everyone down. The men looked at Charbonneau.

"You didn't hear the buffalo coming over the top of the pirogue?" Captain Lewis asked.

"No, I did not."

"I see." Captain Lewis looked at the other men. "Did you men see the buffalo running through camp?"

They all nodded.

"Was it wearing moccasins on its hooves?"

Colter whispered to Shannon, "Looks like we're in for some more of that
boudin blanc.
"

June 1, 1805

Our passage has been very difficult the past few days. It is cold and rainy. On either side of us are enormous white cliffs. There is no shore to speak of below the cliffs, and what little ground there is, is so slippery the men have to take off their moccasins while they use the towlines to pull the pirogues through. Their feet have been terribly cut up by the sharp rocks. They spend a good deal of the day up to their armpits in the icy water, pulling the boats. Tomorrow I will take a party of men ashore to shoot buffalo and elks. I need the skins to stretch over the iron frame of our new boat....

I look at Drouillard to see if he remembers this day. If he does, he shows no sign of it.

CAPTAIN LEWIS
had taken a number of men ashore with him, including Drouillard and Charbonneau, who had
once again gotten back into the Captain's good graces with a plateful of
boudin blanc.

The men split up into pairs and I decided to ramble with Drouillard and Charbonneau. Drouillard shot three elk and two buffalo. Charbonneau missed four buffalo and two elk We were headed back to camp with the skins when White Feather showed up.

"
Caw! Caw! Caw!
"

Drouillard and Charbonneau payed no attention to White Feather, but I knew better than to ignore his warnings. I stopped, put my nose up in the air, and picked up the scent of a grizzly coming our way. I started barking.

"Shut up, dog!" Charbonneau said.

I paid him no mind.

Drouillard looked in the direction I was facing. "Is your gun charged?" He asked Charbonneau.

"Of course it is."

"Good. I suspect you're going to need it presently. If I'm not mistaken, this is Sea's bear bark."

Charbonneau's eyes bulged. "Where?"

"There." Drouillard pointed to a small rise in the distance. The grizzly was just topping it. The wind was blowing our scent in his direction and he stood up to get a better whiff. "Here he comes." Drouillard dropped his skins and unslung his rifle.

The grizzly ran straight at us. Charbonneau looked
as if he might explode with fear. When the grizzly was a hundred yards away Charbonneau fired his rifle into the air.

"What do you think you're doing?" Drouillard asked, without taking his eyes off the charging bear.

Charbonneau was too frightened to answer.

"Better reload your gun," Drouillard said. "And make it quick."

Charbonneau ran. I wanted to join him but wasn't about to leave Drouillard alone.

"Guess I'm going to have to make this shot count," Drouillard said calmly. He waited until the grizzly was fifty feet away before firing. The bear reared back on its haunches and was dead before it hit the ground. "Think I hit it in the eye."

The left eye, as it turned out.

June 3, 1805

We are camped at a fork in the Missouri. One of the branches appears to flow from the west, while the other flows from the south. Unfortunately the Hidatsas, who have been here before us, did not mention this second river and I do not know which one leads to the Great Falls. I sent two teams to scout ahead. They just reported in. Their opinion is that the right branch is the Missouri and the left branch is another river. The men's belief is based on the direction from which the right branch flows and on the color of the water, which is same color as the water we have been traveling on.

Captain Clark and I believe that the left branch is the correct river. The river stones in the left branch are typical of those found in rivers flowing directly from the mountains, as is the color of the water, which is somewhat clearer in the left branch.

If we take the wrong river there is a good chance we will perish this winter....

CAPTAIN CLARK
walked into the lodge and sat down. "What do you think, Meriwether?"

"Let's look at the map again."

Captain Clark unrolled the map of the river the Hidatsas had helped him draw at Fort Mandan. It did not show a fork in the Missouri. "How far do you think we are from the Great Falls?"

"I thought we were close, but now I'm not sure. I expected the scouts to find it today. If we follow the wrong river we will not find the Shoshones and their horses, which means we will not get over the mountains before winter."

"We have to get over those mountains before the snow comes," Captain Clark said. "What do you suggest?"

"I think our only choice is to scout farther up both rivers. Tomorrow I'll lead a team up the right branch for a day and a half. You'll lead a team up the left for the same amount of time. One of us is bound to find the Falls."

Early the next morning we headed up the right branch, which Captain Lewis named Maria's River, after his cousin Maria. With us were Drouillard, Sergeant Pryor, and Privates Shields, Windsor, Cruzatte, and Lepage.

The shore along the river was covered in prickly pear, which slowed our progress considerably.

After a day and a half of painful walking, the
Captain still wasn't sure, so we continued on another half day. That evening he concluded that the river could not be the Missouri because it appeared to flow too far to the north.