The Captain's Dog (5 page)

"Captain Lewis, sir?"

The Captain was so engrossed in the red book he had not seen Reed walk up, and was startled at the sound of Reed's voice. He looked up angrily. "What is it, Reed?"

"I left my knife at Council Bluff. I'd like to go back and fetch it."

Captain Lewis took a deep breath. "Yes, go ahead, but in the future be more careful. We can't be leaving our tools strewn all over the countryside."

"Yes, sir."

"And don't dawdle. I want you back before we leave tomorrow morning."

"Yes, sir. I'll be back bright and early."

I knew Private Moses Reed had not left his knife at Council Bluff. An hour earlier I had seen him carve his initials in a tree trunk with his knife.

August 11, 1804

Private Moses Reed has not returned from Council Bluff. Captain Clark and I are certain that he has deserted—one of our worst fears. We have sent Drouillard, Reubin Fields, and several other men to apprehend him, with orders to put him to death if he resists.

The search party will also make contact with the Otos again and see if Little Thief has returned from hunting buffalo.

This afternoon we walked up to an abandoned Omaha village above the river. Dorion told us that smallpox killed all the inhabitants....

"THE OMAHA were once a thriving nation," Dorion said to Captain Lewis as they surveyed the village. "Along with our trinkets we carried disease. Didn't turn out to be a very good trade for them, did it?"

The men poked around the ruins. Scattered inside the crumbling earth-mound lodges were woven baskets, grinding stones, arrowheads, and old skins stiffened by weather and neglect. Dorion pointed out a large mound with an eight-foot pole in the middle of it. He said an Omaha chief called Black Bird was buried there, mounted on his horse. The men attached an American flag to the pole.

On the outskirts of the village I picked up the scent of the skittish canine from Council Bluff. Her trail led me all the way back to our previous camp, where I discovered she and her pups had been feeding on our leftover food scraps. This time, though she didn't let me too near, she did not run away. I settled down to eat some scraps myself and to enjoy her company.

The following afternoon, as I rode with the Captain in the keelboat, the wild dog appeared on the bank and barked at us. The little fool!

"What is it?" Captain Clark asked.

"Too small for a gray wolf," Captain Lewis said. "Must be a prairie wolf—the gray's little cousin. Are those pups with her? Row the boat over so we can take a closer look."

The two pups were about twenty yards in back of her, huddled near some bushes. As we approached she turned and made a noise at them. They skedaddled, but she stayed right where she was.

The captains grabbed their rifles with the intention
of putting her in the collection. I could not allow that. I jumped into the water and began barking at her.

"No, Sea!" the Captain shouted.

I pretended I didn't hear him and continued barking and swimming toward her. This finally got her moving, but it didn't prevent the captains from firing their rifles. Fortunately they both missed. Captain Lewis was cross with me for the rest of the day.

August 15, 1804

Fish Camp. The course of the river has started to bop back on itself. On the 12th we made 18¾ miles by boat. After we set up camp that evening I sent a man on foot back to our previous camp, and he reported it was a mere 974 yards away by land
.

We have decided to stay here a few days to await the arrival of Drouillard and the other men. I do hope they have had success in apprehending Private Reed
.

Captain Clark and some of the men constructed a net out of willow bark. They dragged this trap down the stream and caught nearly 800 fish....

I WAS NOT
particularly fond of the fish the men were eating. I managed to snap up a couple mice, but this was not nearly enough to cure my hunger. By the second morning at Fish Camp I was near to starving and started thinking about all the meat we had left at the previous camp, which was only a few miles away. I also started thinking about that pretty little prairie wolf. I regretted not getting to know her better and wondered if she was still feeding at our abandoned camps.

An exhausted Private Labiche arrived at Fish Camp that evening. "We caught that scoundrel, Reed," he told the captains. "Drouillard and the others are about ten miles back and will bring him in tomorrow morning."

"What about Little Thief?" Captain Lewis asked.

"He'll be here, too, along with a couple other chiefs."

I was hoping that Reed had escaped or that he'd been shot by Drouillard.

"York, bring Labiche some fish," Captain Clark said. "Labiche, you've earned some rest. We'll send someone out early tomorrow to meet them and show them where we're camped."

That someone was Joseph Fields, and when he set off the next morning I went with him. I was none too eager to see Reed again, but I wanted to get my teeth into some of the meat we had left behind. And I was hoping I might run into my prairie wolf as well.

When we were about parallel with our previous camp, the crow with the white feathers called down to me from a tree. Joe continued walking without so much as a glance up at it. White Feather flew in the direction
of our old camp, and I followed. When I got to the camp, the crow was nowhere to be seen, but I did find some old meat to fill my belly. When I finished eating, I sniffed around and picked up the scent of my little prairie wolf who had been feeding on our leavings. And there was another scent as well—canine to be sure, but a different type from the prairie wolf. I followed this new scent confidently to the other side of the spit of land, which led me to another of our old camps.

When I got there, my bold confidence faded pretty quickly. The canines were gray wolves. The men had talked about these grays, but this was the first time I had seen them up close. They were three times bigger than the prairie wolf and there were nine of them in a circle around a pile of our old meat.

At first they didn't notice me, because they were too busy snarling at each other over the food. I thought about sneaking off, but just as I was about to back away, the biggest wolf perked his ears up and looked in my direction. I was bigger than he was, but I knew I wasn't a match for the whole pack. The big wolf and I locked eyes. I knew better than to turn tail and run. That would just get them excited and they would be on me faster than a falcon on a rabbit. I stood my ground, though my legs wanted to jump.

The big male made an odd sound deep in his throat and stood up. The other wolves stopped eating and
followed suit. He moved toward me on stiff legs, with his tail standing straight up like a flagpole. This was not a good sign—something I had learned from dogs on wharves along the Ohio. The other wolves followed a step or two behind him.

I allowed him to get within about five feet before letting out my best warning growl. He stopped in his tracks, which I was gratified to see, but some of the other wolves slunk around behind me. They kept their distance, but it was impossible to keep an eye on all of them at once, surrounded as I was. At that moment I wished I had wings! One of the wolves darted in behind me. I reeled around to face him, and another wolf came in from my rear. I whipped around again. There was only one thing to do.

I snapped at the smallest of the wolves, a young female. My vigor disrupted the circle, and in that second I dashed through the opening.

The pack pursued me. I knew that if I stopped or hesitated I was doomed. My stamina was as good as any wolf's in the pack, but they were faster and accustomed to pursuing game. They lunged at my flanks and snapped at my hind legs, trying to cripple me. The leader managed to get in front of me and went for my nose. I lowered my head and bulled him over.

After a mile, two of the wolves dropped back, but the others were still right on my tail. I felt my legs begin
to fail. I was going to have to stop and rest. I put on a burst of speed and pulled away from them, hoping to find a place I could put my tail against without them worrying me from behind, but there was no such place! They were going to take me in the open. Just as my legs started to go, I heard—

"
Caw! Caw! Caw!
"

White Feather swooped down upon us. At the time I wasn't certain if he was trying to help the wolves or hinder them, but his sudden appearance caused the leader to stumble, which threw the other wolves off the chase for a moment. And a moment was all I needed, because the next thing I heard were men's voices.

It was the Fields brothers.

"
Caw! Caw! Caw!
"

White Feather flew right to them, and my weak legs followed without breaking stride.

Startled at my sudden arrival, a couple of the Otos raised their war axes.

"Friend!" Drouillard shouted. "Friend! It's the Captain's dog."

I turned around, but the wolves were nowhere to be seen. Nor was White Feather.

"I wondered where you'd got off to," Joe said. "If I came back without you, the Captain would hang me along with our friend here."

I looked at Reed, as pleased as I ever would be to see
him, but it was clear he didn't feel the same way about me. His hands were tied behind his back and he looked as if he had been towed through a dry streambed.

As soon as we got back to camp, the court-martial commenced. Reed pleaded guilty to desertion and stealing a rifle, a shot pouch, powder, and balls. He was convicted and sentenced to run the gauntlet four times. He was also discharged from the permanent party. And for the rest of the summer he would travel in one of the pirogues with the French voyagers, with whom he would be sent back to Saint Louis in the spring. I was glad to hear this, as I wouldn't have to put up with him after that.

Captain Lewis, through Drouillard, explained the punishment to Little Thief and the other chiefs. "The men will form two lines facing each other, holding sticks. Private Reed will run this gauntlet four times while the men beat him with the sticks."

The chiefs were offended at the severity of the punishment and asked that Reed be pardoned. The captains stepped off by themselves to discuss the request.

"If we let him off this early in our journey," Captain Clark said, "I'm afraid it will set a poor example for the other men."

Captain Lewis nodded. "We are in for even harder times ahead. We must maintain discipline."

They walked back over to the chiefs and Drouillard.

"Tell the chiefs that desertion is our most serious offense," Captain Lewis said, so all the men could hear. "By his desertion Private Reed has not only jeopardized this expedition and wasted valuable time, he has also betrayed his fellow soldiers. Under our laws we could hang or shoot him for this. Running the gauntlet is the smallest penalty we can impose under the circumstances."

Little Thief and the other chiefs seemed to accept this. The men lined up in two rows.

I disliked Moses Reed, but watching him run the gauntlet was horrible. After his first time through, I slipped away, but I stayed within running distance of camp in case I met up with that pack of wolves.

August 19, 1804

After meeting with Chief Little Thief we are proceeding on. Reed is in the white pirogue, no doubt suffering greatly. Although he deserved every stroke, I still feel some measure of pity for him.

At the moment my greatest concern is Sergeant Charles Floyd, who is gravely ill. I am in the keelboat at his side as I write this. Captain Clark spent the entire night tending him and I am now doing what I can. He has a great deal of pain in his stomach region and all our attempts to relieve him have failed....

THROUGHOUT OUR
journey all the men suffered from various stomach ailments, but it was clear that Sergeant Floyd's sickness was something worse than a common bellyache.

Captain Lewis came out of the cabin and told the men to row the keelboat to shore.

"Start a fire and heat some water. I want to give Sergeant Floyd a warm bath to see if it will help him."

Captain Clark and York carried Floyd to shore and laid him next to the fire. "You'll be just fine," Captain Clark told him.

"I don't think so, Captain," Floyd said weakly. "I am going away. I want you to write a letter."

Before Captain Clark could get his writing things, Sergeant Floyd closed his eyes for the last time.

Above the shore was a high bluff. The men carried Floyd's body to the top, dug a deep hole, and lowered him into it. Captain Lewis read from his Bible and the men bowed their heads and prayed. When they finished filling the hole, Colter brought a piece of wood over to the mound to mark it.

"What should I write?" he asked the Captain.

"Something simple," Captain Lewis said sadly. "'Charles Floyd died here, 20 August 1804."'

Not far from the bluff was a small river, which the captains named Floyd's River in honor of the sergeant. A vote was held and the men elected Private Patrick Gass to take Floyd's place as sergeant.

The men were all affected by Floyd's death, but
none more than Captain Lewis, who blamed himself for the sergeant's passing.

"There must have been something I could have done to save him," he said to Captain Clark.

"You did all that you could, Meriwether."

The Captain did not believe it was enough.

August 23, 1804

After our recent loss, the men have been much out of spirits. But today we have something to celebrate—we shot our first buffalo....

Colter looks up from the red book. "Remember when I killed that buff? That cheered us some."

"I killed the first buff," Drouillard says.

"In your dreams, partner. I remember that day clearly..."

It was neither of them.

JOE FIELDS
ran into camp, shouting, "I killed me a buffalo! It's a huge beast!"