"What is it, Sergeant? Go ahead. Speak up, man."
"It's this way, sorr—Captain, sorr. Yez are the commandin' officers—ye an' Cap'n Clark, an' if yez say the south fork be the Missouri, o' course the Missouri it is, an' we'll all follow yez, sorr. Sure, all we're afraid of, sorr, is that we get down yonder at the foot o' the snowy mountains, an' on the other side there won't be anny C'lumby at all, sorr. But we'll go with yez, sorr, if that's where yez go. Thank yez, sorr." And Patrick saluted again, quite out of breath.
"Captain Clark and I will take the responsibility. We'll try the south fork, men," declared Captain Lewis. "Parade is dismissed."
"Thray cheers for the captains, boys," shouted Patrick Gass. And as the parade broke, into the air was flung every cap and hat and every voice rang true.
Immediately preparations were begun. The heavy baggage and the extra supplies were to be left here, and so was one of the pirogues. Men were set at work digging a large hole in which to store the goods. It was to be kettle shaped—small at the top, then hollowed out, round, until it was six or seven feet deep. The soil was dumped upon blankets and robes, and thrown into the river, so that there should be no trace of any digging, lest the Indians find and rob. The bottom and sides were to be lined with dry brush and hides, to keep the moisture from the goods. The storehouse was called a cache, from the French word, "cacher," to conceal.
