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THE KINGDOM OF THE "WHITE BEARS"
April was ushered in by a great thunder-storm of
rain mingled with hail. That speedily cleared the river.
The rotted ice went swirling down, and soon from bank
to bank the Missouri was free.
"De trail is open," said old Cruzatte.
"How far to the Rock Mountains, Pat?" asked Peter.
"Another thousand miles, I hear tell. An' after that, another thousand miles to the big ocean."
"How do we get over the mountains, Pat?"
Pat scratched his carroty thatch, and reflectively rubbed his stubbled chin.
"Faith, an' I dunno. Trust to the commandin' officers, I guiss. That's the proper way for soldiers. We'll find a gate some'ers. There be some tremenjous falls to get around, fust, say the Injuns."
"Sa-ca-ja-we-a know," proudly asserted Chaboneau. "Her peoples lif dere, in ze mountains, beyond dose falls. She speak ze Snake tongue."
"I gwine to kill one ob dem white b'ars," boasted York.
All the fort was in a fever of impatience—the down-*river men to be on their way "back to the United States," as they expressed it; the up-river men to be
