el squaw, a tireless slave who dug his roots and made his garments, brought his wood and water, and, neglected, bore his children.
"Pilicans! pilicans!"
It was the voice of Patrick Gass, beyond the Little Sioux. A low sand island was covered with huge, white, web-footed beauties fishing in the chocolate Missouri.
When the scrimmage was over two handsome birds lay in the bateau, one, the queen of the flock, brought down by Lewis himself. She was a splendid specimen, six feet from tip to tip, pure white with a tinge of rose, and an enormous pouch full of fish under her bill.
"Out with the fish. Let us measure that pouch."
Lewis's enthusiasm was contagious. All hands gathered while he poured in water, five gallons.
"The average capacity is but two," said Captain Clark. "We must preserve this trophy."
To-day that beautiful bird, of strong maternal instincts, is the emblem of the State of Louisiana.
Again Lewis put the question, "What stream, Dorion?"
"Te Great Sioux! Two hundret mile to te Sioux Fall, an' beyont—almost to St. Peters."
A smile relaxed old Dorion's leathern face,—
"Below te Fall, a creek from te cliffs of red rock. All Indian get te peace-pipe. No battle dere, no war."
Of the famous red pipestone quarry old Dorion spoke, the beautiful variegated rock out of which resplendent Dakota cities should be built in the future.
"Te rock ees soft, cut it wit te knife, then hard and shining."
All tribes, even those at war, could claim asylum at the red pipestone. The Sioux came, and the Pawnee, to camp on its banks and fashion their calumets. The soft clay pipes, hardened into things of beauty, were traded from tribe to tribe, emblems and signals of peace. Captain Lewis himself had one, bought in St. Louis, brought down from that quarry by some enterprising French trader.
"Buffalo! buffalo! buffalo!" A grand sho
