There was quite a bit of news, time to time, from the White-bear Islands camp, where Patrick Gass and a few other men under Captain Lewis stayed to cover the frame of an iron canoe with skins. The bears were bad. Joe Fields had met three at once and had been chased into the river; had fallen, cut his hand and knee on the rocks and bent his gun. Drouillard and Reuben Fields had climbed a tree, and from it Drouillard had killed a bear with one shot through the head. The bear’s nose was as large as an ox’s, his front foot measured nine inches wide, his hind foot measured nearly twelve inches long, not counting the claws. That same night another bear entered the camp and carried away some of the buffalo meat. The little black dog was kept busy all the nights, growling and barking. “Dose islands full of bear,” said old Cruzatte. “I never know bear so mean. Mebbe if we don’ go in dere an’ clean dem out, dey eat some of us. I sleep on my gun de whole night.” “One good thing: that pesky swivel’s been cached at the foot of the first falls,” quoth Robert Frazier. “We don’t have to lug a cannon around any more.” By the last of June all the stuff had been moved from Portage Creek. But there had been a rain, making the trail soft; so part of the final two wagon-loads was dumped about four miles on the way, and camp was made, with the rest, at Willow Run Creek, two miles further along, inland from the Great Falls. In the morning everybody except Captain Clark, York, Peter, and the Chaboneau family went back, with one of the two carts, to bring on the baggage that had been left behind on the plain. “Wouldn’t Sa-ca-ja-we-a like to see the Great Falls?” asked the captain, kindly. The little Bird-woman grinned at the Red Head’s notice of her. He was, to her, a big chief. Of course she would like to see the wonders of this medicine river that roared. “I t’ink I like to see, myself,” ventured Chaboneau. “I been so busy I see notting yet.” And that was so, not only with Chaboneau, but with others of the men; for the Portage Creek end of the trail was below the falls and the White-bear Islands end was above the falls, and the trail itself cut across several miles from the river. “We’ll go over, while the baggage is being brought up,” said the captain. “York, you come if you want to.” He surveyed Peter――anxious Peter. “Peter, I’ll have to detail you to guard the baggage here. You must be a soldier. I’ll lend you my pistol. You won’t need to use it. But keep the stuff spread out to dry. We’ll be back soon. It’s only three or four miles.” Away they hastened, the Bird-woman carrying small Toussaint in a net on her back. Watching them go, Peter gulped. Was he never to see the roaring falls? Still, he felt proud to be left on guard, like any soldier.