In the last days of October, 1804, they halted for the winter at the Mandan villages, sixteen hundred miles from the Mississippi. So far the journey had been only fatiguing. Its real difficulties were just beginning. The winter was spent in making ready for the coming season's work, in hunting and exploring, and in talks with the Indians, from whom it was now learned that after many days' journey toward the setting sun, the white men would come to a gorge wondrous deep and wild, where the whole river plunged foaming down with thunderous roar. They even spoke with veneration of the solitary eagle which had built her nest in a dead cottonwood tree, among the mists of the cataract itself. With the early spring (1805) the party again set out in good health and spirits. Before doing so Captain Lewis sent back all but the bravest and strongest men, as he was now about to enter a region roamed over by predatory savages, whose friendship would be best secured by being always ready to fight them, for though brave, they would seldom attack a well-armed party of whites unless the advantage was on their own side. As they went on, each day found the navigation of the river growing more and more difficult. Sometimes they were forced to drag their canoes slowly along with the aid of towlines, or again to push them over shallow places or through dangerous rapids with poles. Their hunters kept them supplied with venison, bear and buffalo meat, which they were now mostly to live on for months to come. The Yellowstone was reached and passed. On the 26th of May the party came in sight of the Rocky Mountains,—a long line of snowy summits nestling among clouds. By the end of the month they were skirting the Black Hills, or _Côte Noire_ of the French traders. The river grew swifter now, and its bed thickly sown with rocks. Since leaving the Mandan villages no permanent habitations had been seen, though the travellers often came upon traces of some transient encampment where the ground would be strewed with the remnants of savage feasts. While the men were wearily dragging the boats on at a snail's pace through the river shallows, Captains Lewis and Clarke would be scouting the country in advance, rifle in hand. Whenever a bluff was climbed to gain a wider view, thousands upon thousands of buffaloes would be seen quietly feeding on the prairies, far as the eye could reach. Then at the evening halt, round the camp-fires, the events of the day would be noted down, its difficulties talked over, and the chances for the morrow discussed, over the joints of venison or bear-meat the hunters had brought in. At dark sentinels were posted. Relaxation gave way to discipline. Fresh logs were thrown on the blazing fires. The men stretched themselves on the ground in their blankets, and soon forgot the fatigues of the day. At dawn the camp was again astir. [Illustration: MANDAN SKIN-BOATS.] FOOTNOTES