though a number of the Indians stood by and refused to help.
“We may be in for a spot of trouble,” Thompson announced to his men. “The worst of the cascades are just ahead.” He nodded to Pareil. “Take four armed men and follow with Mr. Stuart as best you can whilst the rest of us hasten to get our canoe beyond those rapids. We’ll return to help you.”
Quickly fastening a line to their canoe, the men on the riverbank guided it through the water until the rocks were too numerous and they were forced to drag it ashore and uphill beyond the rapids, then down once more to the water. There they found a tremendous flat rock thrusting out into the river. Protected from attack on three sides, they felt much safer. Thompson ordered Peter and Boulard to stay behind and guard the canoe while he and the rest of the men returned to Stuart. Before they could leave, however, across the river, on a steep slope, three rows of warriors appeared. They were armed with bows and arrows.
“Monsieur,” Charles hissed, “I am thinking these use arrows that have poison.”
Thompson scarcely turned his head. “Take your places about three feet apart and choose your man. Their arrows are notched, but don’t fire unless they raise them and pull.”
The minutes slid by with agonizing slowness, and Peter’s arms ached with holding the heavy musket straight out in front of him. Mosquitoes buzzed in front of his eyes and landed in the sweat on his face, but he forced himself to ignore them as all the men did. Everyone remained absolutely still.
CHAPTER 18
It must have been a full half-hour before the Indians began to move back up the slope behind them and the muskets could be lowered. There was a bit of shaky laughter as each man hastened to slap the bugs on his face and hands.
Almost immediately, Thompson and his voyageurs disappeared to help the men of Fort Astoria. For Peter the wilderness around them had become too quiet, and he wished now he had been one of those chosen to help. Perhaps the Natives hadn’t left and would attack the men as they dragged the dugouts.
As the minutes passed, Boulard, too, became anxious, and to Peter’s horror, he said, “It is safe here. I will go only a small way to look over the rocks to find our friends.”
Peter nodded, heart in his throat, and then grinned in relief when a dugout appeared, followed by another and another, each dragged by eight men. When all were safe on the rock ledge, Stuart dropped down to sit at its edge and pull off his boots and socks. Dangling his feet in the water, he spoke glumly. “We hid the last boat as best we could, and I say to the devil with it. There’s naught in it worth risking a life to save.”
As Peter expected, the mapmaker didn’t agree. “No matter a man’s colour, he should not profit by evil and treachery.”
The next morning, when Peter awoke to the sound of an axe splitting wood, he was told that Thompson and Stuart had taken seven of the men down the river to retrieve the boat left behind.
“Me, I believe they are troubled in the head,” Boulard said as he stirred the fire. “But David, he would leave nothing behind for those who do wrong.”
As the sun brightened the hills, the dugout and the men appeared. After a quick breakfast of boiled salmon, they were on their way. For Peter it wasn’t soon enough.
Two very small canoes, each paddled by two young warriors, began to follow less than an hour after the brigade pushed out into the river. They called out words Peter didn’t understand and were answered by a chorus of voices coming from the trees ahead at the edge of the water. The river was almost a thousand yards wide now, but the current running against them was strongest in the middle, making it necessary at times to paddle uncomfortably close to the shore.
“No need for concern,” Thompson told his men. “I recall we have five miles or more of flooded meadowland along this river. Those in the woods can’t attack us from beyond the floods. The arrows wouldn’t reach us.”
“And those behind,” Pareil added with a chuckle, “the current would push them back if they lifted their paddles to favour us with an arrow in the back.”
So they were safe for now, Peter thought, but what if the Indians followed them to where the meadows weren’t flooded? He had scarcely finished thinking about that possibility when he saw a stand of pines on a slim spit of high land stretching far out into the river. From that bit of dry land and from the canoes following the brigade, voices called back and forth almost without stopping as the brigade drew near. About a hundred yards from that place of easy ambush, Thompson called out an order. With the paddlers pulling hard against the current that was now broadsiding them, the five boats made an abrupt turn and angled for the opposite shore. Cries of rage and disappointment from the shore floated after them, inspiring large amounts of hilarity among Peter’s companions.
Two days later, after an almost sleepless night of swatting mosquitoes and tiny flies, Peter could only grin wearily when they reached a village of friendly Shawpatin Indians. It was here that Stuart decided he would wait for the overland brigade he was supposed to meet. “I believe I’ll arrange a trade for lighter boats,” he said.
“Of course,” Thompson agreed. “I’m certain your overland people will have no trouble finding you here.”
Peter hid his grin, knowing the mapmaker was aware Stuart wanted the Nor’Westers to get ahead so he could go on to the place where he was to build a trading post. Judging by Stuart’s red face, he, too, knew Thompson hadn’t been fooled. Nevertheless, the two men shook hands, and there were shouts of “Au revoir” until they were out of sight.
Peter’s spirits were high as the men paddled easily up the sand-bottomed side of the fast-flowing river. “We’re going home,” he whispered in Dog’s ear. Tentatively, he put his hand on her head and was rewarded with a rumble deep in her throat. With a sigh Peter put his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands and peered down at the dog. She glanced up at him once, then looked away.
Behind Peter, Boulard said, “Perhaps it is only that she wishes to take part in your conversation and with that sound gives you the answer.”
With gratitude in his eyes, Peter turned and gazed at the smiling man. Boulard always knew what to say to make him feel better. He liked the big voyageur better than anyone he knew. And Dog, of course. It was good to have two friends. He leaned sideways in the canoe and let his hand trail in the water as he studied the high walls of the canyons. They took shape, each different from the other as the canoe passed. Some were tall, rounded cones of basalt, gleaming in the sun, and others were jagged rocks with fine, knifelike edges that threatened them as they approached. The sun was warm, and there was plenty to eat. Each of the four villages where they stopped had supplied them with salmon, which though small were very tasty. But he looked forward to arriving at the Snake River where they would change their mode of travel. Thompson wanted to leave the river for a time and go to Spokane House where he hoped to find Finan McDonald.
It took three days to travel up the Snake to its confluence with the smaller Palouse River. Camped beside it was a large Nez Perce village. Thompson immediately smoked with the headmen and gave them news from the other villages that they were always eager to hear. He did this without an interpreter, since he understood and spoke their language, something the Natives seemed to appreciate very much. Thompson spoke of the huge ocean and the condition of the Indians far south. Judging by his voice and gestures, Peter thought the mapmaker must have given an exciting account of the conflict with the hostile Natives they had encountered, for the listening men reacted with horrified expressions.
When
