ne thousand miles toward the
setting sun. Ah, but a tough trail that proved, across the Bitter Root
Mountains; all up and down, with scarcely a level spot to sleep on;
with the snow to the horses' bellies and the men's thighs; with the
game failing, until even a horse's head was treasured as a tidbit.

And the Bird-woman, riding in the exhausted file, never complained, but
kept her eyes fixed to the low country and the big river and the Great
Salt Water.

Once, in the midst of starvation, from her dress she fished out a small
piece of bread that she had carried clear from the Mandan towns. She
gave it to Captain Clark, that he might eat it. A brave and faithful
heart had Sacagawea.

Struggling down out of the mountains, at the end of September, they
changed to canoes. The Pierced Noses, or Nez Perces Indians, were
friendly; and now, on to the Columbia and thence on to the sea,
Sacagawea was the sure charm. For when the tribes saw the strange
white warriors, they said, "This cannot be a war party. They have a
squaw and a papoose. We will meet with them."

That winter was spent a few miles back from the Pacific, near the mouth
of the Columbia River in present Washington.

Only once did the Bird-woman complain. The ocean was out of sight from
the camp. Chaboneau, her husband, seemed to think that she was made
for only work, work, work, cooking and mending and tending baby.

"You stay by ze lodge fire. Dat is place for womans," he rebuked.
Whereupon Sacagawea took the bit in her teeth (a very unusual thing for
a squaw to do) and went straight to Captain Clark, her friend.

"What is the matter, Sacagawea?"

She had been crying again.

"I come a long way, capitin. I carry my baby, I cold, hungry, wet,
seeck, I come an' I no care. I show you trail; I say 'Snake peoples
here,' an' you find Snakes. You get hosses, food, guide. When Indians
see me an' my Toussaint, dey say 'Dis no war party,' an' dey kind to
you. When you get hungry for bread, I gif you one leetle piece dat I
carry all de way from Mandan town. I try to be good woman. I work
hard, same as mens. Now I been here all dis time, near de salt water
dat I trabble many days to see--an' I not see it yet. Dere is a beeg
fish, too. Odders go see--I stay. Nobody ask Sacagawea. My man he
say 'You tend baby!' I--I feel bad, capitin." And she hid her face in
her blanket.

"By gracious, go you shall, Sacagawea, and see the salt water and the
b