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 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