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 guide the white chiefs, by the Pierced Nose trail onward from the No-Salmon River, and so to the stinking lake under the setting sun.

"What white men do we find, at the Pacific Ocean, George?" asked Peter; for both the Snakes and the Flat-heads spoke of "white men" down the Columbia, which was known only as the Big River.

"Traders, Peter. White men from the United States, and from other white nations—England and Russia—who sail there in large boats and trade for furs. Perhaps we'll all return to the United States by one of those boats."

"At No-Salmon River is where we enter the Pierced Nose trail, is it?" mused Sergeant Nat Pryor. "I reckon that's a correct name. 'Cordin' to Chaboneau and Drouillard the salmon aren't to be found in any waters east of the Rock Mountains. They all stay west."

"Oh, murther, an' aren't we west o' the mountains, yet?" exclaimed Pat.

Still north pushed the company, down through the Bitter Root Valley of western Montana, with the line of mountains on the left rising ever colder and higher. In four days' journey was reached a broad Indian trail, along a river running east. It was the Pierced Nose trail, said old Toby, and the river was the No-Salmon River. The Indian road was to be followed westward, over the mountains, but on the way there would be no game.