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 "A noble stream," remarked Captain Lewis. "I wonder how far to the north it penetrates."

"Did you ever see so many fish, dead and alive, in all your life, Merne?" exclaimed Captain Clark. "Why, the water swarms with them, and I understand that the Indians use dried ones for fuel."

"We'll buy more dogs, nevertheless, Will," smiled Captain Lewis. "The men can't row and make portages on fish flesh alone."

A day and a half was spent with the curious Sokulks, here where in southeastern Washington the Snake River unites with the mighty Columbia, in the midst of a flat and pleasant plain. On October 18 the five canoes swept out and down the Columbia itself.

"How far now, Pat?" asked Peter. "To the big ocean?"

"Thirty-siven hunderd miles have we come, by the captains' reckonin'," answered Pat. "An' belike 'tis four hunderd more to the Paycific."

"What do we do then, Pat?"

"If there aren't anny ships we'll have to stay the winter. An' in the spring, barrin' better luck, 'tis back we track over the four thousan' moils ag'in."

From the Sokulks had been procured another map, of the Columbia. It showed many bad places—rapids and falls. Around some of these the canoes had to be carried; through others they had to be hauled by hand, or carefully lowered with ropes. The Indians ashore seemed very timid, and hid.