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 Thompson had no more news to report, he told the village elders they had come by canoe more than three hundred miles and must go another four hundred to Kettle Falls. From there he would again travel by canoe to reach the place where he would find the boats loaded with goods for them and the villages below. Then he asked if they had horses they could sell so that he and his men could be on their way.
The headmen informed Thompson that they could spare one horse for each man and one for carrying, but they didn’t wish payment. The horses were a present.
After two days of steady riding, they arrived at Spokane House — built close to the Little Spokane River — and were greeted by Finan McDonald. Thompson looked around the long log-built trade room and nodded his approval. Bundles of furs were stacked neatly against the wall, and the rough wooden floor was swept clean. Peter decided they had been expected.
“So it’s back you are,” McDonald said.
“It would appear,” Thompson said dryly. “I see the brigade from east of the mountains isn’t here. Have you any word of them at all?”
“William Henry sent word from Athabasca Pass with an Iroquois messenger to ask if any had heard from you,” McDonald replied. “But he said nothing about a brigade.” He handed Thompson a small stack of mail and invited him and his men to supper.
Thompson accepted the mail without opening it and responded to the invitation by saying, “If you’ve women here to wash our clothes whilst we have a bath in the river, we would appreciate that, as well.”
With Dog by his side Peter found a deep pool guarded by large rocks and leaped into the water. It was cool and soothing, instantly washing away the gritty sand from his hot skin. Most of the ride had been across a treeless plain with a high wind blowing the dust and sand into eyes, nose, and mouth. Now, while Dog paddled back and forth in the quiet pool, Peter allowed himself to hang in it, barely treading water. He closed his eyes and wondered how and where he had learned to swim. Then, suddenly, he realized that for many weeks he hadn’t had one of the disturbing visions that had left him too quickly to see them clearly. Nor had he even thought about his memory loss. Perhaps, he reasoned, it was because he had some memories now — ones made on this journey. And he also had friends. Although these were comforting thoughts, Peter knew they weren’t enough.
His eyes flew open when a large rock hit the water by his side. Boulard sat on the river’s grassy bank. “You are not a fish,” he said. “The ragout is prepared, and if you wish to dine, you must put on trousers. If you attend as you are, you will disgrace us.”
In reply Peter splashed water on Boulard. Then he whistled for Dog and climbed out of the water. As he reached for his shirt to dry himself, he asked, “How soon will we leave here?”
Boulard turned his hands palm up and shrugged. “I think maybe soon, maybe not. Once more we must first make our way on the horse to Kettle Falls.Mon ami, you understand it is important for David to be certain of the place where this Columbia River begins. How else will he know if his maps are true?”
“It’s also important that we get through the mountains as soon as we can,” Peter insisted.
Boulard cocked his head doubtfully. “There may be difficulties. David has said if no one has been sent to take his place, he must himself make certain the goods in the brigade are sent to the people down the big river.”
Peter frowned. “What brigade?”
“Do you not recall from Boat Encampment that David made the message on a piece of bark for our men to take to William Henry who was to send it on to the east? In this message David requests much trade goods to be brought to Kettle Falls for all the Columbia District.”
“Trade goods …” Peter said thoughtfully. “Does that mean we’ll have to go down the river again?”
Boulard’s reply was a shrug, and he turned away as he heard Vallade calling his name. Left alone, Peter felt a wave of fatigue wash over him. But after giving the matter some thought, he reminded himself that there was nothing waiting for him east of the mountains, and at least here, with the brigade, he was with friends.
They arrived at Kettle Falls in the last days of August after riding through a lush green countryside with forests and narrow brooks of swiftly running, sparkling water. There were almost fifty tents lined up above the falls, mostly Okanagans and members of the Spokane tribe. All were friendly and outdid themselves in singing and dancing for Thompson and his men. These were good people, Peter thought, as bowl after bowl of food was offered to him.
The next day, when the search for wood for the canoe began, the women and children joined in the hunt. As usual it was impossible to find good birch, and they had to settle for cedar found upriver. In two weeks the canoe was built and they were ready to leave.
Thompson, however, ignored the complaints from his crew and insisted they wait. “I’ve sent Finan McDonald up the river to see if the men from the east have lost their way,” he explained.
McDonald arrived a few days later, weary and discouraged. He reported he had travelled two hundred miles without sighting the brigade. Thompson listened, his expression grim. To Boulard he said, “William Henry would have pointed the way through the pass, and in my letter to him I outlined a course to follow to Kettle Falls once that was accomplished.” He stood silently, biting his lip, then continued. “If I erred in my judgment that the Columbia River flows west from Boat Encampment, they would miss us here. If that’s true, they may be some time finding their way to one of our trading houses.”
Boulard pulled on his beard thoughtfully. “Then,mon ami, it is my belief to relieve this concern we must ourselves ascend this river to learn if it will lead us to Boat Encampment. If it is not on this river, it will be on another, and we may find someone who has observed our brigade.”
It was tireless Pareil who sat behind Peter in the canoe this time, but even he could be heard muttering, “One believes after finding where this miserable river meets the ocean that we have finished our task but, no, we must also advance to the beginning. Instead of returning to our loved ones, we must now search for a brigade that may not even yet be west of the mountains.”
Later, when the first flakes of snow fell on their heads, Pareil spoke into Peter’s ear. “At the beginning of this great journey we thought to be east of the mountains in August, and already it is September.”
Peter nodded but didn’t reply. He was sure the men wouldn’t want to go down another river looking for the brigade after they reached the top of this one, and he wondered what Thompson would do if they refused.
The river was as difficult to ascend as Boulard had warned it would be. Hunched against sleet or sweating under