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Then the storms came. They battered and bruised us. Hailstones the size of fists slammed down from the sky, knocking some senseless and tearing our clothes to rags. The sky grew black. It boiled. The wind howled like wolves.
"Run!" cried Clark. "Take shelter!" He pointed to a dry ravine. Charbonneau and I did as Clark said, thinking the overhanging rocks would keep us dry. I took the cradleboard from my back and took Pomp out. I clutched him to me, pressing my back hard against the dirt bank. Clark joined us there. But the rain came too hard and fast. Suddenly the hillsides gave way in a torrent of tumbling water, rocks, and mud. Charbonneau got out first, then reached down for me. Clark was standing waist-deep in water, where no water had been before. He pushed me up to Charbonneau with Pomp in my arms, just in time. Clark barely had time to scramble up behind me before the water grew as tall as two men, then as tall as three. We lost the cradleboard, but my Pomp was safe.
The next day, we returned to see if we could find what had been lost: Clark's umbrella, Clark's compass, and the cradleboard. The compass was found in the mud, but nothing else.
Later, Clark wrote of this in his journal. He named the place "Defeated Drain," because his compass was safe. But I thought, it is we who are defeated. For in the cradleboard taken by the storm were all of Pomp's clothes and all of my possessions.
