TO THE LAND OF THE SIOUX “Fust we have to pass the Sioux Injuns,” explained Patrick Gass, to Peter. “Ye know the Sioux?” “They bad,” nodded Peter. “Fight other Injuns.” “Yis,” said Patrick. “But we aim to make everybody paceful with everybody else. An’ after the Sioux, we talk with the ’Rikaras.” “’Rees bad, too,” nodded Peter. For the Otoes were afraid of the northern tribes. “Yis,” said Patrick. “An’ after the ’Rikaras we come, I’m thinkin’, to the Mandans, an’ by that time ’twill be winter, an’ with the Mandans we’ll stay. I hear tell they have white skins an’ blue eyes an’ their hair trails on the ground.” Sometimes sailing, sometimes rowed, and sometimes towed by heavy ropes on which the men hauled, from the banks, the three boats had been steadily advancing up-river. Peter was feeling quite at home. Everybody was kind to him――especially Pat, who had been elected sergeant in place of Charles Floyd, and young George Shannon, who was only seventeen. Two horses followed the boats, by land, for the use of the hunters. George Drouillard, a Frenchman, who had lived with the Omahas, was chief hunter. At the evening camps Pierre Cruzatte, a merry Frenchman with only one eye, and a soldier by the name of George Gibson, played lively music on stringed boxes called violins. Each night the two captains, and Pat and other soldiers, wrote on paper the story of the trip. York, the black man, was Captain Clark’s servant. Early in the morning a horn was blown to arouse the camp. During the days the captains frequently went ashore, to explore. It was well, thought Peter, that Pierre Dorion, a trader who lived with the Sioux, was aboard the boats, for the fierce Sioux Indians did not like strangers. Still, who could whip the United States? In the afternoon of the eighth day after leaving Chief Little Thief, old Pierre, from where he was standing with the two captains on the barge and gazing right and left and before, cried aloud and pointed. “Dere she is!” “What, Dorion?” “De Jacques, w’at is also call de Yankton River; my people de Yankton Sioux lif on her. Mebbe soon now we see some.” The barge, flying its white peace flag, bordered with red and blue, ploughed on. All eyes aboard were directed intently before. The mouth of the river gradually opened, amidst the trees. “We’ll halt there for dinner,” ordered Captain Lewis. “That looks like a good landing-place just above the mouth, Will.” Captain Clark nodded, and the barge began to veer in; the two pirogues or smaller boats imitated. “I see one Injun,” said Peter. “You see him, Pat?” “Where, now?” invited Patrick Gass. “He is standing still; watch us, this side of Yankton River.” “Faith, you’ve sharp eyes,” praised Pat, squinting. “Yis, sure I see him, by the big tree just above the mouth.” Others saw him. And as the barge hove to, and led by Captain Clark the men leaped for the shore, to cook dinner, the Indian plunged into the water and swam across.