“’Maha!” quoth Peter, quickly, when, dripping, the Indian had plashed out and was boldly entering the camp. “Oh, is he, now?” murmured Patrick Gass. Pierre Dorion translated for him, to the captains. He said that he was an Omaha boy, living with the Sioux. While he was talking, two other Indians came in. They indeed were Sioux――straight, dark, and dignified, as befitted members of a great and powerful nation. “Dey say de Yanktons, many of dem, are camp’ to de west, one short travel,” interpreted Dorion. “Dey haf hear of our comin’, an’ will be please’ to meet de white chiefs.” “All right, Dorion. You go to the camp with these fellows, and tell the chiefs that we’ll hold council at the river. I’ll send Sergeant Pryor and another man along with you,” instructed Captain Lewis. “You’ll find us again about opposite where their camp is.” “Good,” approved Pierre Dorion. “Now mebbe I get my wife an’ fam’ly one time more. My son, he dere, too, say dese young men.” For Pierre had married a Sioux woman. The two Sioux, and Pierre, and Sergeant Nathaniel Pryor and Private John Potts left on foot for the camp of the Yanktons; but the Omaha boy stayed. Peter preferred to keep away from him. The Omahas, to him, were not to be trusted. From the mouth of the Yankton River, which is to-day called the James River of South Dakota, the boats continued on up the Missouri, to the council ground. The red pirogue ran upon a snag, so that it almost sank before it could be beached. Then all the goods had to be transferred to the white pirogue. This took time, and it was not until nearly sunset that Captain Lewis ordered landing to be made and camp pitched. The camp of the Sioux was supposed to be somewhere across the river. In the morning no Sioux had yet appeared for council, and Captain Lewis anxiously swept the country to the north with his spy-glass. However, Indians could not be hurried, as Peter well knew. But about four o’clock there spread a murmur. “Here they come!” “De Sioux! Dey come. Now for beeg talk an’ beeg dance! Hoo-zah!” “Oui!” added George Drouillard, the hunter. “Mebbe fat dog feast, too!” “Oh, murther!” gasped Pat. And, to Peter: “Did ye ever eat dog, Peter?” Peter shook his head, disgusted. Not he; nor the Otoes, either. Only the northern Indians ate dog. “There’s a t’arin’ lot of ’em, anyhow,” mused Patrick Gass. “I’m after wishin’ George was here. Sure, he’s like to get into trouble, wanderin’ about the country where all those fellows are.” For two days back George Shannon had been sent out to find the horses that had strayed from camp, and he had not returned. The Sioux made a brave sight indeed. They looked to be almost a hundred――ahorse and afoot, with gay streamers and blankets flying. Pierre Dorion and Sergeant Pryor and Private Potts were to be seen, mounted and riding with the principal chiefs in the advance. So evidently everything was all right.