“They’re painting and polishing, Merne,” remarked Captain Clark, who had levelled the spy-glass, to peer. That was so. Peter needed no spy-glass. He could make out figures of the chiefs and warriors sitting and plaiting their hair and painting their faces and chests and arms. The two captains waited until nearly noon. Then the red pirogue was dispatched, under Sergeant Pryor, accompanied by old Pierre, to bring the chiefs and warriors. The white pirogue was loaded with goods, but the red pirogue had been emptied for repairs. Even then the Sioux so crowded it that it scarcely could be rowed. A number of the young Sioux waded into the river and swam across. Now there were more Sioux than white men in the United States camp. But they were armed mainly with bows and arrows, while the United States were armed with rifles; and Peter’s sharp eyes observed that the cannon in the bow of the barge was pointed right at the camp, ready for business. Broad-chested and sinewy were these Yankton Sioux, and evidently great warriors. What struck Peter and the soldiers, especially, were the necklaces of claws stitched in bands of buckskin or red flannel, and hanging low on those broad chests. Many warriors wore them. “D’you mean to say those are b’ar claws!” exclaimed John Shields, one of the Kentuckians. “Oui, my frien’,” assured Drouillard, the hunter. “Dey claw of great white bear――so we call heem. Beeg! More beeg dan one ox. An’ ’fraid? He not ’fraid of notting. To keel one white bear make Injun beeg warrior.” “And where do those critters live, then?” queried John. “Up river. We meet ’em pret’ queeck, now. Sometime w’en we land――woof! Dere coom one beast――beeg as one ox――mouth he open; an’ mebbe eat us, if brush so t’ick we not see heem soon ’nough.” The listening Kentuckians and other soldiers scratched their heads, as if a little doubtful. “Faith,” said Patrick Gass, “some o’ them claws are six inches long, boys. ’Tis a country o’ monsters that we’re goin’ into.” A group of the Sioux had been staring at black York, who, larger than any of them, was gaping back. Suddenly one stepped to him, wet his finger and swiftly drew it down York’s cheek; then looked to see if the black had come off. “Hey, you man!” growled York. “Wha’ foh you done do dat?” Another Sioux deftly snatched off York’s hat, and clutched the black curly wool underneath; but it would not come off, either. Much impressed, the circle widened respectfully, and Sioux murmured gutturally to Sioux. “That’s all right, York,” warned Captain Clark, who had noted; for his own red hair had been attracting much attention. “They say you’re great medicine.” “Oui; he black buffalo,” affirmed young Dorion. After that York strutted importantly, alarmed the Indians by making fierce faces, and was followed about by a constant admiring procession.