Captain Lewis was known as the Long Knife, because he was rarely without his sword.
Behind Captain Clark came Chaboneau, and York, agrin, carrying his rifle, and looking indeed like a black buffalo.
Peter thrilled. He was wild to go, himself. He ran after Pat, and clutched him by his skirt.
"I go, Pat."
"By no orders o' mine, bedad," rebuked Pat. "Ah, now," he added. "Sure, it's the Irish blood in ye—an' if ye snake after an' the cap'n doesn't see ye, I'll not send ye back. But ye can't go furder 'n the village. Mind that."
"York can go. I can go," asserted Peter, for York was no soldier, either, although sometimes he pretended to be. So Peter ran to York.
"You get out, boy," rebuked York, strutting about while the men were being formed at Sergeant Pat's sharp orders. "Dis am wah! Dis am berry seryus bus'ness when Cap'n Will done buckle on his sword. Yessuh. 'Tain't no place foh chillun."
"Did Captain Clark say you could go?" challenged Peter.
"'Twa'n't necessitous, chile," retorted York. "Marse Will gwine to take keer ob his soldiers; I go to take keer ob Marse Will. He cain't get along wiffout Yawk. I raise him from a baby."
But when the little column pressed forward, Captain Clark and Chaboneau, the interpreter, in the lead,
