"Peter."
"What else?"
"Peter—Kerr."
"Where did you live?"
"Oto. No like Oto. No like Indian. White boy."
"Hah! Did the Otoes steal you?"
"Osage. Oto buy me."
"Where did the Osage get you?"
"Do—not—know," said Peter, slowly, trying to speak the right words. "Kill—father. Take mother. She die. Long time ago. Me—I white."
"Sure, Captain, didn't we hear down St. Louis way of a family by the same name o' Kerr bein' wiped out by the Injuns some years back," spoke Patrick Gass, saluting. "'Twas up country a bit, though I disremember where, sorr."
"Yes, but there was no boy."
"There was a bit of a baby, seems to me like, sorr," alleged Sergeant Gass. "An' the woman was carried off, sorr."
Captain Lewis shrugged his shoulders impatiently.
"Very well, Pat. You go forward and you and Shannon see if you can do anything for Floyd. Don't let him move much. He's liable to be restless."
"Yes, sorr." Patrick Gass saluted but lingered a moment. "If I might be so bold, sorr"
"What is it?"
"Seein' as how the boy's Irish"
"Irish! He's as black as an Indian!"
