"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.
"'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
