the head chief is yonder, waiting to talk with you," informed Sergeant Pryor.
"Very good. You and young Dorion go back to them—we'd better send along some presents, hadn't we, Will?—and tell the chiefs that we'll speak with them in the morning. 'Twon't do to let them think we're in any more of a hurry than they are."
"Yes, sir," answered Sergeant Pryor.
He took over presents of corn and tobacco and iron kettles, with young Pierre to do the translating for him, and returned. Both camps settled down for the night.
"Did yez have a rale good time with the Sioux, Nat?" queried Patrick Gass, that night around the fire, after a hearty supper on cat-fish. During the day a number of huge cat-fish had been caught, some of them weighing sixty pounds. Now all the men were curious to hear more from Nat Pryor and John Potts.
"Tremendous," declared Nat. "They wanted to carry us into camp in a blanket, but we told 'em we were not chiefs. They could wait and carry the captains. They gave us a fat dog, though, boiled in a pot—and I swear he was good eating."
"None for me, thank ye," retorted Sergeant Pat. "An' how far is their camp, an' what kind is it?"
"It's about nine miles back, near the Jacques. All fine buffalo hide lodges—some elk hide, too—painted different colors. Fact is, they're about the best Indians we've met yet."
