“Mebbe Yankton. They act like they want to talk.”
Some twenty Indians had appeared on a high bank opposite. One man with them wore a blanket-coat and a ’kerchief around his head. He might be a French trader. A short distance farther down almost a hundred other Indians emerged, to the shore; from their guns they fired a salute. They all were well armed.
“Answer the salute, Captain,” directed Captain Lewis. “It may be a peace signal. And you might go near them and talk.”
Captain Clark took Drouillard, Jessaume and Cruzatte and crossed to a sand-bar. The Indians who met him there said that they were Tetons, under Chief Black Buffalo. Black Buffalo had been the chief who had made trouble two years ago, so Captain Clark declined to have anything more to do with him. He came back and ordered the boats to prepare for an attack and proceed.
“I’d like wan shot at them,” muttered Sergeant Pat.
“Do not fire unless you are fired upon,” enjoined the captains.
As they passed the Sioux collected on the hill, Second Chief Partisan invited them to land. But they knew better; and as they continued, the Partisan struck the earth three times with the butt of his gun, and all the Indians yelled abuse.
“Dey make vow to kill ev’ry white man,” declared Drouillard.
That night camp was pitched on a bare sand-bar in the middle of the river, so as to be safe from attack; but a terrific thunderstorm blew two of the canoes clear across the river. However, no Tetons turned up, which was fortunate.
“The Yanktons next, I suppose,” remarked George Shannon. “They were a pretty good set, two years ago.”
A number of lodges of the Yanktons were indeed waiting. They proved very friendly, and Captain Clark held a council with them. They even took Chief Sha-ha-ka by the hand and asserted that they were obeying the words of the great white father and were at peace with the Mandans. They said that as a token they had kept the flag-pole standing, by the big tree of the council ground below, where they had first talked with the white men. And sure enough, when the boats passed the spot opposite the mouth of the James River, the flag-pole showed plainly.
Soon another white man was met. He was James Airs, a trader on his way up from St. Louis, to the Sioux. Being so lately from the United States he gave the captains much news, and they sat up nearly all night with him.