“Sha-ha-ka say de white people evidently a ver’ good people,” announced Jessaume. “But he anxious to get on to de beeg village of San Loui’.”

“How far to St. Louis, Pat?” asked Peter, eagerly.

“Only twenty miles. With an ’arly start we’ll ate our dinner there.”

Twenty miles! The last twenty of more than 8000! No wonder that all the men were impatient. They made great plans. At St. Louis they were to be paid off and discharged.

“Extry pay an’ 320 acres of land do we each get,” repeated Patrick Gass. “An’ we’ve earned it. It’s glad I am not to be with John Colter this minute, trapsin’ for the Yellowstone ag’in.”

“What’ll you do, Pat, after we get to St. Louis?”

“Faith, have my whiskers trimmed an’ get my journal published.”

“I’ve sold my journal to the captains for ten dollars!” boasted Sergeant Ordway. “It’s more’n you’ll make with yours, Pat.”

“I mean to try for an officer’s commission, in the army,” said Sergeant Nat Pryor.