“As many,” replied Big Horse, “as five times the fingers on two hands.”
“Wah!” gravely grunted the circle, where the chiefs and warriors squatted in their blankets and buffalo robes.
For August, the Ripe Corn month, of 1804, had arrived to the Oto Indians’ country in present Nebraska beyond the Missouri River; but now at their buffalo-hunt camp north of the River Platte the chiefs of the combined Oto and Missouri nations sat in solemn council instead of chasing the buffalo.
Through a long time, or since the month when the buffalo begin to shed, the air had been full of rumors. Five moons back, when the cottonwood buds first swelled, down at the big white village of “San Loui’” there had been a ceremony by which, according to the best word, all this vast land watered by the Missouri River had changed white fathers. The Spanish father’s flag had been hauled down, and a different flag had been raised. Indians had been there and had seen; yes, Shawnees, Saukies, Delawares, Osages—they had been there, and had seen. The Spanish governor, whose name was Delassus, had made a speech, to the white people. He had said:
PROCLAMATION
March 9, 1804.
Inhabitants of Upper Louisiana:
By the King’s command, I am about to deliver up this post and its dependences!
The flag under which you have been protected for a period of nearly thirty-six years is to be withdrawn. From this moment you are released from the oath of fidelity you took to support it.
The speech was hard to understand, but there it was, tacked up on the white man’s talking paper. Moreover, the good governor had made a talk for the Indians also, his red children. He had said: