Broad-chested and sinewy were these Yankton Sioux, and evidently great warriors. What struck Peter and the soldiers, especially, were the necklaces of claws stitched in bands of buckskin or red flannel, and hanging low on those broad chests. Many warriors wore them.
“D’you mean to say those are b’ar claws!” exclaimed John Shields, one of the Kentuckians.
“Oui, my frien’,” assured Drouillard, the hunter. “Dey claw of great white bear—so we call heem. Beeg! More beeg dan one ox. An’ ’fraid? He not ’fraid of notting. To keel one white bear make Injun beeg warrior.”
“And where do those critters live, then?” queried John.
“Up river. We meet ’em pret’ queeck, now. Sometime w’en we land—woof! Dere coom one beast—beeg as one ox—mouth he open; an’ mebbe eat us, if brush so t’ick we not see heem soon ’nough.”
The listening Kentuckians and other soldiers scratched their heads, as if a little doubtful.
“Faith,” said Patrick Gass, “some o’ them claws are six inches long, boys. ’Tis a country o’ monsters that we’re goin’ into.”
A group of the Sioux had been staring at black York, who, larger than any of them, was gaping back. Suddenly one stepped to him, wet his finger and swiftly drew it down York’s cheek; then looked to see if the black had come off.
“Hey, you man!” growled York. “Wha’ foh you done do dat?”