In the morning after breakfast Weucha and his three sub-chiefs sat before the oak tree; each held a peace pipe in front of him, with the stem pointing at the spot where the captains were to sit. The names of the other chiefs were White Crane, Struck-by-the-Pawnee, and Half Man.
“He ver’ modes’,” explained One-eyed Cruzatte. “He say ‘I am no warrior, I only half a man.’”
Weucha spoke first, standing clad in his artillery coat and cocked hat. He said that the Yanktons were willing to be at peace, but were very poor.
White Crane, and Struck-by-the-Pawnee and Half Man likewise spoke. They agreed with what Shake Hand had said. They wanted powder and ball, and, their great father’s “milk”—which was whisky.
That evening the Sioux went back, across the river, well satisfied. Pierre Dorion and young Pierre went with them. Old Pierre promised that in the spring he would take some of the chiefs to Washington, that they might meet their new father.
Just as the Yanktons were leaving, Captain Lewis beckoned Peter to him.
“You had better go with Pierre. He will take you down river in the spring, if not before.”
“No, please,” objected Peter. “I rather stay.”
“But we’re going clear to the Pacific Ocean, my boy,” spoke Captain Clark. “It will be a hard trip.”
“I will go, too,” declared Peter. “Do not want to stay with Sioux. I am white.”