“Did you see that young fellow who’d lost the halves of two fingers?” queried George Shannon. “Well, he’d cut ’em off, on purpose, because some of his relatives had died! That’s the Mandan way of going into mourning.”
“’Twould be better to cut the hair, I’m thinkin’,” said Pat. “They most of ’em nade it—an’ hair’ll grow again.”
The Mandans had swarmed aboard, and were examining every object with much curiosity. They were an odd people, wrinkled and of low stature—many of the women with brown hair, but others with gray hair which flared almost to the ground. However, their voices were gentle, and they brought gifts of corn and vegetables, in earthen jars.
Mr. Jessaume, a French trader among them, also came aboard; so did a Scotchman named Hugh McCracken, from a British fur company post far north.
“They’re frindly, be they, Pierre?” asked Pat, of One-eyed Cruzatte, who was hobbling past after a lively conversation with Mr. Jessaume.
“Oui,” answered Cruzatte, with a grimace of pain. “I t’ink we stay an’ spen’ one winter. Dey glad. We protect’ dem ’gainst de Sioux. My poor leg, he carry me not furder, anyway.”
For Cruzatte had the rheumatism in both knees. Reuben Fields was laid up with the rheumatism in his neck; and Captain Clark had been so bothered with a stiff neck that he could not move around until Captain Lewis had applied a hot stone wrapped in red flannel.
“Hi!” cackled big York, strutting as usual. “Dese heah Mandans done gif me name Great Medicine, Mistuh McCracken say. Dey wants me foh a chief.”
“There’s coal in the banks, yonder,” spoke George Shannon. “See it, Peter?”
“What is coal?” ventured Peter.