“While Shannon was lost, and while they were all having such good luck hunting, they at last had found their Sioux and got them in for a council. That was under an oak tree, at the mouth of the Jacque, or James, River, on August 29th. Old man Dorion had found his son Pierre, who was trading among the Sioux, it says. Well, they got five chiefs and about seventy others, and they all went into council.”
“Oak tree, did you say, John? Oak tree this far north?” Jesse was particular.
“Yes, sir, oak tree—lots of them all through here then. Clark tells how the deer and elk ate the acorns, and how fond they were of them. Didn’t you notice that?”
“Well, let’s push off and run up to the old council ground,” said Rob, who was always for getting forward. “It can’t be more than a few hours’ run, for we don’t stop at any towns, you know.”
They did this, and spent some time studying the spot, so that they could believe they were on the very council ground where Lewis and Clark first met the Sioux, below the Calumet Bluff, on the “Butifull Plain near the foot of the high land which rises with a gradual assent near this Bluff.” At least a trace of the old abundance of the timber could be seen. They consulted their Journal and argued for a long time.
“This is where they sent out the two men to hunt for the lost man Shannon,” said Rob. “And here is where our captains made their big treaty speeches with the Sioux and gave them medals and the D.S.O., and the Congressional Medal and things. They had a lot of government ‘Good Indian’ certificates all ready to fill in, and it peeved them when one of the chiefs handed back his certificate and said he didn’t care for it, but would rather have some whiskey.
“Those Sioux must have been a surly bunch,” said Rob. “But Captain Lewis impressed them very much, and Captain Clark let down his long red hair and astonished them, and everybody fed them and gave them presents; and they appointed young Mr. Dorion a commissioner, and gave him a flag, and told him to bring about a peace between all these tribes—the Sioux, Omahas, Pawnees, Poncas, Otoes, and Missouris—and to try to get chiefs of each tribe to go down the river and to Washington, to see the Great Father. And the Journal kept them good and busy, setting down the names of the different bands of the Sioux and telling how they looked.”
John grinned, and pointed to the page. “‘The Warriers are Verry much deckerated with Paint Porcupine quils and feathers, large leagins and mockersons, all with buffalow robes of Different Colors, the Squars wore Peticoats and a White Buffalow roabe with the black hare turned back over their necks and Sholders.’ I’ll say they had plenty to do, writing and hunting and making speeches. It wasn’t any pleasure party, when you come right down to it, now!”
“We haven’t found George Shannon yet,” interrupted Jesse, dryly.
“Give us time!” answered Rob. “I vote to stay here all night. I can see the blue smokes of their council fires, and see the men dancing, and the painted Indians sitting around, and the great council pipe passing—red pipestone, with eagle feathers on the stem; and meat hanging in camp, and the squaws cooking, dogs yelping, drums going. Oh, by Jove! Oh, by Jove! Those were the things to make you sit up late at night! I wish we’d been along.”