York held a regular reception, for he appeared to astonish the Arikaras as much as he had astonished the Sioux.
“Hey, Marse Tabeau,” he called, to the French trader. “Des tell dese people I’se bohn wil’, an’ my young marster done ketched me when I was runnin’ in de timber an’ tamed me. Tell ’em I used to eat peoples bones an’ all. I’se a sorter g’riller.” And thereupon York seized a thick stick, and snapped it in his two hands, and howled and gritted his teeth. He was very strong, was York.
“Huh!” grunted the Arikaras, respectfully falling back from him.
“That will do, York,” cautioned Captain Clark, trying not to laugh.
But York, of much importance, thoroughly enjoyed himself.
The Arikaras were splendid entertainers and exceedingly hospitable――“’Mos’ like white folks,” asserted York. They did not beg, as the Sioux had begged; they gave lavishly out of their store of corn and beans and dried squashes, and accepted thankfully the gifts from the great father; they would not drink any whisky――“We are surprised that the great father should send us liquor to make fools of us,” said Chief Lighting Crow. Their houses were built close together, of a willow frame plastered with mud, and were entered through a covered passage-way that kept out the wind. Around each village was a fence of close upright pickets, for defense. They were well armed, too, with guns.
When it came time, after the councils had been held, to leave the friendly Arikaras, all the men of the expedition hated to go. John Newman, who had enlisted at St. Louis, was the most out-spoken.
“Look here,” he uttered, boldly, among his comrades at the last camp fire. “Why should we go on, up to those Mandans? Why can’t we spend the winter where we are? The Mandan village is nigh on 200 miles yet, and I’m tired of working my hands raw in this cold weather, hauling the boats over sand-bars.”
“Orders be orders,” reminded Patrick Gass. “An’ up to the Mandans we go, I’m thinkin’.”
“Not if we show a little spunk and say we want to stay,” retorted John.
“Whisht, now!” cautioned Patrick. “Would ye spoil a good record? Faith,” he added, “if the captain heard ye he’ll have ye on the carpet for mutiny, b’gorry.” Captain Clark had strode hastily by, wrapped in his cloak. “It’s mutiny ye’re talkin’,” scolded Patrick Gass. “An’ I want no more of it.”