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 Yes, the captains had decided to celebrate. They instructed Chaboneau to tell the Mandans that on the morrow the white men were to have a great medicine day, and that no Indians should come near. That night, in the mess cabin, Patrick Gass passed another word.

"It's all o' yez up 'arly in the mornin', boys," he said. "We'll wake the captains with thray rounds, so they'll know we've not forgot." And he winked.

In his bunk Peter was roused with a jump, amidst the grayness, by a thunderous noise. He sprawled to the floor—he heard a voice giving sharp orders, and before he could reach the door there was another thunder. Had the Sioux come? No! It was Christmas, and the celebration had begun. He opened the door—powder smoke wafted into his nostrils, the men had formed two lines down the middle of the street, their rifles were leveled, and "Whang!" they all spoke together.

"Hooray!" now the men cheered.

"Christmas Day in the mornin'!" shouted Pat, waving his cap. The door of the captains' cabin opened and the captains stood gazing out; York's black face peering over their shoulders. "Merry Christmas to yez, sorrs," welcomed Pat, with a bow and a scrape. "It's only welcomin' the day, we are, an' christenin' the flag with a bit o' powder." For from the flagstaff in the street floated the United States flag.

"Very good," approved Captain Lewis. "Merry