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 Christmas to each of you. You may dismiss the men for the day, Sergeant."

What a jolly day this day of Christmas proved to be. Nobody worked, everybody was merry. After breakfast in the mess hall, which was a cabin with a table down the centre seating twenty on a side, and a huge fireplace at one end, and a loft for the cooks and their supplies, the table was moved, One-eyed Cruzatte and George Gibson tuned their fiddles, and the men danced and capered.

There was a big dinner, of juicy meats, stewed corn, stewed dried pumpkin, with plum pudding at the close. The captains were present, in uniform. There was more dancing, and story-telling; not until late at night was the fort quiet. All the Indians had kept away.

Thus was passed Christmas Day, 1804, at this first United States fort west of St. Louis, 1600 miles up the River Missouri, in the centre of a North Dakota yet to be named.

"When do we have another Christmas, George?" asked Peter, eagerly.

"Not for a long time, Peter," laughed George. "Christmas comes only once a year."

For, you see, Peter had a great deal to learn.

Now Fort Mandan settled down to a winter routine. The United States flag floated. The swivel cannon from the barge had been planted in the street, its muzzle commanding the entrance. Just outside the