were pleased, and their women helped with poles and mats to
build the lodge.

For by this time, so long did it take to cover distances in the
wilderness, spring and summer were past, and the Illinois were dwelling
in their great town, nearly opposite the rock which La Salle desired to
have fortified. Tonty often gazed at it across the river, which flows
southwestward there, with a ripple that does not break into actual
rapids. The yellow sandstone height, rising like a square mountain out
of the shore, was tufted with ferns and trees. No man could ascend it
except at the southeast corner, and at that place a ladder or a rope was
needed by the unskillful. It had a flat, grassy top shut in by trees,
through which one could see the surrounding country as from a tower.
A ravine behind it was banked and floored with dazzling white sand, and
walled at the farther side by a timbered cliff rising to a prairie.
With a score of men Tonty could have held this natural fortress against
any attack. Buckets might be rigged from overhanging trees to draw up
water from the river. Provisions and ammunition only were needed for a
garrison. This is now called Starved Rock, and is nearly opposite the
town of Utica. Some distance up the river is a longer ridge, yet known
as Buffalo Rock, easy of ascent at one end, up which the savages are
said to have chased buffaloes; and precipitous at the other, down which
the frightened beasts plunged to death.

The tenth day of September a mellow autumn sun shone on maize fields
where squaws labored, on lazy old braves sprawled around buffalo robes,
gambling with cherry stones, and on peaceful lodges above which the blue
smoke faintly wavered. It was so warm the fires were nearly out. Young
warriors of the tribes were away on an expedition; but the populous
Indian town swarmed with its thousands.

Father Ribourde and Father Membre had that morning withdrawn a league up
the river to make what they called a retreat for prayer and meditation.
The other Frenchmen were divided between lodge and garden.

Near this living town was the town of the dead, a hamlet of scaffolds,
where, wrapped in skins, above the reach of wolves, Illinois Indians of
a past generation slept their winters and summers away. Crows flapped
across them and settled on the corn, causing much ado among the papooses
who were set to shout and rattle sticks for the protection of the crop.

Suddenly a man ran into camp, having just leaped