he Illinois. Had he been able to attach
turbulent voyageurs to him as he attached native tribes, his heroic life
would have ended in success even beyond his dreams. Tonty could better
deal with ignorant men, his military training standing him in good
stead; yet Tonty dared scarcely trust a voyageur out of his sight.

While Tonty and La Salle were passing through these adventures, the
Recollet father, Louis Hennepin, and his two companions, sent by La
Salle, explored the upper Mississippi. One of these was named Michael
Ako; the other, Du Gay, a man from Picardy in France.

They left Fort Crevecoeur on the last day of February, twenty-four
hours before La Salle started northward, and entered the Mississippi on
the 12th of March. The great food-stocked stream afforded them plenty of
game, wild turkeys, buffaloes, deer, and fish. The adventurers excused
themselves from observing the Lenten season set apart by the Church for
fasting; but Father Hennepin said prayers several times a day. He was
a great robust Fleming, with almost as much endurance as that hardy
Norman, La Salle.

They had paddled about a month up river through the region where
Marquette and Jolliet had descended, when one afternoon they stopped to
repair their canoe and cook a wild turkey. Hennepin, with his sleeves
rolled back, was daubing the canoe with pitch, and the others were busy
at the fire, when a war whoop, followed by continuous yelling, echoed
from forest to forest, and a hundred and twenty naked Sioux or Dacotah
Indians sprang out of boats to seize them. It was no use for Father
Hennepin to show a peace-pipe or offer fine tobacco. The Frenchmen were
prisoners. And when these savages learned by questioning with signs, and
by drawing on the sand with a stick, that the Miamis, whom they were
pursuing to fight, were far eastward out of their reach, three or four
old warriors laid their hands on Hennepin's shaven crown and began to
cry and howl like little boys.

[Illustration: Totem of the Sioux.]

The friar in his long gray capote or hooded garment, which fell to his
feet, girt about the waist by a rope called the cord of St. Francis,
stood, with bare toes showing on his sandals, inclining his fat head
with sympathy. He took out his handkerchief and wiped the old men's
faces. Du Gay and Ako, in spite of the peril, laughed to see him daub
the war paint.

"The good father hath no suspicion that these old wretches are dooming
him to death," sai