e as to our retinue and mode of conveyance.

Mr. Kinzie decided to take with him but two men: Plante and Pierre
Roy,--the former to act as guide, on the assurance that he knew every
mile of the way, from the Portage to Ogie's Ferry, and from Ogie's Ferry
to Chicago.

The claims of the different saddle-horses were discussed, and the most
eligible one was selected for my use. We hesitated for a time between
"Le Gris" and "Souris," two much-vaunted animals, belonging to Paquette,
the interpreter. At length, being determined, like most of my sex, by a
regard for exterior, I chose "Le Gris," and "Souris" was assigned to
young Roy; my own little stumpy pony, "Brunet," being pronounced just
the thing for a pack-saddle. My husband rode his own bay horse "Tom,"
while Plante, the gayest and proudest of the party, bestrode a fine,
large animal called "Jerry," which had lately been purchased for my use;
and thus was our _cortege_ complete.

CHAPTER XIII.

DEPARTURE FROM FORT WINNEBAGO.

Having taken a tender leave of our friends, the morning of the 8th of
March saw us mounted and equipped for our journey. The weather was
fine--the streams, already fringed with green, were sparkling in the
sun--everything gave promise of an early and genial season. In vain,
when we reached the ferry at the foot of the hill on which the fort
stood, did Major Twiggs repeat his endeavors to dissuade us from
commencing a journey which he assured me would be perilous beyond what I
could anticipate. I was resolute.

Our party was augmented by an escort of all the young officers, who
politely insisted on accompanying us as far as Duck Creek, four miles
distant. Indeed, there were some who would gladly have prosecuted the
whole journey with us, and escaped the monotony of their solitary,
uneventful life. In our rear followed an ox cart, on which was perched a
canoe, destined to transport us over the creek, and also an extensive
marsh beyond it, which was invariably, at this season, overflowed with
water to a considerable depth. We had much amusement in watching the
progress of this vehicle as it bumped and thumped over the road,
unconscious hitherto of the dignity of a wheeled carriage.

Our little, shock-headed, sunburnt, thick-lipped Canadian (who happened
most miraculously to be the husband of my pretty servant, Mrs. Pillon)
shouted vociferously as the animals lagged in their pace, or jolted
against a stump, "_Marchez, don-g_," "_regardez