ge might be at hand with his canoe. No answer was returned,
save by the echoes. What was to be done? I looked at my husband and saw
that care was on his brow, although he still continued to speak
cheerfully. "We will follow this cross-trail down the bank of the
river," said he. "There must be Indians wintering near, in some of these
points of wood."

I must confess that I felt somewhat dismayed at our prospects, but I
kept up a show of courage, and did not allow my despondency to be seen.
All the party were dull and gloomy enough.

We kept along the bank, which was considerably elevated above the water,
and bordered at a little distance with a thick wood. All at once my
horse, who was mortally afraid of Indians, began to jump and prance,
snorting and pricking up his ears as if an enemy were at hand. I
screamed with delight to my husband, who was at the head of the file,
"Oh, John! John! there are Indians near--look at Jerry!"

At this instant a little Indian dog ran out from under the bushes by the
roadside, and began barking at us. Never were sounds more welcome. We
rode directly into the thicket, and, descending into a little hollow,
found two squaws crouching behind the bushes, trying to conceal
themselves from our sight.

They appeared greatly relieved when Mr. Kinzie addressed them in the
Pottowattamie language,--

"What are you doing here?"

"Digging Indian potatoes"--(a species of artichoke.)

"Where is your lodge?"

"On the other side of the river."

"Good--then you have a canoe here. Can you take us across?"

"Yes--the canoe is very small."

They conducted us down the bank to the water's edge where the canoe was.
It was indeed _very small_. My husband explained to them that they must
take me across first, and then return for the others of the party.

"Will you trust yourself alone over the river?" inquired he. "You see
that but one can cross at a time."

"Oh, yes"--and I was soon placed in the bottom of the canoe, lying flat
and looking up at the sky, while the older squaw took the paddle in her
hand, and placed herself on her knees at my head, and the younger, a
girl of fourteen or fifteen, stationed herself at my feet. There was
just room enough for me to lie in this position, each of the others
kneeling in the opposite ends of the canoe.

While these preparations were making, Mr. Kinzie questioned the women as
to our whereabout. They knew no name for the river but "Saumanong."
This was not