tance, it grew into a trail,
and then a path, once more a place where human beings habitually walked.

Whose feet had trodden down the grass, what strange people lived on the
prairies, they knew not, what dangers might await them, they cared not.
These were the people whom the good father had come so far to convert
and save! And now, again, one might expect some natural hesitation; some
doubt in venturing among those who were certainly barbarians, and who
might, for aught they knew, be brutal cannibals. We could forgive a
little wavering, indeed, especially when we think of the frightful
stories told them by the Northern Indians of this very people. But fear
was not a part of these men's nature; or if it existed, it lay so deep,
buried beneath religious zeal and pious trust, that its voice never
reached the upper air. Leaving the boatmen with the canoes, near the
mouth of the river now called Des Moines, Marquette and Joliet set out
alone, to follow up the trail, and seek the people who had made it. It
led them to an open prairie, one of the most beautiful in the present
state of Iowa, and crossing this, a distance of six miles, they at last
found themselves in the vicinity of three Indian villages. The very
spot[65] where the chief of these stood might now be easily found, so
clear, though brief, is the description of the simple priest. It stood
at the foot of a long slope, on the bank of the river Moingona (or Des
Moines), about six miles due west of the Mississippi; and at the top of
the rise, at the distance of half a league, were built the two others.
"We commended ourselves unto God," writes the gentle father; for they
knew not at what moment they might need his intervention; and crying out
with a loud voice, to announce their approach, they calmly advanced
toward the group of lodges. At a short distance from the entrance to the
village, they were met by a deputation of four old men, who, to their
great joy, they perceived bore a richly-ornamented pipe of peace, the
emblem of friendship and hospitality. Tendering the mysterious calumet,
they informed the Frenchmen that they belonged to one of the tribes
called "Illinois" (or "Men"), and invited them to enter their lodges in
peace: an invitation which the weary _voyageurs_ were but too glad to
accept.

A great council was held, with all the rude but imposing ceremonies of
the grave and dignified Indian; and before the assembled chiefs and
braves, Marquette publish