ayou, shaded by willows and
birch trees, and by great elms that bore aloft a canopy of clinging
vines, they made a landing for the bivouac which was to prove their
final tarrying place. The great _canot du Nord_ came to rest at the foot
of a timbered hill, back of which stretched high, rolling prairies,
dotted with little groves and broken with wide swales and winding
sloughs. The leaders of the party, with Tete Gris and Pierre Noir,
ascended the bluffs and made brief exploration; not more, as was tacitly
understood, with view to choosing the spot for the evening encampment
than with the purpose of selecting a permanent stopping place. Du Mesne
at length turned to Law with questioning gaze. John Law struck the earth
with his heel.

"Here!" said he. "Here let us stop. 'Tis as well as any place. There are
flowers and trees, and meadows and hedges, like to those of England.
Here let us stay!"

"Ah, you say well indeed!" cried Du Mesne, "and may fortune send us
happy enterprises."

"But then, for the houses," continued Law. "I presume we must keep close
to this little stream which flows from the bluff. And yet we must have a
place whence we can obtain good view. Then, with stout walls to protect
us, we might--but see! What is that beyond? Look! There is, if I mistake
not, a house already builded!"

"'Tis true, as I live!" cried Du Mesne, lowering his voice
instinctively, as his quick eye caught the spot where Law was pointing.
"But, good God! what can it mean?"

They advanced cautiously into the little open space beyond them, a glade
but a few hundred yards across and lined by encircling trees. They saw
indeed a habitation erected by human hands, apparently not altogether
without skill. There were rude walls of logs, reinforced by stakes
planted in the ground. From the four corners of the inclosure projected
overhanging beams. There was an opening in the inclosure, as they
discovered upon closer approach, and entering at this rude door, the
party looked about them curiously.

Du Mesne shut his lips tight together. This was no house built by the
hands of white men. There were here no quarters, no shops, no chapel
with its little bell. Instead there stood a few dried and twisted poles,
and all around lay the litter of an abandoned camp.

"Iroquois, by the living Mother of God!" cried Pierre Noir.

"Look!" cried Tete Gris, calling them again outside the inclosure. He
stood kicking in the ashes of what had been a fire