escending the river. Sixteen warrior hunters of their own
party leaped ashore. They seemed to be very angry. Tomahawk in hand,
they knocked their cabin to pieces, and seized all the meat. Father
Hennepin was astonished, and inquired what this meant. One of the
warriors, who professed to be his uncle, replied:

"These men, contrary to our laws, have gone on a buffalo hunt before
the rest. Thus, while they have furnished themselves with an abundance
of meat, they have frightened away the buffaloes, and left us destitute.
In punishment, we have a right to strip them."

The two solitary voyagers paddled down the stream, as they judged, one
hundred and sixty miles. During this time they killed but one deer,
which they shot as it was swimming across the river. The July heat was
such that the flesh could be kept but for a few hours. They saw many
turtles. But for a long time in vain they endeavored to take one. The
timid animals would plunge into the water the moment they heard the
least noise. At last they succeeded in taking one of them. But as
Father Hennepin endeavored to cut off the turtle's head, he came very
near losing one of his own fingers in its sharp jaws. The Frenchmen
were very hungry, and had paddled their canoe to the shore. While the
father was endeavoring to dress the turtle to be cooked. Anthony, with
his gun, went back into the prairie, hoping to shoot some game. Father
Hennepin chanced to look up from his work, and behold, a gust of wind
had swept the canoe from the shore out into the stream, and it was
floating rapidly down on the strong current.

Unless the canoe could be recovered, this would prove a terrible
calamity. Not a moment was to be lost. Divesting himself of most of his
clothing, he plunged into the stream, and being a strong swimmer, soon
overtook the boat. It floated buoyant as an eggshell. He could not get
into it. By pushing it before him he succeeded in effecting a landing,
about half a mile down stream, and quite cut of sight of the spot he
had left. In the meantime Anthony returned. Seeing the half-dressed
turtle, and the father and the canoe both gone, he was thrown into a
dreadful panic. He could not doubt that some hostile Indians had
appeared and carried them both away, and that he was abandoned to
perish of starvation. He went back into the prairie, to ascend an
eminence which commanded a view of the country for some distance
around.

Father Hennepin paddled up the stream with