growing dusk when I reached the Lower Fort. My canoe men stood
ready, for the hour at which I was to have joined them had passed, and
they had begun to think some mishap had befallen me. After a hasty supper
and a farewell to my kind host of the Lower Fort, I stepped into the
frail canoe of painted bark which lay restive on the swift current. "All
right; away!" The crew, with paddles held high for the first dip, gave a
parting shout, and like an arrow from its bow we shot out into the
current. Overhead the stars were beginning to brighten in the intense
blue of the twilight heavens; far away to the north, where the river ran
between wooded shores, the luminous arch of the twilight bow spanned the
horizon, merging the northern constellation into its soft hazy glow.
Towards that north we held our rapid way, while the shadows deepened on
the shores and the reflected stars grew brighter on the river.

We halted that night at the mission, resuming our course at sunrise on
the following morning. A few miles below the mission stood the huts and
birch-bark lodges Of the Indians. My men declared that it would be
impossible to pass without the ceremony of a visit. The chief had given
them orders on the subject, and all the Indians were expecting it; so,
paddling in to the shore, I landed and walked up the pathway leading to
the chief's hut.

It was yet very early in the morning, and most of the braves were lying
asleep inside their wigwams, dogs and papooses seeming to have matters
pretty much their own way outside.

The hut in which dwelt the son of Pequis was small, low, and
ill-ventilated. Opening the latched door I entered stooping; nor was
there much room to extend oneself when the interior was attained.

The son of Pequis had not yet been aroused from his morning's slumber;
the noise of my entrance, however, disturbed him, and he quickly came
forth from a small interior den, rubbing his eyelids and gaping
profusely. He looked sleepy all over, and was as much disconcerted as a
man usually is who has a visit of ceremony paid to him as he is getting
out of bed.

Prince, the son of Pequis, essayed a speech, but I am constrained to
admit that taken altogether it was a miserable failure. Action loses
dignity when it is accompanied by furtive attempts at buttoning nether
garments, and not even the eloquence of the Indian is proof against the
generally demoralized aspect of a man just out of bed. I felt that some
apology was