Wawataysee had collapsed from fatigue and pure joy at the certainty that they would reach St. Louis once more. Of the next few incidents she kept only the vague remembrance of a dream. She was taken into one of the lodges and water brought to her, and when the woman saw how utterly exhausted she was, she bathed her face and combed her hair, then her poor feet, and brought her a cup of warm spiced drink, put her in some fresh garments and left her to sleep. Some other motherly hands had taken Renée in charge, who chattered with all the Indian words she had picked up and entertained her hostess extremely. Meanwhile, Valbonais had related to the old chief his own mishaps, his meeting with Wawataysee and Renée in their captivity, the terrible storm and the disaster to Black Feather and his followers that had led to their opportunity of escape. Neepawa had heard of the attack on St. Louis, and the signal repulse the marauders had suffered. He admired the courage of the captives and was glad they had found a haven. From here they could easily be returned to St. Louis. But Valbonais also learned that they had narrowly missed an encounter with quite a large body of Sioux and Winnebagoes, who would no doubt have taken them prisoners again if they had followed the river more directly. They had made quite a wide detour, it seemed, and to that they owed their safety. Renée seemed none the worse for her ducking and the fatigue when she had been bathed, put in dry clothes and had a bountiful breakfast. The Indian children and their plays interested her immensely. And there was so much strange and new about the settlement and other things that suggested her first Indian friend, Mattawissa. Wawataysee slept until past noon, when she awoke refreshed, and at the first moment so surprised that she could not imagine where she was. But the familiar faces of Renée and André Valbonais quite restored her. How warmly sympathetic these children of nature were! Ah, what if they had fallen into captivity again! and she shuddered. They talked of starting, but the old chief would not listen to such a plan. “You have had enough of travelling in the night,” he said. “To-morrow some of our young men will take you down. Until then be content.” So they smoked the pipe of peace and amity, and talked of the mighty changes going on in the Continent, the new nation seeming a conglomerate of many peoples, sweeping everything before them with their resistless energy; of the towns springing up where different tribes had roamed about and slaughtered each other. Almost eighty years ago Neepawa had been born, when his race was ruler of nearly all the country. The travellers were really loaded with gifts the next morning. Two young Indians were to row them down the river and return. With many thanks they parted from their kind entertainers, with promises of grateful remembrance.