Midday found us afloat on the broad bosom of the Father of Waters, whose noble flood, swollen above St. Louis by the silty downpourings of the Missouri, and here by the Spring torrent of the Ohio, rolled on gulfwards in full-banked majesty. It was a grand sight, but one to which Don Pedro and Alisanda gave more thought than myself. Captain Bissell had dropped me a word of warning as to possible trouble from canoe parties of Chickasaw and other Indians, which, in view of Alisanda's presence, gave me no little uneasiness. That night and the next I called upon Don Pedro to watch, turn about, with myself. I even went so far as to land at New Madrid; but the villagers knew nothing of the Indians. At last, late in the afternoon of the third day, we sighted a canoe full of warriors putting out from the left bank, with the evident intention of intercepting us. At my command Alisanda and her woman sought shelter in their room, while I left the steering to the don, and stood ready with my rifle and his pistols. When I signed the party to hold off at hailing distance, the foremost warrior signed back that they were friends. But they were now near enough for me to see their black war paint. Again I signed the leader to keep off, and he in turn hailed me in Shawnee, demanding lead and gunpowder. Before I realized what I was saying, I had answered him in his own tongue, telling him to bring his party around under our stern. At this unexpected address, the chief raised the hand which I knew had been grasping his rifle. I responded with three or four quick signs that drew a guttural exclamation from the least stolid of the warriors. They were not used to meeting white men who could claim fellowship in their tribe. But as they paddled nearer, I stared back at their chief, hardly less astonished. There could be no mistaking his noble, powerful features. He was my adopted brother Tecumseh! The instant I recognized him with certainty, I laid down my rifle, and called to him in Shawanese: "Tecumseh, many years have come and gone since we parted at the British fort on the Maumee, yet do you not know again your white brother Scalp Boy?" At the word he rose from his knees and stood grandly erect in the bow of the canoe, staring at me from beneath his levelled palm. The craft was now within twenty yards of us, and Don Pedro could not withhold a muttered exclamation of apprehension and warning. Almost at the same moment Tecumseh stooped, and catching up a corner of his blanket, wiped the grim war paint from his face. The paddlers at once paused to follow his example. "_Santisima!_" muttered Don Pedro. "Why do they rub their faces?" "They remove the war paint in proof of friendship. Their chief is one of my Indian brothers, who saved me from torture." "But they come close! You will not permit them to enter the boat, with Alisanda--"