If this miserable place had been the headquarters of M. de la Durantaye, evidently it was so no longer. Not a vestige of occupancy remained, save a rotten blanket on the floor, and a broken bench in one corner. Rude bunks lined two walls, and a table hewed from a log stood in the center of the dirt floor. On this was a paper pinned to the wood by a broken knife blade. Barbeau grasped it, and read the writing, handing it back to me. It was a scrawl of a few words, yet told the whole story. "Francois Cassion, under commission of Governor la Barre, arrived with party of soldiers and Indians. At his orders we accompany the force to Fort St. Louis. "De la Durantaye." "Perhaps it is as well," commented De Artigny lightly. "At least as far as my good health goes; but 'tis like to make a hard journey for you, Madame." "Is it far yet until we attain the fort?" "A matter of twenty-five leagues; of no moment had we a boat in which to float down stream, but the trail, as I remember, is rough." "Perchance there may be a boat," interrupted Barbeau. "There was the wreck of an Indian canoe a mile below here on the Des Plaines, not so damaged as to be beyond repair, and here is a hatchet which we will find useful." He stooped and picked it up from under the bench. "One thing is certain--'tis useless to remain here; they have left the place as bare as a desert. 'Tis my choice that we make the Des Plaines before dark." "And mine also; are you too greatly wearied, Madame?" "I? Oh, no! to escape this desolate place I will go gladly. Have men really lived here?" "Ay, more than once," replied De Artigny. "'Tis said the _engagés_ of Père Marquette built this hut, and that it sheltered him an entire winter. Twice I have been here before, once for weeks, waiting the arrival of the _Griffin_, alone with Sieur de la Salle." "The _Griffin_?" "The ship which was to bring us provisions and men. 'Twas a year later we learned that she went down in the sea, with all aboard. How long was M. de la Durantaye on station here?" he turned to Barbeau. "'Tis three months since we came from St. Ignace--a dreary time enough, and for what purpose I could never guess. In that time all we have seen has been Indian hunters. I cannot bear to remain even for another night. Are we ready, Madame? Shall we go?"