Starting up, I saw the _voyageurs_ were all astir, and making ready to embark. The boats were launched, and being too early for breakfast, the men sprang in and seized the oars. “When we halt for breakfast,” said the steersman, “it will be at the Indian village, which I understand is your destination.” With the same inspiring song of yesterday, the men bent to their oars, and the boats shot rapidly through the foaming water. In the course of an hour or more, the brigade put in for breakfast, and the same bustling scene that had taken place the night before was re-enacted. The place chosen was a broad, open plot of grass, reaching down to the water’s edge, and extending some hundred feet back, when the edge of the forest was reached. No signs of Indians were seen, and I was somewhat puzzled to know how it was known they were in the vicinity. The clerk mentioned before, explained to me that Biddon had described the halting spot, and the distance so accurately, that there could be no mistake, and the savages would soon make their appearance. We had scarcely spoken, when a movement was heard in the forest, and several Indians made their appearance. They seemed to understand the meaning of the brigade; for, directly behind them came numbers of others bearing loads of peltries--the furs of beavers, foxes, badgers, lynxes, martens, otters, and wolverines. A barter at once commenced, and in less than half an hour the whole array was deposited in the boats, and the Indians were proudly parading in the gaudy trinkets and dresses which had just fallen to their lot. “Where is their village?” I asked of Biddon. “A mile or so back in the woods; you can’t miss it.” “I can remain here without danger, can I not?” “Yas, I guess so--hold on, I’ll fix it for you.” With this he strode rapidly toward a man who appeared to be the chief, and commenced a conversation. He understood the Sioux tongue well enough to hold quite an intelligible conversation. The talk lasted but a moment, when he returned. “You needn’t be skeerish,” said he; “I’ve made it all right. I told that old chap you wanted to take a look at the country hereabouts, to skeer up some furs fur us agin. He was a little s’pishus at fust, shoot me ef he warn’t! and he axed ef you wanted to run off with that gal o’ theirs, ’cause ef you war, you’d better leave yer ha’r behind you. There’s been two or three round these parts after her, and he won’t stand it no longer. You’ve got to be mighty shy, Jarsey, I kin tell yer; but I hope you’ll git her fur all that, ogh!” “I am grateful to you for this kindness, Biddon----” “Never mind ’bout that; come to the pint ef you’ve got anything to say.” “I had nothing except to express my thanks, which you seem averse to receiving.” “It does go again my stummick, I allow, Jarsey; when you come the squaw over me, I can’t stand it. Yer’s as likes to talk fair and squar, and leave the rest. Shoot me ef I doesn’t! Wal I does, ogh!”