Several braves now made their appearance, and, after some brisk palaver on the part of Bright Star, showed the visitors to the habitation of the White Crow, the largest and finest lodge in the village, as befitted his rank of head Chieftain. The Colonel, Captain Hamilton, and the four scouts bent low and went into the shelter, while the six rangers remained outside, more or less as a guard; although they made a studied effort not to give the Winnebagoes the least idea that they were suspicious of them. “Ho! ho!” the White Crow said, in his guttural voice. “Ho, Kaukishkaka!” responded Dodge affably. “What brings you to my village, chief of the Big Knives?” the Crow queried, as Bright Star translated for the benefit of the whites. “Am I not welcome?” “Yes, yes! the Crow loves the chief of the Big Knives as a brother.” Colonel Dodge was silent for a half-moment. The effusive words of the Winnebago raised a slight doubt in his mind. Likewise, he thought that he noted a fleeting, sardonic gleam in the Crow’s one, gleaming eye. “That is good,” he at length replied, brushing away his suspicions. “It is my hope that it will always be so. But there is one misguided chief who has taken the warpath against the whites. He is the Sac, Black-Hawk.” “Ugh!” grunted the Grow. “The Hawk is a madman and a fool.” “Aye, that he is. He cannot withstand the might of the pale-face soldiers, who are as many as the sands of the lake-shore, and bold as panthers.” “Will the pale-face soldiers fight?” “Of course the pale-face soldiers will fight, Kaukishkaka,” rejoined Dodge sternly. “Why should you ask that?” “The whites did not fight on the banks of the Sycamore. They ran like rabbits. The Sacs say that the whites will not fight. They are a soft-shelled breed. When the spear is put to them, they will quack like ducks.” “I will soon show Black Hawk,” responded Dodge testily, “that my rangers are not of the soft-shelled breed.” “Your words are good to my ears. The Black Hawk is an evil one. I spurn him.” “Will you help us?” invited the officer. “Your party of horsemen is small,” said the Crow, evading the question by looking out the lodge door at the six waiting rangers. “No, no, chief. I have three hundred others at Ke-gon-sa.” “Ho, ho!” exclaimed the Winnebago, simulating surprise; although, in truth, his scouts had that very morning brought him word of the march of the rangers from Blue Mounds. “Do you know the hiding-place of the Hawk?” asked the Colonel, taking a different tack. “My spies tell, oh Big Knife, that the Sac is lurking in the Koshkonong Swamp.” “I had heard so. But the swamps of the Koshkonong are very big. It is like hunting for an arrow-head in yonder forest. Can you lead us to the place?” “The place is known to me, oh Big Knife.” “But will you take us there, Kaukishkaka? The hour of darkness grows near. I must have your answer.”