About midnight the canoes reached the first rift. An hour was lost in unloading and in reloading the canoes, and in passing the difficulties at that point. As soon as this was done, the party re-embarked, and resorted once more to the use of the paddle, in order to gain a particular sheltered reach of the river previously to the return of light. This was effected successfully, and the party landed. It now appeared that Pigeonswing had chosen another swamp as a place of concealment for the fugitives to use during the day. These swamps, through which the river wound its way in short reaches, were admirably adapted to such purposes. Dark, sombre, and hardly penetrable on the side of the land, they were little likely to be entered after a first examination. Nor was it at all probable that females, in particular, would seek a refuge in such a place. But the Chippewa had found the means to obviate the natural obstacles of the low land. There were several spots where the water from the river set back into the swamp, forming so many little creeks; and into the largest of one of these he pushed his canoe, the others following where he led. By resorting to such means, the shelter now obtained was more complete, perhaps, than that previously left. Pigeonswing forced his light boat up the shallow inlet, until he reached a bit of dry land, where he brought up, announcing THAT as the abiding-place during the day. Glad enough was every one to get on shore, in a spot that promised security, after eight hours of unremitting paddling and of painful excitement. Notwithstanding the rifts and carrying-places they had met, and been obliged to overcome, le Bourdon calculated that they had made as many as thirty miles in the course of that one night. This was a great movement, and to all appearances it had been made without detection. As for the Chippewa, he was quite content, and no sooner was his canoe secured, than he lighted his pipe and sat down to his enjoyment with an air of composure and satisfaction. “And here, you think, Pigeonswing, that we shall be safe during the day?” demanded le Bourdon, approaching the fallen tree on which the Indian had taken his seat. “Sartain--no Pottawattamie come here. Too wet. Don't like wet. An't duck, or goose--like dry land, juss like squaw. Dis good 'baccy, Bourdon--hope you got more for friend.” “I have enough for us all, Pigeonswing, and you shall have a full share. Now, tell me; what will be your next move, and where do you intend to pass the morrow?” “Juss like diss. Plenty of swamp, Bourdon, on Kekalamazoo. [Footnote: This is the true Indian word, though the whites have seen fit to omit the first syllable.] Run canoe in swamp; den safe 'nough. Injins won't look 'ere, 'cause he don't know whereabout look. Don't like swamp. Great danger down at mouth of river.”