Thirsting to participate in such an event, they had hurried to the scene, and great was their mortification, on arriving at the river Aux Plaines, to meet a party of their friends with their chief, Nee-scot-nee-meg, badly wounded, and learn that the battle was over, the spoils divided, and the scalps all taken. Arriving at Chicago they blackened their faces, and proceeded toward the dwelling of Mr. Kinzie. From his station on the piazza Black Partridge had watched their approach, and his fears were particularly awakened for the safety of Mrs. Helm, Mr. Kinzie's stepdaughter, who had recently come to the post, and was personally unknown to the more remote Indians. By his advice she was made to assume the ordinary dress of a Frenchwoman of the country--a short gown and petticoat with a blue cotton handkerchief wrapped around her head. In this disguise she was conducted by Black Partridge himself to the house of Ouilmette, a Frenchman with a half-breed wife, who formed a part of the establishment of Mr. Kinzie and whose dwelling was close at hand. It so happened that the Indians came first to this house in their search for prisoners. As they approached, the inmates, fearful that the fair complexion and general appearance of Mrs. Helm might betray her as an American, raised a large feather bed and placed her under the edge of it upon the bedstead, with her face to the wall. Mrs. Bisson, a half-breed sister of Ouilmette's wife, then seated herself with her sewing upon the front of the bed. It was a hot day in August, and the feverish excitement of fear and agitation, together with her position, which was nearly suffocating, became so intolerable that Mrs. Helm at length entreated to be released and given up to the Indians. "I can but die," said she; "let them put an end to my misery at once." Mrs. Bisson replied, "Your death would be the destruction of us all, for Black Partridge has resolved that if one drop of the blood of your family is spilled, he will take the lives of all concerned in it, even his nearest friends; and if once the work of murder commences, there will be no end of it, so long as there remains one white person or half-breed in the country." This expostulation nerved Mrs. Helm with fresh courage. The Indians entered, and from her hiding place she could occasionally see them gliding about and stealthily inspecting every part of the room, though without making any ostensible search, until, apparently satisfied that there was no one concealed, they left the house. All this time Mrs. Bisson had kept her seat upon the side of the bed, calmly sorting and arranging the patchwork of the quilt on which she was engaged, and preserving an appearance of the utmost tranquillity, although she knew not but that the next moment she might receive a tomahawk in her brain. Her self-command unquestionably saved the lives of all who were present.