The morning had been passed by our party at the encampment in speculating upon the missing animals.  Could they have been stolen by the Indians?  Hardly:  these people seldom committed robberies in time of peace—­never upon our family, whom they regarded as their best friends.  The horses would doubtless be found.  They had probably been carelessly fastened the preceding evening, and had therefore been able to stray farther than was their wont.

A council was held, at which it was decided to send Grignon back to Chicago to get some fresh horses from Gholson Kercheval, and return as speedily as possible.  If on his return our encampment were deserted, he might conclude we had found the horses and proceeded to Fox River, where he would doubtless overtake us.

He had not been gone more than an hour before, slowly hopping out of a point of woods to the north of us (a spot which each of the seekers averred he had explored over and over again), and making directly for the place where we were, appeared the vexatious animals.  They came up as demurely as if nothing had happened, and seemed rather surprised to be received with a hearty scolding, instead of being patted and caressed as usual.

It was the work of a very short half-hour to strike and pack the tent, stow away the mats and kettles, saddle the horses, and mount for our journey.

“Whoever pleases may take my place in the carriage,” said our mother.  “I have travelled so many years on horseback, that I find any other mode of conveyance too fatiguing.”

So, spite of her sixty years, she mounted sister Margaret’s pacer with the activity of a girl of sixteen.

Lieutenant Foster had left us early in the morning, feeling it necessary to rejoin his command, and now, having seen us ready to set off, with a serene sky above us, and all things “right and tight” for the journey, our friend the Sau-ga-nash took leave of us, and retraced his steps towards Chicago.

We pursued our way through a lovely country of alternate glade and forest, until we reached the Fox River.  The current ran clear and rippling along, and, as we descended the steep bank to the water, the question, so natural to a traveller in an unknown region, presented itself, “Is it fordable?”

Petaille, to whom the ground was familiar, had not yet made his appearance Lecuyer was quite ignorant upon the subject.  The troops had evidently preceded us by this very trail.  True, but they were on horseback—­the difficulty was, could we get the carriage through?  It must be remembered that the doubt was not about the depth of the water, but about the hardness of the bottom of the stream.

It was agreed that two or three of the equestrians should make the trial first.  My mother, Lecuyer, and myself advanced cautiously across to the opposite bank, each choosing a different point for leaving the water, in order to find the firmest spot.  The bottom was hard and firm until we came near the shore; then it yielded a little.  With one step, however, we were each on dry ground.