Hence you will never hear a French or half-breed resident of the country mention an Indian in any other style.  “Such a person is a ‘Court-oreille.’” “Is that woman a ’Winnebago’?” “No, she is a ’Folle Avoine.’” In this manner a stranger is somewhat puzzled at first to classify the acquaintances he forms.

All the native friends with whom we were here surrounded were “les Puans,” or, to use their own euphonious appellation, the “Ho-tshung-rahs.”

Having with great regret said adieu to our friend Judge Doty, whose society had contributed so much to the pleasure of our trip, and whose example, moreover, had given us a valuable lesson to take things as we find them, we bade good-bye at an early hour after breakfast to our kind hosts, and set forward on our journey.

From Butte des Morts to the Portage, the distance by land is about seventy miles; by water, it is not less than a hundred and thirty, so serpentine is the course of the river through the low swampy prairies which stretch over a great portion of this part of the country.

About six miles above the Butte, a tolerably broad stream, called Wolf River, joins the Fox, and as it is much the more direct and promising of the two, strangers have sometimes mistaken it for the main stream, and journeyed up it a considerable distance before discovering, to their great chagrin, that they must retrace their steps.

Beyond this place, the river begins to play its pranks with the compass.  As I was always looking out for pretty scenery to sketch, I was at one spot much attracted by a picturesque group on a bank quite close to the stream.  There were broad overhanging trees, and two or three wigwams nestled under their shade.  Bright-looking little children, quite unencumbered with clothing, were sporting about, and their two mothers were sitting on the ground, engaged in the manufacture of a mat for their lodge.  It was a pretty scene, and I commenced a sketch.  As usual, the whole party on the bank set up a shout when they recognized Shaw-nee-aw-kee,—­

“Ee-awn-chee-wee-rah, Hee-nee-kar-ray-kay-noo."[12]

It was an occasion on which they became demonstrative.  After a little time we proceeded, and I went on to complete my drawing.  The sun kept coming more and more into the wrong place.  He had been just behind me, presently he was on my left hand, now he was straight ahead.  I moved from time to time; at length the sun was decidedly on my right hand.  What could be the matter?  I looked up.  “Oh, here is a pretty scene; I must have this too!  But how surprisingly like the one I have just finished, only in a different direction.”  Again we were greeted with shouts and laughter; it was the same spot which we had passed not an hour before, and, having taken a circuit of nearly four miles, we had returned to find that we had made an actual progress of only the width of the bank on which the trees and wigwams stood.  Decidedly not very encouraging to an impatient traveller.