“’Tis a land of plenty,” said Du Mesne one day, breaking the habitual silence into which the party had fallen. “’Tis a great land, and a mighty.  And now, Monsieur, I know why the Indians say ’tis guarded by spirits.  Sure, I can myself feel something in the air which makes my shoulder-blades to creep.”

“’Tis a mighty land, and full of wonders,” assented Law, who, in different fashion, had felt the same mysterious spell of this great stream.  For himself, he was nearer to reverence than ever yet he had been in all his wild young life.

Now so it happened that at length, after a long though rapid journey down the great river, they came to that stream which they took to be the river of the Illini.  This they ascended, and so finally, early in one evening, at the bank of a wide and placid bayou, shaded by willows and birch trees, and by great elms that bore aloft a canopy of clinging vines, they made a landing for the bivouac which was to prove their final tarrying place.  The great canot du Nord came to rest at the foot of a timbered hill, back of which stretched high, rolling prairies, dotted with little groves and broken with wide swales and winding sloughs.  The leaders of the party, with Tete Gris and Pierre Noir, ascended the bluffs and made brief exploration; not more, as was tacitly understood, with view to choosing the spot for the evening encampment than with the purpose of selecting a permanent stopping place.  Du Mesne at length turned to Law with questioning gaze.  John Law struck the earth with his heel.

“Here!” said he.  “Here let us stop.  ’Tis as well as any place.  There are flowers and trees, and meadows and hedges, like to those of England.  Here let us stay!”

“Ah, you say well indeed!” cried Du Mesne, “and may fortune send us happy enterprises.”

“But then, for the houses,” continued Law.  “I presume we must keep close to this little stream which flows from the bluff.  And yet we must have a place whence we can obtain good view.  Then, with stout walls to protect us, we might—­but see!  What is that beyond?  Look!  There is, if I mistake not, a house already builded!”

“’Tis true, as I live!” cried Du Mesne, lowering his voice instinctively, as his quick eye caught the spot where Law was pointing.  “But, good God! what can it mean?”

They advanced cautiously into the little open space beyond them, a glade but a few hundred yards across and lined by encircling trees.  They saw indeed a habitation erected by human hands, apparently not altogether without skill.  There were rude walls of logs, reinforced by stakes planted in the ground.  From the four corners of the inclosure projected overhanging beams.  There was an opening in the inclosure, as they discovered upon closer approach, and entering at this rude door, the party looked about them curiously.

Du Mesne shut his lips tight together.  This was no house built by the hands of white men.  There were here no quarters, no shops, no chapel with its little bell.  Instead there stood a few dried and twisted poles, and all around lay the litter of an abandoned camp.