After landing, Mrs. Fowler put a piece of silver in Jim Newall’s hand and asked him if he would take them back home again in an hour or two.  Jim nodded an assent as he pulled his little bark out of the water to the dry land.

Mrs. Godfrey, once on shore, fully recognized that she was at the old camping ground of her protector in by gone days, Paul Guidon.

The squaw replied to Mrs. Godfrey’s inquiry after her sick husband, that he was very weak, almost dead.  Does he know that a white woman is doming to see him this morning? asked Margaret G.  “Yes,” replied the Indian woman, “he be so glad see you, but he be very weak, no speak, he told me in whisper last night, after I come back camp from Jim Newall wigwam, best friend, best woman ever saw, was pale face woman, who told him of Great Chief, Big Spirit, and great hunting ground way back sun, where old Mag, (mother) was now.  Pale face woman gave him book, and would talk Great Spirit and tell him look after Paul and make him good man.”

Is your husband’s name Paul? asked Margaret Godfrey.  “Yes mam,” she answered, “Paul Guidon his name.”  Mrs. Godfrey felt all must be a dream.  She appeared lost and bewildered after she had heard the name Paul Guidon.  She cast a glance at her companion and exclaimed, “Am I back to the old camping ground of Paul Guidon, and is he here?” Then her faculties seemed to desert her, for at that instant she staggered and fell into the arms of the Indian woman, with such force as to almost knock the squaw over.  Mrs. Fowler noticing the stupor of her companion and her pallid features, asked her if she felt ill.  She did not reply.

Little Mag, for such was the name of the handsome squaw, ran down to the river side, filled her moccasins with water and tripping back, she poured the contents full in the face of Mrs. Godfrey.  She went again and again to the river, filled her moccasins and poured the water over Margaret’s face and temples.

Jim Newall, who was sitting in his canoe a few yards distant, seeing the woman lying on the ground, came up and proposed to carry her to the wigwam two hundred yards distant, or under the shade of some trees near by.  The latter proposition was acted upon.  Jim, Mrs. Fowler and Little Mag, carried Margaret to a shaded spot a few yards away.  They all sat down beside her, as she lay stretched and apparently lifeless upon the ground.  After little Mag had once more poured the contents of her shoes down the neck of Margaret, and Mrs. Fowler had steadily rubbed her temples and wrists, she opened her eyes, looked wildly about, and then sat up supported by her companion.