Well, the west called me.  And if a man whines under his luck, that proves that he deserves all that has happened.

And so we reached the Pottawatamie Islands.

We were so cramped and exhausted that we staggered as we tried to walk from the canoe, yet we remained at the islands but an hour.  And in that hour I talked to Onanguisse and the old men, and perfected our plans.  When we embarked again we had two large canoes with strong-armed Pottawatamies at the paddles.  We were on our way to the Malhominis, and I slept most of the distance, for nature was in revolt.  Yet through all my heavy slumber droned the voice of Onanguisse, and always he repeated what he had said when we parted.

“I called her the turtle dove.  But at heart she was an eagle.  Did you ask her to peck and twitter like a tame robin?  I could have told you that she would fly away.”

We reached the mouth of the Wild Rice River at evening, and pushed up through the reeds in the darkness.  I knew if Pemaou was lying in ambush for me this would be the place for him.  But we reached the village safely, so I said to myself that the Huron had grown slow-witted.

In other times, in times before the broth of life had lost its salt, I should have enjoyed that moment of entry into the Malhominis camp.  The cry that met me was of relief and welcome, but I ignored all greetings till I had pushed my way to the pole where the dried band of rushes still hung.  I tore it away, and hung a silver chain in its place.  “Brother!” I said to Outchipouac, and he gave me his calumet in answer.

And then I had ado to compel a hearing.  The Malhominis repented their injustice, and would have overpowered me with rejoicings and flattery, but I made them understand at last that I had but two hours to spend with them, and they quieted like children before a tutor.  My first question was for news of Labarthe and Leclerc, but I learned nothing.  Indeed, the Malhominis could tell me nothing of the Seneca camp beyond the fact that it was still there.  They had cowered in their village dreading a Seneca attack, and they were feverishly anxious for concerted action.  They suggested that I save time by sending messengers to the Chippewas and Winnebagoes, while I went myself to the Sac camp.

This was good advice and I adopted it.  I drew maps on bark, gave the messengers my watchword, and instructed them what to say.  The rendezvous I had selected was easy to find.  Some few miles south of the Seneca camp a small river debouched into La Baye des Puants.  We would meet there.  Cadillac and the Pottawatamies would come together from the north; the Malhominis, the Winnebagoes, and the Chippewas would come separately, and I would lead the Sacs under my command.  All was agreed upon, and I saw the messengers dispatched.  Then I took a canoe and eight men, and started on my own journey.  It was then past midnight.