We had not dreamed of finding white neighbors here, but our vicinity could be no secret to them, as long as there was an Indian in the neighborhood.

So, delaying only for the soldiers to finish their breakfast, we pushed on for the "Butte des Morts," or, as Mrs.A always persisted in calling it, _Betty More's_.
The white tent of the Judge gleamed in the morning sun as we approached the little rising ground on which it stood.

The river was filled with canoes, paddled principally by squaws.

Many Indians were to be seen on the banks, all with their guns and hunting accoutrements, for the air was filled in every direction with flocks of teal, which at this season are most abundant and delicious.

The immense fields of wild rice abounding here and in the little lake below, make this vicinity their favorite place of resort in the autumn months.