“I think,” declared Colonel Dodge worriedly, “that I will make a visit to the village of White Crow. The matter of the Crow and his nervous Winnebagoes has been on my mind all day. Perhaps a solemn talk with the chief will make him more firm in keeping his peace pact with us.”
“The Crow’s village is at the head of Fourth Lake, isn’t it?” queried Captain Hamilton.
“Yes, only an hour’s trip. There’s a well-beaten Indian trail connecting all the lakes.”
To accompany him on the mission, Dodge named Bill Brown, Tom and Ben Gordon, Bright Star, the Pottawattomee, who knew some Winnebago tongue, and six of the stoutest and strongest of his own rangers. After three-quarters of an hour of easy travel—for the trail was fully as good as the Colonel had prophesied—the party of horsemen reached the foot of the Fourth Lake. Up its timbered western bank they made their way, skirting several patches of bog that rimmed the water at various inlets.
After passing the last of these bogs, they came to a place where the trail followed the high, sheer bank very closely for an interval. A short distance ahead, on a point known as Fox’s Head, they could see the village of the famed White Crow. Suddenly, Bright Star, who was riding at the rear of the column with the other scouts, drew rein on his pony and pointed out into the lake. A canoe, with three paddlers, was shooting down the surface, heading south, a long quarter of a mile away.
“Prairie Wolf!” asserted the keen-eyed young brave.
“No?” barked Tom Gordon incredulously.
“By golly, it looks like the Wolf,” nodded Bill, after a swift, but searching, look.
“Wonder who’s with him?” spoke up Ben, voicing the silent thoughts of the others.
“One pale-face, one redman,” Bright Star declared, gazing lakeward with renewed intensity, as the bark-canoe sped away down the shimmering water.