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“What?” exclaimed Joseph. “You don’t think we can sleep all the time, do you? I feel as if I never wanted to sleep again.”

“You feel different tomorrow maybe.”

“That may be so, but I can’t sleep now, that’s sure. How do you feel, Bob?”

“Entirely slept out,” replied Robert, his remark followed by a yawn, however.

All three lapsed into silence while they scanned the surrounding landscape and wished for the coming of night. The quiet of the swamp was undisturbed save for the occasional call of a wild fowl or a splash caused by the jump of a fish. The wind blowing gently through the trees and rushes furnished a drowsy hum as a background to the other noises. As far as one could judge from appearances in the swamp, all the world was at peace. Little would anyone suspect that the three men on the tiny island had been forced to seek that refuge because of hostile Indians.

“Where is Black Hawk’s village?” asked Joseph suddenly.

“Where Rock River meet Mississippi,” replied Deerfoot. “That was his village.”