side of the pretty river; and few of their young men dared to
wander far from the friendly shelter of the woods.

One day in summer, when the woods were full of the songs of
birds, and the prairie of the sweet odors of flowers, the
Illinois had a festival under the oaks that shaded their village.
The young people played merry games on the greeIr, while their
fathers and mothers sat in the doors of the wigwams and talked
of the peaceful days that were past.

All at once a savage yell was heard in the hazel thicket by the
river; then another from the edge of the prairie; and then a
third from the lower end of the village. In a moment all was
terror and confusion. Too well the Illinois knew the meaning of
these cries. The savage strangers from beyond the prairie had
come at last.

The attack had been so sudden and fierce that the Illinois could
not defend themselves. They scattered and fled far into the woods
on the other side of the little river. Then, one by one, they
came together in a rocky glen where they could hide from danger.
But even there they could hear the yells of their foes, and they
could see the black smoke that rose from their burning wigwams.

What could they do, now that this ruin had at last come upon
them? The bravest among them were in despair. They threw their
bows upon the ground. The warriors were gloomy and silent. They
said it was useless to fight with foes so strong and fierce. The
women and children wept as though heartbroken.