young prisoner, the keepers lay still, feigning sleep. Radisson rose.
They made no protest. He wandered casually down to the water side.
One can guess that the half-closed eyelids of his guards opened a
trifle: was the mouse trying to get away from the cat? To the Indians'
amusement, instead of trying to escape, Radisson picked up a spear and
practised tossing it, till a Mohawk became so interested that he jumped
up and taught the young Frenchman the proper throws. That day the
Indians gave him the present of a hunting-knife. North of Lake
Champlain, the river became so turbulent that they were forced to land
and make a _portage_. Instead of lagging, as captives frequently did
from very fear as they approached nearer and nearer what was almost
certain to mean death-torture in the Iroquois villages--Radisson
hurried over the rocks, helping the older warriors to carry their
packs. At night he was the first to cut wood for the camp fire.

About a week from the time they had left Lake St. Peter, they entered
Lake Champlain. On the shores of the former had been enacted the most
hideous of all Indian customs--the scalp dance. On the shores of the
latter was performed one of the most redeeming rites of Indian warfare.
Round a small pool of water a coppice of branches was interlaced. Into
the water were thrown hot stones till the enclosure was steaming. Here
each warrior took a sweat-bath of purification to prepare for reunion
with his family. Invoking the spirits as they bathed, the warriors
emerged washed--as they thought--of all blood-guilt.[8]

[Illustration: Map of the Iroquois country in the days of Radisson.]

In the night shots sounded through the heavy silence of the forest, and
the Mohawks embarked in alarm, compelling their white prisoner to lie
flat in the bottom of the canoe. In the morning when he awakened, he