ered them the war belt. His hope was that they would
take it up and join him against the English.

Now, the Canadians had become by the terms of the treaty that closed the
French war, British subjects, but they were ashamed or afraid to admit
it, and still deceived the Indians. They told Pontiac that much as it
would please them to fight with him against the English, they must obey
the commands of their father, the King of France, who had bidden them to
remain at peace until his coming. They added that he, with a great army,
was already on the St. Lawrence and would soon arrive to punish the
enemies of his children and reward their friends. They advised the
chieftain not to make an enemy of his mighty friend.

When the French speaker had finished, there was a short silence. Then an
old trapper came forward, and, picking up the war belt, declared that he
was ready to take sides with the Indians against the English. Several of
his rough comrades followed his example.

Pontiac's hope of gaining aid from the French was thus not utterly
defeated. Besides, he still believed their talk about the coming of the
French king. So the French and Indians continued friends.

Some of the tribes growing restless, now made peace with the English and
deserted Pontiac. But a greater blow than the desertion of a few tribes
was in store for the chief.

Late in July he learned that twenty-two barges bearing large supplies of
food and ammunition and almost three hundred men had made their way up
the Detroit River in safety, protected by a dense fog. The news came so
late that it was impossible for the Indians to oppose the progress of
the boats, and they reached the fort with little resistance.

At about two o'clock in the morning of the second day after the arrival
of this convoy, Pontiac's spies brought him word that the English were
coming against his camp with a great force.

Swiftly and silently the Ottawas broke their camp, and with some Ojibwas
started to meet the British. On reaching the site of their former camp,
about a mile and a half above the fort, near the bridge that crossed a
little stream, called from that night Bloody Run, they formed an ambush
and waited for the British.

They had barely time to hide behind their old earthworks, natural ridges
and piles of brush. Already they heard the barking of watchdogs at the
farmhouses along the river road, and the tramp of many feet. They
listened and discovered that the enemy