ing them back. Thus far his
warriors had been everywhere victorious, and this was their first
repulse. Could he have captured that schooner with all that it
contained, and turned its guns against the slight defences of Detroit,
that place must speedily have fallen. Then, with his entire force, he
would have been free to sweep resistlessly down the Alleghany to lower
the last English flag west of the mountains. But his certain victory
had been turned into disaster by a cry of warning from the very midst
of the attacking fleet. It was incredible! Who had uttered that cry?
What had come over his warriors, that such a thing could be possible?
In his rage, Pontiac ordered that the prisoners be securely guarded
until he could invent some punishment adequate to their offence.
Should they escape, it should be meted out to their guards. Then, too,
let the warriors who had admitted those white men to their ranks look
to themselves; for if any were found who had played traitor, their fate
should be such that for generations the mere telling of it would chill
the blood of all hearers. Thus spake Pontiac, and the forest warriors
trembled before the wrath of their mighty chief.

On the following day he sat moodily in his lodge on a small island at
the head of the river, whither he was accustomed to retreat for quiet
and meditation. Only his favorite daughter was with him, and she was
striving in vain to find words of comfort that should banish the dark
cloud from his face. To this place, according to his order, were
brought the prisoners who had defeated his plan of attack on the
schooner, that he might pronounce judgment upon them. One lay on the
ground before the entrance to the lodge, covered with blood and
apparently lifeless, while the other, clad in a tattered blanket and
tightly bound, stood dejectedly beside him.

"Why bring ye dead men to this place?" demanded Pontiac, spurning the
prostrate form with his foot. "Take the scalp, and throw the body to
the fishes."

"He is not dead. He still breathes," answered one of the warriors who
had brought the prisoners.

"It matters not. Still do as I said."

As the warrior drew his scalping-knife and stooped to obey, the Indian
girl, leaning forward to obtain a better view of him whose case was
thus summarily disposed, uttered a cry of dismay, grasped the warrior's
arm, and spoke a few hurried words to her father.

[Illustration: Pontiac discovers that Donald is ta