hich he had secret information the English were to
make that night, Mahng smiled grimly; for he believed his long-desired
opportunity had arrived.

CHAPTER XXXV

A NIGHT OF FIGHTING AND TERROR

In Fort Detroit the night after that of Gladwyn's dinner party was one
of sleeplessness, busy preparation, and intense, though suppressed
excitement. The expedition intended for the surprise and destruction
of Pontiac's village, and the rescue of the Hesters, was about to set
forth under command of Captain Dalzell. As it was believed that the
Indians would be less on their guard just before dawn than at any other
hour of the night, the line of march was not to be taken up until two
o'clock in the morning. At that hour the great gate of the fort was
thrown open and the selected troops, two hundred and fifty in number,
filed silently out into the intense darkness of the sultry night.

In close order and without the utterance of a word they marched up the
river road, the black waters gleaming dimly on their right. Their left
was bounded by the white houses of Canadian settlers, with their barns
and orchards and cornfields. From these they were saluted by the
clamorous barking of watch-dogs, while many a startled face peered
anxiously at them from the unshuttered windows. The frightened
inhabitants, roused from sleep by the unusual sound of marching troops,
were filled with uneasiness, and gathered in little groups by the
roadside to question each other and listen to the measured tramping as
it was borne faintly back to them on the damp night air.

Besides these there were other figures flitting behind the houses,
through the rustling cornfields and from tree to tree of the orchards,
as still and dark as shadows, but ever keeping pace with the marching
troops, and ever watching them. These were the scouts of Pontiac,
without whose knowledge no man had left the gates of Detroit by day or
night for more than a year. Out on the water was heard the muffled
sound of oars from the two bateaux, each armed with a swivel gun that
kept abreast of the troops close to the river bank.

Nearly two miles from the fort, Parent's creek, ever since that
memorable night called "Bloody Run," crossed the road at right angles
through a rough ravine, and entered the river a short distance below
amid a rank growth of sedge and wild rice. It was spanned by a rude
wooden bridge and beyond this the bank rose steeply. On its summit
were p