ing of
that belt will be the signal for a general massacre of every English
soul within the limits of Fort Detroit, save only the one to whom the
chief has presented his calumet."

"Do you believe this cock-and-bull story, Hester?" demanded the
startled commander.

"Even now is the war dance in progress," was the reply. "Listen!"

At that moment a waft of night air bore to their ears the sullen
booming of distant war drums and the wild chorus of quavering yells
with which the frenzied savages across the river greeted Pontiac's
declaration of war against the hated English.

"By Heaven, Hester! I believe you are right," cried Gladwyn, as he
listened to these ominous sounds. "At any rate, I will accept your
warning, and make such preparations as will show those devils that we
are not to be caught napping."

CHAPTER X

PONTIAC DECLARES WAR

Although Gladwyn caused half of his force to be kept under arms that
night, and doubled his sentries, nothing occurred to disturb the
settlement. In the morning, as the rising sun dispelled the fleecy
mist-clouds from above the river, a fleet of canoes was seen crossing
from the eastern shore. These effected a landing at some distance
above the fort, and soon afterwards the wide, open common behind it was
animated by the presence of hundreds of Indians. There were stately
warriors in paint and blankets, young braves stripped to the
waist-cloth for a game of ball, maidens whose cheeks were ruddy with
vermilion, robed in embroidered and beaded garments of fawn skin, and
naked children, frolicking like so many puppies. Save in the
occasional scowling face and preoccupied air of some dark-browed
warrior, and a slow but noticeable gathering of these near the
principal gate of the fort, there was nothing to arouse suspicion or
indicate that these visitors had any save the most friendly feelings
toward the whites.

Pontiac having sent word to Major Gladwyn that he desired to meet the
white chief in council, about ten o'clock the Indian leader and some
sixty of his principal men were seen approaching in single file from
the direction of the bridge across Parent's creek, a mile and a half
north of the fort. As they drew near the great gateway, it was noticed
that in spite of the heat of the day every warrior was wrapped to the
chin in his gayly colored blanket. The faces of all were streaked with
ochre, vermilion, white, and black paint, while from their scalp-locks
dep