still sick, that he cannot come; or has the great chief
of the Ottawas forgotten to tell him?"

"The voice of the pale warrior is still sick, and he
cannot speak," replied the Indian. "The Ottawa chief is
very sorry; for the tongue of his friend the pale face
is full of wisdom."

Scarcely had the last words escaped his lips, when a wild
shrill cry from without the fort rang on the ears of the
assembled council, and caused a momentary commotion among
the officers. It arose from a single voice, and that
voice could not be mistaken by any who had heard it once
before. A second or two, during which the officers and
chiefs kept their eyes intently fixed on each other,
passed anxiously away, and then nearer to the gate,
apparently on the very drawbridge itself, was pealed
forth the wild and deafening yell of a legion of devilish
voices. At that sound, the Ottawa and the other chiefs
sprang to their feet, and their own fierce cry responded
to that yet vibrating on the ears of all. Already were
their gleaming tomahawks brandished wildly over their
heads, and Ponteac had even bounded a pace forward to
reach the governor with the deadly weapon, when, at the
sudden stamping of the foot of the latter upon the floor,
the scarlet cloth in the rear was thrown aside, and twenty
soldiers, their eyes glancing along the barrels of their
levelled muskets, met the startled gaze of the astonished
Indians.