vision and with
a long ago day of sunshine on the river.

"Is she not the daughter of Pontiac?" he inquired.

"Yes."

"Then you must be a son of the great chief?"

"I am his son," replied the young Indian, proudly.

"Am I, then, Pontiac's prisoner?"

"No. One bearing the sign of the Metai may be Pontiac's guest, but
never his prisoner."

"Ah, yes! I forgot my symbolic marking. But tell me, Atoka, was not
your sister with two white women on an island not long since?"

"She was. But they were taken to Detroit in exchange for prisoners
held in the fort."

In saying this Atoka believed he was telling the truth, for he knew not
that Edith still remained in the Ottawa village. From the day that
Donald was placed in his charge he had not left the island, nor had any
of its other occupants, save occasionally to hunt or fish, for Pontiac
did not wish it generally known that a white captive was held there.

As the means of intelligent intercourse between the young men
increased, Donald learned many other things of which he had been
ignorant, and among them that his own father was also a prisoner, or,
as Atoka said, a guest, in the Ottawa village.

"When you have recovered your full strength, then am I to take you to
him, for so Pontiac has ordered," added Atoka.

Thus inspired to gain strength, Donald did so with such rapidity that,
a week later, he was able to throw Atoka in a wrestling match, and the
young warrior sent word to his father that he should bring his charge
to the village on the following day.

Donald was so excited at the prospect of a near reunion with his
beloved parent, that, to his impatience, no hours had ever seemed so
long as did those of that last day of his seclusion. He retired early
in order to shorten them by sleep, but was wide awake when startled by
the sound of distant, though heavy and continuous firing.

"It is an attack on the Ottawa village," he said.

"Or on the fort," answered Atoka.

Both were so impatient to visit the scene of conflict that neither
needed to be reminded of their purpose to go to the village on that
very day. So in a few minutes they had launched a canoe and set forth,
with what results, we have already learned.

As Donald watched beside his father's body, a hand was laid on his
shoulder, and one whom he recognized as Pontiac stood beside him, his
stern face softened by sorrow.

"He was my friend," said the chieftain. "I loved him with a love th