he ball
produced, he started suddenly to his feet, and uttered a sharp
exclamation, denoting approbation of her wonderful courage. He
asked, as a favor, to retain the ball as a testimony of her heroism;
when Mrs. Headley presented it to him with her own hand. And with
this he departed, exulting as though he had taken a new scalp.

This incident, perhaps unimportant in itself, was not without some
moment in the results to which it led. On the day following the
fort was filled with Indians and their squaws not only endeavoring
to assert their claims to individual prisoners, but infuriated at
the losses, seeking a victim to the manes of their deceased relatives.
Among others was an aged squaw, who had lost a favorite son in the
battle, and who, having been told by a warrior that he had distinctly
seen him killed by a shot from Mrs. Headley's rifle, repaired to
the house of Mr. McKenzie, where she knew she then was, bent upon
exciting the general sympathy of the warriors in her favor, and
obtaining their assent that she should revenge his death upon the
"white squaw."

It happened, however, that the noble woman, feeling great relief
from the abstraction of the ball from her left arm the preceding
evening, and feeling secure in the pledge entered into by Winnebeg,
and confirmed in a measure by his people, had fearlessly mounted
her horse, which had been recovered for her, and ridden alone to
the baggage wagons for the purpose of procuring some article which,
at the moment, she much required. As she was returning, and when
near the entrance to the fort, she was met by the vixen, furious
with rage and disappointment at not having found her.

Advancing with a cry that might be likened to that of a fiend, she
seized the bridle of the horse, and attempted to drag his rider by
her habit to the ground--shrieking forth at the same time her
determination to have her life who had taken the life of her son.
But Mrs. Headley was not one, as the reader of this by no means
fictitious narrative already knows, to be thus intimidated. She
possessed too much of the high spirit, the resolute nature of her
unfortunate uncle to submit quietly to the outrage, and, moreover,
she knew enough of the Indian character to be sensible that it was
not by any manifestation of submission that she could hope to escape
the threatened danger. Her course was at once taken. She struck
the gaunt and shrivelled hag such a violent stroke over her shoulder
wit