ese, was the work of an instant. Already, in imagination, was the
fort their own; and, such was the peculiar exultation of the black and
turbaned warrior, when he felt the planks of the drawbridge bending
beneath his feet, all the ferocious joy of his soul was pealed forth in
the terrible cry which, rapidly succeeded by that of the other Indians,
had resounded so fearfully through the council-room. What their
disappointment was, when, on gaining the interior, they found the
garrison prepared for their reception, has already been shown.

"Secure that traitor, men!" exclaimed the governor, advancing into the
square, and pointing to the black warrior, whose quick eye was now
glancing on every side, to discover some assailable point in the
formidable defences of the troops.

A laugh of scorn and derision escaped the lips of the warrior. "Is
there a man--are there any ten men, even with Governor de Haldimar at
their head, who will be bold enough to attempt it?" he asked. "Nay!" he
pursued, stepping boldly a pace or two in front of the wondering
savages,--"here I stand singly, and defy your whole garrison!"

A sudden movement among the soldiers in the guard-room announced they
were preparing to execute the order of their chief. The eye of the
black warrior sparkled with ferocious pleasure; and he made a gesture
to his followers, which was replied to by the sudden tension of their
hitherto relaxed forms into attitudes of expectance and preparation.

"Stay, men; quit not your cover for your lives!" commanded the
governor, in a loud deep voice:--"keep the barricades fast, and move
not."

A cloud of anger and disappointment passed over the features of the
black warrior. It was evident the object of his bravado was to draw the
troops from their defences, that they might be so mingled with their
enemies as to render the cannon useless, unless friends and foes (which
was by no means probable) should alike be sacrificed. The governor had
penetrated the design in time to prevent the mischief.

In a moment of uncontrollable rage, the savage warrior aimed his
tomahawk at the head of the governor. The latter stepped lightly aside,
and the steel sank with such force into one of the posts supporting the
piazza, that the quivering handle snapped close off at its head. At
that moment, a single shot, fired from the guard-house, was drowned in
the yell of approbation which burst from the lips of the dark crowd.
The turban of the warrior