With the fleetness of thought now commenced a race that had ostensibly for its object the recovery of the lost ball; and in which, he who had driven it with such resistless force outstripped them all.  Their course lay between the two lines of squaws; and scarcely had the head of the bounding Indians reached the opposite extremity of those lines, when the women suddenly threw back their blankets, and disclosed each a short gun and a tomahawk.  To throw away their hurdles and seize upon these, 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 was, however, seen flying through the air, carried away by the force of the bullet which had torn it from his head.  He himself was unharmed.