When Major Gladwyn was informed, still he would not believe. But the fur-traders at the post insisted that when an Indian shortened his gun, he meant mischief. The opinion of fur-traders carried no weight with Major Gladwyn, the British officer. The next evening Catharine, a pretty Ojibwa girl who lived with the Potawatomis, came to see him in his quarters. She was his favorite. She had agreed to make him a pair of handsome moccasins, from an elk hide. Now she brought the moccasins, and the rest of the hide. Usually she had been much pleased to look upon and talk with the handsome young major in the red clothes. This time her face was clouded, she hung her head, and spoke hardly at all. Her eager girlishness had vanished. The major's delight with the moccasins failed to cheer her up. Trying to win her smiles, he told her the moccasins were so beautiful that he wished to give them to a friend. Would she take the elk-hide away with her, and make another pair of moccasins for himself! She finally left, with strangely slow step, and backward glances. At sunset, when the gates of the fort were to be closed, the guard found her still inside. As she would not go, the sergeant took word to the major. "She won't talk with me, sir," he reported. "Send her in and I will talk with her," ordered the major. Catharine came, downcast, silent, and timid. "Why have you not gone before the gates are shut, Catharine?" She hesitated. "I did not wish to take away the skin that is yours." "But you did take it away, as far as the gate." She hesitated more. "Yes, that is so. But if I take it outside I can never return it." "Why not?" "I cannot tell. I am afraid." "You can talk freely. Nothing that you say shall go to other ears. If you bring me news of value you will be well rewarded, and no one shall know." Catharine loved the major. Presently she told him of the mind of Pontiac, and the deed planned for tomorrow morning. A cold fear clutched the heart of Major Gladwyn. He recalled the shortened guns, he recalled the Bloody Belt, he recalled the date made with him for a big council on the morrow. At last he rather believed. So he sent away the trembling Catharine, that she might go to her village. He held a council with his officers. Here they were, with only one hundred and twenty soldiers, and less than three weeks' provisions, cut off by one thousand, two thousand, three thousand merciless Indian warriors, and by the French settlers and traders who probably would be glad to have the English killed. "The English are to be struck down, but no Frenchman is to be harmed," had said Catharine. That looked bad indeed. This night guards were doubled along the parapets, and in the block-houses. The major himself walked guard most of the night. From the distant villages of the Ottawas, the Wyandots, and the Potawatomis drifted the clamor of dances--an ugly sound, full of meaning, now.