This was but the empty talk of brutal and ignorant traders, who had everything to gain and nothing to lose. But the Indians listened to them, and at last concluded that it must be so--that the English meant to exterminate them. They held long councils of war, and at last determined to strike a blow at the first favorable opportunity. Pontiac spoke at many of these secret meetings, in a manner that was truly eloquent of the cause he espoused. "The Indian must fight or he must become as a squaw and a slave," said Pontiac. "The English will press him to the bitter end. They say they are our friends, but they come as wolves in the night to take away our all. You ask how are we to fight them, for they are many? We must use our cunning, we must not let them think we are their enemies. We must treat them as our best friends. Then, when the time is ripe, shall the blow be struck, and no English man, woman, or child shall escape. Pontiac has spoken. Who is there to dispute what he has said?" The discontent of the Indians was strongest throughout Virginia, Pennsylvania, and New York. The Delawares--those who would not listen to such chiefs as White Buffalo--were angered in the extreme, and the Shawanoes were likewise unsettled. In New York State some simple-minded Indians petitioned Sir William Johnson to have the English forts "kicked out of the way," as they expressed it. This, of course, could not be done, and the red men viewed the strengthening of the strongholds with increased suspicion. Some threats were made to destroy the fort at Detroit, but the time was not ripe for a well-planned attack, and nothing came of it. At last James Morris could bear the waiting no longer, and leaving Dave and the frontiersman, Sanderson, in charge of the trading-post, he set out with Jadwin on horseback, to see if he could learn anything about the pack-train that was expected. "Be very careful while I am gone," he said to his son, and Dave promised to do his best. The route of Mr. Morris and his companion lay through the burn-over, and along the trail previously followed. Good time was made, for their steeds were fresh, and by nightfall they had covered at least twenty-five miles. They went into camp at a convenient spot on the bank of a purling brook, where nothing came to disturb them while they slept. Hardly had they gone two miles in the morning, however, when they came upon a sight that filled them with alarm. Propped up against a tree was Henry, capless, and with the blood streaming over his face from an ugly cut in the forehead. "Henry! What does this mean?" demanded James Morris. "Uncle James!" faltered the youth. "Help--help me!" "To be sure I'll help you, Henry. But what does it mean? Where are Sam and the others, and the horses?"