about her face and shoulders; her hands, grimy with the clay of the
bank, clinging to a wandering root. She was still trembling with
excitement, but her eyes were bright and eager. Without a word he drew
his knife from its sheath, and held it out. She took it, and was down
the slope with a light spring, while the Captain poked the muzzle of
his musket through the leaves. As he drew it back, after firing, he
caught a glimpse of Danton's face, turned toward him with a curious
expression. The boy laughed nervously, and wiped the sweat from his
blackened forehead. "They don't give us much rest, Captain, do they?"
Menard's reply was jerked out with the strokes of his ramrod: "They
will--before long--and we can--take to the canoe. We're letting them
have all they want." He peered through the leaves, and fired quickly.
A long shriek came from the darkness. Menard laughed. "There's one
more gone, Danton."

The fight went on slowly, wretchedly, shot for shot, Danton himself
dragging up a bale of ammunition and serving it to the men. The maid,
unaided, had overturned the canoe where it lay, and with quickened
breath was pressing her needle through the tough bark. Danton lost the
flint from his musket, and crept down the bank to set a new one.
Suddenly he exclaimed, "There goes Perrot!"

The old _voyageur_ had, in a fit of recklessness, raised his head for
a long look about the woods. Now he was rolling slowly down the slope
toward the canoe and the maid, clutching weakly at roots and bushes as
he passed. There was a dark spot on his forehead. Menard sprang after,
and felt of his wrists; the pulse was fluttering out. He looked up, to
see the maid dipping up water with her hollowed hands, and waved her
back.

"It is no use, Mademoiselle. Is the canoe ready? We may need it
soon."

She stood motionless, slowly shaking her head, and letting the water
spill from her hands a drop at a time.

"Go back there. Do what you can with it." He hurried up the bank and
fell into his place.

"Do you see what they are doing?" asked Danton.

"Playing the devil. Anything else?"

The lieutenant pointed to an arrow that was sticking in a tree beside
him, slanting downward. "They are climbing trees. Listen. You can hear
them talking, and calling down. I've fired, but I don't get them."

Menard listened closely, and shot for the sound, but with no result.

"We've got to stop this, Danton. I don't understand it. It isn't like
the Iroquois to