keep at it after a repulse. Tell Father Claude; he is
shooting too low." Menard glanced along the line at his men. The
drunken transport man lay silent at his post; beyond him were his mate
and one of the Montreal men, both of them reckless and frightened by
turns, shooting aimlessly into the dark. The arrows were rattling down
about them now. One grazed Father Claude's back as he stooped to take
aim, and straightened him up with a jerk. A moment later a bullet sang
close past Menard's head. He looked for the maid; she was sitting by
the canoe, sewing, giving no heed to the arrows.

The Montreal man groaned softly, and flattened out, with an arrow
slanting into the small of his back; which so unmanned the only other
conscious _engage_ that he sank by him, sobbing, and trying to pull
out the arrow with his hands. Menard sprang up.

"My God, Danton! Father Claude! This is massacre. Run for the canoe.
My turn, eh?"

"What is it?" asked Danton. "Did they get you?"

For reply, Menard tore an arrow from the flesh of his forearm and
dashed down the bank, musket in hand. The maid was tugging at the
canoe, struggling to move it toward the water. She did not look up to
see the yellow, crimson, and green painted figures rise from the reeds
that fringed the water but a few yards away; she did not hear the rush
of moccasined feet on the gravel. Before she could turn, she was
seized and thrown to the ground, surrounded by the Indians, who were
facing about hastily to meet Menard. The Captain came among them with
a whirl of his musket that sent one warrior to the ground and dropped
another, half stunned, across the canoe. Danton was at his heels, and
Father Claude, fighting like demons with muskets and knives.

"Quick, Mademoiselle!" Menard lifted her as he spoke, and swung her
behind him; and then the three were facing the group of howling,
jumping figures, which was increased rapidly by those who had followed
the Frenchmen down the bank. "Come back here, Father. Protect the
maid! They dare not attack you, if you drop your musket! Loose your
hold, Mademoiselle." He caught roughly at the slender arms that held
about his waist, parrying a knife stroke with his other hand. "They
will kill you if you cling to me. Now, Danton! Never mind your arm. I
have one in the hand. Fight for the maid and France!" Menard was
shouting for sheer lust and frenzy of battle, "What is the matter with
the devils? Why don't they shoot? God, Danton, the