the woods yonder--they were Indian guns,
Monsieur. See! those two last were from the stockade; I could perceive
the logs in the flare."

"Ay, and that is all; the lads will waste no ammunition in the gloom,
except to tell the savages they are awake and ready."

"How far have we traveled, Monsieur?"

"A mile, perhaps. At the crooked oak yonder we leave the stream. You
met with no harm when you fell?"

"No more than a bruise. I can go on now."

We turned to the right, and plunged into the thicket, the way now so
black that I grasped his jacket in fear of becoming lost. We were
clambering up a slight hill, careless of everything but our footing,
when there was a sudden rustling of the low branches on either side
our path. De Artigny stopped, thrusting me back, while at that very
instant, indistinct forms seemed to leap forth from the covert. It
occurred so quickly, so silently, that before I even realized danger,
he was struggling madly with the assailants. I heard the crash of
blows, an oath of surprise, a guttural exclamation, a groan of pain.
Hands gripped me savagely; I felt naked bodies, struggled wildly to
escape, but was flung helplessly to the ground, a hand grasping my
hair. I could see nothing only a confused mass of legs and arms, but
De Artigny was still on his feet, struggling desperately. From some
hand he had grabbed a rifle, and swung it crashing into the faces of
those grappling him. Back he came step by step, fighting like a fiend,
until he stood over me. With one wide sweep of his clutched weapon he
struck me free, a blow which shattered the gun stock, and left him
armed only with the iron bar. But the battle fury was on him; dimly I
could see him towering above me, bareheaded, his clothes torn to rags,
the grim barrel poised for a blow.

"St. Ann!" he cried exultantly. "'Tis a good fight so far--would you
have more of it?"

"Hold!" broke in a French voice from out the darkness. "What means
this? Are you of white blood?"

"I have always supposed so."

"A renegade consorting with devils of the Iroquois?"

"_Mon Dieu!_ No! an officer of Fort St. Louis."

I could see the white man thrust aside the Indian circle, and strike
through. His face was invisible, although I was upon my knees now, but
he was a short, heavily built fellow.

"Stand back! ay, make room. Saint Guise, we are fighting our own
friends. If you are of the garrison name yourself."

De Artigny, still clasping his rifle barrel