m everything was brightness. The
fires had been replenished, the men lined the stockade and were firing
fast. Cheers replied to whoops. Smoke of battle overhung the camp, and
drifted off into the forest. Robert looked toward the stockade. Again
it was his impulse to go, and again he stayed. There was a slight
gurgling in the water almost at his feet, and a dark figure rose from
the waves, followed in an instant by another, and then by many more.
Robert, his imagination up and leaping, thrilled with horror. He
understood at once. They were attacked by swimming savages. While
the great shouting and turmoil in their front was going on a line of
warriors had reached the lake somewhere in the darkness, and were now
in the camp itself.

He was palsied only for a moment. Then his faculties were alive and he
saw the imminent need. Leaping back, he uttered a piercing shout, and,
drawing his pistol, he fired point blank at the first of the warriors.
Wilton, who had felt the same horror at sight of the dark faces, fired
also, and there was a rush of feet as men came to their help.

The warriors were armed only with tomahawk and knife, and they had
expected a surprise which they might have effected if it had not been
for Robert's keenness, but more of them came continually and they
made a formidable attack. Sending forth yell after yell as a signal to
their comrades in front that they had landed, they rushed forward.

Neither Robert nor Wilton ever had any clear idea of that fierce
combat in the dark. The defenders fired their rifles and pistols,
if they had time, and then closed in with cold steel. Meanwhile the
attack on the front redoubled. But here at the water's edge it was
fiercest. Borderer met warrior, and now and then, locked in the arms
of one another, they fell and rolled together into the lake. Grosvenor
came too, and, after firing his pistols, he drew his small sword,
plunging into the thick of the combat, thrusting with deadly effect.

The savages were hurled back, but more swimming warriors came to their
aid. Dark heads were continually rising from the lake, and stalwart
figures, almost naked, sprang to the shore. Tomahawks and knives
gleamed, and the air echoed with fierce whoop of Indian and shout of
borderer. And on the other side of the camp, too, the attack was now
pressed with unrelenting vigor. The shrill call of a whistle showed
that St. Luc himself was near, and Frenchmen, Canadians and Indians,
at the e