mottled his mahogany face, and a weal across
his right cheek showed where an Indian bullet had grazed him.
De Catinat was bearing himself like an experienced soldier, walking up
and down among his men with short words of praise or of precept, those
fire-words rough and blunt which bring a glow to the heart and a flush
to the cheek. Seven of his men were down, but as the attack grew
fiercer upon his side it slackened upon the others, and the seigneur
with his son and Du Lhut brought ten men to reinforce them. De la Noue
was holding out his snuff-box to De Catinat when a shrill scream from
behind them made them both look round. Onega, the Indian wife, was
wringing her hands over the body of her son. A glance showed that the
bullet had pierced his heart and that he was dead.

For an instant the old nobleman's thin face grew a shade paler, and the
hand which held out the little gold box shook like a branch in the wind.
Then he thrust it into his pocket again and mastered the spasm which had
convulsed his features.

"The De la Noues always die upon the field of honour," he remarked.
"I think that we should have some more men in the angle by the gun."

And now it became clear why it was that the Iroquois had chosen the
eastern face for their main attack. It was there that the clump of
cover lay midway between the edge of the forest and the stockade. A
storming party could creep as far as that and gather there for the final
rush. First one crouching warrior, and then a second, and then a third
darted across the little belt of open space, and threw themselves down
among the bushes. The fourth was hit, and lay with his back broken a
few paces out from the edge of the wood, but a stream of warriors
continued to venture the passage, until thirty-six had got across, and
the little patch of underwood was full of lurking savages. Amos Green's
time had come.

From where he lay he could see the white patch where he had cut the bark
from the birch sapling, and he knew that immediately underneath it lay
the powder bag. He sighted the mark, and then slowly lowered his barrel
until he had got to the base of the little trees as nearly as he could
guess it among the tangle of bushes. The first shot produced no result,
however, and the second was aimed a foot lower. The bullet penetrated
the bag, and there was an explosion which shook the manor-house and
swayed the whole line of stout stockades as though they were corn-stalks