d down parched throats. Three men still took their turn,
however, to hold the barricade, for they were not to be caught napping
again. The yells and screeches of the savages came up to them as though
all the wolves of the forest were cooped up in the basement, but the
stair was deserted save for the seven motionless figures.

"They will not try to rush us again," said Du Lhut with confidence.
"We have taught them too severe a lesson."

"They will set fire to the house."

"It will puzzle them to do that," said the major-domo. "It is solid
stone, walls and stair, save only for a few beams of wood, very
different from those other cottages."

"Hush!" cried Amos Green, and raised his hand. The yells had died away,
and they heard the heavy thud of a mallet beating upon wood.

"What can it be?"

"Some fresh devilry, no doubt."

"I regret to say, messieurs," observed the seigneur, with no abatement
of his courtly manner, "that it is my belief that they have learned a
lesson from our young friend here, and that they are knocking out the
heads of the powder-barrels in the store-room."

But Du Lhut shook his head at the suggestion. "It is not in a Redskin
to waste powder," said he. "It is a deal too precious for them to do
that. Ah, listen to that!"

The yellings and screechings had begun again, but there was a wilder,
madder ring in their shrillness, and they were mingled with snatches of
song and bursts of laughter.

"Ha! It is the brandy casks which they have opened," cried Du Lhut.
"They were bad before, but they will be fiends out of hell now."

As he spoke there came another burst of whoops, and high above them a
voice calling for mercy. With horror in their eyes the survivors
glanced from one to the other. A heavy smell of burning flesh rose from
below, and still that dreadful voice shrieking and pleading. Then
slowly it quavered away and was silent forever.

"Who was it?" whispered De Catinat, his blood running cold in his veins.

"It was Jean Corbeil, I think."

"May God rest his soul! His troubles are over. Would that we were as
peaceful as he! Ah, shoot him! Shoot!"

A man had suddenly sprung out at the foot of the stair and had swung his
arm as though throwing something. It was the Flemish Bastard.
Amos Green's musket flashed, but the savage had sprung back again as
rapidly as he appeared. Something splashed down amongst them and rolled
across the floor in the lamp-light.

"Down! Do