How Canada Was Won: A Tale of Wolfe and Quebec

  Chapter XII

  Generosity to the Foe

  A blinding whirl of snow hid Steve and Mac from friends and foes alikeas they slid from the hummock and made for the back. There was nota sound from their snow-shoes as they progressed, and only distantshouts and whoops from the French and their Indians broke the silenceof the wintry day, those and the deep boom of the cannon which nowplied their iron shot more rapidly. For the gunners had found therange, and though the snow made accurate aim totally out of thequestion, yet they took pains not to lose the direction, and in thenext quarter of an hour half-a-dozen balls thudded into the hollow.

  "The sooner we can put a stop to that the better," said Steve as hehalted at the bottom of the hillock. "Up to now we have had luck, buta shot might hit a number of the men, and already the odds are great.How far are we from the forest, Mac?"

  "Sure, Oi've no idea, Cap'n. 'Tis mesilf as is scared wid the snow.There's no sayin' where we are."

  "There are the guns," answered Steve in a whisper, "and so longas they continue to fire we shall have something to give us thedirection. I am sure we are making straight for the forest, and if mycalculations are right we should be amongst the trees in a very fewmoments."

  They slid along over the snow again, Steve leading the way. Thena dull wall cut across the white ground in front of him, and witha smothered exclamation of satisfaction he realized that they hadreached the friendly shelter of the forest. By then both were coveredwith snow, and were with difficulty distinguishable at ten paces.

  "We have everything in our favour," Steve whispered, halting for awhile. Now, I propose that we make round towards the guns and watch tosee how many are serving them. If few----"

  "Sure we'll rush 'em," burst in Mac, his red beard trembling, sogreatly was he excited. "Give the word, sor, and bedad, 'tis mesilf aswill charge all alone. Them Frenchies'll never stand."

  "Perhaps not. But we must make sure. We must drive them off and allowsufficient time in which to spike the guns. Now, look here, Mac. Ifwe charge them, hold your fire whatever you do. Use the butt or yourtomahawk. If they bolt, then sit down and watch for their return. Ishall use my axe to drive in the spikes."

  There was no need for further arrangement, and so they set off again,this time turning sharp to their left in the direction of the guns.For the cannon still bellowed at intervals, and on one occasion, whenthe wind blew the whirling flakes aside for a moment, Steve saw theflash distinctly. In a little while the two were bent almost double,for they were within earshot, and presently they halted behind anenormous oak, for the guns were in sight, half-a-dozen dim figuresworking about them, sometimes in view and sometimes blotted outaltogether by the snow. But there were others there also. As Steveand Mac stared at the place, endeavouring to make out the precisesurroundings, they became aware that other figures were silentlygathering, that the space behind the guns was being filled by acompany of blanketed men, from whose scalp locks fell a crest oftrailing feathers. The red and white and blue painted faces showed upthrough the storm, and soon there could not be a doubt that the Indianallies of the French were there. Suddenly a tall figure appearedamongst them and a voice was heard.

  "Your chief," said the French officer in his own tongue. "Good. Youcan understand me and tell your friends. The snow falls heavily,chief."

  "It falls," was the response, in passable French.

  "And hides us from these pale faces. Now is the time for Hurons tostrike with their tomahawks. Let them climb to the back of thishummock and fall upon the pale faces from there. We who have just beenbeaten back will attack from the front."

  There was a minute or more of delay while the Huron chief turned tohis comrades. Then he swept round and faced the French officer.

  "It is well," he said. "In a short while we shall be there. Will youand your men crawl forward now and wait for our shouts. Then charge,and it may happen that you will find us in possession and these menall slain and scalped."

  The officer nodded curtly, and then as Steve and Mac looked on, theband of Indians tossed their blankets aside as formerly and went offin single file. Steve was still gaping with astonishment and dismay asthe figure of the last disappeared in the forest.

  "They are off to surprise the back of the fort," he whispered. "Thequestion now is, whether we ought to return so as to warn our friends,or whether we should stay."

  For a little while the two stared into each other's eyes, for thedilemma was a genuine one, and a decision not to be easily arrived at.Then Mac pushed his tangled moustache from his mouth, scattering thetiny icicles which had gathered there.

  "Warn 'em I Sure ye couldn't, me bhoy; thim Injuns'll be in positionlong before we could get up to 'em. A trapper can't cover the groundquicker than they, and ye may be sure that they'll slip along asthough the gintleman himsilf was behint 'em. The bhoys must look tothimsilves. Be chanst they'll have set a watch for our return."

  "Then we must leave it like that," answered Steve. "There are too manyabout here just now, but already the French are moving off. Give thema little while and we'll charge."

  They crouched behind the friendly shelter of the oak and watchedas the minutes fled by. The French officer waited to see the lastof the Indians disappear, and then went off through the snow, hisfeet splaying out in a manner which showed that he was unused tosnow-shoes. They heard his whistle and then the murmur of voicesgrowing fainter. Meanwhile the guns continued their thunder, thoughthe men who worked them could only have guessed at the position of thetrappers. Still they were cunning fellows, for they had taken careto provide themselves with a signal which pointed always towards thespot where the hollow lay. They had laid one of the long sponging rodsbetween two forked branches, bolstering up the leading end with lumpsof snow till the man who stood beside it had it pointing true. It wasa wise precaution which they had taken before the snow commenced tofall, and now Steve watched as the direction was taken from it.

  Five minutes later a man who was dressed as a trapper slipped up tothe men, spoke a few words, and was gone. Once more the guns belchedforth their flame and shot, and then to Steve's joy all but four ofthe gunners threw off their mittens, snatched up the firelocks pilednear at hand, and went off after their friends.

  "They have word that the attackers are nearly in position, and thatthey are not to fire again for fear of hitting their friends,"whispered Steve. "Now is the time, Mac. Not a shout, not a sound,remember, till we have the guns. Ready? Then come along."

  His axe was gripped in his hand now, while his musket was slung overhis shoulder. He slipped like a ghost from behind the oak, and slidacross the snow towards the guns. He was within four yards of themwhen one of the four gunners who had remained, and who up till thenhad been staring out into the snow, swung round, looked at him fora moment, and then gave a cry of amazement. He seized one of thesponging rods and whirled it above his head, while his comrades atonce drew their cutlasses.

  "On them boys! Cut them down! There are only four!" shouted Steve, inFrench. "Charge and we have got them!"

  Whether or not the Frenchmen believed that there were more of thetrappers behind it would be difficult to state; but the man who hadfirst seen Steve and Mac started back at his words, and lowered hisrod. Then as Steve rushed in he swung it up again, whirled it roundonce, and then struck a tremendous blow which lost all its force inthe snow. For Steve had had his eyes open, and, moreover, was as agileas a cat, even with snow-shoes on his feet. He leaped to one side, andthen ran in, striking the gunner between the eyes with the shaft ofhis weapon. Almost at the same instant a cutlass blade swished overhis head as a second gunner made a wild cut at him, and striking thebarrel of the musket swinging on his back, cut a deep grove into it.

  "Ye baste!" shouted Mac, as he brought the butt of his musket againstthe soldier's head. "Stand back will ye. Will ye dare to sthrike theCap'n. Ha! So ye're still there. Now, bedad, that's koind of ye, so'tis."

  The red-headed Irishman rushed at the third man with a bellow ofrage, lifting his mus
ket as he ran. Then quick as a flash he swungthe ponderous weapon at the Frenchman, throwing it so truly that itstruck him full in the face and across the chest and sent him to theground with a thud which could be heard a dozen yards away. And therehe lay, the Irishman standing over him, his hair the one prominentfeature, for his cap had been jerked from his head. As for the otherFrenchman, he bolted as Steve ran to attack him, and was soon out ofsight. Our hero at once rushed to the nearest gun, slipped one of hisimprovised spikes into the vent, and then drove it home with his axehead. Meanwhile Mac had raced forward a few yards, and turning in thedirection of the hollow placed one of his capacious hands to his mouth:

  "Boys! Jim!" he shouted with all the force of his lungs.

  "Ahoy!" came back. "Is that the Cap'n?"

  "It is. Boys, kape a watch on the back of the fort. The bastes arewantin' to rush ye; and they're comin' up in front, too!"

  There was a distant shout of thanks heard clearly through the frostyair, and almost instantly a musket spoke. Then the whoops of theIndians broke forth, while the French, who were attacking the front ofthe hillock, joined in the chorus.

  "Don't spoike the secind gun, sor," called out Mac, all of a sudden."Sure we'll turn it on the ruffians ef they come to attack us. Here'spowder, and, bedad, here's the bags of bullets with which they chargethe craturs."

  The Irishman had seen service before, and doubtless he had had someinstruction in the loading of guns. He ran the sponge rod down themuzzle of the one which had not yet been spiked, wiped it out, andintroduced a charge, while Steve poured a handful of powder over thevent. In another minute they had depressed the sights, and our herostood beside the gun, panting after his exertions, and holding themuzzle of a pistol taken from one of the Frenchmen across the vent.Meanwhile the musket shot which had been fired from the neighbourhoodof the hummock where Steve's men lay had been followed by many sharpreports, and by the din set up by the combatants. Sometimes the flashof the powder could be seen, for the fall of snow was not so heavynow as it had been. Dim figures could be discerned here and there,and presently some dashed towards the guns; for the man who had runfor his life as Steve and Mac charged had returned with some comradesdetermined on capturing the guns again. They arrived within sight ofthe place to find all in readiness, and the instant they caught sightof Steve, standing ready to receive them, they bolted back again, anddarting to the right till out of range of the weapon, went shoutingfor their friends.

  "Get that sponging rod under the edge of the sledge, Mac," sang outSteve, a smile of confidence on his lips. "Ten chances to one theywill rush us from another direction, and we must be ready to slew thegun round and fire. Yes. Here they come, this time from the right."

  As quickly as possible the rod was thrust under the runner of thesledge which carried the gun, and with a heave Mac slewed it roundtill the muzzle pointed towards the spot from which the French werecoming. He dug it again into position, and then waited, ready to movethe sights still further if necessary.

  "Jest a little lower wid the muzzle, sor," he sang out. "That's theway. Give 'em the charge rhight in their faces, and thin, bedad, we'llbe for lavin'."

  He stood on the tips of his moccasins peering into the distance, andthen shuffled a little to one side in his snow shoes, wrenching therod as he did so, and again slightly altering the aim of the gun.Figures had sprung up again on the sudden, and some twenty Frenchmencould be seen coming towards the gun as fast as the snow and theirshoes would allow them. A musket spoke sharply, a flash illuminatedthe front of the enemy for an instant, and a heavy ball struck therunner of the sledge, glanced from it and very neatly severed thesling which held Steve's musket to his shoulders. Then came anothershot, crisp and clear, the missile clipping a bough above the headsof the two gallant backwoodsmen standing beside the gun, and bringinga cloud of frozen snow about their ears. It was time to fire. Steveleaned over the breach, placed the pan of his flint lock close to thevent and pulled the trigger. Then he and Mac turned, and after Stevehad driven his second spike home and so rendered the gun useless,darted off into the forest unmindful of the shouts they left behindthem, knowing only that their use of the gun had resulted in terribleloss to the enemy.

  "They have no thought of pursuing us," gasped Steve, some minuteslater as they halted deep in the forest. "I think the discharge musthave worked havoc, and thoroughly upset them. Listen to the others.Jim and the boys were just in time to catch the Indians, and I have ashrewd idea that they have beaten off their attack. Can we help in anyway?"

  "Hilp! Sure 'tis oursilves as will want hilp if them fellers catch asight af us. Cap'n, we'd best lie hid here till the fightin's over,when we can follow the inimy and see that he returns home."

  "And that he does not take his guns with him," exclaimed Steve. "Afterall, they could very easily bore out the vents again if they tookthem back to Ticonderoga, and then we might have them firing at usagain. Let us return a little way, Mac, till we get a good sight ofthe weapons. With our muskets we should be able to keep the enemy awayfrom them. Lucky for me that I picked up one of the French musketswhen we left. Mine had a deep dent in the barrel, where that man'scutlass struck it, and I doubt whether it was fit to be used."

  They looked to the loading and the priming of their firearms, and thenturning away from their old tracks, for the enemy might even now befollowing, they struck off on another trail which brought them in aroundabout way to the guns. By now the snow had ceased to fall, sothat before very long they caught sight of the two cannon, standingblack against the white background beyond. Close to the runners of thesledges on which they were mounted lay two of the gunners whom Steveor Mac had struck down, while the third was sitting up on his elbow,and engaged in wiping the blood from his eyes.

  "Sure, 'tis sorra he'll be that he's aloive, so he will," said Mac,indulging in a dry chuckle. "'Tis the Frinchman himsilf as will have ahead that's fit to burst. Sure the man's dizzy."

  "And well he might be," answered Steve. "Poor fellow, your musketgave him a hard blow, and there is no wonder if he does feel dizzyand ill. Don't fire, Mac. The man is harmless, and we are not here toinjure such as he. Listen to that. Cheers!"

  "Cheers it is, sor. Them's Jim and Pete and the ithers. Sure they'vebeaten off the blackguards."

  Wild shouts of triumph came across the snow-clad clearing and intothe forest, and there could not be a doubt but that they were thoseof their comrades. Musket shots followed, and then cheer upon cheer,while Steve fancied he could even distinguish Jim's voice. Butpresently something else occupied his attention. Out of the tail ofhis eye he caught sight of a figure flitting through the trees away onhis left.

  "Hu-u-ush! Indians!" he whispered, pulling Mac by the sleeve of hishunting shirt. "Down, or they will see us. They are returning from thehillock."

  "And would give all they have and a deal more, too, the bastes! ifthey could take us with thim," answered the Irishman, dropping onto his face behind a friendly tree and peering round at the enemy."They're makin' for the guns, sor. Will ye allow thim to carry theweapons away?"

  Steve gave an emphatic shake of his head.

  "Indians or French are the same in this case, Mac. They are enemies.If I can prevent it they shall not take the guns. But perhaps theyare only returning for their blankets. Count them. I fancy some havefallen."

  They lay full length in the snow and watched as the silent band ofdiscomfited Indians swept by them, gliding over the snow as if theirshoes were parts of themselves. But the men who now returned wore adifferent appearance from those who had such a short while beforemade through the forest to attack the back of the hillock. This band,gliding so swiftly through the gaps between the trees in single file,was composed of men who had met with deep disappointment, and showedit. Their heads were bent. Some looked ashamed, while there was anair of savage fury on more than one of the clear-cut faces. More thanten of their original number were missing, while amongst the tall,copper-coloured braves who now filed along on their way to the open,were a dozen at
least who had been wounded. There could be no doubtthat that was the case, for behind them they left the trace of theirsnow-shoes and dark stains here and there which told their tale onlytoo truly.

  "I was right. They are making for the guns so as to get theirblankets," whispered Steve. "Lucky for us that they did not come thisway, or stumble upon our trail. Even a beaten brave notes every markin the snow, and if even one suspected that we were here they wouldturn and pounce upon us. Listen, Mac. If they or the French try totake the guns, fire your piece and shout. Then move away to right orleft, loading as you go, and fire again. They will then think thatthere are many of us."

  A glance at the Irishman was sufficient to show that he had graspedhis leader's meaning. Steve saw him look to the priming of his musket,and then slowly and cautiously get to his feet.

  "They'll do what they can to help their friends," he said. "Look, ifye plaze, sor. There's a French sodjer, and he's givin' thim an order."

  A man had suddenly come into sight as Mac spoke, and Steve watched himadvance to meet the Indians, who were now engaged in recovering theblankets which they had left beside the guns. He spoke to them, madesigns with his hands, and then snatched up one of the ropes which wereattached to the sledges. For a minute, perhaps, the Indians stared athim, for this was a task which none of them cared to undertake. Itwas not real fighting, and, therefore, perhaps derogatory to them.However, a word from their chief set matters right, and in a littlewhile a dozen had harnessed themselves to the tackle.

  Crack! Steve's musket sent a leaden messenger at the group, amessenger which was no respecter of persons. It struck the muzzle ofthe rearmost weapon, with a resounding clang, glanced from it andpassed through the calf of one of the Indians.

  "Hit! One to you, sor," called out Mac. "Listen to the baste shoutin'.Bedad, Mac here will thry himsilf."

  He put his musket to his shoulder, while the group about the gunssuddenly divided. The shot had taken them utterly by surprise, forthey had no notion that the enemy was behind them. Halting where theywere, they looked at their chief, while the wounded man hastily tied astrip of cloth about his leg.

  "A shot from behind, my brothers," said their chief. "It is somestraggler who has been lying in the forest. We will return and slayhim." He dropped the tackle and without another look or word strodeoff in the direction from which the bullet came. A dozen of hiscomrades followed his example, and ere Mac had time to sight, the bandwas clear of the guns, and already entering the forest.

  Crack! For a second or two the smoke which had belched from theweapon hid the Indians from view, but a gust blew it rapidly aside,and when Steve looked there was the Indian chief lying full length inthe snow, while the braves who had turned from the guns to supporthim stood dumbfounded, staring at his recumbent figure. For this washardly the kind of warfare which met with their approval. These fierceHurons, a portion of the so-called Christian Indians whom the Frenchhad induced, to the number of many thousands in all, for many tribeshad come from Canada, to become their allies, were accustomed to fallupon unsuspecting enemies and butcher them in their sleep if possible,or at least before they had time to more than grasp a weapon. True,these braves could fight and fight courageously, as they had provedmany a time; but they were little use when asked to assault a fortor to attack an enemy in the open. Their forte was the tracking ofenemies in the forest, the stealthy following up of stragglers,wood-cutters, and the small parties sent to shoot meat. It was inexpeditions of such a nature that they shone, for their backwoodsknowledge, their natural cunning and stealth, enabled them to creepup without observation and wreak a fierce and terrible vengeance on afoe fewer than themselves in number, and more often than not utterlyunsuspicious of danger. And here they were exposed in the open, athought that was hateful to every one, and being fired at by unseenmuskets aimed by men of whose presence they had had no notion.

  As the chief fell they gathered about him with grunts ofconsternation, which were increased to howls of anger as Steve liftedhis ponderous weapon again, sighted, and sent a bullet into theirmidst. With one exception they turned tail and fled.

  "Hold!" cried the brave who had kept his ground, a tall andfine-looking Indian. "Are my brothers so easily scared? Will theysuffer a chief to be slain and not retaliate? Surely we are children,for we run when but few men are there to fire at us. Follow, Hurons.Let us take these men who have fired, and to-night they shall burnover our fires while we watch them writhing."

  It was a cheerful proposition for Steve and Mac to listen to, but oneat which every brave who heard picked up heart and courage. Why,after all, should they retire from this field without prisoners,without one or more of these pale faces on whom to wreak theirvengeance? Besides, they were not children. The very mention of sucha word, the scoffing tones of their comrades, were enough to rousethem to desperation. They turned again, their war-whoops rang shrillythrough the forest, and in a moment a stream of the painted braves wascharging towards Steve and Mac.

  "Take them coolly," said our hero, leaning his musket barrel in thefork of a tree. "Are you ready? Then fire."

  Their shots rang out in rapid succession, and two of the chargingbraves threw up their hands and fell, laughing hideously, for no braveworthy of the name could die with a groan on his lips. He must laughas if the pangs of death were nothing but an enjoyment.

  "Now let us run," whispered Steve swiftly. "Perhaps our shots willbring help from the hillock. If not, we have a start, and may be ableto get away. Throw your musket on one side and come along."

  Tossing their weapons on to the snow, the two set off as fast astheir legs would carry them, their pace being improved by the veryfact of their having discarded their muskets, for the muskets thenin use weighed perhaps three times as much as the present magazinerifle. Behind them came the Indian braves, in single file now, silentas hounds on the trail, their eyes shining strangely and a look offerocity and rage on every face. Two hundred yards farther on Steveturned for an instant. He and Mac had not increased their lead, but atthe same time they had not lost ground. The issue of this chase wasstill in doubt, for he and the Irishman might still reach the hillockbefore the Indians came up with them. On the other hand, a lucky shotfrom one of the braves might bring the chase to an end very summarily.As if to remind him of that fact, there was a sharp report behind,a report which went reverberating through the forest, and a bulletchipped a foot or more of frozen bark from a tree within a few inchesof the fugitives. A second later Steve caught a glimpse of a figuresome few yards in front of them. It was Jim, Hunting Jim, the fringeof his shirt and leggings blowing in the wind.

  "Jest keep on towards the hillock, Cap'n," he said swiftly as Stevecame abreast of him. "Yer know what's wanted. Draw them varmint intothis here trap."

  There was no time for more. Steve and Mac held on their course,darting over the frozen snow as if the danger were even greater. Andafter them came the Indian band, their nostrils agape, their fingersgripping the tomahawks which they hoped to use very shortly. But theirhopes were doomed to disappointment, for within a minute they had runinto the circle of trappers whom Jim had brought with him. Therewas a shout, a musket spoke out sharply, and then with a cheer thetrappers threw themselves upon the braves.

  "That war a find and no mistake," said Jim some ten minutes lateras Steve stood gasping beside him. "I reckon Injuns was never sosurprised in all their mortal lives, onless it was the fellersway back there at the divide when we were on the trail from thesettlement. Waal, we wiped 'em out, and with what we killed before Iguess as they won't be so keen on comin' our way again. There's twentydown at least, and half as many French. Boys, our Cap'n's given us abit o' fightin'."

  There was a smothered cheer at that, while the men gathered roundtheir young leader.

  "We must move again," said Steve sharply. "I thank you all for havingcome just in the nick of time. And now let us be moving. I want someof you to go down and see that the guns are not taken. If they arethere get to work at the tackles and pull the weapons bac
k to thehillock. We can draw the spikes with a little trouble, and then,boys----"

  "He's the lad fer us," sang out Pete. "He ain't thinkin' of givin' upour fort, not even if five thousand of the Frenchies wants to come andattack us. He's goin' to put in guns, so as he can fire back the ironpills they've been sendin' us. Take it as done, Cap'n. Them guns'll bein position afore the night comes."

  "Then you will look to it," responded Steve, smiling as the mencrowded about him with another cheer. "Now there is other work. Jim,take some of the men and follow the enemy as far as the lake. Mac andI will return for our muskets and then scout round to make sure thatnot an Indian or Frenchman is left."

  The party of trappers separated into three small bands at once,Steve watching Jim and Pete march their men away to carry out hisinstructions. Then he and Mac returned on their old trails, this timeat a more reasonable pace, and having discovered their muskets divedinto the forest and scouted there so as to make sure that none of theenemy were left. Now and again a far-off musket shot came to theirears, as the rearguard of the retreating force fired at the trappers,and on three or four occasions they came upon the dead bodies ofFrenchmen or Indians who had fallen. But for the shots there wassilence everywhere, the silence of the virgin forest, till a faintsound came to Mac's ears.

  "Sure, it's a groan, so 'tis," he whispered. "Listen to it, sor. It'llbe the ghost of one of them poor craturs."

  The superstitious Irishman trembled, while beads of perspiration burstout on his forehead despite the lowness of the temperature. He lookedscared, and turned appealingly to Steve.

  "Nonsense!" exclaimed the latter, emphatically. "Don't talk suchrubbish. It must be some injured man. Listen, and then we shall getthe direction."

  STEVE AND MAC DISCOVER THE WOUNDED FRENCH OFFICER]

  They stood still for some five minutes, and then at last the samemoaning sound came to their ears. Steve promptly turned to his rightand set off at a a rapid pace, Mac following with the same scared lookon his wrinkled features.

  "Tracks of Indians," said Steve suddenly, as he came across the marksof snow-shoes. "They were carrying a wounded man. Look at the spots ofblood. Keep your musket handy, Mac, and use it if there is need."

  Some fifty yards farther on the two suddenly burst into a tinyclearing, and discovered there the figure of a man, lying proppedagainst a tree, where he had undoubtedly dragged himself, as the marksin the snow plainly showed. He turned as Steve came forward, and thelatter recognised him. It was the tall Frenchman who had commanded theattacking party. He was pale and wan, and evidently in great pain.

  "Monsieur, I am your prisoner," he said bravely. "I was hit in thethigh, and I think my leg is broken. The Indians who were carrying metossed me aside for fear that I should delay them."

  Mac and Steve were on their knees at once, tending to the woundedofficer. "We will make a litter and carry him out on to the lake,"said Steve. "Find a dozen of the boys, Mac, and hurry. We must getback before the night comes."

  Half an hour later the gallant French officer was lying in a litterconstructed with the help of an Indian blanket and two stout poles,and was being conveyed by four of Steve's trappers, a relay of menfollowing behind. Their muskets were slung across their shoulders,while one of the hunters strode ahead with a white rag tied to hisramrod. And so they passed through the forest and came to the lake,where, a mile away, the retreating force could be seen.

  "Fire a round and wave the flag," shouted Steve. "That will call theirattention."

  A little later a dozen French soldiers returned, their arms alsoslung, while a lieutenant was in command of the party.

  "You are our prisoner, colonel," said Steve to the wounded officer,"but we know that you are wounded, and will be better cared for byyour own friends. We release you on your oath that you will take nofurther part in the war."

  "Monsieur, I gladly give that promise, and call all here to witnessit," came the answer, while the poor fellow feebly pressed our hero'shand. "Messieurs, you are brave and generous. I give you a thousandthanks. To you, monsieur, I say that I am for ever indebted. If everyou should be in need of help and I am present, call on Colonel St.Arnould de Prossen. He will help you to the utmost of his ability."

  The parties saluted, the French with formality, the trappers in theirown rough and ready manner. Then they turned from one another andwent on their different ways, the French overjoyed at such handsometreatment, the trappers pleased to have been of service. As for Stevehe little thought that he would soon have need of French help. Helittle dreamed that the time was near at hand when it would take theinfluence of a man stronger even than Colonel de Prossen to save himfrom death. He made back for the hillock, and that night there was noprouder commander than he, for he and his men had come well out oftheir first engagement.