These robbers did not trust their Indian allies. Treacherous themselves, they suspected the old Indians' motives in joining them. So they had purposely given their own number as much smaller than it was, lest the Indians should turn upon them.
Doby's heart was not the only one which thumped with dismay as the flare of the torches lit up the goodly number of the besiegers. Even Francis Vigo's strategy of replacing their allied Indians with friends of the town could not assure Vincennes of victory. She would have to fight for her life. How curious if the far-away beaver dam should be the thing that bought her safety! It had lessened her foes and given her a fighting chance.
Madly the renegades charged the stockade. Staunchly the citizens helped the handful of soldiers to hold it.
Again the rabble advanced. Fell back! Advanced! Fell back!
Mercy and justice had no place in Doby's mind. His duty was to hold his section of the fort. He banged away with the best of the volunteers and howled like an Indian as the renegades ran from his fire into the volleys of the disguised men behind them.
During a lull in the battle he was proud to be obliged to tie up his head where a bullet had grazed it, and to swagger like an old war-dog as he moved across a barrier to help Colonel Vigo tie up a flesh wound in his sword arm.
Then—on came the renegades! "Hi! Hi! Hi!" was their rallying call.
"Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!" answered the flintlocks.
Over the walls piled the enemy. Through the gates came the disguised Indians, fighting for the fort, and against their supposed allies.
Hand to hand—without command—without system—without mercy. One of those free-for-all defenses in which frontiersmen had to become victorious if they hoped to survive.