The English were still many miles from Fort Duquesne when the French scouts brought word to their commander that the enemy were approaching. Without waiting to be attacked the French marched forth to do the approaching English battle.
"The fight is on!" cried Dave, as several shots rang out from in front. "We are in for it now!"
"Well, we came to fight," answered Henry. "And the sooner the battle is over the better."
The real battle, however, did not take place until the next day. Then the French did their best to surround the English, and in a short while the contest waxed hot on all sides. Part of the battleground was a small opening and the rest of the fighting took place in the forest. Soon the smoke became so thick that but little could be seen on either side.
"Tell ye wot, them Frenchers mean business!" ejaculated Barringford, while reloading his firearm, which was so hot he could scarcely hold it. "We've lost a sight o' men already."
What he said was true. The loss had been frightful, and the dead and dying lay on every side. Moans and shrieks rent the air, in a fashion to turn the stoutest heart sick. Major Grant rushed around heedless of danger, giving directions and doing all he could to encourage those under him.
"Don't retreat! The battle is ours!" he called out. "Stand where you are!" And then his voice was lost in the rattle of musketry and the mad yelling of the Indians, who had come up to aid the French and steal what they could from the English.
Dave, Henry and Barringford were behind a fallen tree, blazing away as rapidly as possible. The French were before them and the Indians on their left, and for some time it was as if pandemonium had broken loose. Suddenly Barringford gave a yell.
"Duck, boys, duck!"
They fell flat and not a second too soon, for half a dozen arrows whizzed over their heads. Then the old frontiersman leaped to his feet.