A vote was taken and it was learned that only two men were in favor of accepting Jean Bevoir's terms. One had been wounded and the other said he was sick. But the balance voted to fight to a finish.
"I'll not trust Jean Bevoir," said one of the hunters. "He is fully as treacherous as the redskins. He would let those Injuns do as they pleased with us, while he looted the post."
"That is exactly what I think," said Henry. "We had better fight for it, or try to leave the post on the sly."
It was not long after this that the French trader called out once more, demanding to know what they intended to do.
"We intend to fight, Bevoir," answered James Morris, firmly.
At this announcement Jean Bevoir muttered a loud imprecation not fit to place upon these pages, and withdrew. A minute later a fierce war-whooping was heard among the hostile Indians. Immediately the Indians in the post responded.
"Good! that will show 'em that we mean business!" cried Tony Jadwin, and gave a whoop on his own account.
Slowly the evening came on. There was a promise of snow in the air, and soon the thick flakes began to come down lazily, shutting out the landscape on all sides. So far the hostile Indians and Frenchmen had kept their distance, but all in the post felt that another attack might come at any moment.
In the midst of the suspense came a loud thumping on the puncheon logs that covered the entrance leading to the tunnel under the palisade. Two logs were thrown aside and there appeared a frontiersman, ragged and capless, and with a wound on his left hand.
"All-Glory Bidwell!" cried James Morris. "Where did you come from?"