“Saved,” said Father Nat, turning round quickly. “My brave lad!” He had hardly uttered the words when he was felled to the earth, and the room was filled with savages, yelling, hewing to the right hand and to the left. The settlers were grouped together in a corner of the room, keeping the savages at bay with their guns and rifles.
The last thing Loïs saw was Nadjii, who, thrusting her behind her, with blood flowing down her own half-naked body, held aloft a glittering steel knife stained with gore.
The sun rose upon a scene of utter devastation. The village of Marshwood lay in ruins; upwards of one hundred men had been killed, or, worse still, were missing.
Almost the only house which stood uninjured was Alpha Marsh; evidently the Indians had their reasons for respecting it. Their own loss was immense. The sudden appearance of the Rangers had been totally unexpected. When the savages had forced an entrance at the back and had swarmed into the house, Roger and his men took them in the rear and cut them to pieces, at the same time as they were being fired on by the besieged; retreat was therefore impossible, and they perished to a man. A few threw themselves out of the windows in the hope of escaping, but were either killed in the fall or bayoneted by their opponents stationed below; the same thing went on throughout the village. In less than an hour after the Rangers appeared, the Indians were swept away, leaving their dead and wounded to the mercy of the conquerors.
Of the group of men who had defended Omega Marsh only a few escaped unwounded. When the fight was at an end, and Roger forced his way over the dead into the room where the besieged had taken refuge, an awful sight met his eyes. Father Nat lay apparently killed, Loïs was close beside him senseless, and almost covering them with her naked body, gashed with wounds, lay Nadjii.
The scene was one of indescribable horror. For a second Roger’s spirit failed him. The survivors, faint and exhausted, hardly believing they were saved, still stood with their weapons in their hands. Marcus, badly wounded himself, was striving to get at Loïs, but the Indian woman’s body had to be moved first, and he had no strength left. Stern and agonised was Roger’s face, as John Cleveland, clasping his hand, said, with a sob in his voice,—
“He knew you had come to the rescue. A minute sooner and you would have saved him.”
“Are you sure he is dead?” said Roger, in a hoarse voice, as he helped Marcus to move Nadjii and Loïs; and then he raised his father in his arms. Apparently dead he certainly was; but the face was so swollen and disfigured by a ghastly wound on the forehead that it was impossible to say positively.
“He and the women had better be carried over to Alpha Marsh,” he said; “the flames are spreading below. I must go and help my men.”
At that moment Loïs opened her eyes, and consciousness came back to her immediately. She sat up and looked around.