It was as he said, for as Steve looked through the round opening made in the bank of snow, he saw some fifty dark figures emerge from the trees beside the guns, and throw off their heavier clothing. They were French regulars for the most part, as was shown by their blue and white uniform. But there was a sprinkling of coureurs de bois amongst them, bold men of the forest, who had long ago demonstrated their capacity for this class of work.
"We'll not be in a hurry," said Steve. "It is harder work to charge up a hillock, which after all may be untenanted, than it is to dash up while bullets swish past, and while the shouts and cheers of comrades help to keep up one's courage. Not a shot, boys, till you hear my musket. Ah, here they come, and the guns are starting again."
He had watched the French gunners sponging out their pieces, and now crouched a little lower as a ball came hurtling overhead with a scream, and expending all its force against the soft cushion of snow lying on the hummock above, dropped backwards like a stone, and fell with a thud at his feet.
"Sure, 'tis one of thim bhoys as could give ye a gentle little knock, so it would," sang out Mac, while the trappers laughed heartily. "I'll be afther axing ye, Mr. Frenchie down there, to aim to the rhight a bhit, for Mac here don't like thim pellets, and there's Huntin' Jim as is afeared of the beauties."
There was another laugh at that, a low, noiseless laugh for these men knew that sounds travelled easily and far on such a frosty day. Then all fixed their eyes on the gathering of Frenchmen below, and watched as they advanced towards the hillock, taking their time, for they wished to have all their breath for the more difficult part of their task.
"Ef they'd only hurry," growled Jim. "They're delayin' so much that it makes me jumpy. 'Sides, it's goin' to snow agin, and that'd help 'em."
Indeed, as he spoke, a few flakes came sidling noiselessly through the air, while the clear sparkling light was rapidly shut out by the masses of heavy clouds which were gathering above. Heavy snow might, indeed, be expected, and would help to hide the attackers as they came. Nor were the French slow to recognise that fact. While the guns went on with their bombardment, pitching balls now to the right and then to the left, and on one occasion clean into the hollow, the party who had gathered and moved out to storm the hillock halted and shouted to one another. Ten minutes later as the snow-flakes came tumbling heavily and the wind whirled them across the white expanse below, the Frenchmen started again, and, raising loud shouts, dashed forward as fast as their snow-shoes would carry them. Arriving at the steeper part of the hillock they kicked their shoes away, and in a trice were scrambling up, their muskets slung over their shoulders and tomahawks or cutlasses in their hands.
It was a tense moment for all behind the wall, and even the oldest trapper there felt his heart thumping against his ribs and his pulses throbbing with unusual force. Steve's men lay as if they were dead, each man stretched behind a loop-hole, and every muzzle held just within the opening. The dark figures below became a little more clear amidst the whirling snow-flakes, their shouts grew rapidly closer, and far sooner than Steve had expected they were within easy range. But still he held his hand till only thirty yards divided the combatants.
Bang! Crash! His own piece bellowed noisily, and in an instant a volley burst from the defenders, spitting flames and smoke and leaden bullets into the Frenchmen. There was a shout of consternation, and some dozen of the attackers fell backwards and went sliding down the steep sides of the hill, carrying an avalanche of snow with them, till they reached a more level portion, where their bodies came to a rest. Behind them they left many a dark stain on what had been a beautifully white carpet, stains which the falling flakes did their utmost to cover, as if they were ashamed of this handiwork.
"We have drawn their fire. We have the birds. Charge, mes enfants!"