There was a terrible explosion, which seemed to shake the hillock, and which threw Steve and his men in all directions. The roof which they had placed over their little fort disappeared amidst the snow-flakes, while the wall in front was shattered, the branches being sent over the wall of snow on to the slope below.
"One to them," said Steve, sadly, as he picked himself up. "That ball must have struck the keg of powder we left in the hollow. Listen to their cheers. They guess that they have damaged us severely. Let us see how many of the men are hurt."
One by one the trappers picked themselves up till only two still lay on the ground.
"Jest stunned and knocked silly, Cap'n," said Jim. "Reckon we're in luck this time. But it air not goin' to snow all day, and when it clears them fellers'll knock us to pieces."
"If they are allowed to continue practice with the guns," answered Steve swiftly. "Boys, the French guns must be put out of action. I am going to spike them, and I want a volunteer. Settle amongst yourselves who is to come, while I get something with which to plug the vents of the cannon."
He pulled his ramrod from its fastening and dived into the dismantled hollow, where a minute's search produced an axe. There was a boulder near at hand and very soon he had cut two six-inch lengths off the rod. By then Mac stood beside him, his snowshoes in his hand, his beard and hair red and flaming against the background beyond.
"Ready and willin', Cap'n," he said.
"Then come," answered Steve easily. "Boys, we'll be back by the morning."
He waved his hand to his comrades, slung his musket, and strode away to the left. A minute later he and Mac had disappeared round the shoulder of the hillock, their dark figures being swallowed up in a whirl of flying flakes.