It was Ruth who woke me from my stupid amazement, pushing me to my feet as The Keeper whispered again. How that crafty Mohawk had pierced the ring of Chippewas, I never knew, but his forest skill must have been far beyond theirs. I remembered the little buckskin bag of paint which always hung at his girdle, and knew that he must have prepared himself according to his own custom.
But my wits came back to me quickly enough, and I pushed Ruth forward to the opening, first stamping out the embers lest they betray us. As quietly as might be I helped her through the narrow slit, the Mohawk receiving us on the other side, and Grim following. Then we were standing in the shelter of a small fir, and for a wonder the skies were dark save for the eternal stars. I looked about for Radisson, but he was not to be seen.
"Come!" breathed The Keeper, leading the way through the snow. None of us wore snowshoes, but the crust was firm enough to support us, with the intense cold of those nights. There was no sound around us save the crackle of the frost as the trees creaked in the wind, nor was any fire visible.
Yet I knew that all about us were men watching and listening. It seemed hardly possible that we should win through to the ridge where I supposed that Radisson waited, but gradually we left the camp behind. Once we were beyond the circle of trees would come the danger, although the absence of the lights seemed to protect us somewhat. We went cautiously and slowly, and it must have been fifteen minutes before the trees thinned out around us.
Then, without warning, a sudden streamer of flame quivered and hung across the skies, and the lights were dancing, lighting up all things in grotesque shadow-gleams. I knew we were lost, even before a dark form bounded into the snow before us and a shrill yell went up that echoed across the night.
"Go!" exclaimed The Keeper in French, pushing Ruth ahead. "Run to the crest yonder, where White Eagle waits!" I sent Grim with a quick word also.
Ruth, with a little sobbing cry, obeyed, and the Mohawk flung himself in one great leap on the figure which was coming toward us. Steel flashed in the half-light and the two went down together. But other forms were yelling at our heels, and if Ruth was to be saved this was no time to run. We must hold them back for a moment or two.
The Keeper rose swiftly and put into my hand the heavy stone ax he had taken from the Chippewa. Then, gripping knife in one hand and tomahawk in the other, he waited at my side as the warriors came at us. Glancing around, I saw Ruth's dark figure vanishing over the snows toward the ridge; as I later learned, she thought we were close behind her, else had she never deserted us.
"Now, brother!" grunted The Keeper. "Back to back!"
With a swirl of snow the dark figures were on us. But the yells of rage turned to warning cries as that huge ax of mine swung up and down, and the lithe Mohawk used his two hands with the swiftness of a panther. They drew back, then came at us again; this time I knew the form of The Pike for their leader, and sprang out to meet him with my ax whirled aloft.