The morning of the fateful day opened gloomily, as if it could not look cheerily down upon the bloody events planned in this distant wilderness. Low, indigo clouds pressed down upon the hills, but there was not a stir in all the air. No living thing was seen stirring, save troops of blue-jays which went scolding from tree to tree before the settlers as they proceeded to the conference. Here and there, also, was a half-famished, yellow, or black and yellow dog, with small head and long scraggy hair, skulking about the fields and among the wigwams of the Indians in search for food.
The lodge where the parley was to be held stood in a hollow. Behind was a tall hill, crowned with timber; round about it grew poplar, white oak, and firs; while in front rolled by a swift dark stream. Unsuspecting harm, two priests of the settlement, Oblat Fathers, named Fafard and Marchand, were the first at the spot.
"What a gloomy day," Pere Fafard said, "and this lodge set here in this desolate spot seems to make it more gloomy still. What, I wonder, is the nature of the business?" Then they knocked, and the chief was heard to say,
"Entrez." Opening the door, the two good priests walked in, and turned to look for seats. Ah! What was the sight presented! Eyes like those of wild beasts, aflame with hate and ferocity, gleamed from the gloom of the back portion of the room. The priests were amazed. They knew not what all this meant. Then a wild shriek was given, and the chief cried,
"Enemies to the red man, you have come to your doom." Then raising his rifle, he fired at Father Marchand. The levelling of his rifle was the general signal. A dozen other muzzles were pointed, and in briefer space than it takes to relate the two priests lay weltering in their blood, pierced each by half a dozen bullets.
"Clear away these corpses," shouted the chief, and "be ready for the next." There was soon another knock, and the same wolfish voice replied as before,
"Entrez." This time a tall, manly young fellow, named Charles Gowan, opened the door and entered, Always on the alert for Indian treachery, he had his suspicion now, before entering suspected strongly, that all was not right. He had only reached the settlement that morning, and had he returned sooner he would have counselled the settlers to pay no heed to the invitation. He was assured that several had already gone up to the pow-wow, so being brave and unselfish, he said,
"If there is any danger afoot, and my friends are at the meeting lodge, that is the place for me, not here." He had no sooner entered than his worst convictions were realized. With one quick glance he saw the bloodpools, the wolfish eyes, the rows of ready rifles.
"Hell hounds!" he cried, "what bloody work have you on hand? What means this?" pointing to the floor.
"It means," replied the chief, "that some of your paleface brethren have been losing their heart's blood there. It also means that the same fate awaits you." Resolved to sell his life as dearly as lay in his power, he sprang forward with a Colt's revolver, and discharged it twice. One Indian fell, and another set up a cry like the bellowing of a bull. But poor Gowan did not fire a third shot. A tall savage approached him from behind, and striking him upon the head with his rifle-stock felled him to the earth. Then the savages fired five or six shots into him as he lay upon the floor. The body was dragged away, and the blood-thirsty fiends sat waiting for the approach of another victim. Half an hour passed, and no other rap came upon the door. An hour went, and still no sound of foot-fall. All this while the savages sat mute as stones, each holding his rifle in readiness.