There was now a rude bustling at the door; the rusty key was plied, and with a harsh scream the bolt flew back. Then the evil-looking Luc entered, followed by three others, all of whom seemed partially intoxicated.
"Your hour has come, young man," Lestang said, in a brutal voice.
"Let us be jogging."
Stephens then bade good-bye to the visitors who had re-entered; to the clergyman, and to one or two prisoners detained for minor offences. His face was deathly pale, but his eye was steadfast and his step firm.
Beyond the entrance to the building, about an arrow's flight, was drawn up a firing party; and midway between these and one of the bastions of the fort was an open coffin. Thither Luc and his guard led the condemned man.
"Stop a moment till I bind you," Luc said, taking a hempen cord from about his waist. Then he fastened Stephens' hands behind his back, and with the most devilish cruelty tied the cord far tighter than might be needed for the most refractory culprit. Indeed, his arms were almost dislocated at the shoulders, and when the brutal jailer saw the corners of his mouth twitch under the torture, he said, with a bestial sneer—
"It'll not hurt long. Should be patient."
These words had barely escaped the fellow's lips when a terrified cry went up from a score of throats gathered about; and immediately a scene of the wildest confusion prevailed.
"Les soldats! Les soldats!" shouted one and all: and immediately the little Cree scout was seen upon the earthworks, the eyes of her horse gleaming, spray drifting from his open jaws. Close following Annette came Lieutenant Browninge waving his sword above his head, and shouting,
"Down with the rebels!" at the same time slashing the scurrying enemy in such a fashion with his sword as would gladden one's heart.
As for Annette, her quick eye at once showed her how the situation stood: her lover, his hands bound, a black cap over his eyes, a coffin beside him. Luc, the jailer, and chief of the executioners, remained at his post as long as possible; and at the first outburst of the din had called upon his party to fire. But these mahogany-complexioned executioners scurried like rats at the first cry. Most of them carried their arms with them, but Luc perceived a musket lying in a corner of the drill square. This he seized and levelled at Stephens, pulling the trigger, after careful aim. The rusty weapon missed fire, and the intrepid half-breed began hastily to chip the flint with the back of his sheath-knife; but while he was engaged in this laudable preparation, Annette came over the earthworks like a bird, smote him with the handle of her whip upon the crown, and sent him sprawling in the dust. With another bound she was at her lover's side; and slipping from her horse, she pulled off the hideous cap, cut his thongs,—and then the hero-darling waited to be taken to his heart.