The lieutenant who had been consigned to the lead was of a different nature to the sergeant of Sabrevous, for he would not listen to any speech.
"I am here to arrest you and your party, and save your breath, for you will need it at the court-martial. Surrender or we shall make you."
"We shall not surrender," answered Allen, calmly.
Allen, Baker and Old Buckskin had got into a corner of the room and dragged tables and a heavy dresser in front of them.
The English fired at the "rebels" and succeeded only in damaging the walls and furniture.
Old Buckskin raised his musket, an old friend that had brought down many a bear and wolf in the forests; he patted it affectionately and took aim.
Every movement was as calm as though the enemy was a defenseless animal destined to fall beneath the unerring aim of the hunter.
The soldiers had reloaded and awaited the order to fire.
The musket belched forth its leaden fury, and the lieutenant fell dead.
"No use tackling small fry when the big uns are there," explained the hunter, as he reloaded.