As the laughing Dutchmen reached land a terrific din from the hemlock forest shocked the night, and this wild revelry became each moment more terrible, until the wind seemed to cease to breathe.
The raft was opposite the landing-stage, burning rapidly down to the water, casting out flakes of fire and wisps of blazing grass. Lights flashed confusedly upon the heights, and the tramp of armed men carried solemnly across the river.
"The Iroquois are coming out!" cried Van Vuren.
"Let us wait like vultures for the pickings," muttered the lieutenant at his side.
"Vultures!" shrieked a malignant voice. "A good word, traitors."
The men swung round and stared into the gloom. Upon a point of rock they saw Gaudriole, squatting like a toad, his features half lit by the glow of his pipe.
"The plain of Tophet lies ahead," he snarled at them. "Others may play at fire as well as ye."
He sprang up and danced furiously upon the rock.
"Slay me that hunchback," shouted Van Vuren in a rage.
His men ran at the rock. Gaudriole spat at them like a cat and vanished among the scrub.