At full cry they were gone from the moonlight into gloom.
CHAPTER XI.
THE SWORD IMBRUED
While the pendulum of a clock might have swayed thrice, the four venturers stood facing Onawa as though her words had turned them into stone. Then Hough, forgetting all save rage and lust for vengeance, broke forward to reach the traitress. Instantly she ran for the bush, and the voice of Penfold called his follower back.
"Lift not your hand against a woman," he cried. "To the forest, my lads."
"To the forest an you will," Hough shouted. "I at least shall advance to smite this woman's partner in sin, be he Frenchman or devil."
"Be it so, neighbour," his captain answered. "Together let us stand, or together fall. Advance, then, and take the place by storm."
As they rushed out, La Salle braced himself to face the odds. He made a few passes to free his arm, and trod the beaten ground to make sure that it would not yield. Then, loosening the top bar, he flung it forth as the spidery form of Hough descended, and it struck before the Puritan's feet and stopped him dead. The same moment La Salle sprang upon the lowest bar, but the support weighed down beneath its burden, and his blade merely stabbed the air.
"A priest, neighbours," Hough shouted. "Now to avenge our martyrs burnt at Smithfield by Bloody Mary and the Pope."