“By Dieu! Dey goin’ keel nous, by dam’!” a trapper yelled, as he wiped powder grains from his eyes with bloody hands.
Again the women broke into frantic cries and came rushing out into the yard. Unnoticed, the corner of their refuge had caught from a brand, and half the structure was blazing fiercely; flames leaped into the smoke-thickened atmosphere, cleaving it with their forked tines, and the heat was frightful. Higher and higher the flames danced and played; the women crouched by the store, the children, dumb with fear, watched the horrible scene with set eyes. A young squaw moaned pitifully and fell on her side; the others chanted as they saw the red coming from under the black hair. Jules went to the wounded girl, but she was dead.
“For dat Ah keel, bon Dieu!” and Verbaux cursed as he ran back to the others. “Mes frères, ve go hout and keel!” he called loudly, a strange note in the powerful voice. Every man able to stand ran to him; with quick strokes they cut the weakened gates open and rushed out. A big Indian came at Jules with reversed gun, trying to club him; Verbaux parried the stroke, swung his axe underhand and drove the steel into the other’s legs; the man sank, and tried to crawl away on his hands and knees; Gregoire saw him and finished that life with a fearful blow on the Indian’s skull. The Hudson Bay’s men could not get into the yard; men fought hand to hand and in groups. The curses and shouts ceased somewhat; only gasps and hoarse grunts could be heard above the roaring of the burning house in the post. Some one made a lunge at Verbaux with a knife; the keen blade slit his shirt and scratched the skin; before Jules could retaliate a Northwester killed the man with the stock of his gun.
“Bon le Nor’ouest! Bon! Bien fait!” Jules shouted as he saw that his men were slowly forcing the others back to the edge of the timber. He gripped his axe with both hands and leaped into the hardest of the fight, pounding and slicing. Little by little the enemy were driven off.
“Los’! Sauf you’self dat can!” screamed a voice.
With one thought, what was left of the attacking party turned and fled, running through the trees.
“Non! Non!” Jules yelled at those of his men who started to pursue. “Put h’out de fir’!”
The men tore into the yard, and despite the heat and glare they pulled down the burning building and stopped the advance of the conflagration on other sheds that had caught.
The reeking smoke lifted and rolled away slowly, and the afternoon sun shone clear on the scene.
No one spoke; disfigured bodies, some scorched and blackened, others twisted in inconceivable shapes, were all over the yard. The smell of clotting blood tainted the air; low cryings and monotonous chants sounded as the women rocked to and fro over their dead. Broken rifles and dismantled axe-heads were scattered about; quantities of gun-waddings were everywhere. The logs showed little black-rimmed holes where the unsuccessful lead had buried itself in the wood. Nearly all the trappers were tying up wounds, grumbling and swearing. The smell of burnt wood and cloth came strongly from the ruined shed, where nothing but charred logs and twining smoke was left. Jules went the rounds and took account. Nineteen dead, thirteen wounded, some badly.