“Do not lift your head,” he whispered. “Peer through this cleft in the stone.”
Had I the talent I could sketch that scene now from 387 memory. It must ever abide in my mind, distinct in every detail. The sky overcast with cloud masses, a dense mist rising from the valley, the pallid spectral light barely making visible the strange, grotesque shapes of rocks, trees and men. Before us was a narrow opening, devoid of vegetation, a sterile patch of stone and sand, and beyond this a fringe of trees, matted with underbrush below so as to make good screen, but sufficiently thinned out above, so that, from our elevation, we could look through the interlaced branches across the cleared space where the timber had been chopped away to the palisades of the fort. The first space was filled with warriors, crouching behind the cover of underbrush. Most of these were lying down, or upon their knees, watchfully peering through toward the fort gates, but a few were standing, or moving cautiously about bearing word of command. The attention of all was in front riveted upon the silent, seemingly deserted fort. Not a face did I note turned in our direction, not a movement to indicate our presence was suspected. It was a line, in many places two deep, of naked red bodies, stretching down the slope on either side; the coarse black hair of the warriors gave them savage look, while here and there a chief sported gaudy war bonnet, and all along was the gleam of weapons. The number of them caused me to gasp for breath.
“Monsieur,” I whispered timidly, “you can never attack; there are too many.”
“They appear more numerous than they are,” he answered confidently, “but it will be a stiff fight. Not all Tuscaroras either; there are Eries yonder to the right, and a few renegade Mohawks with them. Look, by the foot of that big tree, the fellow in war bonnet, and deerskin shirt––what make you of him?”
“A white man in spite of his paint.”
“’Twas my guess also. I thought it likely they had a renegade with them, for this is not Indian strategy. La Forest was of the same opinion, although ’twas too dark when he was here for us to make sure.”
“For what are they waiting, and watching?”
“The gates to open, no doubt. If they suspect nothing within, they will send out a party soon to reconnoiter the trail, and reach the river below for water. It is the custom, and, no doubt, these devils know, and will wait their chance. They urge the laggards now.”
We lay and watched them, his hand clasping mine. Those warriors who had been lying prone, rose to their knees, and weapons in hand, crouched for a spring; the chiefs scattered, careful to keep concealed behind cover. Not a sound reached us, every movement noiseless, the orders conveyed by gesture of the hand. De Artigny pressed my fingers.