I must have seen what followed, yet I do not know; the incidents seem burned on my memory, yet are so confused I can place them in no order. The white renegade seemed waiting, his arm upraised. Ere it fell in signal to dispatch his wild crew to the slaughter, there was a crash of rifles all about me, the red flare leaping into the gray mist––a savage yell from a hundred throats, and a wild rush of naked bodies.
I saw warriors of the Iroquois fling up their arms and fall; I saw them shrink, and shrivel, break ranks and run. Surprised, stricken, terrified by the war-whoops of the maddened Illini, realizing only that they were caught between enemies, their one and only thought was escape. Two of their chiefs were down, and the white renegade, stumbling and falling as though also hurt, dived into the underbrush.
Before they could rally, or even comprehend what had occurred, their assailants were upon them. Leaping across the open, over rock and sand, yelling like fiends, weapons gleaming in the dull light, the frenzied Illini, enflamed with revenge, maddened with hate, 393 flung themselves straight at them. Rifles flashed in their faces, tomahawks whirled in the air, but nothing stopped that rush. Warriors fell, but the others stumbled over the naked bodies. I saw De Artigny, stripped to his shirt, and that in rags from the bushes he had plunged through, his rifle barrel gripped, a yard in front of them all. I saw La Forest, bareheaded, and Sequitah, his Indian stoicism forgotten in mad blood lust.
Then they struck and were lost in the fierce maelstrom of struggle, striking, falling, red hands gripping at red throats, rifle butts flung high, tomahawks dealing the death blow, knives gleaming as sinewy arms drove them home. I could no longer distinguish enemy from friend; they were interlocked, struggling like mad dogs, fighting as devils might, a wild tangled mass of bodies, of waving hair, of blazing eyes, of uplifted steel.
The Iroquois had rallied from their first shock; already they realized the small number of the attackers. Those who had fled were turning back; those on either flank were running toward the scene of fight. I saw the white renegade burst from the press, urging these laggards forward. Scarcely had he attained the outer edge, when De Artigny fought his way forth also, tearing the mass asunder with sweep of rifle. They stood face to face, glaring into each other’s eyes.
The rifle in De Artigny’s hand was but a twisted bar of iron; this renegade’s only weapon was a murderous knife, its point reddened with blood. What word was said, I know not, but I saw De Artigny fling his bar aside, and draw the knife at his belt. Mon Dieu! I could not look; I know not how they fought; I hid my eyes and prayed. When I glanced up again both were gone, the fighting mass was surging over the spot––but the Iroquois were in flight, seeking only some means of escape, while out through the fort gates the soldiers of the garrison were coming on a run, pouring volleys of lead into the fleeing savages. I saw De Tonty, De Baugis, De la Durantaye––ay! and there was M. Cassion, back among the stragglers, waving his sword gallantly in the air. It was all over with so quickly I could but sit and stare; they ran past me in pursuit, wild yells echoing through the woods, but all I thought of then was M. de Artigny. I scrambled down the rock, falling heavily in my haste, yet once upon my feet again, rushed forth, reckless of danger. The ground was strewn with dead and wounded, the victorious Illini already scattered in merciless, headlong pursuit. Only a group of soldiers remained at the edge of the forest. Among these were De Tonty and La Forest. Neither noticed my approach until I faced them.
“What, Madame,” exclaimed De Tonty, “you here 395 also?” he paused as though in doubt, “and the Sieur de Artigny––had he part in this feat of arms?”
“A very important part, Monsieur,” returned La Forest, staunching a wound on his forehead, yet bowing gallantly to me. “’Twas indeed his plan, and I permitted him command as he knows these Illini Indians better than I.”
“But does he live, Monsieur?” I broke in anxiously.