"Hole in her as big as a whaleboat," Connear growled. "We're caught in a trap, and those blasted Nor'west lubbers know it."
It seemed that the enemy had worsted them at every turn. The lake offered no means of escape, neither did the morass, and the Nor'westers held the slope. Dunvegan wondered why they had so easily fought their way to the canoe. Now he knew the reason.
The Nor'west leader thought that he had them hemmed in, that their extermination was already a decided fact. Then would come his surprise of Oxford House! The scoundrel was brainy, without a doubt. His ruse had been clever. But he had forgotten one thing—the topography of the country! There was a way out other than that up the incline and over the muzzles of the Nor'west rifles. The path lay across the black morass which ringed the Bay, and Dunvegan knew that path.
"Are we all here?" he asked suddenly of his men.
"All but Michael Barreau and Gray Eagle," Connear answered. "Someone caved in Michael's head with a gun stock; Gray Eagle was shot—I saw him fall! And old Running Wolf fired the shot!"
"The Cree joined them, eh? I expected that. Where's Maskwa?"
"Here, Strong Father," called the Ojibway fort runner. "What is your will?"
"You know the beaver dam, the wall across the meadows?" Dunvegan inquired. "You remember it, the new dam we found some moons ago?"
"I remember well," Maskwa answered solemnly. "Did not Strong Father carry me over that——"
"Never mind," the chief trader interrupted hastily. "If you remember the place, lead these men to it. When you get across, hurry up Mooswa Hill and light the beacon. I'll come last! Now then, altogether with the guns! Give them a good volley to make them think we are preparing to storm. Then slip away."