“M’sieu!” she whispered. They had been silent for a long time. “To the left in the bushes! It looks like a head.”
“Can you make sure?”
“Yes. It is a head. May I shoot?”
Menard nodded without looking. She rested her musket in the opening between two logs, and fired quickly.
“Did you hit him?”
“Yes, I think so.”
She was breathless with excitement, but she reloaded at once. A moment later Menard fired, and then the priest.
“On all sides, eh?” the Captain muttered. He called to the others: “Waste no powder. Shoot only when you are sure of hitting. They will fall back again. Two dead Indians will discourage the wildest charge.” 225
The firing went on at intervals, but still the warriors kept at it, creeping up from bush to bush and tree to tree. Menard’s face grew more serious as the time went by. He began to realize that the Long Arrow was desperate, that he was determined on vengeance before the other chiefs could come. It had been a typical savage thought that had led him to bring Menard to this village, where he had once lived, rather than to the one in which the chief held greater permanent authority; the scheme was too complete and too near its end for delay or failure to be considered. Still the attacking party drew nearer, swelled every moment by a new group. Then Menard saw their object. They would soon be near enough to dash in close to the wall, where their very nearness would disable the white men’s muskets.
“Work fast!” he said suddenly. “They must not get nearer!”