How they could see so well is a mystery, but certain it is that they brought their muskets to bear on every loophole of the stockade and the tower. The storm was raging bitterly, but in their furred garments their hide moccasins and leggings, they defied the exposure.
At the first we lost a man killed, and had three wounded. Then we grew more careful, and reconnoitered from what little crevices we could find before we ventured on a shot. Those who had no loopholes kept loading spare muskets and passing them to us, taking our own as soon as we fired. I had several narrow escapes, but by watching for the spurts of flame and smoke and for the limbs that now and then showed darkly against the snow, I killed or disabled half a dozen of the enemy. Baptiste was on my right, and just beyond him was Captain Rudstone.
There was one diversion during the time I speak of, and that from the west side of the fort, where a great clamor of firing and whooping suddenly broke out. I did not dare to leave my post—I was virtually in charge of the east stockade—but Captain Rudstone led half a dozen men to the disturbed quarter. The scrimmage was quickly over, and when the captain returned I got a report from him.
“It’s all right,” he said. “The devils rushed us, but we drove them back by volleys from the loopholes, killing half a score and losing one ourselves. The ground dips down to the fort there, and we had a clean sweep. They won’t molest us on that side again—it was a half-hearted attack, anyway.”
“I wish they would drop the whole thing,” I replied bitterly.
Captain Rudstone shrugged his shoulders.
“You would be a fool to expect it, Carew,” he said. “I am not a bird of ill-omen, but, by Heaven! the redskins are determined to hang on till they take the fort.”
“They’ll have a wait,” said I.
“That’s as maybe,” the captain rejoined. “If there were only the Indians to reckon with! But Northwest men are among them, cleverly disguised; and I doubt not Cuthbert Mackenzie is one of them.”
“I am sure of it,” I asserted.