Robert had never before seen them attack with so much disregard of wounds, and death.  Usually the Indian was a wary fighter, always preferring ambush, and securing every possible advantage for himself, but now they rushed boldly across open spaces, seeking new and nearer coverts.  Many fell before the bullets of the rangers but the swarms came on, with undiminished zeal, always pushing the battle, and keeping up a fire so heavy that, despite the bullets that went wild, the rangers steadily diminished in numbers.

“It’s a powerful attack,” said Robert.

“It’s because they feel so sure of victory,” said Tayoga, “and it’s because they know it’s the Mountain Wolf and his men whom they have surrounded.  They would rather destroy a hundred rangers than three hundred troops.”

“That’s so,” said Willet, who overheard them in all the crash of the battle.  “They won’t let the opportunity escape.  Back a little, lads!  This place is becoming too much exposed.”

They withdrew into deeper shelter, but they still fired as fast, as they could reload and pull the trigger.  Their bullets, although they rarely missed, seemed to make no impression on the red horde, which always pressed closer, and there was a deadly ring of fire around the rangers, made by hundreds of rifles and muskets.

Robert and Tayoga were still without wounds.  Leaves and twigs rained around them, and they heard often the song of the bullets, they saw many of the rangers fall, but happy fortune kept their own bodies untouched.  Robert knew that the battle was a losing one, but he was resolved to hold his place with his comrades.  Rogers, who had been fighting with undaunted valor and desperation, marshaling his men in vain against numbers greatly superior, made his way once more to the side of Willet and crouched with him in the bushes.

“Dave, my friend,” he said, “the battle goes against us.”

“So it does,” replied the hunter, “but it is no fault of yours or your men.  St. Luc, the best of all the French leaders, has forced us into a trap.  There is nothing left for us to do now but burst the trap.”

“I hate to yield the field.”

“But it must be done.  It’s better to lose a part of the rangers than to lose all.  You’ve had many a narrow escape before.  Men will come to your standard and you’ll have a new band bigger than ever.”

The dark face of the ranger captain brightened a little.  But he looked sadly upon his fallen men.  He was bleeding himself from two slight wounds, but he paid no attention to them.  The need to flee pierced his soul, but he saw that it must be done, else all the rangers would be destroyed, and, while he still hesitated a moment or two, the silver whistle of St. Luc, urging on a fresh and greater attack, rose above all the sounds of combat.  Then he knew that he must wait no longer, and he gave the command for ordered flight.

Not more than half of the rangers escaped from that terrible converging attack.  St. Luc’s triumph was complete.  He had won full revenge for his defeat by Andiatarocte, and he pushed the pursuit with so much energy and skill that Rogers bade the surviving rangers scatter in the wilderness to reassemble again, after their fashion, far to the south.