“Yes, he is brave enough,” Du Lhut repeated with an oath.  “Your censitaires have had their hoes in their hands more often than their muskets, I should judge from their shooting.  But they seem to be drawing closer upon the east face, and I think that they will make a rush there before long.”

The fire had indeed grown very much fiercer upon the side which was defended by De Catinat, and it was plain that the main force of the Iroquois were gathered at that point.  From every log, and trunk, and cleft, and bush came the red flash with the gray halo, and the bullets sang in a continuous stream through the loop-holes.  Amos had whittled a little hole for himself about a foot above the ground, and lay upon his face loading and firing in his own quiet methodical fashion.  Beside him stood Ephraim Savage, his mouth set grimly, his eyes flashing from under his down-drawn brows, and his whole soul absorbed in the smiting of the Amalekites.  His hat was gone, his grizzled hair flying in the breeze, great splotches of powder mottled his mahogany face, and a weal across his right cheek showed where an Indian bullet had grazed him.  De Catinat was bearing himself like an experienced soldier, walking up and down among his men with short words of praise or of precept, those fire-words rough and blunt which bring a glow to the heart and a flush to the cheek.  Seven of his men were down, but as the attack grew fiercer upon his side it slackened upon the others, and the seigneur with his son and Du Lhut brought ten men to reinforce them.  De la Noue was holding out his snuff-box to De Catinat when a shrill scream from behind them made them both look round.  Onega, the Indian wife, was wringing her hands over the body of her son.  A glance showed that the bullet had pierced his heart and that he was dead.

For an instant the old nobleman’s thin face grew a shade paler, and the hand which held out the little gold box shook like a branch in the wind.  Then he thrust it into his pocket again and mastered the spasm which had convulsed his features.

“The De la Noues always die upon the field of honour,” he remarked.  “I think that we should have some more men in the angle by the gun.”

And now it became clear why it was that the Iroquois had chosen the eastern face for their main attack.  It was there that the clump of cover lay midway between the edge of the forest and the stockade.  A storming party could creep as far as that and gather there for the final rush.  First one crouching warrior, and then a second, and then a third darted across the little belt of open space, and threw themselves down among the bushes.  The fourth was hit, and lay with his back broken a few paces out from the edge of the wood, but a stream of warriors continued to venture the passage, until thirty-six had got across, and the little patch of underwood was full of lurking savages.  Amos Green’s time had come.