But it was a very small band who now held the last point to which they could retreat.  Only nine of them remained, the seigneur, Du Lhut, the two Americans, the friar, De Catinat, Theuriet the major-domo, and two of the censitaires.  Wounded, parched, and powder-blackened, they were still filled with the mad courage of desperate men who knew that death could come in no more terrible form than through surrender.  The stone staircase ran straight up from the kitchen to the main hall, and the door, which had been barricaded across the lower part by two mattresses, commanded the whole flight.  Hoarse whisperings and the click of the cocking of guns from below told that the Iroquois were mustering for a rush.

“Put the lantern by the door,” said Du Lhut, “so that it may throw the light upon the stair.  There is only room for three to fire, but you can all load and pass the guns.  Monsieur Green, will you kneel with me, and you, Jean Duval?  If one of us is hit let another take his place at once.  Now be ready, for they are coming!”

As he spoke there was a shrill whistle from below, and in an instant the stair was filled with rushing red figures and waving weapons.  Bang!  Bang!  Bang! went the three guns, and then again and again Bang!  Bang!  Bang!  The smoke was so thick in the low-roofed room that they could hardly see to pass the muskets to the eager hands which grasped for them.  But no Iroquois had reached the barricade, and there was no patter of their feet now upon the stair.  Nothing but an angry snarling and an occasional groan from below.  The marksmen were uninjured, but they ceased to fire and waited for the smoke to clear.

And when it cleared they saw how deadly their aim had been at those close quarters.  Only nine shots had been fired, and seven Indians were littered up and down on the straight stone stair.  Five of them lay motionless, but two tried to crawl slowly back to their friends.  Du Lhut and the censitaire raised their muskets, and the two crippled men lay still.

“By Saint Anne!” said the old pioneer, as he rammed home another bullet.  “If they have our scalps we have sold them at a great price.  A hundred squaws will be howling in their villages when they hear of this day’s work.”

“Ay, they will not forget their welcome at Sainte Marie,” said the old nobleman.  “I must again express my deep regret, my dear De Catinat, that you and your wife should have been put to such inconvenience when you have been good enough to visit me.  I trust that she and the others are safe at the fort by this time.”

“May God grant that they are!  Oh, I shall never have an easy moment until I see her once more.”

“If they are safe we may expect help in the morning, if we can hold out so long.  Chambly, the commandant, is not a man to leave a comrade at a pinch.”