weighted and hampered by his unwieldy clothes.  Slower and slower grew his stroke, lower and lower his head, until at last with a great shriek of In manus tuas, Domine! he threw up his hands, and vanished in the swirl of the river.  A minute later the watchers, hoarse with screaming to him to return, saw De Catinat pulled aboard the Iroquois canoe, which was instantly turned and continued its course up the river.

“My God!” cried Amos hoarsely.  “They have taken him.  He is lost.”

“I have seen some strange things in these forty years, but never the like of that!” said Du Lhut.

The seigneur took a little pinch of snuff from his gold box, and flicked the wandering grains from his shirt-front with his dainty lace handkerchief.

“Monsieur de Catinat has acted like a gentleman of France,” said he.  “If I could swim now as I did thirty years ago, I should be by his side.”

Du Lhut glanced round him and shook his head.  “We are only six now,” said he.  “I fear they are up to some devilry because they are so very still.”

“They are leaving the house!” cried the censitaire, who was peeping through one of the side windows.  “What can it mean?  Holy Virgin, is it possible that we are saved?  See how they throng through the trees.  They are making for the canoe.  Now they are waving their arms and pointing.”

“There is the gray hat of that mongrel devil amongst them,” said the captain.  “I would try a shot upon him were it not a waste of powder and lead.”

“I have hit the mark at as long a range,” said Amos, pushing his long brown gun through a chink in the barricade which they had thrown across the lower half of the window.  “I would give my next year’s trade to bring him down.”

“It is forty paces further than my musket would carry,” remarked Du Lhut, “but I have seen the English shoot a great way with those long guns.”

Amos took a steady aim, resting his gun upon the window sill, and fired.  A shout of delight burst from the little knot of survivors.  The Flemish Bastard had fallen.  But he was on his feet again in an instant and shook his hand defiantly at the window.

“Curse it!” cried Amos bitterly, in English.  “I have hit him with a spent ball.  As well strike him with a pebble.”

“Nay, curse not, Amos, lad, but try him again with another pinch of powder if your gun will stand it.”

The woodsman thrust in a full charge, and chose a well-rounded bullet from his bag, but when he looked again both the Bastard and his warriors had disappeared.  On the river the single Iroquois canoe which held the captives was speeding south as swiftly as twenty paddles could drive it, but save this one dark streak upon the blue stream, not a sign was to be seen of their enemies.  They had vanished as if they had been an evil dream.  There was the bullet-spotted stockade, the litter of dead bodies inside it, the burned and roofless cottages, but the silent woods lay gleaming in the morning sunshine as quiet and peaceful as if no hell-burst of fiends had ever broken out from them.