“No!  No!” he cried.  “Don’t do that.  They’ll be more’n a match for you in the water.  We’ve won, and we’ll keep what we’ve won!”

All the warriors who had landed, save the dead, were now gone, evidently swimming for some point near by, and the battle in front, as if by a preconcerted signal, also sank down suddenly.  Then St. Luc’s silver whistle was heard, and French and Indians alike drew off.

Robert stood dazed by the abrupt end of the combat.  His blood was hot, and millions of black specks danced before his eyes.  The sudden silence, after so much shouting and firing, made his pulses beat like the sound of drums in his ears.  He held an empty pistol in his right hand, but he passed his left palm over his hot face, and wiped away the mingled reek of perspiration and burned gunpowder.  Grosvenor stood near him, staring at the red edge of his own sword.

“Put up your weapon, Red Coat,” said Tayoga, calmly.  “The battle is over—­for the time.”

“And we’ve won!” exclaimed Grosvenor.  “I could hardly believe it was real when I saw all those dark figures coming out of the water!”

Then he shuddered violently, and in sudden excess of emotion flung his sword from him.  But he went a moment later and picked it up again.

The attack had been repulsed on every side, but the price paid was large.  Fifteen men were dead and many others were wounded.  The bodies of seventeen Indians who had fallen in the water attack were found and were consigned to the waves.  Others, with their French allies, had gone down on the side of the forest, but most of the fallen had been taken away by their comrades.

It was a victory for Colden and his men, but it left serious alarm for the future.  St. Luc was still in the forest, and he might attack again in yet greater force.  Besides, they would have to guard against many a cunning and dangerous device from that master of forest warfare.  Colden called a council, at which Willet and Black Rifle were central figures, and they agreed that there was nothing to be done but to strengthen their log outworks and to practice eternal vigilance.  Then they began to toil anew on the breastworks, strengthening them with fresh timber, of which, fortunately, they had a vast supply, as so much had been cut to be turned into boats.  A double guard was placed at the water’s edge, lest the warriors come back for a new attack, and the wounded were made as comfortable as the circumstances would admit.  Luckily Willet and many others were well acquainted with the rude but effective border surgery, much of it learned from the Indians, and they were able to give timely help.

The hurt endured in silence.  Their frontier stoicism did not allow them to give voice to pain.  Blankets were spread for them under the sheds or in the sawmill, and some, despite their injuries, fell asleep from exhaustion.  Soldiers and borderers walked behind the palisades, others continually molded bullets, while some were deep in slumber, waiting their turn to be called for the watch.