“None better than he.  I think they’re well around the flank, Rogers.  Listen to their shouts.  Now, we’ll make a fresh rush of our own.”

They sprang from the shelter of the log, and, leading their men, rushed in a hundred yards until they dropped down behind another one.  Robert and Tayoga went with them, firing as they ran, borne on by the thrill of combat, but Robert felt relief nevertheless when he settled again in the shelter of the second log and for the time being was secure from bullets.

“I think,” said Willet to Rogers, “that I’ll go around toward the left, where the flanking force is composed mostly of rangers, and press in there with all our might.  If the two horns of the crescent are able to enclose St. Luc, and you charge at the center, we should win the victory soon.”

“It’s the right idea, Dave,” said Rogers.  “When we hear your shots and a shout or two we’ll drive our hardest.”

“I’d like to take Tayoga and Robert with me.”

“They’re yours.  They’re good and brave lads, and I’ll need ’em, but you’ll need ’em too.  How many more of the men here will you want?”

“About ten.”

“Then take them too.”

Willet, with Robert, Tayoga and the ten, began a cautious circuit in the darkness toward the western horn of the crescent, and for a few minutes left the battle in the distance.  As they crept through the bushes, Robert heard the shouts and shots of both sides and saw the pink flashes of flame as the rifles were fired.  In the darkness it seemed confused and vague, but he knew that it was guided by order and precision.  Now and then a spent bullet pattered upon the leaves, and one touched him upon the wrist, stinging for a moment or two, but doing no harm.

But as they passed farther and farther to the west the noise of the battle behind them gradually sank, while that on the left horn of the crescent grew.

In a few more minutes they would be with the rangers who were pressing forward so strenuously at that point, and as Robert saw dusky figures rise from the bushes in front of them he believed they were already in touch.  Instead a dozen rifles flashed in their faces.  One of the rangers went down, shot through the head, dead before he touched the ground, three more sustained slight wounds, including Robert who was grazed on the shoulder, and all of them gave back in surprise and consternation.  But Willet, shrewd veteran of the forest, recovered himself quickly.

“Down, men!  Down and give it back to ’em!” he cried.  “They’ve sent out a flanking force of their own!  It was clever of St. Luc!”

All the rangers dropped on their faces instantly, but as they went down they gave back the fire of the flanking party.  Robert caught a glimpse of De Courcelles, who evidently was leading it, and pulled trigger on him, but the Frenchman turned aside at that instant, and his bullet struck a St. Regis Indian who was just behind him.  Now the return volley of the rangers was very deadly.  Two Frenchmen were slain here and four warriors, and De Courcelles, who had not expected on his circling movement to meet with a new force, was compelled to give back.  He and his warriors quickly disappeared in the forest, leaving their dead behind them, and Willet with his own little force moved on triumphantly, soon joining his strength to that of the rangers on the left.