Father Gibault looked back, and against the gray of the winter’s twilight there were flames like red maple leaves.  In the fort the men stood to their guns, their faces flushed with staring at the burning houses.  Only a few were burned,—­enough to give no cover for Hamilton and his six hundred if they came.

But they did not come.  The faithful Bowman and his men arrived instead, with the news that there had been only a roving party of forty, and these were now in full retreat.

Father Gibault came back.  But where was Hamilton?  This was the disquieting thing.

One bitter day, when the sun smiled mockingly on the powdered common, a horseman was perceived on the Fort Chartres road.  It was Monsieur Vigo returning from Vincennes, but he had been first to St. Louis by reason of the value he set upon his head.  Yes, Monsieur Vigo had been to Vincennes, remaining a little longer than he expected, the guest of Governor Hamilton.  So Governor Hamilton had recaptured that place!  Monsieur Vigo was no spy, hence he had gone first to St. Louis.  Governor Hamilton was at Vincennes with much of King George’s gold, and many supplies, and certain Indians who had not been at the council.  Eight hundred in all, said Monsieur Vigo, using his fingers.  And it was Governor Hamilton’s design to march upon Kaskaskia and Cahokia and sweep over Kentucky; nay, he had already sent certain emissaries to McGillivray and his Creeks and the Southern Indians with presents, and these were to press forward on their side.  The Governor could do nothing now, but would move as soon as the rigors of winter had somewhat relented.  Monsieur Vigo shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.  He loved les Americains.  What would Monsieur le Colonel do now?

Monsieur le Colonel was grave, but this was his usual manner.  He did not tear his hair, but the ways of the Long Knives were past understanding.  He asked many questions.  How was it with the garrison at Vincennes?  Monsieur Vigo was exact, as a business man should be.  They were now reduced to eighty men, and five hundred savages had gone out to ravage.  There was no chance, then, of Hamilton moving at present?  Monsieur Vigo threw up his hands.  Never had he made such a trip, and he had been forced to come back by a northern route.  The Wabash was as the Great Lakes, and the forests grew out of the water.  A fox could not go to Vincennes in this weather.  A fish?  Monsieur Vigo laughed heartily.  Yes, a fish might.

“Then,” said Colonel Clark, “we will be fish.”

Monsieur Vigo stared, and passed his hand from his forehead backwards over his long hair.  I leaned forward in my corner by the hickory fire.

“Then we will be fish,” said Colonel Clark.  “Better that than food for the crows.  For, if we stay here, we shall be caught like bears in a trap, and Kentucky will be at Hamilton’s mercy.”

“Sacre’!” exclaimed Monsieur Vigo, “you are mad, mon ami.  I know what this country is, and you cannot get to Vincennes.”