“What is it?” cried Colonel Chouteau, who had been busy with some papers of importance. “The Indians! The Indians!” shouted his brother. “Call out the militia! Where is the Governor?” “In his own house, drunk as usual,” cried Pierre indignantly, and he ran to summon the soldiers. There had been a small body of troops under the command of Captain Cartabona, a Spaniard sent from Ste. Genevieve at the urgent request of the chief citizens, but it being a holiday they were away, some canoeing down the river or fishing, and of the few to be found most of them were panic stricken. The captain had been having a carouse with the Governor. “Then we must be our own leaders. To arms! to arms! every citizen! It is for your wives and children!” was the inspiriting cry. “You shall be our leader!” was shouted in one voice almost before the Colonel had ceased. For Colonel Chouteau was not only admired for his friendliness and good comradeship, but trusted to the last degree. Every man rushed for his gun and ran to the rescue, hardly knowing what had happened save that the long-feared attack had come upon them unawares. They poured out of the fort, but the flying women and children were in the advance with the Indians back of them. Colonel Chouteau marshalled his little force in a circuitous movement, and opened a volley that took the Indians by surprise. They fell back brandishing their arms and shouting to their companions to come on. Then the Colonel saw that it was no mere casual attack, but a premeditated onslaught. Already bodies were lying on the ground struggling in death agonies. The aim was so good that the assailants halted, then fell back to wait for their companions. This gave most of the flying and terrified throng an opportunity to reach the fort. For the wounded nothing could be done at present. Now the streets were alive with men who had no time to pick out their own families, but ran, musket or rifle in hand, to man the fort. Colonel Chouteau and his brother Pierre were experienced artillerists, and stationed themselves at the cannon. The Indians held a brief colloquy with the advancing body. Then it was seen that an attack was determined upon. They approached the fort, headed by several white leaders, and opened an irregular fire on the place. “Let them approach nearer,” commanded the Colonel. The walls of the stockade and the roofs of the nearest houses were manned with the residents of the town. A shower of arrows fell among them. Surprised at no retaliation, the enemy ventured boldly, headed by Ducharme. Then the cannons poured out their volley, which swept down the foremost. From the roofs muskets and guns and even pistols made a continuing chorus. Ducharme fell. Two of the white leaders were wounded also. Then another discharge from the cannons and the red foes fell back. The plan had been to wait until almost dusk for the attack, but the incident at the spring had hastened it.