Tired of such one-sided warfare, Piskaret resolved to strike another blow. The broad St. Lawrence was fast locked by the winter's ice. His small party dragged their three canoes over the level snowy surface, and on eastward across a tongue of timbered land, to the River Richelieu. This connects Lake Champlain of New York and the St. Lawrence in Canada. The Richelieu, flowing black and deep, had opened. It was the water-trail of the Iroquois, and especially of the Mohawks. By it they made their forays north to the St. Lawrence and the camps of their enemies. Every thicket along its banks and every curve in its course was likely to be an ambush; but the fearless Piskaret party ascended clear to Lake Champlain itself. Here they landed upon an island, concealed themselves and their canoes in the wintry forest, and waited. One day they heard a gun-shot. Some Iroquois were about, upon the lake or upon the mainland. "Come," spoke Piskaret, to his party. "Let us eat. It may be the last time, for we will have to die instead of run." After they had eaten, they saw two canoes making straight for the island. Each canoe held seven Iroquois. That counted up fourteen, or two to one. However, the Piskaret party had the advantage of position. They hid in the bushes at the place for which the canoes were heading. "Let us each choose a man in the first canoe," directed Piskaret, "and take sure aim, and fire together." The volley by the Algonkins was so deadly that every one of the six balls killed an Iroquois. The seventh warrior dived overboard, and escaped by swimming to the other canoe. That had been swift work. But the Iroquois were brave. Of the Mohawk tribe, these. Instead of turning about, to get help, the eight warriors, whooping in rage, paddled furiously along the shore, to land at another spot and give battle. Piskaret's Algonkins ran hard to head them off, and met the canoe again. At the shore one of the Iroquois sighted them, and stood up to fire. They shot him, so that he tumbled overboard and capsized the canoe. The seven Mohawks were now in the water; but the water was shallow, and splashing through, they bored right in, like bulldogs. The Piskaret Algonkins had need to shoot fast and true. The Mohawks feared nothing, and despised Algonkins. Besides, they now knew that Piskaret was before them, and his scalp they considered a great prize. The Mohawks lost this battle. Before they could gain shelter, of their seven four had been killed, two had been captured, and there was only one who escaped. No time was to be lost. The sounds of the battle probably had been heard. "We have done well," said Piskaret. "Now we may run." So they launched their canoes, and with two prisoners and eleven scalps they plied their paddles at best speed for the Richelieu.