"Jest a little gentle play," smiled Jim grimly. "Let 'em send their cannon balls. Reckon they won't hurt us. But them Frenchies air gettin' ready to charge." It was as he said, for as Steve looked through the round opening made in the bank of snow, he saw some fifty dark figures emerge from the trees beside the guns, and throw off their heavier clothing. They were French regulars for the most part, as was shown by their blue and white uniform. But there was a sprinkling of _coureurs de bois_ amongst them, bold men of the forest, who had long ago demonstrated their capacity for this class of work. "We'll not be in a hurry," said Steve. "It is harder work to charge up a hillock, which after all may be untenanted, than it is to dash up while bullets swish past, and while the shouts and cheers of comrades help to keep up one's courage. Not a shot, boys, till you hear my musket. Ah, here they come, and the guns are starting again." He had watched the French gunners sponging out their pieces, and now crouched a little lower as a ball came hurtling overhead with a scream, and expending all its force against the soft cushion of snow lying on the hummock above, dropped backwards like a stone, and fell with a thud at his feet. "Sure, 'tis one of thim bhoys as could give ye a gentle little knock, so it would," sang out Mac, while the trappers laughed heartily. "I'll be afther axing ye, Mr. Frenchie down there, to aim to the rhight a bhit, for Mac here don't like thim pellets, and there's Huntin' Jim as is afeared of the beauties." There was another laugh at that, a low, noiseless laugh for these men knew that sounds travelled easily and far on such a frosty day. Then all fixed their eyes on the gathering of Frenchmen below, and watched as they advanced towards the hillock, taking their time, for they wished to have all their breath for the more difficult part of their task. "Ef they'd only hurry," growled Jim. "They're delayin' so much that it makes me jumpy. 'Sides, it's goin' to snow agin, and that'd help 'em."