The Irishman had seen service before, and doubtless he had had some instruction in the loading of guns. He ran the sponge rod down the muzzle of the one which had not yet been spiked, wiped it out, and introduced a charge, while Steve poured a handful of powder over the vent. In another minute they had depressed the sights, and our hero stood beside the gun, panting after his exertions, and holding the muzzle of a pistol taken from one of the Frenchmen across the vent. Meanwhile the musket shot which had been fired from the neighbourhood of the hummock where Steve's men lay had been followed by many sharp reports, and by the din set up by the combatants. Sometimes the flash of the powder could be seen, for the fall of snow was not so heavy now as it had been. Dim figures could be discerned here and there, and presently some dashed towards the guns; for the man who had run for his life as Steve and Mac charged had returned with some comrades determined on capturing the guns again. They arrived within sight of the place to find all in readiness, and the instant they caught sight of Steve, standing ready to receive them, they bolted back again, and darting to the right till out of range of the weapon, went shouting for their friends. "Get that sponging rod under the edge of the sledge, Mac," sang out Steve, a smile of confidence on his lips. "Ten chances to one they will rush us from another direction, and we must be ready to slew the gun round and fire. Yes. Here they come, this time from the right." As quickly as possible the rod was thrust under the runner of the sledge which carried the gun, and with a heave Mac slewed it round till the muzzle pointed towards the spot from which the French were coming. He dug it again into position, and then waited, ready to move the sights still further if necessary. "Jest a little lower wid the muzzle, sor," he sang out. "That's the way. Give 'em the charge rhight in their faces, and thin, bedad, we'll be for lavin'."