He stood on the tips of his moccasins peering into the distance, and then shuffled a little to one side in his snow shoes, wrenching the rod as he did so, and again slightly altering the aim of the gun. Figures had sprung up again on the sudden, and some twenty Frenchmen could be seen coming towards the gun as fast as the snow and their shoes would allow them. A musket spoke sharply, a flash illuminated the front of the enemy for an instant, and a heavy ball struck the runner of the sledge, glanced from it and very neatly severed the sling which held Steve's musket to his shoulders. Then came another shot, crisp and clear, the missile clipping a bough above the heads of the two gallant backwoodsmen standing beside the gun, and bringing a cloud of frozen snow about their ears. It was time to fire. Steve leaned over the breach, placed the pan of his flint lock close to the vent and pulled the trigger. Then he and Mac turned, and after Steve had driven his second spike home and so rendered the gun useless, darted off into the forest unmindful of the shouts they left behind them, knowing only that their use of the gun had resulted in terrible loss to the enemy. "They have no thought of pursuing us," gasped Steve, some minutes later as they halted deep in the forest. "I think the discharge must have worked havoc, and thoroughly upset them. Listen to the others. Jim and the boys were just in time to catch the Indians, and I have a shrewd idea that they have beaten off their attack. Can we help in any way?" "Hilp! Sure 'tis oursilves as will want hilp if them fellers catch a sight af us. Cap'n, we'd best lie hid here till the fightin's over, when we can follow the inimy and see that he returns home." "And that he does not take his guns with him," exclaimed Steve. "After all, they could very easily bore out the vents again if they took them back to Ticonderoga, and then we might have them firing at us again. Let us return a little way, Mac, till we get a good sight of the weapons. With our muskets we should be able to keep the enemy away from them. Lucky for me that I picked up one of the French muskets when we left. Mine had a deep dent in the barrel, where that man's cutlass struck it, and I doubt whether it was fit to be used." They looked to the loading and the priming of their firearms, and then turning away from their old tracks, for the enemy might even now be following, they struck off on another trail which brought them in a roundabout way to the guns. By now the snow had ceased to fall, so that before very long they caught sight of the two cannon, standing black against the white background beyond. Close to the runners of the sledges on which they were mounted lay two of the gunners whom Steve or Mac had struck down, while the third was sitting up on his elbow, and engaged in wiping the blood from his eyes.