He came down in a heap on top of me. His knee, as I suppose it was, struck me violently on the head. Perhaps I was already weakened by that cut upon the temple. The noise all died suddenly away. I remember thinking how warm the snow felt against my face. And the rest of the fight was no concern of mine. Chapter XXII The Black Abbe Strikes in the Dark I was awakened to consciousness by some one gently lifting me. I struggled at once to my feet, leaning upon him. It was Big Etienne. "You much hurt?" he queried, in great concern. "Why, no!" said I, presently. "Head feels sore. I think I'll be all right in a minute." It was in the red and saffron of dawn. The snow had stopped falling. The muskets had stopped clattering. The battle was apparently at an end. All around lay bodies, or rather parts of bodies; for they were more or less hidden in the snow. Close by me just a pair of knees was visible, thrust up through a drift into which the man had plunged in falling. The snow was all mottled with blood and powder, a very hideous colour to look upon. I stood erect and stretched myself. "Why, brother," I exclaimed, in great relief, "I am as good as new. Where is the commander?" Big Etienne pointed in silence to the street before the three houses. There I saw our men drawn up in menacing array. In and behind the houses were crowded the dark masses of the New Englanders, punctuated here and there with the scarlet of an officer's coat. De Villiers greeted me as one recovered from the grave. I asked eagerly how he had sped, and how the matter now rested. "Success, everywhere success, Briart!" he answered, with a sort of controlled elation. "You held these fellows, while we wiped out those yonder. But it was a cruel and bloody affair, and I would the times, and the straits of New France, required not such killing in the dark. But they set fire to a house and barn that they might fight in the light, and so a band of them escaped us and cut their way through here,--what was left of them, at least, after they got done with you! And now their remnant is hemmed in yonder." "We've got them, then," said I. "Surely," he answered. "But it will cost our best blood to end it. They have fought like heroes, though they kept guard like fools. And they will battle it out, I think, while a man of them stands." "Yes, 'tis the breed of them!" said I, looking across with admiration at the silent and dangerous ranks. "But they have done all that brave men could do. They will accept honourable terms, I think; and such we may offer them without any touch of discredit. What do you say?"