But the two blue-eyed Indians, Barney Cane and George Cuck, were not with them, nor were the two Mohawks. And in a whisper I bade my Saguenay go around to the south gable and keep his eye on the gate and the Johnstown Road on the mainland. Hare took the white flag from the prow and waved it, the two rowers continuing up creek and heading toward our landing. Then I called out to them to halt and back water; and, as they paid no heed, I fired at their white flag, and knocked the staff and rag out of Hare's hand without wounding him. At that two or three cried out angrily, but their rowers ceased and began to back water hastily; and I, reloading, kept an eye on them. Then Hare stood up in the skiff and bawled through his hollowed hand: "Will you parley? Or do you wish to violate a flag?" "Keep your interval, Henry Hare!" I retorted. "If you have anything to say, say it from where you are or I'll drill you clean!" "Is that John Drogue, the Brent-Meester?" he shouted. "None other," said I. "What brings you to Summer House in such fair weather, Harry Hare?" "I wish to land and parley," he replied. "You may blindfold me if you like." "When I put out your lights," said I, "it will be a quicker job than that. What do you wish to do--count our garrison?" Captain Nellis got up from his seat and replied that he knew how many people occupied Summer House, and that, desiring to prevent the useless effusion of blood, he demanded our surrender under promise of kind treatment. I laughed at him. "No," said I, "my hair suits my head and I like it there rather than swinging all red and wet at the girdle of your blue-eyed Indians." As I spoke I saw Newberry and Beacraft bring the butts of their rifles to their shoulders, and I shrank aside as their pieces cracked out sharply across the water. Splinters flew from the painted column on the corner of the house; the green-coats all fell flat in their skiff and lay snug there, hidden by their packs. Presently, as I watched, I saw an oar poked out. Very cautiously somebody was sculling the skiff down stream and across in the direction of the reeds. As the craft turned to enter the marsh, I had a fleeting view of the sculler--only his head and arm--and saw it was Eli Beacraft. I was perfectly cool when I fired on him. He let go his oar and fell flat on the bottom of the boat. The echo of my shot died away in wavering cadences among the shoreward woods; an intense stillness possessed the place. Then, of a sudden, Beacraft fell to kicking his legs and screeching, and so flopped about in the bottom of the boat, like a stranded fish all over blood. The boat nosed in between the marsh-grasses and tall sedge, and I could not see it clearly any more. But the green-coats in it were no sooner hid than they began firing at Summer House, and the storm of lead ripped and splintered the gallery and eaves, tore off shingles, shattered chimney bricks, and rang out loud on the iron hinges of door and shutter.