But now in my ears rang a distressful crying, like a gentle wild thing wounded to the death; and I saw two Mohawks had got the little maid of Askalege between them, and were drowning her in the Big Eddy. I ran out into the water, but Tahioni, her brother, came in a flying leap from the bank above me, and all four went down under water as I reached them. They came up blinded, staggering, one by one, and I got Thiohero by the hair, where she lay in shallow water, and dragged her ashore behind me. Then I saw her brother clear his eyes of water and swing his hatchet like swift lightning, and heard the smashing skull stroke. The other Mohawk dived like an otter between us, and I strove to spear him with my knife, but only slashed him and saw the long, thin string of blood follow where he swam under water. My powder-pan was wet and flashed when I tried to shoot him, where I stood shoulder deep in the Big Eddy. Then came a thrashing, splashing roar like a deer herd crossing a marshy creek, and, below us, I saw a dozen Mohawks leap into the water and thrash their way over. And not a rifle among us that was dry enough to take a toll of our enemies crossing the West River plain in sight! Lord, what a day! And not fought as I had pictured battles. No! For it was blind combat, and neither managed as planned nor in any kind of order or discipline. Nor did we ever, as I have said, discover how many enemies were opposed to us. And I am certain they believed that a full regiment had struck their rear; otherwise, I think it had proven a very bloody business for me and my people. Because the Mohawks are brave warriors, and only the volley at their backs and the stupefying down-crash of their tree-scouts demoralized them and left them capable only of fighting like cornered wild things in a maddened effort to get away. Lord, Lord! What a battle! For all were filthy with blood, and there were brains and hair and guts sticking to knives and hatchets, and bodies and limbs all smeared. Good God! Was this war? And the green flies already whirling around us in the sunshine, and settling on the faces of the dead!-- * * * * * The little maid of Askalege, leaning on her brother's shoulder, was coughing up water she had swallowed. Nick, with a bloody sconce, but no worse damage, sat upon a rock and washed out his clotted hair. "Hell!" quoth he, when he beheld me. "Here be I with a broken poll, and yonder goes the Indian who gave it me." "Sit still, idiot!" said I, and set the ranger's whistle to my lips. White and red, my men came running from their ferocious hunting. Not a man was missing, which was another lesson in war to me, for I thought always that death dealt hard with both sides, and I could not understand how so many guns could be fired with no corpse to mourn among us.