Crawford, ringed in, stood alone. An oar swept at him. He dodged it, leaped into action, flung himself at the circle about him, rapier licking in and out and sending men to cough their lives out--but a cutlass clashed on the thin blade and slithered it. Then they dragged at him, overwhelmed him; but those men worked their own ill. Crowding too close to get in straight blows, they gave Crawford a chance to work free, and he seized it. Next instant he was on his feet, his fists hammering them back. From the sand he caught up a cutlass, broke through them, found himself clear. Clear, yes--but at the water’s edge, with the icy bay behind him and the ring of sullen, fury-filled men closing him in. They were content to let him rest there a moment, for into the edge of their circle burst the writhing heap of men above Deakin. Twice Deakin hurled them clear, and twice they were in upon him before he could rise. Then, streaming with blood, battered and blind and a fearful thing to see, the giant came to one knee, gripping a screaming man in either hand. Inarticulate bellows foaming from his red-frothed lips, Deakin tore out the throat of the man in his right hand, and yelled madly. The other man, shrieking in awful panic, caught something from the sand in groping fingers and drove it home. Deakin lifted his great red paw and struck the man down, then clutched at his breast. He fell backward, one terrible gasp breaking from his lips. From his breast stood out the red shaft of the Star Woman’s gift. There died Moses Deakin of Boston. From Crawford’s throat pealed up the wild yell of the Iroquois, the war whoop of the Mohawk tribe: “_Sassakouay! Sassakouay!_” That yell lifted and swirled among the trees. The dread, well-known sound of it evoked a wild and startled response of whoops from the watching chieftains. At this, the circle of blood-maddened men hung back, thinking that the redskins were about to take them in the rear, but quickly regained confidence. They spat curses, and lifted weapons anew. Crawford faced them, yet saw them not. He was spent, and knew it well, and queer visions came whirling at him as he reeled, dazed and battered. He saw the face of Iberville greet him with one flashing smile ere it faded; he saw Moses Deakin, wide-nostriled, glaring upon him as the shade of Aias glared balefully upon the crafty Odysseus; he saw the faces of dead men whom he had known in other days, drawing in upon him, fading, passing away. And as he stood there, leaning dazedly upon the hangar, the Star of Dreams came out from his shirt and swayed. Sight of that green jewel halted the indrawing circle of men, halted them in sheer astonishment, held them staring for an instant. Then Crawford’s vision cleared. He saw one wild ruffian heave up a fusil to drive down upon him--and with a laugh he whirled the hangar and sent it hurtling point first into the ruffian’s breast.