“I’ll have it done,” answered the planter, and was as good as his word. Another hour went by and still the silence around the trading post continued. A few of the men were sleepy, but they were ordered to keep awake. “Our sleeping will be done in the daytime after this—until the alarm is at an end,” said Joseph Morris. Suddenly there burst upon the night air a chorus of wild yells, coming from a point at the rear of the stockade. The six Indians sent to that place appeared, but took care to keep out of range of the frontiersmen’s rifles. “They are coming—over the back stockade!” was the cry. “Don’t run that way yet!” roared Sam Barringford. “Watch the gate! Watch the gate!” Some of the men paused in bewilderment. Looking to the front, they could see nobody. From the rear a shot rang out, followed by several others, and then came a shower of arrows. “Pretend to go back—and then turn and watch the gate,” ordered Joseph Morris. The men obeyed. But Dave remained at the gate, his eye glued to a near loophole. Only the stars were shining, so he had to watch closely in order to see anything at all. The demonstration at the rear of the post went on, and now the Indians became a little bolder, running to within fifty yards of the palisade. As a consequence one received a bullet wound in his arm, and then all slipped behind the trees. “Here they come!” yelled Dave, suddenly. “Here they come! Sam, quick! They have a battering ram!” “Jest as I supposed!” returned the old frontiersman. “Give it to ’em, Dave!” Crack! went the rifle of the youth and one of the Frenchmen carrying the ram staggered for a moment, grazed in the side. Then the crowd came forward, swiftly and silently. Barringford took aim and fired, and another Frenchman dropped back, seriously wounded. But the others did not pause. Crash! The battering ram struck the gate with great force, causing it to quiver from top to bottom. But the posts and the oaken bars held, and those outside had to run back with the tree-trunk. “Fire on ’em! Fire on ’em!” yelled Barringford, and he and Dave let drive a second time, and two other defenders followed suit. The men with the battering ram came up, but just as they were within three yards of the gate one of the leaders staggered and fell, shot through the knee. This confused the others, and the second blow on the gate was, consequently, a feeble one. “Again! Again!” shrieked Jean Bevoir. “Up with the log!” he added, in French. “Remember the reward, if you get into the post! Now then, all together!” Once more those outside raised the battering ram and ran back with it. They paused for a moment, to gather their strength. Then they hurled themselves forward, and the ram hit the gate with a crash that was deafening, causing the splinters to fly in all directions. CHAPTER XXIX FROM ENEMIES TO FRIENDS