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score of natives were rushing recklessly forward, spears raised.
Then the eery wolf-yell rose to the skies, and de Montour bounded forward. Aghast, the natives paused, and before a man of them could move he was among them. Wild shrieks, not of rage, but of terror.
In amazement the arquebusiers held their fire.
Straight through the group of blacks de Montour charged, and when they broke and fled, three of them fled not.
A dozen steps de Montour took in pursuit; then stopped stock-still. A moment he stood so while spears flew about him, then turned and ran swiftly in the direction of the river.
A few steps from the river another band of blacks barred his way. In the flaming light of the burning houses the scene was clearly illuminated. A thrown spear tore through de Montour's shoulder. Without pausing in his stride he tore it forth and drove it through a native, leaping over his body to get among the others.
They could not face the fiend-driven white man. With shrieks they fled, and de Montour, bounding upon the back of one, brought him down.
Then he rose, staggered and sprang to the river bank. An instant he paused there and then vanished in the shadows.
"Name of the devil!" gasped Dom Vincente at my shoulder. "What manner of man is that? Was that de Montour?"
I nodded. The wild yells of the natives rose above the crackle of the arquebus fire. They were massed thick about the great warehouse across the river.
"They plan a great rush," said Dom Vincente. "They will swarm clear over the palisade, methinks. Ha!"
A crash that seemed to rip the skies apart! A burst of flame that mounted
