Thirteen big Puants were sitting around the camp fire eating their
supper of half-raw meat. Their horses were hobbled a little beyond,
munching such picking as could be found among the fern. Gabriel went
back as still as a snake and whispered his orders to his men.

Every Frenchman must pick the Puant directly in front of him, and be
sure to hit that Puant. If the attack was half-hearted and the Indians
gained time to rally, Celeste would suffer the consequences; they
could kill her or escape with her. If you wish to gain an Indian's
respect you must make a neat job of shooting him down. He never
forgives a bungler.

"And then," said Gabriel, "we will rush in with our knives and
hatchets. It must be all done in a moment."

The men reprimed their flintlocks, and crawled forward abreast.
Gabriel was at the extreme right. When they were near enough he gave
his signal, the nasal singing of the rattlesnake. The guns cracked all
together, and every Cahokian sprung up to finish the work with knife
and hatchet. Nine of the Puants fell dead, and the rest were gone
before the smoke cleared. They left their meat, their horses, and
arms. They were off like deer, straight through the woods to any place
of safety. Every marksman had taken the Indian directly in front of
him, but as they were abreast and the Puants in a circle, those
four on the opposite side of the fire had been sheltered. Le Maudit
Pensonneau scalped the red heads by the fire and hung the scalps in
his belt. Our French people took up too easily, indeed, with savage
ways; but Le Maudit Pensonneau was always full of his pranks.