together for defence, the Onondagas had closed around the hilltop in a
cordon. The priest ran here, there, everywhere,--comforting the dying,
stopping mutilation, defending the women. All the Hurons were
massacred but one man, and the bodies were thrown into the river. With
blankets drawn over their heads that they might not see, the women
huddled together, dumb with terror. When the Onondagas turned toward
the women, the Frenchmen stood with muskets levelled. The Onondagas
halted, conferred, and drew off.

[Illustration: Paddling past Hostiles.]

The fight lasted for four hours. Darkness and the valor of the little
French band saved the women for the time. The Iroquois kindled a fire
and gathered to celebrate their victory. Then the old priest took his
life in his hands. Borrowing three belts of wampum, he left the
huddling group of Huron women and Frenchmen and marched boldly into the
circle of hostiles. The lives of all the French and Hurons hung by a
thread. Ragueneau had been the spiritual guide of the murdered tribe
for twenty years; and he was now sobbing like a child. The Iroquois
regarded his grief with sardonic scorn; but they misjudged the manhood
below the old priest's tears. Ragueneau asked leave to speak. They
grunted permission. Springing up, he broke into impassioned, fearless
reproaches of the Iroquois for their treachery. Casting one belt of
wampum at the Onondaga chief's feet, the priest demanded pledges that
the massacre cease. A second belt was given to register the Onondaga's
vow to conduct the women and children safely to the Iroquois country.
The third belt was for the safety of the French at Onondaga.

The Iroquois were astonished. They had looked for womanish pleadings.
They had heard stern demands coupled with fearless threats of