evening pipes were smoked. The order of the guard was arranged; and,
doubtless by design, the first hour of the night was assigned to Moranget,
the second to Saget, and the third to Nika. Gun in hand, each stood his
watch in turn over the silent but not sleeping forms around him, till, his
time expiring, he called the man who was to relieve him, wrapped himself
in his blanket, and was soon buried in a slumber that was to be his last.
Now the assassins rose. Duhaut and Hiens stood with their guns cocked
ready to shoot down any one of the destined victims who should resist or
fly. The surgeon, with an axe, stole towards the three sleepers, and
struck a rapid blow at each in turn. Saget and Nika died with little
movement; but Moranget started spasmodically into a sitting posture,
gasping, and unable to speak; and the murderers compelled De Marie, who
was not in their plot, to compromise himself by despatching him.

The floodgates of murder were open, and the torrent must have its way.
Vengeance and safety alike demanded the death of La Salle. Hiens. or
"English Jem," alone seems to have hesitated; for he was one of those to
whom that stern commander had always been partial. Meanwhile, the intended
victim was still at his camp, about six miles distant. It is easy to
picture, with sufficient accuracy, the features of the scene,--the sheds
of bark and branches, beneath which, among blankets and buffalo-robes,
camp-utensils, pack-saddles, rude harness, guns, powder-horns, and bullet-
pouches, the men lounged away the hour, sleeping, or smoking, or talking
among themselves; the blackened kettles that hung from tripods of poles
over the fires; the Indians strolling about the place, or lying, like dogs
in the sun, with eyes half shut, yet all observant; and, in the
neighboring meadow, the horses grazing under the eye of a watchman.

It was the nineteenth of March, and Moranget had been two days absent. La
Salle began to show a great anxiety. Some bodings of the truth seem to