If they did not move back out of
the road they would be ground to powder by the teeth of one or the
other, or both. Half King urged them to leave the peaceful village,
to forget the paleface God; to take their horses, and flocks, and
return to their homes. The Christians scorned the Huron King's
counsel. The sun has set for the Village of Peace. The time has
come. Pipe and the Huron are powerful. They will not listen to the
paleface God. They will burn the Village of Peace. Death to the
Christians!"
Half King threw the black war-club with a passionate energy on the
grass before the Indians.
They heard this decree of death with unflinching front. Even the
children were quiet. Not a face paled, not an eye was lowered.
Half King cast their doom in their teeth. The Christians eyed him
with unspoken scorn.
"My God! My God! It is worse than I thought!" moaned Heckewelder.
"Utter ruin! Murder! Murder!"
In the momentary silence which followed his outburst, a tiny cloud
of blue-white smoke came from the ferns overhanging a cliff.
Crack!
All heard the shot of a rifle; all noticed the difference between
its clear, ringing intonation and the loud reports of the other two.
All distinctly heard the zip of a bullet as it whistled over their
heads.
All? No, not all. One did not hear that speeding bullet.
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