"Now is our time to strike," said the Indian with the fiendish face,
and the wolf-like eyes.
Therefore, the 2nd day of April was fixed for the holding of a
conference between the Indians and the white settlers. The malignant
chief had settled the plan.
"When the white faces come to our lodge, they will expect no harm.
Ugh! Then the red man will have his vengeance." So every Indian was
instructed to have his rifle at hand in the lodge. The white folk
wondered why the Indians had arranged for a conference.
"We can do nothing to help their case," they said. "It will only
waste time to go." Many of them, therefore, remained at home,
occupying themselves with their various duties, while the rest,
merely for the sake of agreeableness, and of showing the Indians that
they were interested in their affairs, proceeded to the place
appointed for the pow-wow.
"We hope to smoke our pipes before our white brothers go away from
us," was what the treacherous chief, with wolfish eyes, had said, in
order to put the settlers off their guard.
The morning of the fateful day opened gloomily, as if it could not
look cheerily down upon the bloody events planned in this distant
wilderness. Low, indigo clouds pressed down upon the hills, but there
was not a stir in all the air. No living thing was seen stirring,
save troops of blue-jays which went scolding from tree to tree before
the settlers as they proceeded to the conference. Here and there,
also, was a half-famished, yellow, or black and yellow dog, with
small head and long scraggy hair, skulking about the fields and among
the wigwams of the Indians in search for food.
The lodge where the parley was to be held stood in a hollow. Behind
was a tall hill, crowned with timber; round about it grew poplar,
white oak, and firs; while in front rolled by a swift dark stream.
Unsuspecting harm, two priests of the settlement, Oblat Fathers,
named Fafard and Marchand, were the first at the spot.
"What a gloomy day," Pere Fafard said, "and this lodge set here in
this desolate spot seems to make it more gloomy still. What, I
wonder, is the nature of the business?" Then they knocked, and the
chief was heard to say, "Entrez." Opening the door, the two good priests walked in, and
turned to look for seats. Ah! What was the sight presented! Eyes like
those of wild beasts, aflame with hate and ferocity, gleamed from the
gloom of the back portion of the room. The priests were amazed. They
knew not what all this meant. Then a wild shriek was given, and the
chief cried, "Enemies to the red man, you have come to your doom." Then raising
his rifle, he fired at Father Marchand. The levelling of his rifle
was the general signal. A dozen other muzzles were pointed, and in
briefer space than it takes to relate the two priests lay weltering
in their blood, pierced each by half a dozen bullets.