A prisoner was valuable booty to return with to the fort.

Rogers seldom went forth upon any important expedition without returning with one or more.
The men swung by carelessly, laughing and talking.

They had such faith in their Indian scouts that they never thought of an ambushed foe.
The ping of the rifles in their rear caused a strange panic amongst them.

They faced round to see the redoubtable Rogers spring out at the head of a compact body of men.
But the strangest thing in that strange attack was a wild, unearthly yell which suddenly broke from one of the Rangers.
It was like nothing human; it was like the fierce roar of some terrible wild beast.

Even Rogers himself was startled for the moment, and looked back to see from whence it had come.
At that moment Charles Angell dashed forward in a frantic manner.
He had flung his gun from him; his eyeballs were fixed and staring; there was foam upon his lips; his hair was streaming in the wind.
He bore an aspect so strange and fearful that the French uttered yells of terror, and fled helter-skelter from the onslaught.
But if any had had eyes to note it, there was one Frenchman whose face became ashy white as he met the rolling gaze of those terrible, bloodshot eyes.