Dan Murphy was mightily pleased with himself and with the bit of the world

about him, for there lay his winter's cut of logs in the river below him, snug and secure, and held tight by a boom across the mouth, just where it flowed into the Nation. In a few days he would have his crib made and his outfit ready to start for the Ottawa mills. He was sure to be ahead of the big timber rafts that took up so much space, and whose crews, with unbearable effrontery, considered themselves the aristocrats of the river.

Yes, it was a pleasant and satisfying sight-some three miles of logs boomed at the head of the big water. Suddenly Murphy turned his face up the river.

"What's that now, d'ye think, Le Nware?" he asked.

Le Noir, or "Le Nware," as they called it in that country, was Dan Murphy's

foreman, and, as he himself said, "for haxe, for hit [eat], for fight, de boss on de reever Hottawa! by gar!" Louis Le Noir was a French-Canadian, handsome, active, hardy, and powerfully built. He had come from the New Brunswick woods some three years ago, and had wrought and fought his way, as he thought, against all rivals to the proud position of "boss on de reever," the topmost pinnacle of a lumberman's ambition. It was something

to see Le Noir "run a log" across the river and back; that is, he would balance himself upon a floating log, and by spinning it round would send it whither he would.

At Murphy's question Le Noir stood listening with bent head and open mouth. Down the river came the sound of singing. "Don no me! Ah oui! Das Macdonald gang for sure! De men from Glengarrie, les diables! Dey not hout de reever yet."

His boss went off into a volley of oaths. 'They'll be wanting the river now, an' they're divils to fight."

'We give 'em de full belly, heh? Bon!" said Le Noir, throwing back his head. His only unconquered rival on the river was the boss of the Macdonald gang.

66

Horo, mo nighean donn bhoidheach,
Hi-ri, mo nighean donn bhoidheach,
My chaileag, laghach, bhoidheach,
Cha phosaim ach thu.

Down the river came the strong, clear chorus of men's voices, and soon a pointer," pulled by six stalwart men with a lad in the stern, swung round the bend into view. A single voice took up the song:

'S ann tha mo run's na beanntaibh, Far bheil mo ribhinn ghreannar, Mar ros am fasach shamhraidh, An gleann fad o' shuil. After the verse the full chorus broke forth again:

Ho-ro, mo nighean, etc.

Swiftly the pointer shot down the current, the swaying bodies and swinging oars in perfect rhythm with the song that rose and fell with melancholy but musical cadence. The men on the high bank stood looking down upon the approaching singers. "You know dem fellers?" said Le Noir. Murphy nodded. "Ivery divil

av thim-Big Mack Cameron, Dannie Ross, Finlay Campbell, the red-hided one; the nixt I don't know-and yes, bedad! there's that Yankee-Yankee Jim, they call him; and that big black divil is Black Hugh, the brother iv the boss Macdonald; he'll be up in the camp beyant, and a mighty lucky thing for you, Le Nware, he is."

"Bah!" spat Le Noir, "dat beeg Macdonald, I mak heem run like one little sheep, one tam at de long Sault. Bah! No good!" Le Noir's contempt for Macdonald was genuine and complete. For two years he had tried to meet the boss Macdonald, but his rival had always avoided him.

Meantime the pointer came swinging along. As it turned the point the boy uttered an exclamation-" Look there!" The song and the rowing stopped abruptly; the big dark man stood up and gazed down the river packed from bank to bank with the brown sawlogs; deep curses broke from him. Then he caught sight of the men on the bank. A word of command and the pointer shot into the shore, and next moment Macdonald Dhu, or Black Hugh, as he was sometimes called, followed by his men, was climbing up the steep bank.

What do these logs mean, Murphy?" he demanded, without pause for salutation.

'Tis a foine avenin', Misther Macdonald," said Murphy, blandly offering his hand, "an' Hiven bliss ye!"

Macdonald checked himself with an effort and reluctantly shook hands with Murphy and Le Noir, whom he slightly knew. "It is a fery goot evening indeed," he said, in as quiet a voice as he could command, "but I am inquiring about these logs."

"Shure, an' it is a dhry night, an' onpolite to kape yez talkin' here. Come in wid yez;" and, much against his will, Black Hugh followed Murphy to the tavern, the most pretentious of a group of log buildings-once a lumber camp-which stood back a little distance from the river, and about which Murphy's men, some sixty of them, were now camped.

The tavern was full of Murphy's gang, a motley crew, mostly French and Irish Roman Catholics just out of the woods

and ready for any devilment that promised excitement. Most of them knew by sight, and all by reputation, Macdonald and his gang, for from the farthest reaches of the Ottawa, down the St. Lawrence to Quebec, the Macdonald gang of Glengarry men was famous. They came, most of them, from that strip of country, running back from the St. Lawrence through Glengarry County, known as the Indian Landsonce an Indian Reservation. They were sons of the men who had come from the Highlands and Islands of Scotland in the early years of last century. Driven from homes in the land of their fathers, they had set themselves, with indomitable faith and courage, to hew from the solid forest homes for themselves and their children that none might take from them. These pioneers were bound together by ties of blood, but also by bonds stronger than those of blood. Their loneliness, their triumphs, their sorrows, born of their common lifelong conflict with the forest and its fierce beasts, knit them in bonds close and enduring. The sons born to them and reared in the heart of the pine forests grew up to witness that heroic struggle with stern Nature and to take their part in it. And mighty men they were. Their life bred in them hardiness of frame, alertness of sense, readiness of resource, endurance, superb self-reliance, a courage that grew with peril, and withal a certain wildness which at times deepened into ferocity. By their fathers the forest was dreaded and hated, but the sons, with rifles in hand, trod its pathless stretches without fear, and with their broad-axes they took toll of their ancient foe. For while in spring and summer they farmed their narrow fields, and rescued new lands from the brûlé, in winter they sought the forest, and back on their own farms or in the shanties" they cut sawlogs or made square timber, their only source of wealth. The shanty life of the early fifties of last century was not the luxurious thing of today. It was full of privation, for the men were poorly housed and fed; and of peril, for the making of the timber and the getting it down the smaller rivers to the big water was a work of hardship and of danger. Remote from the restraints of law and of society, and living in wild surroundings and in hourly touch with danger, small wonder that often the shantymen

were wild and reckless. So that many a poor fellow in a single wild carouse in Quebec, or more frequently in some river town, would fling into the hands of harlots and tavern-keepers, with whom the bosses were sometimes in league, the earnings of his long winter's work, and would wake to find himself sick and penniless, far from home and broken in spirit.

Of all the shantymen of the Ottawa, the men of Glengarry, and of Glengarry men Macdonald's gang, were easily first; and of the gang Donald "Bhain" Macdonald, or Macdonald More, or the Big Macdonald, for he was variously known, was not only the "boss" but best and chief. There was none like him. A giant in size and strength, a prince of broad-ax men, at home in the woods, surefooted and daring on the water, free with his wages, and always ready to drink with friend or fight with foe, the whole river admired, feared, or hated him, while his

own

He

men followed him, into the woods, on to a jam, or into a fight, with equal joyousness and devotion. Fighting was like wine to him, when the fight was worth while; and he went into the fights his admirers were always arranging for him with the easiest good humor and with a smile on his face. But Macdonald Bhain's carousing, fighting days came to an abrupt stop about three years before the opening of this tale; for on one of his summer visits to his home "the word of the Lord in the mouth of his servant Alexander Murray," as he was wont to say, "found him and he was a new man." went into his new life with the same wholesouled joyousness as had marked the old, and he announced that with the shanty and the river he was "dene forevermore." But after the summer's work was done, and the logging over, and when the snap of the first frost nipped the leaves from the trees, Macdonald became restless. He took down his broad-ax and spent hours polishing it and bringing it to an edge; then he put it in its wooden sheath and laid it away. But the fever was upon him; ten thousand voices from the forest were shouting for him. He went away, troubled, to his minister.

In

an hour he came back with the old good humor in his face, took down the broad-ax again and retouched it lovingly, humming

the while the old river song of the Glengarry men :

Horo mo nighean, etc.

He was going back to the bush and to the biggest fight of his life. No wonder he was glad. Then his good little wife began to get ready his long, heavy stockings, his thick mits, his homespun smock, and other gear, for she knew well that soon she would be alone for another winter. Before long the word went round that Macdonald Bhain was for the shanties again, and his men came to him for their orders.

But it was not to the old life that Macdonald was going, and he gravely told those who came to him that he would take no man who could not handle his ax and hand-spike, and who could not behave himself. "Behaving himself" meant taking no more whisky than a man could carry, and refusing all invitations to fight unless "necessity was laid upon him." The only man to object was his own brother, Macdonald Dhu, whose temper was swift to blaze, and with whom the blow was quicker than the word. But after the second year of the new order even Black Hugh fell into line. Macdonald soon became famous on the Ottawa. He picked only the best men, he fed thei well, paid them the highest wages and cared for their comfort, but held them in strictest discipline. They would drink but kept sober; they would spend money, but knew how much was coming to them. They feared no men, even of " twice their own heavy and big," but would never fight except under necessity. Contracts began to come their way. They made money, and, what was better, they brought it home. The best men sought to join them, but by rival gangs and by men rejected from their ranks they were hated with deepest heart-hatred. But the men from Glengarry knew no fear and sought no favor. They asked only a good belt of pine and an open river. As a rule, they got both, and it was peculiarly maddening to Black Hugh to find two or three miles of solid logs between his timber and the open water of the Nation. Black Hugh had a temper fierce and quick, and when in full flame he was a man to avoid, for from neither man nor devil would he turn. The only man who could hold him was his brother, Mac

donald Bhain, for, strong man as he was, Black Hugh knew well that his brother could with a single swift grip bring him to his knees.

It was unfortunate that the command of the party this day should have been Macdonald Dhu's. Unfortunate, too, that it was Dan Murphy and his men that happened to be blocking the river mouth. For the Glengarry men, who handled only square timber, despised the Murphy gang as sawlog men, "log rollers" or "muskrats" they called them, and hated them as Irish " Papishes" and French "Crapeaux," while between Dan Murphy and Macdonald Dhu there was an ancient personal grudge, and to-day Murphy thought he had found his time. There were only six of the enemy, he had ten times the number with him, many of them eager to pay off old scores, and besides there was Louis Le Noir, the "boss bully" of the river. The Frenchman was not only a powerful man, active with hands and feet, but he was an adept in all kinds of fighting tricks. Since coming to the Ottawa he had heard of the Big Macdonald, and he sought to meet him. But Macdonald avoided him once and again, till Le Noir, having never known any one avoiding a fight for any reason other than fear, proclaimed Macdonald a coward and himself “de boss on de reever." Now there was a chance of meeting his rival and of forcing a fight, for the Glengarry camp could not be far away, where the Big Macdonald himself would be. So Dan Murphy, backed up with numbers and the boss bully Le Noir, determined that for these Macdonald men the day of settlement had come. But they were dangerous men, and it would be well to take all precautions, and hence his friendly invitation to the tavern for drinks.

Macdonald Dhu, scorning to show hesitation, though he suspected treachery, strode after Murphy to the tavern door and through the crowd of shantymen filling the room. They were as ferociouslooking a lot of men as could well be got together, even in that country and in those days-shaggy of hair and beard, dressed out in red and blue and green jerseys with knitted sashes about their waists, and red and blue and green tuques on their heads. Drunken rows were their delight, and fights so fierce that many a

man came out battered and bruised to death or to lifelong decrepitude. They were sitting on the benches that ran round the room, or lounging against the bar, singing, talking, blaspheming. At the sight of Macdonald Dhu and his men there fell a dead silence and then growls of recognition, but Murphy was not yet ready, and, roaring out" Dh-r-r-i-n-k-s," he seized a couple of his men leaning against the bar, and, hurling them to right and left, cried, "M-a-ke room fer yer betthers, be the powers! Shtand up, bhoys, and fill yirsilves."

Black Hugh and his men lined up gravely to the bar and were straightway surrounded by the crowd yelling hideously. But if Murphy and his gang thought to intimidate those grave Highlanders with noise, they were greatly mistaken, for they stood quietly waiting for their glasses to be filled, alert, but with an air of perfect indifference. Some eight or ten glasses were set down and filled, when Murphy, snatching a couple of bottles from the shelf behind the bar, handed them out to his men, crying, "Here, ye bluddy thaves, lave the glasses to the gintlemen !"

There was no mistaking the insolence in his tone, and the chorus of derisive yells that answered him showed that his remark had gone to the spot.

Yankee Jim, who kept close to Black Hugh, saw the veins in his neck beginning to swell, and his face to grow dark; he was longing to be at Murphy's throat.

66

Speak him fair," he said in a low tone; "there's rather a good string of 'em raound." Macdonald Dhu glanced about him. His eye fell on his boy, and for the first time his face became anxious. Ranald," he said, angrily, “take yourself out of this. It is no place for you whatever." The boy, a slight lad of fifteen, but tall and well-knit and with his father's fierce, wild, dark face, hesitated. "Go," said his father, giving him a slight cuff.

"I will not," said Ranald, looking at Le Noir straight and fearless.

"Ho-ho! mon brave enfant! But you have not de good mannere. Come drink!" He caught the boy by the back of the neck, and made as if to pour the whisky down his throat. Black Hugh, who had been kept by Yankee Jim all the time, started forward, but before he could take a second step Ranald, squirming round like a cat, had sunk his teeth into Le Noir's wrist. With a cry of rage and pain Le Noir raised the bottle and was bring ing it down on Ranald's head when Black Hugh with one hand caught the falling blow, and with the other seized Ranald, and crying, "Get out of this!" he flung him towards the door. Then, turning to Le Noir, he said, with surprising self-control, “It is myself that is sorry that a boy of mine should be guilty of biting like a dog."

"Sa-c-r-ré! le chien!" yelled Le Noir, shaking off Macdonald Dhu. "He is one dog, and the son of a dog!" He turned and started for the boy. But Yankee Jim had got Ranald to the door and was whispering to him. "Run!" cried Yankee Jim, pushing him out of the door; and the boy was off like the wind. Le Noir pursued him a short way and returned raging. Yankee Jim, or Yankee, as he was called for short, came back to Macdonald Dhu's side, and, whispering to the other Highlanders, "Keep your backs clear," sat up coolly on the counter. The fight was sure to come, and there were seven to one against them in the room. If he could only gain time. Every minute was precious. It would take the boy fifteen minutes to run the two miles to camp. It would be half an hour before the rest of the Glengarry men could arrive, and much fighting may be done in that time. He must avert attention from Macdonald Dhu, who was waiting to cram Le Noir's insult down his throat. Yankee Jim had not only all the cool courage, but also the shrewd, calculating spirit of his race. He was ready to fight, and if need be against odds, but he preferred to fight on as even terms as possible.

Soon Le Noir came back, wild with fury. and yelling curses at the top of his voice. He hurled himself into the room, the

Hola !" he yelled. Sacré bleu !" He took two quick steps, and, springing up into the air, he kicked the stovepipe that ran along some seven feet above the floor.

"Purty good kickin'!" called out Yankee, sliding down from his seat. “Used to kick some myself. Excuse me." He stood for a moment looking up at te stovepipe, then without apparent effort he sprang into the air, shot up one of his long legs, and knocked the stovepipe with a bang against the ceiling. There was a shout of admiration.

"My damages," he said to Pat Murphy, who stood behind the counter. “Good thing there ain't no fire. Thought it was higher. Wouldn't care to kick for the drinks, would ye?" he added to Le Noir.

Le Noir was too furious to enter into any contest so peaceful, but as he specially prided himself on his high kick, he paused a moment, and was about to agree when Black Hugh broke in harshly, spoiling all Yankee's plans.

"There is no time for such foolishness," he said, turning to Dan Murphy. "I want to know when we can get our timber out."

Depinds intoirely on yirsilf," said

Murphy.

When will your logs be out of the way?" "Indade an' that's a ha-r-r-d one," laughed Murphy.

“And will you tell me what right hev you to close up the river?" Black Hugh's wrath was rising.

"You wud think now it wuz yirsilf that owned the river. An' bedad it's the thought of yir mind, it is. An' it's not the river only, but the whole creation ye an' yir brother think is yours." Dan Murphy was close up to Macdonald Dhu by this time. “Yis, blank blank yir faces, an' ye'd like to turn better than yirsilves from aff the river, so ye wud, ye black-hearted thaves that ye are.”

This, of course, was beyond all endurance. For answer Black Hugh smote him sudden and fierce on the mouth, and Murphy went down.

"Purty one," sang out Yankee, cheerily. "Now, boys, back to the wall."

Before Murphy could rise, Le Noir sprang over him and lit upon Macdonald like a cat, but Macdonald shook himself