The Man from Glengarry: A Tale of the Ottawa Read online

  Produced by Donald Lainson

  THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY

  A TALE OF THE OTTAWA

  By Ralph Connor

  DEDICATION

  TO THE MEN OF GLENGARRY WHO IN PATIENCE, IN COURAGE AND IN THE FEAR OFGOD ARE HELPING TO BUILD THE EMPIRE OF THE CANADIAN WEST THIS BOOK ISHUMBLY DEDICATED

  PREFACE

  The solid forests of Glengarry have vanished, and with the forests themen who conquered them. The manner of life and the type of character tobe seen in those early days have gone too, and forever. It is part ofthe purpose of this book to so picture these men and their times thatthey may not drop quite out of mind. The men are worth remembering.They carried the marks of their blood in their fierce passions, theircourage, their loyalty; and of the forest in their patience, theirresourcefulness, their self-reliance. But deeper than all, the mark thatreached down to their hearts' core was that of their faith, for inthem dwelt the fear of God. Their religion may have been narrow, butno narrower than the moulds of their lives. It was the biggest thing inthem. It may have taken a somber hue from their gloomy forests, butby reason of a sweet, gracious presence dwelling among them it grew ingrace and sweetness day by day.

  In the Canada beyond the Lakes, where men are making empire, the sonsof these Glengarry men are found. And there such men are needed. Fornot wealth, not enterprise, not energy, can build a nation into suregreatness, but men, and only men with the fear of God in their hearts,and with no other. And to make this clear is also a part of the purposeof this book.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER

  I THE OPEN RIVER

  II VENGEANCE IS MINE

  III THE MANSE IN THE BUSH

  IV THE RIDE FOR LIFE

  V FORGIVE US OUR DEBTS

  VI A NEW FRIEND

  VII MAIMIE

  VIII THE SUGARING-OFF

  IX A SABBATH DAY'S WORK

  X THE HOME-COMING OF THE SHANTYMEN

  XI THE WAKE

  XII SEED-TIME

  XIII THE LOGGING BEE

  XIV SHE WILL NOT FORGET

  XV THE REVIVAL

  XVI AND THE GLORY

  XVII LENOIR'S NEW MASTER

  XVIII HE IS NOT OF MY KIND

  XIX ONE GAME AT A TIME

  XX HER CLINGING ARMS

  XXI I WILL REMEMBER

  XXII FORGET THAT I LOVED YOU

  XXIII A GOOD, TRUE FRIEND

  XXIV THE WEST

  XXV GLENGARRY FOREVER

  THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY

  CHAPTER I

  THE OPEN RIVER

  The winter had broken early and the Scotch River was running ice-freeand full from bank to bank. There was still snow in the woods, and withgood sleighing and open rivers every day was golden to the lumbermenwho had stuff to get down to the big water. A day gained now might saveweeks at a chute farther down, where the rafts would crowd one anotherand strive for right of way.

  Dan Murphy was mightily pleased with himself and with the bit of theworld about him, for there lay his winter's cut of logs in the riverbelow 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 hiscrib made, and his outfit ready to start for the Ottawa mills. He wassure to be ahead of the big timber rafts that took up so much space,and whose crews with unbearable effrontery considered themselves thearistocrats of the river.

  Yes, it was a pleasant and satisfying sight, some three solid miles oflogs boomed at the head of the big water. Suddenly Murphy turned hisface up the river.

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

  LeNoir, or "LeNware," as they all called it in that country, was DanMurphy's foreman, and as he himself said, "for haxe, for hit (eat),for fight de boss on de reever Hottawa! by Gar!" Louis LeNoir was aFrench-Canadian, handsome, active, hardy, and powerfully built. He hadcome from the New Brunswick woods some three years ago, and had wroughtand fought his way, as he thought, against all rivals to the proudposition of "boss on de reever," the topmost pinnacle of a lumberman'sambition. It was something to see LeNoir "run a log" across the riverand back; that is, he would balance himself upon a floating log, and byspinning it round, would send it whither he would. At Murphy's questionLeNoir stood listening with bent head and open mouth. Down the rivercame the sound of singing. "Don-no me! Ah oui! be dam! Das Macdonaldgang for sure! De men from Glengarrie, les diables! Dey not hout dereever 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 LeNoir, throwing back hishead. His only unconquered rival on the river was the boss of theMacdonald gang.

  Ho ro, mo nighean donn bhoidheach, Hi-ri, mo nighean donn bhoidheach, Mo chaileag, laghach, bhoidheach, Cha phosainn 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 roundthe 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 andswinging oars in perfect rhythm with the song that rose and fell withmelancholy but musical cadence. The men on the high bank stood lookingdown upon the approaching singers. "You know dem fellers?" said LeNoir.Murphy nodded. "Ivery divil iv thim--Big Mack Cameron, Dannie Ross,Finlay Campbell--the redheaded one--the next I don't know, and yes! bedad! there's that blanked Yankee, Yankee Jim, they call him, an' badluck till him. The divil will have to take the poker till him, for he'llbate him wid his fists, and so he will--and that big black divil isBlack Hugh, the brother iv the boss Macdonald. He'll be up in the campbeyant, and a mighty lucky thing for you, LeNoir, he is."

  "Bah!" spat LeNoir, "Dat beeg Macdonald I mak heem run like one leetlesheep, one tam at de long Sault, bah! No good!" LeNoir's contempt forMacdonald was genuine and complete. For two years he had tried to meetthe boss Macdonald, but his rival had always avoided him.

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

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

  "Tis a foine avenin' Misther Macdonald," said Murphy, blandly offeringhis hand, "an' Hiven bliss ye."

  Macdonald checked himself with an effort and reluctantly shook handswith Murphy and LeNoir, whom he slightly knew. "It is a fery gootevening, indeed," he said, in as quiet a voice as he could command, "butI am inquiring about these logs."

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

  The tavern was full of Murphy's gang, a motley crew, mostly FrenchCanadians and Irish, just out of the woods and ready for any devilmentthat promised excitement. Most of them knew by sight,
and all byreputation, Macdonald and his gang, for from the farthest reaches of theOttawa down the St. Lawrence to Quebec the Macdonald gang of Glengarrymen was famous. They came, most of them, from that strip of countryrunning back from the St. Lawrence through Glengarry County, known asthe Indian Lands--once an Indian reservation. They were sons of the menwho had come from the highlands and islands of Scotland in the earlyyears of the last century. Driven from homes in the land of theirfathers, they had set themselves with indomitable faith and courage tohew from the solid forest, homes for themselves and their children thatnone might take from them. These pioneers were bound together by ties ofblood, but also by bonds stronger than those of blood. Their loneliness,their triumphs, their sorrows, born of their common life-long conflictwith the forest and its fierce beasts, knit them in bonds close andenduring. The sons born to them and reared in the heart of the pineforests grew up to witness that heroic struggle with stern nature and totake their part in it. And mighty men they were. Their life bred inthem hardiness of frame, alertness of sense, readiness of resource,endurance, superb self-reliance, a courage that grew with peril, andwithal a certain wildness which at times deepened into ferocity. Bytheir fathers the forest was dreaded and hated, but the sons, withrifles in hand, trod its pathless stretches without fear, and with theirbroad-axes they took toll of their ancient foe. For while in spring andsummer they farmed their narrow fields, and rescued new lands from thebrule; in winter they sought the forest, and back on their own farms orin "the shanties" they cut sawlogs, or made square timber, their onlysource of wealth. The shanty life of the early fifties of last centurywas not the luxurious thing of to-day. It was full of privation, forthe men were poorly housed and fed, and of peril, for the making of thetimber and the getting it down the smaller rivers to the big water wasa work of hardship and danger. Remote from the restraints of law andof society, and living in wild surroundings and in hourly touch withdanger, small wonder that often the shanty-men were wild and reckless.So that many a poor fellow in a single wild carouse in Quebec, or morefrequently in some river town, would fling into the hands of sharksand harlots and tavern-keepers, with whom the bosses were sometimes inleague, the earnings of his long winter's work, and would wake to findhimself sick and penniless, far from home and broken in spirit.

  Of all the shanty-men of the Ottawa the men of Glengarry, and ofGlengarry men Macdonald's gang were easily first, and of the gang DonaldBhain Macdonald, or Macdonald More, or the Big Macdonald, for he wasvariously known, was not only the "boss" but best and chief. There wasnone like him. A giant in size and strength, a prince of broad-axe men,at home in the woods, sure-footed and daring on the water, free withhis wages, and always ready to drink with friend or fight with foe, thewhole river admired, feared, or hated him, while his own men followedhim into the woods, on to a jam, or into a fight with equal joyousnessand devotion. Fighting was like wine to him, when the fight was worthwhile, and he went into the fights his admirers were always arrangingfor him with the easiest good humor and with a smile on his face. ButMacdonald Bhain's carousing, fighting days came to an abrupt stop aboutthree years before the opening of this tale, for on one of his summervisits to his home, "The word of the Lord in the mouth of his servantAlexander Murray," as he was wont to say, "found him and he was a newman." He went into his new life with the same whole-souled joyousness ashad marked the old, and he announced that with the shanty and the riverhe was "done for ever more." But after the summer's work was done, andthe logging over, and when the snap of the first frost nipped the leavesfrom the trees, Macdonald became restless. He took down his broad-axeand spent hours polishing it and bringing it to an edge, then he put itin its wooden sheath and laid it away. But the fever was upon him, tenthousand voices from the forest were shouting for him. He went awaytroubled to his minister. In an hour he came back with the old goodhumor in his face, took down the broad-axe again, and retouched it,lovingly, humming the while the old river song of the Glengarry men--

  Ho ro mo nighean, etc.

  He was going back to the bush and to the biggest fight of his life. Nowonder he was glad. Then his good little wife began to get ready hislong, heavy stockings, his thick mits, his homespun smock, and othergear, for she knew well that soon she would be alone for anotherwinter. Before long the word went round that Macdonald Bhain was for theshanties again, and his men came to him for their orders.

  But it was not to the old life that Macdonald was going, and he gravelytold those that came to him that he would take no man who could nothandle his axe and hand-spike, and who could not behave himself."Behaving himself" meant taking no more whiskey than a man could carry,and refusing all invitations to fight unless "necessity was laid uponhim." The only man to object was his own brother, Macdonald Dubh, whosetemper was swift to blaze, and with whom the blow was quicker than theword. But after the second year of the new order even Black Hugh fellinto line. Macdonald soon became famous on the Ottawa. He picked onlythe best men, he fed them well, paid them the highest wages, and caredfor their comfort, but held them in strictest discipline. They woulddrink but kept sober, they would spend money but knew how much wascoming to them. They feared no men even of "twice their own heavy andbig," but would never fight except under necessity. Contracts began tocome their way. They made money, and what was better, they brought ithome. The best men sought to join them, but by rival gangs and by menrejected from their ranks they were hated with deepest heart hatred. Butthe men from Glengarry knew no fear and sought no favor. They asked onlya good belt of pine and an open river. As a rule they got both, and itwas peculiarly maddening to Black Hugh to find two or three miles ofsolid logs between his timber and the open water of the Nation. BlackHugh had a temper fierce and quick, and when in full flame he was a manto avoid, for from neither man nor devil would he turn. The only manwho could hold him was his brother Macdonald Bhain, for strong man ashe was, Black Hugh knew well that his brother could with a single swiftgrip bring him to his knees.

  It was unfortunate that the command of the party this day should havebeen Macdonald Dubh's. Unfortunate, too, that it was Dan Murphy and hismen 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 "mushrats" they called them, and hated them as Irish"Papishes" and French "Crapeaux," while between Dan Murphy and MacdonaldDubh there was an ancient personal grudge, and to-day Murphy thought hehad found his time. There were only six of the enemy, he had ten timesthe number with him, many of them eager to pay off old scores; andbesides there was Louis LeNoir as the "Boss Bully" of the river. TheFrenchman was not only a powerful man, active with hands and feet, buthe was an adept in all kinds of fighting tricks. Since coming to theOttawa he had heard of the big Macdonald, and he sought to meet him. ButMacdonald avoided him once and again till LeNoir, having never knownany one avoiding a fight for any reason other than fear, proclaimedMacdonald a coward, and himself "de boss on de reever." Now there wasa chance of meeting his rival and of forcing a fight, for the Glengarrycamp could not be far away where the big Macdonald himself would be.So Dan Murphy, backed up with numbers, and the boss bully LeNoir,determined that for these Macdonald men the day of settlement hadcome. But they were dangerous men, and it would be well to take allprecautions, and hence his friendly invitation to the tavern for drinks.

  Macdonald Dubh, scorning to show hesitation, though he suspectedtreachery, strode after Murphy to the tavern door and through the crowdof shanty-men filling the room. They were as ferocious looking a lotof men as could well be got together, even in that country and in thosedays--shaggy of hair and beard, dressed out in red and blue and greenjerseys, with knitted sashes about their waists, and red and blue andgreen tuques on their heads. Drunken rows were their delight, and fightsso fierce that many a man came out battered and bruised to death or tolife-long decrepitude. They were sitting on the benches that ran roundthe room, or lounging against the bar singing, talking, blaspheming. Atthe sight of Macdonald Dubh and his men
there fell a dead silence, andthen growls of recognition, but Murphy was not yet ready, and roaringout "Dh-r-r-i-n-k-s," he seized a couple of his men leaning against thebar, and hurling them to right and left, cried, "Ma-a-ke room for yerbetthers, be the powers! Sthand up, bhoys, and fill yirsilves!"

  Black Hugh and his men lined up gravely to the bar and were straightwaysurrounded by the crowd yelling hideously. But if Murphy and his gangthought to intimidate those grave Highlanders with noise, they weregreatly mistaken, for they stood quietly waiting for their glasses tobe filled, alert, but with an air of perfect indifference. Some eight orten glasses were set down and filled, when Murphy, snatching a coupleof 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 ofderisive yells that answered him showed that his remark had gone to thespot.

  Yankee Jim, who had kept close to Black Hugh, saw the veins in hisneck beginning to swell, and face to grow dark. He was longing to beat Murphy's throat. "Speak him fair," he said, in a low tone, "there'srather a good string of 'em raound." Macdonald Dubh 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 placefor you whatever." The boy, a slight lad of seventeen, but tall andwell-knit, and with his father's fierce, wild, dark face, hesitated.

  "Go," said his father, giving him a slight cuff.

  "Here, boy!" yelled LeNoir, catching him by the arm and holding thebottle to his mouth, "drink." The boy took a gulp, choked, and spatit out. LeNoir and his men roared. "Dat good whiskey," he cried, stillholding the boy. "You not lak dat, hey?"

  "No," said the boy, "it is not good at all."

  "Try heem some more," said LeNoir, thrusting the bottle at him again.

  "I will not," said Ranald, looking at LeNoir 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 topour the whiskey down his throat. Black Hugh, who had been kept back byYankee Jim all this time, started forward, but before he could take asecond step Ranald, squirming round like a cat, had sunk his teeth intoLeNoir's wrist. With a cry of rage and pain LeNoir raised the bottle andwas bringing 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 toLeNoir, he said, with surprising self-control, "It is myself that issorry that a boy of mine should be guilty of biting like a dog."

  "Sa-c-r-re le chien!" yelled LeNoir, shaking off Macdonald Dubh; "he isone dog, and the son of a dog!" He turned and started for the boy. ButYankee 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 likethe wind. LeNoir pursued him a short way and returned raging.

  Yankee Jim, or Yankee, as he was called for short, came back toMacdonald Dubh's side, and whispering to the other Highlanders, "Keepyour backs clear," sat up coolly on the counter. The fight was sure tocome and there were seven to one against them in the room. If he couldonly gain time. Every minute was precious. It would take the boy fifteenminutes to run the two miles to camp. It would be half an hour beforethe rest of the Glengarry men could arrive, and much fighting may bedone in that time. He must avert attention from Macdonald Dubh, who waswaiting to cram LeNoir's insult down his throat. Yankee Jim had notonly all the cool courage but also the shrewd, calculating spirit ofhis race. He was ready to fight, and if need be against odds, but hepreferred to fight on as even terms as possible.

  Soon LeNoir came back, wild with fury, and yelling curses at the top ofhis voice. He hurled himself into the room, the crowd falling back fromhim on either hand.

  "Hola!" he yelled, "Sacre bleu!" He took two quick steps, and springingup into the air he kicked the stovepipe that ran along some seven feetabove the floor.

  "Purty good kicking," called out Yankee, sliding down from his seat."Used to kick some myself. Excuse ME." He stood for a moment looking upat the stovepipe, then without apparent effort he sprang into the air,shot up his long legs, and knocked the stovepipe with a bang against theceiling. There was a shout of admiration.

  "My damages," he said to Pat Murphy, who stood behind the counter. "Goodthing there ain't no fire. Thought it was higher. Wouldn't care to kickfor the drinks, would ye?" he added to LeNoir.

  LeNoir was too furious to enter into any contest so peaceful, but as hespecially prided himself on his high kick, he paused a moment and wasabout to agree when Black Hugh broke in, harshly, spoiling all Yankee'splans.

  "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 intoirly 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?" BlackHugh's wrath was rising.

  "You wud think now it wuz yirsilf that owned the river. An' bedad it'sthe thought of yir mind, it is. An' it's not the river only, but thewhole creation ye an yir brother think is yours." Dan Murphy was close upto Macdonald Dubh by this time. "Yis, blank, blank, yir faces, an' ye'dlike to turn better than yirsilves from aff the river, so ye wud, yeblack-hearted thaves that ye are."

  This, of course, was beyond all endurance. For answer Black Hugh smotehim 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, LeNoir sprang over him and lit upon Macdonaldlike a cat, but Macdonald shook himself free and sprang back to theGlengarry line at the wall.

  "Mac an' Diabboil," he roared, "Glengarry forever!"

  "Glengarry!" yelled the four Highlanders beside him, wild with thedelight of battle. It was a plain necessity, and they went into it withfree consciences and happy hearts.

  "Let me at him," cried Murphy, struggling past LeNoir towards Macdonald.

  "Non! He is to me!" yelled LeNoir, dancing in front of Macdonald.

  "Here, Murphy," called out Yankee, obligingly, "help yourself this way."Murphy dashed at him, but Yankee's long arm shot out to meet him, andMurphy again found the floor.

  "Come on, boys," cried Pat Murphy, Dan's brother, and followed by half adozen others, he flung himself at Yankee and the line of men standing upagainst the wall. But Yankee's arms flashed out once, twice, thrice, andPat Murphy fell back over his brother; two others staggered across andchecked the oncoming rush, while Dannie Ross and big Mack Cameron hadeach beaten back their man, and the Glengarry line stood unbroken.Man for man they were far more than a match for their opponents, andstanding shoulder to shoulder, with their backs to the wall, theytaunted Murphy and his gang with all the wealth of gibes and oaths attheir command.

  "Where's the rest of your outfit, Murphy?" drawled Yankee. "Don't seem'sif you'd counted right."

  "It is a cold day for the parley voos," laughed Big Mack Cameron. "Comeup, lads, and take a taste of something hot."

  Then the Murphy men, clearing away the fallen, rushed again. They stroveto bring the Highlanders to a clinch, but Yankee's voice was high andclear in command.

  "Keep the line, boys! Don't let 'em draw you!" And the Glengarry menwaited till they could strike, and when they struck men went down andwere pulled back by their friends.

  "Intil them, bhoys!" yelled Dan Murphy, keeping out of range himself."Intil the divils!" And again and again his men crowded down upon theline against the wall, but again and again they were beaten down orhurled back bruised and bleeding.

  Meantime LeNoir was devoting himself to Black Hugh at one end of theline, dancing in upon him and away again, but without much result. BlackHugh refused to be drawn out, and fought warily on defense, knowing theodds were great and waiting his chance to
deliver one good blow, whichwas all he asked.

  The Glengarry men were enjoying themselves hugely, and when not shoutingtheir battle-cry, "Glengarry forever!" or taunting their foes, they werejoking each other on the fortunes of war. Big Mack Cameron, who held thecenter, drew most of the sallies. He was easy-tempered and good-natured,and took his knocks with the utmost good humor.

  "That was a good one, Mack," said Dannie Ross, his special chum, as asounding whack came in on Big Mack's face. "As true as death I will betelling it to Bella Peter. Bella, the daughter of Peter McGregor, wassupposed to be dear to Big Mack's heart.

  "What a peety she could not see him the now," said Finlay Campbell. "Manalive, she would say the word queeck!"

  "'Tis more than she will do to you whatever, if you cannot keep off thatcrapeau yonder a little better," said Big Mack, reaching for a Frenchmanwho kept dodging in upon him with annoying persistence. Then Mack beganto swear Gaelic oaths.

  "'Tain't fair, Mack!" called out Yankee from his end of the line, "badlanguage in English is bad enough, but in Gaelic it must be uncommonrough." So they gibed each other. But the tactics of the enemy wereexceedingly irritating, and were beginning to tell upon the tempers ofthe Highlanders.

  "Come to me, ye cowardly little devil," roared Mack to his persistingassailant. "No one will hurt you! Come away, man! A-a-ah-ouch!" His cryof satisfaction at having grabbed his man ended in a howl of pain, forthe Frenchman had got Mack's thumb between his teeth, and was chewing itvigorously.

  "Ye would, would you, ye dog?" roared Big Mack. He closed his fingersinto the Frenchman's gullet, and drew him up to strike, but on everyside hands reached for him and stayed his blow. Then he lost himself.With a yell of rage he jambed his man back into the crowd, sinking hisfingers deeper and deeper into his enemy's throat till his face grewblack and his head fell over on one side. But it was a fatal movefor Mack, and overcome by numbers that crowded upon him, he went downfighting wildly and bearing the Frenchman beneath him. The Glengarryline was broken. Black Hugh saw Mack's peril, and knew that itmeant destruction to all. With a wilder cry than usual, "Glengarry!Glengarry!" he dashed straight into LeNoir, who gave back swiftly,caught two men who were beating Big Mack's life out, and hurled themaside, and grasping his friend's collar, hauled him to his feet, andthrew him back against the wall and into the line again with his gripstill upon his Frenchman's throat.

  "Let dead men go, Mack," he cried, but even as he spoke LeNoir, seeinghis opportunity, sprang at him and with a backward kick caught Macdonaldfair in the face and lashed him hard against the wall. It was theterrible French 'lash' and was one of LeNoir's special tricks. BlackHugh, stunned and dazed, leaned back against the wall, spreading out hishands weakly before his face. LeNoir, seeing victory within his grasp,rushed in to finish off his special foe. But Yankee Jim, who, whileengaged in cheerfully knocking back the two Murphys and others who tooktheir turn at him, had been keeping an eye on the line of battle, sawMacdonald's danger, and knowing that the crisis had come, dashed acrossthe line, crying "Follow me, boys." His long arms swung round his headlike the sails of a wind-mill, and men fell back from him as if they hadbeen made of wood. As LeNoir sprang, Yankee shot fiercely at him, butthe Frenchman, too quick for him, ducked and leaped upon Black Hugh, whowas still swaying against the wall, bore him down and jumped with hisheavy "corked" boots on his breast and face. Again the Glengarry linewas broken. At once the crowd surged about the Glengarry men, who nowstood back to back, beating off the men leaping at them from every side,as a stag beats off dogs, and still chanting high their dauntless cry,"Glengarry forever," to which Big Mack added at intervals, "To hell withthe Papishes!" Yankee, failing to check LeNoir's attack upon Black Hugh,fought off the men crowding upon him, and made his way to the cornerwhere the Frenchman was still engaged in kicking the prostrateHighlander to death.

  "Take that, you blamed cuss," he said, catching LeNoir in the jaw andknocking his head with a thud against the wall. Before he could strikeagain he was thrown against his enemy, who clutched him and held like avice.