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 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! be
dad! there's that blanked Yankee, Yankee Jim, they call him, an' bad
luck till him. The divil will have to take the poker till him, for he'll
bate him wid his fists, and so he will--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, LeNoir, he is."

"Bah!" spat LeNoir, "Dat beeg Macdonald I mak heem run like one leetle
sheep, one tam at de long Sault, bah! No good!" LeNoir'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 saw-logs; 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 the next moment Macdonald Dubh,
or Black Hugh, as he was sometimes called, followed by his men, was
climbing 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 offering