The Glengarry men had fought their fight, and it only remained for their foes to wreak their vengeance upon them and wipe out old scores. One minute more would have done for them, but in that minute the door came crashing in. There was a mighty roar, “Glengarry! Glengarry!” and the great Macdonald himself, with the boy Ranald and some half-dozen of his men behind him, stood among them. On all hands the fight stopped. A moment he stood, his great head and shoulders towering above the crowd, his tawny hair and beard falling around his face like a great mane, his blue eyes gleaming from under his shaggy eyebrows like livid lightning. A single glance around the room, and again raising his battle-cry, “Glengarry!” he seized the nearest shrinking Frenchman, lifted him high, and hurled him smashing into the bottles behind the counter. His men, following him, bounded like tigers on their prey. A few minutes of fierce, eager fighting, and the Glengarry men were all freed and on their feet, all except Black Hugh, who lay groaning in his corner. “Hold, lads!” Macdonald Bhain cried, in his mighty voice. “Stop, I'm telling you.” The fighting ceased. “Dan Murphy!” he cried, casting his eye round the room, “where are you, ye son of Belial?” Murphy, crouching at the back of the crowd near the door, sought to escape. “Ah! there you are!” cried Macdonald, and reaching through the crowd with his great, long arm, he caught Murphy by the hair of the head and dragged him forward. “R-r-r-a-a-t! R-r-r-a-a-t! R-r-r-a-a-t!” he snarled, shaking him till his teeth rattled. “It is yourself that is the cause of this wickedness. Now, may the Lord have mercy on your soul.” With one hand he gripped Murphy by the throat, holding him at arm's length, and raised his huge fist to strike. But before the blow fell he paused. “No!” he muttered, in a disappointed tone, “it is not good enough. I will not be demeaning myself. Hence, you r-r-a-a-t!” As he spoke he lifted the shaking wretch as if he had been a bundle of clothes, swung him half round and hurled him crashing through the window. “Is there no goot man here at all who will stand before me?” he raged in a wild, joyous fury. “Will not two of you come forth, then?” No one moved. “Come to me!” he suddenly cried, and snatching two of the enemy, he dashed their heads together, and threw them insensible on the floor. Then he caught sight of his brother for the first time lying in the corner with Big Mack supporting his head, and LeNoir standing near. “What is this? What is this?” he cried, striding toward LeNoir. “And is it you that has done this work?” he asked, in a voice of subdued rage. “Oui!” cried LeNoir, stepping back and putting up his hands, “das me; Louis LeNoir! by Gar!” He struck himself on the breast as he spoke.