“But here is your man, governor,” said Harry, laying his hand on Ranald. “Ranald!” exclaimed Mr. St. Clair. “Why, the very man! You understand timber, and you are honest.” “I will answer for both with my head,” said Harry. “What do you say, Ranald?” said Mr. St. Clair. “Will you take a day to think it over?” “No,” said Ranald; “I will be your checker.” And so Ranald became part of the firm of Raymond & St. Clair. “Come along, Ranald,” said Harry. “We will take the girls home, and then come back to the office.” “Yes, do come,” said Kate, heartily. Maimie said nothing. “No,” said Ranald; “I will go back to the raft first, and then come to the office. Shall I begin tonight?” he said to Mr. St. Clair. “To-morrow morning will do, Ranald,” said Mr. St. Clair. “Come up to the hotel and see us tonight.” But Ranald said nothing. Then Maimie went up to him. “Good by, just now,” she said, smiling into his face. “You will come and see us to-night, perhaps?” Ranald looked at her, while the blood mounted slowly into his dark cheek, and said: “Yes, I will come.” “What's the matter with you, Maimie?” said Harry, indignantly, when they had got outside. “You would think Ranald was a stranger, the way you treat him.” “And he is just splendid! I wish he had pulled ME out of the fire,” cried Kate. “You might try the river,” said the lieutenant. “I fancy he would go in. Looks that sort.” “Go in?” cried Harry, “he would go anywhere.” The lieutenant made no reply. He evidently considered that it was hardly worth the effort to interest himself in the young lumberman, but before he was many hours older he found reason to change his mind. After taking the young ladies to their hotel there was still an hour till the lieutenant's dinner, so, having resolved to cultivate the St. Clair family, he proposed accompanying Harry back to the office. As they approached the lower portion of the town they heard wild shouts, and sauntering down a side street, they came upon their French-Canadian friend of the afternoon. He was standing with his back against a wall trying to beat off three or four men, who were savagely striking and kicking at him, and crying the while: “Gatineau! Gatineau!” It was the Gatineau against the Ottawa. “Our friend seems to have found the object of his search,” said the lieutenant, as he stood across the street looking at the melee. “I say, he's a good one, isn't he?” cried Harry, admiring the Ottawa's dauntless courage and his fighting skill. “His eagerness for war will probably be gratified in a few minutes, by the look of things,” replied the lieutenant. The Gatineaus were crowding around, and had evidently made up their minds to bring the Ottawa champion to the dust. That they were numbers to one mattered not at all. There was little chivalry in a shantymen's fight.