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 his hand, “an' Hiven bliss ye.” Macdonald checked himself with an effort and reluctantly shook hands with Murphy and LeNoir, 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, and onpolite to kape yez talking 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.