Chapter Five.
The “Enemy.”
Meanwhile, Reginald Redding—still breathing defiance to the clan of McLeod, with his heart steeled against all softer influences, and with all his bristles erect—arrived at Jenkins Creek.
Seeing no one about the door of the hut, he passed it with an indignant frown, and proceeded direct to the cascade, where, from a considerable distance, he had observed the three settlers as they busily plied their axes.
A thaw had set in. The little cascade was beginning to roar ominously, almost savagely, behind the curtain of ice which had concealed almost the whole of it during winter. The ice on the edge of the Saint Lawrence had already given way, and was being swept out to sea in variously-sized fields and masses. Everything gave indication that the reign of winter had come to an end, that the short-lived spring had laid its warm hand on the whole region, and that summer was not far distant. Summer acts its part with promptitude in those regions.
Men out there are usually vigorous in taking advantage of the change; the McLeods were making the most of their time when the fur-trader approached.
“It should be getting near supper-time,” said the elder McLeod, looking at the sun.
“Not far from it,” said Kenneth, flinging down his axe and wiping the perspiration from his brow, as he glanced in the same direction, “what a comfort it is to have Flo to look after meals; it makes one feel—hallo! who come here?—see, two men, rounding the cliff just above the house.”