“LeNware? That is our Canadian friend, I suppose,” said the lieutenant. “He was here a while ago. By Jove! There he is.”
Surrounded by a crowd of the Gatineaus, LeNoir, for he was the leader of the Ottawas, was being battered about and like to be killed.
“Glengarry!” cried Ranald, and like a lion he leaped upon them, followed by Yankee and the others. Right and left he hurled the crowd aside, and seizing LeNoir, brought him out to his own men.
“Who are you?” gasped LeNoir. “Why, no, it ees not possible. Yes, it is Yankee for sure! And de Macdonald gang, but”—turning to Ranald—“who are YOU?” he said again.
“Never mind,” said Ranald, shortly, “let us get away now, quick! Go on, Yankee.”
At once, with Yankee leading, the Glengarry men marched off the field of battle bearing with them the rescued party. There was no time to lose. The enemy far outnumbered them, and would soon return to the attack.
“But how did you know we were in trouble, Ranald?” said Harry as he marched along.
“I didn't know anything about you,” said Ranald. “Some one came and said that the bully of the Ottawa was being killed, so I came along.”
“And just in time, by Jove!” said the lieutenant, aroused from his languor for once. “It was a deucedly lucky thing, and well done, too, 'pon my soul.”
That night, as Ranald and his uncle were in their cabin on the raft talking over the incidents of the day, and Ranald's plans for the summer, a man stood suddenly in the doorway.