"Don-no me! Ah oui! be dam! Das Macdonald gang for sure! De men from Glengarrie, les diables! Dey not hout de reever yet." His boss went off into a volley of oaths-- "They'll be wanting the river now, an' they're divils to fight." "We give em de full belly, heh?
Bon!" said LeNoir, throwing back his head.

His only unconquered rival on the river was the boss of the Macdonald gang.
Ho ro, mo nighean donn bhoidheach, Hi-ri, mo nighean donn bhoidheach, Mo chaileag, laghach, bhoidheach, Cha phosainn ach thu.
Down the river came the strong, clear chorus of men's voices, and soon a "pointer" pulled by six stalwart men with a lad in the stern swung round the bend into view.

A single voice took up the song-- 'S ann tha mo run's na beanntaibh, Far bheil mo ribhinn ghreannar, Mar ros am fasach shamhraidh An gleann fad o shuil.
After the verse the full chorus broke forth again-- Ho ro, mo nighean, etc.
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.