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.
The tavern was full of Murphy's gang, a motley crew, mostly French Canadians and Irish, just out of the woods and ready for any devilment that promised excitement.

Most of them knew by sight, and all by reputation, Macdonald and his gang, for from the farthest reaches of the Ottawa down the St.Lawrence to Quebec the Macdonald gang of Glengarry men was famous.

They came, most of them, from that strip of country running back from the St.Lawrence through Glengarry County, known as the Indian Lands--once an Indian reservation.