LeNOIR'S NEW MASTER
As they approached the lower portion of the town they heard wild shouts, and sauntering down a side street, they came upon their French-Canadian friend of the afternoon. He was standing with his back against a wall trying to beat off three or four men, who were savagely striking and kicking at him, and crying the while: "Gatineau! Gatineau!"
It was the Gatineau against the Ottawa.
"Our friend seems to have found the object of his search," said the lieutenant, as he stood across the street looking at the mêlée.
"I say, he's a good one, isn't he?" cried Harry, admiring the Ottawa's dauntless courage and his fighting skill.
"His eagerness for war will probably be gratified in a few minutes, by the look of things," replied the lieutenant.
The Gatineaus were crowding around, and had evidently made up their minds to bring the Ottawa champion to the dust. That they were numbers to one mattered not at all. There was little chivalry in a shantymen's fight.
"Ha! Rather a good one, that," exclaimed the lieutenant, mildly interested. "He put that chap out somewhat neatly." He lit a cigar and stood coolly watching the fight.
"Where are the Ottawas—the fellow's friends?" said Harry, much excited.
"I rather think they camp on another street further down."
The Ottawa champion was being sorely pressed,
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