coolly smoking his cigar, but he knew well that unless help arrived
their case was hopeless.

"We can't run," he remarked, calmly, "but a dignified and speedy retreat
is in order if it can be executed. There is a shop a little distance
down here. Let us make for it."

But as soon as they moved two more of the Ottawas were dragged down and
trampled on.

"It begins to look interesting," said the lieutenant to Harry. "Sorry
you are into this, old chap. It was rather my fault. It is so beastly
dirty, don't you know."

"Oh, fault be hanged!" cried Harry. "It's nobody's fault, but it looks
rather serious. Get back, you brute!" So saying, he caught a burly
Frenchman under the chin with a straight left-hander and hurled him back
upon the crowd.

"Ah, rather pretty," said the lieutenant, mildly. "It is not often you
can just catch them that way." They were still a few yards from the shop
door, but every step of their advance had to be fought.

"I very much fear we can't make it," said the lieutenant, quietly to
Harry. "We had better back up against the wall here and fight it out."

But as he spoke they heard a sound of shouting down the street a little
way, which the Ottawa leader at once recognized, and raising his voice
he cried: "Hottawa! Hottawa! Hottawa a moi!"

Swiftly, fiercely, came the band of men, some twenty of them, cleaving
their way through the crowd like a wedge. At their head, and taller
than the others, fought two men, whose arms worked with the systematic
precision of piston-rods, and before whom men fell on either hand as if
struck with sledge-hammers.

"Hottawa a moi!" cried the Ottawa champion again, and the relieving
party faced in his direction.

"I say," said the lieutenant, "that first man is uncommonly like your
Glengarry friend."

"What, Ranald?" cried Harry. "Then we are all right. I swear it is," he
said, after a few moments, and then, remembering the story of the great
fight on the Nation, which he had heard from Hughie and Maimie, he
raised the Macdonald war-cry: "Glengarry! Glengarry!"

Ranald paused and looked about him.

"Here, Ranald!" yelled Harry, waving his white handkerchief. Then Ranald
caught sight of him.

"Glengarry!" he cried, and sprang far into the crowd in Harry's
direction.

"Glengarry! Glengarry forever!" echoed Yankee--for he it was--plunging
after his leader.

Swift and sharp like the thrust of a lance, the Glengarry men pierced
the crowd, which gave back o