his interference. He emerged from his corner just at the moment when
Damase was ready to strike. One glance at the state of affairs was
enough. Damase's back was turned toward him. With a swift spring, that
startled the others as if he had fallen through the roof, he darted
forward, and ere the French-Canadian's fist could reach its mark a
resistless grasp was laid upon his collar, and, swung clear off his feet,
he was flung staggering across the room as though he had been a mere
child.

"You Indian dog!" growled Johnston, in his fiercest tones, "what are you
about? Don't let me catch you tormenting that boy again!"




CHAPTER VI.

LIFE IN THE LUMBER CAMP.


For a moment there was absolute silence in the shanty, the sudden and
effectual intervention of the big foreman in Frank Kingston's behalf
filling the onlookers with astonishment. But then, as they recovered
themselves, there came a burst of laughter that made the rafters ring, in
the midst of which Damase, gathering himself together, slunk scowling to
his berth with a face that was dark with hate.

Not deigning to take any further notice of him, Johnston turned to go
back to his corner, touching Frank on his shoulder as he did so, and
saying to him in a low tone,--