that, if
they desired to carry on the trade in peace, they must push still
further into the bush, or be hopelessly swallowed up in the advancing
tide.

When the unwelcome sounds of advancing civilisation first broke the
stillness of this desolate region, the chief of the trading-post was
seated at breakfast with his clerk. He was a tall, good-looking, young
Englishman, named Reginald Redding. The clerk, Bob Smart, was a sturdy
youth, who first saw the light among the mountains of Scotland.
Doubtless he had been named Robert when baptised, but his intimates
would not have understood you had you mentioned him by that name.

Bob had just helped Reginald to the wing of a salt goose, and was about
to treat himself to a leg of the same when the cook entered.

This cook was a man. It may also be said with truth that he was more
than most men. At the outpost men were few, and of women there were
none. It may be imagined, then, that the cook's occupations and duties
were numerous. Francois Le Rue, besides being cook to the
establishment, was waiter, chambermaid, firewood-chopper, butcher,
baker, drawer-of-water, trader, fur-packer, and interpreter. These
offices he held professionally. When "_off duty_," and luxuriating in
tobacco and relaxation, he occupied himself as an amateur shoemaker,
tailor, musician, and stick-whittler, to the no small advantage of
himself and his fellow-outcasts, of whom there were five or six, besides
the principals already mentioned.

Le Rue's face bore an expression of dissatisfaction and perplexity as he
entered the hall.

"Oh, Monsieur Redding," he exclaimed, "dem squatters, de black
scoundrils what is be called Macklodds has bin come at last."

"Ho, ho! the McLeods have come, have they?" said Redding, laying down
his knife and fork, and looking earnestly at the man; "I had heard of
their intention."

"Oui, yis, vraiment," said Le Rue, with vehemence, "dey has come to
Jenkins Creek more dan tree veeks pass. Von sauvage come an' tell me he
have see dem. Got put up von hut, an' have begin de saw-mill."

"Well, well, Francois," returned Redding, with a somewhat doubtful
smile, as he resumed his knife and fork, "bring some more hot water, and
keep your mind easy. The McLeods can't do us much harm. Their saw-mill
will work for many a day before it makes much impression on the forests
hereabouts. There is room for us all."

"Forests!" exclaimed the cook, with a frown and a shrug o