_RESCUED._
Now it happened that Whiterock and his companions had been fleeing
before the fire for at least an hour, when its direction brought them
to the place where Cyril fell.
The boy's wild, despairing cry was unheeded by most of the men, who
were only bent on saving their own lives, but on Whiterock's ears it
fell with powerful appeal. Swiftly he galloped up, espied the boy,
leaped from his horse, flung Cyril upon the saddle, remounted, and
once more rode off with him at full speed.
[Illustration: "The boy's wild, despairing cry was unheeded."]
The men knew of a large clearing extending for several miles, where
lumbermen had felled and carried away the great pines. They rode
straight there, and in the course of an hour reached the place.
There was no fear of any fire following them into the clearing, for
nothing remained there upon which it could feed. It took another
direction, more to the north-west, and the men and boy were safe.
With noisy jests and much jeering at the fears which now were over
the company made their way to the deserted camp of the lumberers.
This proved to be a big frame-building, run up for the temporary
convenience of the men who felled the trees, and then deserted when
their work was done and the timber conveyed away. All round the
inside of the building were sleeping-bunks, half filled still with
dry grass and ferns.
They set to work with alacrity to kindle a fire, make coffee, cook
some meat, and spread out their biscuits.
No one took any notice of Cyril, who stood in a corner watching them
furtively. What powerful men they were! And how wicked some of them
looked! But others seemed quite pleasant and kind. He watched
Whiterock closely with very mingled feelings. He would have been
most grateful to him for saving his life if it were not for the
strong suspicion he had that he was the very man who had attacked his
father. At that time he wore a mask. Now his dark-bearded face was
uncovered. But there was something in his build and manner, and
especially in the tones of his voice, which made Cyril confident that
he was his poor father's assailant. How the boy longed to ask him if
he had left his father living still! Would he be very angry if he
were asked the question?
"Whiterock!" Cyril called timidly to him, stealing nearer as he did
so.
The man had constituted himself cook, and was stooping over a
battered frying-pan, whereon spluttered great slices of meat. Being
much absorbed in his cooking he only noticed Cyril's call by giving
him a nod.
Cyril did not return the nod. For just as he was about to do so it
occurred to him that if the man were really his poor father's cruel
assailant he could return no greeting of his.
Whiterock did not notice the boy's lack of cordiality; he was talking
to one of the stewards now about the meat, which had run short.
There would not be sufficient to go round. This was a great
difficulty which could not be got over by talking.
When at last the men sat and lay down in a sort of circle round the
stewards, who helped out the food straight from two central dishes
into the men's hands, Cyril was called up by Whiterock and received a
share of biscuit only.
"Biscuit is good enough for bairns," said the steward, laughing.
But Whiterock, grumbling, thrust a small piece of meat upon the boy's
biscuit. It was his own. But how could Cyril eat it? He pushed it
back into the man's hand. Whiterock looked annoyed, and made no
further attempt to improve his meal. The men drank their coffee out
of little cups belonging to their flasks. Cyril had not one, so
would have had to go without if the steward had not kindly lent him
his.
After the breakfast all the men but two or three, who remained to
look after the horses, collect wood, and so forth, went off on foot
to hunt. They returned, late in the afternoon, with an immense
quantity of game. The men who had not been hunting were sent, with a
couple of horses, to fetch home some of the best parts of the deer
which the others had shot.
There was a great feast that evening, and much work afterwards in
cutting and hanging up strips of meat to be smoked and dried by the
fire during the night. Then the men divided the sleeping-bunks.
Cyril shared one with Whiterock.
"There, get in, youngster," said Whiterock. "I'm awful sleepy. Want
to say something? No, I can't hear it to-night. To-morrow some time
will do. Good-night." He fell asleep, or appeared to do so, almost
as he spoke.
Cyril dared not disturb him to inquire about his father's fate. He,
too, was very sleepy, and in spite of his anxiety speedily followed
his companion's example.
He was awoke suddenly in the night by shouts from the men, and then
much loud talking and exclaiming. What was the matter? The men were
flying wildly out of their bunks, on all sides, and making for the
door. At that moment something soft, smooth, and slippery wound
itself round Cyril's neck. With a cry for help he caught hold of
Whiterock's hand.
The man sat up and astonished the boy by laughing loudly.