_CYRIL SPEAKS UP FOR THE INDIANS._
As Cyril looked round hastily he perceived Mr. Ellison's box of
matches, with which he had just been lighting his pipe, and at the
same moment the thought flashed across his mind that fire was a
mighty power. Perhaps the bear could by its means be scared away.
Suddenly he snatched up the match-box, struck a light, and applied it
to the dry leaves and withered boughs beside him.
An instant conflagration was the result. A wave of fire leaped up
between them and the bear.
The beast, snarling, drew back a yard or so, then sat up watching the
flames with much distrust.
"Bravo, lad!" shouted Mr. Ellison, stirring up the fire and spreading
it out between them and the bear, which retreated still further, with
a prolonged growl.
[Illustration: "The bear retreated still further with a prolonged
growl."]
That fire saved two lives. It did not spread very far, because the
trees were felled and piled up in places, ready to be removed. But
it answered its purpose. The bear was driven off, and the saw-miller
and Cyril returned home in safety.
Mr. Ellison had the skin of the she-bear dressed and cured for Cyril.
He lavished favours upon the boy, and thought of him almost as his
own son; only in regard to the matter of sending him to England he
was stern, unyielding. Why could not Cyril give up the wish and
remain with him? But Cyril thought longingly of the old country. If
he could only get there, and could tell Mr. Betts, the lawyer,
everything that had happened, that gentleman might be able to find
out what his father's ultimate fate had been.
One morning, just before the long winter commenced, half a dozen poor
Indian women (squaws they were called) came to the saw-mill with
three ponies laden with goods they wished to sell to the men.
It happened to be the dinner hour, and a number of young fellows were
crossing the yard on their way to the house when they saw the poor
Indians. They shouted merry greetings and laughed boisterously.
"Now we shall have some fun," said they.
"What sort of fun?" asked Cyril, who happened to be near.
"Oh, you will see," was the answer. "They are so simple, these
queer-looking squaws."
Cyril did see, and very indignant he became.
The poor squaws had brought warm wool mittens and skin caps, for
which they asked a fair price, and hoped to do a good business. But
the squaws had one great weakness, and the men at the saw-mill knew
it well. They could not refuse a glass of beer, and they were so
unused to it and so constituted that a very small quantity of alcohol
completely upset them. Even one glass of beer would make them quite
foolish.
The young men therefore refused to trade with them until they had
refreshed themselves, as they called it, with a little beer. After
that they easily persuaded the Indians to part with their goods for
the most trifling sum, in some cases for only another glass, or
perhaps two, of beer.
Cyril looked on in amazement. Would no one interfere? Were these
men who were trading on the folly and sin of a few poor women?
"Oh! Davidson, see," cried Cyril, "that fellow, Jem, is trying to
get one of their ponies now! That poor woman will be quite ruined!
Just look at her."
Davidson had no objection to looking; but "I can't interfere," said
he slowly. "It's a shame, though I can't help it."
Cyril's colour rose. If no one would venture to interfere--well, he
must do it himself. Davidson, glancing at him, read his thought, and
laid a detaining hand upon his shoulder.
"You mustn't speak," he said. "The man wouldn't stand it--least of
all from a little fellow like you."
Cyril's eyes flashed. "I may be small," said he, "but right is
right, and must--_must_ triumph," and he ran forward, crying out
aloud, "Stop! Stop! Stop! You're not acting fairly!"
Half an hour later, when Cyril lay on his hard, straw mattress in his
little bedroom, aching and sore all over from the rough treatment he
had met with, he did not think the right had triumphed at all, and he
sobbed his heart out there in his loneliness and despair.
The men would not brook interference. What their master and old
Davidson dare not attempt the boy, armed only with his consciousness
of right, had ventured upon doing. The consequences were grievous to
himself, and might have been fatal if it had not been for the
Davidsons, aided by their master, who suddenly opened his office door
for them to rush into with the boy. There were no police within many
miles of the lonely saw-mill. The master ruled alone over the
lawless roughs who, in a great measure, composed his staff.
The occurrence of that morning made Mr. Ellison see that the saw-mill
was not a safe home for such a boy as Cyril. He began to think of
plans for sending him back to England. Unfortunately, however, the
sky was already black with threatening snow-storms; the weather would
probably be such that it would be impossible to take Cyril thirty
miles to the nearest station. And then, he had been so cuffed and
knocked about by the men, it was most likely that he would be ill.
The idea of that made the saw-miller go back to Cyril's bedside.
"Are you any better, my lad?" he asked anxiously.
Cyril could scarcely say he was; all his bruises smarted, and his
bones ached. He looked up at Mr. Ellison without speaking.
"I'm sorry this has happened," said the latter, very feelingly.
"Oh, it doesn't matter about me," said Cyril quickly. "I don't mind
being knocked about a bit. But the pity is that it has done _no
good_--no good," and he sighed deeply, thinking of the hard, cruel
hearts of the men, and the wrongs of the poor Indian women.
"You can't say that," said the master, "you can't say that. Some of
the men will feel ashamed when they think over what happened. They
will see you were in the right, and--well, I fancy the next time the
poor squaws come they will not be treated so badly."
"If that is so," said Cyril, smiling in spite of his pain, "I shan't
mind having been knocked about a little, Mr. Ellison."
The saw-miller looked at his bright, if discoloured, face, and felt
it hard to say the next words. "I've made up my mind, my lad; you
shall go straight away to England as soon as it can be arranged."
Cyril was very glad to hear that. It comforted him immensely in his
pain to think that he might soon be on his way home.