Lost in the backwoods

by E. C. Kenyon

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.