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.
CHAPTER IV.
TEMPTED.
Whiterock flung something from the boy, and, jumping out of the bunk, still laughing loudly, lifted him on to the ground.