"He won't!" cried one of the men indignantly. "Did you ever know such defiance?"
"Speak," demanded the Captain, his hand resting heavily now on Cyril's shoulder as if he would compel his obedience. "Do you still refuse?"
"Yes. I cannot—oh, I cannot accept your offer! I cannot!" cried the boy.
"Very well," shouted the Captain angrily. "You defy us! Here, you, Whiterock, you brought the youngster. Take him outside a bit while we decide what is to be done. Take him away, I say, for ten minutes. Then bring him back to hear his sentence."
Cyril trembled. Would they kill him? Out here in the backwoods they could do whatever they liked. There were no policemen here.
"Come on," said Whiterock, seizing hold of Cyril's collar and dragging him out of the place.
Outside he flung the boy down on the ground at his feet.
"Oh, Whiterock," pleaded Cyril, "though you killed my father—my dear, good father, will you not save me, his son?"
