“Mr. Carington shot him,” said Ned.
“Mr. Carington? Where is he?” cried Rose, sitting up, and still a little dazed.
“Keep quiet, boys,” said the young man. “Back a little. Take that cub away, sir. Can you stand, Miss Lyndsay? Here, take a little brandy from my flask. The explanations can wait. Why, you are quite strong. Now, then. Don’t look at the bear; come.” And he supported her to the canoe, talking as he went, to keep her from questioning.
“Now, then,”—turning to Jack,—“you must wait here, sir. You can go in Tom’s boat with Miss Lyndsay”—this to Ned. “I will go ahead and explain at the camp. Don’t let Miss Lyndsay talk.”
“But, Fairfield,” said Rose, “I must—”
“You are better, I think. There, that will do,” as she was laid in the canoe. “If you talk, you will start the bleeding. Not a word now.”
This was a somewhat masterful person, and Rose, as she lay back against the cushions, was satisfied to shut her eyes and obey, weak, and still tingling with past excitement.
“You shall know everything by and by, Miss Lyndsay.”
“Thanks!” she murmured, and her canoe put off.
“I will overtake you,” he said, and then walked back and took a look at the bear, which Jack, now reassured, was attentively regarding.