“Light?”
“Yes,” for the upward glow of the blazing cabin now rose in the sky overhead, and soon began to send arrowy flashes of illumination through the trees.
“Can’t be the woods,” said Carington. “They are all wet, and there are few pines. Let us try to get out of it.”
This time he did better, but it was slow work, and Jack became more and more anxious as the light grew behind them, and now and then sparks fell through the foliage about their path. They were soon close to the shore.
“Stop!” cried the boy. “Who’s there?”
“Good Heavens!” said Lyndsay. “Jack! Jack!” and Rose, at his side, repeated his name. “What is wrong?”
“I got a little hurt,” said Carington, leaning against a tree. “That is all. It is of no consequence.”
“He’s shot,” Jack blurted out. “A woman shot him. Oh, but I’m glad to see you!”
At this Rose exclaimed, “Shot!” and caught at a great, friendly pine near by and held fast to it, until a moment of its stay sufficed to steady her. “Is it bad?” she said, in a voice which elsewhere might have told enough, had the comment of her face been visible.
“No,” said Carington, cheerfully. “It is really of no account, Miss Lyndsay. Let us get away. I can tell you all to-morrow.”