E. C. Kenyon

“ Unless very hungry, however, these North American bears do not attack human beings if they make no aggressive movement; so Cyril remaining perfectly still the bear, having satisfied his curiosity, moved slowly away.
The shades of night stole over the forest. It became quite dark. The wild beasts sought their prey. All sorts of dangers were on every side; but, quite unconscious still, the boy lay there, a faint stirring of his pulse alone showing that life was still within his slight young frame. ”

“ Morton and Cyril rode on briskly, Blackie keeping up most cleverly with the larger horse, until when they were about eight miles on their way the snow which Ben Davidson had prognosticated began to fall heavily and in the most bewildering manner.
"I never saw such snow in my life!" exclaimed Mr. Morton. "It does not come down straight, it whirls all about and rises again and beats upon one in such a blinding fashion. Stay near me, Cyril, my boy. Can you keep your pony up?"
"Yes, father. He stumbles rather, but he won't fall. He's such a good pony, isn't he, father?" ”

“ Cyril asked the question half laughingly, but he looked considerably startled. When people have resigned themselves to the fact that they are many miles away from any other person, it is rather queer to find someone knocking at the door. It was Cynthy who cried out first, "What do you want? Who is there?"
"'What do you want? Who is there?'"
The others could not hear the answer, but it evidently reassured her, for she gave a cry of joy, and her eyes shone with delight as she again tried to open the door, but in vain. Then she turned to explain to the others. "It's my Harry," she said. ”

“ After a delightful sail from Chicago over the calm grey waters of Lake Michigan they were enjoying their slow journey through immense pine forests, when suddenly a band of robbers galloped up to the train, flung themselves from their horses, and clambered on to it. First they struck down the engine-driver, reversed the engine, and stopped the train. Then they began to search the passengers, demanding of all their money or their life. ”

“ Morton made no reply, he jumped off his pony and caught hold of him by the arm.
"I shall be all right soon," his father replied with an effort, leaning heavily on him. "My foot is sprained, I think. It rather pains me, that's all." But he grew pale to the lips.
His horse stood by, hanging his head and looking quite ashamed.
"My Blackie wouldn't have done that!" cried Cyril, and as if the pony understood him he came poking his nose into his master's hands.
All the time the snow was falling fast, whirling round, and beating in their faces. ”

“ They were alone. Not a creature—neither horse nor man—had followed them. With the exception of a few birds not a living thing could they see.
"Why, wherever be they?" exclaimed Green.
"Where? Where are they?" echoed Cyril.
There was no answer. Where, indeed, were their pursuers? Had the earth swallowed them?
"Something must have made the new-comers fear to attack them after all," said Green. "They must have been as afraid of the others as t'others was of them! ”

“ Then he saw the girl who had come so opportunely to their aid had a still harder task than his. Leaving the horses to follow his pony, she was working hard with both hands at shovelling the snow off the sleigh, which jumped about and jolted up and down owing to the plunges of the horses and the drifts of snow it encountered.
"I don't care if she does call me a little one!" said Cyril to himself, forgiving her everything at that moment. "She's a heroine, a real, splendid heroine!" And again he urged Blackie forward. ”

“ At last the captain, turning in anger to see why he was disobeyed, perceived the boy, and cried impatiently—
"What have you got there? A lad? Ridiculous! Absurd! Fling him down. Leave him. We want no babies."
Outlaw though he was—strong, desperate too—the brigand dared not disobey his chief. Reluctantly, therefore, he stopped short, sprang off his horse, and lifted the boy down in his arms. Muttering that he had once a son like him he laid Cyril down under a forest tree, and then, turning quickly, remounted his horse and rode rapidly after his captain. ”

“ Cynthy did not smile; she looked at the figure in the doorway with a pale, frightened face. "It is Mr. Jabez Jones," she faltered.
"Aye, it's Jabez Jones, at your service," said the old man, coming forward. "And he would like to know what you are doing in his house, and what a horse is doing in his kitchen?" He almost screamed the last words as Blackie neighed more loudly than ever.
"We are travellers who have come here for shelter from the snow," said Mr. Morton wonderingly.
"And I've come in search of one of them," said Harry Quilter, finding his voice at length. ”

“ Some of the men will feel ashamed when they think over what happened. They will see you were in the right, and—well, I fancy the next time the poor squaws come they will not be treated so badly."
"If that is so," said Cyril, smiling in spite of his pain, "I shan't mind having been knocked about a little, Mr. Ellison."
The saw-miller looked at his bright, if discoloured, face, and felt it hard to say the next words. "I've made up my mind, my lad; you shall go straight away to England as soon as it can be arranged." ”

“ Where do you come from?"
"My name is Cyril Morton. My father was an English gentleman, with an estate in Cornwall. We came to this country in search of my uncle, Gerald Morton. Have you ever known him, do you think?"
Cyril asked the question with sudden eagerness. Who was so likely as the great saw-miller to know a sojourner in those parts?
The saw-miller shook his head. "Ours is an immense country," he said. "Unless you have some clue to his whereabouts I'm afraid you won't be likely to find that uncle of yours, my boy." ”

“ Harry then proceeded to empty his pockets, which were stuffed with tea, dried deer-flesh, salt bacon, and a great hunk of bread. Asked how it was he knew of the whereabouts of his young lady, he answered that a trapper he had met had informed him that he had seen a great quantity of smoke issuing from the chimney of the haunted house. It was impossible to believe that a mere ghost could have lighted a fire so large as to cause all that smoke, and as Harry was anxious about the non-appearance of Cynthy Wood at her home he had put on his moccasins and plodded through the snow. ”

“ Poor men do better, because they have strength with which to labour, and they often know a trade. Mr. Gerald had knocked about a great deal, I know, before he settled down as a hunter."
"I wonder if he can possibly be my brother," said Mr. Morton. "I should like to see the room he occupied when he was here. There might be some traces of him in it."
"Oh, it is the bedroom he had. Up that ladder it will be," said Cynthy. "No, sir, please sit still. I can't let you try to get up with that foot. Cyril can go up with me, and we will look round and see if Mr. Gerald has left anything." ”

“ All through the winter the lumberers work in the woods, from sunrise to sunset, making the forest resound with the strokes of their axes as they fell tree after tree in amazing quantities. Often they divide into bands of six or eight men, each company striving to outrival the other in the amount of work it gets through. ”

“ After proceeding about five miles through the forest, without any greater adventure than the frequent difficulty of finding a path through the dense trees, they unfortunately came out into an open sandy plain, across which they had not gone far before they were perceived by some horsemen who happened to be crossing the plain in another direction.
With wild cries the men turned their horses about and set off after Green and Cyril.
It was a most unequal chase. The doubly-laden horse could not by any chance escape the pursuers, who gained ground every moment. ”

“ Instead of coming up to seize them the pursuers were galloping away.
"Oh! Look, look!" Cyril pointed in another direction.
A little company of horsemen had entered the sandy plain, and were riding rapidly towards them.
"They've scared our enemies. Aye, but we'd better be off too," cried Green in alarm.
"But we needn't run away from these men," said Cyril. "They are our friends."
"Friends? Not they! I should have a bad time of it if they caught me," said Green. "You see, they're Government men on the look-out for train-robbers and horse-stealers. Jack was a stolen horse. ”

“ Morton shook his head sadly over the hardened old man, and as the lovers sat together in the chimney-corner, talking after tea, whilst Cyril gave Blackie its lump sugar, he tried to make him see that the love of money is a great evil, and that in his case it had led his son into sin. ”

“ It was the best plea the boy could have made, for since those words of his to the Captain, and his terrible distress about his poor father, Whiterock had felt something like compunction for what he had done.
"The matter lies in your own hands, Cyril," he said, not unkindly. "You, and only you, can save your life. Accept the Captain's offer—it is a generous one." ”

“ He shall be my son, instead of poor Harry." So saying he lifted Cyril in his arms, carried him to where he had left his horse, and when he rode off with the others the boy, still unconscious, was on the saddle before him, his curly head drooping against his shoulder.
"The boy was on the saddle before him."
Now it happened that under the double burden the brigand's horse lagged behind the others, and although its master whipped and spurred it cruelly it could not keep up with them.
"Whiterock," cried the captain of the band more than once, "come on. Why do you linger?" ”

“ A man with a skin cap on his head rode the pony.
"Hullo!" shouted he, "what's this? What are you fellows doing? Camping out, eh?"
"Of course we are," said Green cautiously. "And who may you be?"
"Oh, we're just a party of men from Ellison's saw-mill——"
"Ellison's saw-mill! That's good hearing!" cried Green. "We're on our way there, but have got lost. How far off are we now?"
"About six miles or so. Where are your horses?"
Green looked embarrassed. Then he said, "We fell in with a rough lot—they shot our horse——"
"Shot your horse? Had you only one?" ”

“ Cyril was ill for several weeks after the assault upon him by the angry men at Mr. Ellison's saw-mill. When at last he crept out of his bedroom, looking pale and thin, winter had begun in good earnest, and the rough roads through the forest were quite impassable. The snow was coming down as if it never meant to stop, and the keen, cold wind blew it in great drifts on every side.
Whilst Cyril lay ill on his hard mattress two travellers going south to Chicago had called at the saw-mill ”

“ It's nice weather, clear and frosty, the snow as hard as any road. You'll find your horses, animated by the fine exhilarating air, will gallop over it splendidly."
"Will you sell me a mount for the boy?" asked Mr. Morton.
"He has his own pony. Of course he will take that."
"May I?" asked Cyril eagerly. "Oh, Mr. Ellison, may I really take Blackie?" ”

“ Must you hear it to-night, my boy? Can you not wait till to-morrow?"
"Oh! tell me now, please," said Cyril wistfully.
"Very well, my boy." But the father sighed. "You know the police were busy a long time, trying to find the scoundrels who attacked the train. They did so at last, and after a desperate fight some of them were secured. They were tried in the police-court in Menominee, where I and some others had to bear witness against them. It was proved that two of them had been guilty of murder. The captain was one and Whiterock, the man who attacked me, was another." ”

“ But the girl knew what she was doing, and when at last even Blackie fell on his knees and Cyril alighted on his hands and feet, unhurt, on the snow and a yard ahead of his pony, she called out encouragingly—
"It's all right. We're just close to a house. You're a brave lad, for all you are so small!" ”

“ It was no easy task, but they struggled through the snow back to the sleigh, which was already nearly buried in it.
"The poor horses," said Cynthy; "I'd forgotten them. I shall cut them loose; they must look after themselves. I have no food for them. I think they will go home. Then my father will send to seek us."
Blackie was delighted to see Cyril again; he had stood still, waiting for him to return, and now he put his cold nose in the boy's hands, and seemed to ask him not to go away again.
"What shall I do with my dear old pony?" asked Cyril. ”

“ Morton in the arm-chair, and poking his nose into the hole in the middle of the floor as if to see why it was left there.
"I guess he's a smart pony, but you must take him right out, Cyril," said Cynthy.
"Oh, yes, of course. Come, Blackie." He led him into the little kitchen, telling him repeatedly that he was to be a good pony and stay quietly there. But Blackie whinnied a little, seeing no prospect of food.
"Oh, poor Blackie!" cried the boy sympathisingly; "what will you do without food?" ”

“ Pete, the old man's son, was a hunter too, and perhaps he helped to persuade Mr. Gerald to lodge here, telling him it was a good centre from which to hunt deer in the forest round. He used to go out hunting with Mr. Gerald. Perhaps he thought even then that if he killed the old man whilst Mr. Gerald was with them he might swear the latter did it. He's that cunning, is Pete."
"How was the old man killed?"
"No one knows rightly. Pete declared that Mr. Gerald had knocked him down with the butt end of his gun and thrown him into the river—the body was never recovered." ”

“ The young men therefore refused to trade with them until they had refreshed themselves, as they called it, with a little beer. After that they easily persuaded the Indians to part with their goods for the most trifling sum, in some cases for only another glass, or perhaps two, of beer.
Cyril looked on in amazement. Would no one interfere? Were these men who were trading on the folly and sin of a few poor women?
"Oh! Davidson, see," cried Cyril, "that fellow, Jem, is trying to get one of their ponies now! That poor woman will be quite ruined! Just look at her." ”