CHAPTER II.
ALONE IN THE FOREST.
About midday Cyril came to himself, opening wondering eyes upon an unknown world. Where was he? What had happened? Where was his father? Why were his limbs when he tried to move them so stiff and cramped? Raising himself with difficulty he leaned upon one elbow, and looked round searchingly.
He was alone in these unknown wilds. Where was his father? Why had he left him?
Suddenly the boy gave a great cry; he remembered all. His father was killed, must have been killed, or he would never have parted from him. He had put the pistol in his father's hand before the robber struck him; he did not know what had happened after that. But he felt convinced that his father was dead, and he lay down again upon the ground, crying as if his heart would break. There was a very tender love between him and his father; since the mother's death they had been all in all to one another. But a new thought came to Cyril by-and-by, and that was that someone must have brought him to the place where he was lying. For there was no railway line to be seen near there; indeed, the trees grew too thickly to admit of such a possibility. Who, then, had brought him away from the train, away from the railway line? Was it, could it possibly have been his father? But if so, where was he now?
Animated by the hope of finding him Cyril struggled to his feet. Then he called as loudly as he could, which was not very loud, for his throat was parched and dry, and he himself felt very faint. "Father! Father!" he cried. "Father, where are you? Father, speak; tell me you are here! Father! Father!"
But there was no answer.
Despairingly the boy turned in first one direction and then another, repeating his cries until he could not utter another word. But all in vain. There was no trace of a human being in any direction. He was alone, quite alone in the forest.
In silence now he wandered up and down, finding some wild raspberries, or what looked like them, and eating them quite ravenously. The soft fruit allayed his thirst, and then he could shout again, which he did repeatedly. At first it had been his intention to remain near the place where he had been lying, that if his father or whoever brought him there returned he might be found. But he lost his way very soon and could not find the place again.
"Father! Father! Help! help!" he cried, pushing his way through the long grass and bushes, and running along narrow tracks in first one direction and then another. "Oh, help, I am perishing! Save me!"
For now a despairing feeling came over him that help would never come, that he would wander up and down there until he died—perhaps killed by some wild beast. He knew there were bears in that part of America, and presently he came across a young one. It did not appear to see him, and he ran away from its neighbourhood as fast as he could. He had no weapon of any kind, and the thought of that made him presently get out his pocket-knife and cut himself a stout stick. Then it was that he discovered that after all he had not been robbed. His purse was still in his pocket. He took it out, opened it, and examined its contents ruefully. One piece of gold, a sovereign, and a good many shillings and sixpences were all there. But of what use was money to him now? How gladly, thankfully, he would give the whole of his money to anyone who would show him the way out of that fearful solitude! However, he was in a place where money availed not. What could he do? He was in despair.
Then he remembered his heavenly Father, and, kneeling down just where he was in the lonely forest, he prayed to Him for help and guidance, and especially that, if his father still lived, they two might speedily find each other.
He felt somewhat comforted when, at length, he rose from his knees, for he knew that he had done the very best thing he could for himself and his dear father by laying all their concerns before God in prayer.
Looking round for more berries he soon found some, ate, and was again refreshed. Then he walked on once more in the hope that he would get to some inhabited place. But he was very tired; and presently, when his foot slipped over a tree-root and he fell heavily to the ground, he did not feel able to rise again. He therefore lay still where he was, and soon fell fast asleep.
Again the shades of night crept over the tall trees of the forest, veiling them and the sleeping boy in darkness. And once again the beasts of prey stole forth in search of food, but did not come near Cyril to harm him, whilst, unconscious of his danger, he slept on.
He was happy now, for he was dreaming of his mother. She looked as sweet as ever and far happier, for the lines of pain and trouble on her face had been all smoothed away. "Cyril, my boy," she said to him, stooping to kiss his brow, "it was brave of you to help your father as you did yesterday. You suffered for it. Yes, but that is all over. Now you must be brave in searching for your father and waiting patiently until God, in His good providence, permits you both to meet again."
"I will, I will, mother," Cyril cried in his dream; and then it ceased, and he lay in heavy, dreamless slumber until he awoke with a consciousness of its being very hot, and that there was a strong smell of something burning.
Starting up and looking round he found that it was morning, and that away to the right of him there was a mighty cloud of smoke mingled with flames, out of which great showers of sparks flew up into the sky. A tremendous roaring as of thunder announced the burning of great forest trees. The noise of it almost drowned the pitiful cries and screams, roars and screeches of wild animals and birds as, in their flight for their lives, the cruel flames caught hold of them and burnt them.
"The forest is on fire!" cried Cyril aloud in terror-stricken accents, "and I, where shall I go? Oh, God," he murmured, "help me!" and set off running fast in the opposite direction from that in which the fire was advancing.
The air had become exceedingly hot. It dried up everything before the fire, so that when the flames came up they caught hold of the great pine trees without a moment's loss. The very ground seemed scorched.
Cyril found the fire gaining upon him. Of what use was it to run? Oh, if he could only come to some open space, or a sheet of water into which he could hasten!
But no. There were no signs of either. Cyril became hotter and hotter. Soon, very soon, the fire would overtake him. He almost felt its hot breath on his cheeks. Wringing his hands he sank down with a loud, despairing cry.