The Ocean Cats Paw | Page 3

out as it were at the base of a
great cliff.
"Why, this is the end of it," he said, pausing to look round and upward
at the towering pile of rocks. "No, it isn't. It must be the beginning--the
source, I suppose they call it. Yes, the stream begins here, comes right
from under that cliff. Why, it's like a little cave out of which the water
streams."
He stopped short and threw his fly once or twice without effect, and
then, moved by curiosity, waded into the shallow rippling water, which
rose a little way above his boots, but as it began to invade his trousers
he rolled them up to his knees, before wading onward till he was
stopped by the piled-up cliff face where the water came gliding out and
rippled about his legs.
"Why, it ought to be quite cold," he muttered, "instead of which it is
warm."
Then, standing up his rod so that the top rested among the stones, he

stooped down, bending nearly double before he could pass in beneath a
rough stony natural arch and slowly force his way along a narrow
passage for a few feet, before stopping short where the water nearly
reached his knees.
"Oh, I say! I am not going to break my back short off at the hips by
squeezing in here," he grumbled. "Besides, it's all dark; and what's the
good? Here, I know! This isn't the source. This tor is only a piled-up
heap of stones, and I dare say if I go round I shall find the little river
coming in on the other side, and this is where it comes out. Well, let it.
Here, I want my lunch."
He made his way back into the sunshine where all was bright and clear
again, and, taking his rod, stepped out to the edge of the pool, where
the dry sand felt pleasant and comfortable to his feet, and there he went
on fishing again with more or less success, till he passed out of the little
amphitheatre to where the rocks fell away on either side, half hidden by
the heath and furze.
"Must have got fifty by this time," muttered the boy. "Now just one
more to make sure, and then I'll be off, and--Ugh! Who are you? How
you made me jump!"
The Ocean Cat's Paw--by George Manville Fenn
CHAPTER TWO.
AFTER FRENCH PRISONERS.
There was some reason in Rodney Harding's words, for as he turned
from the little river he had come suddenly face to face with a thin
gaunt-looking lad of about his own age, very shabbily dressed and
almost ragged, who was gazing at him fiercely, and stood with one
hand as if about to strike. Recovering himself on the instant, Rodney,
obeying his first impulse, began to loosen the bottom joint of his rod
ready to use it as a weapon--a defence against the expected attack--but
in an instant the strange new-comer dropped his hand to his side, turned
quickly away to look outward across the moor, and then cried wildly,

his voice sounding strange of accent, and husky as if from exhaustion--
"No, no, don't hit! I am so weak and so helpless. Help me. Tell me,
which way can I go? They are close after me, and I can run no farther.
Help!"
The poor wild-looking creature ended by sinking upon his knees
amongst the heath, and raising his hands with a piteous gesture, while
his imploring looks were quite sufficient to move the young fisherman's
heart.
"Why, who are you?" he cried. "You are not a beggar."
"No, no! I confess. Oh, mon ami--I beg your pardon--sir! I forgot. I
confess everything. It was for liberty; we were escaping, but the
guard--the soldiers! They have been hunting us down like dogs."
"A French prisoner?" cried the boy.
"Ah, oui--yes, monsieur. It is my misfortune. But the soldiers. We have
been separated."
"Who's `we'?" said Rodney sharply.
"My father and I. I don't know which way he has gone. They have
taken him perhaps, and now it is no use; I may as well give up, for I
can go no farther."
He sank sideways amongst the heath and fern.
Rodd looked at him in horror, for the poor fellow seemed as if he was
about to faint with weakness and misery, while he kept giving utterance
to hysterical gasps as he was plainly enough struggling hard to avoid
bursting into a passion of weak girlish tears.
"Here, I say, don't do that!" cried Rodd, stooping and catching him by
the arm to shake him violently. "You don't know that the soldiers have
caught your father."

"No, but I feel sure that they must have done so," cried the poor fellow,
rising a little and gazing wildly