"If Cameron gets well," he said, "he'll be likely to forgive you if you do
the right thing now."
No reply from the prisoner, sitting not far from the window, listening
for another wolf call from the mountain.
"Cameron has always been your friend," the other went on.
"Indeed he has!" exclaimed the boy, almost involuntarily testifying to
the kindness of the man who had taken him from the streets and given
him a chance in life.
"He took you from the gutter?"
Fremont looked out into the rain, only faintly seen in the glimmer
of the flaring candle, and made no reply.
"He took you into his family?"
Fremont arose and went nearer to the opening where the sash had been,
and stood for an instant with the rain beating on his face.
"How did he come to do it?"
Fremont began to see a purpose in this strange form of questioning.
Nestor had asked questions similar to these, and had suggested that
Mother Scanlon, the woman who had cared for him in a rough way at one
time, be looked up on their return to New York. Why this suggestion?
"Where did you first see Cameron?"
The voice of the renegade was threatening. Fremont heard only the
sweep of the rain outside for a moment, and then the voice of the
guard came through the sashless window opening.
"I'm going in to warm up a bit," he said.
"All right," the renegade replied. "I'll let you know when to go
on guard again. Boy," he added, facing Fremont with lowering brows,
"I can make it to your advantage to tell me all about your connection
with Cameron.
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