'What, haven't any of you a match about you?' asked Dick. 'No, I haven't,' said Frank. 'Nor I,' added Towzer. 'Haven't you, Snap?' asked Dick. 'What are you thinking of, boy?' Dick added. 'No, I haven't a match, Dick. I was thinking what a cur I was to leave poor old Cradle, and how piteous he looked as I passed him; but I had no notion what I was leaving him to,' replied Snap sadly. 'Yes, it is a pity. He was a good horse, but there are plenty better, and, besides, we hadn't a rope strong enough to lower him into this hole, even if we had had time to try it; and then I'm not sure as he'd have let us do it,' said Wharton; adding, after a while, 'I guess the storm is stopping, but it's a poor camp we shall have to-night, without a fire.' Before long the storm stopped; our friends down below could feel that the air was fresh and sweet, and that the evening sun was shining brightly over everything. By tying a little log on to the lash-rope and throwing it over one of the beams which formed the roof of their shelter, our friends made themselves a ladder, and one by one climbed up from the darkness to daylight again. CHAPTER XVIII THE LOSS OF 'THE CRADLE' When they did so, what a change had taken place! An hour and a half ago thousands of burnt trees, stretched upon all sides, blocked the view and formed a forest of skeletons. Now every high head was levelled, every tall grey spire laid low. Like a wheatfield beaten down in autumn lay the burnt forest, but, unlike that, no sun could ever raise it up again. When years should have passed and the dead trees returned to earth, another forest would spring up where the pines had stood--not a forest of bright larch and tall pines, but, oddly enough, a forest utterly alien to the one which had so long covered the ground. Beech and birch, and maple or poplar, would grow green in spring and shed their leaves in autumn where the winds once whistled and the snows lay amongst the great evergreens. As Snap looked at the levelled forest the words came somehow to his lips, 'This is the Lord's doing; and it is marvellous in our eyes.' Lifting his hat, he looked up to the bright sun, and even the grim old cowboy was not ashamed to follow his example. Picking their way with difficulty among the chaos of fallen trees, the boys' ears were greeted by a low whinny. 'It's the Cradle, poor old chap!' cried Snap. 'Can it possibly be that he is alive?' 'It's a pity if he is, my lad,' said old Wharton, 'for he'll only be calling you to shoot him out of his pain. He's most sure to have a leg broke or his back smashed.' 'But he hasn't, though, have you, old chap?' shouted Snap, who had scrambled breathlessly over the logs to the spot from which his old horse had called to him. 'But, Dick,' the boy added, 'how on earth are we ever going to get him out of this?'