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He sprang back with shrill laughter. "Begolly! and will your honor be whistling the hornpipe for me to be dancing of?" he cried. SPANG! went his fist into Wessner's face, and he was past him into the swale. "And would you be pleased to tune up a little livelier?" he gasped, and clipped his ear as he sprang back. Wessner lunged at him in blind fury.
Because Freckles was Irish, it was impossible to do it silently, so presently his clear tenor rang out, though there were bad catches where he was hard pressed for breath: "It was the Dutch. It was the Dutch. Do you think it was the Irish hollered help? Not much! It was the Dutch. It was the Dutch " Wessner turned and mumbled: "What you following me for? What are you going to do with me?"
Nothing was disturbed, yet it seemed to Freckles that he could see where prying fingers had tried the lock. He stepped behind the case, carefully examining the ground all around it, and close beside the tree to which it was nailed he found a deep, fresh footprint in the spongy soil a long, narrow print, that was never made by the foot of Wessner.
As for the Boss living like a prince, he shares fare with you every day of your lives!" Wessner was not a born diplomat, but he saw he was on the wrong tack, so he tried another. "How would you like to make a good big pile of money, without even lifting your hand?" he asked. "Humph!" said Freckles.
I take care of the girl while the Bird Woman works. Untie me quick until she is gone. I'll try to send her back, and then you can go on with your dirty work." "He ain't lying," volunteered Wessner. "I saw that tree covered with butterflies and him watching around it when we were spying on him yesterday."
It was a great relief to feel that he was not in the swamp, and it raised the spirits of every man on the line, though many of them expressed regrets that he who was undoubtedly most to blame should escape, while Wessner, who in the beginning was only his tool, should be left to punishment. But for Freckles, with Jack's fearful oath ringing in his ears, there was neither rest nor peace.
Through the bushes he caught a glimpse of the oncoming figure. His heart flooded with joy, for it was a man from the gang. Wessner had been his bunk-mate the night he came down the corduroy. He knew him as well as any of McLean's men. This was no timber-thief. No doubt the Boss had sent him with a message. Freckles sprang up and called cheerily, a warm welcome on his face.
When the teams pulled out, Wessner seized me; then he and Jack went to quarreling over whether they should finish me then or take me to the next tree they were for felling. Between them they were pulling me around and hurting me bad. Wessner wanted to get at me right then, and Jack said he shouldn't be touching me till the last tree was out and all the rest of them gone.
Moreover, Wessner would cling to his revenge with a Dutchman's singleness of mind. Freckles tried to think connectedly, but there were too many places on the trail where the Angel's footprints were vet visible. She had stepped in one mucky spot and left a sharp impression. The afternoon sun had baked it hard, and the horses' hoofs had not obliterated any part of it, as they had in so many places.
Working us like dogs, and paying us starvation wages, while he rolls up his millions and lives like a prince!" Green lights began to play through the gray of Freckles' eyes. "Wessner," he said impressively, "you'd make a fine pattern for the father of liars! Every man on that gang is strong and hilthy, paid all he earns, and treated with the courtesy of a gentleman!
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