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Wherein Freckles Wins Honor and Finds a Footprint on the Trail
Round-eyed, Freckles watched the Bird Woman and the Angel drive away.
After they were from sight and he was safely hidden among the branches of
a small tree, he remembered that he neither had thanked them nor said
good-bye. Considering what they had been through, they never would come
again. His heart sank until he had palpitation in his wading-boots.
Stretching the length of the limb, he thought deeply, though he was not
thinking of Black Jack or Wessner. Would the Bird Woman and the Angel come
again? No other woman whom he ever had known would. But did they resemble
any other women he ever had known? He thought of the Bird Woman's
unruffled face and the Angel's revolver practice, and presently he was not
so sure that they would not return.
What were the people in the big world like? His knowledge was so very
limited. There had been people at the Home, who exchanged a stilted,
perfunctory kindness for their salaries. The visitors who called on
receiving days he had divided into three classes: the psalm-singing kind,
who came with a tear in the eye and hypocrisy in every feature of their
faces; the kind who dressed in silks and jewels, and handed to those poor
little mother-hungry souls worn toys that their children no longer cared
for, in exactly the same spirit in which they pitched biscuits to the
monkeys at the zoo, and for the same reason—to see how they would
take them and be amused by what they would do; and the third class, whom
he considered real people. They made him feel they cared that he was
there, and that they would have been glad to see him elsewhere.
Now here was another class, that had all they needed of the world's best
and were engaged in doing work that counted. They had things worth while
to be proud of; and they had met him as a son and brother. With them he
could, for the only time in his life, forget the lost hand that every day
tortured him with a new pang. What kind of people were they and where did
they belong among the classes he knew? He failed to decide, because he
never had known others similar to them; but how he loved them!
In the world where he was going soon, were the majority like them, or were
they of the hypocrite and bun-throwing classes?
He had forgotten the excitement of the morning and the passing of time
when distant voices aroused him, and he gently lifted his head. Nearer and
nearer they came, and as the heavy wagons rumbled down the east trail he
could hear them plainly. The gang were shouting themselves hoarse for the
Limberlost guard. Freckles did not feel that he deserved it. He would have
given much to be able to go to the men and explain, but to McLean only
could he tell his story.
At the sight of Freckles the men threw up their hats and cheered. McLean
shook hands with him warmly, but big Duncan gathered him into his arms and
hugged him as a bear and choked over a few words of praise. The gang drove
in and finished felling the tree. McLean was angry beyond measure at this
attempt on his property, for in their haste to fell the tree the thieves
had cut too high and wasted a foot and a half of valuable timber.
When the last wagon rolled away, McLean sat on the stump and Freckles told
the story he was aching to tell. The Boss scarcely could believe his
senses. Also, he was much disappointed.
"I have been almost praying all the way over, Freckles," he said, "that
you would have some evidence by which we could arrest those fellows and
get them out of our way, but this will never do. We can't mix up those
women in it. They have helped you save me the tree and my wager as well.
Going across the country as she does, the Bird Woman never could be
expected to testify against them."
"No, indeed; nor the Angel, either, sir," said Freckles.
"The Angel?" queried the astonished McLean.
The Boss listened in silence while Freckles told of the coming and
christening of the Angel.
"I know her father well," said McLean at last, "and I have often seen her.
You are right; she is a beautiful young girl, and she appears to be
utterly free from the least particle of false pride or foolishness. I do
not understand why her father risks such a jewel in this place."
"He's daring it because she is a jewel, sir," said Freckles, eagerly.
"Why, she's trusting a rattlesnake to rattle before it strikes her, and of
course, she thinks she can trust mankind as well. The man isn't made who
wouldn't lay down the life of him for her. She doesn't need any care. Her
face and the pretty ways of her are all the protection she would need in a
band of howling savages."
"Did you say she handled one of the revolvers?" asked McLean.
"She scared all the breath out of me body," admitted Freckles. "Seems that
her father has taught her to shoot. The Bird Woman told her distinctly to
lie low and blaze away high, just to help scare them. The spunky little
thing followed them right out into the west road, spitting lead like hail,
and clipping all around the heads and heels of them; and I'm damned, sir,
if I believe she'd cared a rap if she'd hit. I never saw much shooting,
but if that wasn't the nearest to miss I ever want to see! Scared the life
near out of me body with the fear that she'd drop one of them. As long as
I'd no one to help me but a couple of women that didn't dare be mixed up
in it, all I could do was to let them get away."
"Now, will they come back?" asked McLean.
"Of course!" said Freckles. "They're not going to be taking that. You
could stake your life on it, they'll be coming back. At least, Black Jack
will. Wessner may not have the pluck, unless he is half drunk. Then he'd
be a terror. And the next time—" Freckles hesitated.
"It will be a question of who shoots first and straightest."
"Then the only thing for me to do is to double the guard and bring the
gang here the first minute possible. As soon as I feel that we have the
rarest of the stuff out below, we will come. The fact is, in many cases,
until it is felled it's difficult to tell what a tree will prove to be. It
won't do to leave you here longer alone. Jack has been shooting twenty
years to your one, and it stands to reason that you are no match for him.
Who of the gang would you like best to have with you?"
"No one, sir," said Freckles emphatically. "Next time is where I run. I
won't try to fight them alone. I'll just be getting wind of them, and then
make tracks for you. I'll need to come like lightning, and Duncan has no
extra horse, so I'm thinking you'd best get me one—or perhaps a
wheel would be better. I used to do extra work for the Home doctor, and he
would let me take his bicycle to ride around the place. And at times the
head nurse would loan me his for an hour. A wheel would cost less and be
faster than a horse, and would take less care. I believe, if you are going
to town soon, you had best pick up any kind of an old one at some
second-hand store, for if I'm ever called to use it in a hurry there won't
be the handlebars left after crossing the corduroy."
"Yes," said McLean; "and if you didn't have a first-class wheel, you never
could cross the corduroy on it at all."
As they walked to the cabin, McLean insisted on another guard, but
Freckles was stubbornly set on fighting his battle alone. He made one
mental condition. If the Bird Woman was going to give up the Little
Chicken series, he would yield to the second guard, solely for the sake of
her work and the presence of the Angel in the Limberlost. He did not
propose to have a second man unless it were absolutely necessary, for he
had been alone so long that he loved the solitude, his chickens, and
flowers. The thought of having a stranger to all his ways come and meddle
with his arrangements, frighten his pets, pull his flowers, and interrupt
him when he wanted to study, so annoyed him that he was blinded to his
real need for help.
With McLean it was a case of letting his sober, better judgment be
overridden by the boy he was growing so to love that he could not endure
to oppose him, and to have Freckles keep his trust and win alone meant
more than any money the Boss might lose.
The following morning McLean brought the wheel, and Freckles took it to
the trail to test it. It was new, chainless, with as little as possible to
catch in hurried riding, and in every way the best of its kind. Freckles
went skimming around the trail on it on a preliminary trip before he
locked it in his case and started his minute examination of his line on
foot. He glanced around his room as he left it, and then stood staring.
On the moss before his prettiest seat lay the Angel's hat. In the
excitement of yesterday all of them had forgotten it. He went and picked
it up, oh! so carefully, gazing at it with hungry eyes, but touching it
only to carry it to his case, where he hung it on the shining handlebar of
the new wheel and locked it among his treasures. Then he went to the
trail, with a new expression on his face and a strange throbbing in his
heart. He was not in the least afraid of anything that morning. He felt he
was the veriest Daniel, but all his lions seemed weak and harmless.
What Black Jack's next move would be he could not imagine, but that there
would be a move of some kind was certain. The big bully was not a man to
give up his purpose, or to have the hat swept from his head with a bullet
and bear it meekly. 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. Freckles stood fascinated, gazing at it. He
measured it lovingly with his eye. He would not have ventured a caress on
her hat any more than on her person, but this was different. Surely a
footprint on a trail might belong to anyone who found and wanted it. He
stooped under the wires and entered the swamp. With a little searching, he
found a big piece of thick bark loose on a log and carefully peeling it,
carried it out and covered the print so that the first rain would not
When he reached his room, he tenderly laid the hat upon his bookshelf, and
to wear off his awkwardness, mounted his wheel and went spinning on trail
again. It was like flying, for the path was worn smooth with his feet and
baked hard with the sun almost all the way. When he came to the bark, he
veered far to one side and smiled at it in passing. Suddenly he was off
the wheel, kneeling beside it. He removed his hat, carefully lifted the
bark, and gazed lovingly at the imprint.
"I wonder what she was going to say of me voice," he whispered. "She never
got it said, but from the face of her, I believe she was liking it fairly
well. Perhaps she was going to say that singing was the big thing I was to
be doing. That's what they all thought at the Home. Well, if it is, I'll
just shut me eyes, think of me little room, the face of her watching, and
the heart of her beating, and I'll raise them. Damn them, if singing will
do it, I'll raise them from the benches!"
With this dire threat, Freckles knelt, as at a wayside spring, and
deliberately laid his lips on the footprint. Then he arose, appearing as
if he had been drinking at the fountain of gladness.