The things we do!

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.
"Well, it's good telling if you're glad to see me," said Wessner, with
something very like a breath of relief. "We been hearing down at the
camp you were so mighty touchy you didn't allow a man within a rod of
the line."
"No more do I," answered Freckles, "if he's a stranger, but you're from
McLean, ain't you?"
"Oh, damn McLean!" said Wessner.
Freckles gripped the cudgel until his knuckles slowly turned purple.
"And are you railly saying so?" he inquired with elaborate politeness.
"Yes, I am," said Wessner. "So would every man of the gang if they
wasn't too big cowards to say anything, unless maybe that other
slobbering old Scotchman, Duncan.


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