He had kept his trust. He had won the
respect of the Boss. No one ever could wipe from his heart the flood of
holy adoration that had welled with the coming of his Angel. He would do
his best, and trust for strength to meet the dark day of reckoning that
he knew would come sooner or later. He swung round the trail, briskly
tapping the wire, and singing in a voice that scarcely could have been
surpassed for sweetness.
At the edge of the clearing he came into the bright moonlight and there
sat McLean on his mare. Freckles hurried to him.
"Is there trouble?" he inquired anxiously.
"That's what I wanted to ask you," said the Boss. "I stopped at the
cabin to see you a minute, before I turned in, and they said you had
come down here. You must not do it, Freckles. The swamp is none too
healthful at any time, and at night it is rank poison."
Freckles stood combing his fingers through Nellie's mane, while the
dainty creature was twisting her head for his caresses. He pushed back
his hat and looked into McLean's face. "It's come to the 'sleep with one
eye open,' sir.
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