The only thing I want is another gun. If it railly
comes to trouble, six cartridges ain't many, and you know I am slow-like
about reloading." McLean reached into his hip pocket and handed a
shining big revolver to Freckles, who slipped it beside the one already
in his belt.
Then the Boss sat brooding.
"Freckles," he said at last, "we never know the timber of a man's soul
until something cuts into him deeply and brings the grain out strong.
You've the making of a mighty fine piece of furniture, my boy, and you
shall have your own way these few weeks yet. Then, if you will go, I
intend to take you to the city and educate you, and you are to be my
son, my lad--my own son!"
Freckles twisted his finger in Nellie's mane to steady himself.
"But why should you be doing that, sir?" he faltered.
McLean slid his arm around the boy's shoulder and gathered him close.
"Because I love you, Freckles," he said simply.
Freckles lifted a white face. "My God, sir!" he whispered. "Oh, my God!"
McLean tightened his clasp a second longer, then he rode down the trail.
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