To his own amazement, Freckles found himself looking fear in the
face, and marveled that he was not afraid. Four to one! The tree halfway
eaten through, the wagons coming up the inside road--he, bound and
gagged! The men with Black Jack and Wessner had belonged to McLean's
gang when last he had heard of them, but who those coming with the
wagons might be he could not guess.
If they secured that tree, McLean lost its value, lost his wager, and
lost his faith in him. The words of the Angel hammered in his ears. "Oh,
Freckles, do watch closely!"
The saw worked steadily.
When the tree was down and loaded, what would they do? Pull out, and
leave him there to report them? It was not to be hoped for. The place
always had been lawless. It could mean but one thing.
A mist swept before his eyes, while his head swam. Was it only last
night that he had worshiped the Angel in a delirium of happiness? And
now, what? Wessner, released from a turn at the saw, walked to the
flower bed, and tearing up a handful of rare ferns by the roots, started
toward Freckles.
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