She sat up and looked around. She noticed the load
of logs and the one horse. Someone was riding after help for her!
"Oh, poor Freckles!" she wailed. "They may be killing him by now. Oh,
how much time have I wasted?"
She hurried to the other bay, her fingers flying as she set him free.
Snatching up a big blacksnake whip that lay on the ground, she caught
the hames, stretched along the horse's neck, and, for the first time,
the fine, big fellow felt on his back the quality of the lash that
Duncan was accustomed to crack over him. He was frightened, and ran at
top speed.
The Angel passed a wildly waving, screaming woman on the road, and a
little later a man riding as if he, too, were in great haste. The man
called to her, but she only lay lower and used the whip. Soon the feet
of the man's horse sounded farther and farther away.
At the South camp they were loading a second wagon, when the Angel
appeared riding one of Duncan's bays, lathered and dripping, and cried:
"Everybody go to Freckles! There are thieves stealing trees, and they
had him bound.
Pages:
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263