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Stratton-Porter, Gene, 1863-1924

"Freckles"

The branches shut them from sight, and the awful crash
rocked the earth.
McLean and Duncan ran with axes and saws. The remainder of the gang
followed, and they worked desperately. It seemed a long time before they
caught a glimpse of the Angel's blue dress, but it renewed their vigor.
Duncan fell on his knees beside her and tore the muck from underneath
her with his hands. In a few seconds he dragged her out, choking and
stunned, but surely not fatally hurt.
Freckles lay a little farther under the tree, a big limb pinning him
down. His eyes were wide open. He was perfectly conscious. Duncan began
mining beneath him, but Freckles stopped him.
"You can't be moving me," he said. "You must cut off the limb and lift
it. I know."
Two men ran for the big saw. A number of them laid hold of the limb and
bore up. In a short time it was removed, and Freckles lay free.
The men bent over to lift him, but he motioned them away.
"Don't be touching me until I rest a bit," he pleaded.
Then he twisted his head until he saw the Angel, who was wiping muck
from her eyes and face on the skirt of her dress.


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