“I must be answering,” said Freckles, and Jack nodded. “Right here!” he called, and to the men: “You go on with your work, and remember one thing yourselves. The work of the Bird Woman is known all over the world. This girl's father is a rich man, and she is all he has. If you offer hurt of any kind to either of them, this world has no place far enough away or dark enough for you to be hiding in. Hell will be easy to what any man will get if he touches either of them!” “Freckles, where are you?” demanded the Angel. Soulsick with fear for her, Freckles went toward her and parted the bushes that she might enter. She came through without apparently giving him a glance, and the first words she said were: “Why have the gang come so soon? I didn't know you expected them for three weeks yet. Or is this some especial tree that Mr. McLean needs to fill an order right now?” Freckles hesitated. Would a man dare lie to save himself? No. But to save the Angel--surely that was different. He opened his lips, but the Angel was capable of saving herself. She walked among them, exactly as if she had been reared in a lumber camp, and never waited for an answer. “Why, your specimen case!” she cried. “Look! Haven't you noticed that it's tipped over? Set it straight, quickly!” A couple of the men stepped out and carefully righted the case. “There! That's better,” she said. “Freckles, I'm surprised at your being so careless. It would be a shame to break those lovely butterflies for one old tree! Is that a valuable tree? Why didn't you tell us last night you were going to take out a tree this morning? Oh, say, did you put your case there to protect that tree from that stealing old Black Jack and his gang? I bet you did! Well, if that wasn't bright! What kind of a tree is it?” “It's a white oak,” said Freckles. “Like those they make dining-tables and sideboards from?” “Yes.” “My! How interesting!” she cried. “I don't know a thing about timber, but my father wants me to learn just everything I can. I am going to ask him to let me come here and watch you until I know enough to boss a gang myself. Do you like to cut trees, gentlemen?” she asked with angelic sweetness of the men. Some of them appeared foolish and some grim, but one managed to say they did. Then the Angel's eyes turned full on Black Jack, and she gave the most natural little start of astonishment. “Oh! I almost thought that you were a ghost!” she cried. “But I see now that you are really and truly. Were you ever in Colorado?” “No,” said Jack. “I see you aren't the same man,” said the Angel. “You know, we were in Colorado last year, and there was a cowboy who was the handsomest man anywhere around. He'd come riding into town every night, and all we girls just adored him! Oh, but he was a beauty! I thought at first glance you were really he, but I see now he wasn't nearly so tall nor so broad as you, and only half as handsome.”