Indiana -- Fiction; Orphans -- Fiction; People with disabilities -- Fiction; Swamps -- Fiction
“You damned fool! Stop her!” growled Wessner. “Keep her till we're
loaded, anyhow. You're playing hell! Can't you see that when this thing
is found out, there she'll be to ruin all of us. If you let her go,
every man of us has got to cut, and some of us will be caught sure.”
Jack sprang forward. Freckles' heart muffled in his throat. The Angel
seemed to divine Jack's coming. She was humming a little song. She
deliberately stopped and began pulling the heads of the curious grasses
that grew all around her. When she straightened, she took a step
backward and called: “Ho! Freckles, the Bird Woman wants that natural
history pamphlet returned. It belongs to a set she is going to have
bound. That's one of the reasons we put it under the box. You be sure to
get them as you go home tonight, for fear it rains or becomes damp with
the heavy dews.”
“All right,” said Freckles, but it was in a voice that he never had
heard before.
Then the Angel turned and sent a parting glance at Jack. She was
overpoweringly human and bewitchingly lovely.
“You won't forget that ride and the red tie,” she half asserted, half
questioned.
Jack succumbed. Freckles was his captive, but he was the Angel's, soul
and body. His face wore the holiest look it ever had known as he softly
re-echoed Freckles' “All right.” With her head held well up, the Angel
walked slowly away, and Jack turned to the men.
“Drop your damned staring and saw wood,” he shouted. “Don't you know
anything at all about how to treat a lady?” It might have been a
question which of the cronies that crouched over green wood fires in the
cabins of Wildcat Hollow, eternally sucking a corncob pipe and stirring
the endless kettles of stewing coon and opossum, had taught him to do
even as well as he had by the Angel.
The men muttered and threatened among themselves, but they began working
desperately. Someone suggested that a man be sent to follow the Angel
and to watch her and the Bird Woman leave the swamp. Freckles' heart
sank within him, but Jack was in a delirium and past all caution.
“Yes,” he sneered. “Mebby all of you had better give over on the saw and
run after the girl. I guess not! Seems to me I got the favors. I didn't
see no bouquets on the rest of you! If anybody follows her, I do, and
I'm needed here among such a pack of idiots. There's no danger in that
baby face. She wouldn't give me away! You double and work like forty,
while me and Wessner will take the axes and begin to cut in on the other
side.”
“What about the noise?” asked Wessner.
“No difference about the noise,” answered Jack. “She took us to be from
McLean's gang, slick as grease. Make the chips fly!”
So all of them attacked the big tree.
Freckles sat on one of his benches and waited. In their haste to fell
the tree and load it, so that the teamsters could start, and leave them
free to attack another, they had forgotten to rebind him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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