CHAPTER XVII
Wherein Freckles Offers His Life for His Love and Gets a Broken
Body
To reach the tree was a more difficult task than McLean had supposed.
The gang could approach nearest on the outside toward the east,
but after they reached the end of the east entrance there was yet
a mile of most impenetrable thicket, trees big and little, and bushes
of every variety and stage of growth. In many places the muck had
to be filled to give the horses and wagons a solid foundation over
which to haul heavy loads. It was several days before they completed
a road to the noble, big tree and were ready to fell it.
When the sawing began, Freckles was watching down the road where
it met the trail leading from Little Chicken's tree. He had gone
to the tree ahead of the gang to remove the blue ribbon. Carefully
folded, it now lay over his heart. He was promising himself much
comfort with that ribbon, when he would leave for the city next
month to begin his studies and dream the summer over again. It would
help to make things tangible. When he was dressed as other men,
and at his work, he knew where he meant to home that precious bit
of blue. It should be his good-luck token, and he would wear it
always to keep bright in memory the day on which the Angel had called
him her knight.
How he would study, and oh, how he would sing! If only he could
fulfill McLean's expectations, and make the Angel proud of him!
If only he could be a real knight!
He could not understand why the Angel had failed to come. She had
wanted to see their tree felled. She would be too late if she did
not arrive soon. He had told her it would be ready that morning,
and she had said she surely would be there. Why, of all mornings,
was she late on this?
McLean had ridden to town. If he had been there, Freckles would
have asked that they delay the felling, but he scarcely liked to
ask the gang. He really had no authority, although he thought the
men would wait; but some way he found such embarrassment in framing
the request that he waited until the work was practically ended.
The saw was out, and the men were cutting into the felling side
of the tree when the Boss rode in.
His first word was to inquire for the Angel. When Freckles said
she had not yet come, the Boss at once gave orders to stop work
on the tree until she arrived; for he felt that she virtually had
located it, and if she desired to see it felled, she should. As
the men stepped back, a stiff morning breeze caught the top, that
towered high above its fellows. There was an ominous grinding at
the base, a shiver of the mighty trunk, then directly in line of
its fall the bushes swung apart and the laughing face of the Angel
looked on them.
A groan of horror burst from the dry throats of the men, and reading
the agony in their faces, she stopped short, glanced up, and understood.
"South!" shouted McLean. "Run south!"
The Angel was helpless. It was apparent that she did not know which
way south was. There was another slow shiver of the big tree. The
remainder of the gang stood motionless, but Freckles sprang past
the trunk and went leaping in big bounds. He caught up the Angel
and dashed through the thicket for safety. The swaying trunk was
half over when, for an instant, a near-by tree stayed its fall.
They saw Freckles' foot catch, and with the Angel he plunged headlong.
A terrible cry broke from the men, while McLean covered his face.
Instantly Freckles was up, with the Angel in his arms, struggling
on. The outer limbs were on them when they saw Freckles hurl the
Angel, face down, in the muck, as far from him as he could send
her. Springing after, in an attempt to cover her body with his own,
he whirled to see if they were yet in danger, and with outstretched
arms braced himself for the shock. 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.
"Try to get up," he begged.
McLean laid hold of the Angel and helped her to her feet.
"Do you think any bones are broken?" gasped Freckles.
The Angel shook her head and wiped muck.
"You see if you can find any, sir," Freckles commanded.
The Angel yielded herself to McLean's touch, and he assured Freckles
that she was not seriously injured.
Freckles settled back, a smile of ineffable tenderness on his face.
"Thank the Lord!" he hoarsely whispered.
The Angel leaned toward him.
"Now, Freckles, you!" she cried. "It's your turn.
Please get up!"
A pitiful spasm swept Freckles' face. The sight of it washed every
vestige of color from the Angel's. She took hold of his hands.
"Freckles, get up!" It was half command, half entreaty.
"Easy, Angel, easy! Let me rest a bit first!" implored
Freckles.
She knelt beside him. He reached his arm around her and drew her
closely. He looked at McLean in an agony of entreaty that brought
the Boss to his knees on the other side.
"Oh, Freckles!" McLean cried. "Not that! Surely we
can do something! We must! Let me see!"
He tried to unfasten Freckles' neckband, but his fingers shook so
clumsily that the Angel pushed them away and herself laid Freckles'
chest bare. With one hasty glance she gathered the clothing together
and slipped her arm under his head. Freckles lifted his eyes of
agony to hers.
"You see?" he said.
The Angel nodded dumbly.
Freckles turned to McLean.
"Thank you for everything," he panted. "Where are
the boys?"
"They are all here," said the Boss, "except a couple
who have gone for doctors, Mrs. Duncan and the Bird Woman."
"It's no use trying to do anything," said Freckles. "You
won't forget the muff and the Christmas box. The muff especial?"
There was a movement above them so pronounced that it attracted
Freckles' attention, even in that extreme hour. He looked up, and
a pleased smile flickered on his drawn face.
"Why, if it ain't me Little Chicken!" he cried hoarsely.
"He must be making his very first trip from the log. Now Duncan
can have his big watering-trough."
"It was Little Chicken that made me late," faltered the
Angel. "I was so anxious to get here early I forgot to bring
his breakfast from the carriage. He must have been hungry, for when
I passed the log he started after me. He was so wabbly, and so slow
flying from tree to tree and through the bushes, I just had to wait
on him, for I couldn't drive him back."
"Of course you couldn't! Me bird has too amazing good sinse
to go back when he could be following you," exulted Freckles,
exactly as if he did not realize what the delay had cost him. Then
he lay silently thinking, but presently he asked slowly: "And
so `twas me Little Chicken that was making you late, Angel?"
"Yes," said the Angel.
A spasm of fierce pain shook Freckles, and a look of uncertainty
crossed his face.
"All summer I've been thanking God for the falling of the feather
and all the delights it's brought me," he muttered, "but
this looks as if----"
He stopped short and raised questioning eyes to McLean.
"I can't help being Irish, but I can help being superstitious,"
he said. "I mustn't be laying it to the Almighty, or to me
bird, must I?"
"No, dear lad," said McLean, stroking the brilliant hair.
"The choice lay with you. You could have stood a rooted dolt
like all the remainder of us. It was through your great love and
your high courage that you made the sacrifice."
"Don't you be so naming it, sir!" cried Freckles. "It's
just the reverse. If I could be giving me body the hundred times
over to save hers from this, I'd be doing it and take joy with every
pain."
He turned with a smile of adoring tenderness to the Angel. She was
ghastly white, and her eyes were dull and glazed. She scarcely seemed
to hear or understand what was coming, but she bravely tried to
answer that smile.
"Is my forehead covered with dirt?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"You did once," he gasped.
Instantly she laid her lips on his forehead, then on each cheek,
and then in a long kiss on his lips.
McLean bent over him.
"Freckles," he said brokenly, "you will never know
how I love you. You won't go without saying good-bye to me?"
That word stung the Angel to quick comprehension. She started as
if arousing from sleep.
"Good-bye?" she cried sharply, her eyes widening and the
color rushing into her white face. "Good-bye! Why, what do
you mean? Who's saying good-bye? Where could Freckles go, when he
is hurt like this, save to the hospital? You needn't say good-bye
for that. Of course, we will all go with him! You call up the men.
We must start right away."
"It's no use, Angel," said Freckles. "I'm thinking
ivry bone in me breast is smashed. You'll have to be letting me
go!"
"I will not," said the Angel flatly. "It's no use
wasting precious time talking about it. You are alive. You are breathing;
and no matter how badly your bones are broken, what are great surgeons
for but to fix you up and make you well again? You promise me that
you'll just grit your teeth and hang on when we hurt you, for we
must start with you as quickly as it can be done. I don't know what
has been the matter with me. Here's good time wasted already."
"Oh, Angel!" moaned Freckles, "I can't! You don't
know how bad it is. I'll die the minute you are for trying to lift
me!"
"Of course you will, if you make up your mind to do it,"
said the Angel. "But if you are determined you won't, and set
yourself to breathing deep and strong, and hang on to me tight,
I can get you out. Really you must, Freckles, no matter how it hurts,
for you did this for me, and now I must save you, so you might as
well promise."
She bent over him, trying to smile encouragement with her fear-stiffened
lips.
"You will promise, Freckles?"
Big drops of cold sweat ran together on Freckles' temples.
"Angel, darlin' Angel," he pleaded, taking her hand in
his. "You ain't understanding, and I can't for the life of
me be telling you, but indade, it's best to be letting me go. This
is my chance. Please say good-bye, and let me slip off quick!"
He appealed to McLean.
"Dear Boss, you know! You be telling her that, for me, living
is far worse pain than dying. Tell her you know death is the best
thing that could ever be happening to me!"
"Merciful Heaven!" burst in the Angel. "I can't endure
this delay!"
She caught Freckles' hand to her breast, and bending over him, looked
deeply into his stricken eyes.
"`Angel, I give you my word of honor that I will keep right
on breathing.' That's what you are going to promise me," she
said. "Do you say it?"
Freckles hesitated.
"Freckles!" imploringly commanded the Angel, "YOU
DO SAY IT!"
"Yis," gasped Freckles.
The Angel sprang to her feet.
"Then that's all right," she said, with a tinge of her
old- time briskness. "You just keep breathing away like a steam
engine, and I will do all the remainder."
The eager men gathered around her.
"It's going to be a tough pull to get Freckles out," she
said, "but it's our only chance, so listen closely and don't
for the lives of you fail me in doing quickly what I tell you. There's
no time to spend falling down over each other; we must have some
system. You four there get on those wagon horses and ride to the
sleeping-tent. Get the stoutest cot, a couple of comforts, and a
pillow. Ride back with them some way to save time. If you meet any
other men of the gang, send them here to help carry the cot. We
won't risk the jolt of driving with him. The others clear a path
out to the road; and Mr. McLean, you take Nellie and ride to town.
Tell my father how Freckles is hurt and that he risked it to save
me. Tell him I'm going to take Freckles to Chicago on the noon train,
and I want him to hold it if we are a little late. If he can't,
then have a special ready at the station and another on the Pittsburgh
at Fort Wayne, so we can go straight through. You needn't mind leaving
us. The Bird Woman will be here soon. We will rest awhile."
She dropped into the muck beside Freckles and began stroking his
hair and hand. He lay with his face of agony turned to hers, and
fought to smother the groans that would tell her what he was suffering.
When they stood ready to lift him, the Angel bent over him in a
passion of tenderness. "Dear old Limberlost guard, we're going
to lift you now," she said. "I suspect you will faint
from the pain of it, but we will be as easy as ever we can, and
don't you dare forget your promise!"
A whimsical half-smile touched Freckles' quivering lips.
"Angel, can a man be remembering a promise when he ain't knowing?"
he asked.
"You can," said the Angel stoutly, "because a promise
means so much more to you than it does to most men."
A look of strength flashed into Freckles' face at her words.
"I am ready," he said.
With the first touch his eyes closed, a mighty groan was wrenched
from him, and he lay senseless. The Angel gave Duncan one panic-
stricken look. Then she set her lips and gathered her forces again.
"I guess that's a good thing," she said. "Maybe he
won't feel how we are hurting him. Oh boys, are you being quick
and gentle?"
She stepped to the side of the cot and bathed Freckles' face. Taking
his hand in hers, she gave the word to start. She told the men to
ask every able-bodied man they met to join them so that they could
change carriers often and make good time.
The Bird Woman insisted upon taking the Angel into the carriage
and following the cot, but she refused to leave Freckles, and suggested
that the Bird Woman drive ahead, pack them some clothing, and be
at the station ready to accompany them to Chicago. All the way the
Angel walked beside the cot, shading Freckles' face with a branch,
and holding his hand. At every pause to change carriers she moistened
his face and lips and watched each breath with heart-breaking anxiety.
She scarcely knew when her father joined them, and taking the branch
from her, slipped an arm around her waist and almost carried her.
To the city streets and the swarm of curious, staring faces she
paid no more attention than she had to the trees of the Limberlost.
When the train came and the gang placed Freckles aboard, big Duncan
made a place for the Angel beside the cot.
With the best physician to be found, and with the Bird Woman and
McLean in attendance, the four-hours' run to Chicago began. The
Angel constantly watched over Freckles; bathed his face, stroked
his hand, and gently fanned him. Not for an instant would she yield
her place, or allow anyone else to do anything for him. The Bird
Woman and McLean regarded her in amazement. There seemed to be no
end to her resources and courage. The only time she spoke was to
ask McLean if he were sure the special would be ready on the Pittsburgh
road. He replied that it was made up and waiting.
At five o'clock Freckles lay stretched on the operating-table of
Lake View Hospital, while three of the greatest surgeons in Chicago
bent over him. At their command, McLean picked up the unwilling
Angel and carried her to the nurses to be bathed, have her bruises
attended, and to be put to bed.
In a place where it is difficult to surprise people, they were astonished
women as they removed the Angel's dainty stained and torn clothing,
drew off hose muck-baked to her limbs, soaked the dried loam from
her silken hair, and washed the beautiful scratched, bruised, dirt-covered
body. The Angel fell fast asleep long before they had finished,
and lay deeply unconscious, while the fight for Freckles' life was
being waged.
Three days later she was the same Angel as of old, except that Freckles
was constantly in her thoughts. The anxiety and responsibility that
she felt for his condition had bred in her a touch of womanliness
and authority that was new. That morning she arose early and hovered
near Freckles' door. She had been allowed to remain with him constantly,
for the nurses and surgeons had learned, with his returning consciousness,
that for her alone would the active, highly strung, pain-racked
sufferer be quiet and obey orders. When she was dropping from loss
of sleep, the threat that she would fall ill had to be used to send
her to bed. Then by telling Freckles that the Angel was asleep and
they would waken her the moment he moved, they were able to control
him for a short time.
The surgeon was with Freckles. The Angel had been told that the
word he brought that morning would be final, so she curled in a
window seat, dropped the curtains behind her, and in dire anxiety,
waited the opening of the door.
Just as it unclosed, McLean came hurrying down the hall and to the
surgeon, but with one glance at his face he stepped back in dismay;
while the Angel, who had arisen, sank to the seat again, too dazed
to come forward. The men faced each other. The Angel, with parted
lips and frightened eyes, bent forward in tense anxiety.
"I--I thought he was doing nicely?" faltered McLean.
"He bore the operation well," replied the surgeon, "and
his wounds are not necessarily fatal. I told you that yesterday,
but I did not tell you that something else probably would kill him;
and it will. He need not die from the accident, but he will not
live the day out."
"But why? What is it?" asked McLean hurriedly. "We
all dearly love the boy. We have millions among us to do anything
that money can accomplish. Why must he die, if those broken bones
are not the cause?"
"That is what I am going to give you the opportunity to tell
me," replied the surgeon. "He need not die from the accident,
yet he is dying as fast as his splendid physical condition will
permit, and it is because he so evidently prefers death to life.
If he were full of hope and ambition to live, my work would be easy.
If all of you love him as you prove you do, and there is unlimited
means to give him anything he wants, why should he desire death?"
"Is he dying?" demanded McLean.
"He is," said the surgeon. "He will not live this
day out, unless some strong reaction sets in at once. He is so low,
that preferring death to life, nature cannot overcome his inertia.
If he is to live, he must be made to desire life. Now he undoubtedly
wishes for death, and that it come quickly."
"Then he must die," said McLean.
His broad shoulders shook convulsively. His strong hands opened
and closed mechanically.
"Does that mean that you know what he desires and cannot, or
will not, supply it?"
McLean groaned in misery.
"It means," he said desperately, "that I know what
he wants, but it is as far removed from my power to help him as
it would be to give him a star. The thing for which he will die,
he can never have."
"Then you must prepare for the end very shortly" said
the surgeon, turning abruptly away.
McLean caught his arm roughly.
"You look here!" he cried in desperation. "You say
that as if I could do something if I would. I tell you the boy is
dear to me past expression. I would do anything--spend any sum.
You have noticed and repeatedly commented on the young girl with
me. It is that child that he wants! He worships her to adoration,
and knowing he can never be anything to her, he prefers death to
life. In God's name, what can I do about it?"
"Barring that missing hand, I never examined a finer man,"
said the surgeon, "and she seemed perfectly devoted to him;
why cannot he have her?"
"Why?" echoed McLean. "Why? Well, for many reasons!
I told you he was my son. You probably knew that he was not. A little
over a year ago I never had seen him. He joined one of my lumber
gangs from the road. He is a stray, left at one of your homes for
the friendless here in Chicago. When he grew up the superintendent
bound him to a brutal man. He ran away and landed in one of my lumber
camps. He has no name or knowledge of legal birth. The Angel--we
have talked of her. You see what she is, physically and mentally.
She has ancestors reaching back to Plymouth Rock, and across the
sea for generations before that. She is an idolized, petted only
child, and there is great wealth. Life holds everything for her,
nothing for him. He sees it more plainly than anyone else could.
There is nothing for the boy but death, if it is the Angel that
is required to save him."
The Angel stood between them.
"Well, I just guess not!" she cried. "If Freckles
wants me, all he has to do is to say so, and he can have me!"
The amazed men stepped back, staring at her.
"That he will never say," said McLean at last, "and
you don't understand, Angel. I don't know how you came here. I wouldn't
have had you hear that for the world, but since you have, dear girl,
you must be told that it isn't your friendship or your kindness
Freckles wants; it is your love."
The Angel looked straight into the great surgeon's eyes with her
clear, steady orbs of blue, and then into McLean's with unwavering
frankness.
"Well, I do love him," she said simply.
McLean's arms dropped helplessly.
"You don't understand," he reiterated patiently. "It
isn't the love of a friend, or a comrade, or a sister, that Freckles
wants from you; it is the love of a sweetheart. And if to save the
life he has offered for you, you are thinking of being generous
and impulsive enough to sacrifice your future--in the absence of
your father, it will become my plain duty, as the protector in whose
hands he has placed you, to prevent such rashness. The very words
you speak, and the manner in which you say them, prove that you
are a mere child, and have not dreamed what love is."
Then the Angel grew splendid. A rosy flush swept the pallor of fear
from her face. Her big eyes widened and dilated with intense lights.
She seemed to leap to the height and the dignity of superb womanhood
before their wondering gaze.
"I never have had to dream of love," she said proudly.
"I never have known anything else, in all my life, but to love
everyone and to have everyone love me. And there never has been
anyone so dear as Freckles. If you will remember, we have been through
a good deal together. I do love Freckles, just as I say I do. I
don't know anything about the love of sweethearts, but I love him
with all the love in my heart, and I think that will satisfy him."
"Surely it should!" muttered the man of knives and lancets.
McLean reached to take hold of the Angel, but she saw the movement
and swiftly stepped back.
"As for my father," she continued, "he at once told
me what he learned from you about Freckles. I've known all you know
for several weeks. That knowledge didn't change your love for him
a particle. I think the Bird Woman loved him more. Why should you
two have all the fine perceptions there are? Can't I see how brave,
trustworthy, and splendid he is? Can't I see how his soul vibrates
with his music, his love of beautiful things and the pangs of loneliness
and heart hunger? Must you two love him with all the love there
is, and I give him none? My father is never unreasonable. He won't
expect me not to love Freckles, or not to tell him so, if the telling
will save him."
She darted past McLean into Freckles' room, closed the door, and
turned the key.