CHAPTER VI
Wherein a Fight Occurs and Women Shoot Straight
The following morning Freckles, inexpressibly happy, circled the
Limberlost. He kept snatches of song ringing, as well as the wires.
His heart was so full that tears of joy glistened in his eyes. He
rigorously strove to divide his thought evenly between McLean and
the Angel. He realized to the fullest the debt he already owed the
Boss and the magnitude of last night's declaration and promises.
He was hourly planning to deliver his trust and then enter with
equal zeal on whatever task his beloved Boss saw fit to set him
next. He wanted to be ready to meet every device that Wessner and
Black Jack could think of to outwit him. He recognized their double
leverage, for if they succeeded in felling even one tree McLean
became liable for his wager.
Freckles' brow wrinkled in his effort to think deeply and strongly,
but from every swaying wild rose the Angel beckoned to him. When
he crossed Sleepy Snake Creek and the goldfinch, waiting as ever,
challenged: "SEE ME?" Freckles saw the dainty swaying
grace of the Angel instead. What is a man to do with an Angel who
dismembers herself and scatters over a whole swamp, thrusting a
vivid reminder upon him at every turn?
Freckles counted the days. This first one he could do little but
test his wires, sing broken snatches, and dream; but before the
week would bring her again he could do many things. He would carry
all his books to the swamp to show to her. He would complete his
flower bed, arrange every detail he had planned for his room, and
make of it a bower fairies might envy. He must devise a way to keep
water cool. He would ask Mrs. Duncan for a double lunch and an especially
nice one the day of her next coming, so that if the Bird Woman happened
to be late, the Angel might not suffer from thirst and hunger. He
would tell her to bring heavy leather leggings, so that he might
take her on a trip around the trail. She should make friends with
all of his chickens and see their nests.
On the line he talked of her incessantly.
"You needn't be thinking," he said to the goldfinch, "that
because I'm coming down this line alone day after day, it's always
to be so. Some of these times you'll be swinging on this wire, and
you'll see me coming, and you'll swing, skip, and flirt yourself
around, and chip up right spunky: `SEE ME?' I'll be saying `See
you? Oh, Lord! See her!' You'll look, and there she'll stand. The
sunshine won't look gold any more, or the roses pink, or the sky
blue, because she'll be the pinkest, bluest, goldest thing of all.
You'll be yelling yourself hoarse with the jealousy of her. The
sawbird will stretch his neck out of joint, and she'll turn the
heads of all the flowers. Wherever she goes, I can go back afterward
and see the things she's seen, walk the path she's walked, hear
the grasses whispering over all she's said; and if there's a place
too swampy for her bits of feet; Holy Mother! Maybe--maybe she'd
be putting the beautiful arms of her around me neck and letting
me carry her over!"
Freckles shivered as with a chill. He sent the cudgel whirling skyward,
dexterously caught it, and set it spinning.
"You damned presumptuous fool!" he cried. "The thing
for you to be thinking of would be to stretch in the muck for the
feet of her to be walking over, and then you could hold yourself
holy to be even of that service to her.
"Maybe she'll be wanting the cup me blue-and-brown chickens
raised their babies in. Perhaps she'd like to stop at the pool and
see me bullfrog that had the goodness to take on human speech to
show me the way out of me trouble. If there's any feathers falling
that day, why, it's from the wings of me chickens--it's sure to
be, for the only Angel outside the gates will be walking this timberline,
and every step of the way I'll be holding me breath and praying
that she don't unfold wings and sail away before the hungry eyes
of me."
So Freckles dreamed his dreams, made his plans, and watched his
line. He counted not only the days, but the hours of each day. As
he told them off, every one bringing her closer, he grew happier
in the prospect of her coming. He managed daily to leave some offering
at the big elm log for his black chickens. He slipped under the
line at every passing, and went to make sure that nothing was molesting
them. Though it was a long trip, he paid them several extra visits
a day for fear a snake, hawk, or fox might have found the baby.
For now his chickens not only represented all his former interest
in them, but they furnished the inducement that was bringing his
Angel.
Possibly he could find other subjects that the Bird Woman wanted.
The teamster had said that his brother went after her every time
he found a nest. He never had counted the nests that he knew of,
and it might be that among all the birds of the swamp some would
be rare to her.
The feathered folk of the Limberlost were practically undisturbed
save by their natural enemies. It was very probable that among his
chickens others as odd as the big black ones could be found. If
she wanted pictures of half-grown birds, he could pick up fifty
in one morning's trip around the line, for he had fed, handled,
and made friends with them ever since their eyes opened.
He had gathered bugs and worms all spring as he noticed them on
the grass and bushes, and dropped them into the first little open
mouth he had found. The babies gladly had accepted this queer tri-parent
addition to their natural providers.
When the week had passed, Freckles had his room crisp and glowing
with fresh living things that represented every color of the swamp.
He carried bark and filled all the muckiest places of the trail.
It was middle July. The heat of the past few days had dried the
water around and through the Limberlost, so that it was possible
to cross it on foot in almost any direction--if one had an idea
of direction and did not become completely lost in its rank tangle
of vegetation and bushes. The brighter-hued flowers were opening.
The trumpet-creepers were flaunting their gorgeous horns of red
and gold sweetness from the tops of lordly oak and elm, and below
entire pools were pink-sheeted in mallow bloom.
The heat was doing one other thing that was bound to make Freckles,
as a good Irishman, shiver. As the swale dried, its inhabitants
were seeking the cooler depths of the swamp. They liked neither
the heat nor leaving the field mice, moles, and young rabbits of
their chosen location. He saw them crossing the trail every day
as the heat grew intense. The rattlers were sadly forgetting their
manners, for they struck on no provocation whatever, and did not
even remember to rattle afterward. Daily Freckles was compelled
to drive big black snakes and blue racers from the nests of his
chickens. Often the terrified squalls of the parent birds would
reach him far down the line and he would run to rescue the babies.
He saw the Angel when the carriage turned from the corduroy into
the clearing. They stopped at the west entrance to the swamp, waiting
for him to precede them down the trail, as he had told them it was
safest for the horse that he should do. They followed the east line
to a point opposite the big chickens' tree, and Freckles carried
in the cameras and showed the Bird Woman a path he had cleared to
the log. He explained to her the effect the heat was having on the
snakes, and creeping back to Little Chicken, brought him to the
light. As she worked at setting up her camera, he told her of the
birds of the line, while she stared at him, wide-eyed and incredulous.
They arranged that Freckles should drive the carriage into the east
entrance in the shade and then take the horse toward the north to
a better place he knew. Then he was to entertain the Angel at his
study or on the line until the Bird Woman finished her work and
came to them.
"This will take only a little time," she said. "I
know where to set the camera now, and Little Chicken is big enough
to be good and too small to run away or to act very ugly, so I will
be coming soon to see about those nests. I have ten plates along,
and I surely won't use more than two on him; so perhaps I can get
some nests or young birds this morning."
Freckles almost flew, for his dream had come true so soon. He was
walking the timber-line and the Angel was following him. He asked
to be excused for going first, because he wanted to be sure the
trail was safe for her. She laughed at his fears, telling him that
it was the polite thing for him to do, anyway.
"Oh!" said Freckles, "so you was after knowing that?
Well, I didn't s'pose you did, and I was afraid you'd think me wanting
in respect to be preceding you!"
The astonished Angel looked at him, caught the irrepressible gleam
of Irish fun in his eyes, so they stood and laughed together.
Freckles did not realize how he was talking that morning. He showed
her many of the beautiful nests and eggs of the line. She could
identify a number of them, but of some she was ignorant, so they
made notes of the number and color of the eggs, material, and construction
of nest, color, size, and shape of the birds, and went to find them
in the book.
At his room, when Freckles had lifted the overhanging bushes and
stepped back for her to enter, his heart was all out of time and
place. The study was vastly more beautiful than a week previous.
The Angel drew a deep breath and stood gazing first at one side,
then at another, then far down the cathedral aisle. "It's just
fairyland!" she cried ecstatically. Then she turned and stared
at Freckles as she had at his handiwork.
"What are you planning to be?" she asked wonderingly.
"Whatever Mr. McLean wants me to," he replied.
"What do you do most?" she asked.
"Watch me lines."
"I don't mean work!"
"Oh, in me spare time I keep me room and study in me books."
"Do you work on the room or the books most?"
"On the room only what it takes to keep it up, and the rest
of the time on me books."
The Angel studied him closely. "Well, maybe you are going to
be a great scholar," she said, "but you don't look it.
Your face isn't right for that, but it's got something big in it--something
really great. I must find out what it is and then you must work
on it. Your father is expecting you to do something. One can tell
by the way he talks. You should begin right away. You've wasted
too much time already."
Poor Freckles hung his head. He never had wasted an hour in his
life. There never had been one that was his to waste.
The Angel, studying him intently, read the thought in his face.
"Oh, I don't mean that!" she cried, with the frank dismay
of sixteen. "Of course, you're not lazy! No one ever would
think that from your appearance. It's this I mean: there is something
fine, strong, and full of power in your face. There is something
you are to do in this world, and no matter how you work at all these
other things, or how successfully you do them, it is all wasted
until you find the ONE THING that you can do best. If you hadn't
a thing in the world to keep you, and could go anywhere you please
and do anything you want, what would you do?" persisted the
Angel.
"I'd go to Chicago and sing in the First Episcopal choir,"
answered Freckles promptly.
The Angel dropped on a seat--the hat she had removed and held in
her fingers rolled to her feet. "There!" she exclaimed
vehemently. "You can see what I'm going to be. Nothing! Absolutely
nothing! You can sing? Of course you can sing! It is written all
over you."
"Anyone with half wit could have seen he could sing, without
having to be told," she thought. "It's in the slenderness
of his fingers and his quick nervous touch. It is in the brightness
of his hair, the fire of his eyes, the breadth of his chest, the
muscles of his throat and neck; and above all, it's in every tone
of his voice, for even as he speak it's the sweetest sound I ever
heard from the throat of a mortal."
"Will you do something for me?" she asked.
"I'll do anything in the world you want me to," said Freckles
largely, "and if I can't do what you want, I'll go to work
at once and I'll try `til I can."
"Good! That's business!" said the Angel. "You go
over there and stand before that hedge and sing something. Just
anything you think of first."
Freckles faced the Angel from his banked wall of brown, blue, and
crimson, with its background of solid green, and lifting his face
to the sky, he sang the first thing that came into his mind. It
was a children's song that he had led for the little folks at the
Home many times, recalled to his mind by the Angel's exclamation:
"To fairyland we go, With a song of joy, heigh-o. In dreams
we'll stand upon that shore And all the realm behold; We'll see
the sights so grand That belong to fairyland, Its mysteries we will
explore, Its beauties will unfold.
Oh, tra, la, la, oh, ha, ha, ha! We're happy now as we can be, Our
welcome song we will prolong, and greet you with our melody. O fairyland,
sweet fairyland, we love to sing----"
No song could have given the intense sweetness and rollicking quality
of Freckles' voice better scope. He forgot everything but pride
in his work. He was singing the chorus, and the Angel was shivering
in ecstasy, when clip! clip! came the sharply beating feet of a
swiftly ridden horse down the trail from the north. They both sprang
toward the entrance.
"Freckles! Freckles!" called the voice of the Bird Woman.
They were at the trail on the instant.
"Both those revolvers loaded?" she asked.
"Yes," said Freckles.
"Is there a way you can cut across the swamp and reach the
chicken tree in a few minutes, and with little noise?"
"Yes."
"Then go flying," said the Bird Woman. "Give the
Angel a lift behind me, and we will ride the horse back where you
left him and wait for you. I finished Little Chicken in no time
and put him back. His mother came so close, I felt sure she would
enter the log. The light was fine, so I set and focused the camera
and covered it with branches, attached the long hose, and went away
over a hundred feet and hid in some bushes to wait. A short, stout
man and a tall, dark one passed me so closely I almost could have
reached out and touched them. They carried a big saw on their shoulders.
They said they could work until near noon, and then they must lay
off until you passed and then try to load and get out at night.
They went on--not entirely from sight--and began cutting a tree.
Mr. McLean told me the other day what would probably happen here,
and if they fell that tree he loses his wager on you. Keep to the
east and north and hustle. We'll meet you at the carriage. I always
am armed. Give Angel one of your revolvers, and you keep the other.
We will separate and creep toward them from different sides and
give them a fusillade that will send them flying. You hurry, now!"
She lifted the reins and started briskly down the trail. The Angel,
hatless and with sparkling eyes, was clinging around her waist.
Freckles wheeled and ran. He worked his way with much care, dodging
limbs and bushes with noiseless tread, and cutting as closely where
he thought the men were as he felt that he dared if he were to remain
unseen. As he ran he tried to think. It was Wessner, burning for
his revenge, aided by the bully of the locality, that he was going
to meet. He was accustomed to that thought but not to the complication
of having two women on his hands who undoubtedly would have to be
taken care of in spite of the Bird Woman's offer to help him. His
heart was jarring as it never had before with running. He must follow
the Bird Woman's plan and meet them at the carriage, but if they
really did intend to try to help him, he must not allow it. Allow
the Angel to try to handle a revolver in his defence? Never! Not
for all the trees in the Limberlost! She might shoot herself. She
might forget to watch sharply and run across a snake that was not
particularly well behaved that morning. Freckles permitted himself
a grim smile as he went speeding on.
When he reached the carriage, the Bird Woman and the Angel had the
horse hitched, the outfit packed, and were calmly waiting. The Bird
Woman held a revolver in her hand. She wore dark clothing. They
had pinned a big focusing cloth over the front of the Angel's light
dress.
"Give Angel one of your revolvers, quick!" said the Bird
Woman. "We will creep up until we are in fair range. The underbrush
is so thick and they are so busy that they will never notice us,
if we don't make a noise. You fire first, then I will pop in from
my direction, and then you, Angel, and shoot quite high, or else
very low. We mustn't really hit them. We'll go close enough to the
cowards to make it interesting, and keep it up until we have them
going."
Freckles protested.
The Bird Woman reached over, and, taking the smaller revolver from
his belt, handed it to the Angel. "Keep your nerve steady,
dear; watch where you step, and shoot high," she said. "Go
straight at them from where you are. Wait until you hear Freckles'
first shot, then follow me as closely as you can, to let them know
that we outnumber them. If you want to save McLean's wager on you,
now you go!" she commanded Freckles, who, with an agonized
glance at the Angel, ran toward the east.
The Bird Woman chose the middle distance, and for a last time cautioned
the Angel as she moved away to lie down and shoot high.
Through the underbrush the Bird Woman crept even more closely than
she had intended, found a clear range, and waited for Freckles'
shot. There was one long minute of sickening suspense. The men straightened
for breath. Work was difficult with a handsaw in the heat of the
swamp. As they rested, the big dark fellow took a bottle from his
pocket and began oiling the saw.
"We got to keep mighty quiet," he said, "and wait
to fell it until that damned guard has gone to his dinner."
Again they bent to their work. Freckles' revolver spat fire. Lead
spanged on steel. The saw-handle flew from Wessner's hand and he
reeled from the jar of the shock. Black Jack straightened, uttering
a fearful oath. The hat sailed from his head from the far northeast.
The Angel had not waited for the Bird Woman, and her shot scarcely
could have been called high. At almost the same instant the third
shot whistled from the east. Black Jack sprang into the air with
a yell of complete panic, for it ripped a heel from his boot. Freckles
emptied his second chamber, and the earth spattered over Wessner.
Shots poured in rapidly. Without even reaching for a weapon, both
men ran toward the east road in great leaping bounds, while leaden
slugs sung and hissed around them in deadly earnest.
Freckles was trimming his corners as closely as he dared, but if
the Angel did not really intend to hit, she was taking risks in
a scandalous manner.
When the men reached the trail, Freckles yelled at the top of his
voice: "Head them off on the south, boys! Fire from the south!"
As he had hoped, Jack and Wessner instantly plunged into the swale.
A spattering of lead followed them. They crossed the swale, running
low, with not even one backward glance, and entered the woods beyond
the corduroy.
Then the little party gathered at the tree.
"I'd better fix this saw so they can't be using it if they
come back," said Freckles, taking out his hatchet and making
saw-teeth fly.
"Now we must leave here without being seen," said the
Bird Woman to the Angel. "It won't do for me to make enemies
of these men, for I am likely to meet them while at work any day."
"You can do it by driving straight north on this road,"
said Freckles. "I will go ahead and cut the wires for you.
The swale is almost dry. You will only be sinking a little. In a
few rods you will strike a cornfield. I will take down the fence
and let you into that. Follow the furrows and drive straight across
it until you come to the other side. Be following the fence south
until you come to a road through the woods east of it. Then take
that road and follow east until you reach the pike. You will come
out on your way back to town, and two miles north of anywhere they
are likely to be. Don't for your lives ever let it out that you
did this," he earnestly cautioned, "for it's black enemies
you would be making."
Freckles clipped the wires and they drove through. The Angel leaned
from the carriage and held out his revolver. Freckles looked at
her in surprise. Her eyes were black, while her face was a deeper
rose than usual. He felt that his own was white.
"Did I shoot high enough?" she asked sweetly. "I
really forgot about lying down."
Freckles winced. Did the child know how close she had gone? Surely
she could not! Or was it possible that she had the nerve and skill
to fire like that purposely?
"I will send the first reliable man I meet for McLean,"
said the Bird Woman, gathering up the lines. "If I don't meet
one when we reach town, we will send a messenger. If it wasn't for
having the gang see me, I would go myself; but I will promise you
that you will have help in a little over two hours. You keep well
hidden. They must think some of the gang is with you now. There
isn't a chance that they will be back, but don't run any risks.
Remain under cover. If they should come, it probably would be for
their saw." She laughed as at a fine joke.