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.