“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.”