Freckles’ soul was satisfied.  “Is that all?” he asked.

“No, it ain’t,” said Wessner.  “If you really want to brace up and be a man and go into the thing for keeps, you can make five times that in a week.  My friend knows a dozen others we could get out in a few days, and all you’d have to do would be to keep out of sight.  Then you could take your money and skip some night, and begin life like a gentleman somewhere else.  What do you think about it?”

Freckles purred like a kitten.

“‘Twould be a rare joke on the Boss,” he said, “to be stalin’ from him the very thing he’s trusted me to guard, and be getting me wages all winter throwed in free.  And you’re making the pay awful high.  Me to be getting five hundred for such a simple little thing as that.  You’re trating me most royal indade!  It’s away beyond all I’d be expecting.  Sivinteen cints would be a big price for that job.  It must be looked into thorough.  Just you wait here until I do a minute’s turn in the swamp, and then I’ll be eschorting you out of the clearing and giving you the answer.”

Freckles lifted the overhanging bushes and hurried to the case.  He unslung the specimen-box and laid it inside with his hatchet and revolver.  He slipped the key in his pocket and went back to Wessner.

“Now for the answer,” he said.  “Stand up!”

There was iron in his voice, and he was commanding as an outraged general.  “Anything, you want to be taking off?” he questioned.

Wessner looked the astonishment he felt.  “Why, no, Freckles,” he said.

“Have the goodness to be calling me Mister McLean,” snapped Freckles.  “I’m after resarvin’ me pet name for the use of me friends!  You may stand with your back to the light or be taking any advantage you want.”

“Why, what do you mean?” spluttered Wessner.

“I’m manin’,” said Freckles tersely, “to lick a quarter-section of hell out of you, and may the Holy Vargin stay me before I leave you here carrion, for your carcass would turn the stummicks of me chickens!”

At the camp that morning, Wessner’s conduct had been so palpable an excuse to force a discharge that Duncan moved near McLean and whispered, “Think of the boy, sir?”

McLean was so troubled that, an hour later, he mounted Nellie and followed Wessner to his home in Wildcat Hollow, only to find that he had left there shortly before, heading for the Limberlost.  McLean rode at top speed.  When Mrs. Duncan told him that a man answering Wessner’s description had gone down the west side of the swamp close noon, he left the mare in her charge and followed on foot.  When he heard voices he entered the swamp and silently crept close just in time to hear Wessner whine:  “But I can’t fight you, Freckles.  I hain’t done nothing to you.  I’m away bigger than you, and you’ve only one hand.”

The Boss slid off his coat and crouched among the bushes, ready to spring; but as Freckles’ voice reached him he held himself, with a strong effort, to learn what mettle was in the boy.