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.