Several bees struck her and were angrily buzzing before she noticed them.  Then the humming swelled on all sides.  A convulsive sob shook her, and she ran into the bushes, now into the swale, anywhere to avoid the swarming bees, ducking, dodging, fighting for her very life.  Presently the humming seemed to become a little fainter.  She found the trail again, and ran with all her might from a few of her angry pursuers.

As she ran, straining every muscle, she suddenly became aware that, crossing the trail before her, was a big, round, black body, with brown markings on its back, like painted geometrical patterns.  She tried to stop, but the louder buzzing behind warned her she dared not.  Gathering her skirts higher, with hair flying around her face and her eyes almost bursting from their sockets, she ran straight toward it.  The sound of her feet and the humming of the bees alarmed the rattler, so it stopped across the trail, lifting its head above the grasses of the swale and rattling inquiringly—­rattled until the bees were outdone.

Straight toward it went the panic-stricken woman, running wildly and uncontrollably.  She took one leap, clearing its body on the path, then flew ahead with winged feet.  The snake, coiled to strike, missed Mrs. Duncan and landed among the bees instead.  They settled over and around it, and realizing that it had found trouble, it sank among the grasses and went threshing toward its den in the deep willow-fringed low ground.  The swale appeared as if a reaper were cutting a wide swath.  The mass of enraged bees darted angrily around, searching for it, and striking the scrub-thorn, began a temporary settling there to discover whether it were a suitable place.  Completely exhausted, Mrs. Duncan staggered on a few steps farther, fell facing the path, where Freckles found her, and lay quietly.

Freckles worked over her until she drew a long, quivering breath and opened her eyes.

When she saw him bending above her, she closed them tightly, and gripping him, struggled to her feet.  He helped her, and with his arm around and half carrying her, they made their way to the clearing.  She clung to him with all her remaining strength, but open her eyes she would not until her children came clustering around her.  Then, brawny, big Scotswoman though she was, she quietly keeled over again.  The children added their wailing to Freckles’ panic.

This time he was so close the cabin that he could carry her into the house and lay her on the bed.  He sent the oldest boy scudding down the corduroy for the nearest neighbor, and between them they undressed Mrs. Duncan and discovered that she was not bitten.  They bathed and bound the bleeding wrist and coaxed her back to consciousness.  She lay sobbing and shuddering.  The first intelligent word she said was:  “Freckles, look at that jar on the kitchen table and see if my yeast is no running ower.”