He called a cheery greeting to all his chickens.  At Sleepy Snake Creek he almost fell from his wheel with surprise:  the saw-bird was surrounded by four lanky youngsters clamoring for breakfast.  The father was strutting with all the importance of a drum major.

“No use to expect the Bird Woman today,” said Freckles; “but now wouldn’t she be jumping for a chance at that?”

As soon as Freckles was far down the east line, the watch was posted below the room on the west to report his coming.  It was only a few moments before the signal came.  Then the saw stopped, and the rope was brought out and uncoiled close to a sapling.  Wessner and Black Jack crowded to the very edge of the swamp a little above the wire, and crouched, waiting.

They heard Freckles before they saw him.  He came gliding down the line swiftly, and as he rode he was singing softly: 

     “Oh, do you love,
     Oh, say you love——­”

He got no farther.  The sharply driven wheel struck the tense wire and bounded back.  Freckles shot over the handlebar and coasted down the trail on his chest.  As he struck, Black Jack and Wessner were upon him.  Wessner caught off an old felt hat and clapped it over Freckles’ mouth, while Black Jack twisted the boy’s arms behind him and they rushed him into his room.  Almost before he realized that anything had happened, he was trussed to a tree and securely gagged.

Then three of the men resumed work on the tree.  The other followed the path Freckles had worn to Little Chicken’s tree, and presently he reported that the wires were down and two teams with the loading apparatus coming to take out the timber.  All the time the saw was slowly eating, eating into the big tree.

Wessner went to the trail and removed the wire.  He picked up Freckles’ wheel, that did not seem to be injured, and leaned it against the bushes so that if anyone did pass on the trail he would not see it doubled in the swamp-grass.

Then he came and stood in front of Freckles and laughed in devilish hate.  To his own amazement, Freckles found himself looking fear in the face, and marveled that he was not afraid.  Four to one!  The tree halfway eaten through, the wagons coming up the inside road—­he, bound and gagged!  The men with Black Jack and Wessner had belonged to McLean’s gang when last he had heard of them, but who those coming with the wagons might be he could not guess.

If they secured that tree, McLean lost its value, lost his wager, and lost his faith in him.  The words of the Angel hammered in his ears.  “Oh, Freckles, do watch closely!”

The saw worked steadily.

When the tree was down and loaded, what would they do?  Pull out, and leave him there to report them?  It was not to be hoped for.  The place always had been lawless.  It could mean but one thing.

A mist swept before his eyes, while his head swam.  Was it only last night that he had worshiped the Angel in a delirium of happiness?  And now, what?  Wessner, released from a turn at the saw, walked to the flower bed, and tearing up a handful of rare ferns by the roots, started toward Freckles.  His intention was obvious.  Black Jack stopped him, with an oath.