“It’s the girl the Bird Woman takes with her,” whispered Freckles through dry, swollen lips.

“They ain’t due here for five days yet,” said Wessner.  “We got on to that last week.”

“Yes,” said Freckles, “but I found a tree covered with butterflies and things along the east line yesterday that I thought the Bird Woman would want extra, and I went to town to tell her last night.  She said she’d come soon, but she didn’t say when.  They must be here.  I take care of the girl while the Bird Woman works.  Untie me quick until she is gone.  I’ll try to send her back, and then you can go on with your dirty work.”

“He ain’t lying,” volunteered Wessner.  “I saw that tree covered with butterflies and him watching around it when we were spying on him yesterday.”

“No, he leaves lying to your sort,” snapped Black Jack, as he undid the rope and pitched it across the room.  “Remember that you’re covered every move you make, my buck,” he cautioned.

“Freckles!  Freckles!” came the Angel’s impatient voice, closer and closer.

“I must be answering,” said Freckles, and Jack nodded.  “Right here!” he called, and to the men:  “You go on with your work, and remember one thing yourselves.  The work of the Bird Woman is known all over the world.  This girl’s father is a rich man, and she is all he has.  If you offer hurt of any kind to either of them, this world has no place far enough away or dark enough for you to be hiding in.  Hell will be easy to what any man will get if he touches either of them!”

“Freckles, where are you?” demanded the Angel.

Soulsick with fear for her, Freckles went toward her and parted the bushes that she might enter.  She came through without apparently giving him a glance, and the first words she said were:  “Why have the gang come so soon?  I didn’t know you expected them for three weeks yet.  Or is this some especial tree that Mr. McLean needs to fill an order right now?”

Freckles hesitated.  Would a man dare lie to save himself?  No.  But to save the Angel—­surely that was different.  He opened his lips, but the Angel was capable of saving herself.  She walked among them, exactly as if she had been reared in a lumber camp, and never waited for an answer.

“Why, your specimen case!” she cried.  “Look!  Haven’t you noticed that it’s tipped over?  Set it straight, quickly!”

A couple of the men stepped out and carefully righted the case.

“There!  That’s better,” she said.  “Freckles, I’m surprised at your being so careless.  It would be a shame to break those lovely butterflies for one old tree!  Is that a valuable tree?  Why didn’t you tell us last night you were going to take out a tree this morning?  Oh, say, did you put your case there to protect that tree from that stealing old Black Jack and his gang?  I bet you did!  Well, if that wasn’t bright!  What kind of a tree is it?”

“It’s a white oak,” said Freckles.