“I don’t think he was for having a doubt of the Angel before, but then he just raved.  He grabbed out his gun and turned on Wessner.  Spang!  It went out of his fist, and the order comes:  ‘Hands up!’ Wessner reached for kingdom come like he was expecting to grab hold and pull himself up.  Jack puts up what he has left.  Then he leans over to me and tells me what he’ll do to me if he ever gets out of there alive.  Then, just like a snake hissing, he spits out what he’ll do to her for playing him.  He did get away, and with his strength, that wound in his hand won’t be bothering him long.  He’ll do to me just what he said, and when he hears it really was she that went after you, why, he’ll keep his oath about her.

“He’s lived in the swamp all his life, sir, and everybody says it’s always been the home of cutthroats, outlaws, and runaways.  He knows its most secret places as none of the others.  He’s alive.  He’s in there now, sir.  Some way he’ll keep alive.  If you’d seen his face, all scarlet with passion, twisted with pain, and black with hate, and heard him swearing that oath, you’d know it was a sure thing.  I ain’t done with him yet, and I’ve brought this awful thing on her.”

“And I haven’t begun with him yet,” said McLean, setting his teeth.  “I’ve been away too slow and too easy, believing there’d be no greater harm than the loss of a tree.  I’ve sent for a couple of first-class detectives.  We will put them on his track, and rout him out and rid the country of him.  I don’t propose for him to stop either our work or our pleasure.  As for his being in the swamp now, I don’t believe it.  He’d find a way out last night, in spite of us.  Don’t you worry!  I am at the helm now, and I’ll see to that gentleman in my own way.”

“I wish to my soul you had seen and heard him!” said Freckles, unconvinced.

They entered the swamp, taking the route followed by the Bird Woman and the Angel.  They really did find the logs, almost where the Angel had predicted they would be.  McLean went to the South camp and had an interview with Crowen that completely convinced him that the Angel was correct there also.  But he had no proof, so all he could do was to discharge the man, although his guilt was so apparent that he offered to withdraw the wager.

Then McLean sent for a pack of bloodhounds and put them on the trail of Black Jack.  They clung to it, on and on, into the depths of the swamp, leading their followers through what had been considered impassable and impenetrable ways, and finally, around near the west entrance and into the swale.  Here the dogs bellowed, raved, and fell over each other in their excitement.  They raced back and forth from swamp to swale, but follow the scent farther they would not, even though cruelly driven.  At last their owner attributed their actions to snakes, and as they were very valuable dogs, abandoned the effort to urge them on.  So that all they really established