Freckles lay a little farther under the tree, a big limb pinning him down. His eyes were wide open. He was perfectly conscious. Duncan began mining beneath him, but Freckles stopped him.
“You can't be moving me,” he said. “You must cut off the limb and lift it. I know.”
Two men ran for the big saw. A number of them laid hold of the limb and bore up. In a short time it was removed, and Freckles lay free.
The men bent over to lift him, but he motioned them away.
“Don't be touching me until I rest a bit,” he pleaded.
Then he twisted his head until he saw the Angel, who was wiping muck from her eyes and face on the skirt of her dress.
“Try to get up,” he begged.
McLean laid hold of the Angel and helped her to her feet.
“Do you think any bones are broken?” gasped Freckles.
The Angel shook her head and wiped muck.
“You see if you can find any, sir,” Freckles commanded.
The Angel yielded herself to McLean's touch, and he assured Freckles that she was not seriously injured.
Freckles settled back, a smile of ineffable tenderness on his face.
“Thank the Lord!” he hoarsely whispered.
The Angel leaned toward him.
“Now, Freckles, you!” she cried. “It's your turn. Please get up!”
A pitiful spasm swept Freckles' face. The sight of it washed every vestige of color from the Angel's. She took hold of his hands.
“Freckles, get up!” It was half command, half entreaty.
“Easy, Angel, easy! Let me rest a bit first!” implored Freckles.
She knelt beside him. He reached his arm around her and drew her closely. He looked at McLean in an agony of entreaty that brought the Boss to his knees on the other side.
“Oh, Freckles!” McLean cried. “Not that! Surely we can do something! We must! Let me see!”
He tried to unfasten Freckles' neckband, but his fingers shook so clumsily that the Angel pushed them away and herself laid Freckles' chest bare. With one hasty glance she gathered the clothing together and slipped her arm under his head. Freckles lifted his eyes of agony to hers.
“You see?” he said.
The Angel nodded dumbly.
Freckles turned to McLean.
“Thank you for everything,” he panted. “Where are the boys?”
“They are all here,” said the Boss, “except a couple who have gone for doctors, Mrs. Duncan and the Bird Woman.”
“It's no use trying to do anything,” said Freckles. “You won't forget the muff and the Christmas box. The muff especial?”
There was a movement above them so pronounced that it attracted Freckles' attention, even in that extreme hour. He looked up, and a pleased smile flickered on his drawn face.
“Why, if it ain't me Little Chicken!” he cried hoarsely. “He must be making his very first trip from the log. Now Duncan can have his big watering-trough.”
“It was Little Chicken that made me late,” faltered the Angel. “I was so anxious to get here early I forgot to bring his breakfast from the carriage. He must have been hungry, for when I passed the log he started after me. He was so wabbly, and so slow flying from tree to tree and through the bushes, I just had to wait on him, for I couldn't drive him back.”
“Of course you couldn't! Me bird has too amazing good sinse to go back when he could be following you,” exulted Freckles, exactly as if he did not realize what the delay had cost him. Then he lay silently thinking, but presently he asked slowly: “And so 'twas me Little Chicken that was making you late, Angel?”
“Yes,” said the Angel.
A spasm of fierce pain shook Freckles, and a look of uncertainty crossed his face.
“All summer I've been thanking God for the falling of the feather and all the delights it's brought me,” he muttered, “but this looks as if——”
He stopped short and raised questioning eyes to McLean.
“I can't help being Irish, but I can help being superstitious,” he said. “I mustn't be laying it to the Almighty, or to me bird, must I?”
“No, dear lad,” said McLean, stroking the brilliant hair. “The choice lay with you. You could have stood a rooted dolt like all the remainder of us. It was through your great love and your high courage that you made the sacrifice.”
“Don't you be so naming it, sir!” cried Freckles. “It's just the reverse. If I could be giving me body the hundred times over to save hers from this, I'd be doing it and take joy with every pain.”
He turned with a smile of adoring tenderness to the Angel. She was ghastly white, and her eyes were dull and glazed. She scarcely seemed to hear or understand what was coming, but she bravely tried to answer that smile.
“Is my forehead covered with dirt?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“You did once,” he gasped.
Instantly she laid her lips on his forehead, then on each cheek, and then in a long kiss on his lips.
McLean bent over him.
“Freckles,” he said brokenly, “you will never know how I love you. You won't go without saying good-bye to me?”
That word stung the Angel to quick comprehension. She started as if arousing from sleep.
“Good-bye?” she cried sharply, her eyes widening and the color rushing into her white face. “Good-bye! Why, what do you mean? Who's saying good-bye? Where could Freckles go, when he is hurt like this, save to the hospital? You needn't say good-bye for that. Of course, we will all go with him! You call up the men. We must start right away.”
“It's no use, Angel,” said Freckles. “I'm thinking ivry bone in me breast is smashed. You'll have to be letting me go!”
“I will not,” said the Angel flatly. “It's no use wasting precious time talking about it. You are alive. You are breathing; and no matter how badly your bones are broken, what are great surgeons for but to fix you up and make you well again? You promise me that you'll just grit your teeth and hang on when we hurt you, for we must start with you as quickly as it can be done. I don't know what has been the matter with me. Here's good time wasted already.”
“Oh, Angel!” moaned Freckles, “I can't! You don't know how bad it is. I'll die the minute you are for trying to lift me!”
“Of course you will, if you make up your mind to do it,” said the Angel. “But if you are determined you won't, and set yourself to breathing deep and strong, and hang on to me tight, I can get you out. Really you must, Freckles, no matter how it hurts, for you did this for me, and now I must save you, so you might as well promise.”
She bent over him, trying to smile encouragement with her fear-stiffened lips.
“You will promise, Freckles?”
Big drops of cold sweat ran together on Freckles' temples.
“Angel, darlin' Angel,” he pleaded, taking her hand in his. “You ain't understanding, and I can't for the life of me be telling you, but indade, it's best to be letting me go. This is my chance. Please say good-bye, and let me slip off quick!”