The Greatest Children's Books - Gene Stratton-Porter Edition. Stratton-Porter Gene

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.

      “Like those they make dining-tables and sideboards from?”

      “Yes.”

      “My! How interesting!” she cried. “I don't know a thing about timber, but my father wants me to learn just everything I can. I am going to ask him to let me come here and watch you until I know enough to boss a gang myself. Do you like to cut trees, gentlemen?” she asked with angelic sweetness of the men.

      Some of them appeared foolish and some grim, but one managed to say they did.

      Then the Angel's eyes turned full on Black Jack, and she gave the most natural little start of astonishment.

      “Oh! I almost thought that you were a ghost!” she cried. “But I see now that you are really and truly. Were you ever in Colorado?”

      “No,” said Jack.

      “I see you aren't the same man,” said the Angel. “You know, we were in Colorado last year, and there was a cowboy who was the handsomest man anywhere around. He'd come riding into town every night, and all we girls just adored him! Oh, but he was a beauty! I thought at first glance you were really he, but I see now he wasn't nearly so tall nor so broad as you, and only half as handsome.”

      The men began to laugh while Jack flushed crimson. The Angel joined in the laugh.

      “Well, I'll leave it to you! Isn't he handsome?” she challenged. “As for that cowboy's face, it couldn't be compared with yours. The only trouble with you is that your clothes are spoiling you. It's the dress those cowboys wear that makes half their attraction. If you were properly clothed, you could break the heart of the prettiest girl in the country.”

      With one accord the other men looked at Black Jack, and for the first time realized that he was a superb specimen of manhood, for he stood six feet tall, was broad, well-rounded, and had dark, even skin, big black eyes, and full red lips.

      “I'll tell you what!” exclaimed the Angel. “I'd just love to see you on horseback. Nothing sets a handsome man off so splendidly. Do you ride?”

      “Yes,” said Jack, and his eyes were burning on the Angel as if he would fathom the depths of her soul.

      “Well,” said the Angel winsomely, “I know what I just wish you'd do. I wish you would let your hair grow a little longer. Then wear a blue flannel shirt a little open at the throat, a red tie, and a broad-brimmed felt hat, and ride past my house of evenings. I'm always at home then, and almost always on the veranda, and, oh! but I would like to see you! Will you do that for me?” It is impossible to describe the art with which the Angel asked the question. She was looking straight into Jack's face, coarse and hardened with sin and careless living, which was now taking on a wholly different expression. The evil lines of it were softening and fading under her clear gaze. A dull red flamed into his bronze cheeks, while his eyes were growing brightly tender.

      “Yes,” he said, and the glance he gave the men was of such a nature that no one saw fit even to change countenance.

      “Oh, goody!” she cried, tilting on her toes. “I'll ask all the girls to come see, but they needn't stick in! We can get along without them, can't we?”

      Jack leaned toward her. He was the charmed fluttering bird, while the Angel was the snake.

      “Well, I rather guess!” he cried.

      The Angel drew a deep breath and surveyed him rapturously.

      “My, but you're tall!” she commented. “Do you suppose I ever will grow to reach your shoulders?”

      She stood on tiptoe and measured the distance with her eyes. Then she developed timid confusion, while her glance sought the ground.

      “I wish I could do something,” she half whispered.

      Jack seemed to increase an inch in height.

      “What?” he asked hoarsely.

      “Lariat Bill used always to have a bunch of red flowers in his shirt pocket. The red lit up his dark eyes and olive cheeks and made him splendid. May I put some red flowers on you?”

      Freckles stared as he wheezed for breath. He wished the earth would open and swallow him. Was he dead or alive? Since his Angel had seen Black Jack she never had glanced his way. Was she completely bewitched? Would she throw herself at the man's feet before them all? Couldn't she give him even one thought? Hadn't she seen that he was gagged and bound? Did she truly think that these were McLean's men? Why, she could not! It was only a few days ago that she had been close enough to this man and angry enough with him to peel the hat from his head with a shot! Suddenly a thing she had said jestingly to him one day came back with startling force: “You must take Angels on trust.” Of course you must! She was his Angel. She must have seen! His life, and what was far more, her own, was in her hands. There was nothing he could do but trust her. Surely she was working out some plan.

      The Angel knelt beside his flower bed and recklessly tore up by the roots a big bunch of foxfire.

      “These stems are so tough and sticky,” she said. “I can't break them. Loan me your knife,” she ordered Freckles.

      As she reached for the knife, her back was for one second toward the men. She looked into his eyes and deliberately winked.

      She severed the stems, tossed the knife to Freckles, and walking to Jack, laid the flowers over his heart.

      Freckles broke into a sweat of agony. He had said she would be safe in a herd of howling savages. Would she? If Black Jack even made a motion toward touching her, Freckles knew that from somewhere he would muster the strength to kill him. He mentally measured the distance to where his club lay and set his muscles for a spring. But no—by the splendor of God! The big fellow was baring his head with a hand that was unsteady. The Angel pulled one of the long silver pins from her hat and fastened her flowers securely.

      Freckles was quaking. What was to come next? What was she planning, and oh! did she understand the danger of her presence among those men; the real necessity for action?

      As the Angel stepped from Jack, she turned her head to one side and peered at him, quite as Freckles had seen the little yellow fellow do on the line a hundred times, and said: “Well, that does the trick! Isn't that fine? See how it sets him off, boys? Don't you forget the tie is to be red, and the first ride soon. I can't wait very long. Now I must go. The Bird Woman will be ready to start, and she will come here hunting me next, for she is busy today. What did I come here for anyway?”

      She glanced inquiringly around, and several of the men laughed. Oh, the delight of it! She had forgotten her errand for him! Jack had a second increase in height. The Angel glanced helplessly as if seeking a clue. Then her eyes fell, as if by accident, on Freckles, and she cried, “Oh, I know now! It was those magazines the Bird Woman promised you. I came to tell you that we put them under the box where we hide things, at the entrance to the swamp as we came in. I knew СКАЧАТЬ