he questioned.

Wessner looked the astonishment he felt. "Why, no, Freckles," he said.
"Have the goodness to be calling me Mister McLean," snapped Freckles.

"I'm after resarvin' me pet name for the use of me friends!
You may stand with your back to the light or be taking any

advantage you want."
"Why, what do you mean?" spluttered Wessner.

"I'm manin'," said Freckles tersely, "to lick a quarter-section of
hell out of you, and may the Holy Vargin stay me before I leave you

here carrion, for your carcass would turn the stummicks of me chickens!"
At the camp that morning, Wessner's conduct had been so palpable

an excuse to force a charge" target="_blank" title="vt.&n.卸货；释放；解雇">discharge that Duncan moved near McLean and
whispered, "Think of the boy, sir?"

McLean was so troubled that, an hour later, he mounted Nellie and
followed Wessner to his home in Wildcat Hollow, only to find that

he had left there shortly before, heading for the Limberlost.
McLean rode at top speed. When Mrs. Duncan told him that a man

answering Wessner's description had gone down the west side of the
swamp close noon, he left the mare in her charge and followed on foot.

When he heard voices he entered the swamp and silently crept close
just in time to hear Wessner whine: "But I can't fight you, Freckles.

I hain't done nothing to you. I'm away bigger than you, and you've
only one hand."

The Boss slid off his coat and crouched among the bushes, ready to
spring; but as Freckles' voice reached him he held himself, with a

strong effort, to learn what mettle was in the boy.
"Don't you be wasting of me good time in the numbering of me

hands," cried Freckles. "The stringth of me cause will make up
for the weakness of me mimbers, and the size of a cowardly thief

doesn't count. You'll think all the wildcats of the Limberlost
are turned loose on you whin I come against you, and as for me

cause----I slept with you, Wessner, the night I came down the
corduroy like a dirty, friendless tramp, and the Boss was for

taking me up, washing, clothing, and feeding me, and giving me a
home full of love and tinderness, and a master to look to, and

good, well-earned money in the bank. He's trusting me his heartful,
and here comes you, you spotted toad of the big road, and insults

me, as is an honest Irish gintleman, by hinting that you concaive
I'd be willing to shut me eyes and hold fast while you rob him of

the thing I was set and paid to guard, and then act the sneak
and liar to him, and ruin and eternallyblacken the soul of me.

You damned rascal," raved Freckles, "be fighting before I forget the
laws of a gintlemin's game and split your dirty head with me stick!"

Wessner backed away, mumbling, "But I don't want to hurt you, Freckles!"
"Oh, don't you!" raged the boy, now fairly frothing. "Well, you

ain't resembling me none, for I'm itching like death to git me
fingers in the face of you."

He danced up, and as Wessner lunged in self-defense, ducked under
his arm as a bantam and punched him in the pit of the stomach so

that he doubled with a groan. Before Wessner could straighten
himself, Freckles was on him, fighting like the wildest fury that

ever left the beautiful island. The Dutchman dealt thundering blows
that sometimes landed and sent Freckles reeling, and sometimes missed,

while he went plunging into the swale with the impetus of them.
Freckles could not strike with half Wessner's force, but he could

land three blows to the Dutchman's one. It was here that the boy's
days of alert watching on the line, the perpetual swinging of the

heavy cudgel, and the endurance of all weather stood him in good
stead; for he was tough, and agile. He skipped, ducked, and dodged.

For the first five minutes he endured fearfulpunishment.
Then Wessner's breath commenced to whistle between his teeth, when

Freckles only had begun fighting. He sprang back with shrill laughter.
"Begolly! and will your honor be whistling the hornpipe for me to

be dancing of?" he cried.
SPANG! went his fist into Wessner's face, and he was past him into

the swale.
"And would you be pleased to tune up a little livelier?" he gasped,

and clipped his ear as he sprang back. Wessner lunged at him in
blind fury. Freckles, seeing an opening, forgot the laws of a

gentleman's game and drove the toe of his heavy wading-boot in
Wessner's middle until he doubled and fell heavily. In a flash

Freckles was on him. For a time McLean could not see what
was happening. "Go! Go to him now!" he commanded himself,

but so intense was his desire to see the boy win alone that he
did not stir.

At last Freckles sprang up and backed away. "Time!" he yelled as
a fury. "Be getting up, Mr. Wessner, and don't be afraid of

hurting me. I'll let you throw in an extra hand and lick you to
me complate satisfaction all the same. Did you hear me call

the limit? Will you get up and be facing me?"
As Wessner struggled to his feet, he resembled a battlefield, for

his clothing was in ribbons and his face and hands streaming blood.
"I--I guess I got enough," he mumbled.

"Oh, you do?" roared Freckles. "Well this ain't your say. You come
on to me ground, lying about me Boss and intimatin' I'd stale from

his very pockets. Now will you be standing up and taking your
medicine like a man, or getting it poured down the throat of you

like a baby? I ain't got enough! This is only just the beginning
with me. Be looking out there!"

He sprang against Wessner and sent him rolling. He attacked the
unresisting figure and fought him until he lay limp and quiet and

Freckles had no strength left to lift an arm. Then he arose and
stepped back, gasping for breath. With his first lungful of air

he shouted: "Time!" But the figure of Wessner lay motionless.
Freckles watched him with regardful eye and saw at last that he was

completely exhausted. He bent over him, and catching him by the
back of the neck, jerked him to his knees. Wessner lifted the face

of a whipped cur, and fearing further punishment, burst into
shivering sobs, while the tears washed tiny rivulets through the

blood and muck. Freckles stepped back, glaring at Wessner, but
suddenly the scowl of anger and the ugly disfiguring red faded from

the boy's face. He dabbed at a cut on his temple from which issued
a tiny crimsonstream, and jauntily shook back his hair. His face

took on the innocent look of a cherub, and his voice rivaled that of
a brooding dove, but into his eyes crept a look of diabolical mischief.

He glanced vaguely around him until he saw his club, seized and
twirled it as a drum major, stuck it upright in the muck, and

marched on tiptoe to Wessner, mechanically, as a puppet worked by
a string. Bending over, Freckles reached an arm around Wessner's

waist and helped him to his feet.
"Careful, now" he cautioned, "be careful, Freddy; there's danger of

you hurting me."
Drawing a handkerchief from a back pocket, Freckles tenderly wiped

Wessner's eyes and nose.
"Come, Freddy, me child," he admonished Wessner, "it's time little

boys were going home. I've me work to do, and can't be entertaining
you any more today. Come back tomorrow, if you ain't through yet,

and we'll repate the perfarmance. Don't be staring at me so wild like!
I would eat you, but I can't afford it. Me earnings, being honest,

come slow, and I've no money to be squanderin' on the pailful of
Dyspeptic's Delight it would be to taking to work you out of my innards!"

Again an awful wrenching seized McLean. Freckles stepped back as
Wessner, tottering and reeling, as a thoroughlydrunken man, came

toward the path, appearing indeed as if wildcats had attacked him.
The cudgel spun high in air, and catching it with an expertness

acquired by long practice on the line, the boy twirled it a second,
shook back his thick hair bonnily, and stepping into the trail,

followed Wessner. Because Freckles was Irish, it was impossible to
do it silently, so presently his clear tenor rang out, though there