s of me chickens!"

At the camp that morning, Wessner's conduct had been so palpable an
excuse to force a 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
eternally blacken 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 h