Duncan staggered on a
few steps farther, fell facing the path, where Freckles found her, and
lay quietly.

Freckles worked over her until she drew a long, quivering breath and
opened her eyes.

When she saw him bending above her, she closed them tightly, and
gripping him, struggled to her feet. He helped her, and with his arm
around and half carrying her, they made their way to the clearing. She
clung to him with all her remaining strength, but open her eyes she
would not until her children came clustering around her. Then, brawny,
big Scotswoman though she was, she quietly keeled over again. The
children added their wailing to Freckles' panic.

This time he was so close the cabin that he could carry her into the
house and lay her on the bed. He sent the oldest boy scudding down the
corduroy for the nearest neighbor, and between them they undressed Mrs.
Duncan and discovered that she was not bitten. They bathed and bound the
bleeding wrist and coaxed her back to consciousness. She lay sobbing and
shuddering. The first intelligent word she said was: "Freckles, look at
that jar on the kitchen table and see if my yeast is no running ower."

Several days passed before she could give Duncan and Freckles any
detailed account of what had happened to her, even then she could not
do it without crying as the least of her babies. Freckles was almost
heartbroken, and nursed her as well as any woman could have done; while
big Duncan, with a heart full for them both, worked early and late to
chink every crack of the cabin and examine every spot that possibly
could harbor a snake. The effects of her morning on the trail kept her
shivering half the time. She could not rest until she sent for McLean
and begged him to save Freckles from further risk, in that place of
horrors. The Boss went to the swamp with his mind fully determined to do
so.

Freckles stood and laughed at him. "Why, Mr. McLean, don't you let a
woman's nervous system set you worrying about me," he said. "I'm not
denying how she felt, because I've been through it meself, but that's
all over and gone. It's the height of me glory to fight it out with the
old swamp, and all that's in it, or will be coming to it, and then
to turn it over to you as I promised you and meself I'd do, sir. You
couldn't break the heart of me entire quicker than to be taking it from
me now, when I'm just on the home-stretch. It won't be over three or
four weeks yet, and when I've gone it almo