at quietly, waiting. Was it Black Jack,
or someone even worse? Forced to do something to brace his nerves, he
puckered his stiffening lips and began whistling a tune he had led in
his clear tenor every year of his life at the Home Christmas exercises.

"Who comes this way, so blithe and gay,
Upon a merry Christmas day?"

His quick Irish wit roused to the ridiculousness of it until he broke
into a laugh that steadied him amazingly.

Through the bushes he caught a glimpse of the oncoming figure. His heart
flooded with joy, for it was a man from the gang. Wessner had been his
bunk-mate the night he came down the corduroy. He knew him as well as
any of McLean's men. This was no timber-thief. No doubt the Boss had
sent him with a message. Freckles sprang up and called cheerily, a warm
welcome on his face.

"Well, it's good telling if you're glad to see me," said Wessner, with
something very like a breath of relief. "We been hearing down at the
camp you were so mighty touchy you didn't allow a man within a rod of
the line."

"No more do I," answered Freckles, "if he's a stranger, but you're from
McLean, ain't you?"

"Oh, damn McLean!" said Wessner.

Freckles gripped the cudgel until his knuckles slowly turned purple.

"And are you railly saying so?" he inquired with elaborate politeness.

"Yes, I am," said Wessner. "So would every man of the gang if they
wasn't too big cowards to say anything, unless maybe that other
slobbering old Scotchman, Duncan. Grinding the lives out of us! Working
us like dogs, and paying us starvation wages, while he rolls up his
millions and lives like a prince!"

Green lights began to play through the gray of Freckles' eyes.

"Wessner," he said impressively, "you'd make a fine pattern for the
father of liars! Every man on that gang is strong and hilthy, paid all
he earns, and treated with the courtesy of a gentleman! As for the Boss
living like a prince, he shares fare with you every day of your lives!"

Wessner was not a born diplomat, but he saw he was on the wrong tack, so
he tried another.

"How would you like to make a good big pile of money, without even
lifting your hand?" he asked.

"Humph!" said Freckles. "Have you been up to Chicago and cornered wheat,
and are you offering me a friendly tip on the invistment of me fortune?"

Wessner came close.

"Freckles, old fellow," he said, "if you let me give you a pointer, I
can put you on to making a cool five hundred w