Веснушки
Chapter IV
Hesatonalog,ateatdinner-timeanddrankhislastdropofwater.TheheatofJunewasgrowingintense.Evenonthewestoftheswamp,whereonehadfullbenefitofthebreezefromtheupland,itwasbeginningtobeunpleasantinthemiddleoftheday.
Hebrushedthecrumbsfromhiskneesandsatrestingawhileandwatchingtheskytoseeifhisbigchickenwerehangingupthere.Buthecametotheearthabruptly,fortherewerestepscomingdownthetrailthatwereneitherMcLean’snorDuncan’s—andthereneverhadbeenothers.Freckles’heartleapedhotly.Heranaquickhandoverhisbelttofeelifhisrevolverandhatchetwerethere,caughtuphiscudgelandlaiditacrosshisknees—thensatquietly,waiting.WasitBlackJack,orsomeoneevenworse?Forcedtodosomethingtobracehisnerves,hepuckeredhisstiffeninglipsandbeganwhistlingatunehehadledinhiscleartenoreveryyearofhislifeattheHomeChristmasexercises.
“Whocomesthisway,soblitheandgay,
UponamerryChristmasday?”
HisquickIrishwitrousedtotheridiculousnessofituntilhebrokeintoalaughthatsteadiedhimamazingly.
Throughthebusheshecaughtaglimpseoftheoncomingfigure.Hisheartfloodedwithjoy,foritwasamanfromthegang.Wessnerhadbeenhisbunk-matethenighthecamedownthecorduroy.HeknewhimaswellasanyofMcLean’smen.Thiswasnotimber-thief.NodoubttheBosshadsenthimwithamessage.Frecklessprangupandcalledcheerily,awarmwelcomeonhisface.
“Well,it’sgoodtellingifyou’regladtoseeme,”saidWessner,withsomethingverylikeabreathofrelief.
