ad forgotten her errand for him! Jack had a second
increase in height. The Angel glanced helplessly as if seeking a clue.
Then her eyes fell, as if by accident, on Freckles, and she cried, "Oh,
I know now! It was those magazines the Bird Woman promised you. I came
to tell you that we put them under the box where we hide things, at
the entrance to the swamp as we came in. I knew I would need my hands
crossing the swamp, so I hid them there. You'll find them at the same
old place."

Then Freckles spoke.

"It's mighty risky for you to be crossing the swamp alone," he said.
"I'm surprised that the Bird Woman would be letting you try it. I know
it's a little farther, but it's begging you I am to be going back by the
trail. That's bad enough, but it's far safer than the swamp."

The Angel laughed merrily.

"Oh stop your nonsense!" she cried. "I'm not afraid! Not in the least!
The Bird Woman didn't want me to try following a path that I'd been over
only once, but I was sure I could do it, and I'm rather proud of the
performance. Now, don't go babying! You know I'm not afraid!"

"No," said Freckles gently, "I know you're not; but that has nothing to
do with the fact that your friends are afraid for you. On the trail you
can see your way a bit ahead, and you've all the world a better chance
if you meet a snake."

Then Freckles had an inspiration. He turned to Jack imploringly.

"You tell her!" he pleaded. "Tell her to go by the trail. She will for
you."

The implication of this statement was so gratifying to Black Jack that
he seemed again to expand and take on increase before their very eyes.

"You bet!" exclaimed Jack. And to the Angel: "You better take Freckles'
word for it, miss. He knows the old swamp better than any of us, except
me, and if he says 'go by the trail,' you'd best do it."

The Angel hesitated. She wanted to recross the swamp and try to reach
the horse. She knew Freckles would brave any danger to save her crossing
the swamp alone, but she really was not afraid, while the trail added
over a mile to the walk. She knew the path. She intended to run for dear
life the instant she felt herself from their sight, and tucked in the
folds of her blouse was a fine little 32-caliber revolver that her
father had presented her for her share in what he was pleased to call
her military exploit. One last glance at Freckles showed her the agony
in his eyes, and immediately she imagined he had some other reason. She