a surprise for
the kids."

The unblessed condition of Yellowhammer had been truly described. The
voice of childhood had never gladdened its flimsy structures; the
patter of restless little feet had never consecrated the one rugged
highway between the two rows of tents and rough buildings. Later
they would come. But now Yellowhammer was but a mountain camp, and
nowhere in it were the roguish, expectant eyes, opening wide at dawn
of the enchanting day; the eager, small hands to reach for Santa's
bewildering hoard; the elated, childish voicings of the season's joy,
such as the coming good things of the warm-hearted Cherokee deserved.

Of women there were five in Yellowhammer. The assayer's wife, the
proprietress of the Lucky Strike Hotel, and a laundress whose washtub
panned out an ounce of dust a day. These were the permanent feminines;
the remaining two were the Spangler Sisters, Misses Fanchon and Erma,
of the Transcontinental Comedy Company, then playing in repertoire
at the (improvised) Empire Theatre. But of children there were none.
Sometimes Miss Fanchon enacted with spirit and address the part of
robustious childhood; but between her delineation and the visions
of adolescence that the fancy offered as eligible recipients of
Cherokee's holiday stores there seemed to be fixed a gulf.

Christmas would come on Thursday. On Tuesday morning Trinidad, instead
of going to work, sought the Judge at the Lucky Strike Hotel.

"It'll be a disgrace to Yellowhammer," said Trinidad, "if it throws
Cherokee down on his Christmas tree blowout. You might say that that
man made this town. For one, I'm goin' to see what can be done to give
Santa Claus a square deal."

"My co-operation," said the Judge, "would be gladly forthcoming. I
am indebted to Cherokee for past favours. But, I do not see--I have
heretofore regarded the absence of children rather as a luxury--but
in this instance--still, I do not see--"

"Look at me," said Trinidad, "and you'll see old Ways and Means with
the fur on. I'm goin' to hitch up a team and rustle a load of kids for
Cherokee's Santa Claus act, if I have to rob an orphan asylum."

"Eureka!" cried the Judge, enthusiastically.

"No, you didn't," said Trinidad, decidedly. "I found it myself. I
learned about that Latin word at school."

"I will accompany you," declared the Judge, waving his cane. "Perhaps
such eloquence and gift of language as I possess will be of benefit in
persuading our young fri