y is a loud talker; so, at the end of the
season, we'll let money tell you how much we appreciate the good work
you fellows have done."

Henry, who sat blinking at Lieutenant Wingate, at this juncture rolled
over, and, curling up, went to sleep.

"You see," cried Hippy. "Even the bear goes to sleep when I talk." The
men gave three cheers for Wingate & Gray, and three more for the
Overland girls. "Help us get these tables out of the way, you fellows.
We are going to have some music. Speech making is ended."

Nora Wingate was already conferring with the "fiddler." Then, as the
tables were moved to one side, Nora launched into a lively song that she
had sung to the doughboys in France, the fiddler accompanying her on his
violin. There were rough spots in the fiddling, but these Nora submerged
in the great volume of her fine contralto voice. The song finished, the
men howled for more and stamped on the floor. Nora sang again.

"We will now have a dance," announced Grace. "You boys will please act
natural, and for goodness sake don't step on our toes with those hob-nail
boots. Choose your partners."

Not a jack moved.

"Help me haul 'em out, Tom," cried Hippy, yanking a big Canadian to the
floor and standing him up beside Nora Wingate. Tom did a similar service
for another one, and in a few seconds five lumberjacks, red of face,
shifting uneasily on their feet, were standing beside their partners on
the dance floor.

"Hit it up, Mr. Fiddler," called Tom, whereupon the fiddler began sawing
the strings of his violin and calling off for the dance, a square dance,
and soon the crash of hob-nail boots on the board floor made the shack
tremble, the fiddler beating time with his foot.

Had it not been that the Overland girls knew the dance they never could
have followed the fiddler's calls.

"Shinny on the corners," "Gents all forw'd," "Sling yer pardner," "Up
and down the travoy," "Dozey-dozey," "Smash 'em on the finish," was the
way he called off, the latter call bringing the feet of the lumberjacks
down in a series of bangs that threatened the collapse of the floor.
Outside, hovering over a little Indian fire, Willy Horse smoked
stolidly, his ears attuned, not to the music and the shuffling feet, but
to the sounds of nature, and to sounds that did not belong in nature's
scheme of things.

"Let's have a waltz," cried Hippy exuberantly.

Grace shook her head.

"No waltzes," she answered. "Square dances will do very