nd hitch up my sleigh. I'm goin' to take this
kid home."

"Well, infidel," said Trinidad, taking Cherokee's vacant chair, "and
so you are too superannuated and effete to yearn for such mockeries as
candy and toys, it seems."

"I don't like you," said Bobby, with acrimony. "You said there would
be a rifle. A fellow can't even smoke. I wish I was at home."

Cherokee drove his sleigh to the door, and they lifted Bobby in beside
him. The team of fine horses sprang away prancingly over the hard
snow. Cherokee had on his $500 overcoat of baby sealskin. The laprobe
that he drew about them was as warm as velvet.

Bobby slipped a cigarette from his pocket and was trying to snap a
match.

"Throw that cigarette away," said Cherokee, in a quiet but new voice.

Bobby hesitated, and then dropped the cylinder overboard.

"Throw the box, too," commanded the new voice.

More reluctantly the boy obeyed.

"Say," said Bobby, presently, "I like you. I don't know why. Nobody
never made me do anything I didn't want to do before."

"Tell me, kid," said Cherokee, not using his new voice, "are you sure
your mother kissed that picture that looks like me?"

"Dead sure. I seen her do it."

"Didn't you remark somethin' a while ago about wanting a rifle?"

"You bet I did. Will you get me one?"

"To-morrow--silver-mounted."

Cherokee took out his watch.

"Half-past nine. We'll hit the Junction plumb on time with Christmas
Day. Are you cold? Sit closer, son."

XVIII

A CHAPARRAL PRINCE

Nine o'clock at last, and the drudging toil of the day was ended. Lena
climbed to her room in the third half-story of the Quarrymen's Hotel.
Since daylight she had slaved, doing the work of a full-grown woman,
scrubbing the floors, washing the heavy ironstone plates and cups,
making the beds, and supplying the insatiate demands for wood and
water in that turbulent and depressing hostelry.

The din of the day's quarrying was over--the blasting and drilling,
the creaking of the great cranes, the shouts of the foremen, the
backing and shifting of the flat-cars hauling the heavy blocks of
limestone. Down in the hotel office three or four of the labourers
were growling and swearing over a belated game of checkers. Heavy
odours of stewed meat, hot grease, and cheap coffee hung like a
depressing fog about the house.

Lena lit the stump of a candle and sat limply upon her wooden chair.
She was eleven years old, thin and ill-nourished. Her bac