e dish contained over half Ellen's portion for that day. There
was a tenseness about his jaw, a smouldering light in his eye that sent
a queer chill over the girl. A few minutes later he rose and climbed
up into the loft. When he descended he held a revolver in his hand.

The weapon was one he had carried since boyhood. Its history belonged
to an oldtime Indian scout, a friend of Boreland's father. On its
handle were three notches. The last time the girl had heard the story
of those three notches was at Katleean when Shane, pointing them out to
the White Chief, had told him that each one stood for a man who
deserved and met death at the hand that held the gun.

She grew inattentive to the questions of Loll as she watched her
brother-in-law at the table oiling and polishing the old revolver. He
spent much time at his task and when it was finished sat thoughtfully,
his thin fingers slowly passing over the notches as if he were counting
them for the first time. After some minutes he leaned across to Kayak
Bill.

"Kayak," he said so softly that the girl could scarcely hear, "_if_ I
get back to Katleean in the spring--_there will be four--_" He tapped
the notched handle of the revolver significantly.

A sudden chill of foreboding, doubly terrible because at first so vague
and incomprehensible, swept her. She saw Kayak's eyes looking into
Boreland's. They were tense, half-closed and glittered coldly, not at
Shane, but at some vision induced by Shane's words. Then the old man
nodded twice, slowly, approvingly, decisively. . . .

As the days of December went by everyone on the Island, with the
exception of Loll, asserted often that of course there could be no
Christmas. Despite this, however, as the date drew near the holiday
spirit hovered persistently over the camp. Mysterious things were
going on. Kayak Bill withdrew himself behind his curtain very early
each day, and tantalizing sounds of whittling came from his corner;
while Boreland and Harlan shut themselves up for hours in the shed.

The day before Christmas came white and still with great soft
snowflakes falling until noon.

"Santa Claus weather! Santa Claus weather!" sang Lollie dancing up and
down before the window. "He'll surely come now--if there is one," he
added for Jean's benefit. The girl had tried to explain the spirit of
Christmas to the youngster, but he still clung to his early conception
of the good old saint.

There was a party