of Joe Shafto
back in the cook-house abusing Willy Horse.

"What do you say, fellows?" urged Tom quietly.

Something seeped slowly into the brain of those rough and ready
two-fisted lumbermen. To advance a confessed crook to foreman, a man who
had bargained to do a traitorous thing to his Big Boss--it was big, it
was unheard of in their rough lives. Even the girls of the Overland
party, not one of whom had known of Tom's and Hippy's purpose, felt a
thrill, but no one spoke.

"Well, fellows?" urged Tom gently.

"_Yes!_" The word was uttered in a roar, a mighty roar that was heard in
the cook-house and by the lumberjacks at their Christmas dinner in the
old bunk-house.

Nora Wingate, carried away by her emotions, sprang to her feet and threw
wide her arms.

"Boys! Boys!" she cried almost hysterically.

"You're rough, but you're men--loyal, splendid fellows, and I love you,
every one of you!"

Spike, with burning face, bolted for the door.

"Come back here!" bellowed Hippy Wingate. "You've forgotten something,"
pointing to the gold-piece that lay where Emma Dean had placed it before
Spike's plate. "I never did see anyone so careless with money."

The red-headed lumberjack returned slowly, picked up the gold-piece and
opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.

"Never mind. Don't say it," smiled Tom. "You may go now."

"Thankee," mumbled Spike, and made a hurried exit. Reaching the door, he
broke into a run, never pausing until he had plunged deep into the
forest, not to return until long after the jacks had turned in for the
night.

Following the new foreman's departure the gifts for Overlanders and
jacks were quickly distributed, and, half an hour later, on their way to
their own camp, the Overland Riders stepped out into the sparkling
night, where, as Hippy Wingate had said, every tree was a Christmas
tree, dressed with snapping reflected lights from the moonbeams on the
snowflakes. Elfreda Briggs called attention to a dark object at the top
of a great pine. It was Henry--Henry in disgrace--Henry who had stolen
a turkey from the cook-house and felt the sting of his master's club
across his sensitive nose.

June and July disturbed the serenity of the night with two long-drawn,
throaty brays.

A snow-bird chirped in the foliage somewhere above the Overlanders.

"What is the little birdie saying, Emma girl?" teased Hippy.

"What is he saying?" answered Emma thoughtfully. "I think, Hippy, that
he is