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Since the tree was for children only, no gifts for the older people appeared among its branches, but in the night some silent-footed Kriss Kringle made his stealthy rounds, and left a gay little red and white stocking by every bedside. Mary discovered hers early in the morning, after the maid had been in to turn on the heat in the radiator, and close the windows.
Go down it did, with a crash that seemed to shake the mountain. Rolling to the edge of the shelf, it had toppled over, taking a large strip of shelving rock with it. "Wow!" howled Chunky; The other boys uttered no sound, though their faces were a little more pale than usual. Kris Kringle stepped to the edge, peering over. "No one will get that up here again, right away," he said.
"I wish I had something to defend myself with," he added after a pause. Tad had no sooner expressed his wish, than his fingers closed over some object on the ground. He grasped it with about the same hopefulness that a dying man will grasp at a straw. What he had found was a heavy tent stake, one that Kris Kringle had dropped from his bundle on the way to the cliff dweller's home.
It can't be possible that anyone is deliberately shooting at us?" questioned Professor Zepplin in undisguised amazement. "If you doubt it step outside," suggested Kris Kringle. "Master Stacy and myself know what they tried to do, don't we, lad?" "We do." The fat boy again swelled with importance. "Look out you don't swell up so big you'll break your harness," warned Ned.
All raised on the pike poles at the same time with the result that the tree was forced down the gentle incline several feet. This was repeated again and again, the boys pausing to cheer after every lift. The tree being now perilously near the edge of the cliff Kris Kringle called a halt. Next he fastened a rope around the top and another around the base, taking a turn around a rock with each.
Tad understood that as well as the rest of them, but he was burning to be off. Kris Kringle gave him careful directions as to how to get to the place. "Take your rifle with you, if you can get it. After you get half a mile or a mile away shoot once. That will tell us you are all right." "You can help me in getting away from here, if you will do some shooting to cover my escape," suggested Tad.
"But why won't you tell me, mamma?" persisted my little interrogator. "Don't you know Kriss Kringle?" "I never saw him, dear," said I. "Has papa seen him?" "Ask him when he comes home." "I wish Krissy would bring me, Oh, such an elegant carriage and four horses, with a driver that could get down and go up again." "If I see him, I'll tell him to bring you just such a nice carriage."
In the meantime Kris Kringle unbarred the door and threw it part way open. He did it cautiously, as if half expecting trouble. He threw the door to with a bang, springing to one side, and dropping the bar back into place. The reason for his sudden change of plans was that no sooner had the door opened than several thirty-eight calibre bullets were fired from the sage brush outside.
"Who is there?" demanded a voice, that sounded like David Nesbit's. "Kris Kringle and three good children." "Enter into the realm of Christmas," answered the voice, and the door was flung open. The sight that greeted them was sufficiently brilliant to dazzle their eyes for a moment. In one corner of the dining room stood the great tree, radiant with gilt and silver ornaments.
Kris Kringle gave him a push with the butt of the rifle. "Want, to get shot full of holes? Wait! I'll show you." The guide sprang up, showing himself out on the ledge for one brief instant then throwing himself flat. A sharp "ping" against the rocks, followed by a heavy report, told the story.
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