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Updated: June 21, 2025
The entrance to the cave dwelling was blocked by a huge boulder, that completely filled the opening. How it had been gotten there none could say. The only possible explanation was that the boulder had been found on the shelf and applied to the purpose of protecting the cave dwellers' home. "Now we're here, we can't get in," grumbled Ned. "Nothing is impossible," answered Kris Kringle.
She hurried to the door, flinging it wide open to admit three stalwart young men whose clean-cut, boyish faces shone with good humor. "Hurrah for old Kris Kringle!" cried Hippy, who was in the lead, as he skipped nimbly into the living-room, and set down the heavy suit case he carried with a flourish.
It was shortly after two o'clock in the morning when Kris Kringle espied a party of horsemen slowly encircling the adobe house. The riders were strung out far off on the plain. Those hiding in the sage in front of the house could not see the approaching horsemen. "There they come," whispered Kris Kringle. "Begin shooting!"
You'll hear a redskin yell when he's hit bad." "That one I punched didn't. He was hit hard," volunteered Stacy. "He didn't have time," grinned Tad. "You were too quick for him." "Look out! There comes a volley!" warned Mr. Kringle. The boys, led by the Professor tumbled into the corner in a heap, while the lead pattered in through the opening, rattling with great force like a handful of pebbles.
"Who is Kriss Kringle, mamma?" asked a pair of rosy lips, close to my ear, as I stood at the kitchen table, rolling out and cutting cakes. I turned at the question, and met the earnest gaze of a couple of bright eyes, the roguish owner of which had climbed into a chair for the purpose of taking note of my doings. I kissed the sweet lips, but did not answer. "Say, mamma?
Both rear hoofs went through the table, whisking it off the ground from before the astonished eyes of Professor Zepplin and Kris Kringle. Both men drew back so violently that they toppled over backwards. 'Mid the crashing of dishes and the sound of breaking wood, the dinner table shot up into the air, while the pony ploughed the ground with its nose.
Some little time was consumed in chopping the tree loose from its stump, after which the guide worked the pike poles under the trunk at intervals near the base. The others watched these operations with interest. "Now here is where you young gentlemen will have a chance to show how strong you are. Each one grab a pike pole," Kringle directed. "Shan't I go hold the top down?" asked Stacy.
He said he'd use it for a divining rod when he wanted to find a little spring. "Mr. Kringle, I am commissioned by the fellows to ask you a question," announced Tad, after the meal had been in progress for a time. "Ask it," smiled the guide. "We thought we'd like to call you Santa Claus, seeing you've brought us so much cheer. Then again, it's your name you know. Kris Kringle is Santa Claus."
He's been struck by lightning!" commanded the guide, making systematic efforts to bring the old man back to consciousness. Stacy ran for the water-bags. "I am afraid it is useless, Mr. Kringle," warned, the Professor, failing to find a pulse. The boys were standing about fanning the victim, having one by one dumped the contents of their canteens in his face.
At eleven o'clock there was a great jingling of bells and into the room dashed Santa Claus, looking as fat and jolly as a story-book Kris Kringle. "Merry Christmas," he cried in a high squeaky voice.
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