again would Horse Face duplicate the feat, as with closed eyes he sat and toyed with the hearts and the souls of the men and the dancing girls who were putting the best that was in them into the fashioning of playthings and gewgaws that on the morrow would delight the hearts of one little white girl and many Indian children. On and on he played the music that had never been written--music fashioned in his own warped brain even as his fingers flew nimbly over the keys. In and out among the workers moved Burr MacShane and McCarty, praising, encouraging, good-naturedly ridiculing and bantering the workers as they collected the finished products and piled them at the foot of the tree. At length the job was done. The last doll was finished, the last grotesquely whittled totem received its splotch of color, and the last gay candy bag was filled. Horse Face broke into a wild whirling fanfare of sound, weird as the scream of a Valkyrie, wild as the wolf’s long howl. The music ended suddenly in a crash that threatened to tear the strings from their moorings, and once more laughter reigned supreme, for as MacShane and McCarty, standing upon chairs, hung the toys, and decorations, and candy bags upon the tree, each offering was greeted with loud-called words of praise accompanied by boisterous hand-clapping, or with howls of derisive laughter as some particularly grotesque or misshapen object was displayed to view. MacShane glanced at his watch. “Four o’clock!” he cried, “Swarm to the bar, I’ll buy! From now till eight o’clock everyone’s time’s his own--except this--no one gets drunk! Anyone caught drunk between now an’ afternoon’s goin’ to settle with me! After the kids get theirs will be time enough for us. At eight o’clock we all hit out an’ begin to gather kids! Come on, now!” he raised his glass aloft: “Dawson’s first Christmas! Drink her down!” He emptied his glass at a gulp and grabbing the girl nearest him threw her onto his shoulders and made for the dance hall. “Speed her up, Horse Face!” he cried, as he set his partner upon her feet, “Come on, girl, we’ll show ’em how to dance!” Horse Face “speeded her up,” and MacShane led off in a dizzying, whirling waltz that swung the girl from her feet before half the length of the room had been covered. Laughing and shouting, others joined the sport, and for fifteen minutes the room was a gyrating riot of color as the men outdid themselves to whirl their partners clear of the floor, the strongest among them, like MacShane, spinning them high above their heads as they rotated with incredible swiftness. Dance followed dance in a bewildering turmoil of fun. There were not girls enough to go round and men tying handkerchiefs about their sleeves, took the part of girls.