“Of course, dearie,” Virginia hastened to say, “I know it is the good St. Nick who brings presents to children, but we grown folks sometimes give gifts to each other. Ho! look ahead! Megsy,” she added. “There’s Brother Malcolm waiting for us at the Big Boulder, and good! Slick Cy is with him.”
The latter cow-boy had told Malcolm all about the poor family that Virginia had rescued, and he was eager to assure his sister that she had done just as he would have wished her to do had he been there.
After the merry greetings had been exchanged, Virginia exclaimed “Where are we to go for a Christmas tree, Slick Cy?”
“Ah saw a beauty tree last week, high on Second Peak trail,” that cow-boy drawled. Then he looked anxiously at the sky. “Looks sort of to me like thar might be a blizzard. If so, ’twouldn’t be safe nohow fo’ you gurls to ride up that trail.”
“Oh, please, let us go,” Margaret begged. “I’m wild to see a pine tree growing up in the mountains. I don’t believe a storm is coming, do you, Malcolm?”
That boy looked toward the north where threatening clouds were rapidly gathering.
“I’m afraid Slick Cy is right,” he said. “Perhaps we ought to give up the idea of getting the tree today.”
“But, brother, there is only one day more before Christmas and we need that to trim the tree and get ready for the party,” Virginia protested.
“Well, like as not it may blow over,” Slick Cy said, really against his better judgment. “If we are a-goin’, we’d better get started.”
And so with the Slater cow-boy in the lead and Malcolm in the rear, the little procession started up the steep trail. But they had not gone far when Slick Cy whirled in his saddle and held up a warning hand. Malcolm had also heard the low ominous sound which seemed to be gathering in volume as though whatever caused it, with each second, was drawing nearer.