"Hush," said Santa, "did you see it?"

"I saw it," said Webb.

What they meant God knows; and you shall know, if you rightly read the
primer of events.

"Be the cattle-queen," said Webb; "and overlook it if you can. I was a
mangy, sheep-stealing coyote."

"Hush!" said Santa again, laying her fingers upon his mouth. "There's
no queen here. Do you know who I am? I am Santa Yeager, First Lady of
the Bedchamber. Come here."

She dragged him from the gallery into the room to the right. There
stood a cradle with an infant in it--a red, ribald, unintelligible,
babbling, beautiful infant, sputtering at life in an unseemly manner.

"There's no queen on this ranch," said Santa again. "Look at the king.
He's got your eyes, Webb. Down on your knees and look at his
Highness."

But jingling rowels sounded on the gallery, and Bud Turner stumbled
there again with the same query that he had brought, lacking a few
days, a year ago.

"'Morning. Them beeves is just turned out on the trail. Shall I drive
'em to Barber's, or--"

He saw Webb and stopped, open-mouthed.