"Look at me," said Trinidad, "and you'll see old Ways and Means with
the fur on. I'm goin' to hitch up a team and rustle a load of kids for
Cherokee's Santa Claus act, if I have to rob an orphan asylum."

"Eureka!" cried the Judge, enthusiastically.

"No, you didn't," said Trinidad, decidedly. "I found it myself. I
learned about that Latin word at school."

"I will accompany you," declared the Judge, waving his cane. "Perhaps
such eloquence and gift of language as I possess will be of benefit in
persuading our young friends to lend themselves to our project."

Within an hour Yellowhammer was acquainted with the scheme of Trinidad
and the Judge, and approved it. Citizens who knew of families with
offspring within a forty-mile radius of Yellowhammer came forward and
contributed their information. Trinidad made careful notes of all
such, and then hastened to secure a vehicle and team.

The first stop scheduled was at a double log-house fifteen miles out
from Yellowhammer. A man opened the door at Trinidad's hail, and then
came down and leaned upon the rickety gate. The doorway was filled
with a close mass of youngsters, some ragged, all full of curiosity
and health.

"It's this way," explained Trinidad. "We're from Yellowhammer, and we
come kidnappin' in a gentle kind of a way. One of our leading citizens
is stung with the Santa Claus affliction, and he's due in town
to-morrow with half the folderols that's painted red and made in