The Heritage of the Sioux, B. M. Bower [feel good fiction books TXT] 📗

want you coming up all-in, just as you look right now. Sorry, but I can't let you wait to cool off, Applehead.”

“Well now,” Applehead began with shortwinded sarcasm, “I'm s'posed to be outa grub. Why didn't yuh up In' starve me fer a week or two, so'st I'd be gaunted up realistic? Why didn't yuh break a laig fer me, sos't I kin show some five-cent bunch in a pitcher-show how bad I'm off? Danged if I ain't jest about gettin' my hide full uh this here danged fool REELISM you're hollerin' fur all the time. 'F you send me down there to come haulin' that there burro back up here so's the camery kin watch me sweat 'n' puff my danged daylights out—before I git a drink uh water, I'll murder ye in cold blood, now I'm tellin' ye!”

“You go on down there and shut up!” Luck yelled inexorably. “You can drink a barrel when I'm through with this scene—and not before. Get that? My Lord! If you can't lead a burro a hundred yards without setting down and fanning yourself to sleep, you must be losing your grip for fair. I'll stake you to a rocking-chair and let you do old grandpa parts, if you aren't able to—”

“Dang you, Luck, if you wasn't such a little runt I'd come up there and jest about lick the pants off you! Talk that way to ME, will ye? I'll have ye know I kin lead burros with you or any other dang man, heat er no heat Ef yuh ain't got no more heart'n to AST it of me, I'll haul this here burro up 'n' down this dang gulch till there ain't nothin' left of 'im but the lead-rope, and the rocks is all wore down to cobble-stone! Ole grandpa parts, hey? You'll swaller them words when I git to ye, young feller—and you'll swaller 'em mighty dang quick, now I'm tellin' ye!”

He went off down the gulch to the sand bank. The Happy Family, sprawled at ease in the shade, took cigarettes from their lips that they might chortle their amusement at the two. Like father and son were Applehead and Luck, but their bickerings certainly would never lead one to suspect their affection.

“Get that darned burro outa sight, will you?” Luck bawled impatiently when Applehead paused to send a murderous glance back toward camera. “What's the matter—yuh PARALYZED down there? Haul him in behind that bank! The moon'll be up before you get turned around, at that rate!”

“You shet yore haid!” Applehead retorted at the full capacity of his lungs and with an absolute disregard for Luck's position as director of the company. “Who's leadin' this here burro—you er me? Fer two cents I'd come back and knock the tar outa you, Luck! Stand up there on a rock and flop your wings and crow like a danged banty rooster—'n' I was leadin' burros 'fore you was born! I'd like to know who yuh think you BE?”

Pete Lowry, standing feet-apart and imperturbably focussing the camera while the two yelled insults at each other, looked up at Luck.

“Riders in the background,” he announced laconically, and returned to his squinting and fussing. “Maybe you can make 'em hear with the megaphone,” he hinted, looking again at Luck. “They're riding straight up the canon, in the middle distance. They'll register in the scene, if you can't turn 'em.”

“Applehead!” Luck called through the megaphone to his irritated prospector. “Get those riders outa the canon—they're in the scene!”

Applehead promptly appeared, glaring up at luck. “Well, now, if I've got to haul this here dang jackass up this dang gulch, I cal'clate that'll be about job enough for one man,” he yelled. “How yuh expect me t' go two ways 't once? Hey? Yuh figured that out yit?” He turned then for a look at the interrupting strangers, and immediately they saw his manner change. He straightened up, and his right hand crept back significantly toward his hip. Applehead, I may here explain, was an ex-sheriff, and what range men call a “go-getter.” He had notches on the ivory handle of his gun—three of them. In fair fights and in upholding the law he had killed, and he would kill again if the need ever arose, as those who knew him never doubted.

Luck, seeing that backward movement of the hand, unconsciously hitched his own gun into position on his hip and came down off his rock ledge with one leap. Just as instinctively the Happy Family scrambled out of the shade and followed luck down the gulch to where Applehead stood facing down the canon, watchfulness in every tense line of his lank figure. Tommy Johnson, who never seemed to be greatly interested in anything save his work, got up from where he lay close beside the camera tripod and went over to the other side of the gulch where he could see plainer.

Like a hunter poising his shotgun and making ready when his trained bird-dog points, Luck walked guardedly down the gulch to where Applehead stood watching the horsemen who had for the moment passed out of sight of those above.

“Now, what's that danged shurf want, prowlin' up HERE with a couple uh depittys?” Applehead grumbled when he heard Luck's footsteps crunching behind him. “Uh course,” he added grimly, “he MIGHT be viewin' the scenery—but it's dang pore weather fur pleasure-ridin', now I'm tellin' ye! Them a comin' up here don't look good to ME, Luck—'n' if they ain't—”

“How do you know it's the sheriff?” Luck for no reason whatever felt a sudden heaviness of spirit.

“Hey? Think my eyes is failin' me?” Applehead gave him a sidelong glance of hasty indignation. “I'd know ole Hank Miller a mile off with m' eyes shet.”

By then the three riders rode out into plain view. Perhaps the sight of Luck and Applehead standing there awaiting their arrival, with the whole Happy Family and Big Aleck Douglas and Lite Avery moving down in a close-bunched, expectant group behind the two, was construed as hostility rather than curiosity. At any rate the sheriff and his deputies shifted meaningly in their saddles and came up sour-faced and grim, and with their guns out and pointing at the group.

“Don't go making any foolish play, boys,” the sheriff warned. “We don't want trouble—we aren't looking for any. But we ain't taking any chances.”

“Well now, you're takin' a dang long chance, Hank Miller, when yuh come ridin' up on us fellers like yuh was cornerin' a bunch uh outlaws,” Applehead exploded. But Luck pushed him aside and stepped to the front.

“Nobody's making any foolish play but you,” he answered the sheriff calmly. “You may not know it, but you're blocking my scene and the light's going. If you've got any business with me or my company, get it over and then get out so we aim make this scene. What d'yuh want?”

“You,” snapped the sheriff. “You and your bunch.”

“Me?” Luck took a step forward. “What for?”

“For pulling off that robbery at the bank today.” The sheriff could be pretty blunt, and he shot the charge straight, without any quibbling.

Luck looked a little blank; and old Applehead, shaking with a very real anger now, shoved Luck away and stepped up where he could shake his fist under the sheriff's nose.

“We don't know, and we don't give a cuss, what you're aimin' at,” he