The Greatest Works of B. M. Bower - 51 Titles in One Volume (Illustrated Edition). B. M. Bower
the kitchen, and Luck retreated by way of the front door without telling Andy just how busy the other boys were.
The “ketch-all,” where Big Medicine and Pink were clearing out the accumulation of years, was enveloped in a cloud of dust. Down in the corral a dozen horses were circling, with Applehead moving cautiously about in the middle dragging his loop and making ready for a throw. There was one snuffy little bay gelding that he meant to turn over to Luck for a saddle horse, and he wanted to get him caught and in the stable before showing him to Luck. Happy Jack was wobbling up the path with an oversized sack of potatoes balanced on his shoulder, and his face a deep crimson from the heat and his exertions. Down in the stable the little black dog, enlivened by the plate of bones Rosemary had given him, had scented the cat in the loft and was barking hysterically up the ladder.
Luck stepped out briskly, cheered by the atmosphere of bustling preparation which surrounded him. That he was the moving spirit which directed all these activities stimulated him like good old wine. It was for his Big Picture that they were preparing. Already his brain was at work upon the technique of picture production, formulating a system which should as far as possible eliminate the risk of failure because of the handicaps under which he must work.
Having to be his own camera-man, and to work without an assistant, piled high the burden of work and responsibility; but he could not afford to pay the salaries such assistants would demand. He had a practical knowledge of camera craft, since he had worked his way up through all branches of the game, and he was sure that with practice he could do the photographic work. He hoped to teach Andy enough about it so that he could help; Andy seemed to have an adaptability superior to some of the others and would learn the rudiments readily, Luck believed.
The lack of a leading woman was another handicap. He could not afford to hire one, and he could not very well weave a love story into his plot without a woman. He was going to try Rosemary, since her part would consist mostly of riding in and out of scenes and looking pretty,—at least in the earlier portion. And by the time he was ready to produce the dramatic scenes, he hoped that she would be able to act the part. It was a risk, of course, and down deep in his heart he feared that much of her charm would never reach the screen; but he must manage somehow, since there would be no money to spend on salaries. He ought to have a character woman, too,—which he lacked.
But other things he did have, and they were the things that would count most for success or failure. He had his real boys, for instance; and he had his real country; and, last and most important of all, he had his story to tell. In spite of his weariness, Luck was almost happy that first afternoon at Applehead’s ranch. He went whistling about his task of directing the others and doing two men’s work himself, and he refused to worry about anything.
That evening after supper, when they were all smoking and resting before Applehead’s big rock fireplace, Luck’s energy would not let him dwell upon the trivial incidents of their trip, which the Happy Family were discussing with reminiscent enjoyment. Applehead’s booming laugh was to Luck as a vague accompaniment to his own thoughts darting here and there among his plans.
“Aw, gwan!” Happy Jack was exclaiming in his habitual tone of protest. “Conductor lied to me, is how I come to be over to that place when the train started to pull out. I was buyin’ something. I wasn’t talking to no Mexican girl. I betche—”
“Now, while we’re all together,” Luck broke suddenly into Happy’s explanation, “I’m just going over the scenario from start to finish and assign your parts. Applehead, I’m going to cast you for the sheriff. You won’t need to do any acting at all—”
“We-ell, if I do, I calc’late I got some idee uh how a shurf had oughta ack,” Applehead informed him with a boastful note in his voice, and pulled himself up straighter in his chair. “I was ‘lected shurf uh this county four different terms right hand runnin’, and if I do say it, they wasn’t nobody ever said I didn’t do my duty. Ary man I went after, I come purty near bringin’ him into camp, now I’m tellin’ ye! This here old girl has shore talked out in meetin’, in her time, and there wasn’t ary man wanted to face her down in an argument, now I’m tellin’ ye.” He got up and took his old six-shooter off the mantel and held it lovingly in his palm. Very solemnly he licked his thumb and polished a certain place along the edge of the yellow ivory handle, and held it so the Happy Family could see three tiny notches.
“Them’s three argyments she shore settled,” he stated grimly, and turned slowly upon Luck.
“Yes-s, I calc’late I can play shurf for ye, all right enough.”
Luck looked up at him with his eyes shining, remembering how staunch a friend Applehead had been in times past, and how even his boastings were but a naïve recognition of facts concerning himself. Applehead Forrman was fifty-six years old, but Luck could not at that moment recall a man more dangerous to meet as an enemy or more loyal to have as a friend.
“I calc’late you can,” he agreed in his soft, friendly drawl. “Sit down and turn your good ear this way, Applehead, so this story can soak in. You’ll see where you come in as sheriff, and you’ll sabe just what you’ll have to do. Bud, here, will be the outlaw that blows into the cow-camp and begins to mix things. He’s the one you’ll have to settle. So here’s the way the story runs:”
“Say, boss, make it short and sweet, can’t you?” Andy begged. He was sitting on the floor with his head against Rosemary’s knees, and his eyelids were drooping drowsily. “By gracious, nobody’ll have to sing me to sleep to-night! I’m about ready to hit the hay right now.”
“I’ll cut out the atmosphere and just stick to the action, then,” Luck conceded. “I want to get you all placed, so we can get to work in the morning without any delay. Sabe?”
“Shoot,” murmured Pink, opening his eyes with some effort “I can listen for five minutes, maybe.”
“I can’t, I don’t believe,” the Native Son yawned. “But go ahead, amigo. My heart’s with you, anyway, whether my eyes are open or shut.”
Luck was pretty sleepy himself, after two nights and a day spent in a chair car, with another day of hard labor to finish the ordeal. But his enthusiasm had never been keener than when, in the land of sage and cactus, he first unfolded his precious scenario and bent forward to read by the light of the fire. He forgot to skip the “atmosphere.” Scene by scene he lived the story through. Scene by scene he saw his Big Picture grow vivid as ever the reality would be. Once or twice he glanced up and saw Applehead leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his pipe gone cold in his fingers, absorbed, living the story even as Luck lived it.
A long, rumbling snore stopped him with a mental jolt. He came back to reality and looked at the Happy Family. Every one of them, save Rosemary, was sound asleep; and even Rosemary was dreaming at the fire with her eyes half closed, and her fingers moving caressingly through the unconscious Andy’s brown hair.
“Let ‘em be. You go ahead and read it out,” Applehead muttered, impatient of the pause.
So Luck, with his audience dwindled to one bald-headed old rangeman, read the story of what he meant to create out there in the wild spaces of New Mexico.
Chapter Eleven. Just a few Unforeseen Obstacles
It is surprising how much time is consumed by the little things of life,—unimportant in themselves, yet absolutely necessary to a satisfactory accomplishment of the big things. Luck, looking ahead into the next day, confidently expected to be making scenes by the time the light was right,—say nine o’clock in the morning. He had chosen several short, unimportant scenes, such as the departure of old Dave Wiswell, his cattleman of the picture, from the ranch; his return, and the saddling of horses and riding away of the boys. Also he meant to make a scene of the arrival of the sheriff after having received word of the presence of Big Medicine, the outlaw, at the ranch. Rosemary, too, as the daughter of old Dave, must run down to the corral to meet her father. Scattered