The Greatest Works of B. M. Bower - 51 Titles in One Volume (Illustrated Edition). B. M. Bower
was toiling, leading the scrawniest burro which Luck had been able to find in the country. The burro was packed with a prospector’s outfit startlingly real in its pathetic meagerness. Old Applehead was picking his way among rocks so hot that he could hardly bear to lay his bare hand upon them, tough as that hand was with years of exposure to heat and cold alike. Beads of perspiration were standing on his face, which was a deep, apoplectic crimson, and little trickles of sweat were dropping off his lower jaw.
He was muttering as he climbed, but the camera fortunately failed to record the language that he used. Now and then he turned and yanked savagely at the lead rope; whereupon the burro would sit down upon its haunches and allow Applehead to stretch its neck as far as bone and tough hide and tougher sinew would permit Someone among the group roosting in the shade across the defile and well out of camera range would laugh, and Luck, standing on a ledge just behind and above the camera, would shout directions or criticism of the “business.”
“Come on back, Applehead,” Luck yelled when the “prospectorp” had turned a corner of rock and disappeared from sight of the camera. “We’ll do that scene over once more before the sun gets too far around.”
“Do it over, will ye?” Applehead snarled as he came toiling obediently back down the gulch. “Well, now, I ain’t so danged shore about that there doin’ over—‘nless yuh want to wait and do it after sundown. Ain’t nobody but a danged fool It would go trailin’ up that there gulch this kinda’ day. Them rocks up there is hot enough to brile a lizard—now, I’m tellin’ ye!”
Luck covered a smile with his moist palm. He could not afford to be merciful at the expense of good “picture-stuff,” however, so he called down grimly:
“Now you’re just about fagged enough for that close-up I want of you, Applehead. You went up that gulch a shade too brisk for a fellow that’s all in from traveling, and starved into the bargain. Come back down here by this sand bank, and start up towards camera. Back up a little, Pete, so you can ‘pam’ his approach. I want to get him pulling his burro up past that bank—sabe? And the close-up of his face with all those sweat-streaks will prove how far he’s come—and then I want the detail of that burro and his pack which you’ll get as they go by. You see what I mean. Let’s see. Will it swing you too far into the sun, Pete, if you pick him up down there in that dry channel?”
“Not if you let me make it right away,” Pete replied after a squint or two through the viewfinder. “Sun’s getting pretty far over—”
“Ought to leave a feller time to git his wind,” Applehead complained, looking up at Luck with eyes bloodshot from the heat. “I calc’late mebby you think it’s FUN to drag that there burro up over them rocks?”
“Sure, it isn’t fun. We didn’t come out here for fun. Go down and wait behind that bank, and come out into the channel when I give the word. I 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?