estitution, was he going to pay for
that stock of "positive" when it came? Applehead was dead willing to help
him,--that went without saying; but Applehead was broke. That last load
of horse-feed had cleaned his pockets, as he had cheerfully informed Luck
over three weeks before. Applehead was not, and never would be by his own
efforts, more than comfortably secure from having to get out and work for
wages. He had cattle, but he let them run the range in season and out,
and it was only in good years that he had fair beef to ship. He hated a
gang of men hanging around the ranch and eating their fool heads off, he
frequently declared. So he and Compadre had lived in unprosperous peace,
with a little garden and a little grape arbor and a horse for Applehead
in the corral, and teams in the pasture where they could feed and water
themselves, and a month's supply of "grub" always in the house. Applehead
called that comfort, and could not see the advantage of burdening himself
with men and responsibilities that he might pile up money in the bank.
You can easily see where the coming of Luck and his outfit might strain
the financial resources of Applehead, even though Luck tried to bear all
extra expense for him. No, thought Luck, Applehead would have to mortgage
something if he were to attempt raising money then. And Luck would have
taken a pack-outfit and made the trip to El Paso on horseback before he
would see Applehead go in debt for him. As it was, he was seriously
considering that pack-horse proposition as a last resort, and trying to
invent some way of shaving his work down so that he would have time for
the trip. But certain grim facts could not be twisted to meet his needs.
He simply had to print his positive for projection on the screen. And
that positive simply had to go through certain processes that took a
certain amount of time; and it simply had to be dry and polished before
he could wind it on his reels. Reels? Lord-ee! He didn't have any reels
to
wind it on!

"What's the matter? Spoil something?" Bill Holmes asked indifferently,
pausing to look at Luck before he took up the next strip of celluloid
ribbon with its perforated edges and its little squares of shadowlike
pictures that to the unpractised eye looked all alike.

"No. What reel is that you're on now? We want to be in town before dark
with this stuff, so as to start the printer going to-night." By
printing, that night, and by hard riding, he might be ab