efore 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 scen