e, 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
wh