The Heritage of the Sioux | Page 8

one
single doubt of Lucks loyalty to them, but human nature is more prone
to suspicion than to faith, as every one knows. And Luck had the power
and the incentive to "double-cross" them if he was the kind to do such a

thing. He was manager for their little free-lance picture company which
did not even have a name to call itself by. They had produced one big
feature film, and it was supposed to be a cooperative affair from start to
finish. If Luck failed to make good, they would all be broke together. If
Luck cleared up the few thousands that had been their hope, why--they
would all profit by the success, if Luck--
I maintain that they showed themselves of pretty good metal, in that not
even Happy Tack, confirmed pessimist that he was, ever put the least
suspicion of Luck's honesty into words. They were not the kind to
decry a comrade when his back was turned. And they had worked with
Luck Lindsay and had worked for him. They had slept under the same
roof with him, had shared his worries,his hopes, and his fears. They did
not believe that Luck had appropriated the proceeds of The Phantom
Herd and had deliberately left them there to cool their heels and feel the
emptiness of their pockets in New Mexico, while he disported himself
in Los Angeles; they did--not believe that--they would have resented
the implication that they harbored any doubt of him. But for all that, as
the days passed and he neither came nor sent them any word, they
yielded more and more to the determination of Applehead to start out
upon his own business, and they said less and less about Luck's
probable plans for the future.
And then, just when they were making ready for an early start the next
morning; just when Applehead had the corral full of horses and his
chuckwagon of grub; just when the Happy Family had packed their
war-bags with absolute necessities and were justifying themselves in
final arguments with Andy Green, who refused point-blank to leave the;
ranch--then, at the time a dramatist would have chosen for his entrance
for an effective "curtain," here came Luck, smiling and driving a huge
seven-passenger machine crowded to the last folding seat and with the
chauffeur riding on the running board where Luck had calmly banished
him when he skidded on a sharp turn and came near upsetting them.
Applehead, stowing a coil of new rope in the chuck-wagon, took off his
hat and rubbed his shiny, pink pate in dismay. He was, for the moment,
a culprit caught in the act of committing a grave misdemeanor if not an
actual felony. He dropped the rope and went forward with dragging
feet--ashamed, for the first time in his life, to face a friend.
Luck gave the wheel a twist, cut a fine curve around the windmill and

stopped before the house with as near a flourish as a seven-passenger
automobile loaded from tail-lamp to windshield can possibly approach.
"There. That's the way I've been used to seeing cars behave," Luck
observed pointedly to the deposed chauffeur as he slammed the door
open and climbed out. "You don't have to act like you're a catepillar on
a rail fence, to play safe. I believe in keeping all four wheels on the
ground--but I like to see 'em turn once in awhile. You get me?" He
peeled a five-dollar banknote off a roll the size of his wrist, handed it to
the impressed chauffeur and dismissed the transaction with a wave of
his gloved hand. "You're all right, brother," he tempered his criticism,
"but I'm some nervous about automobiles."
"I noticed that myself," drawled a soft, humorous voice from the rear.
"This is the nearest I ever came to traveling by telegraph."
Luck grinned, waved his hand in friendly greeting to the Happy Family
who were taking long steps up from the corral, and turned his attention
to the unloading of the machine. "Howdy, folks!--guess yuh thought I'd
plumb lost the trail back," he called to them over his shoulder while he
dove after suitcases, packages of various sizes and shapes, a box or two
which the Happy Family recognized as containing "raw stock," and a
camera tripod that looked perfectly new.
From the congested tonneau a tall, slim young woman managed to
descend without stepping on anything that could not bear being stepped
upon. She gave her skirts a little shake, pushed back a flying strand of
hair and turned her back to the machine that she might the better
inspect her immediate surroundings.
Old Dave Wiswell, the dried little man who never had much to say,
peered at her sharply, hesitated and then came forward with his bony
hand outstretched