"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.
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