The “ketch-all,” where Big Medicine and Pink were clearing out the accumulation of years, was enveloped in a cloud of dust.  Down in the corral a dozen horses were circling, with Applehead moving cautiously about in the middle dragging his loop and making ready for a throw.  There was one snuffy little bay gelding that he meant to turn over to Luck for a saddle horse, and he wanted to get him caught and in the stable before showing him to Luck.  Happy Jack was wobbling up the path with an oversized sack of potatoes balanced on his shoulder, and his face a deep crimson from the heat and his exertions.  Down in the stable the little black dog, enlivened by the plate of bones Rosemary had given him, had scented the cat in the loft and was barking hysterically up the ladder.

Luck stepped out briskly, cheered by the atmosphere of bustling preparation which surrounded him.  That he was the moving spirit which directed all these activities stimulated him like good old wine.  It was for his Big Picture that they were preparing.  Already his brain was at work upon the technique of picture production, formulating a system which should as far as possible eliminate the risk of failure because of the handicaps under which he must work.

Having to be his own camera-man, and to work without an assistant, piled high the burden of work and responsibility; but he could not afford to pay the salaries such assistants would demand.  He had a practical knowledge of camera craft, since he had worked his way up through all branches of the game, and he was sure that with practice he could do the photographic work.  He hoped to teach Andy enough about it so that he could help; Andy seemed to have an adaptability superior to some of the others and would learn the rudiments readily, Luck believed.

The lack of a leading woman was another handicap.  He could not afford to hire one, and he could not very well weave a love story into his plot without a woman.  He was going to try Rosemary, since her part would consist mostly of riding in and out of scenes and looking pretty,—­at least in the earlier portion.  And by the time he was ready to produce the dramatic scenes, he hoped that she would be able to act the part.  It was a risk, of course, and down deep in his heart he feared that much of her charm would never reach the screen; but he must manage somehow, since there would be no money to spend on salaries.  He ought to have a character woman, too,—­which he lacked.

But other things he did have, and they were the things that would count most for success or failure.  He had his real boys, for instance; and he had his real country; and, last and most important of all, he had his story to tell.  In spite of his weariness, Luck was almost happy that first afternoon at Applehead’s ranch.  He went whistling about his task of directing the others and doing two men’s work himself, and he refused to worry about anything.

That evening after supper, when they were all smoking and resting before Applehead’s big rock fireplace, Luck’s energy would not let him dwell upon the trivial incidents of their trip, which the Happy Family were discussing with reminiscent enjoyment.  Applehead’s booming laugh was to Luck as a vague accompaniment to his own thoughts darting here and there among his plans.