“Better let me git in the lead right now,” Applehead advised hastily, and jumped in front of Luck as the two came lunging up.  “I know these here hombres, to my sorrer, too, now I’m tellin’ yuh!”

But Luck, feeling that his leadership might as well be established then as any time, pushed the old man back.

“What you want?” he demanded of the foremost who rode up.  “Didn’t you hear me tell you to keep out around the cattle?”

“Adonde va V con mi vaca?” snapped the first rider in high-keyed Spanish.

“My brother say where you go with our cattle?” interrupted the other one, evidently proud of his English.

“I know what he said,” Luck snubbed this one bluntly.  “I don’t know that they are your cattle.  I don’t care.  We’re using them to make motion pictures.  Get outa the way so we can go on with our work.”  Had he not spoiled several feet of film because of their coming he might have been more inclined to placate them.  As it was, he did not welcome their interference, he did not like their looks, and their tones were to his temper as tow would be to a fire.  Their half Mexican, half American dress irritated him; the interruption exasperated him.  He was hungry and cold and keyed to a high nervous tension in his anxiety to make the most of his present big opportunity; he knew too well that he might not have another chance all winter, with the snow falling as if under his direction.

“Get over there outa range of the camera!” he commanded them sharply, “then you can spout Mex. till you’re black in the face, for all I care.  I’m busy.”  To make himself absolutely understood he repeated the gist of his remarks in Spanish before he turned his back on them to finish his interrupted scene.

Whereupon one swore in Spanish and the other in English, and they both declared that they would take their cattle right now, and reined their horses toward the shifting herd.

“Hold on thar, Ramone Chavez!” shouted Applehead, striding forward.  “Didn’t you hear the boss tell ye to git outa the way, both of yuh?  Yuh better do it, now I’m tellin’ yuh, ‘cause if yuh don’t, they’s goin’ to be right smart of a runction around here!  A good big share uh them thar cattle belongs to me.  Don’t ye go messin’ in there amongst ’em; you jest ride back outa the way uh that thar camery.  Git!”

At Applehead’s command they “got,” at least as far as the camp fire, where the bright shawl of Annie-Many-Ponies caught and held their interest.  Annie-Many-Ponies, being a woman who had both youth and beauty and sensed instinctively the value of both, sent a slant-eyed glance and a half smile toward Ramone, who possessed more good looks and more English than his brother.  The Happy Family eyed them with a tolerant indifference and moved aside with reluctant hospitality when Ramone dismounted shiveringly and came forward to warm his fingers over the blaze.

“She’s cold day, you bet,” Ramone remarked ingratiatingly.