As his story had changed and developed into The Phantom Herd plot, it had lengthened appreciably, because he could not and would not sacrifice his big range stuff.  And double exposures meant double work, of course.  He found himself with a five-reel picture in the making instead of the four-reeler he had started to produce.  Thus he was compelled to send for more “raw stock.”  Also, he soon ran out of lumber for his interior sets and must buy more.  As the possibilities of his production grew plainer to him, Luck knew that he could not slight a single scene nor skimp it in the making.  He could go hungry if it came to that, but he could not cheapen his story by using make-shift settings.

Thanksgiving came, and they scarcely knew it, for the weather was fine, and they spent the day far afield and came in after dark, too tired to be thankful for anything save the opportunity to sleep.

Christmas came so suddenly that they wondered where the month had gone.  Christmas Eve the Happy Family spent in arranging a round-up camp out behind the house where the hill rose picturesquely, and in singeing themselves heroically in the heat of radium flares, while Luck took his camp-fire scenes that were triumphs of lighting-effects and photography,—­scenes which he would later tone red with aniline dyes.

Annie-Many-Ponies and Rosemary brought out the two-gallon coffee boiler and a can of cream and a small lard pail of sugar, with cups and tin spoons and a pan of boiled-beef and cold-bean sandwiches.  Rosemary called “Merry Christmas!” when the dying radium flares betrayed her approach, and the Happy Family jumped up and shouted “Merry Christmas!” to her and one another, just as exuberantly as though they had been celebrating instead of adding six hours or so to a hard day’s work.

“That was beautiful, Luck Lindsay,” Rosemary declared, giving him a bean sandwich for which he declared himself “strong,” and holding the sugar bucket steady while he dipped into it three times.

“We were watching from the house; and the boys’ faces, the way you had them placed, looked—­oh, I don’t know, but it just sent shivers all over me, it was so beautiful.  I just hope it comes out that way in the picture!”

“Better,” mumbled Luck, taking great, satisfying bites into the sandwich.  “Wait till you see it—­after it’s colored—­with the chuck-box end of the wagon showing, and the night horses standing back there in the shadows; she will sure look like a million dollars!”

“She’ll shore depict me cookin’ and the smoke bilin’ up,” poor old Applehead remarked lugubriously.  “Last five minutes er so I could hear grease a-fryin’ on my shins, now I’m tellin’ yuh!”

“Well, they don’t use radium flares in cold-storage plants,” Luck admitted reflectively.

“I know, by cripes, I’m goin’ to mend my ways,” Big Medicine declared meaningly.  “I never realized b’fore how fire ’n brimstone’s goin’ to feel!”