“Hey, boys!” Luck Lindsay shouted to Applehead and one or two of the Happy Family who were down at the chuck--wagon engaged in uneasy discussion as to what Luck would say when he found out about their intention to leave. “Come on up here--this is going to be a wiping out of old scores and I want to get it over with!” “Well, now, I calc'late the fur's about to fly,” Applehead made dismal prophecy, as they started to obey the summons. “All 't su'prises me is 't he's held off this long. Two hours is a dang long time fer Luck to git in action, now I'm tellin' yuh!” He took off his hat and polished his shiny pate, as was his habit when perturbed. “I'm shore glad we had t' wait and set them wagon-tires,” he added. “We'd bin started this mornin' only fer that.” “Aw, we ain't done nothing,” Happy Jack protested in premature self defense. “We ain't left the ranch yet. I guess a feller's got a right to THINK!” “He has, if he's got anything to do it with,” Pink could not forbear to remark pointedly. “Well, if a feller didn't have, he'd have a fat chance borrying from YOU,” Happy Jack retorted. “Well, by cripes, I ain't perpared to bet very high that there's a teacupful uh brains in this hull outfit,” Big Medicine asserted. “We might a knowed Luck'd come back loaded fer bear; we WOULD a knowed it if we had any brains in our heads. I'm plumb sore at myself. By cripes, I need kickin'!” “You'll get it, chances are,” Pink assured him grimly. Luck was in the living room, sitting at a table on which were scattered many papers Scribbled with figures. He had a cigarette in his lips, his hat on the back of his head and a twinkle in his eyes. He looked up and grinned as they came reluctantly into the room. “Time's money from now on, so this is going to be cut short as possible,” he began with his usual dynamic energy showing in his tone and in the movements of his hands as he gathered up the papers and evened their edges on the table top. “You fellows know how much you put into the game when we started out to come here and produce The Phantom Herd, don't you? If you don't, I've got the figures here. I guess the returns are all in on that picture--and so far She's brought us twenty-three thousand and four hundred dollars. She went big, believe me! I sold thirty states. Well, cost of production is-what we put in the pool, plus the cost of making the prints I got in Los. We pull out the profits according to what we put in--sabe? I guess that suits everybody, doesn't it?” “Sure,” one astonished voice gulped faintly. The others were dumb. “Well, I've figured it out that way--and to make sure I had it right I got Billy Wilders, a pal of mine that works in a bank there, to figure it himself and check up after me. We all put in our services--one man's work against every other man's work, mine same as any of you. Bill Holmes, here, didn't have any money up, and he was an apprentice--but I'm giving him twenty a week besides his board. That suit you, Bill?”