' Well, well — my gorry! I should say I do! Howdy, Aleck ? ' He shook the hand of the old man Jean called dad, and his lips trembled uncertainly, seeking speech that would not hurt a very, very sore spot in the heart of big Aleck Douglas. ' I'm shore glad to meet yuh again,' he stuttered finally, and let it go at that. ' And how are yuh, Lite ? Just as long and lanky as ever — marriage shore ain't fattened you up none. My gorry! I shore never expected to see you folks away down hsre!'
' 25
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' Thought you heard me say when I left that the Great Western had offered to get me Jean Douglas for leading lady,' Luck put in, looking around distractedly for a place to deposit his armload of packages. ' That's one thing that kept me — waiting for her to show up. Of course a man naturally expects a woman to take her own time about starting —'
' I like that! ' Jean drawled. ' We broke up housekeeping and wound up a ranch and traveled a couple of thousand miles in just a week's time. We — we almost hit the same gait you did from town out here today! '
Rosemary Green came out then, and Luck turned to greet her and to present Jean to her, and was pleased when he saw from their eyes that they liked each other at first sight. He introduced the Happy Family and Applehead to her and to her husband, Lite Avery, and her father. He pulled a skinny individual forward and announced that this was Pete Lowry, one of the Great Western's crack cameramen; and another chubby, smooth- cheeked young man he presented as Tommy Johnson, scenic artist and stage carpenter. And he
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added with a smile for the whole bunch, ' We're going to produce some real stuff from now on — believe me, folks! '
In the confusion and the mild clamor of the absence-bridging questions and hasty answers, two persons had no part. Old Applehead, hard-ridden by the uneasy consciousness of his treason to Luck, leaned against a porch post and sucked hard at the stem of an empty pipe. And just beyond the corner out of sight but well within hearing, Annie-Many-Ponies stood flattened against the wall and listened with fast-beating pulse for the sound of her name, spoken in the loved voice of Wagalexa Conka. She, the daughter of a chief and Luck's sister by tribal adoption — would he not miss her from among those others who welcomed him? Would he not presently ask: 'Where is Annie-Many-Ponies ?'
She knew just how he would turn and search for her with his eyes. She knew just how his voice would sound when he asked for her. Then, after a minute — when he had missed her and had asked for her — she would come and stand before him. And he would take her hand and say to that white
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woman; ' This is my Indian sister, Annie-Many-Ponies, who played the part of the beautiful Indian girl who died so grandly in The Phantom Herd. This is the girl who plays my character leads.' Then the white girl, who was to be his leading woman, would not feel that she was the only woman in the company who could do good work for Luck.
Annie-Many-Ponies had worked in pictures since she was fifteen and did only ' atmosphere stuff ' in the Indian camps of Luck's arranging. She was wise in the ways of picture jealousies. Already she was jealous of this slim woman with the dark hair and eyes and the slow smile that always caught one's attention and held it. She waited. She wanted Wagalexa Conka to call her in that kindly, imperious voice of his — the voice of the master. This leading woman would see, then, that here was a girl more beautiful for whom Luck Lindsay felt the affection of family ties.
She waited, flattened against the wall, listening to every word that was spoken in that buzzing group. She saw the last bundle taken from the machine, and she saw Luck's head and shoulders
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disappear within the tonneau, making sure that it was the last bundle and that nothing had been overlooked. She saw the driver climb in, slam the fore-door shut after him and bend above the starter. She saw the machine slide out of the group and away in a wide circle to regain the trail. She saw the group break and start off in various directions as duty or a passing interest led. But Wagalexa Conka never once seemed to remember that she was not there. Kever once did he speak her name.
Instead, just as Rosemary was leading the way into the house, this slim young woman they called Jean glanced around inquiringly. ' I thought you had a squaw working for you,' she said in that soft, humorous voice of hers. ' The one who did the Indian girl in The Phantom Herd. Isn't she here any more ? '
' Oh, yes! ' Luck stopped with one foot on the porch. ' Sure! Where is Annie ? Anybody know?'
' She was around here just before you came,' said Rosemary carelessly. ' I don't know where she went.'
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' Hid out, I reckon/' Luck commented. ' Injuns are heap shy of meeting strangers. She'll show up after a little.'
Annie-Many-Ponies stooped and slid safely past the window that might betray her, and then slipped away behind the house. She waited, and she listened; for though the adobe walls were thick, there were open windows and her hearing was keen. Within was animated babel and much laughter. But not once again did Annie-Many- Ponies hear her name spoken. Not once again did Wagalexa Conka remember her. Save when she, that slim woman who had come to play his leads, asked to see her, she had been wholly forgotten. Even then she had been named a squaw. It was as though they had been speaking of a horse. They did not count her worthy of a place in their company, they did not miss her voice and her smile.
' Hid out,' Wagalexa Conka had said. Well, she would hide out, then — she, the daughter of a chief of the Sioux; she, whom Wagalexa Conka had been glad to have in his picture when he was poor and had no money to pay white leading women. But now he had much money; now he
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could come in a big automobile, with a slim, white leading woman and a camera man and scenic artist and much money in his pocket; and she — she was just a squaw who had hid out, and who would show up after a while and be grateful if he took her by the hand and said, ' How! '
With so many persons moving eagerly here and there, none but an Indian could have slipped away from that house and from the ranch without being seen. But though the place was bald and open to the four winds save for a
