grade looking like you was trying to commit suicide and was smiling still
when you pulled up at the post-office. By gracious, I--"

Luck gave a little chuckle deep in his throat. "I did all that smiling
the day before I drove off the grade," he confessed, looking from one
to the other. "I don't guess I'd have smiled quite so sweet, maybe, if
I'd waited."

"Is that the way you make moving pictures, hind-side-foremost?" Andy, his
back to the table, lifted himself over the rim to a comfortable seat and
began to make himself a cigarette.

"Yes, or both ways from the middle, just as it happens." Luck was always
ready to talk pictures. "In that stage-driver picture I made all the
scenes before I made that drive,--for two reasons. Biggest one was that I
wanted to be sure of having it all made, in case something went wrong on
that feature drive; get me? Other was plain, human bullheadedness. Some
of the four-flushers I was cursed with in the company,--because they were
cheap and I had to balance up what I was paying the Injuns,--they kept
eyeing that bluff where I said I'd come down with the coach, and betting
I wouldn't, and talking off in corners about me just stalling. I just let
'em sweat. I made the start, and I made the finish. I drove right to
where I looked down off the pinnacle--remember?--and saw the outlaw gang
at the foot of the grade; I made all the 'dissolves,' and where I went
back and captured 'em and brought 'em in to camp. But I didn't drive off
the grade into the gulch till last thing, as luck would have it. Good
thing, too. That old coach was sure some busted, and I wasn't doing any
more smiles till I grew some hide."

Andy Green licked his cigarette and let his honest gray eyes wander from