aslant from under her level, finely marked brows, and her eyes lightened with
relief when she saw that Applehead looked more startled than she had felt.
Indeed, Applehead had been calling Luck uncomplimentary names for cleaning the
place of everything a man might need in a hurry, and he was ashamed of
himself.

"Can't find a foot of danged wire on the danged place!" Applehead kicked a
large, tangled bunch of weeds under the very nose of the horse which jumped
sidewise. "Never seen such a maniac for puttin' things where a feller can't
find 'em, as what Luck is." He was not actually speak ing to
Annie-Many-Ponies--or if he was he did not choose to point his remarks by
glancing at her.

"Wagalexa Conka, he heap careful for things belong when they stay,"
Annie-Many-Ponies observed in her musical contralto voice which always
irritated Applehead with its very melody. "I think plenty wire all fold up
neat in prop-room. Wagalexa Conka, he all time clean this studio from trash
lie around everywhere."

"He does, hey?" Applehead's sunburnt mustache bristled like the whiskers of
Compadre when he was snarling defiance at the little black dog. The feud was
asserting itself. " Well, this here danged place ain't no studio! It's a
ranch, and it b'longs to ME, Nip Furrman. And any balin' wire on this ranch is
my balin' wire, and it's got a right to lay around wherever I want it t' lay.
And I don't need no danged squaw givin' me hints about 'how my place oughta be
kept--now I'm tellin' yuh!"

Annie-Many-Ponies did not reply in words. She sat on her horse, straight as
any young warchief that ever led her kinsmen to battle, and looked down at
Applehead with that maddening half smile of hers, inscrutable as the Sphinx