to the determination of Applehead to start out upon his own business, and they
said less and less about Luck's probable plans for the future.

And then, just when they were making ready for an early start the next
morning; just when Applehead had the corral full of horses and his chuckwagon
of grub; just when the Happy Family had packed their war-bags with absolute
necessities and were justifying themselves in final arguments with Andy Green,
who refused point-blank to leave the; ranch--then, at the time a dramatist
would have chosen for his entrance for an effective "curtain," here came Luck,
smiling and driving a huge seven-passenger machine crowded to the last folding
seat and with the chauffeur riding on the running board where Luck had calmly
banished him when he skidded on a sharp turn and came near upsetting them.

Applehead, stowing a coil of new rope in the chuck-wagon, took off his hat and
rubbed his shiny, pink pate in dismay. He was, for the moment, a culprit
caught in the act of committing a grave misdemeanor if not an actual felony.
He dropped the rope and went forward with dragging feet--ashamed, for the
first time in his life, to face a friend.

Luck gave the wheel a twist, cut a fine curve around the windmill and stopped
before the house with as near a flourish as a seven-passenger automobile
loaded from tail-lamp to windshield can possibly approach.

"There. That's the way I've been used to seeing cars behave," Luck observed
pointedly to the deposed chauffeur as he slammed the door open and climbed
out. "You don't have to act like you're a catepillar on a rail fence, to play
safe. I believe in keeping all four wheels on the ground--but I like to see
'em turn once in awhile. You get me?" He peeled a five-dollar banknote off a
roll the size of his wrist, handed it to the impressed chauffeur and dismissed
the transaction with a wave of his gloved hand. "You're all right, brother,"