From the congested tonneau a tall, slim young woman managed to descend without stepping on anything that could not bear being stepped upon. She gave her skirts a little shake, pushed back a flying strand of hair and turned her back to the machine that she might the better inspect her immediate surroundings.
Old Dave Wiswell, the dried little man who never had much to say, peered at her sharply, hesitated and then came forward with his bony hand outstretched and trembling with eagerness. “Why, my gorry! If it ain't Jean Douglas, my eyes are lyin' to me,” he cried.
“It isn't Jean Douglas—but don't blame your eyes for that,” said the girl, taking his hand and shaking it frankly. “Jean Douglas Avery, thanks to the law that makes a girl trade her name for a husband. You know Lite, of course—dad, too.”
“Well, well—my gorry I 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 here!”
“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 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 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.