RIDERS IN THE BACKGROUND
facing down the cañon, watchfulness in every tense line of his lank figure. Tommy Johnson, who never seemed to be greatly interested in anything save his work, got up from where he lay close beside the camera tripod and went over to the other side of the gulch where he could see plainer.
Like a hunter poising his shotgun and making ready when his trained bird-dog points, Luck walked guardedly down the gulch to where Applehead stood watching the horsemen who had for the moment passed out of sight of those above.
"Now, what's that danged shurf want, prowlin' up here with a couple uh depittys?" Applehead grumbled when he heard Luck's footsteps crunching behind him. "Uh course," he added grimly, "he might be viewin' the scenery—but it's dang pore weather fur pleasure-ridin', now I'm tellin' ye! Them a comin' up here don't look good to me, Luck—'n' if they ain't—"
"How do you know it's the sheriff?" Luck for no reason whatever felt a sudden heaviness of spirit.
"Hey? Think my eyes is failin' me?" Applehead gave him a sidelong glance of hasty indig-
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