do you?" asked Blake Stewart. "You haven't seen us work so very hard; have you?"
"Work hard? I should say I have," answered Hank Selby. "Why, the time those Indians charged our cave, and Joe and I, and Munson and his crowd were getting ready to fire point-blank at them, there you stood, with bullets whizzing near you more than once, grinding away at the handle of your moving picture camera as hard as you could. Hard work—huh!"
"But we got the films," declared Blake, not caring to go too deeply into an argument. "And I'm anxious to see how they will develop."
"So am I," declared Joe. "I wonder what will be next on the program?"
"Why, you're going to look for your father; aren't you, Joe—your father whom you haven't seen since you were a little chap—whom you can't even remember?" and Blake looked sharply at his chum and partner, Joe Duncan.
"That's what I am, Blake, just as soon as I can get to the coast. But I mean, what will we do after that? Go back to New York?"
"I suppose so, and take up our trade of making moving picture films for whoever wants them. It will be a rather tame life after the excitement we have had out here."
