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.