Like father and son were Applehead and Luck, but their bickerings certainly would never lead one to suspect their affection.
"Get that darned burro outa sight, will you ?" Luck bawled impatiently when Applehead paused to send a murderous glance back toward camera.
"What's the matter--yuh PARALYZED down there?
Haul him in behind that bank! The moon'll be up before you get turned around, at that rate!" "You shet yore haid!" Applehead retorted at the full capacity of his lungs and with an absolute disregard for Luck's position as director of the company.

"Who's leadin' this here burro--you er me?
Fer two cents I'd come back and knock the tar outa you, Luck! Stand up there on a rock and flop your wings and crow like a danged banty rooster--'n' I was leadin' burros 'fore you was born! I'd like to know who yuh think you BE ?" Pete Lowry, standing feet-apart and imperturbably focussing the camera while the two yelled insults at each other, looked up at Luck.
"Riders in the background," he announced laconically, and returned to his squinting and fussing.

"Maybe you can make 'em hear with the megaphone," he hinted, looking again at Luck.

"They're riding straight up the canon, in the middle distance.

They'll register in the scene, if you can't turn 'em." "Applehead!" Luck called through the megaphone to his irritated prospector.