As they turned to enter the house together Ruth gave Aunt Alvirah a particularly hard hug.
“It is a good old world, isn’t it, Auntie?” she cried.
The old woman peered up in the girl’s face, smiled, and nodded sympathetically.
“So it is, my pretty! So it is!”
The next day proved an eventful one for Ruth. Several days before she had wired Layton Boardman, an interesting young westerner who had served an early apprenticeship on a ranch and had later made a reputation for himself in moving pictures, requesting an interview with him at the Red Mill. Ruth felt sure he was just the one to fill the part of hero in her new picture.
Boardman had recently quarreled with Sol Bloomberg, the chief owner of the Palatial Films Corporation with which Boardman had been for some time associated. It was open gossip in moving picture circles that, since this quarrel, Layton Boardman was finding it hard to place himself with any of the other large motion picture concerns.
This might mean, of course, that Boardman had lost his grip, had gone stale, was no longer desirable. But Ruth, who had seen the actor’s last picture and been thrilled by the power of his acting and by the real magnetism of his screen personality, preferred not to believe this.
She thought it far more probable that Sol Bloomberg was pulling strings with the deliberate intention of keeping Boardman from obtaining another position until such time as the actor should be starved into accepting a position from the owner of Palatial Films on the latter’s own terms.
Ruth had debated with herself at length upon the wisdom of approaching Boardman in her own interests, for, courageous as she was, she feared Sol Bloomberg—and with reason. But at last her business instinct won. Boardman was exactly the type she needed for the rôle of hero; in fact, she had so come to visualize him in that part that her picture seemed utterly without force or power when she disassociated him from it.
So, taking her courage in both hands, she had sent a telegram, requesting an audience. Boardman had replied promptly, accepting.
Ruth had no idea that the actor himself would appear almost on the heels of his telegram, as it were. But then, Ruth had no idea how near to desperation Layton Boardman was!
So it came to pass that on this morning of the day after the excitement at the theater and the party given in her honor, Ruth was surprised when Aunt Alvirah brought in the actor’s card.
Ruth was in the room that she used for her study, deep in the revision and embellishing of her new scenario.
She looked vaguely from Aunt Alvirah to the card of Layton Boardman and back again.
“Are you sure Mr. Boardman gave you this?” she asked, her mind still on her work. “Why, Aunt Alvirah, I had no idea he would get here before to-morrow.”
“Well, he’s here, my pretty, and as likely a young man as I’m like to see anywhere,” said Aunt Alvirah with an emphatic bob of her white head. “Right fine lookin’ I’d call him. Reminds me of a picture I see once of a football star—from Yale or Princeton I think ’twas—broad-shouldered an’ handsome an’ sech a smile!”
Ruth laughed.
“Aunt Alvirah, I’m ashamed of you, falling in love with a strange young man. Don’t you know it’s up to you to set young folks a good example?”
Aunt Alvirah chuckled.
“I ain’t worryin’ none over you, my pretty,” she said. “An’ the question now seems to be not what he looks like but shall I let him in?”
“Oh, please do, Aunt Alvirah.” Ruth began hurriedly straightening the papers on her desk.
A shadow fell across her work and she looked up to see a towering figure in the doorway. She had known before that Layton Boardman was a big man, but she had never realized just how big he was. His shoulders seemed to block entirely the opening made by the door.
Ruth smiled and extended her hand.
“I am very glad to see you, Mr. Boardman. I imagine you and I will have a great deal to say to each other.”
CHAPTER V
A NEW STAR
Layton Boardman was fine looking, far better looking than he appeared on the screen. He had one of those faces that appeal to the imagination, usually immobile and inscrutable, yet capable of a surprising play of expression when aroused emotionally. He had black hair and dark gray, rather long eyes, deep set in his head and adding to the inscrutable expression of his face when at rest. If it had not been for his flashing and utterly friendly smile one might almost have been afraid of Layton Boardman.
A wonderful face, a splendid personality for the hero of her western drama—a screen strong man who was as strong off the screen as on!
Something surged up in Ruth—exultation at having secured such a prize. Then fear gripped her again. Suppose he should refuse her offer—want more than she was prepared to pay? Well, she would soon put that question to the test.
“It was nice of you to come so quickly. The fact is,” she faced him with her frank smile, “I was wondering whether you were free to accept an offer from the Fielding Film Company.”
Boardman made a wry grimace.
“I am certainly at liberty,” he said grimly. “So much so,” with his quick smile, “that I long for bonds again!”
“Then I hope I shall be the one to slip them on.” Ruth was again at her ease. Something told her that she and Layton Boardman would get on.
She fingered some of the papers on her desk, looked from them to Boardman.
“I have a new script here and I need just such a man as you to take the lead. I don’t mind admitting,” she looked across at him with a quizzical smile, “that I had you in mind when I wrote the story.”
“That is about the nicest thing I ever had said to me,” he told her. “I hope more than I can tell you that I will be able to live up to that compliment.”
“You’re sure you’re perfectly free? No loose strings that might get tangled up in the midst of the story and spoil the whole thing?”
“Not a string!” said Boardman.
“Then listen to me and see if we can come to terms. We haven’t any time to lose, for I’m anxious to keep my company together and start for Montana in two weeks at the outside.”
There followed a surprisingly short business conference, during which the two young people seemed to find it very easy to agree on everything.
Ruth felt excited and very much pleased with herself. She had done a good morning’s work. She had not dreamed she would be able to procure the services of Layton Boardman at so low a price and—this after she had twice glanced up to find his eyes fixed broodingly upon her—he would certainly make a very pleasant addition to the company.
Ruth heard Tom enter unceremoniously, heard his familiar whistle and his affectionate greeting of Aunt Alvirah. She called to him and checked young Boardman when he rose to go.
“I want you to meet my partner, Tom Cameron,” she explained. “His signature will be very necessary on the contract.”
Tom hesitated in the doorway, taking in the tableau presented. His next emotion was annoyance. It would be enough to annoy any young fellow to find Layton Boardman, good looks and magnetism apparent even to a man, in private conference with the girl he was—well, was fond of.
Ruth caught the expression on Tom’s face and tried to keep her vivid face straight as she explained hurriedly.
“Glad to see you, Boardman,” Tom said then, extending his hand. Boardman clasped it heartily. “I have an idea I can feel contracts in the air. Ah—” as Ruth thrust into his hands the agreement she and Boardman had drawn up. “Let me see—”
His very palpable hesitation seemed funny to Ruth. Tom always left the signing up of new actors to her judgment. He had often declared that she knew far more than he concerning such things. He had never made a fuss about anything like this. Was he going to start now?
As his hesitation continued Ruth became really uneasy. When he finally, though somewhat reluctantly it seemed, gave his approval, she drew a deep breath of relief.
As soon as the business was over with three signatures signed to the contract and Aunt Alvirah’s added as a witness, Layton Boardman took his departure. He had, it seemed, important matters to attend to in town and he left the Red Mill despite Aunt Alvirah’s hospitable urging that he stay and have a bite of lunch with them.
Long after the door had closed upon the new member of Ruth’s company Tom remained silent and thoughtful. Ruth tried to start a conversation with him, for she was full of excitement and pleasure over what she considered a triumph. But when he failed to respond to her advances she finally retired to her study, leaving Tom to his own devices.
She had scarcely had time to become engrossed in her work again, however, before a shadow fell across her page and she looked up to find Tom glooming in the doorway. Ruth tapped her pencil on the edge of the desk in helpless exasperation.
“What is wrong with you, Tom Cameron?” she cried. “You look as if you had lost your last friend and never expected to make another. What in the world is the matter?”
“I don’t like that fellow, Boardman,” said Tom, frowning. “He’s too good looking to be honest.”
Ruth gave a gay little laugh.
“Layton Boardman has a reputation for honesty——”
“Oh, I suppose he has all the virtues in the pack!” Tom was almost barking at her in his irritation. “The good looking ones can get away with anything. How about that row he had with Sol Bloomberg?”
A shadow crossed Ruth’s face. Sol Bloomberg was the lone fly in the ointment of her content. She had been trying to forget Sol Bloomberg. But now she shrugged her shoulders, trying to make the gesture nonchalant.
“Knowing Sol Bloomberg, I prefer to think the fault was his,” she said.
“I think so, too,” said Tom with native honesty. “But there are two sides to every question, you know, and there is always the chance that Boardman’s side wasn’t a pleasant one. Then, too,” his gravity deepened, “if there wasn’t anything more to it than a question of Bloomberg’s enmity, it would be worth considering—and hesitating over. Bloomberg isn’t going to be very happy when he learns that we’ve signed up his star at a good salary.”
“His ex-star,” Ruth reminded him.
“Ex-star or not, Bloomberg wants Layton Boardman, and if I know anything of the man in question, he’ll get Boardman, no matter how many promising young moving picture concerns he has to trample over in the process.”
“But do you suppose,” Ruth flamed at him, “I intend to let a chance like this slip simply because I’m afraid of Sol Bloomberg?”
“A great many people, both powerful and wise, have been afraid of Sol Bloomberg,” retorted Tom and, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets, strode from the room.
Ruth tried in vain to coax back her mood of the early morning. But try as she would, it would not come. Tom had effectually destroyed all her enthusiasm with his talk of Sol Bloomberg. The worst of it was, Ruth admitted, that his viewpoint was a reasonable one. The owner of Palatial Films would be furious over her capture of Boardman, and Bloomberg was not a man to swallow his anger.
With an impatient movement she began to gather up her scattered papers when Helen Cameron and Jennie Marchand, arms about each other in old-time style, charged in at the front door.
“Ruthie! Ruthie Fielding, where are you?” called Helen. “I have the very most elegant news you ever listened to! Let me tell it, else I die!”
CHAPTER VI
FINE NEWS
The arrival of Helen and Jennie Marchand was like a breath of fresh air, blowing away the cobwebs in Ruth’s worried mind.
Helen explained that the other girls had gone motoring with their friends of the evening before and had sent word to Ruth that they would probably stop in at the Red Mill later in the day.
Jennie was puffing with hard exercise and blamed Helen for making her walk so fast.
“Now that I am a young matron and not a harum-scarum schoolgirl,” she said, as primly as Jennie could, “I prefer to walk rather than run to my appointments.”
“Cheer up, you’re not the only pebble on the beach,” Helen retorted flippantly, as she flung herself into a corner of the old couch. “Before long I myself may become that awfully uninteresting, fearfully settled, dried up old prune that people kindly term a young matron!”
Jennie giggled, but Ruth glanced at her friend quickly. She could see that beneath Helen’s flippant manner was an undercurrent of excitement, of pleasure. Something important had happened to Helen.
She went over and perched on the arm of her chum’s chair.
“Helen,” she said, “you may pull the wool over the eyes of most people, but you’d better not try it with your Ruth. It won’t work.”
“You precious old thing!” Helen reached up and stroked Ruth’s hand fondly. “I wouldn’t try to pull anything over those perfectly gorgeous orbs of yours, Ruthie. It would be a sin and a shame.”
“Then what,” persisted Ruth, “was that news you were threatening to die of when you burst in the door?”
“I didn’t burst in,” Helen protested, but was rudely shaken by her friend.
“Out with it, or you shan’t come to Montana with me!”
“Oh, what a threat! You could never do such a thing to me, Ruth. You have too big a heart. Oh, that reminds me, you were waiting to hear about my news.”
“We’re waiting,” agreed Jennie dryly.
“Well, it isn’t so much, really, except as it affects me—and Chess,” Helen began, and Ruth could tell by the restraint in her voice that Helen’s news was of an emotional nature. It was always hard for Helen to maintain her gravity in moments of sentiment. She hesitated for a moment, then said, quite suddenly, glancing up at Ruth: “You remember that uncle of Chess’s who owned what you called the ‘snowball property’ up North?”
Ruth’s eyes danced. She was intensely interested.
“Quite vividly,” she nodded. “Also I remember the day we went with Delabarre and Briais, all comfy and snug in the sled behind the dog team to look the property over.”
“And the time shortly after that,” Helen added, squeezing her chum’s hand in the painful memories revived by the recollection, “when you jumped into the pit with half a dozen bears and did your best to get yourself eaten up by them.”
“There were only three bears,” Ruth corrected demurely.
“Oh, dear,” sighed Heavy, from her place as onlooker to all these wonderful adventures, “you girls have all the fun while I have to stay at home and take care of Henri.”
“Probably that is quite as exciting at times as falling into a pit with three wild animals,” said Helen gravely.
“Married life at times,” chuckled Jennie, “would certainly make such an adventure look tame!”
“Is that why you’ve left home now, Heavy, and left your Henri in France?” asked Helen.
And then they laughed happily at such absurdity and Ruth urged Helen again to go on with her story.
“What about the uncle and the ‘snowball property’?” she prompted.
“This darling precious old uncle,” Helen replied, “is willing to back Chess in a big business deal that has been hanging fire for some time on account of a small and inconsiderable thing such as the lack of ready cash. Chess’s uncle is willing to supply the cash, which seems to make everything lovely.”
Ruth’s arm tightened about her chum’s shoulder. She had read more into the laughing sentence than Helen had said in words.
“And that means—” she prompted.
“Oh, Ruthie, it means,” Helen’s voice sank so low that Ruth had to bend over her to hear at all, “that Chess and I won’t have to go on waiting any more. Money seems to clear the way for most everything, doesn’t it? Of course, we wouldn’t have starved, but Chess wanted to stand on his own feet. And I just love him for that!”
“Well, just listen to my kid sister! She’s actually getting sentimental!”
The girls looked up, startled, to see Tom grinning at them from the doorway.
Before they could think of anything to say he advanced into the room and stood, hands in pockets, staring down thoughtfully at the discomfited Helen.
“I suppose,” he said with tremendous gravity, “it’s up to me to kiss the bride!”
“If you dare!” cried his ungrateful sister. She seized a pillow and poised it threateningly. “Get out of here, Tommy. Didn’t you know I was speaking to my friends?”
“Oof!” grunted Tom, as he chose discretion and promptly retreated. “I’m not a friend. I’m only a brother!”
They laughed a little, and Ruth and Jennie questioned Helen eagerly after the manner of most girls on such occasions.
At the end Ruth put her arm about her chum and said softly:
“I’m glad for you and Chess, my dear. You and Chess will be mighty happy.”
“Poor old ’Lasses,” sighed Jennie. “As my great aunt said to her son’s fiancée on the eve of the young couple’s marriage, ‘Poor dear Harry, he was such a happy boy!’”
It was then that Jennie received the full impact of the sofa cushion which, but a moment before, had threatened Tom.
Ruth laughed.
“Don’t let Heavy fuss you, Helen,” she said. “Harry may have been a happy boy and a still happier man.”
“But we know Helen!” interposed Jennie.
“Just so!” retorted Ruth. “Chess’s chances for bliss are excellent.”
“Thank you, Ruthie, for them kind words,” murmured Helen, her eyes dancing.
Jennie and Helen stayed to lunch and went for a walk soon afterward, leaving Ruth once more to the task of revising and perfecting her scenario.
She found it unusually hard to concentrate on her work. There was still the fear that she had made a mistake in engaging Boardman.
Tom found her bent over the manuscript, brow furrowed, looking tired and harassed.
“You have done enough work for to-day, Ruth Fielding,” he told her. Before she could prevent him he had gathered up the pages of her manuscript and put them away definitely in a drawer. She made a motion as though to open the drawer, whereupon Tom calmly locked it and pocketed the key.
“Now what are you going to do about it?” he challenged, grinning at her.
“But, Tom, I haven’t done a speck of real work to-day,” she protested. “And there is so much to do!”
“Not all at once,” said Tom. “The whole trouble with Ruth Fielding is that she never knows when to stop working.”
“I certainly am glad you know what’s wrong with her,” said Ruth, with a doleful sigh. “I’ve been trying all day to find out.”
Tom laughed cheerfully, got to his feet, seized Ruth’s hands and pulled her up beside him.
“Come on! What you need is a breath of fresh air. You’ve no idea how good fresh air is for ideas,” he added gravely as Ruth, protesting, allowed herself to be led outside to Tom’s car which stood waiting for them. “It seems just to breed ’em!”
Ruth laughed helplessly.
“I have an idea right now that I am being kidnapped against my better judgment,” she said.
“You know better!” Tom grinned at her as he slid in behind the low-slung wheel. “You were just pining for some nice strong man to come along and separate you from your arduous labors. Besides,” he added with a long and doleful sigh, “I feel that it is up to me to make hay while the sun shines.”
Ruth looked at him curiously. The wind on her face did feel good. All her worries seemed to have vanished in the swift rush of it.
“Just what did you mean by that?” she queried.
Tom looked at her quizzically.
“With that handsome Boardman chap on the premises, I can see where old Tom will have to watch his step!”
Ruth laughed contentedly.
“You old silly! How lucky you would be, Tommy boy, if you never had anything worse than that to worry about.”
CHAPTER VII
THE LEADING LADY
The days that followed were busy and pleasant ones for Ruth. Even when her doubt concerning the wisdom of engaging Layton Boardman and thus inviting Sol Bloomberg’s enmity would crop up, she put it resolutely from her. She certainly did not intend to borrow trouble.
Then, too, she thought often of Tom’s laughing remark concerning the attractive western actor. Could it be that Tom was really inclined to be jealous of this man, whom, so far, she hardly knew? The idea was too absurd to be seriously considered.
Helen and Chess were openly happy over the good fortune of the latter. The big business deal which had been hanging fire for some time held almost the certainty of success, now that Chess had secured the necessary amount of credit to push it through.
No wonder they were happy! Their happiness was contagious, which was one reason, perhaps, that Ruth found herself in such high spirits during that time.
The local paper came out with an account of the fire and of the part Ruth and the others had played in it. The fire had really been a small affair and the theater was once more running as usual, the new film drawing crowded houses.
But “Snowblind” was being shown elsewhere, too—six sets of films of the picture had been made—and Ruth was eager to see what critics in other cities would have to say about it. As the city newspapers came in she read the notices eagerly, as did Tom.
“A knockout, Ruth!” cried the young man. “A regular knockout everywhere!” And he was right, in every city where it was shown “Snowblind” was a big success.
Ruth’s chums still stayed on in Cheslow. They visited the Red Mill almost every day, occasionally staying to dinner or some other meal, and they never failed to declare that they were having the “time of their lives.”
They were receiving a good deal of attention from the young men of Cheslow, and, since most of these were well-off and owned their own cars, the girls naturally did not lack for pleasant occupation. Jennie, as chaperone, was enjoying herself hugely. It was not in Jennie to be formal, still in France, as Madame Marchand, she put some restraint on herself, which now in the midst of her old school friends she threw off entirely and became once more the old “Heavy” Stone of their Briarwood days.
Ruth was, of course, invited to attend all these parties, and at first her old friends seemed a bit offended when she refused, pleading her work.
However, it was not long before, with Helen’s loyal assistance, they were able to understand that Ruth’s work did make heavy demands on her time and was not a light pastime to be attended to in odd moments.
If it had not been such a particularly busy time with Ruth she would have liked nothing better than to have joined in all the fun with her friends. As it was, she was able to accompany them once in a while, and she never failed to return from one of the merrymakings strengthened in mind and with a fund of fresh enthusiasm for her work.
Meanwhile plans for the house party which she meant to give her old school chums before the end of their visit were taking definite shape.
Although the accommodations of the house at the Red Mill were limited she could manage to put the girls up for a night; at least, all except Mercy, who lived in Cheslow, and Helen, who would go back with Tom and the other young fellows whom Ruth had already invited to the party.
Ruth had made inquiries in Cheslow and found that she could secure the services of a young girl to help Aunt Alvirah with the work.
It would be a lark, and Ruth was looking forward to it eagerly.
Meanwhile, there was a great deal of work to be done. Ruth was anxious to finish all details connected with her new picture so that they might start for Montana as soon as possible.
The script was finished. She had gone over it with Tom and, still later, with Layton Boardman.
Both young men were pleasantly enthusiastic. The actor had offered suggestions here and there that, Ruth felt, strengthened the script.
She liked Layton Boardman’s free and easy western manner that was yet always pleasant and respectful to her. And she liked the way he took hold of the part she offered him. She became more and more convinced that she had found the right actor for her drama.
Another thing that engaged her attention was the problem of the feminine lead. She could not use Anita Townsend, the star of “Snowblind.” It was not the rôle suited to Anita. She must have an actress for the lead in “Hearts of the Mountains,” and that quickly.
She and Tom had discussed most of the stars on the horizon and found the majority of them—at least those fitted for the part—tied up already by handsome contracts.
“Viola Callahan is the ideal one for our purpose,” said Ruth, in one of her many conferences with Tom. “And I think her five-year contract with Brennan has about run out. Still——”
“Try her and see,” suggested Tom. “The most she can do is refuse.”
But Viola did not refuse. Like the majority of shining stars in Filmdom, she had chosen to exercise her temperament, and in a fit of rage had thrown her contract—literally—in the face of an outraged manager. Since this contract was nearly expired, having only three weeks to run, and since the fair Viola had allowed her temper to run away with her several times during the past five years with disastrous results to the company in general, Mr. Brennan had decided—with a sigh of relief—to let his western beauty go.
Now, it is one thing to throw your contract away and quite another to have it politely handed back to you with the request that you keep it and do with it what you please. The pride of a genius would not allow Viola to humble herself to the point of asking the polite Mr. Brennan for a chance to go on again, so she found herself, for the first time in many years, without a sign of a job.
Viola did not fancy this very much, and was in a state of mind to receive Ruth’s overtures graciously.
So it came to pass that not long after her conversation with Tom, Ruth found herself in audience with the fair Viola herself.
Viola seemed out of place, someway, in the quaint, old-fashioned living room of the Red Mill. She was flamboyant in dress and action and so overflowing with vitality that one felt her presence in a room even before she began to speak. And then, to use Ruth’s own phrase, “one was simply overwhelmed with Viola.”
The girl had beauty after a fashion, although the screen did something to her features, softened them, refined them, made them infinitely more appealing than they appeared in the full and brutal light of day.
But Ruth had seen the girl on the screen many times, knew that she could act, and in her picture would be an effective opposite to Layton Boardman.
Viola rather took her breath away on the subject of salary. However, after considerable hesitation, Ruth signed her up at a figure which she knew was going to cause considerable worry in the weeks to come. With Viola’s salary to be paid every week, there would be little allowance for delay or drawback of any kind. And in the making of a picture, delays and drawbacks are the rule.
After the business part of the interview was at an end, Viola chose to become expansive, taking Ruth into her confidence almost, as Ruth said afterward to Tom, as though Ruth were an old friend.
“You’ve got a nice place here,” she said, wandering about the room, touching small ornaments here and there. “Old-fashioned and homey with plenty of windows and sun coming in at them. The kind of place me and Tony was to have sometime.” She heaved a huge sigh and Ruth looked at her curiously.
“Tony?” she repeated. “Do you mean Tony Martano?”
Tony Martano was a name well known in the picture world, though the man himself had never risen beyond the rank of second-rate player.
Viola stopped roaming about the room and sat down in a big chair close to Ruth’s, assuming a languid posture. She seemed willing, almost eager, to talk of her blighted romance.
“You know how handsome Tony is,” she said. “Well, I guess it was his looks that got me, for there’s nothing inside here,” she tapped her forehead significantly, “but a solid mass of bone.”
Ruth laughed.
“I always thought he was a pretty good actor,” she said.
“What he got, his looks got for him,” Viola said with brutal frankness. “If he’d had an ounce of brains he’d have edged some other leading man off the map long before this. It only goes to show,” with another tremendous sigh, “that love is a funny thing.”
“Then you love him still?” asked Ruth. She was rather taken aback by this frankness on the part of Viola, especially to one who but a few moments before had been a total stranger. However, she supposed a great many things could be laid to that mysterious thing called temperament. Something told her that Viola was full of temperament!
“Love him!” cried Viola, rolling her large and rather prominent black eyes. “What I wouldn’t do for that man! And do you know,” she leaned forward and fixed Ruth with a tragic gaze, “the only thing that stands between us and a little nest of our own?”
“What?” asked Ruth, with difficulty keeping herself from smiling.
“Jealousy!” hissed Viola, and settled back with a satisfied compression of her overfull lips.
“What kind of jealousy?” asked Ruth, bewildered. “Yours or his, professional or personal?”
“His!” snapped Viola, evidently put out that this could be misunderstood even for a moment. “And it’s entirely professional. That’s what proves him a bonehead. No one should ever let anything stand in the way of love—do you think so?” Viola had become languorous again and Ruth stirred restlessly beneath her look. She wished suddenly that the girl would go. There were so many things to do!
“No,” she said in answer to a repeated question from her guest, “I don’t suppose anything ought to stand in the way of love—if it’s the right kind.”
She thought of these words after Viola had gone and smiled a bit ruefully herself.
“I wonder if I meant that? At any rate I don’t practice what I preach,” she told herself. And still later, in reviewing that interview with Viola, she added: “I don’t like that girl. For some reason I distrust her, though I can’t for the life of me tell why!”
CHAPTER VIII
THE PARTY
The next day Ruth had her first business quarrel with Tom. It was over the salary she had agreed to pay Viola Callahan.
“She isn’t worth it,” he protested doggedly.
“It isn’t any more than she’s been getting right along with Brennan,” came from Ruth.
“Well, you notice Brennan wasn’t so anxious to get her back when she jumped her contract.”
“No wonder. Neither would I.”
“Yes, you would,” Tom persisted. “That is, you would if she were a good enough actress.”
“She is a good actress.”
“Not good enough for that salary.”
“Tom, please don’t let’s discuss it any more. Maybe I did do wrong—although I don’t think so. Only time will prove that. And in the meantime, we’re wasting time sitting here and arguing about it. You wanted Viola, yourself, you know you did. And I’m sure she’ll carry the lead nicely and if she does and makes this picture the success I’m hoping for it, we could afford to pay her a much larger salary.”
“Yes, I know we could,” Tom capitulated at last. “And we won’t say anything more about it, Ruth, since it’s done, though I undoubtedly have a right to be consulted beforehand on money matters. But our job now is to pitch into the making of pictures and make this one the finest yet. Certainly no amount of Viola Callahans could spoil that.”
He said nothing further, but Ruth had an uneasy feeling that Tom’s mind was not changed in the least. And this attitude of his seemed only to add to her responsibility. If everything went well—very well! If not——
The night of the party arrived at last.
Ruth was in wonderful spirits. This was due partly to anticipation of the party, partly to the fact that she and Tom and Helen could expect to start for Chicago in a few days’ time and from there to Montana.
Mercy Curtis was obliged to decline Ruth’s invitation. The girls were to come over from Helen’s in the afternoon, bag and baggage. Though Jennie Marchand declared she had only brought a “toothbrush and nightie” with her, it was noticed that her bag was the biggest and heaviest of all.
This was Wednesday. The big party was for that night, and the next day the girls were all to start back home.
“We’ve stayed so long now,” said Ann Hicks. “It’s a wonder our families don’t disown us!”
Jennie, she thought, would probably stay on for a few days longer, accompanying Ruth and Helen and Tom when they started for Chicago.
It happened that Layton Boardman came down to the Red Mill that afternoon to see Ruth on a matter of business, knowing nothing of the party. Aunt Alvirah, who had been immensely taken with the cowboy actor from the start, insisted that he stay to dinner and the party afterward.
Ruth could do nothing but second the old lady’s invitation, though she knew Uncle Jabez would growl at the necessity of entertaining an actor in his house. Then, too, she was not at all sure that the other members of the party would enjoy having Boardman thrust upon them.
However, she need not have worried. Layton Boardman proved even more friendly and pleasant than Ruth had thought him. In the quiet dignity of the old house there was little of the wild open plains suggested in his manner or bearing. He was unaffected and at home, and it was not long before the delighted girls and boys discovered that he possessed a quiet wit that was convulsing.
“I love your hero, Ruth,” Nettie Parsons confessed before the evening was half over.
And a little later came in a whisper from Helen:
“If I weren’t so terribly in love with Chess, Ruthie—you needn’t smile, you bad thing—I think my heart would be in several little pieces by this time. Ruthie, you’re in danger. Our handsome hero admires you immensely!”
Nonsense, of course; but pleasant nonsense. Ruth’s contentment grew as she realized what a splendid time every one was having.
They pushed back the furniture and danced. There also Layton Boardman shone and Ruth thought that if his skill on horseback was nearly as finished as his skill in dancing it must be very great indeed.
The actor danced with all the girls in turn, a fact which Ruth knew they would never stop talking about when they returned home. But the girl of the Red Mill was amused to find that after Boardman had danced with her twice in succession Tom took possession of her and denied all further requests on the part of the actor.
“Didn’t I tell you I was going to watch my step when that fellow was around?” said Tom in answer to the amused twinkle in her eye.
“Well, see that you do!” Ruth admonished severely. “You stepped on my toe that time, Tommy. My best satin slippers, at that!”
Long before refreshments were served Uncle Jabez went to bed. His action was patently intended to express his disapproval of the “goings on.”
Aunt Alvirah, however, stayed up to the last moment, sitting in a corner of the room, her old face wreathed in smiles and her old back upright, despite the stiffness of it.
It was long past midnight before the party broke up and then, as the girls said, they had fairly “to push the boys out the front door.”
“It’s lucky,” sighed Jennie as the automobiles tooted off down the road bearing Layton Boardman along with them, “that the girls are going home to-morrow, Ruth Fielding. That hero of yours is far too good looking to be allowed around loose.”
“He isn’t,” said Ruth, stretching luxuriously. “I have him all sewed up with a nice contract. But, oh, the money the Fielding Film Company has to pay that man!”
The next day Ann Hicks went to visit her aunts and Nettie Parsons and Mary Cox went home. Jennie Marchand was to spend a few days more with Helen before going back to New York, to resume her interrupted visit there.
Tom took them to the station, Helen and Ruth and Jennie going along to say good-by. Several others—of the male population of Cheslow—were gathered on the platform for the same purpose. Consequently the girls were given a rousing good send off.
“The next time we come, Ruth Fielding,” said Mary Cox, poking her head out the window as the train began to move, “we will come prepared to stay at least a year!”
“It was like old times, having them,” murmured Ruth. “I wish they might have stayed a year! And now,” turning with an eager smile to Tom, “for Montana—and adventure.”
“There ought to be plenty of that,” Tom agreed.
CHAPTER IX
ON THE ROAD
The day dawned gloriously bright, a sparkling day of sunshine and fresh sweet winds and the scent of adventure in the air. It was the day on which the start for Montana was to be made.
Ruth never failed to start on a trip of this kind without a thrill of the sort that had come to her on that eventful day of her childhood when she and Helen Cameron had set out for Briarwood Hall.
Adventure was before her. She was happy, exhilarated, free as the air that blew in at her window. Helen and Jennie Marchand had spent the night with Ruth at the Red Mill. This was a precaution taken by Ruth so that they might start early enough to catch the train. Ruth had made arrangements for her company to meet in Chicago, though Viola Callahan and Boardman were to travel with her own party, boarding the train, however, before it reached Cheslow, and Ruth had no intention of missing the train.
Now, in the mirror, she caught Helen’s eye, saw that it was fixed mischievously upon her.
“I am wondering,” Helen explained in reply to Ruth’s raised eyebrows, “how long you are going to go without bobbing your hair.”
“I notice you don’t bob yours,” Ruth retorted, doing up her mane of hair.
Helen grimaced and searched for a shoe under the bed.
“Chess doesn’t like it, that’s the only reason.”
Ruth chuckled.
“I thought you were an emancipated, modern girl,” she gibed. “But already you’re letting Chess tell you what to do.”
“Well, no one can accuse you of that fault as far as Tom is concerned,” Helen retorted. Then after a minute, as Ruth did not reply, she said: “Tom is miffed over your handsome actor, Ruth.”
“So much the worse for Tom, my dear,” Ruth retorted brightly. “And if you think you’re going to spoil this beautiful day for me, you’re mistaken. Hurry and get dressed, old slow-poke, or we may go without you, after all.”
They made a merry breakfast of it, despite the fact that Aunt Alvirah was tearful at the thought of parting again with “her pretty” and that Uncle Jabez was frankly disapproving of this “gallivantin’ off to the ends of the earth for the takin’ of ornery pitchers.”
By this time, however, Uncle Jabez’ scolding was mere habit. He by no means objected to the returns on some money he had put into one of Ruth’s pictures.
Tom and Chess came over in time for the early breakfast, parked their cars outside, and declared that everything was ready for the start.
Chess noticed Aunt Alvirah’s depression and immediately commenced to sympathize with her.
“Cheer up, Aunt Alvirah,” Chess said, patting the old woman on the back. “If you don’t stop crying I’ll have to start, too, out of sympathy, and I don’t want Helen to carry away such a picture of me. She might marry one of those handsome cowboys in the West and never come back. You and I are in the same boat, Auntie, except that Ruth is leaving you on business and Helen hasn’t even that excuse.”
“He’ll make me cry in a minute,” said Ruth, with a chuckle. “Poor, neglected chap!”
“You know very well you told me you’d have to be away on business,” Helen reminded her fiancé. “I didn’t know you would be so broken-hearted at my desertion or I might have changed my mind,” she added.
“Please don’t,” said Ruth. “You must go along, Helen! I couldn’t do without you!”
“Hear that?” said Helen, with a triumphant glance at her grinning fiancé. “I told you so!”
It was Uncle Jabez who reminded them that they had better not spend all morning at breakfast if they expected to catch their train.
“I don’t believe Uncle Jabez altogether approves of your trip,” said Helen as she and Ruth went upstairs to get their wraps on.
Ruth smiled.
“Poor old dear, my aspirations have been a tremendous trial to him. He complains that he’s too old to change his ideas at his time of life. But it’s not as bad as he lets on.”
The good-by was harder than Ruth had anticipated. Aunt Alvirah clung to her, and, as Ruth had a vision of the lonely days the old woman would spend waiting for her return, some of her own high enthusiasm fled.
“I’d like to tie you up in a big bundle and take you along with me, Auntie,” she said, holding the frail old woman close.
“I wish you could, my pretty. I wish you could,” sighed Aunt Alvirah, bravely blinking back the tears and giving Ruth a little push toward the others, waiting in Tom’s car. “And now you’d better run along, honey, or you’ll miss your train for sure. Say good-by to your Uncle Jabez. He’ll be lonesome too.”
Though Ruth knew the old man was really sorry to see her go, he hid all emotion carefully, merely expressing a hope that she’d behave herself and come back before they all “was dead and buried.”
The tooting of Tom’s horn called Ruth away, though she stole one last hug from Aunt Alvirah. Tom opened the door of the car for her and as Ruth stumbled into the seat beside him reached out a hand to steady her.
Ruth waved her hand as the car started down the drive, found the vision of the old lady blurred by tears, then turned to Tom as he sat behind the wheel, watchful eyes on the road ahead.
They reached the station and found they had reached it none too soon, for as the car slid up on one side of the station the train slid to a stop on the other.
Chess had volunteered to take Tom’s car back for him and see it safely in the garage.
Tom herded them all into the train, including Jennie Marchand who had determined to accompany the party part way and make another visit before returning to her father’s home in New York.
They found their car easily enough and Chess went aboard with them to see that everything was all right and that Helen was comfortably settled for the trip. Here they found Viola and Boardman in their seats.
Chess Copley got off at the last possible minute and stood on the platform waving to Helen. Then it was over and they were on their way to Chicago. A rather queerly assorted party, at that, and one that was sure to attract attention on the train.
Layton Boardman’s photographs were so well known that a low, excited whisper and a curious craning of necks followed him wherever he went.
Viola was recognized also, though not so generally. It was not long before all the members of the party were known, and their mission too, in a vague way, by practically every person on the train.
Each time she went into the dining car Ruth felt as though the eyes of every one were upon her. So she would not be at all sorry when they should enter upon the last stage of the trip.
They dropped Jennie Marchand at her destination, but not before they had promised the young matron on their honor to write her “books” concerning their adventures in Montana.
They were all sorry to see Jennie go. If it had not been for Henri Marchand—a rather important obstacle—and her other friends whom Jennie wished to see while on this American visit, they would have taken “Heavy” along with them for the whole time.
“But Henri says I may have just two months in America and must then come back to France and to him,” insisted Jennie, and her friends had to be content.
They were to arrive at Chicago in an hour, Ruth realized. There they would meet the rest of Ruth’s company and start on the real part of the journey—their ultimate destination, Golden Pass, Montana.
There was the inevitable bustle and flurry of donning wraps. The porter gathered their suitcases and other luggage together, to be distributed to their lawful owners on the platform.
Once arrived at Chicago and part of the hurrying throng in the great station, Tom took charge of the party. Ruth always liked to see him do this. He was so quiet yet masterful in his management of people and things.
He hired taxicabs for them all, saw Viola and Boardman into one, handed Ruth and Helen and then followed, himself, into another.
“Phew!” he whistled when the door was slammed shut and they were at last alone. “I feel as if I’d been part of a circus for the past little while. It’s good to have the door shut on the stares of the curious.”
Helen giggled.
“Viola was the circus. I think she’s loads of fun. Why,” she shot a curious look from her brother to Ruth, “do you two distrust her so?”
“I don’t exactly distrust her,” Ruth returned slowly. “I merely have a feeling that you never can tell just what the girl is going to do next.”
“Don’t think you’ll have to worry about Viola,” said Tom. “She’s only a silly kid. It’s Boardman we ought to keep our eyes on.”
Ruth flushed. More than once Tom had made her feel that her judgment was not altogether to be relied upon. Very well! Her eyes flashed and she drew a long breath. She’d show him yet!
They drew up before the hotel where Tom had already engaged rooms by wire for themselves as well as the company. A porter came forward to open the door, another crowded close to pick up the luggage.
As Ruth stepped to the sidewalk she glanced about her with dancing eyes. She slipped her arm through Helen’s and squeezed it.
“Adventure’s in the air. Can you smell it?” she cried gaily. “And this is our starting point!”
CHAPTER X
A SUSPICIOUS MOVE
The rest of the company were waiting for Ruth and the Camerons and the two stars, in accordance with the agreement. Ruth received them in her sitting room that evening, gave to each one a copy of the new script and requested that all read it thoroughly before they arrived at Montana.
“It will save time for rehearsals,” she told them, smiling. “And I have an idea that when we reach Golden Pass we shall want to start shooting scenes fast and furious. Now, let’s see! Are we all here?”
She counted them and found them all on hand from Dave Sentner, the comedian of the pictures, who was really the soberest and quietest of men, to the old character man who was to play the part of the aged, deaf trapper in her picture and who was as talkative and as quick-eared as anybody.
There were two cameramen and two assistant directors, experienced and capable men, all. They were glad to see Ruth and eager to start for the scene of the new picture.
Ruth sketched out briefly her scenario for them, pointing out what part theirs would be in the filming and directing of it. While she was speaking the other members of her company gathered around her, listening with interest and now and then nodding approbation.
“Sounds great to me,” said Shepley, the tall, thin director who was really Ruth’s right hand man, her help and guide in many details of picture making. “Gives a chance for fine scenes and powerful acting.”
“The landslide now,” said one of the cameramen, eyes gleaming with anticipation. “Zowie, that ought to be a knockout!”
The general enthusiasm of her company would have delighted Ruth more if she had not been so persistently troubled by the subject of the large payroll. Her company numbered a round twenty in all just as they stood in the sitting room of the Chicago hotel. And there would be more when they reached Montana, extras to be picked up on the spot for the purpose of providing local color. But even the humblest extra must be paid.
Ruth sighed, but, seeing that Tom was regarding her questioningly, changed the sigh to a smile. There was no use in borrowing trouble and, for to-night at least, they might be gay!
Having rounded up all her company there was little left to do save to book reservations to Montana. This was Tom’s task, and he went out to attend to it, leaving Helen and Ruth alone for the first time since they had left Cheslow.
“I declare, I’d like to have something to eat here, if it was only a chicken sandwich and a glass of milk,” said Helen, looking around the cozy sitting room of Ruth’s suite. “It’s going to take just about all the courage I possess to get all dressed up and face that mob in the dining room.”
Ruth laughed.
“I don’t see why we can’t eat here if we want to,” she agreed. “It would be rather nice—and I have one or two changes I ought to make in the script.”
She picked up the telephone and called the dining room, giving an order for dinner to be served promptly at seven o’clock.
“I suppose Tommy’s invited?” suggested Helen, and Ruth looked at her, flushing a little.
“Tom—of course!” she said briefly, and went back to her work.
There was a long silence while Helen idly turned the pages of a magazine, watching Ruth while she pretended not to do so.
Then, casually, as though the subject had just occurred to her, she said:
“About this awfully good-looking fellow, Boardman, Ruth. You don’t share Tom’s suspicions of him, do you?”
Ruth deliberately finished the changes she was making in the script, then gathered her papers together and put them away.
“I haven’t the slightest reason to suspect Layton Boardman,” she said, meeting Helen’s glance calmly. “And I’m quite sure Tom hasn’t either. Has he been saying things to you about him?”
“Not especially,” Helen admitted. “Only hinted that there might be trouble from Sol Bloomberg—a sort of battle for possession, as it were.”
“There is a chance we may have trouble with Bloomberg,” Ruth returned, the shadow of worry again crossing her face. “But whatever trouble we have I’m quite sure won’t come from Layton Boardman.”
Helen opened her mouth as though to speak, thought better of it, and closed it again.
Ruth skillfully turned the subject to lighter things and no more was said concerning Bloomberg that evening. Dinner was served promptly at seven and Tom returned in plenty of time for his share of it.
“Now, children,” said Helen, as Tom entered the door of the apartment followed immediately by the waiter bearing the dinner, “I refuse to allow you to talk shop this evening. You may talk sense or nonsense and we will eat. But no moving pictures shall be mixed with the dinner.”
“Aren’t you going to let Tom report as to the time of leaving?” asked Ruth.
“No, not before eating. Um-um!” she went on. “Chicken-a-la-king! The crispest of lettuce! And these rolls——”
“Merely chicken hash, if you ask me,” put in Tom.
“Come, Tommy-boy, cheer up,” observed his twin.
Tom did cheer up, and the meal went on merrily, all worry, all thoughts of business, pushed into the background.
“It is a comfort to get away from that mob downstairs,” remarked Tom, as he threw himself into an easy chair to sip his after-dinner coffee.
“Yes,” agreed Ruth. “Still, I do love the work and the excitement of it all. But now, Tom, what were the fortunes of the afternoon?” But with her question all her cheerfulness left her, and once more a look of worry came into her eyes.
Tom declared that fortune had been with him and that he had been able to secure reservations for the entire company on the train leaving Chicago for Montana at ten o’clock the following morning.
Her enthusiasm once more alight at the prospect of starting so soon, Ruth forgot about Sol Bloomberg and the possibility of trouble from that quarter.
She was forcibly reminded of it, however, the following morning and in a way which she could least have expected.
She and Helen had run out early to do a bit of shopping before the train started—Helen simply had to have a new hat!—when they met Viola Callahan. The latter was evidently bound on the same mission as themselves and offered to take them around to her favorite hat shop.
Always willing to be shown where millinery was concerned, the two girls accompanied her readily enough. What struck them as suspicious was the abrupt manner in which the girl took her departure after introducing them to the shop. Uttering something entirely unintelligible, she suddenly darted off into the crowd, leaving Ruth and Helen to stare after her, amazed and questioning.
“I bet she saw some one she wanted to talk to in a hurry,” said Helen excitedly. “Come on, Ruthie, let’s see for ourselves.”
Ruth allowed herself to be hurried along through the crowd. Several times they thought they had missed Viola entirely and were tempted to give up the absurd chase.
Then Ruth suddenly caught Helen’s arm and drew her to a standstill.
“Over there!” she whispered. “Near the corner! And she’s talking to—oh, Helen—it can’t be!”
But it was! Ruth’s second glance told her that beyond all shadow of a doubt the man with whom Viola Callahan was engaged in earnest conversation was none other than an agent of Sol Bloomberg’s.
Ruth knew the man only slightly, but she was well aware that his reputation for shady dealing and shrewd ruthlessness was only second to that of his employer. A worthy servant of a worthy master.
“Who is it? Who is that man talking to Viola?” Helen was whispering excitedly at her elbow.
“Sh-h! Don’t let them see we’ve caught them.” Ruth grasped Helen’s hand excitedly. “Let’s get out of this!”
It was not until their faces were once more turned toward the hotel, their search for a hat temporarily forgotten, that Ruth would explain the curious incident.
“It probably doesn’t mean a thing,” she said then, trying to speak naturally. “But that man is an agent for Sol Bloomberg. I know him slightly and his reputation much better,” she added grimly.
Helen thought this over for a moment.
“What do you gather from it?” she asked.
“Nothing in particular,” Ruth answered slowly. “As I said, I may be borrowing trouble. Viola may have met Charlie Reid by accident. It may have been simply a chance encounter. Then again——”
“She may have met him by appointment! It seemed curious the way she left us and dashed off into the crowd——”
“As though she wanted to get rid of us and was rather afraid she might be followed,” Ruth finished, meeting her chum’s excited gaze. “Yes, it does seem strange. And then, her talking to that man at this time——”
“What do you think he—or rather, Sol Bloomberg—wants of her?” asked Helen, her mind turning over this new development. She loved intrigue of any kind. “Do you think he wants to sign her up for himself?”
“Stranger things have happened,” Ruth answered dryly.
“But she has a contract with you,” said Helen. “Duly signed and witnessed.”
“Actresses,” Ruth returned in the same tone, “have been known to jump their contracts.”
“Isn’t there some way of making them stick to their word?” asked Helen. “Surely, a contract must mean something.”
“Oh, of course, there are the law courts,” said Ruth as they reached the hotel. “But it is an expensive and tiresome business and a star forced to work against her will can make endless trouble for her concern. It’s cheaper to let her go and get some one else.”
“But if Viola walks off at the last moment whom will you get?” Helen was persistent and Ruth raised a protesting hand.
“I don’t know and I’m not going to think about it, either—not until I’ve had more proof of Viola’s perfidy than we had this morning. I can’t afford to borrow trouble.”
“If she stops to talk with that fellow much longer she will certainly miss her train,” said Helen with a glance at her wrist watch.