CHAPTER XI
TROUBLE IN THE AIR
Ruth was really more worried than she would admit and when Viola appeared at the last minute, looking a bit flurried and out of breath but as cheerful as usual, Ruth drew a long breath of relief. So far, so good, at any rate!
Tom attended to all details in his usual business-like manner and Ruth was grateful to him. The girl could not help wondering at the great change that had come over him since those days when she used to urge him to find a useful occupation and stick to it.
For some reason she was feeling oppressed by worries to-day. She had not felt that way when she got up in the morning. On the contrary, she had welcomed the thought of Golden Pass and the immediate prospect of getting to work with all her usual enthusiasm. It must be the problem of Viola that was worrying her. That mysterious encounter with Charlie Reid. What could it mean?
However, she felt that once on location with the filming of her picture started, she would be more contented and lose this disturbing feeling of unease that had taken possession of her.
At last the long and tiresome trip was over and they had landed with their belongings on the dismal, almost deserted station of Golden Pass. She looked to see that all her company were present, from the leading actor to the humble, but very important, cameramen, and then turned to Tom with a gesture of weariness.
“I’m so tired, Tom. I’d like to rest for hours and not do a single thing—not even think!”
Tom smiled at her and promptly gave orders for the removal of themselves and their luggage to Headwaters Ranch where they were to stay during the time necessary for the filming of the picture.
Tom and Ruth had gleaned their information concerning this particular ranch from Mr. Hammond. The latter, it seemed, had put up at this ranch during his former stay at Golden Pass and had heartily recommended it to Ruth and Tom as ideal headquarters for the company during the taking of the picture.
“The ranch is run by a fine old couple,” Mr. Hammond had told Tom. “And when I say run, I mean run. One of the finest ranches in the country. I can’t promise you luxuries but I can guarantee that Ma Gowdy will furnish you with all the comforts of home. Try it, my boy. You can’t go wrong.”
Tom had been only too glad to follow this advice. Writing to Headwaters Ranch, he had received a reply by return mail to the effect that the ranch could easily accommodate the number Tom had mentioned in his letter. Since the rates for rooms and meal quoted by the owner of the ranch were satisfactory, Tom, with Ruth’s entire sanction and approval, wrote back at once, clinching the deal.
This done, the young fellow drew a long sigh of relief. One of the most vexing problems of the trip had been easily solved, thanks to Mr. Hammond.
Now Tom made inquiries of the young fellows lounging about the station and found that conveyances of a sort had been sent from the ranch.
A good looking, impudent-eyed, rangy lad, had brought a rather dilapidated Ford which, he explained, was for the use of the ladies.
The luggage was to be conveyed in an open wagon driven by one of the other ranch hands. The men, it seemed, were to ride the nervous, velvet-skinned, half-wild colts, kept in hand by a third picturesquely dressed young man.
The eyes of Layton Boardman gleamed as he approached the spirited group of colts. With a soft word or two he reached out and touched the nearest, a caressing movement of hand on velvet nose. The colt trembled but stood still and in a moment the actor’s arm stole round the neck of the little beast. Gently he stroked him with his other hand and talked to him softly. With a sudden capitulating whinny the colt rubbed his head against the man’s shoulder. It was colt love talk. The two were friends.
Ruth and Helen, watching the little scene with interest, stepped forward eagerly. Even the blasé Viola had stopped talking with the nearest cowboy to watch.
Layton Boardman looked up at the young fellow in charge of the horses.
“Seems like he’s mine,” he drawled, instinctively dropping back into cowboy dialect. “Just naturally belong together. A beauty, too,” rubbing his hand over the sleek coat, “if I know hosses.”
“He’s full o’ ginger, mister,” said the youngster, his eyes admiringly on Boardman’s breadth of shoulder. One could guess at the man’s splendid muscular development, even beneath the conventional, loose-hung suit he wore. “But I guess you can manage him, all right.”
“Reckon so,” drawled Boardman, and with a lithe movement swung himself into the saddle before even the little colt knew what he was about.
The latter, surprised, reared instinctively in protest, a swift action of rippling muscles and tossing mane that would have given even an experienced rider a moment of tension.
But Boardman clung to the colt’s back as easily and with as much nonchalance as though he were reclining in an easy chair at home.
“Now, don’t go gettin’ all het up,” he told the pony in a gentle drawl of reproof. “Ain’t a bit of use, little feller. Better sit quiet and save yo’ strength,” he went on, in true cowboy style.
As though recognizing the wisdom of this advice, the colt set its feet daintily to earth and stood there, pawing the ground.
In the eyes of the cowboys who had gathered around was admiration and, better still, recognition. Layton Boardman was one of them, despite his “swell” clothes and citified air.
“You sho can handle thet colt, mister,” one of them said.
“We’ll set you to some ‘bronco bustin’ in a day or two,” another shouted.
“Fine,” Boardman’s eyes gleamed with anticipation. “I’ll be there, boys. Just watch me!”
Tom looked at Ruth. She, in turn, was gazing at Layton Boardman, her lips slightly parted with pleasure, eyes bright.
Tom turned away quickly and hurried to oversee the piling of trunks on the wagon. He despised himself for feeling jealous. But this fellow, Boardman, was out of the ordinary. He had magnetism of the sort that draws both men and women to him. Also, Boardman had on his side the glamour that always surrounds an actor. By the time they were ready to start Tom was in a pretty savage mood.
However, the ride to Headwaters Ranch was not one to cultivate moods, except it be one of appreciation of grandeur and beauty in its finest form.
Montana is a land of glorious mountains and fertile valleys, of sunshine and, in the heart of its woodlands, deepest shadow. During that ride along rock mountain roads in the shaky flivver Ruth and Helen saw views unfolding before them that took their breath away, left them in a maze of beauty, groping for adjectives that could describe the things they saw.
How tell others of those lofty mountain peaks, remote and still, towering sentinel-like above the sunlit, pleasant valleys lying fertile and warm at their feet? How describe the picturesque grandeur of the cañons that dropped dizzily away from one’s very feet to a dazzling silver ribbon of stream below?
“Ruth, I’m simply steeped in beauty,” said Helen after an awed half hour of this. “It was worth coming all the way from Cheslow, if only for a glimpse of this glorious scenery.”
“I can see that I’m going to have an embarrassment of riches,” said Ruth contentedly. “I’ll have to draw lots to decide on locations for my picture.”
They came suddenly upon Headwaters Ranch, hiding away between two towering mountains. A stream wound its way through the center of the ranch, making it one of the most fertile in the country.
Ruth gave one glance at the rambling buildings, of the old ranch house itself, and of the sunlit plains back of the house dotted with herds of grazing cattle and immediately forgot all about being tired and her need of rest.
“I’ve simply got to take a look around before dark!” she told Helen and Tom, as the latter swung from his horse and opened the car door. “I shouldn’t wonder if I’d find plenty of material right here on the ranch for my picture.”
But since Helen protested that she, at least, was going to make up for some of the sleep she had lost on her travels and Tom urgently advised that Ruth wait until morning for her tour of exploration, the girl finally gave in and followed the others into the house.
There were two old people in charge of the ranch—at least, they would have seemed old to Ruth and Helen had the girls met them in the city. But out here where rugged physique and great endurance are the rule, Ma and Pa Gowdy seemed not so old, as well-seasoned and hardy.
Certain it was that they still ran the ranch with all their old efficiency, hard when it came to demanding every bit of effort from those they employed but just and square in all their dealings with “the boys.” Every one loved and was loyal to Pa and Ma Gowdy. The young folks had not been long on the ranch before they realized that Ma, good old sport that she was, had equal say in the management of the ranch with Pa—and desertions and insurrection were practically unheard of on Headwaters Ranch.
Pa, they learned upon entering the house, was out on the ranch somewhere, but Ma had waited to greet her guests.
She was a tall, powerfully built woman, dressed in uncompromising calico that failed to detract from her air of quiet forcefulness.
She looked at the company, seeming in one, quick canny glance to take in every detail of it, then led the way quietly into the big front room. Somehow Ruth gathered that Ma Gowdy was almost always silent.
“I’m Ruth Fielding,” said Ruth as the old lady turned to face them. She introduced the others and to each introduction Ma Gowdy nodded gravely, neither speaking nor smiling.
“I suppose what you all want, really, is to get to your rooms and clean up some,” she said when the introductions were over. “Andy here,” motioning to an embarrassed youth in the doorway, “will show you where you’re to stay. I reckon you’ll find everything ready for you. If you want anything, all you have to do is stick your head out the door and call out. We’re plain folks, but I hope you’ll be comfortable while you stay. Supper’ll be ready in ’bout an hour.”
She turned and left them then to the care of Andy, who seemed not at all certain what to do with his arms and legs. He used the latter finally as a means of locomotion, and succeeded in assigning the leading members of the company to large, rather scantily furnished rooms on the second floor.
Viola was heard to comment audibly on the bareness of her quarters and to yearn in homesick tones for the comfort of her “bung-ul-ow.”
Ruth was about to shut the door to her own particular apartment when Helen pushed her way in.
“Ruth, I’ve got one room too many,” she complained. “The place that ridiculous Andy gave me is big enough for sixteen people. Do have a heart—though I have reason to believe you haven’t—and let me come in with you.”
Ruth chuckled and glanced at the enormous bedstead in one corner of the room.
“There certainly is room enough for two,” she admitted. “Did you ever see such a big barn of a place?”
But, though the room was big and bare enough, the view from the windows of it was more than enough to compensate. Arms about each other, the two girls stood at the largest of the three windows, drinking in the beauty of the sun-flecked range, dotted by innumerable grazing cattle, with, beyond and above it, the towering, misty peaks of the mountains.
“That’s the Rocky Mountain range, isn’t it?” said Helen dreamily. “There ought to be good hunting up in those woods, Ruthie.”
“Plenty of deer, I suppose,” agreed Ruth. “But I hate to think of any one’s hunting them for sport—beautiful, soft-eyed things.”
“Well, I don’t suppose you can keep Tom away from it. I know he packed his rifle along and he’ll probably spend every spare minute he can get using it.”
“I wish he’d left his old rifle at home,” said Ruth crossly. “We didn’t come up here to hunt.”
Helen’s prophecy proved correct. The next morning Tom put on outing clothes and took his rifle, declaring his intention of browsing about a bit.
“I may bring back only a rabbit,” he told them. “Deer is out of season. But they say rabbit is very good to eat, cooked the way these westerners know how to cook them.”
“Don’t stay too long, will you, Tom?” asked Ruth, with just a touch of coldness in her voice. “I want to look for locations before long, you know.”
“You won’t need me until noon, will you?” he asked.
“No—and probably not then,” said Ruth, turning away with a little shrug of her shoulder.
“If Tom would rather go hunting than stay around and do his part in the preliminary work of the picture, he can go hunting and stay as long as he wants to!” Ruth told herself defiantly. “I don’t care what he does!”
And Tom, not knowing that she was piqued and hurt, gave her a curious look, hesitated, then turned and swung off in the direction of the woods, his rifle slung over his shoulder.
He had gone only a few feet when it occurred to him that he had better enter those unfamiliar woods on horseback.
“The ponies know these mountain trails better than I—at least, they’re more sure-footed,” he told himself, and turned toward the corrals.
Ruth saw to it that the members of her company were well employed. Some of them had not finished reading the script. Others set out afoot or on horseback to explore the country. Viola and Layton Boardman had already gone for a morning canter.
All her small duties attended to, Ruth felt free at last to go about her own business. And that business was, first of all, to explore Headwaters Ranch thoroughly.
She and Helen selected ponies from the corrals and set forth on a brisk canter. The ranch lands were even more picturesque close to than they had been when seen in perspective from the window.
Ma and Pa Gowdy did no farming—at least, not more than enough to supply their own needs. The fertile lands were given over almost completely to stock raising.
“I never saw so many animals in my life,” said Helen. The herds of cattle fascinated her and frightened her at the same time. “I think I’ll go back, if you don’t mind, Ruthie dear. Yonder big steer has a mean and hungry eye.”
Ruth laughed absently.
“All right. I’ll be coming along in a little while. I want to go as far as the stream and see what it looks like—if I can make it before noon.”
Ruth scarcely knew when Helen left her. Her mind was glowing with the realization that many of her scenes in her scenario could be shot right here on the ranch. She dismounted from her horse and led it lightly by the bridle. Such local color, such background!
She was roused from her dreaming by a strange sound as of the distant pounding of surf upon the shore. Even as she lifted her head with a swift, startled motion the sound became louder and swelled to a roar of pounding hoofs.
Ruth looked and her heart leaped wildly. Down upon her, started probably by some imaginary thing, swept a solid sea of steers, heads tossing, hoofs tearing at the turf. And in the path of this dreadful wave Ruth stood, unable to move, unable even to cry aloud.
CHAPTER XII
IN PERIL
Ruth’s pony snorted in terror. With a toss of its head, the animal reared backward, almost losing its balance, then galloped wildly back toward the corrals.
Ruth was living through a nightmare. She tried to move, but found that her legs would not respond to her command. What use to run, anyway, when there was no possible hope of escape? She felt numb, frozen with terror.
Muffled by the thunder of pounding hoofs she did not hear the rider approaching from behind, was not aware of him until a horse swung up beside her, all plunging hoofs and waving mane.
Layton Boardman leaned wide of his horse, swept an arm toward Ruth.
“Into the saddle—quick!” he shouted. “One chance left!”
It was a magnificent gesture and would have been successful had not the pony, maddened by terror, reared on its hind feet, flinging over backward.
Boardman was not prepared for the sudden motion, was flung from his saddle and sprawled motionless on the ground. Ruth moaned.
That horrible sea of steers was almost upon them. In a moment she would be lying there, too!
Came the noise of shouting behind her. A shot cracked out and the nearest steer fell, kicking and plowing up the turf.
Another report and another. Other steers fell, and those rushing up behind stumbled over them and fell, a kicking, snorting mass. Something was wrong. The packed mass of steers wavered, hesitated, then divided and swept on in two great trampling streams.
Ruth watched them in a daze, so numbed with fear that for a moment she scarcely realized she was safe.
Then Tom was beside her, Tom’s arms about her, steadying her, Tom’s voice, gruff and anxious:
“You aren’t hurt, Ruth? You’re all right?”
She nodded. Then lifted her white face to him.
“Did you—were you the one who fired the shots?”
“One of the ones,” he replied, modest as always. “For the rest you’ll have to thank these boys. They sure are classy marksmen.”
Then, for the first time, Ruth saw the group of cowboys that had surrounded them in sympathetic interest. She drew away from Tom selfconsciously and looked toward Layton Boardman.
The latter had got to his feet. Blood flowed from a wound on his forehead where he had struck a stone in falling and he swayed so dizzily that one of the cowboys put an arm about his shoulders to support him.
“I’m all right,” said the actor, evidently impatient with himself for allowing the horse to throw him. “Never mind about me, lad.”
He tried to take a step forward, brought up, amazed, while his face went white with pain.
Ruth stepped forward involuntarily.
“What is it? Are you hurt?” she cried.
Boardman shook his head and tried to smile, but the corners of his mouth twitched painfully.
“Not much, I guess. Just some trouble with my ankle. All right—in a minute—” He tried to step again, but once more drew up and dubiously shook his head.
“Can’t do it, boys. Any one got a hoss that ain’t working?”
There were a dozen offers, for the cowboys were thoroughly beneath the spell of Layton Boardman. The latter was able with only slight aid to swing himself to the back of one of the ponies. He sat there, one foot in the stirrup, the other dangling, as fine a picture of wounded hero as one would wish to see.
Ruth walked over to his pony’s side and put her hand up frankly.
“I want to thank you for what you tried to do for me,” she said softly. “I want you to know that I fully appreciate it.”
Boardman grasped the proffered hand and met Ruth’s friendly glance with a direct one of his own.
“To see you safe,” he said simply, “is all the thanks I need.”
Then he was gone, surrounded by a group of cowboys.
Ruth’s horse had been rounded up and brought back to her. She mounted silently, feeling weak and exhausted after her terrifying experience.
Tom mounted also and they started back toward the ranch.
Suppose Layton Boardman, their leading man, were badly hurt? Men had been permanently lamed by no worse an accident than he had had, and it would be impossible to get another in his place this late—not for a considerable time, at any rate.
And, in the meantime, even delay might be serious, with Viola drawing her salary whether she worked or not, as did, for that matter, all the rest of them.
Oh, well, Ruth shrugged off the weight of anxiety. Boardman would probably be all right in a day or two. Only a slight sprain probably.
She looked at Tom, jogging along silently beside her. He looked tired and very grave and suddenly her heart smote her. Why, she had never even thanked him for his very important part in her rescue!
“Tom,” she said, “it was magnificent of you to do what you did!”
He looked up, surprised.
“I couldn’t have done anything else,” he said quietly.
CHAPTER XIII
NEW WORRIES
It was the day after her adventure with the stampeding cattle and Ruth was taking a morning of rest before starting once more on a hunt for suitable locations.
The two girls, Helen and Ruth, were up in Ruth’s room which various soft and colorful articles from their trunks had made livable, talking over plans for the picture and Ruth’s almost miraculous escape the day before. At least, Ruth was trying to talk of her picture and Helen could not be deflected from the theme of Ruth’s adventure, which interested her vividly.
“Just think, only a little thing like chance or fate or whatever you call it kept me from being there myself,” Helen observed. “I had a horror of those savage looking steers.”
“It’s nothing to what I have now,” said Ruth, with a reminiscent shudder.
“But think of the romance!” Helen was not to be stopped. “Think of having Layton Boardman save you!”
“He didn’t,” said Ruth dryly.
“Well, he tried to, which is the same thing,” Helen said in a tone of reproach. Ruth chuckled.
“It isn’t at all the same kind of thing, I assure you,” she retorted, “as you would very well realize if you had been in my shoes.”
“Well, you had Tom, anyway, and a whole raft of cowboys, when Boardman got kicked by his horse.”
“He didn’t get kicked by a horse! How many times do I have to tell you?” Ruth laid down her papers in despair and Helen smiled mischievously at her.
“I knew I’d make you stop working by fair means or foul,” she said shamelessly.
“And I don’t feel like working—not a little bit,” Ruth confessed. “I’d just like to let go—for a little while, anyway.”
“Well, why don’t you? Every one has to rest sometimes, you know, even Ruth Fielding, whether she knows it or not. Here, take a chocolate and give me a full and complete account of yesterday.”
“But I don’t want to talk about yesterday,” Ruth objected, accepting the candy. “I tell you, if you had been there you wouldn’t be so keen on the subject.”
“Poor Ruthie!” Helen reached over and patted her chum’s hand. “You did have a dreadful shaking up. Wasn’t it lucky that Tom happened to be coming home just then?”
“It was very lucky,” sighed Ruth, resigning herself to a discussion of the subject since Helen, quite evidently, could be induced to talk of nothing else. “I certainly wasn’t much use myself. I couldn’t move a finger.”
There was a short silence while Ruth dreamed over plans for her picture and Helen reviewed mentally the events of the day before.
“I suppose Tom was put out to find handsome Layton on the ground before him,” said Helen, and Ruth shook herself impatiently.
“Layton, as you call him, was certainly on the ground most literally,” she said, with a frown. “And I don’t know whether you know that my interest in his injury is far more professional than personal.”
Helen nodded.
“I suppose you mean that having him laid up may delay your picture.”
“That’s certainly what I do mean!” Ruth sat up energetically and began to look more like her old fighting self. “It seems to me that there’s an evil sprite following me this trip——”
“Have you been to see him yet?”
Ruth shook her head.
“I was going to pretty soon. Tell you the truth,” she looked at Helen seriously, “I’m almost afraid to. I’m so afraid that he may have something more than a sprained ankle, and then—” She shrugged her shoulders eloquently.
“A good many of the pictures can be taken without him, can’t they?” asked Helen sympathetically. “Pictures where he doesn’t appear?”
“A few. But he appears in most of them. He plays a very strong lead all through. Of course,” she stopped to consider, “we could take pictures of the rodeo and the avalanche——”
“Oh, are we really going to have an avalanche?” Helen’s eyes sparkled. “What fun!”
“An avalanche!” repeated Ruth. “Why, of course. That’s the main part of the picture.”
Helen was leaning forward now, alert and eager.
“It will be artificial, of course?”
Ruth smiled.
“We could hardly ask Mother Nature to give us a special demonstration as a favor,” she said. “Of course the avalanche will be the result of carefully planted dynamite. But it will be as real looking as ingenuity can make it.”
“I’ll count on you for that,” said Helen, regarding her chum admiringly. “But I really didn’t know we were going to have anything so exciting. Isn’t it—” she paused and regarded her friend uncertainly, “isn’t it a bit dangerous?”
“A certain amount of danger always attaches to anything like that,” said Ruth carelessly. “There are always a lot of unforeseen things that may happen. Still, we’ve taken every possible precaution, and that’s the best we can do.”
“Cost a heap of money I suppose?” said Helen, after another short pause.
Ruth nodded.
“More than I care to think about. Which reminds me that I must have a business talk with Tom to-night and find out just how we stand. I, personally, have some dead steers to pay for, too, I suppose,” and the girl sighed.
“I don’t see why ‘personally.’ You didn’t kill the steers.”
“No; but they were killed in my cause.”
“I think Tom will look after that in spite of your hands-off independence. You don’t treat Tommy-boy right, Ruthie.”
Ruth made no response to this observation, and the girls were silent for a while.
“Seen anything suspicious about Viola lately?” asked Helen as Ruth sorted out her papers and put them away.
“No, and I’m letting a sleeping dog lie,” replied Ruth emphatically.
“With all apologies to Viola,” chuckled Helen.
“I’ve about come to the conclusion,” Ruth added as she got up and began to straighten her hair before the mirror over the washstand, “that her conference with Bloomberg’s agent didn’t mean anything. I have enough trouble without worrying about that.”
“It isn’t your worrying that matters,” observed Helen. “It’s what Viola does.”
“Oh, well, we’ll let the matter rest. As a matter of fact, so far, Viola has done nothing wrong. I suppose I’m too suspicious.”
“Where are you going?” asked Helen as Ruth turned toward the door.
“Over to see Layton Boardman,” said Ruth, with a faint smile. “I’ve got to know the worst.”
“I’d offer to come, too,” Helen’s lazy teasing voice floated out after her, “if I were not perfectly well aware that three’s a crowd.”
Ruth shrugged impatiently. She wished others would stop being so foolish about her and Layton Boardman. The whole thing was ridiculous.
She went to Boardman’s door and knocked. He called to her to come in. She opened the door and entered the room, leaving the door open behind her.
The actor was in bed, but as Ruth entered a quick smile played over his white face. Ruth went to him quickly and took the hand he had stretched impulsively toward her.
“I’m sorry you were hurt,” she said, bending over him solicitously. “Is there anything that I can do?”
It chanced that at that moment Tom was passing through the hall in search of Ruth. He saw her hand in Layton Boardman’s, saw the girl bending over him.
With a grim tightening of his lips Tom went on past the door and down the hall.
CHAPTER XIV
HELEN IS HURT
Besides the injury to his ankle, which was comparatively light, being only a painful sprain, Layton Boardman had hurt his back in his fall. This, together with painful bruises about the head and body, had prompted the ranch doctor to order him to stay in bed for a few days.
“After that I’ll be fit as a fiddle again,” Boardman told Ruth, trying to reassure her. “If you can shoot some of the pictures that don’t show me, Miss Fielding——”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Boardman,” Ruth cut in to his anxious sentence. “We’ll go right ahead. There will be several days of hard work anyway before we’ll need you. And whatever happens, I want you to take plenty of time and get perfectly well. The scenes where you do come in,” she added with a smile, “are pretty strenuous, you know, and you’ll need all your strength.”
Boardman groaned and moved his aching body impatiently.
“I wanted to take part in the rodeo. I wanted it more than I’ve wanted anything in years. And now—look at me!”
“I’m sorry,” said Ruth reluctantly, “but I’m afraid we will have to shoot that without you.”
Boardman turned suddenly and caught Ruth’s hand in his hard, sinewy one.
“Promise me one thing,” he begged. “Promise me you’ll put off the rodeo as long as you can. I may possibly be in shape!”
Ruth promised and withdrew her hand gently.
“Now rest a little while and I’ll go down and see if Ma Gowdy will let me make you a little chicken broth for your dinner. That ought to help put you in shape for the rodeo.”
“You’re very good to me,” Boardman muttered and closed his eyes.
Ma Gowdy was in the kitchen and readily responded to Ruth’s request for chicken broth for the invalid.
“There’s one fresh-killed,” she told Ruth. “A fat, tough old fowl that will make fine soup. You leave it to me. I can see you have plenty on your mind.”
Ruth thanked her gratefully and went on out.
She had already consulted with Pa Gowdy and found him perfectly willing that she use his ranch and as many of his ranch hands as she could muster in her great scene of the rodeo. She wanted now to find out just how many of these boys she could depend upon.
She found Andy, the gangling lad who helped in the small truck garden at the rear of the house and who also did chores for Ma Gowdy in the house. There were two regular cooks in Ma’s kitchen, swarthy Mexicans, both of them, but Andy was general utility man.
This handy youth took her to the foreman of the ranch who was at that moment watching a spirited exhibition of bronco busting in the corral.
This fellow, a long, lean, blue-eyed man whose face seemed to break up into a million tiny wrinkles when he smiled, received Ruth cordially.
“I think you’ll find, Miss, that the only trouble you’ll have will be in gettin’ too many volunteers,” he assured her when she stated her errand. “The boys is more interested in this here movin’ picture outfit of yours these days than in anything else that goes on about the ranch. They think this here rodeo you’re stagin’ is a regular game. You’ll have no trouble gettin’ them to take part.”
The man proved a true prophet. Ruth’s only difficulty was in rejecting in such a way as to spare their feelings the cowboys she could not use.
“But I can’t take you all!” she protested. “Pa and Ma Gowdy would run me off the ranch if I took you all from your regular work. I must pick and choose.”
It was not long before her list was full. She gave her new extras explicit directions as to where and at what time on the following morning she wanted them, and then she went to find and instruct her cameramen.
Ruth had pretty clearly in mind what she wanted. There had been a rodeo once not far from Cheslow and she had watched the antics of the cowboys with thrilled interest. It was her ambition to have this pictured rodeo as near like the genuine article as she could make it.
There would be bronco busting, of course. This was to be the main event of the affair. Then there would be a race, three or four half-broken colts let loose in a restricted area. Into the ring would dash a mounted cowboy in spectacular fashion. It was the business of this particular participant to chase the half wild horses and, coming close to one of them, to leap to its back, landing there, if the Fates were kind, and hold on grimly until such time as the next horse came within leaping distance, when the process was to be repeated.
In the course of this exciting performance falls and accidents, sometimes serious accidents, were to be expected. Perhaps this, thought Ruth, with a wry grimace, was what supplied the thrill. At any rate, there was bound to be plenty of excitement and action, and this was what she must have in her picture.
There would be other events, too, including the roping of steers.
“I wanted,” she told Helen, a frown of anxiety furrowing her brow, “to have Layton Boardman himself take the lead in the events requiring skill in the use of the lariat. That is one of his strong points.”
Both girls knew how nonchalantly and well Boardman could manage the snakelike, almost magic rope, twisting, turning, etching strange, serpentine figures on the air and always in the end finding the mark it was meant for.
Ruth had pictured Boardman in these scenes of her scenario, knew how his fine personality would dominate them. There were other cowboys no doubt who had his skill with the lariat, but none that could borrow that intangible thing—his personality.
“Well, the best you can do is to shoot most of the scenes to-morrow—those in which Boardman’s not absolutely necessary—and take the others when your leading man is on his feet again,” said Helen, then went to her room to write to Chess.
Ruth had an interview with her cameramen in which location and light effects were discussed at length, then went to consult her scenario as to the exact sequence of scenes.
In the hall she met Viola Callahan and the latter stared at Ruth, a queer expression in her bold black eyes.
“Seems like your hero’s kind of laid down on his job,” she remarked flippantly to Ruth. “I can’t imagine myself in love with a wild-west chap who gets his back wrenched and an ankle hurt right at the beginning of things. Right poor judgment, I call it.”
“You may remember that Mr. Boardman injured himself trying to save my life,” Ruth answered coldly, and went on up to her room wondering why she disliked this girl so much. Disliked her—and distrusted her, too.
Viola had given Ruth no cause for distrust other than that meeting in Chicago with Sol Bloomberg’s agent. Ruth had to admit that. Since her arrival at the ranch Viola’s actions had been normal enough. Yet Ruth still distrusted her with a suspicion that was as inevitable as the drawing of her breath.
Again she thrust uneasy thoughts from her. She would not borrow trouble.
The different events of the rodeo had been practiced for days—bronco busting, racing, bull-throwing. The cowboys had entered into the acting with spirit, even though most of it was not acting to them at all, but merely a part of their everyday experience.
The time had now come when Ruth felt that she could safely set up her cameras and shoot the scenes.
The day of the rodeo dawned gloriously clear and one fear of Ruth’s was dissipated. At least they would not be forced to postpone the rodeo pictures because of bad weather.
“Oh, Ruth!” exclaimed Helen, standing at the open window. “It’s a perfectly grand day. I’m so glad it isn’t raining, or even cloudy.”
Dressed and ready for the exciting events of the day, Ruth stopped for a moment at Boardman’s door. The latter was better. He had insisted on getting out of bed and was now sitting comfortably enough propped up in a big chair by the window. He looked up as Ruth entered and smiled.
She outlined to him her general plans concerning the rodeo, explaining that she had saved several of the most important and daring scenes for him.
“That was mighty good of you!” There was no doubting his gratitude. “I’ll be up and around as good as new in a day or two. Just watch me!”
Ruth said she certainly hoped he would and left him and ran buoyantly down the steps and into the vigorous, sun-dazzled out-of-doors.
She found Tom and Helen waiting for her.
“Oh, here you are!” cried Helen. “Tom and I have been waiting hours!”
“Nothing of the kind,” laughed Ruth happily. “I left you not more than five minutes ago.”
The cameramen and a group of eager extras stood near by.
The cowboys regarded Ruth with dancing eyes and demanded to know when the show was to begin.
“Right away,” said Ruth. “The sooner the better. Is everybody ready?”
It seemed that everybody was, and they repaired straightway to location.
From then on events moved so swiftly that Ruth lost all account of time. Close to the cameramen, ordering, criticizing, directing and sometimes giving voice to spontaneous expressions of approval, Ruth seemed to dominate the whole exciting scene with her own vivid personality.
The cowboys afterward declared that they worked their best because of the director’s enthusiasm and intense vitality.
“With her dancin’ away there on her little toes and shoutin’ herself hoarse when we done somethin’ she liked, we just couldn’t help playin’ up good,” said one of these, thereby expressing the general opinion, for there was a murmured chorus of:
“Now you’ve said something, buddy.”
At any rate, up to the final “shot” Ruth was confident that she had a smashing good picture, the real thing in a real setting, a far more realistic rodeo than even she had ever dreamed of filming.
There was one event left—the steer roping. Since this was to be the climactic event of the rodeo it was to start with a roar and a bang, the boys shooting revolvers into the air not only for the purpose of exciting their already over-nervous mounts but to provoke the steers to a fighting mood which would make even the most skillful lariat throwing and roping a difficult undertaking.
Helen stood a little way from Tom and Ruth, tense with excitement and interest. This was the sort of thing that thrilled Helen to her toes, as she expressed it, and she was eager to miss no slightest detail of the event.
Tom, too, was full of enthusiasm and also of his old wondering admiration of Ruth. He was more like the old Tom than he had been for many a day. Even through the general excitement Ruth was aware of this change in his attitude and was happy because of it.
Then the scene was set, the outdoor stage was ready for its actors. A steer, a great, angry-looking old fellow, was let loose.
With wild whoops and shouts the boys dashed forward, firing their revolvers into the air as they went. The noise was terrific, the excitement tense.
Ruth, exhilarated and excited, turned to look at Helen, saw the girl throw up her hands in a startled gesture, saw her reel and fall limp to the ground!
“Helen! Oh, Helen!” moaned Ruth.
CHAPTER XV
STARTLING NEWS
Together, Ruth and Tom rushed over to the prone figure on the ground. They seemed to be the only ones of all that company to see the accident to Helen.
The cowboys, engrossed in the swift action and the excitement of the scene, all lesser sounds drowned by their wild cries and shouts, saw nothing. The cameramen continued to grind out length after length of film, oblivious to everything save the drama of the scene before them.
“Is she dead?” gasped Ruth to Tom, as they bent over the girl.
It was here that Ruth’s training in the Red Cross stood her in good stead. She knelt beside Helen, took her wrist in expert fingers. Though her face was white and drawn, her voice was calm and controlled as she spoke to Tom.
“She’s breathing, but her pulse is weak. We must get her into the house at once, Tom!”
“Some fool forgot to put blank cartridges in his gun,” muttered Tom, hands clenched.
Together they got the unconscious girl to the house. Ma Gowdy met them at the door and led them, with no waste of words, into the living room where they laid Helen on the couch.
Blood was flowing from a wound on her forehead. Ruth spoke to the capable old woman and Ma Gowdy disappeared kitchenward.
Meanwhile Ruth had been loosening Helen’s clothes, tearing the tie and collar of her blouse away from her throat, chafing her hands. Ruth’s face was almost as white as that of her chum.
“Tom, if anything has happened to her—through me——”
Just then Ma Gowdy came back with clean strips of linen and a basin of water.
With a brief word of thanks, Ruth seized the basin of water and the strips of linen. Ma Gowdy watched with approval while Ruth set to work carefully bathing and cleansing the wound on Helen’s forehead.
“Only a scalp wound,” she murmured, after a moment. “Oh, I feared it might be much, much worse!”
“How’d it happen?” asked Ma Gowdy.
“Spent bullet,” Tom responded briefly. He had taken one of his sister’s hands in his and was rubbing it gently. “Some fool had real bullets instead of the blank cartridges I ordered. I intend,” he added grimly, “to find out who that fool was, and without delay.”
The scalp wound thoroughly cleansed, Ruth took one of the clean strips of linen, dipped it in the icy cold water, and bathed Helen’s face with it. The girl opened her eyes, looked up languidly.
Then she shivered and put a hand to her bandaged forehead.
“I feel like a wreck,” she said with a faint smile, and closed her eyes again.
Suddenly and for no apparent reason, Ruth burst into tears. She turned away, fumbled for a handkerchief, and the next moment felt Tom’s big one thrust into her hand. She accepted it gratefully, wiped her eyes, and smiled at him.
“I’m such an awful goose!” she said. “But I thought she was going to die!”
The next moment she was beside Helen again, stroking her hair back from her poor throbbing forehead and telling her not to talk but just to rest until she felt stronger.
For a few moments the new patient lay quiet, seemingly content beneath Ruth’s gentle ministrations. But suddenly she stirred restlessly and half sat up.
Ruth pushed her back gently and Helen’s eyes flew open. She regarded her chum resentfully.
“If you think I’m going to lie here, Ruth Fielding,” she announced with something of her old vigor, “you are very much mistaken!”
“Behave yourself, sis.” Tom’s voice was gentle, but there was an underlying firmness that Helen generally obeyed. “Right where you are is where you’re going to stay—for the rest of this day, at least.”
Helen stared at them both for a moment, looked at Ma Gowdy hovering in the background, hesitated as though contemplating rebellion, then, with a sigh, gave in.
“What hit me?” she asked, moving her aching head restlessly. “I felt as though somebody had touched me with a red hot poker. Then I didn’t feel anything.”
Ruth explained and Tom declared his intention of sallying forth immediately for the purpose of finding out what idiot carried real cartridges in his revolver.
“You take charge of everything, Tom,” Ruth called after him. “Tell the boys we won’t want them any more to-day. We were nearly through anyway, and if we have to retake the last event to-morrow it won’t matter, although I don’t think it will be necessary. I’ll stay here with Helen.”
“I don’t see why you have to stop everything on my account,” said Helen. “You make me feel guilty, Ruthie.”
“Of course you were responsible for getting hit,” Ruth gibed. “If you only knew,” she knelt down beside Helen and took her hand gently, “what a relief it was to find you were not seriously hurt! For a minute I thought—But there, we’re not going to talk about it—either of us. You just turn over like a good girl, with your face to the wall, and get some sleep.”
“Suppose I can’t sleep?”
“Then I’ll read to you till you do.”
Although nothing very serious came of Helen’s accident, Ruth was careful to keep her chum in the background after that whenever there was a shooting scene to be taken. Luckily, the cameramen, having been too engrossed in their work to notice the accident to Helen, had kept on grinding and the great final scene of the rodeo had not been lost.
Tom made careful inquiries and found that, as he expected, one of the boys had forgotten to exchange real cartridges for blank ones in his weapon. When told what his carelessness had done the young fellow was so overwhelmed with genuine remorse that Tom considered he had received punishment enough. That one cowboy, at least, would be very careful in the future!
Ruth received a letter from Mr. Hammond a day or two after the accident, announcing his intention of stopping at Golden Pass for a brief visit on his way farther west.
Ruth was delighted at the prospect, for aside from the fact that she was always glad to see her old friend and business associate she set a high value on his criticism. It always gave her a feeling of content and certainty when Mr. Hammond’s judgment backed up hers.
In the meantime, Layton Boardman had made good his promise of rapid convalescence. He was up and around the day after the pictures of the rodeo, hobbling a bit painfully, but otherwise appearing up to his usual form. He had recovered, at any rate, to such an extent that he was able to “fake” some close-up scenes before the camera. Ruth had hopes that before long her leading man would be able to take part in two of the important events of the rodeo that had been delayed for his benefit.
Meanwhile Ruth kept her company busy rehearsing for the small scenes. She was anxious to finish the filming of her picture, for expenses were mounting and salaries ate into the business bank roll alarmingly.
Came the time when everything was in readiness for the taking of the first small scene. Ruth, flushed and weary, had rehearsed, directed, cajoled and bullied until she felt that at last she had pulled the company into perfect shape.
“I haven’t a bit of pep left in me,” she confessed to Tom and Helen that night after dinner. “I feel like a wet dishrag. All I want is to get to bed and sleep forever.”
“You’ll feel differently in the morning,” Helen assured her, while she studied her friend with laughing, quizzical eyes. “I never saw any one like you, Ruth Fielding. No matter how exhausted you may seem at night, morning finds you as fresh and as hungry for new worlds to conquer as ever. I don’t see how you manage it.”
“It’s fun—all of it,” Ruth responded, her eyes sparkling in spite of fatigue. “Those scenes ought to go splendidly. If only,” a shadow crossed her face, “Viola will behave herself and not try to hog all the scenes.”
Tom, who had been lounging at the open window, turned and faced the two girls.
“How about Boardman?” he asked. “Do you think he will be able to disguise his limp well enough to fool the camera?”
Ruth nodded confidently.
“I’m not worrying a bit about Layton.”
“I wish,” said Tom, grim and enigmatic but sufficiently clear to both Helen and Ruth, “I could say the same!”
Morning came, and with it, as Helen had prophesied, a return of Ruth’s enthusiasm and vitality. She went about the preparations for the day’s work eagerly, gathering her company about her, reminding, instructing, abjuring.
When everything was in readiness Ruth looked about her, searching for a familiar black-eyed face that certainly should be there.
“Where’s Viola?” she asked impatiently. “She must know we are ready to start!”
“I’ll go and hunt her up,” Tom volunteered, but Ruth shook her head.
“I’ll go,” she said and there was a glint of something more than determination in her eyes. “If she thinks,” she added to herself as she went hurriedly toward the house, “that she can keep every one waiting like this she’ll soon find her mistake. If only,” she mused half humorously, “we directors were spared the problem of dealing with the whims and fancies of our temperamental stars, how simple everything would be. Anyway,” she smiled whimsically, “I’ll show this one that if I haven’t much temperament I’ve plenty of temper!”
She reached Viola’s door, knocked on it gently. When there was no response she knocked again. After the third attempt she tried the knob of the door and, finding that it turned easily, opened the door and entered the room.
What she saw there made her gasp with a swift premonition of disaster.
Dresser drawers stood open as though the result of a hasty packing. Viola’s trunk that had stood in one corner of the room had been dragged to the center. On the top of the trunk was a sheet of paper, scrawled across with Viola’s windy writing.
Ruth picked up the paper and as through a blur read the words:
“Sorry, but Tony and I are going over to Bloomberg. Bloomberg’s making it worth my while and I’d be a fool if I didn’t take my chance while it’s offered. You will have to get some one in my place.”
CHAPTER XVI
AN INCREDIBLE SUGGESTION
That was all. Ruth stood staring at the words dumbly while the true meaning of them filtered into her numbed brain.
Viola had gone, jumped her contract, left at a time when she knew her leaving would be utterly disastrous to the picture.
The thought roused the girl to a sort of wild disbelief. It wasn’t so. It couldn’t be so! Why, it would mean the ruin not only of this picture, but perhaps of The Fielding Film Company as well.
It was a new company, ambitious and, up to this time, almost incredibly successful. But to make the kind of pictures Ruth wanted to make took money—big lumps of it—and until profits began to be felt from the last big picture, “Snowblind,” it was necessary for Ruth to trim her sails very neatly and sail close to the wind if she hoped to avoid shipwreck.
All these thoughts and more, many more, whirled through her brain in that brief moment of realization. She felt faint and sick with the shock.
Viola’s note still clasped in her fingers, she went to her own room and sat down in a chair by the window to think things out. She hoped no one would follow just then—not even Tom. To be alone was what she needed—to think things out!
Poor Ruth! The more she tried to think things out the more she came to the realization that there was no way out save a disastrous one.
Even if she and Tom succeeded in getting an actress to take Viola’s place, the undertaking would entail ruinous delay. And at this late moment it would be hard to find any one capable of taking the lead in Ruth’s picture who was not already bound by contract.
“Oh, it’s hopeless—utterly hopeless!” she said, at last, aloud. “I guess fate is against you this time, Ruth Fielding. You might as well acknowledge the defeat as gracefully as you can. Oh, I feel so tired!” She got up and went wearily over to the window. “And how my head does ache!”
From the window she could see a considerable distance down the road. She noticed, in a detached and impersonal way that a conveyance of some kind was jouncing along the dusty trail coming toward the ranch.
She watched it disinterestedly, her mind busy with its own disquieting thoughts. Then as an automobile turned into the road that led to the house her interest quickened.
Who could be riding to the ranch in all the dignity of a car? Almost certainly a stranger, for the natives used horseflesh almost exclusively as a mode of travel.
The figure in gray descending from the car was familiar. Ruth leaned forward, the stranger turned his face toward her, and the next moment she recognized Mr. Hammond.
Why, of course! How could she have forgotten? She had known his arrival to be imminent, had even considered the probability that he would reach the ranch to-day.
A wry little smile touched the corners of Ruth’s mouth. What a different greeting she could have given him had he come an hour, yes, even half an hour before!
She was happy then, exhilarated, excited, could have shown him about with pride. Now!
Still watching him, she saw Mr. Hammond turn in greeting and saw that Tom was coming toward the house on a run. They clasped hands eagerly, for the two were friends. Ruth turned from the window, a lump in her throat. It was dreadful to have to shatter their pleasure and happiness with her bad news.
However, it was Ruth’s rule that if anything unpleasant was to be done, the only sensible procedure was to do it at once and get the agony over with.
She straightened her shoulders, instinctively bracing herself, and went on downstairs to greet the new arrival.
They were on the porch and Mr. Hammond turned to her with genuine eagerness.
“My dear Miss Ruth, what a pleasure to see you again. And how splendid you look! Doesn’t she?” turning with a smile to Tom.
But Tom had been watching Ruth’s face and, sensitive as he was to all her moods, saw instantly that something was wrong.
“What happened?” he asked quietly.
Ruth gave a queer little laugh and dropped into one of the chairs on the porch, motioning them to do likewise.
“I hate to spoil your first minute with us, Mr. Hammond, but this is so dreadful—” She broke off and then fairly flung her next words at Tom. “Viola is gone. All she left is—this!” And with a little despairing gesture she handed the note to Tom.
The latter read it and, still without speaking, passed it to Mr. Hammond.
The latter looked concerned, took a long breath, and cleared his throat.
“Pretty bad, pretty bad,” he murmured. “Hadn’t you a contract?” he asked of Ruth.
The girl raised her hands and let them drop again, helplessly.
“Of course. But what good does that do in a case like this? If we did succeed in holding her she would probably repay us by giving the worst acting she has. And the heroine’s part is a dramatic one, as you know. Indifferent acting would completely spoil the whole picture.”
“And whatever one may think of Viola personally, one has to admit she can act,” muttered Tom. His gaze roamed out past the ranch lands to Golden Pass. His hands gripped the arm of his chair. “I can’t for the life of me see any way out of this!” he added hopelessly.
“There’s always a way out of every situation,” said Mr. Hammond slowly, a thoughtful look coming into his eyes.
“Always,” agreed Ruth. “But sometimes it is anything but a good way.”
“Oh, come, Miss Ruth,” said the president of the Alectrion Film Corporation, “I’ve been in this game longer than you have and have weathered many a squall, some as bad as this.”
After this speech there was silence on the porch for several minutes.
“Meanwhile,” said Ruth, rousing herself to thought of the present, “I suppose the entire company is waiting the coming of its director—and Viola. We’ll have to tell them, there’s no use waiting, Tom.”
“So we shall.” Tom rose heavily and, hands thrust deep in pockets, sauntered to the piazza steps. There he turned and with an effort grinned at Mr. Hammond.
“I’d ask you to excuse my absence if I thought you’d miss me,” he said.
“Now what did he mean by that?” asked Ruth, looking after him.
“Probably that you and I may have something to say to each other,” laughed Mr. Hammond. “And, as far as I’m concerned,” he added, with a change of tone that made Ruth look at him swiftly, “he’s dead right.”
Ruth said nothing, only continued to look at Mr. Hammond, her heart beating faster. She felt that he was leading up to something. What was it?
“You may not like what I have to say, Miss Ruth.” The man was looking away from her now, speaking slowly, distinctly. “But I’ve got to say it for all that.” He turned to her with his quick disarming smile. “As a matter of fact, I think that I see a very satisfactory way out of your difficulties.”
“You do?” Ruth gasped. She was staring at him incredulously.
“I believe it is only your modesty that keeps you from thinking of it yourself,” went on Hammond.
“I don’t know what you mean!” Ruth was eager now, expectant. “Please, please don’t keep me in suspense!”
“Then I won’t.”
Mr. Hammond leaned toward her. The easy smile had left his face. He spoke in all seriousness.
“You are a scenario writer of unusual ability, Miss Ruth, and a good director. But I think there is still another line you could excel in to even a greater extent, should you try.”
Ruth, studying him intently, still failed to comprehend.
“Haven’t you ever thought,” the words came with a rush, “what a fine actress you would make?”
Ruth gasped, looked at the director of the Alectrion Film Corporation as though she thought he had gone mad.
“Me, an actress! Why, I never heard of such a thing!”
“You have faced the camera before,” Mr. Hammond reminded her.
“Oh, I know! But not in a picture like this—not as a star working opposite an actor like Layton Boardman! I—I never—why, I couldn’t!”
“I’m quite sure you could,” asserted Mr. Hammond. Now that the thing had been proposed, he was smilingly confident. “And I am certain the idea will appeal to you, once you get used to it.”