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THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS AT ROCKY RANCH
Or
Great Days Among the Cowboys
by
LAURA LEE HOPE
Author of "The Moving Picture Girls," "The Moving Picture
Girls Under the Palms," "The Outdoor Girls
Series," "The Bobbsey Twins Series," Etc.
Illustrated
The Goldsmith Publishing Co.
Cleveland
Made in U. S. A.
Copyright, 1914, by
Grosset & Dunlap
Press of
The Commercial Bookbinding Co.
Cleveland
[Illustration: "WE ARE HEMMED IN BY THE PRAIRIE FIRE!" _Moving Picture
Girls at Rocky Ranch._--_Page 192._]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I THE SPY 1
II WESTERN PLANS 13
III A DARING FEAT 23
IV A CLOUD OF SMOKE 32
V A MIX-UP 42
VI THE AUTO SMASH 49
VII OFF FOR THE WEST 56
VIII THE OIL WELL 66
IX THE RIVALS 72
X THE CYCLONE 78
XI AT ROCKY RANCH 90
XII SUSPICIONS 96
XIII AT THE BRANDING 109
XIV A WARNING 117
XV THE INDIAN RITES 125
XVI PRISONERS 134
XVII THE RESCUE 143
XVIII A RUSH OF STEERS 156
XIX TOO MUCH REALISM 163
XX IN THE OPEN 168
XXI THE BURNING GRASS 178
XXII HEMMED IN 186
XXIII THE ESCAPE 193
XXIV A DISCLOSURE 201
XXV THE ROUND-UP 208
THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS
AT ROCKY RANCH
CHAPTER I
THE SPY
"Well, Ruth, aren't you almost ready?"
"Just a moment, Alice. I can't seem to get my collar fastened in the
back. I wish I'd used the old-fashioned hooks and eyes instead of those
new snaps."
"Oh, I think those snaps are just adorable!"
"Oh, Alice DeVere! Using such an extreme expression!"
"What expression, Ruth?"
"'Adorable!' You sometimes accuse me of using slang, and there you
go----"
"'Adorable' isn't slang," retorted Alice.
"Oh, isn't it though? Since when?"
"There you go yourself! You're as bad as I am."
"Well, it must be associating with you, then," sighed Ruth.
"No, Ruth, it's this moving picture business. It just makes you use
words that _mean_ something, and not those that are merely sign-posts.
I'm glad to see that you are getting--sensible. But never mind about
that. Are you ready to go to the studio? I'm sure we'll be late."
"Oh, please help me with this collar. I wish I'd made this waist with
the new low-cut effect. Not too low, of course," Ruth added hastily, as
she caught a surprised glance from her sister.
Two girls were in a room about which were strewn many articles of
feminine adornment. Yet it was not an untidy apartment. True, dresser
drawers did yawn and disclose their contents, and closet doors gaped at
one, showing a collection of shoes and skirts. But then the occupants of
the room might have been forgiven, for they were in haste to keep an
appointment.
"There, Ruth," finally exclaimed the younger of the two girls--yet she
was not so much younger--not more than two years. "I think your collar
is perfectly sweet."
"It's good of you to say so. You know I got it at that little French
shop around the corner, but sewed some of that Mexican drawn lace on to
make it a bit higher. Now I'm sorry I did, for I had to put in those
snap fasteners instead of hooks. And if you don't get them to fit
exactly they come loose. It's like when the film doesn't come right on
the screen, and the piano player sounds a discord to call the
operator's attention to it."
"You've hit it, sister mine."
"Oh, Alice! There you go again. 'Hit it!'"
"You'd say 'hit it' at a baseball game," Alice retorted.
"Oh, yes, I suppose so. But we're not at one," objected the older girl,
as she finished buttoning her gloves, and took up her parasol, which she
shook out, to make sure that it would open easily when needed.
"There, I think I'm ready," announced Alice, as she slipped on a light
jacket, for, though it was spring, the two rivers of New York sent
rather chilling breezes across the city, and a light waist was rather
conducive to colds.
"Have you the key?" asked the older girl, as she paused for a moment on
the threshold of the private hall of the apartment house. She had tied
her veil rather tightly at the back, knotting it and fastening it with a
little gold pin, and now she pulled it away from her cheeks, to relieve
the tension.
"Yes, I have it, Ruth. Oh, don't make such funny faces! Anyone would
think you were posing."
"Well, I'm not--but this veil--tickles."
"Serves you right for trying to be so stylish."
"It's proper to have a certain amount of style, Alice, dear. I wish I
could induce you to have more of it."
"I have enough, thank you. Let's don't talk dress any more, or we'll
have a tiff before we get to the moving picture studio, and there are
some long and trying scenes ahead of us to-day."
"So there are. I wonder if daddy took his key?"
"Wait, and I'll look on his dresser."
The younger girl went back into the apartment for a moment, while her
sister stepped across the corridor and tapped lightly at an opposite
door.
"Has Russ gone?" she asked the pleasant-faced woman who answered.
"Yes, Ruth. A little while ago. He was going to call for you girls, but
I knew you were dressing, for Alice came in to borrow some pins, so I
told him not to wait."
"That's right. We'll see him at the studio."
"You're coming in to supper to-night, you know."
"Oh, yes, Mrs. Dalwood. Daddy wouldn't miss that for anything!" laughed
Ruth, as she turned to wait for her sister. "Of course he _says_ our
cooking is the best he ever had since poor mamma left us," Ruth went
on, "but I just _know_ he relishes yours a great deal more."
"Oh, you're just saying that, Ruth!" objected the neighbor.
"Indeed I'm not. You should hear him talk, for days afterward, about
your clam chowder." She laughed genially.
"Well, he does seem to relish that," admitted Mrs. Dalwood.
"What's that?" asked Alice, as she came out.
"We're speaking of clam chowder, and how fond daddy is of Mrs. Dalwood's
recipe," said Ruth.
"Oh, yes, indeed! I should think he'd be ashamed to look a clam in the
face--that is, if a clam _has_ a face," laughed Alice. "It's awfully
good of you, Mrs. Dalwood, to make it for him so often."
"Well, I'm always glad when a man enjoys his meals," declared Mrs.
Dalwood, who, being a widow, knew what the lack of proper home life
meant.
"I'm afraid we're imposing on you," suggested Alice, as she started down
the stairs. "You have us over to tea so often, and we seldom invite
you."
"Now don't be thinking that, my dear!" exclaimed the neighbor. "I know
what it is when you have to pose so much for moving pictures.
"My boy Russ tells me what long hours you put in, and how hard you work.
And it's trouble enough to get up a meal these days, and have anything
left to pay the rent. So I'm only too glad when you can come in and
enjoy the victuals with us. I cook too much anyhow, and of late Russ
seems to have lost his appetite."
"I fancy I know why," laughed Alice, with a roguish glance at her
sister.
"Alice!" protested Ruth, in shocked tones. "Don't you dare----"
"I was only going to say that he has not seemed well since coming back
from Florida--what was the harm in that?" Alice wanted to know.
"Oh!" murmured Ruth. "Do come on," she added, as if she feared her
fun-loving sister might say something embarrassing.
"Russ will be better soon, Mrs. Dalwood," Alice called as she and her
sister went down the stairway of the apartment house.
"What makes you think so?" asked his mother. "Not but what I'm glad to
hear you say that, for really he hasn't eaten at all well lately."
"We're going on the road again, I hear," went on Alice. "The whole
moving picture company is to be taken off somewhere, and a lot of films
made. Russ always likes that, and I'm sure his appetite will come back
as soon as we start traveling. It always does."
"You are getting to be a close observer," remarked Ruth, with just the
hint of sarcasm in her voice. "Oh, Alice, do finish buttoning your
gloves in the house!" she exclaimed. "It looks so careless to go out
fussing with them."
"All right, sister mine. Anything to keep peace in the family!" laughed
the younger girl.
Together they went down the street, a charming picture of youth and
happiness.
A little later they entered the studio of the Comet Film Company, a
concern engaged in the business of making moving pictures, from posing
them with actors and actresses, and the suitable "properties," to the
leasing of the completed films to the various theaters throughout the
country.
Alice and Ruth DeVere, of whom you will hear more later, with their
father, were engaged in this work, and very interesting and profitable
they found it.
As the girls entered the studio they were greeted by a number of other
players, and an elderly gentleman, with a bearing and carriage that
revealed the schooling of many years behind the footlights, came
forward.
"I was just wondering where you were," he said with a smile. His voice
was husky and hoarse, and indicated that he had some throat affection.
In fact, that same throat trouble was the cause of Hosmer DeVere being
in moving picture work instead of in the legitimate drama, in which he
had formerly been a leading player.
"We stopped a moment to speak to Mrs. Dalwood," explained Ruth.
"Clam chowder," added Alice, with a laugh. "She's going to have it this
evening, Daddy."
"Good!" he exclaimed, rubbing his hands together in a manner that
indicated gratification. "I was just hungry for some."
"You always seem able to eat that," laughed Alice. "I must learn how to
make it."
"I wish you would!" exclaimed her father, earnestly. "Then when we are
on the road I can have some, now and then."
"Oh, you are hopeless!" laughed Alice. "Here is your latch-key, Daddy,"
she went on, handing it to him. "You left it on your dresser, and as
Ruth and I are going shopping when we get through here, I thought you
might want it."
"Thank you, I probably shall. I am going home from here to study a new
part."
The scene in the studio of the moving picture concern was a lively one.
Men were moving about whole "rooms"--or, at least they appeared as such
on the film. Others were setting various parts of the stage,
electricians were adjusting the powerful lights, cameras were being set
up on their tripods, and operators were at the handles, grinding away,
for several plays were being made at once.
"Just in time, Ruth and Alice!" called Russ Dalwood, who was one of the
chief camera men. "Your scene goes on in ten minutes. You have just time
to dress."
"It's that 'Quaker Maid;' isn't it?" asked Ruth, for she and her sisters
took part in so many plays that often it was hard to remember which
particular one was to be filmed.
"That's it," said Russ. "Don't forget your bonnets!" he laughed as he
focused the camera.
"All ready now!" called Mr. Pertell, the manager of the company, and
also the chief stage director, a little later. "Take your places, if you
please! Mr. DeVere, you are not in this until the second scene. Mr.
Bunn, you'll not need your high hat in this act."
"But I thought you said----" began an elderly actor, of the type known
as "Hams," from their insatiable desire to portray the character of
Hamlet.
"I know I did," said Mr. Pertell, sharply. "But I have had to change my
mind. You are to take the part of a plumber, and you come to fix a burst
water pipe. So get your overalls and your kit. You have a plumber's kit;
haven't you, Pop?" the manager called to Pop Snooks, the property man,
who was obliged, on short notice, to provide anything from a diamond
ring to a rustic bridge.
"All right for the plumber!" called Pop. "Have it for you in a minute."
"And, Mr. Sneed," called the manager to another actor. "You are supposed
to be the householder whose water pipe has burst. You try to putty it up
and you get soaked. Go over there in the far corner, where the tank is;
we don't want water running into this Quaker scene."
"Oh, I get all wet; do I?" asked Mr. Sneed, in no very pleasant tones.
"That's what you do!"
"Well, all I've got to say is that I wish you'd give some of these tank
dramas to someone else. I'm getting tired of being soaked."
"You haven't been really wet since the trip to Florida," declared Mr.
Pertell. "Lively now, we have no time to lose. Come on, Russ!" he called
to the young operator. "You're to film the Quaker scenario. I'll have
Johnson make the water pipe scene. All ready, ladies and gentlemen!"
Various plays were going on at once in different parts of the studio.
Ruth and Alice DeVere took their places in one where a Quaker story was
being portrayed. Later they posed in a church scene, in which a number
of extra people, or "supers," were engaged to represent the
congregation.
Mr. Pertell, once he had the various scenes going, took a moment in
which to rest, for he was a very busy man. He sat down near Alice, who,
for the time being, was out of the scene. But hardly had the manager
stretched out in a chair, resting one shirt-sleeved arm over the back,
when he started up, and looked intently toward one corner of the studio.
"I wonder why he is going in there?" observed the manager, half aloud.
"Who?" asked Alice, for the moving picture company was like one big
family, in a way.
"That new man," went on Mr. Pertell. "Harry Wilson, he said his name
was. Now he's going into the proof room, where he has no business. I
must look into this. I wonder, after all, if there could be any truth in
that warning I received the other day."
"What warning?" asked Alice.
"About a rival film company trying to discover some of the secrets of
our success. I must look into this."
He sprang from his chair and hurried across the big studio toward the
room where the films were first shown privately, to correct any defects,
mechanical or artistic. It was there that the initial performance, so to
speak, was given.
Before Mr. Pertell reached the room, where the projection machine was
installed, the man of whom he had spoken had entered. And, just as the
manager reached the door, the same man came violently out, impelled by a
vigorous push from one of the operators, who at the same time cried:
"Get out of here, you spy! What do you mean by sneaking in here, trying
to get our secrets? Get out! Where's Mr. Pertell? I'll tell him about
you."