AT ROCKY RANCH
With a howl, a rush and a roar the storm was upon them. Never had the
moving picture girls or their friends ever seen, heard or imagined such
a violent wind.
The sky was overcast with yellowish clouds, edged with black, which were
torn and twisted in swirling circles by the gale. The air itself seemed
tinged with a sickly green that struck terror to the girls' hearts.
There was a crash that rose high above the howl of the wind, and someone
called:
"There goes the roof off the corn crib!"
Inside the house there were confused shouts and calls. The house itself
rocked and swayed.
"Oh, what shall we do?" sobbed Ruth.
"Let's go out, before it falls down on us," cried Alice.
Clinging to each other they made their way downstairs. Their father came
after them, followed by other members of the moving picture company.
"Is--is there any safe place?" faltered Mr. Sneed, as he look anxiously
about.
"The cyclone cellar," answered one of the farm men. "All hands had
better take to that. We're out of the path of the worst of the
'twister,' but it's best to take no chances. To the cyclone cellar!"
"Where is it?" asked Mr. Bunn, looking around the room, as though the
place of refuge were kept inside the house.
"There!" cried the man, pointing to a small mound of earth, in which was
set a sort of trap door. "Go down in there!"
A number of farm hands, as well as members of the family, were making
for this haven. It was a veritable cellar, covered over, and used for
just such emergencies. A flight of steps led down into it.
"Where are you going, Russ?" cried Ruth, as she saw the young operator
turn from the side of the porch where he had been standing.
"For my camera!" he answered, shouting so as to be heard above the noise
of the wind. "I'm going to film this--too good a chance to lose."
"But you--you may be hurt!" she faltered.
"I'll take a chance," he replied, as he turned into the house.
Into the cyclone cellar rushed the frightened members of the film
company, as well as the farmer's family and helpers. The wind was
howling and shrieking, and several crashes told of further damage being
done to the buildings.
Russ, in spite of the commands of Mr. Pertell, set up his camera to get
pictures of a cyclone in actual operation. The bending, and in some
cases breaking, trees showed the great force of the wind, and the
unroofing and demolishing of small outbuildings gave further evidence of
the power of the storm.
Russ took his position in an open spot, where he would be in less
danger, and got picture after picture, showing the retreat into the
underground place of refuge.
The wind was so strong that he had to force the legs of his camera
tripod deep into the earth to prevent the apparatus from being blown
over.
With a crash the roof of one of the smaller barns was sent sailing far
away in the air, and Russ got a fine view of this, though he narrowly
escaped being hit by a piece of wood.
"Russ, come in here!" called Mr. Pertell, through a crack in the trap
door of the cyclone cellar. "I forbid you to risk your life any
further."
"Just a minute!" begged the operator.
"Please come!" cried Ruth.
"All right," he answered, and catching up his camera he took his place
in the cellar. And then, as suddenly as it had come up, the wind storm
died away. The sullen black and yellow clouds passed onward, and the sun
came out. Those in the cellar emerged.
"Well, it might have been worse," the farmer said, as he looked about.
Considerable damage had been done, but his place, and that of his
neighbor, were out of the direct path of the cyclone, so the larger
buildings escaped. No one was hurt and after the excitement Russ went
about, making views of the demolished places, and of the standing grain,
which had been blown almost flat.
"I don't believe I'd like to live in Kansas," said Ruth as she
re-arranged her hair, tossed about by the wind.
"Nor I," laughed Alice, in a similar plight.
"Oh, we get used to it," remarked the farmer, with a laugh. Yet how he
could laugh as he surveyed the ruins of his buildings was rather
strange. "We don't get a 'twister' every day," he went on, "and we're
glad when we escape alive. A few shacks more or less don't matter. We
count on that. I'm sorry you folks got such a bad opinion of Kansas,
though."
"Well, we'll give her a chance to redeem herself," said Mr. Pertell. "I
guess we'll have to change some of our plans."
"Oh, don't let this storm hinder you," urged the farmer. "We won't have
another in a couple of years. Once a cyclone sweeps over a place we feel
relieved. It doesn't often pay a return visit."
He and his men were soon busy taking an account of the damage done
which, fortunately, was not as great as seemed at first. One cow had
been killed, but the farmer remarked, philosophically, that anyhow he
was to have sent her to the butcher shortly.
There was a little delay in making the moving pictures, but finally the
work of getting out the films was under way, and, if anything, the storm
rendered them more effective. Russ was able to work in the views he took
of the cyclone, and altogether the drama that was made in Kansas was
quite a success.
Once again the players were on their way, and this time they were not to
stop until they reached Rocky Ranch, unless something occurred to make
it necessary.
The remainder of the trip was uneventful, if we may except a slight
accident by which the train was derailed. No one was hurt, however, and
it gave Russ a chance to make a little film.
Then, late one afternoon, the party of moving picture players with their
properties and baggage reached the station of Altmore, the nearest
railroad point to Rocky Ranch. The station was little more than a water
tank, and there was not much of a town.
"Oh, what a dreary place!" complained Miss Pennington, as she and her
friend Miss Dixon surveyed the scene.
"The end of nowhere," agreed the other. "We shall die of loneliness
here."
"I guess it will be lively enough for you out at the ranch," said Mr.
Pertell. "But I don't understand why the wagons aren't here to meet us."
"There's something coming down the road," said Russ, pointing to a cloud
of dust.
"That's so," agreed the manager.
The dust cloud drew nearer, and then from the center of it could be
heard an excited shouting and yelling, and the galloping of horses.
Added to these were the sharp reports of revolvers.
"Something has happened!" cried Mr. Sneed.
"Something _is_ happening!" corrected Paul, while Mr. Bunn looked about
for a safe retreat.
"Hi! Yi!" were the yells coming from the dust cloud, as the shooting
increased. "Hi! Yi!"
"It's an Indian attack!" gasped Miss Pennington. "Oh, where can we
hide?"