IN DEADLY PERIL
"This stunt business," as Director Hooley called the taking of such
pictures as this, is always admittedly a gamble. After much time and
hundreds of dollars have been spent in getting ready to shoot a scene,
some little thing may go wrong and spoil the whole thing.
There was nothing the matter with the director's plans on this occasion;
every detail of the "freshet" had been made ready for with exactness and
with prodigious regard to detail.
The foreman had cut the key log almost through and the force of the
water and débris behind the boom had broken it. The man barely escaped
disaster by reason of agile legs and sharp caulks on his boots.
The backed-up waters burst through. Up stream, amid the turmoil and murk
of the agitated flood, rode Wonota in her canoe, directly into the focus
of the great cameras. To keep her canoe head-on with the flood, and to
keep it from being overturned, was no small matter. It required all the
Indian girl's skill to steer clear of snags and floating logs. Besides,
she must remember to register as she shot down the stream a certain
emotion which would reveal to the audience her condition of mind, as
told in the story.
Wonota did her part. She was rods above the breaking dam and she could
not see, because of an overhanging tree on Ruth's side of the stream,
any of that peril which suddenly threatened the white girl. Wonota was
as unconscious of what imperiled Ruth as the latter was at first
unknowing of the coming catastrophe.
It was Jim Hooley whom the incident startled and alarmed more than
anybody else. He committed an unpardonable sin--unpardonable for a
director! He forgot, when everything was ready, to order the starting of
the camera. Instead he put his megaphone to his lips and shouted across
to Ruth Fielding--who was not supposed to be in the picture at all:
"Jump, Miss Fielding! Quick! Jump into the river!"
And Ruth did not hear him, loudly as his voice boomed across the flood!
She was deafened by the thunder of the waters and the crashing of the
logs in mid-flood. Her eyes, now that she was sure the foreman was safe
on the other bank, were fixed upon the bow of Wonota's canoe, just
coming into sight behind the ware of foaming water and upreared,
charging timbers.
It was a great sight--a wonderful sight. No real freshet could have been
more awful to behold. Mr. Hooley's feat was a masterstroke!
But behind and above Ruth was a scene of disaster that held those on the
opposite bank speechless--after Hooley's first mighty shout of warning.
At least, all but the camera men were so transfixed by the thing that
was happening above the unconscious Ruth.
Trained to their work, the camera men had been ready to crank their
machines when Hooley grabbed up his megaphone. The boom had burst, the
flood poured down, and the Indian maid's canoe came into the range of
their lenses.
It was the most natural thing in the world that they should begin
cranking--and this they did! Alone among all those on the far bank of
the stream, the camera men were blind to Ruth's danger.
"She'll be killed!" shrieked Jennie Stone, while Helen Cameron ran to
the water's edge, stretching forth her arms to Ruth as though she would
seize her from across the stream.
The next moment the water flooded up around Helen's ankles. The stream
was rising, and had Jennie not dragged her back, Helen would have been
knee-deep in the water--perhaps have been injured herself by one of the
flying logs.
Ruth was out of reach of the logs in the stream, although they charged
down with mighty clamor, their ends at times shooting a dozen feet into
the air, the bark stripping in ragged lengths, displaying angry gashes
along their flanks. It was from that great heap of logs above, on the
brink of the steep bank, that Ruth was in danger.
A fringe of low brush had hidden the foot of the logpile up there. This
hedge had also hidden from the observation of the party across the
stream the villains who must have deliberately knocked out the chocks
which held the high pile of timbers from skidding down the slope.
Mr. Hooley had seen the logs start. Squeezed out by the weight of the
pile, the lower logs, stripped of bark and squealing like living
creatures started over the brink. They rolled, faster and faster, down
upon the unwarned Ruth Fielding. And behind the leaders poured the whole
pile, gathering speed as the avalanche made headway!
The turmoil of the river and the crashing logs would have smothered the
sound of the avalanche until it was upon the girl of the Red Mill. No
doubt of that. But providentially Ruth flashed a glance across the
stream. She saw the party there all screaming at her and waving their
arms madly. Jennie was just dragging Helen back from the rising flood
of the turbulent river. Ruth saw by their actions that they were trying
to draw her attention to something behind her.
She swung about and looked up the almost sheer bluff.
Ruth Fielding was not lacking in quick comprehension. A single glance at
the descending avalanche of logs was sufficient to make her understand
the peril. She knew that she could not clear the hurtling timbers by
running either up stream or down. The way was too rough. As well as Jim
Hooley, she knew that escape was only possible by leaping into the
river. And that chance was rather uncertain.
Ruth was dressed for the rough outdoor life she was living. She wore
high, laced boots, a short skirt, knickerbockers, a blouse, and a
broad-brimmed hat.
When she turned to face the turbulent stream the rocking timbers coming
down with the released water almost filled the pool before the
endangered girl.
Had she worn caulks on the soles of her boots, as did the foreman who
had cut the boom, and been practised as he was in "running the logs,"
Ruth would have stood a better chance of escaping the plunging
avalanche. As it was, she was not wholly helpless.
She had picked up a peavey one of the timbermen had left on this bank
and was using is as a staff as she watched the "freshet" start. Warned
now of the danger she was in, the girl of the Red Mill seized this staff
firmly in both hands and poised herself to leap from the boulder to
which she had stepped.
Only a moment did she delay--just long enough to select the most
promising log in the smother of foam and water before her. Then she
leaped outward, striking down with the pike-staff and sinking its sharp
point in the log to which she jumped.
Behind her the timbers poured down the bluff, landed on their
splintering ends on the rocks, and then--many of them--pitched their
long lengths into the angry river.
The spray flew yards high. It curtained, indeed, all that occurred for
the next few moments upon this side of the stream. However much the
scene, arranged by Jim Hooley might need the attention of the moving
picture makers, here was a greater and more dangerous happening, in
which Ruth Fielding was the leading participant!