DRAMA
Alarmed by the commotion, Mary and Ellen Chase came running from the
inner room.
Ellen was trembling violently, the picture of terror. But Mary’s chin
was up and in her hand she carried her father’s old shotgun!
“What is it, Miss Fielding? Oh, what has happened? What have you
done?”
“I don’t know,” said Ruth, trembling herself now with the reaction
and the fear that she had injured the intruder more severely than she
had intended. “This man was trying to pry up a stone of your hearth,
Mary, and when he attempted to escape I tripped him up. Come and help
me turn him over and see how badly he’s hurt.”
“Is—do you suppose—he’s dead?” asked Mary hesitantly, as she started
to obey.
Before either of the girls could touch him the man answered Mary’s
question by turning over of his own accord and trying rather
waveringly to sit up, showing a large and swollen bump on his head.
The girls stepped back, staring at him as though he were some reptile.
“Lieberstein!” cried Mary, with all the contempt and loathing she
felt for this man in her voice. “So it was you, was it? Again! Prying
and sneaking around like any common thief. You’re lucky that you
only got tripped up and hit on the head. If I’d seen you first—” she
did not finish the sentence, but made a significant gesture with
her father’s old shotgun. “I’m not sure,” she added with a grim
expression on her girlish face, “that I oughtn’t to use it yet!”
The man got unsteadily to his feet, holding to the edge of the door
casing for support.
“So you’re the one who tripped me up,” he snarled to Ruth, ignoring
Mary and her threatening gun. “Well, young lady, the next time you
try it, you’ll wish you hadn’t.”
Ruth stepped close to him and in her eyes was a glitter before which
his own gaze fell sullenly to the ground.
“And you might as well understand one thing,” she said in an even
tone. “These girls are not as friendless and defenseless as you seem
to think! You and the man, or men, back of you stop annoying them or
you will be extremely sorry.”
Her scorn seemed to infuriate the man. He lost all caution and for a
moment the mean and sinister soul of him peered forth for all to see.
“You think you’re smart, don’t you?” he snarled. “Well, I’ll tell you
something. If you don’t watch out, Sol Bloomberg will get your goat,
and get it good, you—you——”
“Don’t dare call her names!” cried a valiant voice, and Lieberstein
whirled about to see himself looking into the barrel of Mary’s weapon.
At that he lost what little self-control he had left. He lunged
at the girl and knocked up the barrel of the gun just as Mary’s
nerveless finger pulled the trigger.
The shot went wild. At the same moment the man was seized by the
shoulder from behind and sent whirling into the bushes.
“You swine!” cried the raging voice of Layton Boardman. “Clear out of
here before I use this gun on you in earnest!”
He caught the gun from Mary, but before he could raise it to his
shoulder Lieberstein scuttled off into the shrubbery with all the
fleetness of a frightened rabbit.
Boardman was laughing softly, but there was no merriment in his mirth.
“The scoundrel!” he gritted. “Wish I’d used the gun on him. Good mind
to do it after all!”
He started forward toward the spot where Lieberstein disappeared.
But Mary caught at his arm.
“Oh, let him go! Let him go!” she cried. “He won’t be back soon
again. I—I think you taught him a lesson, Mr. Boardman!”
Ruth went over to Ellen, who was sobbing against the door frame and
put an arm about her. Then she turned to the actor.
“It was lucky for us that you came just then, Mr. Boardman,” she
said gravely. “Something pretty dreadful might have happened if you
hadn’t.”
“I left my cap here the other day,” Boardman explained, with his eyes
still on Mary. “I was coming back to get it.”
“Something must have sent you just at the right time,” said Mary
softly. “I shall always be thankful for that.”
Ruth wanted the girls to come back with her to Knockout Point, for
that night at least. But Mary refused, saying that they did not dare
go so far from the cabin.
“I’m all right,” she assured them, one arm thrown about the trembling
shoulders of her sister. “You’re not to worry, really. We’re all
right! We are not ‘girl miners,’ as Eddie calls us, for nothing. We
know how to face things and to fight.”
So Ruth and Boardman left them at last, though reluctantly, when
they saw that Mary could not be moved from her decision, and took the
long trail homeward almost in silence.
Once when they were nearing the settlement, the actor clenched his
hands and muttered as though he were thinking aloud:
“I should have been quicker on the trigger! I should have used that
gun while it was in my hands!”
It was then that Ruth told him how she had happened to go back to
the cottage and, seeing Lieberstein busily engaged in examining the
fireplace, how she had interrupted him and then thwarted his attempt
at escape. Then she related the subsequent hectic events up to the
arrival on the scene of Boardman himself.
By the look in his eyes, Ruth saw that she had made one active ally
for herself against the plottings of Lieberstein and the man behind
him, if only for the sake of Mary Chase.
Nor were the days to follow free from annoying, mysterious incidents.
At one time it was Boardman’s revolver that was missing, and one had
to be borrowed from an extra who could manage to do without it.
At another time it was Alice Lytelly’s special costume which it was
necessary for her to wear in certain scenes of the picture. This
entailed a hurried trip to the general store and a new dress made as
near in the style of the original as possible.
As a result of these delays and hindrances not only Ruth but the
actors as well became nervous and irritable.
“Lucky,” thought Ruth, grasping at what straws of comfort she could
find, “that most of the biggest and most important scenes have
already been filmed. Sol Bloomberg at least cannot spoil those!”
Which only goes to show that, even yet, Ruth had no adequate idea of
the lengths to which a vindictive nature like Bloomberg’s would be
willing to go in order to cripple or disable an enemy.
One day Ruth and Helen took the long-contemplated trip to the Chase
mine. They had arranged with Ellen to meet the latter at an early
hour and go with her to the mine, since Mary would already be at work
there.
They went on horseback to the little path leading into the woods
where Tom and Chess and Layton Boardman had come upon Ruth and the
Chase girls on the occasion of Ruth’s first meeting with them.
There Ellen met them and said that they had better tether the horses
in the woods since the trail from there on was so rocky and steep
that it could only be ascended on foot.
They led the horses some little distance from the road and tethered
them securely.
Both girls were in tune with the glorious day and the beauty of the
northern scenery. The climb up the little path that wound about Snow
Mountain was a delight to them. New and beautiful vistas opened up to
them at every turn of the trail.
Now they skirted sheer, precipitous descents, where one misstep would
mean almost certain death. Again they plunged into heavy woodland
where wild flowers grew in a riot of color, showing vivid faces even
in the crevices of the rocks.
“What I like about this country,” said Helen, delighted, “is that you
can have both summer and winter at once. Here the air is as mild and
balmy as a southern spring, while up there—” She did not finish the
sentence, but instead, waved her hand toward the shining crest of
Snow Mountain, dazzling in the light of the brilliant northern sun.
“It is a beautiful country,” agreed Ellen. “We love it, Mary and I,
even though it has not been very kind to us.”
It was quite a long climb, and both Helen and Ruth were considerably
winded by the time they reached the little shack far up on the side
of the mountain which marked the location of the Chase mine.
They found Mary and the old miners hard at work near the choked-up
mouth of the mine. They were busy digging out débris with pickax and
shovel.
They had made good progress, but it seemed to both Ruth and Helen
that there was still a discouragingly long way to go before the mouth
of the mine could be opened and the actual work of gold-digging
continued.
Mary’s eyes brightened when she saw them and she came toward her new
friends with hands outstretched.
“You look tired,” she said. “It was a long climb, wasn’t it?”
They answered that it was, and then Mary introduced the three old
miners. They came forward in a rather embarrassed group, a trio
of gnarled and weatherbeaten old fellows who had spent a lifetime
looking for a fortune that never materialized.
They were self-conscious and shy in conversation with Helen and Ruth
and seemed glad when they were able to return to their tedious and
discouraging labor.
“They will scarcely take any pay from us,” said Mary in a low voice,
tears in her eyes as she looked at these loyal old friends. “They
loved Dad and they feel sure if we can once get the stones and
débris cleared away we will find real pay dirt.”
“Old Uncle Eddie has rheumatism,” said Ellen, indicating one of
the old men who limped painfully when he walked. “He should have a
doctor.”
“And we haven’t the money to pay one,” said Mary sadly.
Later the girls took them to the little shack and showed them a
hidden jar half-filled with gold dust that had been sifted from the
sand.
“Dad found this before he died,” Mary told her new friends, adding
simply: “That is why he was so sure the mine was good.”
But though Ruth and Helen stayed for some time longer and tried to
appear as encouraging and cheerful as they could, they were in a
saddened and thoughtful mood as they took the long trail homeward.
Ellen accompanied them again, in her capacity of guide to the spot
where they had left their horses tethered; then said good-bye to them
swiftly and hurried back toward the cabin. She had left some one
in charge there, but was afraid the guardian might be gone if she
remained too long away.
“They never will be able to do anything up at the mine with the
equipment they have,” said Helen, as she and Ruth cantered slowly
on toward Knockout Point. “It is like trying to catch a whale with a
bent pin on the end of a string.”
Ruth nodded.
“It is the most pathetic sight I ever saw,” she said. “Those three
old men working like slaves for the girls just because they liked
their father——”
“And no money to pay a doctor for that poor old fellow’s rheumatism,”
Helen added. “I declare, Ruth, if I thought the old man would take
it, I’d pay for the doctor myself!”
But though Ruth and Helen were both depressed by their visit to the
Chase mine, they were glad that they had made it. It gave them a
better idea of the stupendous task before Mary and Ellen Chase and
increased their admiration and respect for these plucky girls and the
manner in which they set about to overcome the obstacles in their
path.
That they were not the only ones to admire the Chase girls Ruth was
informed by Tom in a laughing conversation they had a few days after
her trip to the Chase mine.
“Layton Boardman is in a bad way, poor chap,” laughed Tom. He and
Ruth were taking a quiet stroll along the one main street of Knockout
Point after a busy day. “He confided to me to-day that for a long
time he was feeling queer and thought he was coming down with some
sickness or other. What was his surprise then, to find it was only
love!”
Ruth looked up at him, eyes suddenly eager, in spite of her amusement.
“Tom! Then he is in love with Mary!”
Tom nodded.
“It affects ’em that way sometimes,” he said, with a whimsical laugh.
“Well, I am glad,” said Ruth and added with a fine enthusiasm: “She
deserves all the good luck that comes her way. She is the pluckiest
girl I know!”
“Except one!” said Tom, and looked at Ruth.
Meanwhile Ruth was working steadily on her picture.
Despite the setbacks and nerve-racking delays, several of the
finishing outdoor scenes of minor importance were filmed about the
cabin and on Snow Mountain. Ruth was beginning to hope that all might
yet be well.
Then, one day when she was out alone searching for a new location on
Snow Mountain, Ruth stepped on something hard and the next moment two
sets of sharp, inexorable steel teeth clamped upon her walking boot.
Feeling sick with shock and apprehension Ruth looked down and found
that her foot was tightly caught in the jaws of a trap.
Lucky for her that her boots were made of heavy, tough leather, or
those cruel steel teeth would have cut through to the bone.
As it was, the pressure was sickeningly painful.
With a little moan Ruth sank to the ground, wrenching the trapped
foot as she did so.
“This is too much,” she said aloud in her anxiety. Looking up at the
snow-crested top of Snow Mountain she smiled a crooked twisted little
smile. “Snow Mountain! They say you bring good luck. And I have had
nothing but the worst of luck ever since I saw you! I wish,” she
cried, with a sudden burst of helpless fury, “I had never seen you!”
As the seconds raced into minutes and the minutes dragged into hours
and still no help came to her, Ruth began to feel as though release
would never come.
She worked at the steel jaws of the trap, calmly at first, then
feverishly, until her fingers were bruised and bleeding with the
effort to free the imprisoned foot.
It was of no use. She had known from the first that she might as well
try to push Snow Mountain from its resting place as to attempt to
open the cruel trap with her bare fingers.
She was hungry and thirsty and utterly exhausted. Would she have to
spend the night there? she wondered, dully.
Meanwhile, back at headquarters, Tom had heard news of vital
importance to Ruth, news that had sent him rushing grimly after her.
Luckily she had told him the general direction of her wanderings, so
that, once on his way, it took him only a short time to find her.
His cries of “Ruth! Ruth! Where are you?” brought an answering,
sobbing cry from the girl.
His heart full of apprehension, Tom plunged through the bushes in the
direction of that pitiful cry.
He found the girl huddled on the ground, her face white and drawn
with pain, a gallant smile of welcome touching her pale lips.
He saw at once what the matter was and set to work without waste of
words to liberate the imprisoned foot. He searched about until he
found two flat slabs of stone, then wedged these in between the steel
jaws of the cruel trap. He managed at last, by exerting his utmost
strength, to loosen them just enough to permit Ruth to drag her foot
and ankle through.
“Lucky for me, Tom, that you happened along just then,” she said
unsteadily, as Tom stooped gently to unlace the boot.
Something in his face as he glanced pityingly at her warned the girl
that all was not well.
“Tom!” she cried, clutching at his arm, a sudden cold terror at her
heart. “Something has happened! You can’t keep anything from me! I
know too well. Tom, please tell me!”
“Let’s wait till we see how the poor foot is,” Tom muttered. He went
on unlacing the boot and kept his eyes resolutely averted from hers.
“Tom!” Her clutch on his arm was imperative, frantic. “Whatever has
happened that you are afraid to tell me, don’t torture me by putting
it off this way. Can’t you see I must know at once?”
Tom took her cold hand in both his own and from that moment all
pretense was gone. The depth of his apprehension showed plainly in
his troubled face.
“You’re a brick, Ruth,” he said. “I know you will take this standing
as you have taken everything else. But it’s a pretty tough one. Two
magazines of films have disappeared!”