Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
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JANET HARDY IN RADIO CITY
------------------------------------------------------------------------
JANET HARDY IN RADIO CITY
BY
Ruthe S. Wheeler
THE GOLDSMITH PUBLISHING COMPANY
CHICAGO
------------------------------------------------------------------------
COPYRIGHT 1935 BY
THE GOLDSMITH PUBLISHING CO.
MADE IN U. S. A.
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CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Janet Gets the Lead 13
II. Shooting on Location 20
III. Surprise Callers 30
IV. High Praise 41
V. Deadly Fangs 47
VI. The Smoky Menace 53
VII. Racing Flames 61
VIII. The Line Goes Dead 68
IX. The Fire Sweeps On 76
X. A Welcome Rescue 90
XI. New Plans 101
XII. The Preview 110
XIII. Janet Turns Author 118
XIV. Clothes by Roddy 126
XV. Homeward Bound 135
XVI. Gorgeous Gowns 145
XVII. Hello, New York! 154
XVIII. In Radio City 164
XIX. A Manuscript Vanishes 170
XX. The Mystery Deepens 178
XXI. Insinuations 186
XXII. Shadowed! 193
XXIII. Janet Pinch Hits 201
XXIV. Night on the Twenty-seventh Floor 208
XXV. Janet Opens a Door 214
XXVI. In the Hall 219
XXVII. Suspicions 227
XXVIII. Rehearsals Again 233
XXIX. Janet Finds a Clue 240
XXX. Opportunity Ahead 247
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JANET HARDY IN RADIO CITY
JANET GETS THE LEAD
Chapter One
Janet Hardy stirred sleepily as the alarm clock sounded its lusty
summons and it was only after a real effort that she managed to reach
out and shut off the insistent clock.
It was so early that shadows of the night still lurked in the corners
and Janet squinted at the clock through sleep-clogged eyes. It was
four-forty a.m.
Sitting up in bed she looked across the room where Helen Thorne was deep
in sleep, oblivious to the strident summons of the alarm which had
echoed through their bedroom.
Janet, now thoroughly awake, tossed her pillow at the slumbering Helen.
She scored a perfect hit and Helen, sputtering and wondering what it was
all about, popped up in bed.
"Come on, sleepy head. It's time to be up and dressing if we're going to
get to the studio in time for that six o'clock call," warned Janet.
"I'll beat you to the shower," promised Helen. She jumped out of bed and
grabbed the dressing gown on a nearby chair. There was a rush of feet
padding down the hall and Helen made good her promise, reaching the
shower room two jumps ahead of Janet.
Fifteen minutes later, after brisk showers and thorough towelings, they
were dressed. From the kitchen had come waftings of delicious bacon and
eggs and they knew that George, the colored cook, was getting breakfast.
When they reached the dining room they were surprised to find Helen's
father there, a morning paper propped in front of him.
Henry Thorne, world famous as the star director of motion pictures for
the Ace Motion Picture Corp., looked up.
"An early call?" he asked.
"Billy Fenstow is starting to shoot his new western, 'Water Hole,' and
we don't want to be late the first morning," explained Helen, slipping
into her chair while Janet sat down opposite her. George, smiling a
greeting, brought in a large platter of bacon and eggs. Then there were
tall glasses of cold milk and thin, deliciously buttered toast.
"I didn't think you'd be up so early, Dad," said Helen, between
mouthfuls of bacon.
"Guess I went to bed too early," smiled her father. "I've been awake an
hour."
"You were all tired out after finishing 'Kings of the Air,'" went on
Helen and her father nodded his agreement.
Janet, on the other side of the table, said nothing, but thought a great
deal. She had never quite gotten over the thrill of coming to Hollywood
and the manner in which it had been accomplished. It seemed too much
like a dream and at times she went around pinching herself to make sure
she wasn't asleep.
Classmates back in the medium-sized city of Clarion in the middle west,
Janet and Helen had been fast friends and their families had been
neighbors for years. Then Henry Thorne had made a success as a director
of motion pictures, but Helen and Mrs. Thorne had remained in the family
home in Clarion. Back for Helen's graduation, he had been impressed by
the acting ability of Janet and Helen, as well as their charm, and their
graduation presents had been round trip airplane tickets from Clarion to
Hollywood. Mrs. Thorne had come along to chaperon the party and they had
taken a comfortable, rambling bungalow on a side street in Hollywood
where they could be assured of privacy.
Janet could recall so vividly their first day. Pictures, interviews,
attendance at a premiere in gowns designed by the famous designer who
created all of the gowns for the stars of the Ace company. Then a chance
to work in a western in the production unit headed by rotund little
Billy Fenstow and after that small parts in "Kings of the Air," which
Henry Thorne had directed as one of the outstanding pictures on his
company's production program.
"What are you mooning about?" asked Helen, for Janet, her mind running
back over the events of the last crowded weeks, had ceased eating.
Janet flushed. "Just thinking of all the wonderful things that have
happened since we graduated."
"I hope you won't remember the unpleasant ones you experienced while we
were making 'Kings of the Air,'" said Helen's father. He was well-built,
with a touch of grey hair at his temples and a smile that inspired
confidence and an almost instant feeling of friendliness.
"I was pretty scared at the time," confessed Janet, "but now that the
picture's safely completed, it's all over."
"What do you think about 'Kings'?" Helen asked her father.
He leaned back in his chair and Janet thought she saw a touch of
weariness in his face.
"I don't know," he said softly. "It should be a good picture, but
whether it will be a great picture is something else again. We can only
wait until it's out of the cutting room."
Janet, although in a comparatively minor role, had been a key figure in
the making of "Kings of the Air," for a rival company, attempting to
hinder the progress of the picture, had hired an actress in the company,
blonde Bertie Jackson, and two renegade airmen, to make every effort to
slow up production. Janet had been kidnaped and held prisoner overnight
while the ghost town, where the company was located, was burned and a
big set on the desert bombed. But the resourcefulness of Curt Newsom,
cowboy star who had a role in the picture, had helped expose the
sabotage and Janet had been speedily released. As a result she had been
promoted to Bertie Jackson's role and had handled it like a veteran
trouper.
Just then George, the cook, looked in to see if more bacon and eggs were
needed, and Helen's mother, in a dressing gown, joined them.
"Someone should have called me," she said.
"But you don't have to report on the lot and we do," Helen reminded her
mother.
It was 5:30 o'clock when they finished breakfast.
"I'll drive you over to the lot," said Henry Thorne. "Mother, you dress
while I'm away and we'll take a long drive into the mountains and stop
someplace for lunch. We'll sort of have a day's vacation for ourselves."
Then they were away, speeding toward the studio in an open car. It was a
glorious morning and the cool air was invigorating. Later in the day it
would be uncomfortably hot.
Billy Fenstow, director of western pictures, was on stage nine, well to
the back of the Ace lot.
There were few around the rambling studio at that hour, for production
was past its peak and only two or three of the huge sound stages would
be in use that day.
The director, who had only a fringe of hair around his shining pate,
greeted them cordially.
"Have you read over the script of 'Water Hole'?" he asked.
Janet nodded. "I like it better than 'Broad Valley,'" she smiled.
Billy Fenstow fairly beamed. "Good. I wrote it myself. The other was
only partly mine."
Helen laughed and turned to Janet. "What are you trying to do,
compliment Mr. Fenstow so he'll give you the leading role?"
It was the director's turn to chuckle. "She doesn't have to," he said.
"Janet is playing opposite Curt Newsom in the lead right now."
Chapter Two
SHOOTING ON LOCATION
Janet stared hard at the chubby director. It was hard to believe that
Billy Fenstow would joke with her now. That would be too cruel.
"Don't you believe me, Janet?" he asked.
"It can't be possible," she murmured. "Why, I'm an unknown. You wouldn't
put me into the leading role."
Just then Curt Newsom, the western star arrived.
"How's the new leading lady?" he asked.
"I--I don't know," gasped Janet. "I'm not sure. Everything seems to be
in kind of a whirl. I guess I'll sit down."
Janet dropped into a nearby chair, oblivious of the fact that it was the
cherished property of the director.
"It's grand, Janet, simply grand," exclaimed Helen. "My, but I'm proud
of you."
Billy Fenstow came over to Janet.
"You needn't be so surprised," he said.
"Only don't let this go to your head. It doesn't take a whole lot of
acting ability to be a leading lady in a western. All you've got to have
is a fair amount of beauty, some brains, and the ability to keep on top
of a horse."
Janet, recalling her experiences in "Broad Valley," the first picture
they had appeared in, smiled a little ruefully.
"I don't know whether I'll even be able to stay on a horse," she
admitted.
"Then we'll glue you into the saddle," smiled the director.
Others in the company came up. Most of them had been in the earlier
picture and without exception they congratulated Janet on winning the
leading role.
The weather was ideal and Billy Fenstow intended to make the most of it
by shooting all of the exteriors possible.
Promptly at seven o'clock a large bus rolled onto the lot and the entire
company, numbering some thirty-three, including the technicians, boarded
the big vehicle.
Their destination was a ranch well into the foothills and it was after
noon before they arrived. This particular outfit had never before been
used for film purposes for it was well away from the usual run of
traffic and harder to reach than some of the layouts nearer the studio.
The ranchhouse was large and comfortable and arrangements were made for
all of the girls in the company to stay there while the men would be
quartered in the bunkhouse with the exception of the director, who
planned to drive back and forth from the nearest town.
A truck loaded with camera and sound equipment had preceded the bus and
the technicians went to work to assemble their materials. The pole
corral was crowded with horses and the assistant director, "Skeets"
Irwin, took over the task of assigning horses to the various members of
the company.
Curt Newsom had his own string, which had been brought by truck, but the
others were to ride ranch horses. Janet drew a beautiful sorrel while
Helen was mounted on a black with only one white foot.
There was a gorgeous sunset and Billy Fenstow, always on the alert for a
good background shot, had his cameras catch some typical ranch scenes.
They might not fit in with the present picture but he knew some day the
footage would come in handy.
After dinner in the ranchhouse that night, Janet and Helen retired to
the room they shared and studied the scripts which had been handed out.
"Water Hole" was a typical Billy Fenstow western with lots of hard
riding and plenty of scenery. It was the story of Curt Newsom's defense
of his small ranch with its valuable water hole against a larger cattle
outfit.
Janet played the role of a school teacher while Helen was a waitress in
the one restaurant in the little cow town to which the cowboys migrated
every Saturday night. The girls were to have an important part in
solving the plot to get Curt's ranch and all in all they were greatly
pleased with their parts.
Janet sat down and wrote a long letter home, telling of their good
fortune and of her own in particular. She paused a moment and closed her
eyes. Perhaps her mother would show the letter to Pete Benda, the city
editor of the _Clarion Times_. And Pete, of course, would make a story.
Perhaps he would put it in the front page under a heading, "Clarion Girl
Gets Leading Role in Western Picture." She smiled a little. That would
be rather nice.
Then she awoke from her reverie and finished the letter. After that it
was bedtime for there was an early call.
They were out the next morning shortly after dawn for Billy Fenstow
worked his companies long and hard.
Janet was in several shots that day riding to and from the ranch to the
schoolhouse and in the afternoon they went to the schoolhouse where a
dozen youngsters had been gathered. Most of them were actual pupils of
the little school and the cameras ground away as Janet dismissed them
from a make-believe class and watched them hurry away from school toward
their homes, some of them afoot and others on sturdy little cow ponies.
Helen had little to do that day, but followed every action of the
company with interest.
"What do you think of it?" she asked Janet that night as they lounged on
the broad verandah of the ranchhouse.
"I like it a lot," said Janet whole-heartedly. "Of course I realize I'm
no actress, but the picture's good and clean and it's a consolation to
be in something like that."
Helen was silent for a time.
"What do you think about our future in the movies?" she asked.
Janet pondered the question before answering, for she, too, had been
wondering that very thing.
"If you want to know the truth, I think we're just about where we
belong. I know I'm not a real actress. I can get by in a picture like
this or in some minor role, but I'd never make a really top-notch
actress and it would be rather heart-breaking to stay here and do this
year in and year out."
"Then that means you'll go back to Clarion when summer's over?" Helen
asked the question with a touch of desperate anxiety in her voice.
"I suppose so," replied Janet slowly, "for I know that I won't be
especially happy here. It's been glorious fun and it still is, but it
can't last forever and I'm not fooling myself about that for a minute."
They were silent for a time, wondering if the coming fall would bring an
end to their close companionship. If Janet went back to Clarion, it
would be only logical that Helen would stay on in Hollywood with her
father and mother. The thought of parting was not a pleasant prospect to
either girl.
They went to bed later without discussing the matter further, but as the
shooting of "Water Hole" progressed and August drew to a close, it was
constantly in their minds.
Helen's father and mother came out to visit them on location several
times, but neither one of them mentioned any plans for Helen.
"Two more days of work and we'll have the picture in the can," Billy
Fenstow told the company one morning. "We're right on schedule and I
want to finish that way, but we've got some hard riding scenes to get
out of the way."
The director turned to Janet.
"We've got to shoot that scene of your ride from town to the ranch to
warn Curt that his enemies are riding to wipe out his ranch," he said.
"Are you ready?"
Janet nodded and swung into the saddle of the rangy sorrel.
Billy Fenstow climbed onto the light truck which carried the cameras and
Janet's horse trotted along behind as the vehicle rolled away across the
valley in which the ranch was located. They went for perhaps two miles
through the hills to a hamlet along a branch line railroad which had
served as the cow town for the picture's locale. It was here that Janet
began her ride, but before she started she looked to the cinches.
She remounted and sat easily in the saddle, waiting for the signal to
start.
Billy Fenstow waved his hand and the truck started swiftly away, Janet
riding hard after it. She rode with a natural lithesomeness of her body.
The light felt hat which had been crushed over her brown hair came off.
She clutched at it instinctively, but missed, and kept on riding, her
golden hair streaming away from her shoulders. Janet smiled to herself.
At least that would give a realistic effect.
She watched the director covertly and when he motioned again she sent
the sorrel racing away from the camera truck at an angle so the cameras
could get a side shot. Then the truck moved ahead of her.
It was hot and dry, and anything but an easy task to ride a horse
pounding along as hard as the big sorrel. Finally they topped the last
hill and swept down into the valley and Janet braced herself for the
last bit of action.
Curt, near the water hole, looked up when he heard the pounding hoofs
and Janet hurled herself from the saddle and ran to him.
"Quick, Curt, they're riding hard behind me. You've got to get out of
here. I'll stay and watch the ranch."
But Curt refused and the action was cut there.
Janet was dusty and sweaty and she walked to the pump and drank deeply
of the cool, sweet water.
"I can imagine there might have been a fight over this ranch in the
early days," she said.
"There was," grinned Curt, "but it wasn't nearly as big a one as we're
putting into the picture."
Janet's hardest scene for the day was over and Helen was in only one or
two minor shots so they passed part of the afternoon packing up their
things in preparation for the departure the next afternoon.
It was nearly dinner time when a dust covered car rolled into the valley
and approached the ranchhouse.
Janet and Helen, sitting on the front steps, watched it with interest
which deepened as they saw an Iowa license plate on the front of the
car.
"That almost looks like home," said Helen. "Why, the number's from our
home county. Maybe it's someone we know."
But the sun was flashing off the windshield, effectively shielding the
passengers in the car.
The machine swung to a stop a few feet away and Janet and Helen, when
they saw the passengers, recognized them with mixed emotions.
Chapter Three
SURPRISE CALLERS
The newcomers were Cora Dean and Margie Blake, classmates from Clarion,
who had been Janet and Helen's chief rivals for almost every honor
during their last four years in school.
"What under the sun do you suppose they want here?" asked Helen under
her breath.
"We'll soon find out," retorted Janet, rising and advancing to greet
Cora and Margie.
Cora was dark like Helen, while Margie's hair was almost as golden
blonde as Janet's, the difference being that Margie used drug store
coloring, and Janet depended on the natural shade.
"Hello Cora, hello Margie. This is a surprise," said Janet as she
greeted them and Helen echoed the sentiment a minute later.
"We've been touring through the west. When we learned a company was
shooting a picture out here we came on over. We didn't know until we
stopped in the village that it was the company you're with." It was
Cora, her tongue as sharp as ever, making the explanation.
Margie was taking in everything and fairly gaping at the cowboys who in
their picturesque garb, were lounging nearby waiting for the gong to
call them to supper.
Billy Fenstow came by and Janet called to him, introducing Cora and
Margie.
"Have them stay for dinner and meet the company," said the director,
who, with the film on schedule, felt particularly hospitable.
"Oh, we'd love that," gurgled Cora. "We've always wanted to see a
picture being taken."
Billy Fenstow scratched his head.
"Well, we're all through for today, but if Janet and Helen could bunk
double and give you one of the beds in their room, you could stay over
and see the final shooting tomorrow."
"Why, that would be grand," put in Margie, "and I'm sure Janet and Helen
won't mind doubling up."
There was little Janet or Helen could say, except to agree, and they
helped Cora and Margie get their bags out of the car and escorted them
up to the room which they occupied.
At dinner that night they introduced the girls to all of the members of
the company who ate at the ranchhouse and Janet noted that Cora could
hardly keep her eyes off tall, handsome Curt Newsom. Curt was nice to
them, as he was to everybody, explaining carefully all of the questions
they asked.
That night Cora asked a question that had kept her on edge all evening.
"Do you suppose we could get in one of the scenes tomorrow?" she asked
Janet. "Surely you or Helen could get the director to use us just a
little bit."
Janet was dubious. It was the last day at the ranch and there would be
much to be done. Billy Fenstow would be in no mood for trifles such as
working friends into scenes.
"If it wasn't the last day I think it could be arranged," put in Helen,
"but I'd hate to ask Mr. Fenstow to do it under the circumstances."
Margie pouted visibly and Cora, always arrogant, flared up.
"Oh, of course you won't. Just because your father's a director and they
have to put you in pictures you won't say a good word for anyone else.
How do we know you're even in this company?"
"You'll have to take our word for it until you see the picture on the
screen," retorted Helen.
Janet could understand the tremendous desire of Cora and Margie to
appear in a scene. It was the most natural thing in the world and she
felt just a little sorry for them.
"I'll speak to Mr. Fenstow in the morning," she promised. "If he's in a
good mood he may find a spot for you, but if he's grouchy he'll probably
order you away from the place."
"How do you know when he's grouchy?" asked Margie.
"You don't until after you've asked him," replied Janet, with a thin
smile.
Cora and Margie exhibited a tremendous curiosity, asking questions about
everything and from almost everyone, Cora especially plaguing Curt
Newsom, until the tall cowboy star finally found an excuse to escape
from her constant barrage.
It was late when they went to bed and Janet and Helen, sleeping in a
narrow, single bed, did not rest well. They were awake at dawn, both of
them feeling tired and worn.
Cora and Margie, imbued with the excitement of actually being with a
movie company, appeared as vivacious as ever.
At breakfast Billy Fenstow outlined plans for the final day's shooting.
"We've got one more scene to take in the village," he explained. "It's a
shot of a group of townspeople watching the arrival of Curt and the
rustlers he has captured."
Impetuous Cora Dean broke in.
"May Margie and I get in the crowd scene?" she asked eagerly.
A frown appeared on Billy Fenstow's usually bland face, for he disliked
greatly being interrupted when he was outlining his plans to his
company.
"We'll see about it later," he said curtly, and continued with his
explanation.
After breakfast Cora faced Janet.
"Too bad you couldn't have said a good word for us with your director,"
she flared.
"There wasn't a real good chance," replied Janet. "I warned you last
night not to bother him if he wasn't in a good mood."
"But how was I to know?" complained Cora.
"Well, you do now," said Janet, and it was hard to keep from smiling.
But she could realize how much it would mean to Cora and Margie and it
would be mean of her not to help them just a little so later she spoke
to "Skeets" Irwin, the assistant director, and "Skeets" promised to get
Cora and Margie into the crowd scene.
Janet and Helen were in the same scene and they changed into their
costumes, Janet into a dusty riding habit and Helen into a gingham dress
and the apron that was her badge as a waitress in the village's one
restaurant.
The girls rode down to the village, Cora and Margie following in their
own car. "Skeets" had provided them with appropriate costumes and they
were so excited they could hardly talk.
Billy Fenstow was back giving instructions to the riders who were to
sweep down into the village while "Skeets" handled the scene at the
village.
"Don't stand around like a bunch of wooden Indians," said the assistant
director. "Show some interest when those horsemen come over the hills. I
want plenty of action in this scene."
"Keep close to us," Janet advised Cora and Margie. "All you have to do
is look excited."
"That's going to be easy," smiled Margie. "I'm so nervous now I can't
stay still a minute."
Final instructions were given and the cameras started grinding as a
massed body of riders swept over the crest of the hills and galloped
madly toward the village.
The girls, who had been in the restaurant, rushed into the street and
joined the other members of the company and the villagers who had been
pressed into service as extras.
It was action and good action. Janet thrilled at the magnificent riding
of Curt Newsom, who rode with consumate skill and grace. He was a part
of the horse he was astride and it was no effort to Janet to register
extreme excitement.
The mounted men, a band of captives in the center of the group, reined
in before the astonished villagers and Curt, dismounting, pulled one of
the captives from his saddle and strode toward the door which was marked
sheriff's office. Curt pulled the protesting rider after him,
disappearing into the sheriff's office. That finished the sequence and
the cameras stopped clicking.
It was the last of the big scenes and the rest of the day was to be
spent in picking up shots to fill out the story.
"Do you suppose we looked all right?" asked Cora, who had been fitted
out in a housedress and sunbonnet. Margie was similarly attired.
"I'm sure you looked your parts," Janet assured them, "but don't be too
disappointed when you see the picture. There'll only be a flash of this
action on the screen and the 'mob' scene won't last more than a few
seconds."
"We'll see that one of the theaters at home books it," declared Margie
firmly, "and maybe Pete Benda will run a story about us."
"I wouldn't be surprised if he did," agreed Janet.
They went back to the ranchhouse for lunch and Billy Fenstow beamed.
"We're ahead of schedule now. Another two hours and we'll be ready to
start for the studio where we can finish up the interiors in a couple
more days."
The bus which had brought them from Hollywood rolled into the valley and
several of the cowboys started loading baggage and equipment aboard it.
Janet and Helen went upstairs, followed by Cora and Margie. Both of the
latter had been hinting that they would like an invitation to stay for a
time in Hollywood, but they had been so mean and small during their high
school days that neither Janet nor Helen could bear the thought of
entertaining them.
"Coming back to Clarion this fall?" asked Cora, her dark eyes fairly
snapping as she waited eagerly for the answer to her question.
"I haven't the slightest idea," replied Janet, quite truthfully.
"How about you, Helen?" It was Margie asking this time.
Helen shook her head. "Your guess is as good as mine."
"Can't you stay on in pictures?" asked Cora, a tinge of sarcasm in her
voice.
That nettled Janet. "If we want to," she retorted, "but neither one of
us can see much of a future in being actresses in western films."
"With all of the influence your father has, you ought to be able to get
into better pictures," Margie told Helen, and it was her turn to feel a
mounting flood of color in her cheeks.
"You can leave Dad out of this. He gave us an introduction, but we've
won our parts," snapped Helen.
The girls finished packing in silence and were ready to go down stairs
when "Skeets" stuck his head in the door.
"Bus is all ready to start back for the city," he said, picking up
Janet's and Helen's bags.
Cora and Margie took their own luggage and followed them down stairs.
"Do you think we ought to invite them to Hollywood with us?" whispered
Helen.
"That's up to you," replied Janet, "for they would have to be
entertained in your home."
"Well, what do you honestly think?"
Janet didn't answer at once, but as they reached the bus, she said, "I
think I've had about all of the insinuations I can stand from either one
of them."
Helen smiled. "That's a help, for I feel the same way." She turned
toward the other girls, who were putting their baggage in their car.
"We may see you in Clarion before college starts this fall," she said.
"Thanks for all your help," flipped Cora, seating herself behind the
wheel. "I'm sure we'll enjoy ourselves in Hollywood. We may run into you
someplace."
She threw in the gears and the car lurched away along the dusty road
that wound through the hills to the main highway some miles away.
"Wasn't she nice and cordial?" smiled Helen as she turned back to Janet.
"Cora hasn't changed a bit and I don't suppose she will. What fun she
could have if she'd only be a little less selfish," said Janet.
Chapter Four
HIGH PRAISE
By the time everything was loaded into the bus, the sun was well down
toward the western hills and the ranch was bathed in the soft, warm
light of the late afternoon.
Curt Newsom, who had finished superintending the loading of his own
horses into his private truck, walked over to join the girls, his spurs
jingling as he walked.
"Glad it's all over?" he asked.
Janet shook her head.
"Hardly. I've enjoyed it so much I really didn't want it to end, but I
guess that all good things come to an end."
"You did a splendid job as leading woman," smiled Curt. "I wish all of
them were like you. Every once in a while the girls they assign to this
unit get it into their heads that they are real actresses and they go
temperamental on us. But you two worked like real troupers and took all
of the bumps as they came."
"And they came, too," grinned Helen, rubbing her right leg, for she had
slipped and fallen from a horse two days before and her leg was black
and blue.
Curt was silent for a few moments, smiling at the efforts of "Skeets" to
round up the last members of the company and get them aboard the big
bus.
"Are you going to stay with us?" he asked.
"We don't know," replied Helen. "Fall's almost here and that means
college time. We're both awfully young to stay on in pictures."
"Oh, I wouldn't say that. I've known girls younger than either one of
you to make a success."
"But they didn't last long," countered Janet.
"Perhaps you're right on that," agreed Curt. "Are you going to school?"
"I expect we'll decide that when we get back to Hollywood and have a
long talk with mother and dad," replied Helen.
Just then Billy Fenstow hurried up, puffing and exceedingly warm.
"Everybody accounted for?" he asked his harried assistant.
"All here," replied the red-faced "Skeets."
"Sit down in the back seat with me," the director told the girls. "I
want to talk with you on the way back to the city."
The last members of the company were herded aboard the bus and the
girls, Curt Newsom and the director were the last to get aboard.
They sat down on the broad back seat which had been reserved for the
director. The bus lurched into motion and rolled away from the
ranchhouse.
Billy Fenstow mopped his perspiring brow and leaned back to enjoy the
ride.
The dusty road wound through the hills, golden clouds of dust marking
the passing of the bus.
They were halfway to the main highway when the motor started to cough
and the big vehicle slowed to a stop.
The driver buried himself under the hood and tinkered with the engine
for a few minutes. Then he climbed back into his seat and started the
motor again.
They progressed for several hundred yards and finally groaned to a stop.
"Looks like we may be late in getting to dinner," said Curt. "Sounded
like serious trouble under the hood that time."
The lanky cowboy uncoiled his legs and went out to see if he could be of
any assistance to the bus driver.
Billy Fenstow, taking advantage of the stop, spoke to Janet and Helen,
his voice so low that it was doubtful if he could be overheard by any
other member of the company.
"What about staying in the company for my next picture?" he asked.
"When will it start?" Janet countered.
The director mopped his brow again and grinned.
"Just as soon as I can hash together a good enough story. Two weeks,
maybe three, or it might even be a month. Why?"
"We're not certain what we want to do," explained Helen. "You see,
college starts next month."
"My heavens," exclaimed the director. "What under the sun do you want to
go to college for? You're smart enough right now."
"That's just it; we aren't," replied Janet. "And we're terribly young,
if the truth were known."
Billy Fenstow looked at them critically.
"Yep, you're young enough," he conceded, "but what's that got to do with
it?"
"Well, we're nothing sensational as actresses," replied Janet, "and
neither one of us would want to go along playing minor roles for years.
If we ever hope to do more than that we've got to have more of a
background in education and college seems to be the easiest and surest
way to attain that."
Billy Fenstow nodded in agreement.
"Maybe you're right," he admitted, "but you could stay on with me at one
hundred or one hundred and fifty dollars a week for a long time."
"But how many weeks a year would we work at that rate? There wouldn't be
more than twenty-five or thirty at the most and our expenses of staying
on in Hollywood would become heavier."
"Now that you put it that way, you're probably right. But when you do
get through college, don't forget to come back and we'll see how things
go then."
The director started to get up, then sank back on the cushions.
"You helped doctor the script of 'Kings of the Air,' didn't you?" he
asked Janet.
"I made a suggestion or two," she admitted.
"I heard it was a little more than that," smiled the director. "Why
don't you see what you could do with a western script for me. I haven't
got an idea and if I turn it over to the studio writers, I'll probably
get another stereotyped plot."
"Are you serious?" demanded Janet.
"Very much so. You might be able to put together something with a new
angle. Mind you, it must be simple in action, for I've got to operate on
a slim budget, but we must have a satisfactory love angle and a
plausible plot. Think you can do anything with it?"
"I'll try; I'll do my best," promised Janet.
"Then I guess I'll take a little vacation when we get back to Hollywood.
I'll need the story in about ten days, or at least a complete outline by
that time."
The tubby little director lifted himself off the seat and ambled down
the aisle to learn how much longer they would be detained and Janet
watched him go with a strange elation in her heart.
Chapter Five
DEADLY FANGS
Helen looked at her companion through smiling, quizzical eyes.
"Well, what do you make of that?" she asked.
"I'm a little bit dizzy, but I guess Mr. Fenstow meant what he said. Do
you suppose I can really turn out an acceptable story for a western
picture?" Janet turned and shot the question squarely at Helen.
"I'm sure you can. That is," she amended, "if you don't let the thought
of it scare you."
"I'll give it a lot of time and thought before I start writing the
story."
"There isn't much time," warned Helen, and Janet knew that her companion
was right.
Ten days--sometimes it seemed like an endless length of time; then again
it vanished like magic and she had a feeling that this might be the
case.
Some members of the company left the bus and walked around to stretch
their legs; the others remained quietly in their seats, only a few of
them talking for they were glad the strain of making the picture was at
an end.
Janet sniffed the late afternoon air. There seemed to be a faint odor of
smoke, but she decided some of the men in the company must be smoking
nearby.
The heat abated somewhat as they waited for the driver to repair the
engine and a sharp breeze swept down out of the hills sending little
swirls of dust dancing along the winding road ahead of them.
Helen leaned close to her companion.
"Smell smoke?" she asked.
"Not now, but I thought I did a few minutes ago," replied Janet.
"I'm sure I can now," went on Helen, sniffing intently.
Janet thought she caught another whiff of smoke, but she couldn't be
sure.
Curt Newsom, who had been trying to help repair the engine, came back
along the bus. His face was smudged with grime and dirt and his hands
were covered with grease. He raised one of them and motioned for Janet
and Helen to join him. The girls left their seats and walked down the
bus, Curt meeting them at the doorway.
"Come on," he said sharply and in a manner that was little like his own.
He strode away through the dry grass, which crackled like tinder under
his boots. He was a good fifty yards away from the bus and far beyond
earshot when he stopped and faced the girls.
"It will be hours before that bus can be repaired," he told them.
"Someone will have to go back to the ranch or the nearest village and
phone for another vehicle to come out from the city."
The freshening breeze stirred up a cloud of dust which enveloped them
for a moment. Curt sneezed heavily and then sniffed.
"Smell anything?" There was desperate intentness in his question.
Janet and Helen wrinkled their noses and sniffed eagerly.
Helen shook her head.
"Not now, but a while ago I thought I smelled smoke."
"So did I," added Janet. "It was kind of like tobacco smoke and then it
wasn't."
Curt shook his head. "I'm afraid it isn't tobacco smoke. I've been
getting whiffs of it right along. Smells like a brush fire to me, but I
can't locate any sign of smoke."
"What do you mean by brush fire?" asked Janet.
Curt looked at her sharply and then his eyes swept the rugged
countryside where the sparse grass was brown and the brush as brittle as
glass.
"It's like a prairie fire--only worse. It's even worse than a forest
fire. It spreads more rapidly. Once a fire gets started in this dry,
combustible stuff, it's almost impossible to stop it. Either a good rain
comes along or the blamed thing just burns itself out."
"But I should think you could dodge a brush fire," put in Helen.
"Maybe you could if you knew which way it was going to jump. But it
moves almost like lightning and it's on you before you know it."
The cowboy star cast an anxious eye over the rolling hills, but there
was no sign of smoke, no spear of flame to flash a warning of impending
trouble.
"Keep your nose busy and your eyes and ears on the job. You might even
stir around in the hills a bit. If you see anything that looks like it
might spell trouble, let me know. I'm going back to try and help the
driver. We'll give you plenty of time to get back before we start on if
we just happen to find the trouble."
Curt, his spurs jingling musically, strode away, and Janet and Helen
watched him go with mingled feelings. His words had aroused a very
definite sense of alarm in their minds and they were a little white as
they faced each other.
"I'm sure I smell smoke now," said Helen, sniffing intently. Janet did
likewise, but she couldn't be sure, and the breeze was getting sharper.
"We'll scout around these hills. Let's try that one," Janet pointed to a
ragged outcropping of rock that towered above the rest.
"It's going to be hard to climb," cautioned Helen.
"I know, but once we're on top we'll be able to see all over this
country. If there's any sign of a brush fire, we'll be able to see it
from there."
"I suppose you're right. Wish I had left my heavy boots on. These shoes
aren't made for this kind of walking," and Helen looked down at the
low-heeled, comfortable oxfords she wore. They were all right for street
wear, but when it came to climbing about over thin, rocky soil, they
provided only a minimum of protection.
The outcropping Janet had selected was even steeper than they had
anticipated and as they climbed, the outline of the bus in the valley
became smaller. They stopped several times to rest and on the last
occasion Janet sat down on a flat, sun-baked rock. There was a certain
fetid odor about it but she thought nothing of it until Helen, who was
about to sit down beside her, screamed.
Without thinking and so swiftly it must have been a reflex action, she
hurled herself away from the rock.
She dropped in a twisting, rolling fall and as she turned she glimpsed a
venomous head with lashing fangs which flashed out once from the rock
and then disappeared.
Chapter Six
THE SMOKY MENACE
Janet fell heavily, turning over several times before she finally came
to rest against a clump of dry brush.
Helen was at her side almost instantly, her face drawn and tense.
"Did it strike you?" she asked, deep anxiety marking her words.
Janet, still dazed by the shock of hurling herself to the ground, looked
up and managed a wan smile. She shook her head and with Helen giving her
a hand, got to her feet.
"No, I'm all right. Just scared a little. It was so sudden."
"The snake was coiled up on the back of the rock. I saw it just as you
sat down. For a second I was speechless; then I seemed to explode into a
scream," explained Helen.
"It's a good thing for me that you did," said Janet. "I don't think the
snake missed it more than inches. We'd better get some stout clubs if
we're going to do any more climbing around these rocks."
"One thing, we're not going to sit down on any of them," declared Helen,
who was watching the pile of rocks with open suspicion. There was still
that fetid smell in the air, but no sign of any snakes.
They looked about for sticks which could be used for clubs and Helen
found several sizeable sticks which would serve that purpose.
The incident had unnerved them more than they cared to confess and they
sat down to rest on the sandy soil, taking care that nothing was near
them which would conceal a snake.
The afternoon deepened and the sun was about to sink over the western
hills when they roused themselves and started on toward the summit of
the promontory they had been climbing.
Janet stopped and sniffed the air. The odor of smoke seemed stronger
now, yet there was no visible sign of it.
Helen also smelled it, for the wind, if anything, was sharper now.
"If there's a fire burning somewhere near here, it might be bad for us,"
she said. "This dry grass and underbrush would burn like tinder."
"That's what Curt fears," added Janet.
They stopped to rest once more before they started the final ascent to
the rocky outcropping from which they hoped to be able to survey the
entire surrounding country.
As they started up the final slope, the smell of the smoke became
stronger. Looking back into the valley where the bus was stalled, Janet
could see the men in the company all grouped around the front end. It
was evident that the trouble had not been repaired. Some distance from
the bus a lone figure was striding along the trail, evidently bound for
the nearest ranch or village where he could telephone for another bus
and a repair crew.
They toiled up the last few yards to the summit of the promontory and
reached it only to drop down in an open space, gasping for breath, for
the last part of the climb had been arduous.
A sharp cry from Helen drew Janet's attention away from the bus, which
now seemed far down in the valley.
"There's fire burning in that further valley," cried Helen, an
involuntary note of alarm in her voice.
Janet turned quickly and gazed in the direction Helen was pointing. Her
companion was right. There was fire in one of the distant valleys. From
their elevation they could see a low, creeping wave of smoke shot
through with an occasional tongue of flame.
The wind, riffling past them now, was sweeping the fire in their
direction at a steady pace, but it was at least two miles away, perhaps
even further, estimated Janet.
"Does it look serious?" asked Helen.
"I should say it does," replied Janet quickly. "One of us must get back
to the bus at once and warn Curt. This is what he's feared."
"I'll stay," said Helen, but Janet noted that her companion's face paled
at the thought of staying on top of the ridge and watching the fire
sweep toward her.
"No you won't. If there's any staying to be done up here, I'll be the
one," decided Janet. "Besides, I can run faster than you and your shoes
are in no condition to go racing over this rough ground. You start down
now and tell Curt exactly what's happening. Tell him the fire is moving
steadily in our direction and I can't see that anyone is in front of it
attempting to beat it out or to build barriers to halt it."
"But I hate to leave you here alone," protested Helen.
"Never mind that. You get back to the bus. Hurry!" There was an anxious
note of appeal in Janet's last words and Helen flung down the stick she
had been carrying and started back down the slope.
Janet watched her for a time as she darted around outcroppings of rock.
Then she turned and gazed at the low wall of smoke which was being
whipped along by the wind.
From that distance it was hard to imagine that the advancing smoke and
fire could be such a deadly thing--that it could lay waste to everything
in its path, leaving, where it had passed, only a sear and desolate
landscape.
The wind seemed to be strengthening with the passing of each minute. The
crest of the advancing fire topped the ridge of another valley and
started down the near slope, but it was still better than a mile and a
half away. Occasionally a jet of flame rose higher than the others, as
though some madman had tossed a torch high into the air at his
exhilaration over the destruction the flames were causing.
The afternoon was waning rapidly and in the valleys between Janet and
the flames the light was fading. She turned and gazed back down the long
slope. Helen was almost at the bus, making every effort at speed and
Janet felt sorry for her for she knew Helen must be suffering intense
pain from her too-thin shoes for the rocks would bruise her feet badly.
Janet saw Helen reach the bus and the men turned their attention from
the stalled motor to the newcomer. Janet thought she could distinguish
Curt Newsom looming above the others but she couldn't be sure.
In less than a minute a solitary figure detached itself from the group
around the bus and started up the slope toward Janet. From the long
stride and the graceful carriage of the body she knew it was the cowboy
star, coming up to get a first-hand glimpse of the advancing fire.
Someone down at the bus turned on the headlights, and twin beams of
light flashed through the gathering purple of the evening.
Janet heard a scurrying up the other slope and a jack rabbit, scenting
the danger of the approaching wall of smoke and fire, dashed past her.
She knew that later there would be an onrush of the smaller animals
seeking to evade the danger. But for some reason Janet felt strangely
calm.
The fire was still more than a mile away. True, it was advancing
steadily, but the thought of being trapped by flames had never really
entered her mind and she refused to be stampeded now.
She turned back to watch the progress of Curt Newsom as he raced up the
slope. It was almost dusk now where she was standing but she could see
him coming steadily toward her. He would be beside her in another
minute.
The cowboy star, puffing heavily from the race up the rocky slope,
reached Janet's side.
The smell of smoke was stronger now and the flames were brighter as
though they were eating their way through heavier underbrush.
Curt's features were plainly visible in the half light of the early
evening and Janet could see the lines of worry on his face.
"It's worse than I thought from what Helen told us," he said, shielding
his eyes and looking across the intervening valleys to the ridge down
which the fire was now racing.
"Is it serious?" asked Janet. "Are we in danger?"
Curt stared at her hard, wondering just how much he dared to tell her.
Then he decided she might as well know the truth and he spoke frankly.
"The wind's rising all the time and this fire's spreading rapidly. We've
got to get out of here within the next few minutes or we may never leave
these valleys alive."
Chapter Seven
RACING FLAMES
Janet felt an inward surge of terror sweep over her, chilling her mind
and body. But it lasted for only an instant. She was too calm, too
sensible to become panic stricken now. They might be in a tight spot but
she had confidence that the angular, capable cowboy would be able to
pull them through.
"We've got to get back to the bus and warn them of the danger. Maybe the
boys will have the engine fixed by the time we're back."
Curt turned for a final look at the advancing wall of smoke and flame.
A steady procession of small animals, driven from their homes, was
racing through the underbrush and an occasional frightened rabbit would
almost bump into them in its blind haste to find safety.
"Come on!" said Curt. He held out his hand and Janet grasped it. With
the cowboy leading the way, they plunged down the slope. It was risky
business, going at that speed, but speed was essential and they dared a
twisted ankle to reach the bus with the least possible delay.
Janet dropped the stick she had been carrying and grasped Curt's strong
wrist with both of her own hands. They were fairly flying down the
incline, Janet's legs working mechanically as she followed the lead of
the cowboy star.