now, hissing and sputtering as they struck the water where they soon
became blackened embers.
Janet, turning toward the opposite bank, saw a clump of underbrush burst
into flame. The fire, whipped by the rising wind, spread out rapidly.
Venturing a peep above the creek bank, a searing blast of heat struck
her forehead and she could feel her hair curl. One glance was enough,
for a towering wall of flame seemed to be rising straight into the sky.
Janet ducked back under the protection of the bank and dipped the cloth
into the water again. She straightened up again and glanced toward the
bus. The cameraman who had been grinding away steadily had deserted the
bus and was dragging his camera with him. He reached the shelter of the
bank and other willing hands helped him set up the machine in a position
that was well protected.
It was impossible to hear now and Janet felt Helen crowding close toward
her. They looked at each other through staring eyes--eyes that reflected
the inward fear that gripped their hearts. The heat was stifling now.
The cloths they had soaked with water were drying with incredible
rapidity and Janet remembered Curt's warning to breath as lightly as
possible. Helen, shoeless, was standing in the water. A hot ember
dropped beside them and struck one of Helen's legs before it had cooled.
She winced at the pain, but there was no escape.
It seemed as though the entire opposite slope of the valley suddenly
burst into flame and the intensity of the heat redoubled. Janet held her
breath and dipped down into the stream to wet the cloth again. Helen did
likewise a moment later and they gained some relief.
Billy Fenstow and Curt Newsom were crouched beside the cameraman who was
still grinding away at the red terror.
Again the cloths on their faces dried and their breaths came in great
choking gasps. Janet felt as though her heat-seared lungs would burst.
She wanted to cry, but the tears were whipped away by the hot blasts.
The flame on the opposite slope seemed to reach a new peak of intensity
and the water at their feet ran crimson. Then the roar lessened, the
peak of the fire was past.
Janet, through smoke-rimmed eyes, saw it sweep over the far crest of the
valley. Scattered fires were left burning in its wake, but the main
advance of the fire had rushed on seeking new conquests.
As the red glow ebbed, they crept out from under the bank and dropped
with abandon into the shallow waters. It mattered little that embers,
some of them still hot, were drifting in the stream, or that the water
itself was now lukewarm--it was a haven from the horror that had just
passed.
Chapter Ten
A WELCOME RESCUE
Janet couldn't even guess how many minutes they rested on the stream bed
with the water washing away the aches in their weary bodies. As usual,
Curt took the initiative when he had regained a portion of the abundant
vitality that flowed through his veins.
The cowboy sat up and surveyed the scene. A dozen fires were still
burning in the valley and the horizon ahead of them, tinged in crimson,
marked the passing of the fire demon.
Billy Fenstow, digging sand out of his ears and sputtering heartily, was
the first to speak.
"Curt, how in thunder are we ever going to get out of here?"
The cowboy shook his head.
"Walk," he moaned, looking down at the once fancy boots which had never
been intended for the heavy work in which they had been used that night.
Billy Fenstow groaned in anguish.
"Then I guess I'll just settle down and wait for a flood to come along
and wash me down the valley or until I come to some culvert where I'll
stick."
The cameraman who had ground away steadily through the thick of the
raging flames crept over to his machine. It had been subject to terrific
heat and there was only a small chance that the negative had come
through without serious damage.
"How many feet did you shoot?" asked the director.
The photographer squinted at the footage indicator on the camera, but
there was not enough light to note the figures.
"If the film isn't ruined they'll be the best scenes of a blaze like
this that have ever been filmed," he predicted.
Janet struggled into a sitting position and looked around. Her eyes
sought the bus, with only faint hopes that the vehicle had come through
unscathed. If it had, it would offer their one hope of escape for she
felt that repairs might be made to the tires and if not, maybe they
could limp along.
But her hopes were doomed to disappointment. The bus was a glowing mass
of steel. Fire had swept over it, igniting the upholstery and burning
out the entire interior of the bus. It was a hollow shell with gaping
windows.
Curt Newsom stood up.
"There's no use sitting around here wondering what we'll do," he said.
"If a couple of the boys will come along, I'll start back to the trail
and we'll keep going until we find someone or can reach a telephone."
Two other cowboys joined Curt.
"The rest of you might follow us and get back as far as the ranch. Maybe
there'll be a little drinking water left in that well," advised Curt as
he started up the trail, hobbling painfully on his twisted boots.
Helen looked at her oxfords. They were in even worse shape than Curt's
boots.
"I guess I'll have to stay here," she said, half to herself and half to
Janet. "I'd never make it back to the ranch."
Janet picked up the water soaked piece of cloth she had used as a mask
to shield her face.
"Wrap this around one foot and use your piece for your other foot. Then
slip your oxford on loosely. That ought to ease the pain."
Helen looked grateful and tried the suggestion at once. She wrapped the
damp cloth around as tightly as possible and then pulled on her shoes.
It was a snug fit, but there was a soft cushion for her bruised feet to
rest upon. She stood up and tried walking.
"That's much better. Thanks a lot, Janet."
Billy Fenstow took charge then.
"We'll start for the ranch and go as far as we can," he decided. "There
may be some shelter there and we're in no condition to stay out any
longer than necessary."
With the director in the van, the singed and tired band started back for
the ranch. After a short distance they struck the trail. It was faint,
but they managed to follow it without too much difficulty.
Hot blasts of air seemed to sweep down from all sides and breathing
became a painful exercise again. Janet wished that she might have just
one cool, sweet breath of air--just one.
Helen stumbled and Janet reached out and caught her companion before she
fell.
"All right?" asked Janet anxiously, for Helen was not of as sturdy stock
as she.
"I'll make it," replied Helen, the words coming from tight-set lips.
But Janet was not so sure that Helen could do it. They fell further and
further behind the others, but at last they topped the final ridge and
looked down in the valley where the ranch had been, where they had
filmed so many scenes of "Water Hole," the new picture.
It was too dark to see the outlines of the ranchhouse but Janet could
discern several large, glowing piles of embers and she knew that even
the buildings at the ranch had been destroyed by the fire. Perhaps the
well was still filled with pure sweet water. Her throat seemed drier at
the thought and she turned her full attention to Helen, who needed a
supporting arm for the final, down hill lap of their journey.
The cowboys were the first to reach the ranchyard and Janet could hear
them ripping the cover off the well. There was a shout ahead of them.
"The water's okay. Hurry up!" It was one of the cowboys, and the news
gave them the courage to quicken their lagging steps.
Billy Fenstow handed Janet a blackened dipper, but she insisted that
Helen take the first drink. There was plenty of water and they all drank
their fill while Billy Fenstow scrambled around the timbers above the
well hunting for the wires which had been fastened to the film
containers they had lowered into the well. He found them at last, but
decided they were safer in the water than any place else.
"What about going on?" asked one of the cowboys.
"No use in that. Someone had used the dipper before we got here, so that
means Curt is up ahead of us and he's traveling much faster than we
could. We'll do better to wait right here where they'll find us. Try and
make yourselves comfortable."
But the director's last words were of little help. The air was still dry
and searing and there was no shelter anywhere. Fires still glowed all
over the valley and little clouds of smoke swept around them.
Janet and Helen walked over to the ranchhouse, but the embers were
glowing so brightly that it was impossible to get very close.
"I ache all over," confessed Helen. "When I finally get into bed I'm
going to sleep the clock around."
"Count me in on that program," nodded Janet. "Well, we might as well sit
down and keep as comfortable as possible."
But they went back to the well for another drink before trying to relax
on the ground.
The men were gathered a short distance away, talking in low voices about
their harrowing escape. They conversed in monotones that soon lulled the
girls' tired minds and before she knew it Janet found herself dozing.
They were fitful little naps, broken with sudden thoughts of the fire.
Then she would snap to complete wakefulness, only to have her fatigue
overcome her again. She had dozed perhaps half a dozen times when the
increasing chill of the air awakened her.
Helen, curled up on the ground, was breathing steadily and deeply and
had not noticed the change in the atmosphere.
Janet scanned the horizon. There was no scarlet in the northwest
now--only a dense blackness that seemed to be growing thicker. The
southeastern sky was still vividly flame seared.
The men had ceased their talking, but an occasional glow of a cigarette
marked the dark huddle where they had gathered. A slight snore could be
heard and Janet attributed it to their tubby little director. A flash of
lightning illumined the mounting clouds and Janet shivered at the
thought of a storm sweeping down on them after the fire.
Helen must have felt the shiver run through Janet's body for she stirred
sleepily.
"I'll sleep another hour," she mumbled, and Janet knew her companion
thought they were back home. There was no need to awaken Helen now. She
might just as well get as much relaxation as possible.
Helen slipped back into a deep sleep and Janet kept a lone vigil. The
clouds swept higher and a distant rumble of thunder came down from the
hills.
The men were moving restlessly now and Janet could hear Billy Fenstow
berating the weather. But there was nothing they could do about it
except complain a little and then hope that someone would reach them
before the coming storm broke.
Janet wondered how far Curt and the two cowboys who had gone with him
had been able to travel. Perhaps their aching feet had forced them to
stop. But, knowing Curt, she had a feeling that he would get through and
bring help to them as soon as possible.
Helen sat up, rubbing her blood-shot eyes.
"More fire?" she asked as the rumble of the thunder smote her ears.
"Well, not quite that bad. Just a thunderstorm."
Helen shivered. "We'll catch our death of cold," she groaned, and Janet
had to admit that Helen's fears were not unwarranted. After the heat of
the fire and the fatigue, they would be excellent candidates for severe
colds or anything else that happened along.
Several of the men who had been hunting around the ranchyard returned to
the well.
"Can't even find half a board," one of them reported. "The fire swept
everything clean."
Billy Fenstow turned to Janet and explained.
"I had a couple of the boys out looking for some boards or anything we
could use to build a shelter for you girls."
"That was thoughtful," replied Janet, "but we'll get along all right."
Billy grumbled to himself. He wasn't so sure. The girls had stood a lot
already and there was a limit to their endurance.
A patter of rain struck them, the drops sizzling as they came down on
the remains of the ranchhouse.
Janet's spirits dropped and for the first time in weeks she felt like
having a good, old-fashioned crying spell, but there wasn't any pillow
where she could bury her head and she didn't want to cry in front of the
men in the company.
The valley was hushed for a moment. Even the thunder was silent in the
breathless pause that often comes just before a mid-summer storm vents
its fury.
It was during this pause that Helen, watching the hills below the storm
clouds, caught a flash of light. It was too low for lightning and she
gripped Janet's right arm.
"There's a car coming!" she cried.
Janet turned hopefully and looked in the direction Helen pointed, but
there was no sign of light and she heard an involuntary sob escape from
Helen.
Then it came again, two twin beams of light cutting around a hill. Helen
was right! A car was coming and Janet, unashamed, felt the tears flowing
freely down her cheeks.
Billy Fenstow was talking to himself.
"I knew that lanky cowboy would do it," he said, repeating it over and
over as though he were a human talking machine, stuck on a single note.
A horn sounded a warning note as the oncoming vehicle swung into the
ranchyard just as the sky opened and the first sweep of rain struck the
valley. Forgetting all else, they ran toward the machine, which proved
to be a hulking truck, with a covered top.
Janet and Helen reached the rear. Someone reached down and pulled them
under the shelter of the top. A flashlight blazed into their faces and a
strong arm encircled Janet's shoulder. It was Helen's father and they
knew that their worries for that eventful night were over.
Chapter Eleven
NEW PLANS
The sky seemed to open wide and a great torrent of rain descended on the
heat-ridden earth, but Janet and Helen, in the shelter of the truck,
were safe.
"All right, honey?" demanded Helen's father, and, assured that his
daughter was no more than bruised and weary, he turned to Janet.
"How about you, Janet?" he asked.
"Tired and dirty--that's all," she managed to smile.
"Here's blankets," he said, picking two off a pile on the floor of the
truck. "Throw these around your shoulders."
The air was chill now and the girls obeyed without hesitation for their
own clothes were in a bad state of disrepair.
"How did you find us?" asked Helen when they were seated on the floor of
the truck, and bouncing along toward the main highway which would take
them back to Hollywood.
"Curt Newsom got through. We were frantic after the line went dead when
you were talking to us from the ranchhouse. We were coming in the truck
and met Curt and the other two cowboys along the trail. From what they
told us we knew that none of you could stand it to be out in the storm
and we made all possible speed."
"How's mother?" asked Helen.
"Terribly worried." He turned toward Janet. "We'll phone your folks as
soon as we get home. The fact that a film company was caught in the
center of the fire was broadcast over a national chain and I'm afraid
they may be gravely alarmed."
"I'll call them at once," agreed Janet.
They talked at length of their experiences and at last Helen's father
turned to Fenstow.
"Lose all of your last-day takes?" he asked.
"Don't believe we lost a one," replied the other director. "We put the
film cans in the well. One of my boys shot some swell scenes of the fire
if the camera didn't get too hot and ruin the negative."
"Then I suppose you'll use a fire in your next western?" chuckled Henry
Thorne.
"Can't say," replied Billy Fenstow. "That will be up to Janet."
"Why Janet?"
"She's going to do my next scenario."
"You're not joking?"
"Of course not. I've gone kind of stale and I thought she could inject
some fresh material. At least she's going to get a fair chance to see
just what kind of a film story she can turn out."
"Then I'm predicting that she'll do a good job if it's anything like the
caliber of her usual work," replied Helen's father.
"Don't count on me too much," cautioned Janet. "This is a new field and
I may get in so deep I'll never get anything creditable."
The truck swung around a sharp curve. Ahead of them was a blaze of light
from the headlights of a score of cars which were parked along the paved
road. Raucous squawks of horns greeted the approaching truck.
It was still raining hard, but a trim figure, clad in a raincoat,
detached itself from a group in front of one of the cars and hurried
toward the truck.
"Hello mother. Here I am," called Helen. "Both of us are all right."
She jumped from the truck and into her mother's arms. After a brief
embrace, her mother spoke quickly.
"We mustn't stand here. You'll catch cold. Here, get under my coat and
we'll hurry to the car. Janet, you stay in the truck until we can pull
along here."
Henry Thorne looked down at Janet.
"Pretty tired?"
"Just about all in," she confessed and she found it hard to muster a
smile.
"Had enough of Hollywood?" he asked quietly.
Janet looked up quickly.
"I don't know, honestly I don't. The way I feel right now all I want is
sleep and lots of it."
He nodded understandingly and just then the car drove up beside the
truck and they jumped down and entered it.
Henry Thorne took the wheel while his wife and the girls made themselves
comfortable in the back seat. Mrs Thorne very wisely made no effort to
ask them about the events of the night, but tucked them in with blankets
and before the car had gone half a mile both girls were sound asleep.
The next thing Janet knew someone was shaking her shoulder. It was Mrs.
Thorne.
"We're home and you can be in bed in five minutes," she said. Janet
rubbed a little of the sleep from her tired eyes--just enough so she
could see to get into the house.
Helen, walking ahead of her, moaned now at every step, for her feet had
been badly bruised by the stones.
Mrs. Thorne hurried ahead to run a tub of hot water while her husband
drove the car around to the garage. With Mrs. Thorne helping them, the
girls were soon in fresh pajamas.
Janet decided on a warm shower and Helen followed her under the spray.
Then Mrs. Thorne treated the bruises on Helen's feet and both girls
piled into bed.
"Sleep as long as you want to," she said as she snapped off the light.
Janet didn't even hear the click of the switch. She dropped into a deep
slumber, one so heavy that there were no dreams of fires and storms.
When she finally awoke it was broad daylight. Fresh, sweet air filled
their room. There was no smell of smoke, no threat of storm, and she
wondered, for a moment, if she could have been dreaming about the night
before. It was just possible that it had been a nightmare. Then she
stretched and the aching muscles of her legs told her that indeed it had
not been a nightmare.
Janet looked over to Helen's bed. Her friend was still sleeping heavily
so Janet slipped out of bed quietly, donned her dressing gown, and went
down to the bathroom.
Mrs. Thorne heard her moving about and looked in for a minute.
"We telephoned your folks last night," she said. "They'd heard the radio
broadcast and were greatly relieved when we told them both of you were
safe."
"Oh, thanks so much. I was so sleepy I forgot all about it," confessed
Janet.
"Helen getting up?" asked Mrs. Thorne.
"No, she's sleeping soundly."
"Then come in to lunch without going back to dress," said Helen's
mother.
"You mean breakfast?" asked Janet.
Mrs. Thorne smiled. "No, I mean lunch, and a very late lunch at that.
It's well after two o'clock now."
Janet, finishing her shower, rubbed her body briskly with a heavy towel,
and slipped the dressing gown on over her pajamas. Then she joined Mrs.
Thorne in the dining room.
"The morning papers made quite a story of it," said Mrs. Thorne, handing
Janet a copy.
A bold headline was blazoned across the entire top of the front page:
"MOVIE COMPANY ESCAPES FIRE!"
Then, in terse, action sentences, the story told of the narrow escape of
Billy Fenstow's western unit. Janet found Helen's name and her own
mentioned. She was glad that the story gave Curt Newsom full credit for
the cool-headed work which had saved their lives. Curt deserved every
word of it.
Helen joined them a few minutes later, limping a little for her feet
were still aching from the bruises.
The girls passed the remainder of the afternoon resting and at dinner
that night became involved in a serious discussion with Helen's father
and mother.
After the dessert, Henry Thorne pushed back his chair and looked at them
quizzically.
"Summer's about over," was his opening remark and Janet knew that he had
something on his mind. She had a hunch that she could guess what the
trend of the conversation was to be.
"You girls made up your minds what you want to do?"
He seemed to have his eyes fixed on Janet, as though looking to her for
the decision which would guide Helen.
"First of all I want to try to do the story Billy Fenstow asked me to
do," retorted Janet. "After that I think I'll have had enough of
Hollywood."
"Getting tired of being an actress?"
"Not at all, I'm just realizing my limitations and after all, I do want
more education--the type of broadening education that I can get in a
university."
Henry Thorne swung toward his own daughter.
"What do you think, Helen?"
"Why, I haven't made up my mind yet, Dad. I like Hollywood, I've been
having a grand time, but I guess I've never really thought of staying on
here definitely. It was understood from the first that this was just a
glorious vacation and that when summer ended Mother and I would go back
to Clarion and I'd go to college."
"I expect that's right," nodded her father. "It did start out to be just
a vacation proposition and you girls can make it that if you want, but
I've a new plan that may appeal to you. How would you like to go to
Radio City in New York for several weeks?"
Chapter Twelve
THE PREVIEW
The girls stared hard at Henry Thorne. It was so like him to toss off an
important statement in an off-hand manner that it left them almost
gasping for breath.
"Why, Dad, what do you mean?" demanded Helen.
"Just what I said," smiled her father. "How would you and Janet like to
go to Radio City for several weeks?"
"I'd like it fine," put in Janet quickly and Helen chorused her own
agreement.
"Now tell us what it's all about," insisted Helen.
"I'm a little vague on it myself," admitted her father, "except that the
studio is planning an extensive promotion stunt to boost my last
picture, 'Kings of the Air,' and the general manager, Mr. Rexler, is
going to send a part of the cast to New York City where they'll put on a
radio drama based on the action in the new picture. The whole idea is to
whet the appetites of the film fans by giving them just enough of the
story over the air to make them rush to the nearest theater and see the
actual picture."
"But where do we come in?" asked Janet. "We were only very minor members
of the cast."
"True enough, but some of the principals are now working on other
pictures and it would be impractical to release them and send them east
for a promotional stunt so some of the lesser members of the company
will make the trip."
"Maybe we're lucky to be lesser members," smiled Helen. "When do we
start?"
"I don't know exactly. The release date for 'Kings' is next month, so I
expect you'll leave here in a few weeks."
"That will give me just time enough to try the scenario for Billy
Fenstow," said Janet. "Maybe I'd better start work on it tonight."
"You look pretty tired. Better wait until morning when you'll be
thoroughly rested," advised Helen's father.
They adjourned to the living room where they gathered around a large
table and discussed possible story plots that Janet could use. She made
several notes and then, with Helen, retired early.
A second night of sleep found the girls feeling greatly refreshed. Henry
Thorne loaned Janet his own portable typewriter and she set it on a low
table beside the swimming pool, found some yellow copy paper in the
house, rolled a fresh sheet into the typewriter, and sat down waiting
for an idea to pop into her head.
"Hello, author!" said someone from behind her and she swung about to
face Curt Newsom, who had walked up unheralded.
"Hello, Curt. Sit down. My, but I'm glad to see you. Are you all right
after the fire?"
The cowboy smiled. "As right as I'll ever be. I was scared half to death
that night. Say, I saw Billy Fenstow this morning. The picture's all
together now and they're going to screen it at the Bijou down the street
after the regular feature. Better be there tonight."