ON THE BRINK
"What--what's your plan, Blake?" yelled Joe into
his chum's ear, as he sat behind him on the jolting second saddle
of the swaying motor cycle.
"What do you mean?" demanded Blake, half turning his head.
"I mean how are you going to stop that runaway, or rescue those
fellows?"
"I haven't thought, yet, but if we can get ahead of the horse we
may be able to stop him before he gets to the road-barrier or to
the dangerous turn."
"That's right!" panted Joe, the words being fairly jolted out of
him. "Head him off--I see!"
"Hold fast!" exclaimed Blake, as the conductor does when a trolley
car goes around a curve. "Hold fast!"
There was need of the advice, for a little turn in the road was
just ahead of them and Blake intended to take it at almost top
speed.
Bumping, swaying, jolting, spitting fire and smoke, with a rattle,
clatter and bang, on rushed the motor cycle on its errand of
rescue.
"Hark!" cried Joe, close to Blake's ear, "Listen!"
"Can't, with all this racket!" yelled back Blake, for he had
opened the throttle to gain a little increase of power. "What's
the matter?"
"I thought I heard the horse."
"Hearing him won't do any good," observed Blake grimly. "We've got
to see him and get ahead!"
And he turned on a little more gasoline.
While Blake and Joe are thus speeding to the rescue of the men in
the runaway, we will take a few moments to tell our new readers
something about the boys who are to figure prominently in this
story.
Joe Duncan and Blake Stewart were called the "Moving Picture
Boys," for an obvious reason. They took moving pictures. With
their curious box-like cameras, equipped with the thousand feet of
sensitive celluloid film, and the operating handle, they had risen
from the ranks of mere helpers to be expert operators. And now
they were qualified to take moving pictures of anything from a
crowd, shuffling along the street, to a more complicated scene, such
as a flood, earthquake or volcanic eruption. And, incidentally, I
might mention that they had been in all three of these last
situations.
The first volume of this series is called "The Moving Picture
Boys," and in that I introduced to you Blake and Joe.
They worked on adjoining farms, and one day they saw a company of
moving picture actors and actresses come to a stream, near where
they were, to take a "movie drama."
Naturally Blake and Joe were interested at once, and making the
acquaintance of Mr. Calvert Hadley, who was in charge of the
taking of the play, or "filming it," as the technical term has it,
the two boys were given an opportunity to get into the business.
They went to New York, and began the study of how moving pictures
are taken, developed from the films, the positives printed and
then, through the projecting machine, thrown on the screen more
than life size.
The process is an intricate one, and rather complicated, involving
much explanation. As I have already gone into it in detail in my
first book of this series, I will not repeat it here. Those of you
who wish to know more about the "movies" than you can gain by
looking at the interesting pictures in some theater, are
respectfully referred to the initial volume.
Joe and Blake were much interested in the Film Theatrical Company.
My former readers will well remember some members of that
organization--C.C. Piper, or "Gloomy," as he was called when not
referred to as just "C.C."; Birdie Lee, a pretty, vivacious girl;
Mabel Pierce, a new member of the company; Henry Robertson, who
played juvenile "leads"; Miss Shay, and others in whom you are
more or less interested.
After various adventures in New York City, taking films of all
sorts of perilous scenes, Joe and Blake went out West, their
adventures there being told in the volume of that name. They had
their fill of cowboys and Indians, and, incidentally, were in no
little danger.
Afterward they went to the Pacific Coast, thence to the jungle,
where many stirring wild animal scenes were obtained, and
afterward they had many adventures in Earthquake Land. There they
were in great danger from tremors of the earth, and from
volcanoes, but good luck, no less than good management, brought
them home with whole skins, and with their cases filled with rare
films.
Having finished in the land of uncertainty, the work assigned to
them by Mr. Hadley and his associates, Joe and Blake had gone for
their vacation to the farm of Mr. Hiram Baker, near Central Falls.
But their intention of enjoying a quiet stay was rudely
interrupted.
For not long after they had arrived, and were resting quietly
under a cherry tree in the shade, Mr. Ringold, with whom they were
also associated in moving picture work, called them up on the long
distance telephone to offer them a most curious assignment.
This was to go to the flooded Mississippi Valley, and get moving
pictures of the "Father of Waters" on one of "his" annual
rampages.
Of course Blake and Joe went, and their adventures in the flood
fill the volume immediately preceding this one.
And now they had returned, anticipating a second session of their
vacation. They had brought a motor cycle with which to go about
the pretty country surrounding Central Falls.
"For," reasoned Blake, "we haven't much time left this summer, and
if we want to enjoy ourselves we'll have to hustle. A motor cycle
is the most hustling thing I know of this side of an automobile,
and we can't afford that yet."
"I'm with you for a motor cycle," Joe had said. So one was
purchased, jointly.
It was on returning from a pleasant ride that our heroes had seen
the runaway with which we are immediately concerned. They were now
speeding after the maddened horse dragging the frail carriage,
hoping to get ahead of and stop the animal before it either
crashed into the frail barrier, and leaped into the ravine, or
upset the vehicle in trying to make the turn into the temporary
road.
"There he is!" suddenly cried Blake. The motor cycle, bearing the
two chums, had made the curve in the road successfully and was now
straightened up on a long, level stretch. And yet not so long,
either, for not more than a quarter of a mile ahead was another
turn, and then came the bridge.
"I see him!" answered Joe. "Can you make it?"
"I'm going to!" declared Blake, closing his lips firmly.
Every little bump and stone in the road seemed magnified because
of the speed at which they were moving. But Blake held the long
handles firmly, and, once the curve was passed, he turned the
rubber grip that let a little more gasoline flow into the
carbureter to be vaporized and sprayed into the cylinders, where
the electric spark exploded it with a bang.
"We--are--going--some!" panted Joe.
"Got--to!" assented Blake, grimly.
On swayed the thundering, rattling motor cycle. The carriage top
had either been let down, or some of the supports had broken, and
it had fallen, and the boys could now plainly see the two men on
the seat. They had not jumped, but they had evidently given up
trying to make the horse stop by pulling on the one rein, for the
animal was speeding straight down the center of the road.
"We aren't catching up to him very fast!" howled Joe into Blake's
ear, and he had to howl louder than usual, for they were then
passing along a portion of the road densely shaded by trees. In
fact the branches of the trees met overhead in a thick arch, and
it was like going through a leafy tunnel.
This top bower of twigs and branches threw back the noise of the
explosions of the motor cycle, and made an echo, above which it
was almost impossible to make one's voice heard.
"Look out!" suddenly cried Blake. "Hold fast!"
At first Joe imagined that his chum was going to make another
curve in the road, but none was at hand. Then, as Blake watched
his chum's right hand, he saw him slowly turn the movable rubber
handle that controls the gasoline supply. Blake was turning on
more power, though now the machine was running at a higher rate
than Joe or Blake had ever traveled before.
With a jump like that of a dog released from the leash, the motor
cycle seemed to spring forward. Indeed Joe must needs hold on, and
as he was not so favorably seated as was his chum, it became a
matter of no little trouble to maintain a grip with his legs and
hands.
"We--sure--are--going--some!" muttered Joe. But he did not open
his mouth any more. It was too dangerous at the speed they had
attained. A jolt over a stone, or a bit of wood, might send his
teeth through his tongue if he parted his jaws. So he kept quiet.
Ahead of them the carriage swayed and swerved. The horse was a
speedy one, but no creature of bone, blood, muscles and sinews can
distance a fire-spitting and smoke-eating machine like a motor
cycle. The distance was gradually being cut down.
But now, just ahead of them, was the curve, immediately beyond
which was the broken bridge, and also the temporary one, shunting
off at a sharp angle from the main highway.
"Look out! Hold on!" once more cried Blake, speaking in quick
tones.
For a moment Joe wondered at the added caution, and then he sensed
what Blake was about to do.
To one side of them stretched a level field. The road made a
slight detour about it, just before meeting the ravine, and by
crossing this field it was possible for the boys to reach the
bridge ahead of the swaying carriage. But at the speed they were
now running it was dangerous, and risky in the extreme, to run
across the uneven meadow. Blake, however, evidently was going to
chance it.
"Hold fast!" he cried once more, and Joe had no more than time to
take a firmer grip on the bar in front of him, and to cling with
his legs to the foot supports and saddle, than they were off the
road, and into the green field. The fence had been taken down to
allow for the storage of bridge-building material in the meadow.
"Now we'll get him!" cried Blake, but he spoke too soon. For the
motor cycle had not gone ten feet into the uneven field, jolting,
swaying and all but throwing off the moving picture boys, than the
sound of the explosions suddenly ceased, and the machine began to
slacken speed.
With a quickness that was added to by the rough nature of the
ground, the motor cycle slowed up and stopped.
"What's the matter?" cried Joe, putting down his feet to support
the machine.
"Something's busted--gasoline pipe, I guess!" cried Blake. "Come
on! We've got to run for it!"
The accident had occurred only a short distance from the road.
Together the two chums, leaping clear of the motor cycle, made for
it on the run.
But they were too late. They had a glimpse of the runaway horse
dashing straight at the fence barrier.
The next moment there was a splintering crash, and he was through
it.
"Oh!" cried Blake.
The thunder of the horse's hoofs on what was left of the wooden
approach to the broken bridge drowned his words.
Then the animal, with a leap, disappeared over the jagged edges of
the planks. The boys expected to see the carriage and the two
occupants follow, but to their intense surprise, the vehicle
swayed to one side, caught somehow on one of the king beams of the
bridge and hung there.
"Come on!" cried Blake, increasing his speed; "we've got a chance
of saving them yet!"