Janet Hardy in Radio City. Wheeler Ruthe S.
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