Kitabı oku: «Janet Hardy in Radio City», sayfa 2
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 rôles 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.
They crashed through a low fringe of underbrush and reached the twisting roadway. Half a hundred feet away was the bus, its lights glowing, but no other sign of animation coming from the mechanical monster.
The smoke was not yet thick in this valley and for this Janet was thankful for the other members of the company obviously had not become panicky.
Billy Fenstow saw them first.
“What about the fire?” he asked.
“It’s bad. We’ve got to get out of here and without losing any time. How about the bus?”
“It won’t even cough,” moaned the director.
“Any word from the man you sent for help?”
“Not yet. What’ll we do?” There was an anxious note in Billy Fenstow’s voice.
“I don’t know yet, but we’ll do something.”
Curt strode forward to the front end of the bus where the male members of the company were grouped.
“Any chance of getting going within the next five or ten minutes?” he asked the director, who was almost buried under the hood.
“Afraid not,” came the smothered reply. “I’ve found the trouble but it’s going to take about half an hour to get it fixed.”
Curt turned and faced Bill Fenstow.
“That’s too long,” he warned the director. “The wind’s getting worse and that fire’s coming fast now. In another half hour this valley will be an inferno. It will be impossible for anyone to live in it.”
“Then we’d better start back for the ranch afoot,” said the director.
Curt’s laugh was hard and thin and Janet, hearing it, thought it was a desperate laugh.
“The fire would overtake us before we could get near the ranch,” said Curt. “We’ve got to make a stand and we might as well make it here.”
“What can we do?” It was the director asking the question.
“We can start a backfire and burn off as much ground around here as possible. While some of us are doing that the others can see what they can do in getting the bus fixed. If it’s done in time, we’ll run for it; if it isn’t this is as good a place as any.”
Helen came close to Janet.
“Is it that bad?” she whispered.
“I’m afraid it is,” admitted Janet. “Scared?”
“Scared to death,” confessed Helen.
“So am I,” admitted Janet. “But maybe there is something we can do to help the men.”
Every member of the company was anxious and willing to do whatever they could and Curt Newsom snapped directions at them. Most of the men raced out into the brush and almost instantly small fires sprang up. They ate their way rapidly through the undergrowth and as they neared the bus itself were beaten out, the men using coats, blankets or whatever article they could find in the bus. In less than ten minutes there was a growing blackened area around the stalled vehicle. Their object was to create a large enough burned over area so that the main wall of the advancing fire would move around them.
Curt told them frankly that the heat would be bad, almost unbearable, but they could live through it.
The ridge from which Janet and Helen had discovered the fire was outlined against a sky shot with crimson for it was quite dark now. Small animals, scurrying before the red menace, were racing past almost constantly.
The fires which had been started around the bus were spreading out in a great circle, eating their way hungrily along the parched ground. In the light from them Janet could see Curt stalking here and there, directing one group and then another, and pausing now to beat down some flame with his blanket.
Both girls felt particularly helpless, for there seemed to be nothing they could do, and Helen, her light shoes torn and thin, was particularly wretched, for her feet were sore and bruised.
A sharp cry came from one of the men who had remained with the driver in an effort to get the bus repaired. Someone leaped into the seat, there was the whir of the starter and the heavy vehicle shook as its powerful motor thundered into motion.
The driver slid out from under the hood. His face was a smear of grease and his shirt was badly torn, for he had been working in close quarters. He stumbled, reeling from fatigue, but someone caught him and lifted him into the bus. Another man sounded the horn and the fire-builders, led by Curt and Billy Fenstow, returned to the bus.
“Think the motor will hold up?” Curt snapped at the driver.
“It ought to, but I can’t be sure,” was the tired reply.
“What do you want to do?” The cowboy fired the question at the director.
“Get out of here and get out quick!” cried the director.
“Where’ll you go?” Curt snapped the question back.
Billy Fenstow stared at him for just a moment.
“Hollywood, of course. Everybody in!”
But Curt laid a restraining hand on the director.
“The road ahead curves back directly into the path of the flame. If we swing around this promontory, we’ll be cut off ahead and before we can get back the flames will be over this section of the road. We can only go back.”
“Then back to the ranch we go,” decided the director, and again he called, “Everybody in!”
Members of the company jammed their way into the bus and Curt took the wheel for the driver was too exhausted to handle the heavy vehicle.
The smoke was thick now and the first flames were licking their way over the crest of the ridge far above them.
With the motor roaring heavily, Curt threw in the gears and swung the big vehicle about in a sharp circle. Then, with the headlights vainly trying to bore through the almost stifling smoke, they raced back down the road.
It was dangerous going, for Curt’s vision was cut down to less than three rods, but speed was essential now and they plunged through the smoky night at a reckless pace.
