  In the days intervening Janet and Helen found plenty to do. Billy Fenstow sent over scripts of his new western and they had a chance to familiarize themselves with the general theme of the play. The story, briefly, was the efforts of a band of ruthless men to gain control of “Broad Valley,” a great cattle ranch which had been left to young Fred Danvers by his father. There was plenty of action, some gunplay, and a love theme in which Fred fell in love with the leader of the band of men who sought his property. The theme was as old as western pictures, but Billy Fenstow had a knack of dressing them up and making them look new. Janet and Helen reported at stage nine at eight o’clock Monday morning, Henry Thorne driving them over himself. He left as soon as they reached the lot. Nearly a score of people were clustered around the chubby little director and he nodded as Janet and Helen joined the crowd. Janet nudged Helen. “There’s Curt Newsom, the western star. I’ll bet he’s got the lead.” “He looks nice,” replied Helen, “but older than he appears on the screen.” A rather artificial blonde was seated at Billy Fenstow’s right, idly thumbing through the sheaf of script from which the picture would be shot. Mr. Fenstow spoke sharply. “Attention everybody. All of you have had a chance to study the script; all of you should be familiar with the parts. We’ll make plenty of changes as we go along, but in general you know what we’re aiming at. We’ve got two weeks assigned for the shooting and that means we’ll be done in two weeks, and not three.” He looked around at each of them, then went on. “Curt Newsom goes into the lead as Fred Danvers and Miss Jackson will play the rÔle of Ruth Blair, the girl he falls in love with.” He ran on down the list. “The green cousins from the east who come to visit Bill will be played by Janet Hardy and Helen Thorne.” Janet felt her heart bound. She actually had a part and it mattered little that it was an insignificant rÔle. Bertie Jackson, the blonde in the chair, turned and looked sharply at the girls, then sniffed. “I should say they would be well qualified to play such rÔles.” Billy Fenstow caught the sneer in her voice and turned quickly. “You know, Miss Jackson, you don’t have to work in this picture if you don’t want to. There are plenty of blondes would jump at the chance to play this lead.” “Oh, calm down, Billy. Just because one of the girls is Henry Thorne’s daughter, you don’t need to get on your high horse when I make a harmless wisecrack.” But Helen had her own ideas about Bertie Jackson’s wisecrack and she resolved to watch the pallid blonde. Bertie, if it served her own purpose, was quite capable of doing any number of mean tricks. The morning passed rapidly with costume assignments being made. There were a number of interior shots of the ranch house which would be necessary and these scenes had already been erected on stage nine. Janet and Helen would have their first scenes tomorrow, but they remained on hand to watch the first shots of the picture and to attempt to get acquainted with other members of the company. Most of them were friendly enough, but they seemed to feel that the girls had deliberately been put into the cast through Henry Thorne’s influence and Helen voiced her belief quietly. “We’ve got to expect that,” admitted Janet, “but we don’t need to let it spoil all of our fun.” Whatever she might have thought of Bertie Jackson from a standpoint of personality, Janet had to admit that the actress was a thorough workman and she went through her rÔle in an easy and screen-appealing manner. In makeup Curt Newsom appeared much younger than the forty years he was willing to admit. The next morning Janet and Helen reached the lot early. Although not their first scene in the picture, the first one in which they were to be shot showed them arriving at the ranchhouse. Simple travelling costumes had been assigned by the wardrobe department, but Roddy stepped in and quietly added a touch or two that made them distinctive. Janet could almost hear Bertie Jackson hissing. It was an unheard of thing for Roddy to pay any attention to the costume worn by a minor character in a western or any other character in a picture of that type. “Your lines are simple, girls. You’ve just gotten out of a buckboard after a long ride from the nearest railroad station. You’re tired and stiff and a little mad because Curt didn’t come to meet you. Janet, remember that you’re a little giddy and anything crazy you do will fit in all right.” “She’ll do plenty of that,” said Bertie Jackson, under her breath. Billy Fenstow didn’t believe in rehearsals. He told his people what he wanted, then asked them to do it, and started the cameras grinding. If it was too bad, he had to shoot it over, but if it was fair, he let it go, with the result that once in a while he got some exceptional shots. “All set, girls?” asked the director. Janet, her mouth dry, nodded. “Let’s go. Camera!” They stepped into the range of the cameras, Helen in the lead and Janet, a rather vacant stare on her face, following. There was a bear-skin rug in front of the door and some way her feet became tangled up in it and she pitched forward, only the strong arm of Curt Newsom preventing her from falling. Curt, a veteran trooper, faked a line and Janet had enough presence of mind to come back with a cue. Then they went on with the scene, which was extremely brief, ending with a cowboy, laden with baggage, trying to get through the door. “Cut it,” waved Billy. “What are you trying to do, clown this?” he demanded of the red-faced Janet. “No, Mr. Fenstow. You see, I slipped. I didn’t mean to do it,” she explained. “Well, whatever it was, it was a nice bit of action and I think we’ll keep it. It ought to be worth a laugh or two.” The next morning they left early by bus for a location back in the mountains. Billy Fenstow had every ranch possibility listed in a small black book and this was one of his favorites. He had used it several times, but a studio carpenter crew, by going out several days in advance, had changed the barns and corrals enough to disguise them. They arrived shortly before noon and a delicious meal was waiting for them. Janet and Helen had little to do for the next two days, most of the shots being confined to action on the range, with the camera, mounted on a special truck, racing ahead of the pounding horses while the broad valley resounded to volleys of blank shots as the cowboys, led by Curt Newsom, chased and were chased by the marauders. Then Janet and Helen got their chance in a comedy sequence called for their first riding. Neither of them felt any qualms until they were mounted. Then their horses seemed to explode and both girls hung on for their lives, their faces registering surprise in no uncertain terms. Helen lost her grip and flew through the air to land in an undignified position in a cloud of dust. Janet, either more fortunate or a better rider, clung on for another minute, then found herself dumped into the open water trough. Splashing furiously and sputtering at a great rate, Janet got her head above water. Her hair was plastered to her head and she was soaking wet. The camera crew, in spite of their roars of laughter, had kept grinding away. “Great stuff, Janet. You’ve got a natural born sense of comedy,” chuckled Billy Fenstow as he wiped the tears out of his eyes. “It looks like I’m all wet as an actress,” admitted Janet. “Oh, I don’t know. Getting all wet may make you one,” countered the director. “Get into some dry clothes. We’re through with this sequence, anyhow.” The days on location passed swiftly and in the main pleasantly. Curt Newsom took an interest in the girls, which only heightened Bertie Jackson’s jealousy. He taught them several tricks about riding and they spent every extra hour in the saddle. One of the last sequences to be filmed at the ranch was one calling for a wild ride by Janet to take news of a raid on the ranch to the sheriff’s office in a near-by town. With the camera crew in the truck ahead, the action started. Janet rode hard, but was careful to keep in camera range. Suddenly she felt her saddle slipping and she grabbed desperately at the mane of the galloping horse. Alarmed by the looseness of the saddle, the beast increased its stride and Janet, a stifled scream on her lips, plunged headlong. She felt the shock of the ground as she struck and then a mantle of merciful darkness descended upon her. |
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