  Curt Newsom was the first to reach the unconscious Janet. He picked her up, almost without effort, and ran to the car in which Billy Fenstow had been following the action. “Step on it, Billy. This girl’s had a bad fall,” he said, and the director swung the car quickly and sped back toward the ranchhouse. Helen, mounted, galloped after them and the rest of the company, including the camera crew, trailed along. When Janet regained her senses she was lying on a bed in the ranchhouse with Helen, her face expressing her anxiety, bending over her. “What happened?” asked Janet faintly. “Your saddle came loose and you took a header,” explained Curt. “How do you feel?” “Let me get up and take a few steps and then I’ll tell you,” replied Janet. “Better stay quiet for a few more minutes. We’ve got a doctor coming out to look you over,” advised Billy Fenstow. “But I’m sure there’s nothing really wrong with me, except perhaps I’m clumsy,” replied Janet. Just then one of the cowboys tiptoed in and whispered something to Curt Newsom. Janet caught a flash of anger in his face as he turned and followed the cowboy outside. The doctor arrived within a few minutes and made a thorough examination for possible injuries. “Just a liberal supply of bumps and bruises,” he decided. “Better take it easy for a day or two.” “Well, that’s that,” Janet managed to smile when the doctor had departed. “I’m afraid I spoiled another sequence and you’ll have to shoot it over.” “I should say not,” replied Billy Fenstow. “The camera got every bit of action and I’ll work it in somehow. Any time I let a swell shot like that go unused you can write ‘finished’ after my name. Stay in bed the rest of the day. The schedule of scenes you were in is practically completed anyway.” Helen was in and out the rest of the day for there were several shots in which she appeared and it was late afternoon when she came in to stay. “Curt Newsom is on the warpath,” she said slowly as she sat down beside Janet. “Sore about my mussing up that scene?” asked Janet. “No. He’s been looking at the saddle and says someone tried to kill you.” Helen’s voice was flat. Janet sat up in bed. “Someone tried to kill me?” she demanded. Tears welled into Helen’s tired eyes. “Oh, this is all a mess,” she cried. “We never should have come out here. There are too many intrigues and jealousies among those established.” “Tell me just what you mean?” insisted Janet. Helen waved her hands helplessly. “Curt’s found out that the saddle girth was almost cut through. That’s the reason your saddle came loose and you were pitched out.” “Does he have any idea who did it?” “If he does, he isn’t saying anything, but I heard him tell Billy Fenstow that this is the last picture he’ll work in with Bertie Jackson.” “I wonder if that means he suspects Bertie?” Janet pondered. “You could take it that way if you wanted to, and personally I think Bertie is fully capable of some despicable stunt like that. I’m glad shooting on this picture is practically over. I’ve seen all of Bertie I ever want to.” “It doesn’t seem as though she would do anything like that, though,” said Janet. “But, after all, Bertie’s determined to get ahead and I expect she’s wholly unscrupulous when she thinks anything or anyone may be blocking her way. But why should she pick on us?” “Because we came in as absolute greenhorns and got fairly good bits. She’s afraid we may be pushed ahead too fast because of Dad’s position with the company. I think it’s all plain enough.” “Perhaps you’re right,” conceded Janet. “I’ll certainly watch myself when I’m around Bertie from now on.” Janet felt much better the next morning. She was still stiff and sore, but was able to walk with only a moderate amount of discomfort. It was the final day of shooting for “Broad Valley” and a certain tenseness gripped the whole company. Billy Fenstow was determined to finish on time and they worked like mad through the long, hot hours. Janet had to do another riding sequence, and she went about it gamely, although every bone in her body ached as her horse galloped at a mad pace across the broad valley and into the rolling hills behind it. Then it was done. The picture was “in the can.” Supper was served at the ranchhouse and after the meal, in the soft twilight of the summer evening, they piled into the bus that was to take them back to Hollywood. There was little conversation on the way back to the city. Some of them were completely worn out by the strain of working against time for the last few days and a number dozed as the bus, striking a concrete road, rolled smoothly and swiftly toward Hollywood. The days had been exciting and even thrilling for Janet and Helen—an experience they might never know again and both girls knew they would come to treasure the recent days highly. Janet wondered what would be in store for them in Hollywood. Would they win other rÔles or were they through? It would depend on the verdict after “Broad Valley” had its screening before the studio executives. The lights of Hollywood glowed and they pulled up in front of the studio. Some of the actors and actresses had their own cars; others took busses and only a few signalled for waiting taxis. Janet and Helen were among these. Henry Thorne was waiting for them when they reached home. “All done?” he asked. Helen nodded wearily. “The picture is and we may be too.” “Why?” “Won’t it depend on how our work shows up whether we get any more rÔles?” “Yes, I suppose so,” said her father, “but I could push you into some minor parts in other films.” “Now you’re wrong, Dad. We don’t want that any more than you would want to do it.” “I guess you’re right, dear. I did give you a boost with Billy and if you didn’t make good on ‘Broad Valley’ there’s little more that I can do.” They were silent for a time. Helen’s mother, who had been to a neighborhood picture house, came home and they went into the dining room where a cold lunch was ready for them. “I hear you had some unusual experiences,” said Helen’s father. “Oh, we had a few falls,” admitted Janet. There was no use in voicing their suspicions about Bertie Jackson. The next four days were spent in sight-seeing around Los Angeles, in a trip to Catalina Island and several swimming expeditions at Malibu. Then came a call from Billy Fenstow. “We’re screening ‘Broad Valley’ at the studio tonight,” he informed them. “Better come on out. It’s at eight.” This was the news they had been waiting for, but now that the actual screening was to take place, both girls felt nervous and upset. Helen’s father and mother insisted on coming with them, “to enjoy the triumph or share the sorrows.” Henry Thorne smiled and Janet later wondered whether he had advance information on the outcome of the picture. The small auditorium in which the picture was screened was well filled that night with most of the members of the cast on hand, including Curt Newsom and Bertie Jackson. The lights were out and the picture started. Janet read the title: “‘Broad Valley’ with Curt Newsom and Bertie Jackson, directed by William Fenstow; produced by the Ace Motion Picture Corporation.” Then came the cast of characters and well toward the bottom of the list she found her name. Her heart leaped and she held Helen’s arm close. What a thrill it was to actually read her own name in the cast of characters of a film. Then the action started, the story of Curt Newsom’s fight to hold title to his ranch. Almost before Janet and Helen knew it they were in the picture, the midwestern cousins arriving for a visit and in spite of herself Janet chuckled as she stumbled over the rug. It DID look wholly accidental. Then for a time they were out of the action, coming back again in the riding sequence in which Janet was dumped into the watering trough. This entire bit of action had been kept in the film and she heard several hearty chuckles as she went headlong into the trough. After that came the wild ride in which Janet was pitched from her horse and the final victory of Curt over his enemies. “Broad Valley” came to a close with Curt winning the affections of Bertie Jackson and Janet felt her distaste for the actress growing as she watched the final fadeout. The lights in the projection room flashed up and Henry Thorne turned to the girls. “Nice work,” he said. “Do you really mean it, Dad?” asked Helen. “Of course I do, honey. I think both of you handled your parts very well and Janet added a couple of top notch comedy incidents.” “They weren’t intentional,” Janet assured him. “Then that explains why they look so natural. Billy will be a sap if he cuts them out in the final version.” “And I’m not a sap,” said Billy Fenstow, who had quietly joined them. “How about my next western? Think you could stand a few more weeks in my company?” “Are you serious?” demanded Janet. “Enough so that I’m promising you parts right now. In fact, we’ll pay you $75 a week instead of the $50 a week you got for this first picture. How does that sound?” “Not enough,” put in Henry Thorne, “especially if the girls can give you some more comedy as good as the stuff they put into this one.” “Now wait a minute,” protested the little director. “I don’t work on budgets that run up to half a million. I’ve got to watch my pay-roll.” “I was only kidding, Billy. But honestly, the girls ought to be worth a hundred a week. You’ll only use them a couple of weeks and that’s pretty cheap.” “I won’t make any promises about a hundred a week,” said Billy, “but you can count on another job if you want to join the company for my next western.” “Then we’re in right now,” decided Helen, and Janet nodded her approval. |
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