“Look out!” shouted Paul,
and, dropping what he was carrying, he made a leap
toward the animal Whitlow was riding.
“Roll out of the way of his feet!” cried
the director.
“Shall I keep on with the film?”
asked the camera man, for his duty was to turn until
told to stop, no matter what happened.
“Let it run!” Alice cried.
“I can get out of the way. Don’t stop
on my account!”
She had been in motion pictures long
enough to know what it meant to spoil a hundred feet
or more of film in a spirited picture, necessitating
a retake. She had seen her danger, and had done
her best to get out of harm’s way.
The cat had leaped into some bushes and was out of
sight.
Whitlow, his face showing his fear
and his inability to act in this emergency, had instinctively
drawn back on the reins. But it was to the intelligent
horse itself, rather than to the rider, that Alice
owed her immunity from harm. For the horse reared,
and came down with feet well to one side of the crouching
girl, who had partly risen to her knees.
At the same moment Paul sprang for
the steed’s bridle and swerved him to one side.
Then, seeing that Alice was practically out of danger,
Paul’s rage at the carelessness of Whitlow rose,
and he reached up and fairly dragged that young man
out of the saddle.
“You don’t know enough
to lead a horse to water, let alone ride one in a
movie battle scene!” he cried, as he pushed the
player to one side. “Why don’t you
look where you’re going?”
Whitlow was too shaken and startled to reply.
“Go on. Help her up and
keep on with the retreat!” cried the director.
“That’s one of the best scenes of the picture.
Couldn’t have been better if we had rehearsed
it. Never mind the cat, Miss DeVere. Run
on. Paul, you land a couple of blows on Whitlow
and then follow Alice. Hold back, there you
Union men until we get this bit of by-play.”
Paul, nothing loath, gave Whitlow
two hard blows, and the latter dared not return them
for fear of spoiling the picture, but he muttered in
rage.
Then Paul, shaking his fist at the
Unionists, hurried on after Alice, and the retreat
continued. What had threatened to be a disaster,
or at least a spoiling of the scene, had turned out
well. It is often so in moving pictures.
In the remainder of the scene the
girls had little part. They had been driven from
their home, and, presumably, were taken in by friends.
The rest of the scenes showed the Union soldiers making
merry in the Southern town they had captured.
“My! That was a narrow
escape you had!” exclaimed Ruth, when she and
her sister were at liberty to return to the farmhouse.
“Were you hurt?”
“No; I strained one arm just
a little. But it will make a good scene, so Russ
said.”
“Too good too realistic!”
declared Paul. “When I get a chance at that
Whitlow ”
“Please don’t do anything!”
begged Alice. “It wasn’t really his
fault. If I hadn’t had the cat ”
“It was his fault for pushing
himself to the front the way he did,” said the
young actor. “Only the best riders were
picked to lead the charge. He might have known
he couldn’t control his horse in an emergency.
That’s where he was at fault.”
“He is a poor rider,”
commented Estelle. “But you showed rare
good sense, Alice, in acting as you did. A horse
will not step on a person if he can possibly avoid
it. Mr. Whitlow’s horse was better than
he was.”
“Just the same, I got in two
good punches!” chuckled Paul, “and he
didn’t dare hit back.”
“He may make trouble for you later,” Alice
said.
“Oh, I’m not worrying about that.
I’m satisfied.”
There was a spirited battle scene
later in the day between the Union and Confederate
forces; the latter endeavoring to retake the village.
A Confederate battery in a distant
town was sent for, and the Union position was shelled.
But as by this time the Union cannon had come up and
were entrenched in the town, an artillery duel ensued.
Views were shown of the Union guns
being manned by the men, who wore bloody cloths around
their foreheads and who worked hard serving the cannon.
Real powder was used, but no balls, of course, and
now and then a man would fall dead at his gun.
Similar views with another camera
were taken of the Confederate guns and the scenes
alternated on the screen afterward, creating a big
sensation.
Then came an attack of the Confederate
infantry under cover of the Southern battery.
This was spirited, detachments of men rushing forward,
firing and then seeking what cover they could.
At times a man would roll over, his gun dropping,
sometimes several would drop at the same time.
These were those who were detailed to be shot.
The Unionists replied with a counter
charge, and for a time the battle waged fiercely on
both sides. Then came a lull in the fighting,
with the Confederates ready to make a last charge
in a desperate attempt to recapture the town.
“I know what would make a good
scene,” said Maurice Whitlow, during the lull
when fresh films were being loaded into the cameras.
“If we had an airship now some of us Union fellows
could go for reinforcements in that. It would
make a dandy scene.”
“An airship!” cried Russ.
“Say! remember that these scenes are supposed
to have taken place in 1863. The only airships
then were those the inventors were dreaming about
or making in their laboratories. No airships
in Civil War plays! I guess not! Balloons,
maybe, but no airships.”
“More fighting! Camera!”
called Mr. Pertell, and again the spirited action
was under way. Cannon boomed; rifles spat fire
and smoke; men fought hand to hand, often rolling
over dead; riderless horses dashed here and there.
Now and then a man would narrowly escape being run
down. As it was, several were burned from being
too near the cannon or the guns, and one man’s
leg was broken in a fall from his horse.
But it was part of the game, and no
one seemed to mind. A real hospital was set up
at Oak Farm, not a mere shell of a building, and here
the injured, as well as those who simulated injury,
were attended.
Ruth and some of the women made up
as nurses, though this was not the big scene in which
Ruth and Alice were to take part.
“Confederates retreat!”
directed Mr. Pertell, and the Southern forces, having
been defeated, were forced to withdraw. Their
attempt to recapture their town had failed.
“Whew! that was hot work!”
cried Paul, as he came back to the farmhouse, having
played his part as a Confederate soldier.
“It certainly was,” agreed
Mr. DeVere, who had been the directing Union General.
Now that the “war” was over Northerners
and Southerners mingled together in friendly converse,
their differences forgotten.
“I just can’t bear the
smell of powder!” complained Miss Dixon.
“I wish I had my salts.”
“I’ll get them for you,
dear,” offered Miss Pennington. “I’m
going up to our rooms.” The former vaudeville
actresses, with Ruth, Alice, and some of the others,
were resting on the farmhouse porch.
Miss Dixon smelled the salts and declared
she felt much better.
“There’s to be a dance
in the village to-night,” Paul remarked at the
supper table.
“Let’s go!” proposed Alice.
“Will you take me, Paul?”
“Of course I will.”
“May I have the pleasure?” asked Russ,
of Ruth.
“Why, yes, if the rest go.”
“We’ll all go!”
chimed in Miss Dixon. “Some of the extra
men are good dancers. They proved it in the ballroom
scene the other day. We can get a man, Pearl.”
“All right, my dear, just as you say.”
The little party was soon arranged.
“Estelle might like to go,” suggested
Alice.
“I’ll go to ask her,”
offered Ruth, for Miss Brown had quit the supper table
early and gone to her room.
As Ruth mounted the stairs she heard
Miss Dixon and Miss Pennington talking in the hall
outside their rooms.
“I can’t see where it can be,” Miss
Dixon was saying.
“It was on your dresser when
I went up for the salts,” said her chum.
“Are you sure you didn’t take it after
that?”
“Positive! It’s gone that’s
all there is to it.”
“What’s gone?” asked Ruth.
“One of my rings,” was
Miss Dixon’s answer. “I left it on
my dresser and my door was open. It was there
when I went down to supper, and we were all at the
table together ”
“Except Estelle Brown!” said Miss Pennington
quickly.