The Moving Picture Girls at Rocky Ranch

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"For my camera!" he answered, shouting so as to be heard above the noise
of the wind. "I'm going to film this--too good a chance to lose."

"But you--you may be hurt!" she faltered.

"I'll take a chance," he replied, as he turned into the house.

Into the cyclone cellar rushed the frightened members of the film
company, as well as the farmer's family and helpers. The wind was
howling and shrieking, and several crashes told of further damage being
done to the buildings.

Russ, in spite of the commands of Mr. Pertell, set up his camera to get
pictures of a cyclone in actual operation. The bending, and in some
cases breaking, trees showed the great force of the wind, and the
unroofing and demolishing of small outbuildings gave further evidence of
the power of the storm.

Russ took his position in an open spot, where he would be in less
danger, and got picture after picture, showing the retreat into the
underground place of refuge.

The wind was so strong that he had to force the legs of his camera
tripod deep into the earth to prevent the apparatus from being blown
over.

With a crash the roof of one of the smaller barns was sent sailing far
away in the air, and Russ got a fine view of this, though he narrowly
escaped being hit by a piece of wood.

"Russ, come in here!" called Mr. Pertell, through a crack in the trap
door of the cyclone cellar. "I forbid you to risk your life any
further."

"Just a minute!" begged the operator.

"Please come!" cried Ruth.

"All right," he answered, and catching up his camera he took his place
in the cellar. And then, as suddenly as it had come up, the wind storm
died away. The sullen black and yellow clouds passed onward, and the sun
came out. Those in the cellar emerged.

"Well, it might have been worse," the farmer said, as he looked about.
Considerable damage had been done, but his place, and that of his
neighbor, were out of the direct path of the cyclone, so the larger
buildings escaped. No one was hurt and after the excitement Russ went
about, making views of the demolished places, and of the standing grain,
which had been blown almost flat.

"I don't believe I'd like to live in Kansas," said Ruth as she
re-arranged her hair, tossed about by the wind.

"Nor I," laughed Alice, in a similar plight.

"Oh, we get used to it," remarked the farmer, with a laugh. Yet how he
could laugh as he surveyed the ruins of his buildings was rather
strange. "We don't get a 'twister' every day," he went on, "and we're
glad when we escape alive. A few shacks more or less don't matter. We
count on that. I'm sorry you folks got such a bad opinion of Kansas,
though."

"Well, we'll give her a chance to redeem herself," said Mr. Pertell. "I
guess we'll have to change some of our plans."

"Oh, don't let this storm hinder you," urged the farmer. "We won't have
another in a couple of years. Once a cyclone sweeps over a place we feel
relieved. It doesn't often pay a return visit."

He and his men were soon busy taking an account of the damage done
which, fortunately, was not as great as seemed at first. One cow had
been killed, but the farmer remarked, philosophically, that anyhow he
was to have sent her to the butcher shortly.

There was a little delay in making the moving pictures, but finally the
work of getting out the films was under way, and, if anything, the storm
rendered them more effective. Russ was able to work in the views he took
of the cyclone, and altogether the drama that was made in Kansas was
quite a success.

Once again the players were on their way, and this time they were not to
stop until they reached Rocky Ranch, unless something occurred to make
it necessary.

The remainder of the trip was uneventful, if we may except a slight
accident by which the train was derailed. No one was hurt, however, and
it gave Russ a chance to make a little film.

Then, late one afternoon, the party of moving picture players with their
properties and baggage reached the station of Altmore, the nearest
railroad point to Rocky Ranch. The station was little more than a water
tank, and there was not much of a town.

"Oh, what a dreary place!" complained Miss Pennington, as she and her
friend Miss Dixon surveyed the scene.

"The end of nowhere," agreed the other. "We shall die of loneliness
here."

"I guess it will be lively enough for you out at the ranch," said Mr.
Pertell. "But I don't understand why the wagons aren't here to meet us."

"There's something coming down the road," said Russ, pointing to a cloud
of dust.

"That's so," agreed the manager.

The dust cloud drew nearer, and then from the center of it could be
heard an excited shouting and yelling, and the galloping of horses.
Added to these were the sharp reports of revolvers.

"Something has happened!" cried Mr. Sneed.

"Something _is_ happening!" corrected Paul, while Mr. Bunn looked about
for a safe retreat.

"Hi! Yi!" were the yells coming from the dust cloud, as the shooting
increased. "Hi! Yi!"

"It's an Indian attack!" gasped Miss Pennington. "Oh, where can we
hide?"

CHAPTER XII

SUSPICIONS

On came that rushing, swirling, swaying dust-cloud, and out of it
continued to come those nerve-racking shouts, yells and shrill screams,
accompanied by a fusillade of pistol shots.

"Can anything have occurred to gain us the anger of any of the
inhabitants of this place?" asked Mr. DeVere, as he looked about
apprehensively, and then at his daughters.

"It sounds like a lot of cowboys," spoke Alice. "At least I've read
that's how they act when they paint the town red."

"Oh, Alice!" cried Ruth. "What language!"

"I used it merely in the technical sense," was the retort. "I believe
they do not actually use red paint."

"Oh, what shall we do? What shall we do?" cried Miss Pennington.

"I'm going back to New York at once!" sobbed Miss Dixon. "Make that
train come back!" she cried to the lone station agent, who, with a set
grin on his face, was looking alternately from the group of picture
players to the approaching dust cloud that concealed so many weird
noises.

But the train was far down the track.

"We must do something!" insisted Mr. Sneed, nervously pacing up and
down. "We men must organize and protect the ladies. I think we had
better get inside the station and try to hold it against the savages.
Pop, you have some guns in the baggage; have you not?"

"Yep!" answered the property man; "but they ain't loaded, and before we
could git 'em out those fellers will be here."

"Well, we must protect the ladies at any cost!" insisted Mr. Sneed.
"Come with us, we will protect you!" he shouted as he hurried inside the
little shed that answered for the station. Probably he wanted to go
first to prepare the place for the others. At any rate he was first
inside.

"Whoop-ee!"

"Ki-yi!"

"Rah!"

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

That is the way it sounded. The noise grew louder. The dust-cloud was at
the station now. And then, with a fusillade of shots that was well-nigh
deafening, the cause of it all came to a sudden stop.

The dust settled and blew away. The cloud parted to reveal several
wagons drawn by small but muscular horses. Surrounding the vehicles were
half a score of cowboys of the regulation type, save that they did not
wear the "chaps," or sheepskin breeches, so often seen in moving picture
depictions of the "wild west." Probably the weather was too hot for
them, or these cowboys may have gotten rid of them because the garments
figured so often in the "movies."

"Cowboys!" cried Russ, with a laugh. "And we thought they were going to
attack us!"

"It's one on us, all right," spoke Paul.

"But I have often read of cowboys going on a--on a rampage, I believe it
is called--or is it stampede?" asked Miss Dixon, as she stood behind
Paul.

"Rampage is right," he informed her.

"Well, maybe that's what they're on now, and they will shoot us after
all," she resumed. "Oh, there's one looking right at me!" and she
covered her face with her be-ringed hands.

"Probably he hasn't seen a pretty girl in a long time," said Paul, for
Miss Dixon was pretty, in a way.

"Oh!" she exclaimed again--and took down her hands.

"And one of them is loading his pistol!" cried Miss Pennington. "Oh,
dear!"

"I guess they'll have to load up all around after the shots they fired,"
laughed Russ. "I wonder what in the world it's all about, anyhow?"

He learned a moment later.

One of the cowboys, evidently the leader, rode his fiery little horse up
to the station platform, and taking off his broad-brimmed hat with a
flourish and a bow, asked:

"Is this the moving picture outfit?"

"It is," said Mr. Pertell.

"I reckoned that I'd read your brand right," the cowboy went on.
"Welcome to Rocky Ranch!"

"But where is it?" asked Alice, and then she blushed at her own
boldness, for the glance of the half-score of cowboys was instantly
drawn in her direction, and bold admiration shone in their eyes.

"It isn't far from here, Miss," was the answer. "It lies just over that
little rise. You can't see it. We've come to take you out there. That's
why we brung the wagons, and some of the boys thought they'd like to
ride in and see you, seein' as how the round-up is over and we ain't so
terrible rushed with work."

"We heard you coming," said Mr. Pertell. "Some of the ladies were a
little apprehensive."

"I don't quite get you," spoke the cowboy.

"I say some of the ladies were a bit timid on account of the firing."

"Oh, shucks! That ain't nothin'! The boys was feelin' a little bit
frisky, I reckon, and they maybe did let out a few whoops. But land love
you! Mustn't mind a little thing like that. Still, if it's goin' to
cause any uneasiness among the females, why I'll tell the boys to cut
out all----"

"Oh, no, really we don't mind it!" declared Alice, impulsively, and
again she blushed as the broadside of eyes was trained in her direction.

"Do be quiet!" whispered Ruth. "I don't know what they'll think of you,"
and she adjusted her dainty lace cuffs, brushing some engine cinders
from them.

"I don't care," Alice retorted, "if they're going to be cowboys let them
be natural."

The same thought must have been in the mind of Mr. Pertell, for he said:

"Don't put yourselves out on our account, gentlemen. We don't want you
to change your ways or customs just because we have come. We want to get
moving pictures of the ranch and the cowboys, and we want them true to
life. The ladies will soon get used to the firing. We have gone through
worse things than that."

"Well, I sure am glad to hear you say so," was the hearty response. "You
see it's jest plumb natural for a cow-puncher to shoot off his gun, and
it would come a bit hard to stop. But I reckon the boys has had enough
for to-day. Now, who's the boss of this outfit?"

"I guess I am," replied Mr. Pertell. "I'll introduce you to the
different ones when I get a chance. Just now I think we are all anxious
to get to the ranch."

"All right, jest as you say. My name is Batso--Pete Batso, and I'm
foreman of Rocky Ranch. The Circle and Dot is our brand--you can see it
on the ponies," and he showed on the flank of his mount a circle burned
in the hide--a circle in the center of which was a dot. Each ranch owner
brands, with a hot iron, all his cattle, that he may pick out his own
when they mix with another bunch at the grazing. Each ranch has a
different brand, and they consist of simple marks and symbols, each one
being properly registered in case of lawsuits.

"Now then," went on Foreman Pete, "if you're ready we'll start. The boys
will stow away your traps in one of the wagons, and if you'll
distribute yourselves in the other wagons we'll git along. I could have
brought horses for all of you, but I wasn't sure how many could ride."

"Very few of us do, I'm afraid," observed Mr. Pertell.

"But I'm going to learn!" exclaimed Alice, promptly, and this time, when
the eyes were turned toward her, she smiled back at the owners thereof.

"I'll be very pleased to show you how, Miss," declared the foreman, with
a low bow to the girl. Alice blushed, and Ruth looked annoyed; but Mr.
DeVere smiled indulgently. He understood Alice.

Trunks, valises and the various properties Pop Snooks had provided for
the different plays were put in the wagon and then in the other vehicles
the players themselves took their places.

"All ready?" asked Pete Batso.

"All ready," answered Mr. Pertell.

"Let her go!" cried the foreman, and the cavalcade started off to the
whooping and yelling accompaniment of the cowboys, though this time they
did not fire their revolvers.

The pace was fast. In fact, everything out in the West seemed to be
fast. No one walked who could, by any means, get a horse, and the
horses, or cow ponies, seemed to be always on the trot or gallop when
they were not standing still. A slow walk seemed to be the one thing
they could not do. Even the teams attached to the wagons were off at the
same fast pace.

It was a little breathless at first, but the players soon became used to
it, and liked it. The rapid motion made a cooling breeze.

Rocky Ranch was located in a fine part of the country. The land was
rolling, with occasional wide, level stretches. About two miles away was
a timber belt, through which ran a stream of good water, and about eight
miles to the west was a chain of hills, reaching finally into mountains,
with an occasional _mesa_, or flat, table-like, isolated hill.

The ranch owner, Mr. Haladay Norton, possessed many cattle, which roamed
about his broad acres. There were a number of ranch buildings, and
accommodations for all the players, as well as for the necessary help in
the line of cowboys. In fact, it was one of the largest and best ranches
in that part of the country, which is the reason Mr. Pertell selected it
for his purposes.

For some time, as the players rode along with the cowboy escort, they
saw no signs of habitation. Off in the distance were dark moving
bunches, that the foreman said were some of the Rocky Ranch cattle, and
farther off could be seen the foothills.

Then, as the dust blew away, and the cavalcade topped a little rise,
they all saw, nestled in a sort of hollow, or swale, a group of red
buildings.

"There you are!" cried Pete Batso, pointing with gloved hand toward the
collection. "That's Rocky Ranch, and I kin smell supper cookin' right
now."

"Some nose you got!" observed a blue-eyed cowboy riding close to the
wagon containing Alice and Ruth.

"That's all right, Bow Backus; but I kin, all the same," asserted Pete.
"We call him Bow Backus because he's got such crooked legs, from ridin'
a horse so much," the foreman explained in a low voice to Mr. DeVere,
who sat with his daughters. "Most every cow-puncher gets bow-legged
after a while, but Backus is the worst I ever see. You could almost roll
a barrel through him when he stands up. That feller next to him is Baldy
Johnson," he went on. "His head is like a billiard ball, or an ostrich
egg. He's tried all the hair restorers on the market; but they don't do
no good. He'll ask you if you ever heard of one he ain't tried, as soon
as he gets on speakin' terms with you."

"What odd characters," observed Ruth.

"Aren't they? But delightfully quaint--I like them!" her sister
exclaimed.

"Oh, so do I. It's so different from what we've seen. I know we shall
have fine times out here."

A little later the cowboy whom the foreman had designated as Baldy
Johnson, spurred up beside the wagon in which Mr. Bunn rode. The actor
had taken off his hat, and his rather thick and heavy hair was blown
about.

"Whoop-ee! Look at that!" cried Baldy, in evident admiration. "I say, no
offense, stranger," he went on, "but what brand do you use?"

"Brand?" queried the actor, much puzzled.

"Yes. What sort of stuff do you use on your hair? You've got a fine
bunch there. I'd like to get next. Look at me!" and he pulled off his
hat and showed a head shiny and bald.

"I--I don't use any," faltered Mr. Bunn, for he saw the cowboy taking a
revolver from its holster, and the actor evidently thought he was to be
"held up" then and there, and perhaps scalped.

"Too bad. I wish you did, and could tell me what to use," sighed Baldy,
and then, with a whoop he raised his gun in the air and fired.
Instantly all the other cowboys were doing the same thing, as their
horses broke into a fast gallop. Miss Pennington and Miss Dixon
screamed, but they need have had no fears, for it was but a repetition
of the scene at the station. The cow-punchers were merely celebrating
their return to the ranch.

"Glad to see you all," Mr. Norton, the owner, greeted them as he came
out to welcome the party. He had met Mr. Pertell in Chicago, where
arrangements for the use of the ranch had been made.

Introductions were soon over, and then, under the direction of Mrs.
Norton, who proved to be a motherly, home-like sort of person, the
ladies of the company were taken to their quarters, and the men shown to
theirs.

"You won't find marble halls and electric elevators here," laughed the
ranch owner. "In fact, everything's on the ground floor; but you'll find
some comforts. I want you to have a good time while you're here. You'll
find us a bit rough, perhaps; but you'll find us ready to do our best
for you."

"I'm sure of it," agreed Mr. Pertell, heartily.

The players had scarcely removed the dust of travel, and freshened
themselves, before the mellow notes of a gong sounded through the air,
and at the same time a strident voice cried;

"Glub leady! Glub leady!"

"What in the world is that?" asked Alice.

"That's the Chinese cook, Ling Foo, announcing that grub, or supper, is
ready," replied Mr. Norton, with a laugh. "This way to the dining room."

As the company, the members of which were to eat by themselves, filed
out, Russ, who was walking beside Mr. Pertell, saw a familiar looking
box on a bench.

"Look!" he exclaimed to the manager.

"A moving picture camera!" was the surprised comment. "Is that one of
yours left out by mistake?"

"No, mine are in the room with the other props."

"But that's a camera, sure enough, though the lens has been taken off. I
wonder how that got here," and he looked anxiously at the young
operator.

"I'll ask Mr. Norton," Russ volunteered, and, as the ranch proprietor
came along at that moment, Russ had his chance.

"That? Oh, that belongs to a new man I hired the other day," said the
ranchman.

"What sort of a man is he?" asked Mr. Pertell, suspiciously.

"Well, not as good a sort as I thought he was. He knows a little about
cow-punching; but not much. Still, I was short of help and had to put
him on."

"What--what does he do with that?" asked Russ, pointing to the camera
out on the bench.

"That? Oh he says that's an electric battery. He uses it for rheumatism;
but I haven't seen him work it yet. He said it was out of order, and
he's tinkering with it the last few days. Why?"

"Oh, I was just--just wondering," returned Russ, evasively.

Then, as he passed on to the dining room, he saw, through a window, a
man hurry up to the bench and remove the camera. Russ could not recall
ever having seen this man.

"There's something queer about this," said Mr. Pertell to his operator.
"What would a cowboy be doing with a moving picture camera?"

CHAPTER XIII

AT THE BRANDING

Russ did not answer for a moment, but kept on beside the manager through
the long corridor that led to the dining hall. Then, just as the two
entered the room, Russ said:

"I reckon, as they say out here--I reckon, Mr. Pertell, that you're
thinking the same thing I am."

"What's that, Russ?"

"That maybe those International fellows are still on our trail."

"That's what I do think, Russ. Though how they got out here ahead of us
is more than I can tell."

"It would be easy enough. They learned we were coming here, and just
took a short cut. We've been on the road quite a while."

"That must be it, Russ. But you say you had a glimpse of the fellow who
took the camera off the bench. You didn't know him; did you?"

"Never saw him before, as far as I could tell. But there are a lot of
camera operators nowadays, so that isn't strange. The International firm
could hire anyone and send him on here to try and steal some of the
scenes we're depending on. He could pose as a cowboy, too."

"Well, we'll just have to be on our guard, Russ. It won't do to let them
get ahead of us. There's too much at stake."

Nothing was said to the players of the suspicions of Russ and Mr.
Pertell. They wanted to wait and see what happened.

Though the meal at Rocky Ranch was served without any of the elegance
which would have been expected at a hotel, the food was of the best, and
there was plenty of it.

"Ah, again sauerkraut!" cried Mr. Switzer, as he saw a steaming dish
brought on the table, topped with smoking sausages. "Dot is fine alretty
yet!"

"Disgusting!" scoffed Miss Pennington, turning up a nose that in itself
showed a tendency to "tilt."

There was time, in the twilight that followed supper, for the players to
look about the buildings at Rocky Ranch. All the structures, as Mr.
Norton had said, were of only one story. There were broad verandas on
most of them and in comfortable chairs one could take one's ease in
delightful restfulness.

There was a bunk-house for the cowboys, and a separate living apartment
for the Chinese cook and his two assistants, for considerable food was
required at Rocky Ranch, especially with the advent of the film players.

The cowboys, their meal over, gathered in a group and looked curiously
at the visitors. The novelty of seeing the pretty girls and the
well-dressed men appealed to the rough but sterling chaps who had so
little to soften their hard lives.

Nearly every one of them smoked cigarettes, which they rolled skillfully
and quickly.

"Give us a song, Buster!" one of the cowboys called to a comrade. "Tune
up! Bring out that mouth organ, Necktie!"

"What odd names!" remarked Alice to Pete Batso, who constituted himself
a sort of guide to Ruth and her sister.

"They call Dick Jones 'Buster' because he's a good bronco trainer, or
buster," the foreman said. "And Necktie Harry got his handle because
he's so fussy about his ties. I'll wager he's got _three_, all
different," and the foreman seemed to think that a great number.

"You should see our Mr. Towne," laughed Paul, who had joined the girls.
"I guess he must have thirty!"

"Thirty!" cried Pete. "What is he--a wholesale dealer?"

"Pretty nearly," admitted Paul.

"Say, Pete!" called one of the cowboys, "can't some of them actor folks
do a song and dance?"

The foreman looked questioningly at Alice, with whom he was already on
friendly terms because of her happy frankness.

"I'm afraid that isn't in our line," she said.

"I'll do that little sketch I did with Miss Pennington and Miss Dixon,"
offered Paul, who had been in vaudeville. "I've got my banjo and----"

"Ki-yi, fellows! We're going to have a show!" yelled Bow Backus. "Come
on!" and he fired his revolver in the air.

Ruth jumped nervously.

"Here, cut that out!" ordered the foreman to the offending cowboy. "Save
your powder to mill the cattle."

"I begs your pardon, Miss," said the cowboy, humbly. "But I jest
couldn't help it--thinkin' we was goin' to have a little amusement. It's
been powerful dull out here lately. Nothin' to do but shoot the queue
off Ling Foo."

"Oh! you don't do that; do you?" gasped Ruth.

"Don't mind him, Miss," said the foreman, "he's jokin'."

Miss Pennington and Miss Dixon were only too willing to show their
talents to the appreciative audience of cowboys, and with Paul, who
played the banjo, they went through the little sketch, with a side porch
as a stage, and the setting sun as a spotlight.

There were ample sleeping quarters at Rocky Ranch, though the bedrooms
were rather of the camp, or bungalow, type. But there was hot and cold
water and this made up for the lack of many other things.

"Do you think you're going to like it here, Alice?" asked Ruth as they
sat in the room they were to share. Ruth was manicuring her nails, and
Alice was combing her hair.

"Like it? Of course I'm going to like it. Aren't you?"

"Well, it's--er--rather--rough," she hesitated.

"Oh, but it's all so real! There's no sham about anything. They take you
for just what you are worth out here, and not a cent more. There's no
sham!"

"No, that's true. But everything seems so--so different."

"I know--there isn't romance enough for you. You'd like a horseman to
wear a suit of armor, or come prancing up in a top hat and shiny boots.
But these men, in their rough clothes and on their scraggy-looking
ponies, can _ride_. I saw some of them just before supper. They can
ride like the wind and pull up so short that it's a wonder they don't
turn somersaults. I'm going to learn to ride that way."

"Alice, you're not!"

"Well, maybe not so well, of course," the younger girl admitted, as she
finished braiding her hair for the night. "But I'm going to learn. I'll
have to, anyhow, as I'm cast for a riding part in several scenes, and so
are you."

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