"No, sir!" cried Mr. Sneed. "No bears for me. I won't act with one. Why, he'd claw me to pieces!"

"Ah, no, Signor!" interrupted Tony. "Bruno he very gentle just-a like-a de little babe. He no hurt-a you, Signor."

"Well, I'm not going to take any chances," declared the "grouch." "This is too dangerous."

"Ha! I am not afraid!" cried Mr. Switzer. "I vill act mit der bear alretty yet," and to prove that he was not afraid he fed the big animal some pretzels, without which the German actor seldom went abroad.

And, a little later, Russ made a film, in which the bear was one of the central figures. Alice took part in it, and the simple little play made quite a hit when shown.

"You seem to have the happy faculty of making use of everything that comes your way—accidentally or not," remarked Mr. DeVere to Mr. Pertell, when the company was once more under way in the train.

"You have to in the moving picture business," chuckled Mr. Pertell. "That's the secret of success. You never can tell when something will go wrong with a play you have planned carefully and rehearsed well. So you must be ready to take advantage of every change in situation. Also, you must be ready to seize on every opportunity that comes your way."

"You certainly seized on that bear," agreed Mr. DeVere.

"I'm glad he wasn't a wild one," went on the manager. "I am sorry your daughters were frightened——"

"Oh, pray do not mention it," the actor said. "They are getting used to strange experiences in this moving picture work."

"And I want to tell you they are doing most excellently," the manager went on. "I have had many actresses of experience who could not do half as well as Miss Ruth and Miss Alice. I congratulate you!"

Little of moment occurred during the rest of the trip; that is, until the next stopping place was reached. This was at a place in Kansas where Mr. Pertell planned to have some farming operations shown as a background to a certain part in the big drama.

On the way a careful watch had been kept for the appearance of the spies, or camera operators, of the International company, but no trace of them had been seen.

There were no hotels in Fostoria, where the Kansas stop was made, and the company was accommodated at two farmhouses close together. A number of scenes were to be made, with these houses and outbuildings figuring in them.

"Isn't it nice here?" asked Alice as she and Ruth were in their room on the morning after their arrival, getting ready for breakfast.

"It does seem so," agreed the older girl, as she leaned over with her hair hanging in front of her while she combed it out.

"Such wide, open spaces," went on Alice. "Plenty of fresh air here."

"Too much!" laughed Ruth. "Grab that waist of mine; will you, Alice? It's going out of the window on the breeze."

Alice was just in time to prevent the garment from fluttering out of the room, for the breeze was certainly strong.

As the younger girl turned back to hand her sister the waist she exclaimed:

"Oh, what a queer looking cloud! And what a funny yellow light there is, all about. Look, Ruth."

"Isn't it?" agreed Ruth, as she coiled her hair on top of her head. "It looks like a storm."

Off in the west was a bank of yellowish clouds that seemed rolling and tumbling over and over in their eagerness to advance. At the same time there was a sobbing and moaning sound to the wind.

"Oh, Alice. I think there is going to be a terrible storm," gasped Ruth a moment later, suddenly realizingly that danger impended.

Indeed the wind was rising rapidly, and the clouds increased in size. Now confused shouts could be heard out in the farmyard, and some men were running about, rounding up a bunch of cows.

"What's the matter?" called Mr. Pertell, coming out on the side porch.

"Cyclone coming!" answered the proprietor of the farm. "It's going to be a bad one, too!"



CHAPTER XI

AT ROCKY RANCH

With a howl, a rush and a roar the storm was upon them. Never had the moving picture girls or their friends ever seen, heard or imagined such a violent wind.

The sky was overcast with yellowish clouds, edged with black, which were torn and twisted in swirling circles by the gale. The air itself seemed tinged with a sickly green that struck terror to the girls' hearts.

There was a crash that rose high above the howl of the wind, and someone called:

"There goes the roof off the corn crib!"

Inside the house there were confused shouts and calls. The house itself rocked and swayed.

"Oh, what shall we do?" sobbed Ruth.

"Let's go out, before it falls down on us," cried Alice.

Clinging to each other they made their way downstairs. Their father came after them, followed by other members of the moving picture company.

"Is—is there any safe place?" faltered Mr. Sneed, as he look anxiously about.

"The cyclone cellar," answered one of the farm men. "All hands had better take to that. We're out of the path of the worst of the 'twister,' but it's best to take no chances. To the cyclone cellar!"

"Where is it?" asked Mr. Bunn, looking around the room, as though the place of refuge were kept inside the house.

"There!" cried the man, pointing to a small mound of earth, in which was set a sort of trap door. "Go down in there!"

A number of farm hands, as well as members of the family, were making for this haven. It was a veritable cellar, covered over, and used for just such emergencies. A flight of steps led down into it.

"Where are you going, Russ?" cried Ruth, as she saw the young operator turn from the side of the porch where he had been standing.

"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."

"Well, then, I suppose I'll have to. But I hope I will get a gentle horse."

"Oh, Pete will see to that."

"Pete? Do you call him by his first name so soon?" asked Ruth rather shocked, as she shook out her robe, and ran a ribbon through the neck.

"Everyone calls him Pete; why shouldn't I?" laughed Alice. "He's awfully nice—and he's been married three times!"

"Did you ask him that?"

"No, he told me. He asked me if I'd ever been 'hooked up,' as he called it."

"Alice DeVere!"

"Well, I couldn't help it. He meant all right. He's old enough to be our father. Do you think daddy is quite well?" she asked, perhaps to change the subject.

"Yes, I think the pure air out here is doing him good. His throat seems much improved. Are those my slippers?" she asked, quickly, as Alice thrust her pink feet into a pair of worsted "tootsies."

"Indeed they are not. I just took these out of my trunk. There are yours under your bed."

"Oh, excuse me. I don't believe I shall need anyone to sing me to sleep to-night," and she yawned comfortably.

There were to be busy times at Rocky Ranch next day, for some cattle were to be branded, or marked with the hot iron to establish their ownership, and Mr. Pertell had decided to have some scenes of this, with his own players worked in as part of the action.

This had already been planned, and after breakfast there was a short rehearsal of the players, while the cowboys were getting ready for the branding.

"Now we're ready for you," announced Pete Batso, who was in charge of the cowboys. "Get your players in position. They're going to rope the first critter now."

The proper action for the scene was gone through by Ruth, Alice, Paul and Mr. Sneed, and then one of the cowboys "cut out," or separated from the rest, a young steer that had not yet been branded.

"Whoop-ee!" yelled the cow puncher as he hurled his lariat and pulled the animal to the ground. Other cowboys quickly threw their ropes around the fore and hind legs of the steer and then, with another rope around the head, the creature was stretched out helpless, ready for the application of the iron.



CHAPTER XIV

A WARNING

"Oh, doesn't it hurt them?" faltered Ruth, as creature after creature was branded.

"No, Miss, hardly at all," Pete Batso assured her. "You see they're used to being roped, and we don't throw them as hard as it looks, onless it's an ornery critter that wants to make trouble. And the hot iron doesn't go in deep. It just sort of crimples up the hair, same as you ladies frizzes your curls with a hot slate pencil—at least my second wife—no, it was my third—she used to curl hers that way."

Ruth had difficulty to keep from laughing.

The branding was almost over, and the taking of pictures was nearly at an end. Russ had obtained some good films, and the action was spirited.

"Here comes a bad one," announced the foreman, as the cow punchers cut out from the herd a big steer. "That's a vicious critter, all right!"

"Oh, is there any danger?" asked Alice, for she and Ruth had finished their work. Mr. Bunn and Paul were engaged in the final scenes, not far from the place of the branding.

"Oh, don't worry. That critter won't get away from the boys," the foreman assured her. "It's a steer that some of the other ranchmen around here tried to claim for theirs. They changed the brand by burnin' an arrow over our circle and dot. Now we've got to put our brand on again. The steer knows what's comin', I guess."

Indeed the animal did, for it resisted, for some time, the efforts of the cowboys to separate it from the rest of the bunch. But finally it was forced out into an open space, and there quickly roped and thrown.

"Lively now, boys!" called the foreman. "We've got to clear out of here right after this, and look after that bunch of critters by Sweetwater Brook. I hear the rustlers have been after them. So get a move on."

"What are rustlers?" asked Alice, who seldom let pass a chance to acquire information.

"Cattle stealers, Miss. Ornery, mean men who trade on the rights of others. But we'll snub 'em if we get hold of 'em!"

The branding of the big steer was quickly done and then the restraining ropes were cast off so that it might get up. With a deep bellow the animal sprang to its feet. It stood still for a moment and then, with a snort, it wheeled around and made straight for Mr. Bunn.

For a moment the veteran actor stood still. Fortunately, some little distance separated him from the steer. Otherwise he might have been impaled on its short horns.

"Run! Run!" cried Pete Batso. "Get out the way, and give the boys a chance to rope him!"

Mr. Bunn needed no second call. He sprang to one side, in time to avoid a sweep of the horns, and started to run. The steer, evidently connecting the actor with the recent branding, made after him, and then began a chase that might have resulted seriously.

"Stop him! Save me! Do something!" cried Mr. Bunn, as he raced about, keeping just ahead of the angry steer.

"Just a minute—we'll rope him!" cried the foreman. But the trouble was that the cowboys nearest the scene had just pulled their lariat from the branded beast and the ropes were not coiled in readiness for throwing. The foreman himself had left his at the ranch house.

On rushed Mr. Bunn. On came the steer, and only a little way behind the actor. The distance was lessening every second.

"He ought to be on a horse—then he wouldn't have any trouble," declared the foreman. "Lively there, Buster—get that critter!"

"Right away, Pete," was the answer as the cowboy coiled his rope for a throw. Then, galloping his pony up behind the steer, Buster threw the lariat over the head of the animal, and brought it with a thud to the ground.

"Oh, am I safe?" gasped Mr. Bunn as he sank down on some saddles that had been removed from the horses.

"You're all right now," Paul assured him. "But it certainly was a lively time while it lasted."

"That's so," agreed Russ, who had not deserted his camera. "But why didn't you run toward me while you were at it. I could have made better pictures then."

"Do you—do you mean to say you took a film of me running away from that—that cow?" panted Mr. Bunn, who had lost his tall silk hat early in the chase.

"Well, I just couldn't help it," confessed Russ. "It was too good to miss. I think I got most of it."

"Where's Mr. Pertell?" demanded Mr. Bunn, getting up quickly. "I want to see the manager at once."

"What's the trouble?" asked that gentleman, as he came up.

"I demand that you destroy that film of me being chase by a cow!" cried Mr. Bunn. "I shall be the laughing stock of all the moving picture theaters of the United States. I demand that that film be not shown. To be chased by a cow!"

"But it wasn't a cow, my friend," spoke the foreman. "It was a vicious steer and you might have been badly hurt if Buster hadn't roped it in time."

"Is that so?" asked Mr. Bunn.

"It sure is!"

"Well, er—then—perhaps after all, if it was as important as that, you may show the film," conceded the Shakespearean actor, who had a large idea of his own importance. "We might make it into some sort of a play like 'Quo Vadis?'" he went on.

"Hardly," said Mr. Pertell with a smile. "They didn't wear tall silk hats in those days. But I'll change the script of this play to conform to the chase. I'm glad you were not hurt, Mr. Bunn."

"So am I. I thought several times that I felt those horns in my back."

The vicious steer was held by the ropes until the company of players had left the scene. Then it was allowed to get up and join the rest of the bunch. By that time it seemed to have lost all desire to attack.

"Sometimes a steer will come for a person that isn't on horseback," explained Pete Batso. "You see, the cattle are so used to seeing mounted men that they can't get used to anyone afoot. You want to get your players mounted," he added to Mr. Pertell, who was a fair horseman, and who was on this occasion in the saddle.

"I guess I will," agreed the manager. "Some of the young ladies are quite anxious to try it, if you have some gentle mounts."

"Oh, I think I can fix them up. My boys will quarrel among themselves, though, for the privilege of giving lessons to 'em. You see we don't get much of ladies' society out here and we appreciate it so much the more."

"I see," laughed Mr. Pertell.

The next few days were given over to horseback practice on the part of all the members of the moving picture company save Mrs. Maguire. She declared she was too old to learn, and as she would not be required in mounted scenes she was excused. But her little grandchildren were provided with gentle ponies and taught how to sit in the saddle. Mr. DeVere had ridden in his youth, and the knack of it soon came back to him, though he was a trifle heavy. Paul took to it naturally, and Miss Pennington and Miss Dixon were soon able to hold their own, as was Ruth.

But Alice was the "star," according to Baldy Johnson, who insisted on being her instructor. She was an apt pupil, and he was a good and conscientious teacher. In less than a week Alice was very sure of herself in the saddle.

"Oh, it's simply great! It's wonderful!" she cried as she came back one day from a gallop, with red cheeks and eyes that sparkled with the light of health and life. "I wouldn't have missed it for anything!"

"I am glad you like it," said her father. "It is good exercise for you."

"I like it, too," declared Ruth, "but I'm not as keen for it as Alice is."

"Oh, I just love it!" cried the younger girl, enthusiastically.

"Now we'll begin some real Western scenes, since you can all ride fairly well," remarked Mr. Pertell.

"Fairly well—huh! She's a peach at it—that's what she is—a peach!" cried Baldy Johnson, with a look of admiration at his pupil. Alice blushed with delight.

During the days of horseback practice Mr. Pertell and Russ had been on the lookout for any signs of activity on the part of their rivals in the moving picture business; but nothing had happened. The man with the other camera seemed to have disappeared.

"Maybe they've given up," suggested Russ.

"I hope so," agreed Mr. Pertell.

A few days later several important scenes were to be filmed, and one evening Alice, who was to have a large share in the acting, had her horse saddled, and with Ruth and her father, accompanied by Baldy, set off for a little gallop.

"Let's go over to that mesa," suggested Alice, pointing to a big, elevated hill, standing boldly and abruptly upright in the midst of the plain.

"No, I wouldn't go there," said Baldy, flicking his horse with the reins. "That's a dangerous place, Miss. Best keep away."



CHAPTER XV

THE INDIAN RITES

Alice glanced curiously at the cowboy. There seemed to be a strange look on his face.

"What do you mean?" she asked, adding in a half-bantering tone: "Is it haunted?"

"Oh, Alice!" objected Ruth, shaking out her skirt so it would hang down a little longer, for the girls rode side-saddle.

"No, Miss, it ain't exactly haunted," replied Baldy. "But it ain't a safe place to go—least-ways, not all alone."

"But why?" persisted Alice.

"Because that's a sort of sacred place—at least some of the Indians from the reservation think so—and, though it's off their land, and really belongs to Mr. Norton, them redskins come over, once in a while, to hold some of their heathen rites on it."

"Oh, how interesting!" the girl cried. "I wonder if we couldn't see them? Do they do a snake dance, and things like that?"

"Well, yes, in a way," Baldy admitted. "But it ain't safe to go watch 'em. Them Indians are peculiar. They don't want strangers lookin' on, and more than once they've made trouble when outsiders tried to climb up there and watch. As I said, the Indians come from their reservation, which is several miles away, to that place for their ceremonies. And they come at odd times, so there's no tellin' when you might strike a body of 'em up on top there, pow-wowin' to beat the band, and yellin' fit to split your ears. So it's best to keep away."

"Are the Indians really dangerous?" asked Mr. DeVere.

"Well, I don't s'pose they'd actually scalp you," replied Baldy, slowly.

"Oh, how terrible!" exclaimed Ruth with a shiver.

"They ain't got no right to come off their reservation," went on the cowboy; "but they do it all the same. You see this place is pretty well out of the way, and by the time we could get troops here to drive 'em back, they'd probably be gone of their own accord, anyhow. So we sort of let 'em alone. They don't bother us, and we don't bother them. Just keep away from that hill, that's all, for it's so high you can't see the top of it unless you climb up, and there's no tellin' when the Indians come and go."

"I should like to see some of those rites, just the same," declared Alice.

"Oh, but you won't go there; will you?" begged Ruth. "Promise me you won't, my dear. Daddy, make her!"

"I won't go alone, I promise you that," laughed Alice.

"Of course with a party it might be all right," assented Baldy, "but even then the Indians act rather hostile."

"Mr. Pertell will be sure to want some moving pictures of the Indians, if he hears about them," said Mr. DeVere. "Better not tell him, or he might run into danger—or send Russ."

"Then we won't say a thing about it!" exclaimed Ruth, with such sudden energy that Alice laughed.

"Oh, no, we mustn't endanger Russ!" she said, mockingly.

"Alice!" exclaimed Ruth, with gentle dignity, her face the while being suffused with a burning blush. "I meant I didn't want anyone to run into danger."

"I understand, my dear. Oh, but isn't that sunset gorgeous?—to change the subject," and she laughed at the serious expression on Ruth's face.

The scene was indeed beautiful. The mesa seemed to be suffused by a purple glow, while, farther off, the foothills, from which it was separated by a level expanse, were in a golden haze. The mesa stood up boldly, almost like some giant toadstool, save that the stem was thicker. There was an overhang to the top, or table part, though, that carried out the resemblance.

"I should think that would be difficult of access," observed Mr. DeVere.

"There's an easy way up on the other side," returned Baldy. "The Indians always use that side. It's a narrow path to the top."

The cowboys, their work over for the day, were indulging in some of their pastimes—rough riding, feats in throwing the lariat, jumping, wrestling and the like.

"Don't you want to go with them?" asked Alice of their escort.

"No, Miss, I—I'd rather be with you," Baldy replied, simply, but he blushed even under his coat of tan.

"Now who's to blame?" asked Ruth in a low voice of her sister, as she regarded her with a quizzical smile.

"I can't help it if he likes me," murmured the younger girl.

In fact both Ruth and Alice were favorites with all the cowboys, who were always willing to perform any little service for them. The other members of the moving picture company, too, were well liked; but Ruth and Alice seemed to come first. Perhaps it was because they were both so natural and girlish, and took such an interest in the life and doings at Rocky Ranch.

Ruth and Alice were fast becoming adepts in the saddle. The other members of the company, too, soon felt more at home on the back of a horse, and Mr. Pertell allowed them to rehearse in the scenes where mounted action was necessary.

Mr. Bunn had one rather unlucky experience on a horse, and for some time after that he refused to mount a steed, even going to the length of threatening to resign if compelled to.

The "old school" actor was rather supercilious in his manner, and this was resented by some of the cowboys, who thought him "stuck up." They therefore planned a little joke on him. At least, it was a joke to them.

The horse Mr. Bunn had learned to ride was a steady-going beast that had outlived its frisky days, and plodded along just the pace that suited the actor. But there was, among the ranch animals, a "bucking bronco," who looked so much like Mr. Bunn's horse that even some of the cowboys had difficulty in telling them apart.

A bucking bronco, it might be explained, is a steed who by nature or training uses every means in its power to unseat its rider. The bucking consists in the horse leaping into the air, with all four feet off the ground, and coming down stiff-legged, jarring to a considerable degree the person in the saddle.

One day, just for a "joke," the bucking bronco was brought out for Mr. Bunn to ride, when a certain film was to be made. He did not notice that it was not his regular mount. The bronco was quiet and tractable enough until Mr. Bunn settled himself in the saddle, and then, just as Russ was about to make the film, the pony set off at a fast pace.

"Whoa, there! Whoa!" cried Mr. Bunn, trying to halt the beast, and not understanding what could have gotten into his usually quiet mount. "Whoa, there!"

"Give him a touch of the spur," called the mischievous cowboy.

Mr. Pertell did not know what to make of the actions of his actor, for the play called for nothing like that.

"Shall I get that?" asked Russ, and before the manager could answer the bronco began running around in a circle.

"Yes! Get it!" ordered Mr. Pertell. "We can change the play to work it in. It's too funny to lose."

"Whoa! Stop it! Somebody stop him! I'm getting dizzy!" cried Mr. Bunn, leaning forward and clasping his arms about the neck of the pony.

By accident he dug the spurs lightly into the side of the beast, and as this always made the animal buck, or leap up into the air, it now changed its tactics.

With legs held stiff it rose several feet, and came down hard. Mr. Bunn was bounced up, and would have been bounced off had he not had that neck grip. Again the bronco bucked.

"Oh stop him! Stop him!" cried the actor.

"Get every move of that, Russ!" called Mr. Pertell.

But there was not much more to get, for with the next buck Mr. Bunn's hold was loosened and away he shot, out of the saddle. Fortunately he landed on a pile of hay and was not hurt beyond a shaking up. But Russ got a good picture of the whole scene. The actor picked himself up, and without a word started for the ranch house. Probably he suspected the trick that had been played on him, and for some days after that he refused to mount a horse, so Mr. Pertell had to make some changes in his plans, as he did not care to antagonize Mr. Bunn by insisting on his taking part.

And when the actor did again get into the saddle, he had his horse branded on one hoof, as army horses are marked, so he could not again be deceived.

Life at Rocky Ranch was a delight to all the moving picture players, though there was plenty of hard work, too.

Of course it was impossible to keep from Mr. Pertell the story of the Indians and their rites on the mesa, and he determined, before he left the West, to get a film of them.

"But you'll have to be careful, Russ, how you go about it," he said.

"That's what I will," agreed the operator.

It was about a week after this that Russ, Paul, Alice, Ruth and Mr. DeVere were riding out toward the mesa to get some scenes in the foothills, the two girls, their father and Paul being scheduled to go through a little act by themselves.

As they passed under the shadow of the eminence Russ looked up and saw a thin wisp of smoke curling around the top.

"Look!" he exclaimed. "I wonder if the Indians can be there now, doing some of their snake ceremonies?"

"Let's have a look," suggested Paul. "We've got lots of time. I'd like to have a peep."

"I would too!" exclaimed Alice.

"Oh, Daddy, will it be safe?" asked Ruth, for she saw that her father seemed interested.

"There are so many of us, I think so," he replied. "We will try it, at all events. They can no more than tell us to go. I should very much like to see what they do, and perhaps I can get some of their weapons or musical instruments for my collection," for the actor had that fad. And then, though Ruth was a bit timid about it, they turned toward the elevated table land to see if the Indians were at their rites.



CHAPTER XVI

PRISONERS

"Russ, are you going to try to get a film?" asked Alice, as she saw the young operator examining his camera.

"I was thinking of it," he confessed. "I guess I've got film enough to get you people, and take about eight hundred feet of the Indians—that is, if they'll let us."

"Maybe we can make them believe the camera is some new kind of magic, that will help them better than some of their own," suggested Paul. "One of the cowboys was telling me the Indians come here to make magic or 'medicine' that they take back to the reservation with them, to ward off sickness, bring good crops, and the like."

"Well, don't run into danger, whatever you do," advised Mr. DeVere. "We'll just take a look, if we can, and come away."

"But I want a film," insisted Russ.

They were nearing the mesa. The smoke on top was seen to be growing thicker, but there were no other signs that the Indians were on top of the peculiar, table-like formation.

"Suppose they aren't there?" suggested Paul.

"Oh, don't come any of that Mr. Sneed business," laughed Russ. "Don't cross a bridge until you come to it. I guess they're there, all right."

"Who's that coming after us?" asked Ruth, as she turned in her saddle, and indicated an approaching horseman, who was coming on at a gallop. A cloud of dust almost hid him, and it could not be made out who he was.

A little later, as he drew nearer, however, he was seen to be Baldy Johnson. He waved his hat at them, his bald pate shining in the hot sun, and called out:

"Hold on! Where you goin'?"

"Up to the mesa," answered Russ. "The Indians are there, I think, and we want to see them. I want to get some pictures."

The two girls expected Baldy to make an objection, but he merely said:

"Well, I guess it'll be safe enough this time. I'll go along with you. There's only a small party of them up there now."

"Then you know the Indians are there?" asked Alice.

"Yes, we got word at the ranch last night that they were on the way for one of their regular pow-wows. One of the boys was out looking up some stray cattle and he seen 'em headin' for the mesa. But there wasn't many, so I guess it'll be safe. I'll go along," and he glanced significantly at the two big revolvers that hung from either hip.

"But can you spare the time?" asked Alice.

"Oh, yes, Miss. I'd make time, anyhow," and he smiled frankly at her. That was one nice feature of Baldy's admiration. It was so open and ingenuous that no one—not even Ruth—could take offense at it. "I'm on a little round-up of my own, looking for signs of rustlers, and I haven't any special office hours," he finished, laughingly. "So come along. I'll take you by the easiest path."

The ride around the mesa, to a point where it could be climbed, took nearly an hour. During that time the girls and the others cast curious glances at the top of the table-like elevation, but were not able to detect any signs of the redmen. The little pillar of smoke, too, disappeared.

"Now for some hard work; but take it as easy as you can," suggested Baldy, as they came to the trail that led up the slope.

"Oh, we can never get the horses up that," objected Ruth, as she looked at the elevation. "It's too steep."

"Just leave it to the ponies, Miss," responded Baldy. "They know how to make it easy for themselves and you. Leave it to them. I'll take the lead, and you follow me. Take it easy!"

It was not as difficult as it looked, once the horses were given free rein. Baldy's pony seemed to have traveled the trail before and, on inquiry, the girls learned that this was so.

"When I'm sure I'm not goin' to run into a bunch of redskins I often come up here," said the cowboy. "I can get a good view of the country from this elevation, when I'm trying to locate a strayed bunch of cattle."

"Isn't it lonesome here?" asked Ruth, as she looked about her, and up and down the trail. Indeed the scenery was wild and desolate, though imposing in its grandeur.

"Well, it ain't exactly the 'Great White Way' that Miss Pennington and Miss Dixon talk so much about," chuckled Baldy. "There ain't no skyscrapers except the mesa itself, and there's no electric lights."

"But I like it, just the same!" cried Alice, impulsively. "I think it's just great! This is the finest country in the world!"

"It sure is, Miss," agreed Baldy in a low voice. "The Lord didn't make a better," he added, reverently.

The trail became easier for a time, and then more difficult until, as they neared the top, the girls were almost ready to give up and go back. Mr. DeVere, too, was a little doubtful about continuing.

"Suppose they drive us back?" the actor asked. "We would never be able to negotiate a retreat safely down such a slope."

"Oh, I guess it's all right this time," said Baldy. "But if it wasn't that I'm sure there are only a few Indians here, I wouldn't have let you come. Keep on. I guess you'll be all right."

By dint of struggling the ponies covered the short remaining distance and, a little later, the party found itself on the summit. They were among a lot of stunted trees and straggling bushes, on top of the flat expanse that stood so high above the surrounding country.

"Oh, what a view!" cried Alice, as she looked off to the west, toward the foothills and mountains.

"Isn't it?" agreed Ruth. "I wouldn't have missed it for anything."

"But where are the Indians?" asked Russ, who was getting his moving picture machine ready for work.

"Oh, they're probably somewhere in the middle of the place," said Baldy. "It's about three miles across it, you know."

They gave the horses a breathing spell, and then started slowly across the table land. There was no smoke in sight now, and as far as could be told from observation, they were alone on the plateau.

"It's likely the Indians are getting ready to make their 'medicine,'" said Baldy. "Now leave everything to me. I can speak some of their lingo, so I'll do the talking. I'll tell 'em you have powerful 'medicine' in that picture machine of yours," he went on to Russ. "That may stop them from taking a notion to throw stones at it."

"Would they do that?" asked the young operator.

"Oh, they might—there's not much counting on what an Indian will do, especially at these ceremonies. But I'll fix it all right. Just leave it to me."

Though the top of the mesa was flat, it was only comparatively so. There were little hollows and ridges, and when the riders were down in some of the depressions they could not see very far ahead.

They kept on, becoming more and more impressed with the wonderful view. It was a new experience for the Easterners, and they appreciated it.

"I guess it's going to turn out a false alarm," Russ observed, as he shifted the weight of his camera.

"No, they're here," returned Baldy, in a low voice.

"How can you tell?" Alice asked.

"I can hear the stamping of their ponies. They're tethered just beyond there—past that clump of trees." He pointed as he spoke, and, at the same moment, from that direction came the whinny of a pony. It was answered by Baldy's horse.

"I thought so," said the cowboy, quietly. "They're here."

"Good enough!" declared Russ. "Mr. Pertell will be pleased to get this film."

"You haven't got it—yet," remarked Paul, significantly.

A little later they passed along a trail that led to a grove of small trees, where a score or more of Indian ponies were tied. But of the Indians themselves not a sign was to be seen.

"Where are they?" asked Alice.

"You'll soon find out," was Baldy's reply. "They're most likely in their huts. They'll mine out in a minute."

As he spoke they emerged from the clump of trees that served as a stable, and there, in an open space, were nearly a hundred rude huts, made of tree branches roughly twined together. Over some of them were cowhides, tanned with hair on, while others were covered with gaudy blankets.

"There's where they stay while the ceremonies are going on," spoke Baldy. "They're all in the huts now, probably, watching us."

He had hardly finished before there were loud cries, and from the huts poured a motley gathering of Indians. They were attired in very scant costumes—in fact, they were as near like the aborigines as is customary in these modern days. And most of them had, streaked on their faces and bodies, colored earth or fire-ashes. Crude, fierce, and rather terrifying were these painted Indians.

"Oh!" faltered Ruth, as the savages advanced toward them.

"Now don't be a bit skeered, Miss," said Baldy, calmly. "I'll palaver to 'em, and tell 'em we just come to pay 'em a visit."

One Indian, taller and better looking than any of the others, stepped out in advance and came close to the party of players, who had halted their horses.

He spoke in short, quick, guttural tones, and looked from one to the other, as if asking who was the spokesman.

"I'll talk to you," said Baldy, and then he lapsed into the Indian dialect. The two talked for a little while, and it was evident that some dispute was taking place.

At first, however, the voices were kept down, and each of the talkers was calm. Then something the Indian said seemed to annoy Baldy.

"Well, you just try it on, and see what happens!" cried the cowboy, hotly. "If you think we're afraid of you it's a big mistake," and, whether unconsciously or not, his hand slid toward the weapon on his right hip.

"What is the trouble? Are we not welcome here?" asked Mr. DeVere. "If so——"

"Oh, they don't so much mind our coming, as I told 'em we had rights here," replied Baldy. "But the trouble is they don't want us to go until their ceremonies are over. They say it will spoil the magic if we come and go so quickly, so they want to keep us here a couple of days."

"As prisoners?" asked Paul, quickly.

"That's about it," was the cowboy's laconic answer.



CHAPTER XVII

THE RESCUE

Ruth and Alice gasped convulsively, and then urged their horses nearer to their father's mount. Russ and Paul looked curiously, and a bit apprehensively, at each other. As for Baldy, he sat confronting the tall, thin Indian who had announced the ultimatum of his tribe.

"What are you going to do?" asked Russ of the cowboy.

"Will we have to stay here?" Paul wanted to know.

"Oh, that would be impossible," objected Mr. DeVere. "I would not allow my daughters to remain out over night."

Baldy moved uneasily in his saddle.

"I sort of got you into this trouble," he said, apologetically, "and I guess I'll have to get you out. We'll have a talk among ourselves," he went on. "Some of these fellows understand English, and it's just as well to be on the safe side."

Then, turning to the Indian, Baldy said:

"We go for pow-wow!"

"Ugh!" was the answer. The Indian then made a sign to his followers, at the same time calling something to them in a high-pitched voice.

"What is he saying?" asked Alice, as she and the others moved off to one side.

"He's postin' guard so we can't sneak off, and go down to the plain again," explained Baldy. "There's only one way off, and that's the way we came. He's going to guard that way."

"Oh!" cried Ruth, apprehensively.

"Now don't you go to worrying, little girl," said Baldy, quickly. "This will come out all right. I got you into this mess, and I'll get you out. There's a bigger band of the Injuns than I calculated on, though," he added, ruefully, "and they're not in the best of tempers, either."

"Is—er—is there any real danger?" ventured Mr. DeVere.

"No, I'm sure they won't do anything rash, even if they insist on keepin' us here until their ceremonies are over," replied Baldy. "But they won't do that, if I can help it."

Some of the Indians went back into the huts, where they had apparently been resting in preparation for the coming rites. Others moved off toward the grove where the horses were tethered, evidently to mount guard against the escape of their prisoners. Then the chief, if such he was, went into a hut that stood apart from the others.

Baldy led his friends to a secluded place, under the shade of a clump of stunted trees, and then, after carefully looking about, to make sure there were no listening Indians, he said:

"Now we'll consider what's best to do!"

"Would it be safe to do anything—I mean to try to get away by force?" asked Mr. DeVere. "I certainly don't like the idea of being held a prisoner by these Indians."

"Neither do I," agreed Baldy. "It's the first time one of 'em ever got the best of me, and I don't like it. Now I tried to talk strong to him at first, and told him his crowd would get in all kinds of hot water if they held us here."

"What did he say?" asked Russ.

"He didn't seem much impressed by my line of talk," confessed Baldy. "He said this ceremony was one of the most important the tribe ever held, and that it would certainly spoil it to have us go away now. He doesn't want us here, and he says we mustn't be present at the time the magic medicine is made; but, at the same time, he doesn't want us to go."

"That's strange," observed Alice.

"Well, you can't tell much about Indians," Baldy went on. "They are mostly queer critters, anyhow. Now, the question is: Do you want me to go out there, and shoot 'em up, and——"

"No, never!" cried Ruth. "You—you might be hurt."

"Well, yes, there's a possibility of that," returned Baldy, calmly. "But I reckon I could hurt a few of them at the same time. But it's bound to muss things up any way you look at it. Though I might be able to clear out enough of 'em so the others wouldn't bother you. I'm a pretty good shot."

"No, we must not think of that," declared Mr. DeVere, positively. "That is too much of a risk for you, my dear sir. We will try some other line of argument. If we make it plain that they will be punished for detaining us perhaps they will think better of it."

"Well, I'll give them another line of strong talk, and see what comes of it," agreed Baldy. "I'll point out the error of their ways to them."

"Tell them we can't—we simply can't—stay all night," said Ruth, nervously pulling at her gauntlets. "Why, where could we sleep, and what could we eat?"

"We brought along some sandwiches," Alice reminded her.

"Yes, my dear, I know. But hardly enough, and as for sleeping with those—those Indians about—— Oh, I couldn't shut my eyes all night. Please, Baldy, tell them we must be let go."

"I'll do my best," he responded. "But old Jumping Horse—that's the chief—said we could have some huts off by ourselves, and they'll feed us—such fodder as they've got."

"It is an unfortunate situation," said Mr. DeVere, "but it cannot be helped. We must make the best of it, and, after all, I suppose there is really no great danger."

"None at all, I guess, if we do as they say," agreed Baldy. "But I don't fancy being kept here a week."

"Do their ceremonies last as long as that?" asked Russ.

"Often longer. Well, I'll go see what I can do, and then I'll come back and report. Here, you keep one of those," and he handed a big revolver to Paul.

"Don't you dare hold that close to me!" cried Ruth, apprehensively.

The result of Baldy's talk with Jumping Horse was not encouraging, as the cowboy reported later.

"You can't argue with an Indian," he said, gloomily. "He can only see his side of the game."

"Then he refuses to let us go?" asked Mr. DeVere.

"That's about it," was the moody answer. "He says we won't be bothered; that we can have some huts to ourselves, away from the others, and that we can have the best food they've got. Fortunately they came prepared for a feast and as they've got mostly store victuals it may not be so bad."

"Then you advise submitting quietly?" asked Mr. DeVere.

"For a time, anyhow," replied Baldy. "But I haven't played all my hand yet. I'm going to try and get away, or else bring a rescue party from the ranch."

"How can you do that?" asked Russ.

"Well, I've got to plan it out. Now, of course I'm willin', as it was my fault for bringin' you here—I'm willin' to go out and try to break through their line of guards, if you say so."

"Oh, no!" cried Alice. "Besides, it was as much our doing in coming here as it was yours."

"Certainly," agreed her father. "Don't think of it, my dear sir! Don't think of it!"

"Then we'll be as satisfied as we can," concluded Baldy. "And maybe to-night, when they're at their ceremonies, we can sneak off."

They agreed this was the best plan under the circumstances, and a little later they were led by two or three Indians to a collection of huts that seemed larger and cleaner than the others. A supply of food was also brought for the prisoners, and, as it consisted largely of canned stuff, that was clean also.

The huts, which were really quite substantial wigwams, were apportioned among the prisoners. Ruth and Alice received the largest and best one, and their father had one by himself next to theirs. Paul and Russ "bunked" together, for Baldy said he wanted to be free to come and go as he liked.

"I'll have to be on the watch," he said.

"What's that big open place over there?" asked Russ, pointing to a level, sandy circle surrounded by small huts.

"That's where they have all the rites and ceremonies," explained Baldy.

"Then that's just what I want!" went on Russ, with enthusiasm. "I can poke a hole in the side of our hut, stick the lens of the camera through, and get moving pictures of the whole business. That will be great!"

"There is nothing but what seems to have some compensations," observed Alice, in her droll way.

Left to themselves, though doubtless they were closely watched by the Indians, the prisoners made ready for their stay. They had brought along a number of blankets, for they were to have been used in taking pictures of the scenes of one of the dramas. Now the coverings would come in very nicely if they were obliged to remain all night.

"Well, let's eat," suggested Baldy. "It's most noon, and I'm hungry."

"So am I," confessed Alice.

It was not a very "nice" meal, but it was very satisfying, and certainly everyone had a good appetite.

The tin cans served as dishes, and their fingers were knives and forks. Baldy carried on his saddle a simple camping outfit, one item of which was a coffee pot, with a supply of the ground berry, and, making a little fire, he soon had some prepared. They all felt better after that.

Directly after noon the Indians went through some of their ceremonies. They circled about the sandy place, to the accompaniment of wild and weird yells, cavorting and dancing, weaving in and out and shaking all manner of noisemaking contrivances. A fire was built in the center of the circle, and there appeared to be some sort of sacrifice going on at a rude stone altar.

Russ, with his camera concealed in a hut, got a fine series of moving pictures of all that went on. Then came more dancing and wild howling, all meaningless to the prisoners, but doubtless of moment to the Indians.

"Oh, that one is doing a regular hesitation waltz!" cried Alice, pointing to a tall, lank brave.

"How can you say such things—at a time like this?" Ruth demanded.

"Why shouldn't I? Besides I've got an idea for a new step in the hesitation from him. I'm going to practice as soon as I get back."

All that afternoon the ceremonies kept up. At one time it seemed as though the Indians would go wild, so frenzied did they become, and Baldy thought it would be a good chance to see if he could not get past the guards with his friends.

But when he reached the trail that led off the mesa he found it closely guarded, and he was ordered back.

"No use," he said on his return. "We'll have to wait until night."

But at night he succeeded no better, for though the ceremonies were kept up by the light of many camp fires, the line of Indians on guard was not broken, and it was impossible to get through it.

"We'll just have to stay," announced Baldy.

Ruth cried a little, and even Alice felt a bit gloomy as the shadows settled down when the watch fires died out. But then their father was with them, and he did not seem at all despondent, so their spirits rose.

"This experience will be something to talk about afterward," Mr. DeVere told them.

During the night, when all seemed quiet, Baldy made another attempt, hoping he and his friends could get away, by leaving their horses behind. But the guards were on the alert.

The night was not a comfortable one, and no one slept much; but the huts and blankets were a protection. The Indians did not come near their prisoners, and in the morning they furnished them food.

Baldy tried again to argue with Jumping Horse and some of the others, but it was useless. To all the cowboy's arguments, and even threats, the reply was that if the prisoners left before the ceremonies were over all the medicine and magic would be spoiled.

"We'll have to stay, then," sighed Mr. DeVere. "But it will be out of the question to remain a week—and you say that it will take that long?"

"Yes," answered Baldy.

"Help may come from the ranch before then," suggested Russ.

"It will if I can do what I have in mind," declared Baldy, as he watched a column of smoke ascending from the fire he had made to cook food for his friends. "I've just thought of something. I can send up a smoke signal. If Bow Backus at the ranch sees it he will know it means we're here, and in trouble."

"How can you make a smoke signal?" asked Alice.

"Well, you use wet wood, to make a black smoke, and then you hold a blanket over the fire a moment. When you take it away up goes a single puff of smoke. Then you swing the blanket over the fire again, and cut off the smoke. In that way you can make a number of separate puffs.

"Bow and I have a signal code. If I can only get him to see this we'll be all right."

"It's worth trying," said Paul.

That day the Indians went at their ceremonies harder than ever. They were in a perfect frenzy, but the vigilance of the guards never relaxed. There was no chance to escape.

Russ, having nothing better to do, got many fine moving pictures through the hole in the hut, and later the films made a great hit in New York. It was the first time these peculiar rites had ever been shown on the screen. In fact, few white men had witnessed them.

Baldy was waiting for a chance to send up his smoke signal, but it was not until afternoon that he got it. Then, most of the Indians having gone off to a distant part of the mesa, for some new ceremony, Baldy made a thick smudge and he and Paul, holding a blanket over it, sent up a number of "puff balls." Russ took pictures of the signalling.

"There! If Bow only sees that he'll come runnin'!" Baldy cried.

But the smoke signal was the cause of considerable trouble to our friends. Hardly had Paul and Baldy finished sending the message, which they could only hope was seen and read at Rocky Ranch, than some of the Indians came back. They had noted what had been done, and they were very angry.

With furious gestures they rushed on the prisoners and for a moment it looked as though there would be trouble. Baldy and Paul stood steadily, revolvers in hand. But there was no need to use them. Jumping Horse rushed up, and drove back his men. Then he said something angrily to Baldy.

"What is it?" asked Mr. DeVere.

"He says we shall be punished for making the smoke," was the answer. "I don't know whether they think it's a signal or not; but it seems to have been contrary to some of their ceremonies. We'll have to sit tight and watch."

Muttering angrily, Jumping Horse went back to join the other Indians, and they seemed to hold a conference regarding the prisoners. Nothing was done immediately, however, in the way of punishment, and a little later the ceremonies went on.

It was growing dusk, and the howling and yelling of the Indians punctuated their caperings about a blood-red post in the center of the sandy circle. Then, suddenly, there was a fusillade of pistol shots from the direction of the trail, and at the same time the unmistakable shouts of cowboys.

"They're here!" yelled Baldy, jumping to his feet and firing his own revolver in the air. "To the rescue, boys! Here we be!"



CHAPTER XVIII

A RUSH OF STEERS

Russ came bounding from his hut, carrying with him the moving picture camera, its three legs trailing behind him.

"Come on, girls!" he cried, as he saw Ruth and Alice peering from their shelter. "It's all right!"

"Oh, what does it mean?" asked Ruth. "Where's daddy?"

"Here I am," answered Mr. DeVere.

"It's all right!" yelled Baldy, capering about, and vainly clicking his revolvers, for he had fired all the cartridges in the cylinders. "It's the boys from Rocky Ranch! They saw my signal and came to the rescue!"

"That you, Baldy?" shouted a voice out of the cloud of powder smoke that hid, for a moment, the cowboys from view.

"That's who it is, Bow!" was the answer. "Could you read my smoke?"

"I sure could, and we come a-runnin'. Are the girls safe?"

"Everybody's safe. But look out for yourself, these Indians are sort of riled at us."

From the group of Indians who had left their ceremonies, to rush toward the huts of their erstwhile captives at the sound of the shots and cheers, came deep-voiced mutterings. They were gathered in a group around their chief, Jumping Horse.

"Look out for 'em!" yelled Baldy.

"Don't worry," advised Pete Batso. "They haven't any weapons."

"Just my luck," groaned Russ, setting up his camera.

"What's the matter?" asked Alice, who now felt no alarm.

"Too dark to get a picture, and I had a little bit of film left on a reel. I might have got a dandy rescue scene; but now it's all up. Too bad!"

"Never mind, you got some good ones," Ruth comforted him.

"Yes, but that would have completed the picture—'Captured By the Indians.' However, it can't be helped. Maybe after all this excitement is over we can get the Indians to pose for us. I'll tell Mr. Pertell about it."

The rescuing cowboys had drawn rein in front of the lined-up Indians, near the huts of the captives. There was a goodly squad of cow punchers, and they seemed delighted to have been of some service to the picture players. Some of them were reloading their big revolvers, for they, like Baldy, in the excess of their spirits, had fired off every chamber. But no one had been hurt, for they merely shot in the air.

"Well, you got here, boys, I see," remarked Baldy.

"That's what we did!" cried Necktie Harry, who was flecking some dust off the end of his gaudy scarf.

"We saw your smoke talk about an hour ago," explained Bow. "First I was sort of puzzled over it. I thought maybe it was the Indians, for I calculate it was about time for them to be at their high jinks.

"Then I caught the private signal you and me made up, and I says: 'By Heck! Baldy's in trouble! Wasn't that what I said, Pete?" and he appealed to the foreman.

"That's what it was, Bow. Them's the very words you used. Says you: 'Baldy's in trouble,' says you. And then we come on the run."

"And we calculated we'd find the young ladies, and the rest of the outfit here, too," went on Bow. "When they didn't come back to the ranch last night we was all alarmed, and went off to the place they were goin' to make pictures. But there wasn't a sign of any trail there, and we didn't know what to think. We never dreamed you'd be on the mesa," he added to Mr. DeVere.

"I suppose we never should have come," admitted the actor. "It was on a sudden impulse, and sorry enough we were for it, too."

"Oh, but it all came out right," said Alice, trying to make herself look a little more presentable, for a night and more than a day spent as a prisoner in a little hut was not conducive to neatness of attire.

"And Russ got some fine pictures of the ceremonies," added Ruth.

"That's good!" cried Pete Batso. "When we started for here your manager said he reckoned his operator would have made good use of his time."

"We didn't know just what shape you was in," said Buster Jones, "only Baldy's message didn't say any of you was killed, so we hoped for the best."

"Yes, it might have been worse," agreed Baldy. "Well, now, let's travel. Did you have any trouble gettin' past their guard line, boys?" he asked.

"Nary a trouble," replied Pete. "We just rushed through before they knew what was up."

The captives were soon in the saddle again, and escorted by the cowboys made for the trail down to the plain. There were more angry mutterings from the Indians, but they made no effort to stop the retreat. Perhaps they realized it would be useless.

It was no easy matter descending the steep trail, but it was accomplished without mishap, and finally Rocky Ranch was reached. And it is needless to say that the captives were made welcome.

A little later, in clean garments, and after a good meal, they told of their adventures. The girls were quite the heroines of the hour, and held the center of the stage, rather to the discomfiture of Miss Pennington and Miss Dixon, who were in the habit of attracting all the attention they could.

"There's one picture I want very much to get," said Mr. Pertell, as he sat with his players in the living room of their quarters one evening.

"Name it," declared Mr. Norton, the owner, "and, if it's possible, I'll see that you get it."

"A cattle stampede," was the answer. "I want to show the steers in a mad rush, and the cowboys trying to stop them. But I don't suppose you can tell when one is going to happen."

"No, you can't tell when a real one is about to take place," the owner admitted, "but maybe we could fix up one for you."

"How do you mean?"

"Why, I mean we could take a bunch of steers, start them to running, and then the boys could come out and try to get them milling—that is, going around in a circle. That stops a stampede, usually. We could do that for you."

"And will you?" asked the manager, eagerly.

"Why, yes, if you want it. I'll speak to Pete Batso. He's had more experience than I have. We'll get up a stampede for you."

The cowboys entered into the spirit of the affair once it was mentioned to them, and arrangements were at once made.

As there might be some little danger of a refractory steer breaking loose and injuring someone, the ladies of the company only took part in the preliminary scenes.

These included the beginning of the drama in which the stampede was to play a principal part. It involved a little love story, and the lover, Paul, was afterward to be in peril through the cattle stampede.

The first part went off all right, Ruth and Alice acquitting themselves well in their characterizations. Their riding had improved very much, and they were sure of themselves in the saddle.

"Now, ladies," said Pete Batso, who was managing the cowboy end of the affair, "if you'll get over on that little mound you can see all that goes on and you won't be in any danger. We're goin' to stampede the cattle now!"

"Whoop-ee!" yelled the cowboys, as they rushed up at the signal, when Ruth and Alice, with Miss Pennington and Miss Dixon, had gone off some little distance.

"Get ready, Russ!" called Mr. Pertell.

"All ready," answered the young operator, as he took his place with his camera focused.

The steers, startled by the shots and shouts of the cowboys, began a mad rush.

"There's your stampede!" called Mr. Norton to Mr. Pertell. "Is that realistic enough for you?"

"Quite so, and thank you very much."

More and more wild became the rushing steers, as the cowboys drove them along in order that pictures might be made of them.



CHAPTER XIX

TOO MUCH REALISM

The shouting of the cowboys, the rushing of their intelligent ponies here—there—everywhere, seemingly—the fusillade of pistol shots, the thunder and bellowings of the steers and the thud of the ponies hoofs—all combined to make the scene a lively one.

The imitation stampede seemed to be a great success, and no one, not in the secret, could have told that it was not a real one.

"Over this way, Paul!" cried Baldy, who was taking part with the young actor. "I'm supposed to rescue you, and I can't do it if you keep so far away."

"But isn't it dangerous to ride so close to the steers?" asked Paul, who, while willing to do almost anything in the line of moving picture work, did not want to take needless chances.

"There's no danger as long as you're mounted," replied the cowboy, "and you've got a good horse under you. Come on!"

Accordingly Paul rode closer in, and the camera showed him in imminent danger of being trampled under the feet of the rushing steers.

But Baldy, who had done the same thing so often that he did not need to rehearse it, rode swiftly in and managed to "cut out" Paul, so that the actor was in no real danger. The cattle nearest to him were forced to one side.

Then, as called for in the action of the little drama, Mr. Switzer, who was a good horseman, having been in the German cavalry, rushed up to attack Paul. Of course it was but a pretended attack; but it looked real enough in the pictures.

Ruth and Alice, with the other spectators on the little mound, looked on with intense interest.

"Oh, I just wish I was on my pony!" cried Alice, as she looked at the scene of action.

"Alice, you do not!" protested Ruth.

"Yes, I do! Oh, it must be great to drive those cattle around that way!"

"You have a queer idea of fun," remarked Miss Pennington in a supercilious tone, as she looked in the small mirror of her vanity box to see what effect the sun and dust were having on her brilliant complexion. For it was dusty, with the thousands of hoofs tearing up the earth.

The main part of the action over, the cattle were now being "milled" by the cowboys. That is, the onward rush was being checked, and the steers were being made to go around in a circle.

Thus are stampedes, when real, gradually brought to an end.

"Well, it's all over," said Mr. Norton, as he stood beside the manager. "Is that about what you wanted?"

"Indeed it is. This film will sure make a hit. Those rivals of ours, who started out to take advantage of my plans and work, will be sadly left."

"You haven't seen any more of them?"

"Not since that fellow disappeared from here. He took himself and his camera off. I guess he weakened at the last moment."

"I had no idea he was a moving picture operator," said the ranch owner, "or I would never have hired him."

"Well, I guess no harm was done," Mr. Pertell rejoined.

The rush of the steers was gradually coming to a close when Mr. Norton, looking over to the far edge of the bunch of cattle, uttered a sudden cry of alarm.

"What's the matter?" asked Mr. Pertell, anxiously.

"Why, they seem to have started up all over again," was the reply. "You didn't tell them to put in a second scene of the stampede; did you?"

"No, indeed. We don't need it. Besides, Russ can't have any film left for this reel. He used up the thousand-foot, I'm sure, and he hasn't an extra one with him. What does it mean?"

"That's what I'd like to know. Those steers are certainly on the rush again, though. Hi, Baldy!" he called to the cowboy. "What are you starting 'em up again for?"

"Startin' who up?"

"The steers! Look at 'em!"

"Say, they are on the run again," agreed the bald-headed cowboy, who had ridden up to where Mr. Pertell and Mr. Norton stood. "Something must be wrong," and he set off on the gallop once more.

Meanwhile the steers, which had almost come to a rest, were again in motion. But they were not safely going about in a circle. Instead, they had started off in a long line and now were swinging around in a big circle and heading directly for the mound on which the young ladies were still standing.

Ruth and Alice had started down as they saw the cattle growing quiet, but now several of the cowboys shouted to them:

"Go back! Go back! This is a stampede in earnest."

"A stampede in earnest!" repeated Mr. Norton. "I wonder what started that?"

With a sudden rush the whole bunch of cattle were in motion, and headed in a solid mass for the mound.

"If they rush over that——" said Mr. Pertell in fear.

"This is too much realism!" cried Mr. Norton, putting spurs to his steed and racing off to help the cowboys. The latter had seen the danger of the girls, and were hastening to once more stop the stampede that had unexpectedly become a real one.

"Look at those fellows over there!" shouted Pete Batso as he rode up, his horse in a lather. "They're none of our crowd!" and he pointed to a group of horsemen who were riding away from the stampeded cattle instead of toward them.

"Who are they?" asked Mr. Pertell.

"I don't know, but they're a lot of cowards to run away, when we'll need all the help we can get to stem this rush!"



CHAPTER XX

IN THE OPEN

Thundering over the ground, the frightened cattle rushed on. After them came the cowboys, determined, at whatever cost, to turn the steers away from the little hill on which stood the four girls, clinging together, and in fear of their lives. For certainly it would be the end of life to fall beneath the hoofs of those on-rushing beasts.

"I can't understand what happened!" exclaimed Mr. Norton, as he rode on. "Those steers had all quieted down, when all of a sudden they started up again. Something must have happened."

He glanced over toward the mound. The cattle were still headed toward it. Would the cowboys be able to turn them aside in time?

"Head 'em off!"

"Shoot at 'em!"

"Head 'em away from that mound!"

Thus cried the cowboys as they raced to the rescue. They were at rather a disadvantage, for their horses were winded and exhausted from the previous rushes to stop the pretended stampede, and now, when all their energies were needed to end a real one, the animals were not equal to the demand.

"Do you think they can stop 'em?" asked Russ of a passing cowboy. The young operator was still at his camera, but he was not going to take any pictures if Ruth, Alice and the others were really in danger.

"Of course we'll stop 'em!" cried the cowboy, with supreme confidence in his ability and that of his companions.

"Then I might as well get a film of this," decided Russ. "It would be a pity to let a real stampede get away from me. I can cut out some of the other pictures."

He ran to where he had left a spare camera and soon was grinding away at the handle, making views of a real and dangerous stampede.

"Oh, what shall we do?" gasped Alice, as she clung to her sister on the mound of safety.

"We can't do anything," answered Alice, solemnly—"except to wait. They may divide and pass to either side of us. I've read of such things happening."