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THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS SNOWBOUND

Or

The Proof on the Film

by

LAURA LEE HOPE

Author of "The Moving Picture Girls," "The Moving Picture
Girls at Oak Farm," "The Outdoor Girls
Series," "The Bobbsey Twins Series," Etc.

Illustrated

The World Syndicate Publishing Co.
Cleveland                New York
Made in U.S.A.
Copyright, 1914, by
Grosset & Dunlap

Press of
The Commercial Bookbinding Co.
Cleveland

[Illustration: THE MOVING PICTURE RACE WAS ON.

_The Moving Girls Snowbound._--_Page_ 113.]

CONTENTS

          CHAPTER                         PAGE

              I TROUBLE                      1

             II AN UNPLEASANT VISITOR       10

            III RUSS TO THE RESCUE          20

             IV A FUNNY FILM                27

              V A QUEER ACCIDENT            36

             VI NEW PLANS                   46

            VII OFF TO THE WOODS            56

           VIII A BREAKDOWN                 63

             IX THE BLIZZARD                73

              X AT ELK LODGE                79

             XI THROUGH THE ICE             89

            XII THE CURIOUS DEER            99

           XIII THE COASTING RACE          106

            XIV ON SNOWSHOES               114

             XV A TIMELY SHOT              124

            XVI IN THE ICE CAVE            132

           XVII THE RESCUE                 139

          XVIII SNOWBOUND                  148

            XIX ON SHORT RATIONS           158

             XX THE THAW                   166

            XXI IN THE STORM               174

           XXII THE THREE MEN              181

          XXIII THE PLAN OF RUSS           191

           XXIV THE PROOF ON THE FILM      199

            XXV THE MOVING PICTURE         207

THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS SNOWBOUND

CHAPTER I

TROUBLE

"Daddy is late; isn't he, Ruth?" asked Alice DeVere of her sister, as
she looked up from her sewing.

"A little," answered the girl addressed, a tall, fair maid, with deep
blue eyes, in the depths of which hidden meaning seemed to lie, awaiting
discovery by someone.

"A little!" exclaimed Alice, who was rather plump, and whose dark brown
hair and eyes were in pleasing contrast to her sister's fairness. "Why,
he's more than an hour late, and he's seldom that! He promised to be
back from the moving picture studio at four, and now it's after five."

"I know, dear, but you remember he said he had many things to talk over
with Mr. Pertell, and perhaps it has taken him longer than he
anticipated.

"Besides you know there are some new plans to be considered," went on
Ruth. "Mr. Pertell wants to get some different kinds of moving
pictures--snow scenes, I believe--and perhaps he has kept daddy to talk
about them. But why are you so impatient? Are you afraid something has
happened to him?"

"Gracious, no! What put that idea into your head?"

"Well, I didn't know whether you had noticed it or not, but poor daddy
hasn't been quite himself since we came back from Oak Farm. I am afraid
something is bothering him--or worrying him."

"Perhaps it is his voice, though it has seemed better of late."

"I think not," said Ruth, slowly, as she bent her head in a listening
attitude, for a step was coming along the hallway in the Fenmore
Apartment, where the DeVere girls and their father had their rather
limited quarters.

"That isn't he," said Ruth, with a little sigh of disappointment. "I
thought at first it was. No, I don't mean that it was his voice, Alice.
That really seems better since he so suddenly became hoarse, and had to
take up moving picture work instead of the legitimate drama he loves so
much. It is some other trouble, Alice."

"I hadn't noticed it, I confess. But I suppose you'll say that I'm so
flighty I never notice anything."

"I never called you flighty, dear. You are of a lively disposition,
that's all."

"And you are a wee bit too much the other way, sister mine!" And then,
to take any sting out of the words, Alice rose from her chair with a
bound, crossed the room in a rush, and flung her arms about her sister,
embracing her heartily and kissing her.

"Oh, Alice!" protested the other. "You are crushing me!"

"I'm a regular bear, I suppose. Hark, is that daddy?"

They both listened, but the footsteps died away as before.

"Why are you so anxious?"

"I want some money, sister mine, and daddy promised to bring my moving
picture salary up with him. I wanted to do a little shopping before the
stores close. But I'm afraid it's too late now," the girl added,
ruefully. "Daddy said he'd be here in plenty of time, and he never
disappointed me before."

"Oh, if that's all you're worrying about, I'll lend you some money."

"Will you, really? Then I'll get ready and go. There's that little
French shop just around the corner. They keep open after the others.
Madame Morey is so thrifty, and there was the sweetest shirt waist in
the window the other day. I hope it isn't gone! I'll get ready at once.
You be getting out the money, Ruth, dear. Is there anything I can get
for you? It's awfully kind of you. Shall I bring back anything for
supper?"

"Gracious, what a rattlebox you're getting to be, Alice," spoke Ruth,
soberly, as she laid aside her sewing and went to the bureau for her
pocketbook.

"That's half of life!" laughed the younger girl. "Quick, Ruth, I want to
get out and get back, and be here when daddy comes. I want to hear all
about the new plans for taking moving picture plays. Is that the money?
Thanks! I'm off!" and the girl fairly rushed down the hall of the
apartment. Ruth heard her call a greeting to Mrs. Dalwood, who lived
across the corridor--a cheery greeting, in her fresh, joyous voice.

"Dear little sister!" murmured Ruth, as she sat with folded hands,
looking off into space and meditating. "She enjoys life!"

And certainly Alice DeVere did. Not that Ruth did not also; but it was
in a different way. Alice was of a more lively disposition, and her
father said she reminded him every day more and more of her dead
mother. Ruth had an element of romanticism in her character, which
perhaps accounted for her dreaminess at times. In the work of acting and
posing for moving pictures, which was what the two girls, and their
father, a veteran actor, were engaged in, Ruth always played the
romantic parts, while nothing so rejoiced Alice as to have a hoydenish
part to enact.

Alice hastened along the streets, now covered with a film of newly
fallen snow. It was sifting down from a leaden sky, and the clouds had
added to the darkness which was already coming that November evening.

"Oh, it's good to be alive, such weather as this!" Alice exulted as she
hastened along, the crisp air and the exercise bringing to her cheeks a
deeper bloom. Her eyes shone, and there was so much of life and youth
and vitality in her that, as she hastened along through the falling
snow, which dusted itself on her furs, more than one passerby turned to
look at her in admiration. She was a "moving picture" in herself.

She lingered long in the quaint little French shop, there were so many
bargains in the way of lingerie. Alice looked at many longingly, and
turned some over more longingly, but she thought of her purse, and knew
it would not stand the strain to which she contemplated putting it.

"I'll just have to wait about the others, Madame," she said, with a
sigh. "I've really bought more now than I intended."

"I hope zat Mademoiselle will come often!" laughed the French woman.

Back through the streets, now covered with snow, hastened Alice,
tripping lightly, and now and then, when she thought no one was watching
her, she took a little run and slide, as in the days of her childhood.
Not that she was much more than a child still, being only a little over
fifteen. Ruth was two years her senior, but Ruth considered herself
quite "grown up."

"I wonder if daddy has come back yet?" Alice mused, as she hastened on
to the apartment. "That looks like Russ Dalwood ahead of me," she went
on, referring to the son of the neighbor across the hall. Russ "filmed,"
or made the moving pictures for the company by whom Mr. DeVere and his
daughters were engaged. "Yes, it is Russ!" the girl exclaimed. "He has
probably come right from the studio, and he'll know about daddy. Russ!
Russ!" she called, as she came nearer to the young man.

He turned, and a welcoming smile lighted his face.

"Oh, hello, Alice!" he greeted, genially. "Where's Ruth?"

"Just for that I shan't tell you! Don't you want to walk with _me_?" she
asked, archly. "Why must you always ask for Ruth when I meet you alone?"

"I didn't! I mean--I--er----"

"Oh, don't try to make it any worse!" she laughed at his discomfiture.
"Let it go at that! Did you just come from the studio?"

"Yes, and we had a hard day of it. I forget how many thousand feet of
film I reeled off."

"Was my father there?"

"Yes, he was with Mr. Pertell when I came out."

"I wonder what makes him so late?"

"Oh, there's a rush of work on. But I think he'll be along soon, for I
heard Mr. Pertell say he wouldn't keep him five minutes."

"That's good. Oh, dear! Isn't it slippery!" she cried, as she barely
saved herself from falling.

"Take my arm," invited Russ.

"Thanks, I will. I came out in a hurry to do a little shopping. Ruth is
at home. There, I told you after all. I'm of a forgiving spirit, you
see."

"I see," he laughed.

They stepped along lightly together, laughing and talking, for Russ was
almost like a brother to the DeVere girls, though the two families had
only known each other since both had come to the Fenmore Apartment,
about a year before.

"Did they film any big plays to-day?" asked Alice. "I know Mr. Pertell
said he wouldn't need Ruth and myself, so of course they didn't do
anything really good. Not at all conceited; am I?" she asked, with a
rippling laugh.

"Well, you're right this time--there wasn't much of importance doing,"
Russ replied. "Miss Pennington and Miss Dixon had some pretty good
parts, but the stuff was mostly comic to-day."

"That suited Mr. Switzer, then. I think he is the nicest German comedian
I ever knew, and I met quite a number when father was appearing in real
plays."

"Yes, Switzer is a good sort. But you should have seen Mr. Sneed
to-day!"

"Found fault with everything; eh?"

"I should say so, and then some, as the boys say. He said something was
sure to happen before the day was over, and it did--a stone wall fell on
him."

"Really?"

"Really, but not real stone. It was one of Pop Snooks's scenic
creations. One of the pieces of wood hit Mr. Sneed on the head, so
something happened. And what a fuss he made! He's the real grouch of
the company, all right. Well, here we are!" and the young man guided his
companion into the hallway of the Fenmore.

"See you again!" called Alice, as she went into her door and Russ into
his.

"Is that you, Alice?" called Ruth, from an inner room.

"Yes, dear. Has daddy come home?"

"Not yet. I wonder if we'd better telephone?"

"No, I just met Russ, and he said daddy would be right along. He's
planning something with Mr. Pertell."

The table was nearly prepared when a step was heard in the hall.

"There he is now!" cried Alice, as she flew to open the door before her
father could get out his key. But as he entered, and Alice reached up to
kiss him, she cried out in amazement at the look on his face.

"Why, Daddy! Has anything happened?" she asked.

"Yes," he said in his hoarse voice--a hoarseness caused by a throat
affection. "Yes, something has happened, or is going to. I'm in serious
trouble!"

CHAPTER II

AN UNPLEASANT VISITOR

Ruth overheard the question asked by Alice, and her father's answer. She
came in swiftly, and put her arms about him, as her sister had done.

"Oh, Daddy dear, what is it?" she asked, anxiously.

"I--I'll tell you--presently," he replied, chokingly. "I am a little out
of breath. I am getting too--too stout. And my throat has bothered me a
good deal of late. Would you mind getting me that throat spray and
medicine Dr. Rathby left? That always helps me."

"I'll get it," offered Alice, quickly, as her father sank into a chair,
and while she searched in the medicine closet for it, there was a dull
ache in her heart. More trouble! And there had been so much of it of
late. The sun had seemed to break through the clouds, and now it had
gone behind again.

And while the girls are thus preparing to minister to their father, I
will tell my new readers something of the previous books of this series,
and a little about the main characters.

In the initial volume, entitled "The Moving Picture Girls; Or, First
Appearances in Photo Dramas," I related how Mr. Hosmer DeVere, a
talented actor, suddenly lost his voice, by the return of an old throat
affection. He had just been "cast" for an important part in a new play,
but had to give it up, as he could not speak distinctly enough to be
heard across the footlights.

The DeVere family fortunes were at low ebb, and money was much needed.
By accident Russ Dalwood, a moving picture operator, suggested to one of
the girls that their father might act for a moving picture film company,
as he would not have to use his voice in such employment.

How Mr. DeVere took the engagement, and how Ruth and Alice followed him,
as well as their part in helping Russ to save a valuable camera
patent--all this you will find set down in the first book.

In the second volume, entitled "The Moving Picture Girls at Oak Farm;
Or, Queer Happenings While Taking Rural Plays," the scene was shifted to
the country. There you may read of many strange occurrences, as well as
funny ones--how Alice fell into the water--but there! I must save my
space in this book for the happenings of it. I might add that,
incidentally, the girls helped to solve a strange mystery concerning Oak
Farm, and solved it in a way that made glad the hearts of Mr. and Mrs.
Felix Apgar, the parents of Sandy, and of the heart of Sandy himself.

Mr. Frank Pertell was the manager of the Comet Film Company, with whom
Mr. DeVere and his daughters had an engagement, and the entire company,
including the DeVeres, spent a whole summer at Oak Farm, in New Jersey,
making rural plays.

The company had just returned to New York City, to finish some dramas
there, and Mr. Pertell was working on new plans, which were not, as yet,
fully developed.

The Comet Film Company included a number of people, and you will meet
some of them from time to time as this story advances. You have already
heard of a few members. In addition there was Wellington Bunn, a former
Shakespearean actor, who could never seem to get away from an ambition
to do Hamlet. Pepper Sneed was the "grouch" of the company, always
finding fault, or worrying lest something happen. Paul Ardite was the
"leading juvenile," the father of the moving picture girls being the
leading man. The girls themselves, though comparatively new to the
business, had made wonderful strides, for they had the advantage of
private "coaching" at home from Mr. DeVere.

Miss Pearl Pennington and Miss Laura Dixon were former vaudeville
actresses, who had gone into the "movies," and between them and the
DeVeres there was not the best of feeling; caused by the jealousy of the
former.

Carl Switzer, a German with a marked accent, generally did "comics."
Then there was Mrs. Maguire, who did "old woman" parts. She had two
grandchildren, Tommy and Nellie, who frequently played minor rôles.

"Do you feel any better, Daddy?" asked Ruth, as she took from her
father's hand the atomizer he had been using on his throat.

"Yes, the pain is much less. Dr. Rathby's medicine is a wonderful help."

"Do you feel like--talking?" inquired Alice gently, for she saw that the
worried look had not left her father's face.

"Yes," he answered, with a smile, "but I do not want to burden you girls
with all of my troubles."

"Why shouldn't you?" asked Ruth, quickly. "Who would you share your
troubles with, if not with us? We must help each other!"

"Yes, I suppose so," returned Mr. DeVere, in a low voice. "And yet,
after all, I suppose this is not such a terrible trouble. It will not
kill any of us. But it will make a hard pull for me if I cannot prove my
contention."

"What is that?" asked Alice. "Is there some trouble with the film
company? You haven't lost your engagement; have you, Daddy?"

"Oh, no, it isn't that," he answered. "I'll tell you. Just a little more
of that spray, please, Alice. I will then be better able to talk."

In a few moments he resumed:

"Did you ever hear me speak of a Dan Merley?"

"You mean that man who came to see you when we lived in the other
apartment--the nicer one?" asked Ruth, for the Fenmore was not one of
the high-class residences of New York. The DeVeres had not been able to
afford a better home in the time of their poverty. And when better days
came they had still remained, as they liked their neighbors, the
Dalwoods. Then, too, they had been away all summer at Oak Farm.

"Yes, that was the man," replied Mr. DeVere. "Well, in my hard luck days
I borrowed five hundred dollars from him to meet some pressing needs. I
gave him my note for it. By hard work, later, I was able to scrape the
five hundred dollars together, and I paid him back.

"Unfortunately Dan Merley was a bit under the influence of drink when I
gave him the cash, and he could not find my promissory note to return to
me.

"He promised to send it around to me the next day, and, very foolishly,
as I see it now, I let him keep the money, not even getting a receipt
for it. I am not a business man--never was one. I trusted Dan Merley,
and I should not have done so."

"Why?" asked Ruth.

"Because he came to me to-day, for the first time in several months, and
demanded his five hundred dollars. I told him I had paid it, and tried
to recall to him the circumstances. But, as I said, he was slightly
intoxicated when I gave him the bills, and his mind was not clear. He
declares positively that I never paid him, and he says he will make
trouble for me if I do not hand him over the money in a short time."

"But you did give it to him, Daddy!" exclaimed Alice.

"Of course I did; but I have no proof."

"Did you pay him by check?" asked Ruth, who was quite a business woman,
and keeper of the house.

"Unfortunately I was not prosperous enough in those days to have a bank
account," answered Mr. DeVere. "A check would be a receipt; but I
haven't that. In fact, I haven't a particle of evidence to show that I
paid the money. And Dan Merley has my note. He could sue me on it, and
any court would give him a judgment against me, so he could collect."

"But that would be paying him twice!" exclaimed Alice.

"I know it, and that is the injustice of it. It would be out of the
question for me to raise five hundred dollars now. My throat treatment
has been expensive, and though we are making good money at the moving
picture business, I have not enough to pay this debt twice."

"He is a wicked man!" burst out Alice.

"My dear!" Ruth gently reproved.

"I don't care! He is, to make daddy pay twice!"

"Yes, it is hard lines," sighed the veteran actor. "I have begged and
pleaded with Merley, imploring him to try and remember that I paid him,
but he is positive that I did not do so."

"Do you suppose he really thinks so--that he is honest in his belief
that you never paid him?" asked Ruth.

"Well, it is a hard thing to say against a man, when I have no proof,"
replied Mr. DeVere, "but I believe, in his heart, Dan Merley knows I
paid him. I think he is just trying to make me pay him over again to
cheat me."

"Oh, how can he be so cruel?" cried Alice.

"He is a hard man to deal with," went on her father. "A very hard man.
This has been bothering me all day. I simply cannot pay that five
hundred dollars; and yet, if I don't----"

"Can they lock you up, Daddy?" Alice questioned, fearfully.

"Oh, no, dear, not that. But he can make it very unpleasant for me. He
can force me to go to court, and that would take me away from the film
studio. I might even lose my engagement there if I had to spend too much
time over a lawsuit.

"But, worst of all, my reputation will suffer. I have always been
honest, and I have paid every debt I owed, though sometimes it took a
little while to do it. Now if this comes to smirch my character, I don't
know what I shall do."

"Poor Daddy!" said Ruth, softly, as she smoothed his rumpled hair.

"There, girls, don't let me bother you," he said, as gaily as he could.
"Perhaps there may come a way out."

"Why don't you ask the advice of Mr. Pertell?" suggested Ruth.

"I believe I will," agreed her father. "He is a good business man. I
wish I was. If I had been I would have insisted on getting either a
receipt from Merley, or my note back. But I trusted him. I thought he
was a friend of mine."

"Well, let's have supper," suggested Alice. "Matters may look brighter
then."

"And I'll go see Mr. Pertell this evening," promised Mr. DeVere. "He may
be able to advise and help me."

The meal was not a very jolly one at first, but gradually the feeling of
gloom passed as the supper progressed. Mr. DeVere told of what had
happened that day at the film studio where the moving pictures were
made.

"Now I think I'll go see Mr. Pertell," the actor announced, as he rose
from the table. "He said he would be in his office late to-night, as he
is working on some new plans."

"What are they, Daddy?" asked Alice. "Are we to go off to some farm
again?"

"Not this time. I believe there are to be some winter scenes taken,
though just where we will go for them has not been announced. Well, I'm
off," and, kissing the girls good-bye, Mr. DeVere went out.

Ruth and Alice, in his absence, discussed the new source of trouble that
had come to them. They had been so happy all summer, that the blow fell
doubly heavy.

"Isn't it just horrid!" exclaimed Ruth.

"Too mean for anything!" agreed Alice. "I wish I had that Dan Merley
here. I--I'd----"

But Alice did not finish. Ruth had looked at her, to stop her rather
impulsive sister from the use of too violent an expression. But there
was no need of this. An interruption came in the form of a knock at the
door.

"Who is it?" asked Ruth, and there came a little note of fear into her
voice, for she was timid, and she realized at once that it was not one
of their kind neighbors from across the hall. Russ, his mother, and his
brother Billy always rapped in a characteristic manner.

"It's me--Dan Merley, and I want to see the old man!" was the answer.
The girls drew together in fright, for they recognized by the thickness
of the voice that the owner was not altogether himself.

"Oh!" gasped Alice, and then the door was pushed open, for the catch had
been left off, and a man came unsteadily into the room.

RUSS TO THE RESCUE

"Where's the boss?" asked the man, as he leaned heavily against the
table. "I want to see the boss."

"Do you--do you mean my--my father?" faltered Ruth, as she stepped
protectingly in front of Alice.

"That's jest who I mean, young lady," and the new-comer leered at her.
"Is he in? If he isn't I won't mind an awful lot. I'll wait for him.
This is a nice place," and, without being invited he slouched into a
chair.

"My--my father is----"

"He'll be back in just a little while!" interrupted Alice, briskly. "Did
he tell you to come here?"

"Nope! I told myself!" replied the man. "I'm glad I did, too. This is
nice place and you're nice girls, too. Sisters, I take it?"

"You need not discuss us!" exclaimed Ruth with dignity. "If you will
leave word what your business with my father is I will have him call on
you."

"What, leave? Me leave? Nothin' doin', sister. I'm too comfortable
here," and he leaned back in the chair and laughed foolishly.

"What--what did you want to see Mr. DeVere about?" inquired Ruth, though
she could well guess.

"I'll tell you what it's about," said Dan Merley, confidentially. "It's
about money. I want five hundred dollars from your father, and I want it
quick--with interest, too. Don't forget that."

"My father paid you that money!" Ruth declared, with boldness.

"He did not!" denied the unpleasant visitor. "He owes it to me yet, and
I want it. And, what's more I'm going to have it!"

"That is unfair--unjust!" said Ruth, and there was a trace of tears in
her voice. "My father paid you the money, and you promised to give him
back the note--the paper that showed you had loaned it to him. But you
never did."

"How do you know all this?" he asked.

"Because my father was just telling us about it--a little while ago. He
said you had--forgotten."

"Yes, I know! He said I'd been drinking too much; didn't he?"

Ruth and Alice drew further back, offended by his coarse language.

"He--he said you were not--quite yourself," spoke Alice gently.

"Oh ho! Another one! So there's two of you here!" laughed the man.
"Well, this certainly is a nice place. I guess I'll stay until the boss
comes back. That is, unless you have the five hundred dollars here, and
want to pay me," he added, with a sickly grin.

"You have been paid once," Ruth insisted.

"I have not--I never was paid!" Dan Merley cried. "I want my money and
I'm going to have it! Do you hear? I'm going to have it, and have it
soon! You tell your father that from me!" and he banged his fist on the
table.

Ruth and Alice looked at each other. The same thought was in both their
minds, and it shone from their eyes. They must leave at once--the door
was slightly open.

"No more monkey business!" cried the unwelcome caller. "I lent your
father that money and he never paid me back. He may say he did; but he
can't prove it. I hold his note, and if he doesn't pay me I'll----"

"What will you do?" interrupted a new voice, and with relief Ruth and
Alice looked up, to see Russ Dalwood entering the room.

"Excuse me," he said to the girls, "I knocked, but you did not seem to
hear. Possibly there was too much noise," and he looked at the man
significantly. "Is there any trouble here?" the young moving picture
operator asked.

"Oh, Russ, make him--make him go!" begged Alice, half sobbing. "He wants
to see my father--it's some sort of unjust money claim--and he wants to
enforce it. Father has gone out----"

"And that's just where this person is going!" announced Russ, advancing
toward the man.

"What's that?" demanded Merley in an ugly tone.

"I said you were going out. It's your cue to move!"

"I don't move until I get my five hundred dollars," answered the
visitor. "I've waited for it long enough."

"My father paid you!" protested Ruth.

"I say he did not!" and again the man banged the table with his fist.

"Well, whether he did or not is a question for you and Mr. DeVere to
settle," said Russ, in firm tones. "You will kindly leave these young
ladies alone."

"I will; eh? Who says so?"

"I do!"

"And who are you?"

"A friend. I must ask you to leave."

"Not until I get my five hundred dollars!"

"Look here!" exclaimed Russ, and, though he spoke in low tones, there
was that in his voice which made it very determined. "You may have a
valid claim against Mr. DeVere, or you may not. I will not go into that.
But he is not at home, and you will have to come again. You have no
right in here. I must ask you to leave."

"Huh! You haven't any right here either. You can't give _me_ orders."

"They are not my orders. This is a request from the young ladies
themselves, and I am merely seeing that it is carried out. You don't
want him here; do you?" he asked, of the two girls.

"Oh, no! Please go!" begged Ruth.

"I want my money!" cried the man.

"Look here!" exclaimed Russ, taking hold of Merley's shoulder. "You will
either leave quietly, or I'll summon a policeman and have you arrested.
Even if you have a claim against Mr. DeVere, and I don't believe you
have, that gives you no right to trespass here. Take your claim to
court!"

"I tell you I want my money now!"

"Well, you'll not get it. You have your remedy at law. Now leave at
once, do you hear?"

"Yes, I hear all right, and you'll hear from me later. I will go to law,
and I'll have my five hundred dollars. I'll bring suit against Mr.
DeVere, and then he'll wish he'd paid me, for he'll have to settle my
claim and costs besides. Oh, I'll sue all right!"

"I don't care what you do, as long as you get out of here!" cried Russ,
sharply, for he saw that the strain was telling on Ruth and Alice.
"Leave at once!"

"Suppose I don't go?"

"Then I'll put you out!"

Russ looked very brave as he said this. Ruth glanced at him, and thought
he had never appeared to better advantage. And between Russ and Ruth
there was--but there, I am getting ahead of my story.

"Are you going?" asked the young moving picture operator, again.

"Well, rather than have a row, I will. But I warn you I'll sue DeVere
and I'll get my money, too. It's all nonsense for him to say he paid me.
Where's his proof? I ask you that. Where's his proof?"

"Never mind about that," returned Russ, calmly. "It's your move, as I
said before. And you can give a good imitation of a moving picture film
showing a man getting out of a room."

With no good grace the man arose clumsily from his chair, and with leers
at Ruth and Alice, who were clinging to each other on the far side of
the room, the visitor started for the door.

"I'll see you again!" he called, coarsely. "Then maybe the laugh will be
on my side. I'm going to have my money, I tell you!"

Russ kept after the man, and walked behind him to the door. There Dan
Merley paused to exclaim, in loud tones:

"You wait--I'll get my money out of DeVere--you'll see!"

Then he stumbled on down the hallway, and Russ quickly closed and locked
the door.

"Oh, Russ!" exclaimed Ruth. Then she sank into a chair, and bent forward
with her head pillowed in her arms on the table.

"There, there," said the young man gently, as he put his hand on her
head. "It's all right--he's gone. Don't be afraid."

"Oh, but what a dreadful man!" cried Alice. "I could----"

"Don't, dear," begged her sister gently, as she raised her head. There
were tears in her eyes. Russ gently slipped his hand over her little
rosy palm.

CHAPTER IV

A FUNNY FILM

For a moment Ruth remained thus, while, Alice, with flashing eyes, stood
looking at the door leading into the hall, as if anticipating the return
of that unpleasant visitor. Then Ruth lifted her head, and with a rosy
blush, and a shy look at Russ, disengaged her hand.

"I--I feel better now," she said.

"That's good," and he smiled. "I don't believe that fellow will come
back. I'll stay here. Is your father out?"

"Yes, and all on account of that horrid man," answered Alice. "Oh, it
was so good of you to come in Russ!"

"I happened to be coming here anyhow," he answered. "When I saw the door
open, and heard what was said, which I could not help doing, I did not
stand on ceremony."

"It was awfully good of you," murmured Ruth, who now seemed quite
herself again. "I suppose you heard what that man said?"

"Not all," he made reply. "It was something about money though, I
gathered. He was demanding it."

"Yes, and after father has already paid it," put in Alice. "That's where
daddy has gone now--to consult Mr. Pertell as to the best course of
action."

Between them, Ruth and Alice told about Dan Merley's claim, and the
injustice of it. Russ was duly sympathetic.

"If I were your father I would pay no attention to his demand," the
young moving picture operator said.

"But suppose he sues, as he threatened?" asked Ruth.

"Let him, and fight the case in court when it comes up. Merley may be
only 'bluffing', to use a common expression."

"But it annoys daddy almost as much as if the case were real, you see,"
said Ruth. "Won't you sit down, Russ? Excuse our impoliteness, but
really we've been quite upset."

"Thanks," he laughed as he took a chair. "You need cheering up. You come
to the studio to-morrow and forget your troubles in a good laugh."

"Why?" asked Alice. "Ruth and I are not down for any parts to-morrow."

"No, but Mr. Switzer is going to do some comic stunts, and Mr. Bunn and
Mr. Sneed are in them with him. There are to be some trick films, I
believe."

"Then we'll go," decided Alice. "I think a laugh would do me good."

Gradually the little fright wore off, and when Mr. DeVere returned
shortly afterward the girls were themselves again, under the happy
influence of Russ.

"What luck, Daddy?" asked Alice, as her father came in. He shook his
head, as she added: "Russ knows all about it," for she gathered that he
might not like to speak before the young man. "What did Mr. Pertell
say?"

"He advised me to wait until Merley made the next move, and then come
and see him again. He said he would then send me to the attorney for the
film company, who would handle my case without charge."

"How good of him!" cried Ruth, impulsively.

"Mr. Pertell gave daddy the same advice Russ gave us," added Alice. "Oh,
it was so good to have him here when that dreadful man came in," she
went on.

"What man?" asked Mr. DeVere, in surprise. "Was someone in here while I
was gone--those camera scoundrels, Russ?"

"No, it was Dan Merley himself!" exclaimed Ruth, "and he was so horrid,
Daddy!" There was a hint of tears in her voice.

"The impertinent scoundrel!" exclaimed Mr. DeVere, in the manner that
had won him such success on the stage. "I shall go to the police
and----"

"No, don't Daddy dear," begged Ruth laying a detaining hand on his arm,
as he turned to the door. "That would only make it more unpleasant for
us. We would have to go to court and testify, if you had him arrested.
And, besides, I don't know on what charge you could cause his arrest. He
really did nothing to us, except to hurt our feelings and scare us. But
I fancy Russ scared him in turn. Don't go to the police, Daddy."

"All right," he agreed. "But tell me all about it."

They did so, by turns, and Mr. DeVere's anger waxed hot against Merley
as he listened. But he realized that it was best to take no rash step,
much as he desired to. So he finally calmed down.

"If I could only prove that I had paid that money," he murmured, "all
would be well. I must make it a point, after this, to be more
business-like. It is like locking the stable door after the automobile
is gone, though, in this case," he added, with a whimsical smile.

Russ remained a little longer, and then took his leave. Ruth saw to it,
even getting up out of bed to do it, that the chain was on the hall
door. For she was in nervous doubt as to whether or not she had taken
that precaution. But she found the portal secure.

"That man might come back in the night," she thought. But she did not
confide her fear to Alice.

Morning revealed a new and wonderful scene. For in the night there had
been a heavy storm, and the ground of Central Park was white with snow.
A little rain had fallen, and then had frozen, and the trees were
encased in ice. Then as the sun shone brightly, it flashed as on
millions of diamonds, dazzling and glittering. Winter had come early,
and with more severity than usual in the vicinity of New York.

"Oh, how lovely!" cried Alice, as she looked out. "I must have a slide,
if I can find a place! Ruth, I'm going to wash your face!"

"Don't you dare!"

But Alice raised the window, and from the sill took a handful of snow.
She rushed over to her sister with it.

"Stop it! Stop it! Don't you dare!" screamed Ruth. Then she squealed as
she felt the cold snow on her cheeks.

"What's the matter with you girls in there?" called Mr. DeVere from his
apartment. "You seem merry enough."

"We are," answered Alice. "I've washed Ruth's face, and I'm going to
wash yours in a minute."

"Just as you like," he laughed. And then he sighed, for he recalled a
time when his girlish wife had once challenged him the same way, when
they were on their honeymoon. For Mrs. DeVere had been vivacious like
Alice, and the younger daughter was a constant reminder to her father of
his dead wife--a happy and yet a sad reminder.

Alice came rushing in with more snow, and there was a merry little scene
before breakfast. Then Mr. DeVere hurried to the film studio, for he was
to take part in several dramas that day.

"I know I'll be late," he said, "for the travel will be slow this
morning, on account of the snow. And I have to go part way by surface
car, as I have an errand on the way down town."

"We're coming down, also," Ruth informed him.

"Why, you're not in anything to-day," he remarked, pausing in the act of
putting on his overcoat. "You're not cast for anything until 'The Price
of Honor,' to-morrow."

"But we're going down, just the same," Alice laughed. "We want to see
some of the funny films."

"Come ahead then," invited Mr. DeVere. "Better use the subway all you
can. Even the elevated will have trouble with all this sleet. Good-bye,"
and he kissed them as he hurried out.

The girls made short shrift of the housework, and then left for the
place where the moving pictures were made.

As I have described in the first book of this series how moving pictures
are taken, I will not repeat it here, except to say that in a special
camera, made for the purpose, there is a long narrow strip of celluloid
film, of the same nature as in the ordinary camera. The pictures are
taken on this strip, at the rate of sixteen a second. Later this film is
developed, and from that "negative" a "positive" is made. This
"positive" is then run through a specially made projecting lantern which
magnifies the pictures for the screen.

As Alice and Ruth got out at the floor where most of the scenes were
made they heard laughter.

"Something's going on," remarked the younger girl.

"And it doesn't sound like Mr. Sneed, our cheerful 'grouch,' either,"
answered Ruth.

As they went in they saw Carl Switzer, the German comedian, climbing a
high step-ladder with a pail of paste in one hand, and a roll of wall
paper in the other. He was in a scene representing a room, which he was
to decorate.

"Is diss der right vay to do it?" Mr. Switzer asked, as he paused half
way up the ladder, and looked at Mr. Pertell.

"That's it. Now you've got the idea," replied the manager. "Begin over
again, and Russ, I guess you can begin to run the film now," for the
young moving picture operator was in readiness with his camera.

"You must tremble, and shake the ladder," advised the manager, who was
also, in this case, the stage director. "You want to register fear, you
see, because you are an amateur paper hanger."

"Yah. Dot's right. I know so leedle about der papering business alretty
yet dot I could write a big book on vot I don't know," confessed Mr.
Switzer.

"All ready now--tremble and shake!" ordered the manager.

The comic film that was being made was a reproduction of a scene often
played in vaudeville theaters, where an amateur paper hanger gets into
all sorts of ludicrous mishaps with a bucket of paste, rolls of paper
and the step ladder. It was not very new, but had not been done for
moving pictures before.

"Here I goes!" called Mr. Switzer. "I am shaking!"

"Good!" encouraged Mr. Pertell. "Now, Mr. Bunn, you come in, as the
owner of the house, to see if the paper hanger is doing his work
properly. You find he is not, for he is going to put the wrong sort of
paper on the ceiling. Then you try to show him yourself."

"Do I wear my tall hat?"

"Oh, yes, of course, and I think Mr. Switzer, you had better let----"

But the directions were never completed, for at that moment, in the
excess of his zeal, Mr. Switzer shook the step ladder to such good
effect that it toppled over and with him on it.

Down he came on top of Wellington Bunn, in all his dignity and the glory
of the tall hat, and paste flew all over, liberally spattering both
actors.

CHAPTER V

A QUEER ACCIDENT

"Get that Russ! Every motion of it!" cried the manager. "That will make
it better than when we rehearsed it. Spatter that paste all over Mr.
Bunn while you're at it, Mr. Switzer."

"Stop! Stop, I say! I protest. I will not have it!"

"Vell, you goin' to git it, all right!" cried the German, and with the
brush he liberally daubed the Shakespearean actor with the white and
sticky stuff. All the other players were laughing at the ridiculous
scene.

"More paste!" ordered Mr. Pertell. "More paste there, Mr. Switzer. Don't
be afraid of it, Mr. Bunn! It's clean!"

"Oh, this is awful--this is terrible!" groaned the tragic actor. "My hat
is ruined."

And such did seem to be the case, for the shining silk tile was filled
with paste, the outside also being well covered.

Mr. Bunn tried to get away from the slapping brush of Mr. Switzer, but
the German was not to be outwitted. The two had fallen to the floor
under the impact of the comic player, and were now tangled up in the
ladder.

"That's good! That's good!" laughed Mr. Pertell. "Get all of that, Russ!
Every bit!"

"I'm getting it!" cried the operator, as he continued to grind away at
the crank of the moving picture camera.

Again Mr. Bunn tried to get up and away, but the ladder, through which
his legs had slipped, hampered him. Then a roll of the paper got under
the feet of both players. It unreeled, and some paste got on it. The
next instant part of it was plastered over Mr. Switzer's face, and,
being unable to see, he pawed about wildly, spattering more paste all
over, much of it getting on Mr. Bunn.

"Better than ever. Use some more of that paper!" ordered the manager.
"Paste some on Mr. Switzer, if you can, Mr. Bunn."

"Oh, I can all right!" cried the older actor. "Here is where I have my
revenge!"

He scooped up a hand full of paste, spread it on a piece of paper, and
clapped it over the face of the German, for that player had removed the
first piece that was stuck on. And thus they capered about in the scenic
room, making a chaos of it.

Russ took all the pictures for the future amusement of thousands who
attended the darkened theaters.

Of course it was horseplay, pure and simple, and yet audiences go into
paroxysms of mirth over much the same things. The love of slap-stick
comedy has not all died out, and the managers realize this.

"I don't know when I've laughed so much," confessed Alice, holding her
aching sides as she sat down near Ruth, when the little comedy was over.

"Nor I, my dear. I think the old saying is true, after all, that 'a
little nonsense, now and then, is relished by the best of men.'"

"This was certainly nonsense," admitted Alice. "Oh, come over and let's
see Miss Pennington and Miss Dixon in that new play--'Parlor Magic.'
It's very interesting, and rather funny."

The two older actresses were to play in a little scene where a young
man--in this case Paul Ardite--attempted to do some tricks he had been
studying. He was supposed to come to grief in making an omelet in a silk
hat, and have other troubles when he tried to take rabbits out of parlor
vases, and such like nonsense.

This was one of the trick films--that is, it was not a straight piece of
work. It depended for its success on the manipulation of the camera, on
substituting dummies for real persons or animals at certain points, the
interposition of films and many other things too technical to put into a
book that is only intended to amuse you.

"How are you?" asked Miss Pennington, as Ruth and Alice came over to
their side of the studio. "You are looking quite well."

"And we are well," answered Alice. "We want to see you act," for the
filming had not yet begun.

"For instruction or amusement?" asked Miss Dixon, and her voice had
something of a sneer in it. She and her chum were not on the most
friendly terms with Ruth and Alice.

"Both amusement and instruction," responded Alice, sweetly--in a doubly
sweet voice under the circumstances. "One can learn from anyone, you
know," and she pretended to be interested in one of the tricks Paul was
practicing while getting ready for the camera.

Alice could say things with a double meaning at times, and probably this
was one of them.

"Oh!" was all Miss Dixon said, and then she called: "Paul, come here;
won't you? I want you to fasten my glove."

"Certainly," he agreed, with a look at Alice which was meant to say: "I
don't want to do this, but I can't very well get out of it."

Paul, I might add, had been quite interested in Miss Dixon before the
advent of Alice, and the vaudeville actress rather resented the change.
She took advantage of every opportunity to make Paul fetch and carry for
her as he had been wont to do.

The parlor magic play was successfully filmed and then, as Alice and
Ruth had some shopping to do, to get their costumes ready for their
appearance before the camera next day, they prepared to leave. They
stopped for a moment, however, to watch their father in his play--"A
Heart's Cavalier." This was rather a pretentious drama, and called for
really good acting, the nature of which appealed to the veteran player.

It was really a delight to watch him, for he gave a finished
performance, and the loss of his voice was no handicap here. He could
whisper the words, or utter them in a low tone, so that the motion of
his lips might be seen by the audience.

If you have ever seen motion pictures, and I am sure you all have, you
know that often you can tell exactly what the characters are saying by
watching the form of their lips.

Deaf persons, who have learned to know what other persons are saying,
merely by watching their lips, are able to "hear" much more than can the
ordinary individual what goes on in moving pictures. In this they have a
distinct advantage.

But of course the story the celluloid film tells is mostly conveyed by
the action of the characters, and Mr. DeVere was an expert in this.

"Good-bye, Daddy," called Alice, when he was out of the scene for a
moment. "We'll be back, and you can take us out to lunch."

"All right," he laughed. "Make your poor old daddy spend his hard-earned
money, will you?"

"You know you're just crazy to do it," said Ruth. "Come on Alice."

The next day called for hard work for both the moving picture girls, and
there were a number of outdoor scenes to do. They were glad of this
change, however.

Some of the scenes Ruth and Alice had parts in, as well as Paul Ardite,
were filmed out in Bronx Park, with the still natural wildness of that
beauty spot as background. One scene was down near the beaver pond, and
with the snow on the ground, and the sleet still on the trees, the
pictures afterward turned out to be most effective. Special permission
had to be obtained to use the camera in the park, there being a rule
against it.

Alice had one part which called for feeding the birds with crumbs
scattered over the snow. And, just when they wanted this not a
bird--even a sparrow--was in sight. In vain they went to different parts
of the park, looking for some, and scattered many crumbs.

"I guess we'll have to give it up, and come back some other time," Russ
said finally. "I don't want to make another trip, either," he went on.
"It wastes so much time, and we're going to be be very busy soon."

"What about those new plans?" asked Ruth.

"They are to be announced to-morrow, I believe," was the answer. "A lot
of snow dramas are to be filmed."

"Good!" cried Alice. "I love the snow."

"Oh, quick! There are some birds!" called Ruth. "See, over there, Alice.
Scatter the crumbs!"

Russ had them in his pocket in readiness, and soon the snow was covered.
The birds did their part well, and as Alice stood near them, throwing
crumbs to the hungry sparrows and starlings, they fluttered about her,
and flocked at her feet.

"Good!" cried Russ, who was busy with the camera. "It couldn't be
better. This will make a fine film."

Alice presented a pretty picture as she stood there in her furs,
scattering crumbs to the birds, and the little feathered creatures
proved the best sort of actors, for they were not self-conscious, and
did not stop to peer at the camera, the clicking of which they did not
mind in the least.

"Well, that's done; now I think we'll go back," Russ said, when he had
ascertained, by looking at the register on the side of the camera, that
enough feet of the film had been used on that scene. For, in order to
have each scene get its proper amount of space, both as regards time and
length of film a strict watch is kept on how much celluloid is used.

A manager, or director, will decide on the importance of the various
scenes, and then divide up the film, giving so many feet to each act.

The standard length of film is a thousand feet. It comes in thousand
foot reels, but some plays are so elaborate that two, three or even
seven reels have been given up to them. Great scenic productions, such
as "Quo Vadis?" use up many thousand feet of film.

Russ and the two girls, with Paul, started back from the Bronx. They
were to stop in at the studio, but on reaching there the girls found
that their father had gone home, leaving a note saying he was going to
see the doctor about his throat.

"Poor daddy!" murmured Ruth. "He does have such trouble!"

"Has Merley bothered him again?" asked Russ.

"No, he has heard nothing from him," answered Alice. "But daddy worries
about it. Five hundred dollars means more to him now than five thousand
may later. For I hope daddy will get rich some day," she finished, with
a laugh.

The three walked on together to the subway, and got out at the station
nearest their house. On the way they had to cross one of the surface car
lines, and, just as they reached the corner, they heard a shout of alarm
or warning, evidently directed at someone in danger from an approaching
electric car.

"What is it?" cried Ruth, clinging to Alice.

"I don't know," answered the younger girl. "Oh, yes, there it is!" she
cried, pointing.

Three men were on the car tracks, and two of them seemed to be trying to
pull one away, out of the path of an approaching car. The shouts came
from a number of pedestrians who had seen the danger of the man.

The latter seemed to be caught by the foot on the rail, though how this
was possible was difficult to understand, as the rail was flat.

The motorman was doing his best to stop the car, but the rails were
slippery and it was easily seen that he could not do it. Then he added
his shouts to those of the others.

"Oh, he'll be killed!" cried Alice, covering her face with her hands.
Ruth had also turned aside.

"No, he won't!" cried Russ, with conviction. "They'll get him off, I
think. There! He's free! I guess they took off his shoe."

As he spoke the girls looked, and they saw the man fall in a peculiar
way, to one side, so as to be out of the path of the car, which swept
past him. The vehicle, however, seemed to hit him, but of this neither
Russ nor the girls could be sure.

"That's a queer accident," murmured Russ, as he started toward the scene
of it. "Come on, girls."

Ruth and Alice went with him. There was a little crowd about the fallen
man, and at the sight of the fellow's face Alice suddenly cried:

"Look! That is Dan Merley!"

CHAPTER VI

NEW PLANS

Alice's announcement caused her sister to start in surprise. Ruth looked
as if she could not understand, and Alice repeated:

"See, the man who fell is Dan Merley--the one who says daddy owes him
five hundred dollars."

"I believe you're right!" agreed Russ, who had had a good look at the
impudent fellow the night he invaded the DeVere rooms. "And I know one
of those other men--at least by sight. His name is Jagle. Let's see what
is going on here."

Fortunately no very large crowd gathered, so the girls felt it would be
proper for them to remain, particularly as the accident was not of a
distressing nature.

The motorman had stopped his car and had run back to the scene with the
conductor.

"What's the matter here? What did you want to get in the way of the car
for, anyhow?" demanded the motorman. He was nervously excited, and the
reaction at finding, after all, he had not killed a man, made him rather
angry.

"Matter? Matter enough, I should say!" replied one of the men with
Merley. "My friend is badly hurt. Someone get an ambulance! Fripp, you
call one."

"That was Jagle who spoke," Russ whispered to the girls. "But I don't
know the other one."

"He doesn't seem to be badly hurt," remarked the motorman. The
conductor, with a little pad and pencil, was getting the names of
witnesses to be used in case suit was brought. This is always done by
street car companies, in order to protect themselves.

"Hurt? Of course he's hurt!" exclaimed the man Russ called Jagle. "See
that cut on his head!"

There was a slight abrasion on Merley's forehead, but it did not seem at
all serious.

"Aren't you hurt, Dan?" asked Jagle.

"Of course I am!" was the answer. "I'm hurt bad, too. Get me home, Jim."

"If he's hurt the best place for him is a hospital," remarked the
motorman. "But I can't see where he's hurt."

"I can't walk, I tell you," whined Merley, and he attempted to get up,
but fell back. One of his friends caught him in his arms.

"There, you see! Of course he's hurt!" declared Jagle. "Go call an
ambulance, Fripp."

"I'll get an ambulance if he really needs one," spoke a policeman, who
had just come up on seeing the crowd. "Where are you hurt?"

"Something's the matter with my legs," declared Merley. "I can't use my
right one, and the left one is hurt, too. My foot got caught between the
rail and a piece of ice, and I couldn't get loose. My friends tried to
help me, but they couldn't get me away in time. I'm hurt, and I'm hurt
bad, I tell you! I think one of my legs must be run over."

"Nothing like that!" declared the motorman. "There's been no legs run
over by my car!"

That was very evident.

"Get me away from here," groaned Merley.

"Well, if you're really hurt I'll call an ambulance and have you taken
to the hospital," offered the policeman as he went to turn in a call.

"I sure am hurt," insisted Merley. "Why, I can hardly move now," and he
seemed to stiffen all over, though there was no visible sign of injury.

"Why doesn't someone get a doctor?" a boy in the crowd asked.

"There'll be one in de hurry-up wagon!" exclaimed another urchin. "A
feller in a white suit--dem's doctors. I know, cause me fadder was in de
'ospital onct."

Merley's two friends carried him to a drug store not far from the scene
of the accident. Ruth and Alice shrank back as he was borne past them,
for they feared he might recognize them, and cause a scene. But if he
saw them, which is doubtful, he gave no sign.

"Here comes de hurry-up wagon!" cried the lad who had thus designated
the ambulance. "Let's see 'em shove him on de stretcher! Say dis is
great!"

"I think we had better be going, Alice, dear," said Ruth. "Daddy
wouldn't like us to be in this crowd."

"Oh, I want to stay and see what happens. Besides, it might be
important," Alice objected. "This is Dan Merley, who might make trouble
for papa. We ought to see what happens to him. I think that whole
accident was queer. He didn't seem to be hit at all, and yet he says he
can't move. We ought to stay."

"If you want to go, I'll stay and let you know what happens," offered
Russ. "I don't mind."

"Perhaps that would be best," said Ruth.

"All right," agreed Alice, and she and her sister, with a last look at
the crowd around the ambulance, started for their apartment.

Russ came along a little later.

"What happened?" asked Ruth, when he had knocked on the door of their
hall and had been admitted.

"Not much," he replied. "They took Merley home, instead of to a
hospital. He wouldn't go to an institution, he said."

"Did those other two men go with him?" asked Alice.

"Who, Fripp and Jagle? No, they wouldn't be allowed to ride on the
ambulance. But they got a taxicab and went off in that. I heard Jagle
say to the ambulance surgeon, that he was a doctor, and that he'd attend
his friend when he got him home."

"Is Jagle a doctor?" asked Alice. "He didn't look like one."

"He's a _sort_ of doctor," Russ replied. "I think he's a quack, myself.
I wouldn't have him for a sick cat. But he calls himself a doctor and
surgeon. So that's all that happened."

"It was enough, anyhow," remarked Ruth. "I don't like to see anybody
hurt."

"I'm not so sure that fellow _was_ hurt," said Russ, slowly.

"What do you mean?" Alice asked, curiously.

"Well, he might have _imagined_ he was. I guess he was pretty well
scared at seeing that car come down on him. But I watched when he was
put in the ambulance and he seemed as well as either of his friends.
Only he kept insisting that he could not walk."

"It was certainly a queer accident," said Alice. "But, in spite of the
fact that he is a bad man, and wants to make trouble for daddy, I hope
he isn't seriously hurt."

"I don't believe it is serious," said Russ. "But it might easily have
been, though, if he had fallen in front of the car instead of away from
it."

"Well, there is nothing that hasn't its good side," remarked Ruth.
"Emerson's idea of the law of compensation works out very nicely in this
case."

"Kindly translate, sister mine," invited Alice, laughingly.

"Why, you know Emerson holds that one advantage makes up for each
defect. In this case Merley has had an accident--a defect. That may
cause him to stop annoying daddy--a distinct advantage to us."

"Oh, Ruth, how queer you are!" exclaimed Alice with a laugh. "I never
heard of such an idea."

"Who was this Emerson--a moving picture fellow?" asked Russ.

"No, he was a great writer," explained Ruth. "I'll let you take one of
his books."

"I wish you would," said Russ, seriously. "I never had much of a chance
to get an education, but I like to know things."

"So do I," agreed Ruth. "I never tire of Emerson."

Mr. DeVere was surprised when he heard about the accident to Merley.

"I can't understand it," said the girls' father. "He must have been
hurt, and yet--er--was he in a sensible condition, Russ?"

"Oh, yes, he seemed to be himself, all right," the young moving picture
operator replied, thoughtfully. "I haven't gotten to the bottom of it
myself."

And indeed it developed that there was a strange plot back of the
accident--a plot which involved the moving picture girls in an amazing
way, as will soon appear.

But puzzle over the odd accident as they might, neither Mr. DeVere, his
daughters, nor Russ could understand what it involved.

"At any rate, as you say, Ruth," the actor remarked with a smile, "there
is some compensation. He may not annoy me for some time; and,
meanwhile, I may think of a plan to prove I really paid that money."

"I hope so, Daddy!" she exclaimed. "Is your throat any better?"

"Yes, much," he replied with a smile. "Dr. Rathby is going to try a new
kind of spray treatment, and I had the first one this afternoon. It
helped me wonderfully."

"That's good!" exclaimed Alice.

The next day's papers contained a slight reference to the accident. It
was not important enough to warrant much space, and about all that was
said was that Merley claimed to have received an injury that made him
helpless, though its nature was a puzzle to the physician sent around by
the street car company.

"Well, if he's helpless, and the Lord knows I wish that to no man," said
Mr. DeVere, reverently, "he will not come here bothering you girls
again. If he confines his attacks to me I do not so much mind, but he
must leave you alone."

"That's what I say!" cried Russ.

When Mr. DeVere and his daughters arrived at the moving picture studio
that afternoon, for they were not to report until then, they found
notices posted, requesting all members of the company to remain after
rehearsal to hear an "important announcement."

"I wonder what it can be?" said Ruth.

"Probably it's about the new plans Mr. Pertell has been working on,"
suggested Alice.

"I think so," Russ said. He knew something of them, but had not
permission to reveal them.

And this proved to be the case. After the day's work was ended, and it
included the filming of several scenes for important dramas, Mr. Pertell
called his players together, and said:

"Ladies and gentlemen--also Tommy and Nellie, for you will be in on
this, I hope--we are going to leave New York City again, and be together
in a new place to make a series of plays."

"Leave New York!" gasped Miss Pennington.

"I hope we don't go to Oak Farm again!" cried Miss Dixon. "I want to be
in some place where I can get a lobster now and then."

"There will be no lobsters at Deerfield!" said Mr. Pertell, with a
smile, "unless there are some of the canned variety."

"How horrid!" complained Miss Pennington.

"Will there be deers there?" asked Tommy, with big eyes.

"I think there will, sonny," answered the manager.

"Reindeers--like Santa Claus has?" little Nellie wanted to know.

"Well, I guess so!" laughed Mr. Pertell. "At any rate, I plan to take
you all there."

"Where is Deerfield, if one may ask?" inquired Miss Dixon, pertly.

"Deerfield is a sort of backwoods settlement, in one of our New England
States," explained the manager. "It is rather isolated, but I want to go
there to get some scenes for moving pictures with good snow, and ice
effects as backgrounds."

"Are there good hotels there?" Miss Pennington demanded.

"We are going to stop in a big hunting lodge, that I have hired for the
occasion," Mr. Pertell replied. "I think you will like it very much."

"Hold on! One moment!" exclaimed Mr. Sneed, the grouchy actor. "You may
count me out of this! I shall go to no backwoods, in the middle of
winter, and freeze. I cannot stand the cold. I shall resign at once!"

"One moment. Before you decide that, I have something else to say to
you," said Mr. Pertell, and there was a smile on his face.

CHAPTER VII

OFF TO THE WOODS

The moving picture players looked curiously at the manager, and then at
Mr. Sneed. They were used to this action on his part, and also on the
part of Mr. Bunn--that of resigning when anything did not suit them. But
matters with either of them seldom went farther than the mere threat.

"I know it will not be as pleasant, as regards weather conditions, at
Elk Lodge, Deerfield, as it was at Oak Farm," said Mr. Pertell. "But the
lodge is a big building, very quaint and picturesque, I have been told,
and it has all the comforts, and many of the conveniences, of life.
There are big, open fireplaces, and plenty of logs to burn. So you will
not freeze."

"Open fires are always cold," complained Mr. Sneed. "You roast on one
side, and freeze on the other."

"Oh, I think it won't be quite as bad as that," laughed the manager.
"But that is not all I have to say. In consideration of the fact that
there will be some inconveniences, in spite of all I can do, I am
willing to make an increase of ten per cent. in the salaries of all of
you, including Tommy and Nellie," and he smiled at the two children.

"Oh, goodie! I'm going!" cried the small lad.

"So'm I," voiced his sister.

There was a moment of silence, while all the members of the company
looked at Mr. Sneed, who had raised the first contention. He seemed to
think that it was necessary for him to say something.

"Ah--ahem!" he began.

"Yes?" spoke Mr. Pertell, questioningly.

"In view of all the facts, and er--that I would have to give two weeks'
notice, and under all the circumstances, I think--er--I will withdraw my
resignation, if you will allow me," the grouchy actor went on, in a
lofty manner.

"Ah!" laughed Mr. Pertell. "Then we will consider it settled, and you
may all begin to pack up for Elk Lodge as soon as you please."

"When are we to leave?" asked Mr. DeVere.

"In a few days now. I have one more play I want to stage in New York,
and then we will leave for the country where we can study snow and ice
effects to better advantage than here. We want to get out into the open.
Russ, I must have a talk with you about films. I think, in view of the
fact that the lights out in the open, reflected by the snow, will be
very intense and high, a little change in the film and the stop of the
camera will be necessary."

"I think so myself," agreed the young moving picture operator. "In fact,
I have been working on a little device that I can attach to our cameras
to cut down the amount of light automatically. It consists of a selenium
plate with a battery attachment----"

"Oh, spare us the dreadful details!" interrupted Miss Pennington, who
was of a rather frivolous nature.

"Well, there is no longer need of detaining you," spoke Mr. Pertell.
"Work for the day is over. We will meet again to-morrow and film 'A
Mother's Sorrow,' and that will be the last New York play for some time.
I presume it will take a week to get ready to go to Deerfield, as there
are many details to look after."

"Oh, I just can't wait until it's time to go to the backwoods!" cried
Alice, as she and Ruth were on their way home that evening. "Aren't you
crazy about it, sister mine?"

"Well, not exactly _crazy_, Alice. You do use such--er--such strong
expressions!"

"Well, I have strong feelings, I suppose."

"I know, but you must be more--more conservative."

"I know you were going to say 'lady-like,' but you didn't dare," laughed
Alice.

"Well, consider it said, my dear," went on Ruth, in all seriousness, for
she felt that she must, in a measure, play the part of a mother to her
younger sister.

"I don't want to consider anything!" laughed Alice, "except the glorious
fun we are going to have. Oh, Ruth, even the prospect of that dreadful
Dan Merley making daddy pay the debt over again can't dampen my spirits
now. I'm so happy!"

She threw her arms about Ruth and attempted a few turns of the one-step
glide.

"Oh, stop! I'm slipping!" cried Ruth, for the sidewalk was icy. "Alice,
let me go!"

"Not until you take a few more steps! Now dip!"

"But, Alice! I'm going to fall! I know I am! There! I told you----"

But Ruth did not get a chance to use the favorite expression of Mr.
Sneed, if such was her intention. For she really was about to fall when
a young man, who was passing, caught her, and saved her from a tumble.

"Oh!" she gasped, in confusion, as she recovered her balance.

"I beg your pardon," laughed the young fellow, with sparkling eyes.

"I should beg yours!" faltered Ruth, with a blush.

"It was all my fault--I wanted her to dance!" cried Alice, willing to
accept her share of the blame.

"Yes, this weather makes one feel like dancing," the young fellow
agreed, and then with a bow he passed on.

"Alice how could you?" cried Ruth.

"How could I what?"

"Make me do that."

"I didn't mean to. Really, he was nice; wasn't he? And say, did you
notice his eyes?"

"Oh, Alice, you are hopeless!" and Ruth had to laugh.

The two moving picture girls reached home without further mishap, if
mishap that could be called, though all the way Alice insisted on
waltzing about happily, and trying in vain to get Ruth to join in, and
try the new steps. Passersby more than once turned to look at the two
pretty girls, who made a most attractive picture.

The drama next day was successfully filmed and then followed a sort of
week's vacation, while the picture players prepared for the trip to the
woods.

They were to go by train to Hampton Junction, the nearest station to
Deerfield. This last was only a small settlement once the center of an
important lumber industry, but now turned into a hunting preserve, owned
by a number of rich men. As the Lodge was not in use this season, Mr.
Pertell had engaged it for his company.

In due time the baggage was all packed, the various "properties" had
been shipped by Pop Snooks and everything was ready for the trip. The
journey from the railroad station at Hampton Junction to Elk Lodge, in
Deerfield, was to be made in big four-horse sleds, several of them
having been engaged, for it was reported that the snow was deep in the
woods. Winter had set in with all its severity there.

Finally all the members of the company were gathered at the Grand
Central Terminal, New York. The players attracted considerable
attention, for there was that air of the theater about them which always
seems so fascinating to the outsider, who knows so little of the really
hard work that goes on behind the footlights. Most of the glitter is in
front, in spite of appearances.

"Why, it's like setting off for Oak Farm!" remarked Alice, as she stood
beside her sister, Paul and Russ.

"Only there isn't any mystery in prospect," spoke Paul. "I wonder how
the Apgars are getting on, now that their farm is safe?"

"They're probably sitting about a warm fire, talking about it," Russ
said.

"There may be just as much of a mystery in the backwoods as there was at
Oak Farm, if we can only come across it," suggested Alice. "I wish we
could discover something queer."

"Oh, Alice!" protested Ruth.

Mr. Sneed was observed to be walking about, peering at the various sign
boards on which the destination of trains was given.

"What are you looking for?" asked Russ.

"I want to see that we don't start out on track thirteen as we did when
we went to Oak Farm, and had the wreck," the actor answered. "I've had
enough of hoodoos."

"You're all right this time--we leave from track twenty-seven," called
Mr. Pertell. "All aboard for Deerfield and Elk Lodge!"

CHAPTER VIII

A BREAKDOWN

There was snow everywhere. Never could Ruth, Alice, and the other
members of the Comet Film Company remember so much at one time. They
seemed to have entered the Polar regions.

Along the tracks of the railroad the white flakes were piled in deep
drifts, and when they swept out from a patch of woodland, and had a view
across the fields, or down into some valley, they could see a long,
unbroken stretch of white.

"It sure is some snow," observed Russ, who sat in the seat with Ruth,
while Paul had pre-empted a place beside Alice. This last in spite of
the fact that Miss Dixon invitingly had a seat ready for the young actor
beside herself. But she was forced to be content with a novel for
companionship.

"Yes, and we're going to get more snow," remarked Mr. Sneed, who sat
behind Russ. "We'll get so much that the train will be delayed, and
we'll have to stay on it all night; that's what will happen."

"Und ve vill starf den; ain't dot so?" inquired Mr. Switzer, with a
jolly laugh from across the aisle. "Ve vill starf alretty; vill ve not,
mine gloomy friendt?"

"We sure will," predicted the grouch of the company. "They took the
dining car off at the last station, and I understand there isn't another
one to be had until we get to Hampton Junction. We sure will starve!"

"Ha! Dot is vot ve vill _not_ do!" laughed Mr. Switzer, with conviction.
"See, I haf alretty t'ought of dot, und I haf provided. Here are
pretzels!" and he produced a large bag of them from his grip. "Ve vill
not starf!"

"Ha! Pretzels!" scoffed Mr. Sneed. "I never eat them!"

"Maybe you vill before you starf!" chuckled Mr. Switzer, as he replaced
them. "I like dem much!"

The other members of the company laughed--all but Mr. Sneed and
Wellington Bunn. The former went forward to consult a brakeman as to the
prospects of the train becoming snowbound, while Mr. Bunn, who wore his
tall hat, and was bundled up in a fur coat, huddled close to the window,
and doubtless dreamed of the days when he had played Shakespearean
rôles; and wondered if he would play them again.

The train went on, not that any great speed was attained, for the grade
was up hill, and there had been heavy storms. There was also the
prospect of more snow, and this, amid the rugged hills of New England,
was not reassuring.

"But we expect hard weather up here," said Mr. Pertell to his company.
"The more snow and ice we have, the better pictures we can get."

"That's right!" agreed Russ.

"Humph! I'm beginning to wish I hadn't come," growled Mr. Sneed, who had
received information from a brakeman to the effect that trains were
often snowbound in that part of the State.

A few feathery flakes began falling now, and there was the promise of
more in the clouds overhead, and in the sighing of the North wind.

"Does your throat hurt you much, Daddy?" asked Ruth, as she noticed her
father wrapping a silk handkerchief closer about his neck.

"Just a little; I think it is the unusual cold," he replied. "But I do
not mind it. The air is sharper here than in New York; but it is drier.
Perhaps it may do me good. I think I will use my spray," and he got out
his atomizer.

There were not many passengers beside the members of the film
theatrical company in the car in which Ruth and her sister rode. Among
them, however, were two young ladies, about the age of Alice, and as
Ruth went down the aisle once, to get a drink of water, she noted that
one of the strangers appeared to be ill.

"Pardon me," spoke Ruth, with ready sympathy, "but can I do anything to
help you?"

"She has a bad headache," replied the other. "My sister always gets one
when she travels. Fortunately we have not much farther to go."

"Oh, Helen, I shall be so glad when we get there," said the suffering
one.

"Never mind, Mabel, we will soon be there," soothed the other.

"If you don't mind--I'd like to give you my smelling salts," offered
Ruth. "They always help me when I have a headache, which is seldom, I'm
glad to say."

"I wish I could say that," murmured the afflicted one.

"Suppose you let me give the bottle to you," suggested Ruth. "I'll have
my sister bring some spirits of cologne, too. Then you can bathe your
head."

"You are very kind," responded the other.

Soon the four girls were in the ladies' compartment of the parlor car in
which the picture company was traveling. There was a lounge there, and
on this the girl called Mabel was soon receiving the ministrations of
the others.

Her head was bathed in the fragrant cologne, and the use of the smelling
salts relieved the slight feeling of indisposition that accompanied the
headache.

"I feel so much better now," she declared, after a little. "I--I think I
could sleep."

"That would be the best thing for you, my dear," said Ruth, as she
smoothed her hair. "Come," she whispered to the others, "we will sit
back here and let her rest," and she motioned them to come into the
curtained-off recess of the compartment.

There the other girl said that she and her sister were on their way to
visit relatives over the holidays. They were Mabel and Helen Madison, of
New York.

"And right after Christmas we're going to Florida," Helen confided to
Ruth and Alice.

"Oh, it must be lovely there, under the palms!" exclaimed the latter. "I
do so want to go."

"It is quite a contrast to this, I should imagine," remarked Ruth, as
she gazed out of the window on the snowy scene.

"Does your company ever get as far as Florida?" asked Helen, for Ruth
and Alice had told her their profession.

"We haven't yet," replied Ruth, "though once, when we were small, daddy
played in St. Augustine, and we were there. But I don't remember
anything about it."

"We are going to a little resort on Lake Kissimmee," said Helen Madison.
"Perhaps we may see you there, if you ever make pictures in Florida."

"I hardly think we are going that far," observed Ruth. "But if we do we
shall look for you."

Ruth little realized then how prophetic her words were, nor how she and
Alice would actually "look" for the two girls.

A little later Mabel awakened from a doze, and announced that her head
felt much better. Then, as it would soon be time for her and her sister
to get off, for they were nearing their destination, they went back to
their seats to get their luggage in readiness.

"I like them; don't you?" asked Alice, as she and Ruth rejoined their
friends.

"Indeed I do! They seem very sweet girls. I would like to meet them
again."

"So would I. Perhaps we shall. It would be lovely if we could go to
Florida, after our winter work is over. I'm going to ask Mr. Pertell if
there's any likelihood of our doing so."

But Alice did not get the opportunity just then, as she and Ruth went to
the door to bid their new girl acquaintances good-bye. Then came the
announcement that in a short time Hampton Junction would be reached.

"Better be getting your possessions together," advised Mr. Pertell to
his company. "It is getting late and I don't want to have you travel too
much after dark."

The train came to a stop at Hampton Junction, and from the car emerged
the picture players. Ranged alongside the small building that served as
the depot were several large sleighs, known in that country as "pungs,"
the bodies being filled with clean straw. There were four horses to
each, and the jingle of their bells made music on the wintry air.

"Oh, we're going to have a regular straw ride!" cried Alice, clapping
her hands at the sight of the comfortable-looking sleighs. "Isn't this
jolly, Ruth?"

"I'm sure it will be, yes. Come now, have you everything?"

"Everything, and more too!"

"Daddy, are you all right?" went on Ruth, for she had gotten into the
habit, of late, of looking after her father, who seemed to lean on her
more and more as she grew older.

"Everything, daughter," he replied. "And my throat feels much better. I
think the cold air is doing it good."

"That's fine!" she laughed, happily. "Now I wonder which of these
sleighs is ours?"

"I'll tell you in a minute," said Mr. Pertell. "I want to see the
lodge-keeper. Oh, there he is! Hello, Jake Macksey!" he called to the
sturdy man, in big boots, who was stalking about among the sleds, "is
everything all right for us?"

"Everything, Mr. Pertell," was the hearty answer. "We'll have you out to
Elk Lodge in a jiffy. My wife has got a lot of stuff cooked up, for she
thought you'd be hungry."

"Indeed we are!" grumbled Mr. Sneed.

"But if dere iss stuff cooked I can safe mine pretzels!" chuckled Mr.
Switzer.

The baggage was stowed in one sled, and in the others the members of the
picture company distributed themselves.

"All right?" asked Jake Macksey, who was a veteran guide and hunter, and
in charge of Elk Lodge.

"All ready!" answered Mr. Pertell.

"Drive lively now, boys!" called the hunter. "It's getting late, and
will soon be dark, and the roads aren't any too good."

"Oh my!" groaned Mr. Sneed. "I'm sure something will happen!"

With cracks of the whips, and a jingling of sleighbells, the little
cavalcade started off. The gloom settled slowly down, but Ruth and Alice
helped dispel it by singing lively songs. Over the snow-covered road
they went, now on a comparatively level place, and again down into some
hollow where the drifts were deep. The horses pulled nobly.

They came to a narrow place in the road, where the snow was piled high
on either side. There was room for but one sled at a time.

"I hope we don't meet anyone here," said Mr. Macksey. "If they do we'll
have a hard job passing. G'lang there!" he called to his horses.

They were half-way through the snow defile, when the leading sleigh, in
which rode Ruth and Alice, swerved to one side. There was a crashing
sound, a splintering of wood, and the two forward horses went down in a
heap.

"Whoa! Whoa!" called Mr. Macksey, as he reined in the others.

"What's happened?" asked Mr. DeVere.

"Some sort of a breakdown," answered the hunter.

"Serious?" the actor wanted to know, trying to peer ahead in the gloom.

"I can't tell yet," was the answer. "Here, can someone hold the reins
while I get out?" he asked.

"I will," offered Russ, and he held the rear team. The horses who had
fallen had struggled to their feet and were quiet now. But the front
part of the sled seemed to have sagged into the snow.

"I thought so!" exclaimed Mr. Macksey, as he got up after peering under
the vehicle. "No going on like this."

"What happened?" asked Alice.

"One of the forward runners has broken. There must have been a defect in
it I didn't notice."

"Can't we go on?" asked Mr. Sneed.

"Not very well," was the answer. "We've broken down, and unfortunately
we're the leading sleigh. I don't know how to get the others past it."

"Well, I knew something would happen," sighed the human grouch. And he
seemed quite gratified that his prediction had been verified.

CHAPTER IX

THE BLIZZARD

The two other sleds had, as a matter of necessity, come to a halt behind
the first one. The defile in the snow was so narrow that there could be
no passing. Those who had broken the road through the drifts had not
been wise enough to make a wide path, and now the consequences must be
taken.

In fact it would have been a little difficult to make at this point a
path wide enough for two sleighs. The road went between two rocky walls,
and though in the summer, when there was no snow, two vehicles could
squeeze past, in the winter the piling up of the snow on either side
made an almost impassable barrier.

To turn out to right or left was out of the question, for the snow was
so deep that the horses would have floundered helplessly in it.

"Well, what's to be done?" asked Mr. DeVere, as he buttoned his coat
collar up around his neck, and looked at his two daughters.

"I'm afraid I'll have to ask you all to get out," said Mr. Macksey. "I
want to get a better look at that broken runner, and see if it's
possible to mend it. Bring up a lantern," he called to one of the
drivers of the other sleds. "We'll soon need it."

The moving picture players in the broken-down sled piled out into the
snow. Fortunately they had come prepared for rough weather, and wore
stout shoes. Ruth and Alice, as well as Russ and Paul, laughed at the
plight, and Mr. Switzer, with a chuckle, exclaimed:

"Ha! Maybe mine pretzels vill come in useful after all!"

"That's no joke--maybe they will," observed Mr. Sneed, gloomily. "We may
have to stay here all night."

"Oh, we could walk to Elk Lodge if we had to," put in Mr. Macksey, as he
took the lantern which the other driver brought up.

"It wouldn't be very pleasant," replied Mr. Sneed, "with darkness soon
to be here, and a storm coming up."

"You're right about the storm, I'm afraid," answered the veteran hunter.
"I don't like the looks of the weather a bit. And it sure will be dark
soon. But we'll have a look at this sled," he went on. "Give me a hand
here, Tom and Dick," he called to the other drivers, who had left their
teams.

They managed to prop up the sled, so a better view could be had of the
forward runner. Then the extent of the damage was made plain. One whole
side had given way, and was useless. It could not even be patched up.

"Too bad!" declared the hunter. "Now, if it had only been the rear sled
it wouldn't worry me so.

"For then we could pile the stuff from the back sled into the others,
and go on, even if we were a bit crowded. But with the front sled
blocking this narrow road, I don't see how we are to go on."

"If we could only jump the two rear sleds over this broken one, it would
be all right," said Alice. "It's like one of those moving block puzzles,
where you try to get the squares in a certain order without lifting any
of them out."

"That's it," agreed Mr. Macksey. "But it's no easy matter to jump two
big sleds, and eight horses, over another sled and four horses. I've
played checkers, but never like that," he added.

"But we must do something," insisted Mr. Pertell. "I can't have my
company out like this all night. We must get on to Elk Lodge, somehow."

"Well, I don't see how you're going to do it," responded the hunter.
"You could walk, of course; but you couldn't take your baggage, and you
wouldn't like that."

"Walk? Never! I protest against that!" exclaimed Mr. Bunn.

"'He doth protest too much!'" quoted Paul, in a low voice. "Come on,
Ruth--Alice--shall we walk?"

"I'd like to do it--I'm getting cold standing here," cried Alice,
stamping her feet on the edge of the road. "Will you, Ruth?"

"I'm afraid we'd better not--at least until we talk to daddy, my dear,"
was the low-voiced answer. "Perhaps they can get the sled fixed."

But it did not seem so, for Mr. Macksey, with a puzzled look on his
face, was talking earnestly to the two drivers. The accident had
happened at a most unfortunate time and place.

"We can't even turn around and go back a different road, the way it is,"
said the hunter. "There isn't room to turn, and everybody knows you
can't back a pung very far before getting stuck."

"Then what are we to do?" asked Mr. Pertell.

The hunter did not answer for a minute. Then he said:

"Well, we've got twelve horses here, and I can manage to squeeze the two
rear teams past the stalled sled. Then if you'd like to take chances
riding them to Elk Lodge----"

"Never!" cried Mr. Bunn, with lively recollections of a time he had
ridden a mule at Oak Farm. "I shall stay here forever, first!"

"Well, if you don't want to do that," said Mr. Macksey, and to tell the
truth few members of the company seemed in favor of the idea, "if you
don't want to do that I might ride on ahead and get a spare sleigh I
have at the Lodge. I could get back here before very late, and we'd get
home sooner or later."

"And we would have to stay here?" asked Mr. DeVere.

"I see no help for it. There are plenty of blankets in the sleds, and
you can huddle down in the straw and keep warm. I'll get back as soon as
I can."

There really seemed nothing else to do, and, after talking it over, this
plan was practically decided on. But something happened to change it.
The wind had been rising constantly, and the snow was ever falling
thicker and faster. The players could see only a little way ahead now
from the place where they were stalled.

"This would make a good film, if you could get it," remarked Paul to
Russ.

"Too dark," replied the camera operator. "Do you know, I don't like
this," he went on in a low voice to the young actor.

"You don't like what?" Paul wanted to know.

"The way this weather is acting. I think there's going to be a big
storm, and here we are, stalled out in the open. It will be hard for the
girls and the women, to say nothing of Tommy and Nellie."

"That's what it will, Russ; but what can be done?"

As he spoke there came a sudden fierce rush of wind and a flurry of
snow. It took the breaths of all, and instinctively they turned from it,
for the snow stung their faces. The horses, too, disliked to face the
stinging blast, and shifted their places.

"Get behind such shelter as you can!" cried Mr. Macksey, above the roar
of the storm. "This is a genuine blizzard and it's death to be
unprotected. Get into the sleds, and cover up with the blankets. I'll
have to go for help!"

CHAPTER X

AT ELK LODGE

The warning by Mr. Macksey, no less than the sudden blast of the storm,
struck terror to the hearts of not only the moving picture girls, but to
all the other players. For it was something to which they were not
used--that terrible sweep of wind and blinding snow.

There had been heavy storms in New York, but there the big buildings cut
off the force of the wind, except perhaps in some street canyon. But in
the backwoods, on this stretch of open fields, there was no protection
except that furnished by nature; or, in this case, by the sleds.

For a moment after the veteran hunter had called his warning no one
moved. They all seemed paralyzed by fear. Then Mr. Macksey called again:

"Into shelter, every one of you! What do you mean; standing there in
this storm? Get under the blankets--crouch down at the side of the
sleds. I'll go for help."

"But you--you'll freeze to death--I can't permit you to go!" protested
Mr. Pertell, yelling the words into the other's ear, to make himself
heard above the storm.

"No, I'm used to this sort of thing!" the hunter replied. "I know a
short cut to the lodge, and I can protect myself against the wind. I'll
go."

"I don't like it!" repeated Mr. Pertell, while Mr. Macksey was forcing
him back toward the protecting sled.

Meanwhile the others, now, if never before, feeling the need of shelter,
were struggling through the blinding snow toward the broken sled, from
which they had wandered a short time before while listening to the
attempts made at solving the problem of getting on.

"Isn't this awful!" gasped Ruth, as she clung to Alice.

"Awful? It's just glorious!" cried the young girl. "I wouldn't have
missed it for worlds."

"Oh, Alice, how can you say so? We may all die in this terrible storm!"

"I'm not going to think anything of the kind!" returned the other.
"We'll get out of it, somehow, and laugh at ourselves afterward for
being so silly as to be afraid. Oh, this is great!"

She was really glorying in the fierce outburst of nature. Perhaps she
did not understand, or appreciate, it, for she had never seen anything
like it before, and in this case ignorance might have been akin to
bliss.

But the others, especially the drivers of the two sleds, with anxious
looks on their cold faces, were trying to seek the shelter they so much
needed, and also look to the restless horses. For the animals were now
almost frantic with their desire to get away from that cutting wind and
stinging snow.

"Unhitch 'em all!" roared Mr. Macksey to his men. "Take the horses from
the sleds and get 'em back of as much shelter as you can find. Otherwise
they may bolt and upset something. I'll take old Bald-face, and see if I
can't get some kind of help."

Though what sort of aid he could bring to the picture actors in this
time of storm and stress he hardly knew. But he was not going to give up
without trying.

Ruth and Alice were trying to struggle back through the snow to their
sled, and not making very successful work of it, when they felt arms at
their sides helping them, and Russ and Paul came along.

"Fierce; isn't it!" cried Russ in Ruth's ear.

"Awful, and yet this sister of mine pretends that she likes it."

"I do!" declared Alice. "It's glorious. I can't really believe it's a
blizzard."

"It's the beginning of one, though," Paul assured her. "I hear the
drivers saying so. Their blizzards up here start in with a squall like
this, and soon develop into a bad storm. This isn't at its worst yet."

"Well, I hope I see the worst of it!" said Alice.

"Oh, how can you so tempt fate?" asked Ruth, seriously.

"I'm not tempting fate, but I mean I do like to see a great storm--that
is, if I'm protected, as I am now," and Alice laughed through the
whirling snow into Paul's face, for he had wrapped a fold of his big
ulster about her.

"Oh, dear!" sighed Ruth.

"What's the matter?" asked Russ, anxiously.

"I'm so worried."

"Don't be--yet," he said, reassuringly.

"But we may be snowed in here for a week!"

"Never mind--Mr. Switzer still has his pretzels, I believe."

She could not help laughing, in spite of their distress.

"Oh, poor daddy!" cried Alice, as she reached the sled, and Paul
prepared to help her in, "he is trying to protect his poor throat." Mr.
DeVere wore a heavy coat, the collar of which he had turned up, but even
this seemed little protection, and he was now tying a silk handkerchief
about his collar.

"I have the very thing for him!" cried Paul, taking off a muffler he
wore.

"Oh, but you'll need that!" protested Alice, quickly.

"Not a bit of it--I'm as warm as toast," he answered. "Here you are,
sir!" he called to Mr. DeVere, and when the latter, after a weak
resistance, had accepted it (for he was really suffering from the cold),
Alice thanked Paul with a look that more than repaid him for his
knightly self-sacrifice.

The players were by now in the sled, which, in its damaged condition,
had been let down as nearly level as possible. The blankets were pulled
up over the side, and Mr. Macksey was preparing to unhitch one of the
horses, and set off for help. Then one of the drivers gave a sudden cry,
and came running up to his employer.

"Look!" he shouted. "The wind's shifted. It's blowing right across the
top of this cut now. We'll be protected down here!"

This was indeed true. At the beginning of the squall, which was working
up to a blizzard, the wind had swept up the canyon-like defile between
the hills of earth and snow. But now the direction of the gale had
shifted and was sweeping across the top of the depression. Thus those at
the bottom were, in a measure, protected from the blast.

"By hickory!" exclaimed Mr. Macksey, "that's right. The wind has
changed. Folks, you'll be all right for a while down here, until I can
get help."

"Must you go?" asked Ruth, for now they could talk with more ease.
Indeed, so fiercely was the snow sweeping across the top of the gulch
that little of it fell into the depression.

"Oh, sure, I've got to get help," the hunter said. "You folks can't stay
here all night, even if the wind continues to blow across the top, which
makes it much better."

"Indeed and I will not stay here all night!" protested Mr. Bunn. "I most
strenuously object to it."

"And so do I!" growled Mr. Sneed. "There is no need of it. I might have
known something unpleasant would happen. I had a feeling in my bones
that it would."

"Well, you'll have a freezing feeling in your bones if I don't get
help," observed Mr. Macksey, grimly.

"And I am hungry, too," went on Mr. Sneed. "Why was not food brought
with us in anticipation of this emergency?"

"Haf a pretzel!" offered Mr. Switzer, holding one out.

"Away with the vile thing!" snapped Mr. Sneed.

Mr. Macksey was about to leap on the back of the horse and start off,
when the same driver who had noticed the change in the wind called out:

"I say, Mr. Macksey, I have a plan."

"What is it?"

"Maybe you won't have to go for help, after all. Why can't we take the
forward bob from under the rear sled and put it in place of the broken
one on the first sled? We can easily pass the bob by the second sled
even if the place is narrow."

"By hickory! Why didn't you think of that before?" demanded the hunter.
"Of course we can do it! Lively now, and we'll make the change. Got to
be quick, or it'll be pitch dark."

It would have been very dark long ago had it not been for the snow,
which gave a sort of reflected light.

"Come on!" cried Mr. Macksey. "We'll make the change. I guess I'll have
to ask you folks to get out again," he said to the players in the first
sled. "But it won't be for long. We'll have a good runner in place of
the broken one, and then we can pile into two sleds and get into Elk
Lodge. We'll leave the last sled until to-morrow."

"But what about our baggage?" asked Miss Pennington. "That is in the
rear sled. Can we take that with us?"

"Not all of it," answered the hunter, "but you can crowd in as much as
possible. The rest can wait."

"I want _all_ of mine," declared the former vaudeville actress.

"So do I!" cried Miss Dixon.

"You'll be lucky if you get in out of this storm," said Mr. Pertell
reprovingly, "to say nothing about baggage. Do the best you can, Mr.
Macksey."

"I will. Come now, men, lively!"

It took some little time to make the change, but finally the work was
done.

The broken runner was cast aside, and there were now two good sleds,
one ahead of the other in the snowy defile. As much of the needed
baggage as possible was transferred, and the four horses that had been
on the rear sled were brought up and hitched to the remaining sleds--two
to each so that each conveyance now had six animals attached to it.

"And by hickory!" exclaimed Mr. Macksey, that appearing to be his
favorite expression, "By hickory, we'll need 'em all!"

They were now ready to set forth, and all rather dreaded going out into
the open again, for the defile offered a good shelter from the storm.
But it had to be done, for it was out of the question to stay there all
night.

"Go 'long!" called the hunter, as he shook the long reins of his six
horses, and cracked the whip with a report like a pistol. But the lash
did not fall on the backs of the ready animals. Mr. Macksey never beat
his horses--they were willing enough without that.

Lanterns had been lighted and hung on the sleds, to shed their warning
rays through the storm. They now gleamed fitfully through the
fast-falling snow.

"Are you feeling better now, Daddy?" asked Ruth of her father, as she
glanced anxiously at him.

"Much better, yes. I am afraid I ought to give you back your muffler,
Paul," he added.

"No indeed--please keep it," begged the young actor.

Alice reached beneath the blanket and pressed his hand in appreciation.

"Thanks," he laughed.

"It is I who thank you," she returned, softly.

They were now out in the open road, and the fury of the blast struck
them with all its cruel force.

"Keep covered up!" shouted Mr. Macksey, through the visor of his cap,
which was pulled down over his face. "We'll be there pretty soon."

On through the drifts plunged the straining horses. It was all six of
them could do, pull as they might, to make their way. How cruelly the
wind cut, and how the snow flakes stung! Soft as they really were, the
wind gave them the feeling of pieces of sand and stone.

On through the storm went the delayed party. And then, when each one, in
spite of his or her fortitude, was almost giving up in despair at the
cold and the anxiety Mr. Macksey shouted out;

"Whoa! Here we are! All out for Elk Lodge!"

CHAPTER XI

THROUGH THE ICE

Warming, comforting beams of light shone from a large, low building set
back from the road in a little clearing of the woods. It was too dark to
see more than this--that the structure offered shelter, warmth and
light. Yes, and something else, for there was borne on the wings of the
wind the most delicious odor--the odor of supper.

"Pile out, folks! Pile out!" cried the genial old hunter. "Here we are!
At Elk Lodge! No more storm! No more cold! Get inside to the blaze. I
reckon mother's about given us up; but we're here, and we won't do a
thing to her cooking! Pile out!"

It was an invitation that needed no repetition. It was greeted with a
merry shout, even Mr. Sneed, the grouch, condescending to say:

"Ah, that sounds good!"

"Ha! Den if dere iss food to eat I dinks me dot I don't need to eat my
pretzels. I can safe dem for annoder time!" cried Mr. Switzer, as he
got out.

There was a laugh at this, and it was added to when Mr. Bunn called out
in his deepest tragic voice:

"Ha! Someone has my silk hat!"

For he had persisted in wearing that in the storm, though it was most
uncomfortable.

"It is gone!" he added. "Stolen, mayhap. Has anyone seen it?"

"Probably blew off," said Russ. "We'll find it--when the snow melts!"

Wellington Bunn groaned--again tragically.

"I'll get you another," offered Mr. Pertell, generously.

"Come on, folks! Pile out!" cried Mr. Macksey again.

"I'm so stiff I can hardly move!" declared Ruth.

"So am I," added Alice. "Oh, but it's good to be here!"

"I thought you liked the storm so," observed Ruth.

"I do, but I like supper too, and I think it must be ready."

Out of the sleds climbed the cold and cramped picture players, all
thought of the fierce storm now forgotten.

"Go right in," invited Mr. Macksey. "Supper's waiting!"

"Welcome to Elk Lodge!" called a motherly voice, and Mrs. Macksey
appeared in the open door of the main corridor. "Come right in!"

They were glad enough to do it.

"I don't know any of you, except Russ and Mr. Pertell," she said, for
the manager and his helper had paid a visit to the place sometime before
to make arrangements about using it.

"You'll soon know all of 'em," declared Mr. Pertell with a laugh. "I'll
introduce you," which he quickly did.

"Now then, I expect you'll want to wash up," went on the hunter's wife.
"I'll have the girl show you to your different rooms, and then you can
come down to supper. It's been waiting. What kept you? I'll have to ask
you folks because it's like pulling teeth to get any news out of my
husband. What happened?"

"A breakdown," explained Ruth, who took an instant liking to motherly
Mrs. Macksey. "Oh, we had such a time!"

"Such a glorious time!" supplemented Alice.

"Here's a girl who evidently likes outdoors," laughed the hunter's wife.

"Indeed I do!" cried Alice.

There was some little confusion, getting the players to their rooms,
because of the lateness of the arrival, but finally each one was in his
or her appointed apartment, and trying to get settled. The rooms were
small but comfortable, and the hunters who had built the lodge for
themselves had provided many comforts.

"There ought to be a private bath for each one," declared Miss
Pennington, as she surveyed her room.

"Indeed there ought," agreed her friend Miss Dixon. "I think this place
is horrid!"

"How thoughtless and selfish they are," said Ruth, who shared a room
with Alice.

"Aren't they! I think it's lovely here. Oh, but I am so hungry!"

"So am I, dear."

"Glad to hear it for once, Ruth. Usually you have so little appetite
that one would think you were in love."

"Silly! I'm going to eat to-night anyhow."

"Does that mean you are _not_ in love?"

"Silly!" cried Ruth again, but that was all she answered.

What a glorious and home-like place Elk Lodge was! Yes, even better than
the best home the moving picture girls had known most of their lives,
for they had spent part of the time boarding, as their father traveled
about with his theatrical company, and who can compare a home to a
boarding house?

Down in the big living room a fire burned and crackled, and gave out
spicy odors on the great hearth that took in logs six feet long. And how
cheerfully and ruddily the blaze shone out! It mellowed and cheered
everyone. Even Mr. Sneed smiled, and stretched out his hands to the
leaping flames.

As Ruth and Alice were about to go down, having called to their father
across the hall that they were ready for him, there came a knock on
their door.

"Come in!" invited Ruth.

"Sorry to trouble you," spoke Miss Pennington, "but have you any cold
cream and--er--powder? Our things were left in the other sled--I mean
all of those things, and Laura and I can't--we simply can't get along
without them."

"I have cold cream," said Alice. "But powder--that is unless it's talcum
or rice----"

"That will have to do I guess," sighed the vaudeville actress. "But I
did hope you had a bit of rouge, I'm so pale!"

"Never use it!" said Alice quickly. Too quickly, hospitable Ruth
thought, for, though she decried the use of "paint," she would not be
rude to a guest, and, under these circumstances Miss Pennington was a
guest.

"You don't need it," the caller said, with a glance at Alice's glowing
cheeks, to whom the wind and snow had presented two damask spots that
were most becoming.

"The weather is very chapping to my face," the former vaudeville actress
went on. "I really must have something," and she departed with the cold
cream and some harmless rice powder, which Ruth and Alice used
judiciously and sparingly, and only when needed.

The fine supper, late as it was, necessarily, was enjoyed to the utmost.
It was bountiful and good, and though at first Miss Pennington and Miss
Dixon were inclined to sniff at the lack of "courses," and the absence
of lobster, it was noticed that they ate heartily.

"There is only one thing more I want," sighed Paul, as he leaned back in
his chair.

"What, pray? It seems to me, and I have been watching you, that you have
had about all that is good for you," laughed Alice. "I have seen you get
three separate and distinct helpings of fried chicken."

"Oh, I didn't mean anything more to eat," he said, quickly, "and if you
are going to watch me so closely I shall have to cut down my rations, I
fear. What I meant was that I would like a moving picture of this
supper. It has memories that long will linger, but I fain would have a
souvenir of it."

"Be careful that you don't get indigestion as a souvenir," laughed
Alice, as he followed her sister from the table.

The dining room opened off the great living apartment with that
wonderful fire, and following the meal all the members of the company
gathered about the hearth.

Outside the storm still raged, and Mr. Macksey, who came in from having
with his men, put away the horses, reported that the blizzard was
growing worse.

"It's a good thing we thought of changing the bobs and coming on," he
said. "Otherwise we might be there yet."

"What really happened?" asked his wife. "I was telling one of the young
ladies that it was like pulling teeth to get any news out of you."

"Oh, we just had a little breakdown," he said. "Now, folks, just make
yourselves at home. Go to bed when you like, get up when you please.
I'll try and get the rest of your baggage here some time to-morrow, if
this storm lets up."

"I hope you do get it," complained Miss Pennington.

"Selfish thing!" whispered Alice. "All she wants is her paint!"

"Hush," cautioned Ruth. "She'll hear you!"

"I don't care," voiced her sister.

They talked of many things as they sat about the fire, and then Mr.
Pertell said:

"We will film no dramas while the storm continues, but as soon as we can
get out on the ice I want to start one."

"Is there skating about here?" asked Alice, who was very fond of the
sport.

"There's a fine lake back of the lodge," replied Mr. Macksey, "and as
soon as the storm lets up I'll have the men clear a place of snow, and
you can have all the fun you want."

"Oh, joy!" cried Alice.

"Save me the first skate," whispered Paul to her, and she nodded
acquiescence.

Mr. Pertell briefly outlined the drama he expected to film on the ice,
and then, after a little more talk, every one voted that bed was the
best place in the world. For the wind had made them all sleepy, and they
were tired out from the storm and their long journey.

Alice and Ruth went up to their room. Alice pulled aside the curtain
from the window and looked out on a scene of swirling whiteness. The
flakes dashed against the pane as though knocking for admission.

"It's a terrible night," said Ruth, with a little shiver.

"Well, much as I like weather, I wouldn't want to be out in it long,"
Alice confessed. "Elk Lodge is a very good place in a blizzard."

"Suppose we got snowed in?" asked Ruth, apprehensively.

"Then we'll dig our way out--simple answer. Oh dear!" and Alice yawned
luxuriously, if not politely, showing her pretty teeth.

In spite of the portentous nature of the storm, it was not fully borne
out, and morning saw the sun shining on the piles of snow that had
fallen. There had been a considerable quantity sifted down on what was
already about Elk Lodge, but there was not enough to hinder traffic for
the sturdy lumbermen and hunters of that region.

The wind had died down, and it was not cold, so when Mr. Macksey
announced that he was going back after the broken-down sleigh, Ruth and
Alice asked permission to accompany him.

Before starting off Mr. Macksey had set a gang of men, hired for the
occasion, to scraping the snow off the frozen lake, and when Ruth and
Alice came back they found several of the picture players skating,
while Russ was getting ready to film one of the first scenes of the
drama.

"You're in this, Mr. Sneed," said the manager. "You are supposed to be
skating along, when you trip and fall breaking your leg----"

"Hold on--stop--break my leg! Never!" cried the grouchy actor.

"Of course you don't really injure yourself!" exclaimed the manager,
testily.

"Oh, why did I ever come to this miserable place!" sighed Mr. Sneed. "I
despise cold weather!"

But there was no help for it. Soon he was on the steel runners gliding
about, while Russ filmed him. Mr. Sneed was a good skater, and was not
averse to "showing off."

"All ready, now!" called the manager to him. "Get that fall in right
there. Russ, be ready for him!"

"Oh!" groaned the actor. "Here I go!"

And, as luck would have it, he, at that moment, tripped on a stick, and
fell in earnest. It was much better done than if he had simulated it.

But something else happened. He fell so heavily, and at a spot where
there was a treacherous air hole, that, the next instant Mr. Sneed broke
through the ice, and was floundering in the chilly water.

CHAPTER XII

THE CURIOUS DEER

"Quick! A rope!"

"No, boards are better!"

"Fence rails will do!"

"Oh, get him out, someone!"

These were only some of the cries uttered, following the accident to Mr.
Sneed. Meanwhile he was doing his best to keep himself above water by
grasping the edge of the ice.

But it crumbled in his fingers, and he was so shocked by the sudden
immersion, and by the cold, and his skates were so heavy on his feet,
that he went down again and again. Fortunately the lake was not deep at
that point, and as he went down his feet would touch bottom, and he
could spring up again.

"Don't go out there!" warned Mr. Pertell, as Paul started for the spot.

"Why not?" asked the young actor.

"Because the ice is probably thin all around that place. I don't want
two of you in. Hold on, Mr. Sneed!" he cried to the desperate actor.
"We'll have you out in no time!"

"Shall I get this?" cried Russ, who had not deserted his camera, even as
a gunner will not leave his cannon, nor a captain his ship. More than
once brave moving picture operators have stood in the face of danger to
get rare views.

"Yes, get every motion of it!" cried the manager.

"But it isn't in the play!"

"I don't care! We'll write it in afterward. You get the pictures and
we'll rescue Mr. Sneed. Hi, there, Mr. Bunn, you must help with this.
Get some fence rails! We can slide them out on the ice and they will
distribute the weight so that the ice will hold us."

"But where will I get fence rails?" asked the actor.

"Oh, gnaw them out of a tree!" cried Mr. Pertell, who was much disturbed
and nervous. "Don't you see that fence?" he cried, pointing to one not
far off. "Get some rails from that. And then get in the picture!"

"Oh, such a life!" groaned Mr. Bunn.

"This is to save a life!" the manager reminded him.

And while Russ continued to make moving pictures of the unexpected
scene, the others set about the work of rescue. Later this could be
interpolated in the drama to make it appear as though it had all been
arranged in advance.

"Hurry with those rails!" called Mr. Pertell to Mr. Bunn. "He can't stay
in that icy water forever."

Some of the men who had been working at removing the snow now came up
with ropes and trace chains. Then, when the rails were spread out on the
ice, near the air hole, the rescuers were able to get near enough to
throw the ends of several lines to Mr. Sneed. He managed to grasp one,
and, a moment later was hauled out on the ice.

"I--I--I'm c-c-c-cold!" he stammered, as he stood with the icy water
dripping from him.

"Shouldn't wonder but what you were," agreed Mr. Pertell. "Now the thing
for you to do is to run to the Lodge as fast as you can. Here, Mr. Bunn,
you and Paul run alongside him, with a hold on either arm. We'll call
this film 'A Modern Pickwick,' instead of what we planned. In Dickens'
story there's a scene somewhat like this. We'll change the whole thing
about.

"Russ, you go on ahead, and when Paul and Mr. Bunn come along with Mr.
Sneed, you get them as they run."

"All right," assented the young moving picture operator, as he kept on
grinding away at the crank.

Exercise was the best thing to restore the circulation of the actor who
had fallen into the water, and he soon had plenty of it. With Paul on
one side, and Mr. Bunn on the other, he was raced back to Elk Lodge, and
there he was supplied plentifully with hot lemonade to ward off a cold.
Russ got interior pictures of these scenes as well, and later the film
made a great success.

"In view of the accident, and the fact that you are all more or less
upset," said Mr. Pertell, when some of the excitement had calmed down,
"we will give up work for the rest of the day. You may do as you please
until to-morrow."

"Then I'm going for a walk," cried Alice.

"I'm with you," spoke Paul, "only we ought to have snowshoes."

"Oh, could we get any?" she cried.

"I can arrange for some for you," promised Mr. Macksey, "but I haven't
any now."

"Good idea!" exclaimed the manager. "An idea for a new film--'The
Snowshoe Rescue!' Here, Russ, make some notes of this for future use,"
and he began to dictate to the young operator, who with his employer
frequently thus improvised dramas out of a mere suggestion.

"If you want to walk," said Mr. Macksey to Alice, "you'd better stick
to the road. The men have been out with homemade snowplows breaking a
trail. That's what we do around here after a storm. You'd better stick
to the road."

"We will!" cried Alice. "Will you come, Ruth?"

"Later perhaps--not now. I want to study a new part I have."

"I suppose you're waiting for Russ," whispered Alice.

"Don't be silly!" flashed Ruth. But she did not go out with her sister.

Alice and Paul had a glorious walk in the snow, and saw a beautiful
country, even though it was hidden under a mantle of white. For
Deerfield was a lovely place.

"Aren't you cold?" asked Ruth, when her sister returned.

"Not a bit. It's glorious. What did you do, and how is Mr. Sneed?"

"He's doing nicely, I believe. As for me, I stayed in. I had some
mending to do."

"Is that why Russ has threads on his coat sleeve--was it his coat you
were mending?"

"Oh, Alice--you are hopeless!" protested Ruth, but she blushed vividly.

That afternoon, as Mrs. Macksey was overseeing the getting of supper,
Alice, who went to the kitchen for something, heard the veteran hunter
and his wife in conversation.

"You say they are strangers about here?" he asked.

"Yes, three men. I saw them after you had gone to the station to get the
moving picture folks. There were three men, and I think they were after
deer."

"After deer, eh? Don't they know that this is a private preserve?"

"They didn't seem to care. They came to ask their direction. They all
had guns, and I'm sure they were after deer."

"And you never saw them before?"

"No, I never did."

"And you have no idea where they came from?"

"I couldn't tell--no. I heard one of them ask the other if he thought it
was safe."

"If what was safe?"

"He didn't say. Maybe he meant to hunt deer around here."

"It won't be safe if I catch them!" declared Mr. Macksey, as he went
out. Alice wondered who the men could be.

It was so quiet and peaceful at Elk Lodge that Mr. DeVere soon forgot
all about the annoyance caused by the demand of Dan Merley for the five
hundred dollars. At first he had expected some sort of legal summons in
a suit, but when none came he breathed easier.

Several days passed, and a few snow scenes were filmed to be used later,
and worked into dramas. Mr. Sneed suffered a little cold from his
unexpected bath, but that was all.

Meanwhile the weather had remained about the same. There was plenty of
snow, but no more storms. Elk Lodge was voted the finest place in the
world, and even Miss Pennington and Miss Dixon condescended to say that
they liked it.

Then, one day, plans were made for filming a little drama in the snowy
woods, and thither many members of the company went to act.

Ruth was supposed to be lost in a dense thicket, and Paul was soon on
his way to find her, in the guise of a woodman. He had sighted Ruth,
over a clump of bushes, and was making his way to her, when he heard her
scream. This was not in the play and he wondered what could have
happened.

"Quick!" he heard her cry. "He's going to jump at me!"

Paul broke into a run, and the next moment saw a deer, with large,
branching antlers, spring through the underbrush directly in front of
Ruth, while Russ, at the camera, yelled to drive away the curious
animal.

CHAPTER XIII

THE COASTING RACE

"Oh, I'm so frightened!" cried Ruth.

"Don't be alarmed!" Russ called to her, while he continued to grind away
at the camera. "He won't hurt you. This will make a dandy picture! I'm
going to film the deer."

"Oh, but suppose he jabs me with his horns?" wailed Ruth, who was not
quite so alarmed now. "They are terribly sharp."

"Don't worry!" Russ answered. "This is coming out great. The deer was
just the one thing needed to make this film a success."

"Then I won't spoil it by coming in now!" called Paul, who was keeping
out of the focus of the camera by crouching down behind some bushes. He
had heard what Russ said, and had given up his plan of rushing to rescue
Ruth. Evidently there was no need.

The deer, strange to say, did not seem at all alarmed, and stood gazing
at Ruth with great brown eyes. She too, realizing that she was not to
be harmed, acted more naturally now, and with an appreciation of what
was needed to make the film a proper one.

She first "registered" fear, and then delighted surprise, at seeing the
animal.

I might explain that in making moving pictures certain directions are
given to the actors. As they can not depend on speaking words to let the
audiences know what is going on, they must intimate, by appropriate
gesture, or facial expression, the action of the play. This is called
"registering," and when in the directions, or scenario, an actor or
actress is told to "register" fear, surprise, anger, love, jealousy--in
fact any of the emotions--he or she knows what is meant.

In this case Ruth was without specific directions save those called out
by Russ. And often, in an emergency a good moving picture camera
operator can save a film from being spoiled by improvising some "stage
directions," if I may call them such.

"Shall I approach him, Russ?" Ruth asked, as she saw that the deer
showed no intentions of fleeing.

"Yes, if he'll let you. It will make a dandy scene."

"Not too close," cautioned Paul, who was still out of sight behind the
bushes, waiting until he could properly come into the scene. "He might
accidentally hit you with a sweep of his horns."

"I'll be careful," answered Ruth. "I believe the poor thing is hungry."

"If we only had something to feed him!" exclaimed Russ. "That would work
in fine."

"I have some lumps of sugar," said Ruth, speaking with her head turned
aside. The reason for this was that she did not want the movement of her
lips to show on the film, and the camera will catch and fix even that
slight motion.

The reason Ruth spoke aside was because the little scene was being
improvised, and she had no proper lines to speak. And, as I have already
explained, often persons in the audience of a moving picture theatre are
able to understand what is said, merely by watching the lips of the
performers on the screen.

"Sugar! Good!" cried Russ. "See if he'll take it. I don't know what deer
like best, but if they're anything like horses they'll revel in sugar.
Go ahead!"

Ruth had in her pocket some lumps she had intended giving to the horses
attached to the sleds in which they had come to the woods. She now took
out some of these and held them out to the timid deer.

The beautiful creature, made bold, perhaps, by hunger, came a step
nearer.

"Oh, that's fine!" cried Russ, squinting through the focusing tube to
get clear, sharp impressions on the film. "Keep at it, Ruth."

The deer came nearer, thrusting forth its velvet nose. It sniffed at the
sugar Ruth held, and then put out its lips and tongue and picked up the
lumps.

"Fine!" cried Russ. "Maybe he'd like salt better, for I've read of
salt-licks that animals visit, but sugar will do on a pinch; won't it,
old fellow?"

Perhaps it was the loud, laughing voice that Russ used, or it may have
been because there was no more sugar, but, at any rate, the deer, after
taking the sweet lumps gave a sudden turn, and rushed off through the
bushes, going rather slowly because of the deep snow.

Russ caught every motion of the graceful creature, however, and called
out to Ruth to pose with her hand shaded over her eyes, as though she
were looking after the deer. She did this, and that ended the little
scene with the timid woodland creature, who, if he ever saw moving
pictures, would doubtless be very much surprised to perceive a
presentment of himself on the screen.

"Come on now, Paul!" called Russ, indicating to the young actor to show
himself so that he would get into the picture.

The other players who had come up on hearing Ruth call out were now
ready for their parts in the play. They had kept out of sight of the
camera, however, so as not to spoil the picture.

"Very well done!" declared Mr. Pertell, when Ruth had finished her part
in the play. "That deer will make a very effective picture, I think."

"It was a dear deer!" punned Alice, and the others laughed.

On the way back to Elk Lodge the manager made an announcement that
interested all in the company, the young people especially.

"I have a drama," he said, "that calls for a coasting race in one scene.
I wonder if we couldn't do that to-morrow."

"Oh, riding down hill!" cried Alice, with girlish enthusiasm. "What fun!
May I steer a bob?"

"Alice, you never could!" cried Ruth.

"Pooh! I've done it lots of times!" her sister answered.

"Yes, when you were a little girl, perhaps, with two sleds held
together," laughed Mr. Pertell. "This will be different. Mr. Macksey
tells me he has two big, old-fashioned bobsleds in one of the barns.
Now I think we can get up two parties and have a big coasting race. The
play calls for it, and the young men who steer the bobs are rivals for
the hand of the same girl. She has made a condition that whoever gets
first to the bottom of the big hill may marry her. So you see the plan
of the play."

"Me for a bob!" cried Paul.

"I wish I didn't have to film the play--I'd steer one, too!" exclaimed
Russ, with a look at Ruth that made her blush.

"Must I get into this silly coasting play?" asked Mr. Bunn.

"You surely must," answered Mr. Pertell. "And I want to warn you of one
thing--you are not to wear a high hat--it would only blow off and
embarrass you."

"Not wear my high hat? Then I refuse to take part!" cried the tragic
actor.

But Mr. Pertell paid no attention to him, for he had heard the same
thing before.

The details of the coasting race were discussed on the way to Elk Lodge,
and it was arranged that a partial rehearsal should be held next day.

That night, as Alice and Ruth were going to bed rather early, on account
of the wearying work of the day, they heard voices out in the hall near
their room.

"Listen!" warned Alice, raising her finger, for Ruth was talking.

"It's Mr. and Mrs. Macksey," said Ruth.

"I know. But what are they saying? It's something about those strange
hunters who were seen about here once before."

Mr. Macksey, who had been summoned to the upper hall by his wife to fix
a broken window, was speaking in his deep voice.

"So those fellows were around again; eh?" he asked.

"Yes, and I don't like it, Jake," Mrs. Macksey replied. "You know what
it means if they kill any of the club deer. It may cost you your place
here. The members of the club may say you were not careful enough."

"That's so, wife. I reckon I'd better look after those chaps. If they're
trespassing on Elk Lodge I can have them arrested anyhow."

The next day was clear and calm, just right for taking pictures, and
after breakfast the entire company went out on the hill where the
bobsled race was to take place.

The hill had been prepared in advance by men from Elk Lodge, so that the
sleds would attain good speed. The snow had been packed down, and a
place made for Russ to set up his camera.

"Paul, you will steer one bob," said Mr. Pertell, as he was arranging
the affair, "and Mr. Sneed will take the other."

"What, me steer a bobsled down that hill?" cried the grouchy actor, as
he looked at the steep slope.

"Of course," said the manager.

"Something is sure to happen," declared Mr. Sneed.

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Mr. Pertell. "All you have to do is to keep the
wheel steady."

The company of players, with a number of men from Elk Lodge, added to
fill the bobs, now divided themselves into two parties. Ruth was to go
on the sled with Mr. Sneed, and sit directly behind him so as to show
well in the camera. Alice was to ride next to Paul on the other sled.
The bobs were long ones, with bells and large steering wheels in front.

"All ready?" called Mr. Pertell, when the players were seated.

"All ready!" cried Russ, indicating that the camera was prepared.

"Go!" ordered the manager, and the men detailed to push the bobs shoved
them ahead. The moving picture coasting race was on.

CHAPTER XIV

ON SNOWSHOES

"Here we go!"

"Hold on tight, everybody!"

"Let's see if we can't win!"

With shouts and laughter the merry coasters thus enlivened the race down
hill. In order to make the moving pictures appear as realistic as
possible Mr. Pertell had told the players to forget, for the time being,
that they were actors, and to imagine that they were just boys and
girls, out for a real frolic.

"And I'm sure I feel like one!" cried Alice, as she clung to the sides
of the bob, where she sat behind Paul.

"That's the way to talk!" he laughed. "Look out for yourself now, we're
going to bump!"

At that moment they came to a "thank-ye-ma'am," as they are called in
the country.

This is a ridge, or bump in the road, made to keep the rain water from
rushing down the highway too fast. The ridge turns the water to one
side.

As Paul spoke the sled reached this place, rose into the air, and came
down heavily.

"Gracious!" cried Alice. "I was nearly bounced off!"

"I warned you!" laughed Paul. "There's another one just below. Watch out
for it."

Paul's sled was a little ahead of the one steered by Mr. Sneed, and the
latter was unaware of the treacherous nature of the road. So he did not
warn his fellow coasters. The result was that two of those on the rear
fell off, but as they landed in soft snow they were not hurt.

"All the better!" cried Russ, who was making the pictures. "That will
add to it. Keep going, Mr. Sneed!"

"If I go much farther I'll fall off!" cried the grouchy actor. "I can't
hold on much longer!"

"You've got to!" ordered Mr. Pertell. "I'm not going to have this
picture spoiled."

"Please don't fall off, whatever you do!" cried Ruth, who was back of
Mr. Sneed. "That would leave me to do the steering and I don't know the
first thing about it."

"Well, I'll do my best," he said, as graciously as he could. "Certainly
I don't want to make trouble for you, Miss DeVere."

"Thank you," she said, and then as she looked ahead and saw another bump
in the road, she cried:

"Look out! We're going to hit it."

Now Mr. Sneed was still suffering from the effects of the first bump,
and not wishing to repeat it he sought to avoid the second by steering
to one side. But in steering a long and heavy bobsled, well-laden with
coasters, there is one thing to be remembered. That is, it must not be
steered too suddenly to one side, for it has a propensity to "skid"
worse than an automobile.

This was what happened in the case of Mr. Sneed. He turned the steering
wheel suddenly, the bobsled slewed to one side, and, in another instant,
had upset.

"Oh, dear!"

"We'll be killed!"

These two expressions came respectively from Miss Pennington and Miss
Dixon. Some of the men cried out and a number of the girls screamed;
but, after all, no one was hurt, for the snow was soft and luckily the
bob rolled to one side, not hitting anyone.

The moment he realized that it was about to capsize Mr. Sneed let go of
the steering wheel, and gave a jump which carried him out of harm's way,
so the only mishap he suffered was a rather severe shaking up, and being
covered with snow. Considerable of the white stuff got in his mouth.

"Wuff!" he spluttered. "I--gurr--will
never--burr--steer--another--whew--sled!"

By this time he had cleared his mouth of snow, and repeated his
determination, without the interruptions and stutterings.

"Did you get that spill, Russ?" asked Mr. Pertell, who could not keep
from laughing.

"Every move of it; yes, sir!"

"Good. I think we can make use of it, though it wasn't in the scenario.