CHAPTER XI
LITE'S PUPIL DEMONSTRATES
Jean awoke to hear the businesslike buzzing of an automobile coming upfrom the gate. Evidently they were going to make pictures there at thehouse, which did not suit her plans at all. She intended to spend theearly morning writing the first few chapters of that book which to herinexperience seemed a simple task, and to leave before these peoplearrived. As it was, she was fairly caught. There was no chance ofescaping unnoticed, unless she slipped out and up the bluff afoot, andthat would not have helped her in the least, since Pard was in thestable.
From behind the curtains she watched them for a few minutes. RobertGrant Burns wore a light overcoat, which made him look pudgier thanever, and he scowled a good deal over some untidy-looking papers in hishands, and conferred with Pete Lowry in a dissatisfied tone, though hiswords were indistinguishable. Muriel Gay watched the two covertly, itseemed to Jean, and she also looked dissatisfied over something.
Burns and the camera man walked down toward the stables, studying thebluff and the immediate surroundings, and still talking together. LeeMilligan, with his paint-shaded eyes and his rouged lips and heavilypencilled eyebrows, came up and stood close to Muriel, who was sittingnow upon the bench near Jean's window.
"Burns ought to cut out those scenes, Gay," he began sympathetically."You can't do any more than you did yesterday. And believe me, you putit over in good style. I don't see what he wants more than you did."
"What he wants," said Muriel Gay dispiritedly, "is for me to pull offstunts like that girl. I never saddled a horse in my life till heordered me to do it in the scene yesterday. Why didn't he tell me farenough ahead so I could rehearse the business? Latigo! It sounds likesome Spanish dish with grated cheese on top. I don't believe he knowshimself what he meant."
"He's getting nutty on Western dope," sympathized Lee Milligan. "Idon't see where this country's got anything on Griffith Park foratmosphere, anyway. What did he want to come away up here in thisGod-forsaken country for? What is there TO it, more than he could getwithin an hour's ride of Los Angeles?"
"I should worry about the country," said Muriel despondently, "ifsomebody would kindly tell me what looping up your latigo means. Burnssays that he's got to retake that saddling scene just as soon as thehorses get here. It looks just as simple," she added spitefully, "asclimbing to the top of the Berry Building tower and doing a leap to apassing airship. In fact, I'd choose the leap."
A warm impulse of helpfulness stirred Jean. She caught up her hat,buckled her gun belt around her from pure habit, tucked a few loosestrands of hair into place, and went out where they were.
"If you'll come down to the stable with me," she drawled, while theywere staring their astonishment at her unexpected appearance beforethem, "I'll show you how to saddle up. Pard's awfully patient aboutbeing fussed with; you can practice on him. He's mean about taking thebit, though, unless you know just how to take hold of him. Come on."
The three of them,--Muriel Gay and her mother and Lee Milligan,--staredat Jean without speaking. To her it seemed perfectly natural that sheshould walk up and offer to help the girl; to them it seemed not sonatural. For a minute the product of the cities and the product of theopen country studied each other curiously.
"Come on," urged Jean in her lazily friendly drawl. "It's simpleenough, once you get the hang of it." And she smiled before she added,"A latigo is just the strap that fastens the cinch. I'll show you."
"I'll bet Bobby Burns doesn't know that," said Muriel Gay, and got upfrom the bench. "It's awfully good of you; Mr. Burns is so--"
"I noticed that," said Jean, while Muriel was waiting for a word thatwould relieve her feelings without being too blunt.
Burns and Pete Lowry and the assistant had gone down the coulee, stillstudying the bluff closely. "I've got to ride down that bluff," Murielinformed Jean, her eyes following her director gloomily. "He asked melast night if I could throw a rope. I don't know what for; it's anextra punch he wants to put in this picture somewhere. I wish togoodness they wouldn't let him write his own scenarios; he just liesawake nights, lately, thinking up impossible scenes so he can bully usafterwards. He's simply gone nutty on the subject of punches."
"Well, it's easy enough to learn how to saddle a horse," Jean toldMuriel cheerfully. "First you want to put on the bridle--"
"Burns told me to put on the saddle first; and then he cuts the scenejust as I pick up the bridle. The trouble is to get the saddle onright, and then--that latigo dope!"
"But you ought to bridle him first," Jean insisted. "Supposing you justgot the saddle on, and your horse got startled and ran off? If youhave the bridle on, even if you haven't the reins, you can grab themwhen he jumps."
"Well, that isn't the way Burns directed the scene yesterday," MurielGay contended. "The scene ends where I pick up the bridle."
"Then Robert Grant Burns doesn't know. I've seen men put on the bridlelast; but it's wrong. Lite Avery, and everybody who knows--"
Muriel Gay looked at Jean with a weary impatience. "What I have to do,"she stated, "is what Burns tells me to do. I should worry about it'sbeing right or wrong; I'm not the producer."
Jean faced her, frowning a little. Then she laughed, hung the bridleback on the rusty spike, and took down the saddle blanket. "We'll playI'm Robert Grant Burns," she said. "I'll tell you what to do: Lay theblanket on straight,--it's shaped to Pard's back, so that ought to beeasy,--with the front edge coming forward to his withers; that's notright. Maybe I had better do it first, and show you. Then you'll getthe idea."
So Jean, with the best intention in the world, saddled Pard, andwondered what there was about so simple a process that need puzzle anyone. When she had tightened the cinch and looped up the latigo, andexplained to Muriel just what she was doing, she immediately unsaddledhim and laid the saddle down upon its side, with the blanket foldedonce on top, and stepped close to the manger.
"If your saddle isn't hanging up, that's the way it should be put onthe ground," she said. "Now you do it. It's easy."
It was easy for Jean, but Muriel did not find it so simple. Jean wentthrough the whole performance a second time, though she was beginningto feel that nature had never fitted her for a teacher of young ladies.Muriel, she began to suspect, rather resented the process of beingtaught. In another minute Muriel confirmed the suspicion.
"I think I've got it now," she said coolly. "Thank you ever so much."
Robert Grant Burns returned then, and close behind him rode Gil Huntleyand those other desperados who had helped to brand the calf that otherday. Gil was leading a little sorrel with a saddle on,--Muriel's horseevidently. Jean had started back to the house and her own affairs, butshe lingered with a very human curiosity to see what they were allgoing to do.
She did not know that Robert Grant Burns was perfectly conscious of herpresence even when he seemed busiest, and was studying her covertlyeven when he seemed not to notice her at all. Of his company, PeteLowry was the only one who did know it, but that was because Petehimself was trained in the art of observation. Pete also knew why Burnswas watching Jean and studying her slightest movement and expression;and that was why Pete kept smiling that little, hidden smile of his,while he made ready for the day's work and explained to Jean themechanical part of making moving-pictures.
"I'd rather work with live things," said Jean after a while. "But Ican see where this must be rather fascinating, too."
"This is working with live things, if anybody wants to know," Petedeclared. "Wait till you see Burns in action; handling bronks is easycompared to--"
"About where does the side line come, Pete?" Burns interrupted. "IfGil stands here and holds the horse for that close-up saddling--" Hewhirled upon Gil Huntley. "Lead that sorrel up here," he commanded."We'll have to cut off his head so the halter won't show. Now, how'sthat?"
This was growing interesting. Jean backed to a convenient pile of oldcorral posts and sat down to watch, w
ith her chin in her palms, and hermind weaving shuttle-wise back and forth from one person to another,fitting them all into the pattern which made the whole. She watchedRobert Grant Burns walking back and forth, growling and chuckling byturns as things pleased him or did not please him. She watched MurielGay walk to a certain spot which Burns had previously indicated, showsudden and uncalled-for fear and haste, and go through a pantomime ofthrowing the saddle on the sorrel.
She watched Lee Milligan carry the saddle up and throw it down upon theground, with skirts curled under and stirrups sprawling.
"Oh, don't leave it that way," she remonstrated. "Lay it on its side!You'll have the skirts kinked so it never will set right."
Muriel Gay gasped and looked from her to Robert Grant Burns. Forbetraying your country and your flag is no crime at all compared withtelling your director what he must do.
"Bring that saddle over here," commanded Burns, indicating another spoteighteen inches from the first. "And don't slop it down like it was abundle of old clothes. Lay it on its side. How many times have I gotto tell you a thing before it soaks into your mind?" Not by tone orlook or manner did he betray any knowledge that Jean had spoken, andMuriel decided that he could not have heard.
Lee Milligan moved the saddle and placed it upon its side, and Burnswent to the camera and eyed the scene critically for its photographicvalue. He fumbled the script in his hands, cocked an eye upward at thesun, stepped back, and gave a last glance to make sure that nothingcould be bettered by altering the detail.
"How's Gil; outside the line, Pete? All right. Now, Miss Gay,remember, you're in a hurry, and you're worried half to death. You'vejust time enough to get there if you use every second. You were cryingwhen the letter-scene closed, and this is about five minutesafterwards; you just had time enough to catch your horse and lead himout here to saddle him. Register a sob when you turn to pick up thesaddle. You ought to do this all right without rehearsing. Get intothe scene and start your action at the same time. Pete, you pick it upjust as she gets to the horse's shoulder and starts to turn. Don'tforget that sob, Gay. Ready? Camera!"
Jean was absorbed, fascinated by this glimpse into a new and very busylittle world,--the world of moving-picture makers. She leaned forwardand watched every moment, every little detail. "Grab the horn withyour right hand, Miss Gay!" she cried involuntarily, when Murielstooped and started to pick up the saddle.
"Don't--oh, it looks as if you were picking up a wash-boiler! I toldyou--"
"Register that sob!" bawled Robert Grant Burns, shooting a glance atJean and stepping from one foot to the other like a fat gobbler infresh-fallen snow.
Muriel registered that sob and a couple more before she succeeded inheaving the saddle upon the back of the flinching sorrel. Because shetook up the saddle by horn and cantle instead of doing it as Jean hadtaught her, she bungled its adjustment upon the horse's back. Then thesorrel began to dance away from her, and Robert Grant Burns swore underhis breath.
"Stop the camera!" he barked and waddled irately up to Muriel. "This,"he observed ironically, "is drama, Miss Gay. We are not makingslap-stick comedy to-day; and you needn't give an imitation of boostinga barrel over a fence."
Tears that were real slipped down over the rouge and grease paint onMuriel's cheeks. "Why don't you make that girl stop butting in?" sheflashed unexpectedly. "I'm not accustomed to working under twodirectors!"
She registered another sob which the camera never got.
This brought Jean over to where she could lay her hand contritely uponthe girl's shoulder. "I'm awfully sorry," she drawled with perfectsincerity. "I didn't mean to rattle you; but you know you never in theworld could throw the stirrup over free, the way you had hold of thesaddle. I thought--"
Burns turned heavily around and looked at Jean, as though he hadsomething in his mind to say to her; but, whatever that something mayhave been, he did not say it. Jean looked at him questioningly andwalked back to the pile of posts.
"I won't butt in any more," she called out to Muriel. "Only, it doeslook so simple!" She rested her elbows on her knees again, dropped herchin into her palms, and concentrated her mind upon the subject ofpicture-plays in the making.
Muriel recovered her composure, stood beside Gil Huntley at the horse'shead just outside the range of the camera, waited for the word ofcommand from Burns, and rushed into the saddle scene. Burns shouted"Sob!" and Muriel sobbed with her face toward the camera. Burnscommanded her to pick up the saddle, and Muriel picked up the saddleand flung it spitefully upon the back of the sorrel.
"Oh, you forgot the blanket!" exclaimed Jean, and stopped herself withher hand over her too-impulsive mouth, just as Burns stopped the camera.
The director bowed his head and shook it twice slowly and with muchmeaning. He did not say anything at all; no one said anything. GilHuntley looked at Jean and tried to catch her eye, so that he mightgive her some greeting, or at least a glance of understanding. ButJean was wholly concerned with the problem which confronted Muriel. Itwas a shame, she thought, to expect a girl,--and when she had reachedthat far she straightway put the thought into speech, as was her habit.
"It's a shame to expect that girl to do something she doesn't know howto do," she said suddenly to Robert Grant Burns. "Work at somethingelse, why don't you, and let me take her somewhere and show her how?It's simple--"
"Get up and show her now," snapped Burns, with some sarcasm and a gooddeal of exasperation. "You seem determined to get into the foregroundsomehow; get up and go through that scene and show us how a girl gets asaddle on a horse."
Jean sat still for ten seconds and deliberated while she looked fromhim to the horse. Again she made a picture that drove its elusivequality of individuality straight to the professional soul of RobertGrant Burns.
"I will if you'll let me do it the right way," she said, just when hewas thinking she would not answer him. She did not wait for hisassurance, once she had decided to accept the challenge, or theinvitation; she did not quite know which he had meant it to be.
"I'm going to bridle him first though," she informed him. "And you cantell that star villain to back out of the way. I don't need him."
Still Burns did not say anything. He was watching her, studying her,measuring her, seeing her as she would have looked upon the screen. Itwas his habit to leave people alone until they betrayed theirlimitations or proved their talent; after that, if they remained underhis direction, he drove them as far as their limitations would permit.
Jean went first and placed the saddle to her liking upon the ground."You want me to act just as if you were going to take a picture of it,don't you?" she asked Burns over her shoulder. She was not surewhether he nodded, but she acted upon the supposition that he did, andtook the lead-rope from Gil's hand.
"Shall I be hurried and worried--and shall I sob?" she asked, with thelittle smile at the corners of her eyes and just easing the line of herlips.
Robert Grant Burns seemed to make a quick decision. "Sure," he said."You saw the action as Miss Gay went through it. Do as she did; onlywe'll let you have your own ideas of saddling the horse." He turnedhis head toward Pete and made a very slight gesture, and Pete grinned."All ready? Start the action!" After that he did not help her by asingle suggestion. He tapped Pete upon the shoulder, and stood with hisfeet far apart and his hands on his hips, watching her very intently.
Jean was plainly startled, just at first, by the business-like tone inwhich he gave the signal. Then she laughed a little. "Oh, I forgot.I must be hurried and worried--and I must sob," she corrected herself.
So she hurried, and every movement she made counted for somethingaccomplished. She picked up the bridle and shortened her hold upon thelead rope, and discovered that the sorrel had a trick of throwing uphis head and backing away from the bit. She knew how to deal with thathabit, however; but in her haste she forgot to look as worried asMuriel had looked, and so appeared to her audience as being merelydetermined. She got the bridle
on, and then she saddled the sorrel.And for good measure she picked up the reins, caught the stirrup andwent up, pivoting the horse upon his hind feet as though she meant todash madly off into the distance. But she only went a couple of rodsbefore she pulled him up sharply and dismounted.
"That didn't take me long, did it?" she asked. "I could have hurried alot more if I had known the horse." Then she stopped dead still andlooked at Robert Grant Burns.
"Oh, my goodness, I forgot to sob!" she gasped. And she caught her hatbrim and pulling her Stetson more firmly down upon her head, turned andran up the path to the house, and shut herself into her room.