CHAPTER VII
ROBERT GRANT BURNS GETS HELP
"You know the brand, don't you?" the proprietor of the hotel whichhoused the Great Western Company asked, with the tolerant air which thesophisticated wear when confronted by ignorance. "Easy enough tolocate the outfit, by the cattle brand. What was it?"
Whereupon Robert Grant Burns rolled his eyes helplessly toward GilHuntley. "I noticed it at the time, but--what was that brand, Gil?"
And Gil, if you would believe me, did not remember, either. He haddriven the cattle half a mile or more, had helped to "steal" two calvesout of the little herd, and yet he could not recall the mark of theirowner.
So the proprietor of the hotel, an old cowman who had sold out and goneinto the hotel business when the barbed-wire came by carloads into thecountry, pulled a newspaper towards him, borrowed a pencil from Burns,and sketched all the cattle brands in that part of the country. Whilehe drew one after the other, he did a little thinking.
"Must have been the Bar Nothing, or else the Lazy A cattle you got holdof," he concluded, pointing to the pencil marks on the margin of thepaper. "They range down in there, and Jean Douglas answers yourdescription of the girl,--as far as looks go. She ain't all that wildand dangerous, though. Swing a loop with any man in the country andride and all that,--been raised right out there on the Lazy A. Say!Why don't you go out and see Carl Douglas, and see if you can't get theuse of the Lazy A for your pictures? Seems to me that's just the kindaplace you want. Don't anybody live there now. It's been left aloneever since--the trouble out there. House and barns andcorrals,--everything you want." He leaned closer with a confidentialtone creeping into his voice, for Robert Grant Burns and his companywere profitable guests and should be given every inducement to remainin the country.
"It ain't but fifteen miles out there; you could go back and forth inyour machine, easy. You go out and see Carl Douglas, anyway; won't dono harm. You offer him a little something for the use of the Lazy A;he'll take anything that looks like money. Take it from me, that's theplace you want to take your pictures in. And, say! You want a writtenagreement with Carl. Have the use of his stock included, or he'll taxyou extra. Have everything included," advised the old cowman, with asweep of his palm and his voice lowered discreetly. "Won't need tocost you much,--not if you don't give him any encouragement to expectmuch. Carl's that kind,--good fellow enough,--but hewants--the--big--end. I know him, you bet! And, say! Don't let on toCarl that I steered you out there. Just claim like you was scoutingaround, and seen the Lazy A ranch, and took a notion to it; not toomuch of a notion, though, or it's liable to come kinda high.
"And, say!" Real enthusiasm for the idea began to lighten his eyes."If you want good range dope, right out there's where you can sure findit. You play up to them Bar Nothing boys--Lite Avery and Joe Morrisand Red. You ought to get some great pictures out there, man. Themboys can sure ride and rope and handle stock, if that's what you want;and I reckon it is, or you wouldn't be out here with your bunch ofactors looking for the real stuff."
They talked a long while after that. Gradually it dawned upon Burnsthat he had heard of the Lazy A ranch before, though not by thateuphonious title. It seemed worth investigating, for he was going toneed a good location for some exterior ranch scenes very soon, and theplace he had half decided upon did not altogether please him. Heinquired about roads and distances, and waddled off to the hotel parlorto ask Muriel Gay, his blond leading woman, if she would like to go outamong the natives next morning. Also he wanted her to tell him moreabout that picturesque place she and Lee Milligan had stumbled upon theday before,--the place which he suspected was none other than the LazyA.
That is how it came to pass that Jean, riding out with big Lite Averythe next morning on a little private scouting-trip of their own, to seeif that fat moving-picture man was making free with the stock again,met the man unexpectedly half a mile from the Bar Nothing ranch-house.
Along every trail which owns certain obstacles to swift, easy passing,there are places commonly spoken of as "that" place. In his journey tothe Bar Nothing, Robert Grant Burns had come unwarned upon that sandyhollow which experienced drivers approached with a mental bracing forthe struggle ahead, and with tightened lines and whip held ready. Eventhen they stuck fast, as often as not, if the load were heavy, thoughBar Nothing drivers gaged their loads with that hollow in mind. Ifthey could pull through there without mishap, they might feel sure ofhaving no trouble elsewhere.
Robert Grant Burns had come into the hollow unsuspectingly. He hadbeen careening along the prairie road at a twenty-mile pace, his mindfixed upon hurrying through his interview with Carl Douglas, so that hewould have time to stop at the Lazy A on the way back to town. Hewanted to take a few exterior ranch-house scenes that day, for RobertGrant Burns was far more energetic than his bulk would lead one tosuppose. He had Pete Lowry, his camera man, in the seat beside him.Back in the tonneau Muriel Gay and her mother, who played the characterparts, clung to Lee Mulligan and a colorless individual who was Lowry'sassistant, and gave little squeals whenever the machine struck a biggerbump than usual.
At the top of the hill which guarded the deceptive hollow, Robert GrantBurns grinned over his shoulder at his character-woman. "Wait till westart back; I'll know the road then, and we'll do some traveling!" hepromised darkly, and laid his toe lightly on the brake. It pleased himto be considered a dare-devil driver; that is why he always drovewhatever machine carried him. They went lurching down the curvinggrade into the hollow, and struck the patch of sand that had worn outthe vocabularies of more eloquent men than he. Robert Grant Burns fedmore gas, and the engine kicked and groaned, and sent the wheelsburrowing like moles to where the sand was deepest. Axles under, theystuck fast.
When Jean and Lite came loping leisurely down the hill, the two womenwere fraying perfectly good gloves trying to pull "rabbit" brush up bythe roots to make firmer foothold for the wheels. Robert Grant Burnswas head-and-shoulders under the car, digging badger-like with his pawsto clear the front axle, and coming up now and then to wipe theperspiration from his eyes and puff the purple out of his complexion.Pete Lowry always ducked his head lower over the jack when he saw theheaving of flesh which heralded these resting times, so that the bosscould not catch him laughing. Lee Milligan was scooping sand upon theother side and mumbling to himself, with a glance now and then at thetrail, in the hope of sighting a good samaritan with six or eightmules, perhaps. Lee thought that it would take about that many mulesto pull them out.
The two riders pulled up, smiling pityingly, just as well-mountedriders invariably smile upon stalled automobilists. This was not thefirst machine that had come to grief in that hollow, though they couldnot remember ever to have seen one sunk deeper in the sand.
"I guess you wouldn't refuse a little help, about now," Lite observedcasually to Lee, who was most in evidence.
"We wouldn't refuse a little, but a lot is what we need," Lee amendedglumly. "Any ranch within forty miles of here? We need about twelvegood horses, I should say." Lee's experience with sand had beenunhappy, and his knowledge of what one good horse could do was slight.
"Shall we snake 'em out, Jean?" Lite asked her, as if he himself wereabsolutely indifferent to their plight.
"Oh, I suppose we might as well. We can't leave them blocking thetrail; somebody might want to drive past," Jean told him in much thesame tone, just to tease Lee Milligan, who was looking them overdisparagingly.
"We'll be blocking the trail a good long while if we stay here till youmove us," snapped Lee, who was rather sensitive to tones.
Then Robert Grant Burns gave a heave and a wriggle, and came up for airand a look around. He had been composing a monologue upon the subjectof sand, and he had not noticed that strange voices were speaking onthe other side of the machine.
"Hello, sis-- How-de-do, Miss," he greeted Jean guardedly, with ahasty revision of the terms when he saw how her eyebrows pinchedtogether. "I wonder if you
could tell us where we can find teams topull us out of this mess. I don't believe this old junk-wagon is evergoing to do it herself."
"How do you do, Mr. Burns? Lite and I offered to take you out on solidground, but your man seemed to think we couldn't do it."
"What man was that? Wasn't me, anyway. I think you can do just aboutanything you start out to do, if you ask me."
"Thank you," chilled Jean, and permitted Pard to back away from hisapproach.
"Say, you're some rider," he praised tactlessly, and got no replywhatever. Jean merely turned and rode around to where Lite eased hislong legs in the stirrups and waited her pleasure.
"Shall we help them out, Lite?" she asked distinctly. "I think perhapswe ought to; it's a long walk to town."
"I guess we better; won't take but a minute to tie on," Lite agreed,his fingers dropping to his coiled rope. "Seems queer to me that folksshould want to ride in them things when there's plenty of good horsesin the country."
"No accounting for tastes, Lite," Jean replied cheerfully. "Listen.If that thin man will start the engine,--he doesn't weigh more thanhalf as much as you do, Mr. Burns,--we'll pull you out on solid ground.And if you have occasion to cross this hollow again, I advise you tokeep out there to the right. There's a little sod to give your tires abetter grip. It's rough, but you could make it all right if you drivecarefully, and the bunch of you get out and walk. Don't try to keeparound on the ridge; there's a deep washout on each side, so youcouldn't possibly make it. We can't with the horses, even." Jean didnot know that there was a note of superiority in her voice when shespoke the last sentence, but her listeners winced at it. Only PeteLowry grinned while he climbed obediently into the machine to advancehis spark and see that the gears were in neutral.
"Don't crank up till we're ready!" Lite expostulated. "These cayuses ofours are pretty sensible, and they'll stand for a whole lot; butthere's a limit. Wait till I get the ropes fixed, before you start theengine. And the rest of you all be ready to give the wheels a lift.You're in pretty deep."
When Jean dismounted and hooked the stirrup over the horn so that shecould tighten the cinch, the eyes of Robert Grant Burns glistened atthe "picture-stuff" she made. He glanced eloquently at Pete, and Petegave a twisted smile and a pantomime of turning the camera-crank;whereat Robert Grant Burns shook his head regretfully and groaned again.
"Say, if I had a leading woman--" he began discontentedly, and stoppedshort; for Muriel Gay was standing quite close, and even through hergrease-paint make-up she betrayed the fact that she knew exactly whather director was thinking, had seen and understood the gesture of thecamera man, and was close to tears because of it all.
Muriel Gay was a conscientious worker who tried hard to please herdirector. Sometimes it seemed to her that her director demandedimpossibilities of her; that he was absolutely soulless wherepicture-effects were concerned. Her riding had all along been asubject of discord between them. She had learned to ride very wellalong the bridle-paths of Golden Gate Park, but Robert Grant Burnsseemed to expect her to ride--well, like this girl, for instance, whichwas unjust.
One could not blame her for glaring jealously while Jean tightened thecinch and remounted, tying her rope to the saddle horn, all ready topull; with her muscles tensed for the coming struggle with thesand,--and perhaps with her horse as well,--and with every line of herfigure showing how absolutely at home she was in the saddle, and howsure of herself.
"I've tied my rope, Lite," Jean drawled, with a little laugh at whatmight happen.
Lite turned his face toward her. "You better not," he warned. "Thingsare liable to start a-popping when that engine wakes up."
"Well, then I'll want both hands for Pard. I've taken a couple ofhalf-hitches, anyway."
"You folks want to be ready at the wheels," Lite directed, waiving theargument. "When we start, you all want to heave-ho together. Goodteam-work will do it.
"All set?" he called to Jean, when Pete Lowry bent his back to startthe engine. "Business'll be pickin' up, directly!"
"All set," replied Jean cheerfully.
It seemed then that everything began to start at once, and to start indifferent directions. The engine snorted and pounded so that the wholemachine shook with ague. When Pete jumped in and threw in the clutch,there was a backfire that sounded like the crack of doom. The twohorses went wild, as their riders had half expected them to do. Theylunged away from the horror behind them, and the slack ropes tightenedwith a jerk. Both were good rope horses, and the strain of the ropesalmost recalled them to sanity and their training; at least they heldthe ropes tight for a few seconds, so that the machine jumped ahead andveered toward the firmer soil beside the trail, in response to Pete'sturn of the wheel.
Then Pard looked back and saw the thing coming after him, and tried tobolt. When he found that he could not, because of the rope, he buckedas he had not done since he was a half-broken broncho. That startedLite Avery's horse to pitching; and Pete, absorbed in watching whatwould have made a great picture, forgot to shut off the gas.
Robert Grant Burns picked himself out of the sand where he had sprawledat the first wild lunge of the machine, and saw Pete Lowry, humped overthe wheel like any speed demon, go lurching off across the hollow inthe wake of two fear-crazed animals, that threatened at any instant tobolt off at an angle that would overturn the car.
Then Lite let his rope slip from the saddle-horn and spurred his horseto one side, out of the danger zone of the other, while he feltfrantically in his pockets for his knife.
"Don't you cut my rope," Jean warned, when she saw him come plungingtoward her, knife in hand. "This is--fine training--for Pard!"
Pete came to himself, then, and killed the engine before he landed inthe bottom of a yawning, water-washed hole, and Lite rode close andslashed Jean's rope, in spite of her protest; whereupon Pard went offup the slope as though witches were riding him hard.
At long rifle range, he circled and faced the thing that had scared himso, and after a little Jean persuaded him to go back as far as thetrail. Nearer he would not stir, so she waited there for Lite.
"Never even thanked us," Lite grumbled when he came up, his mouthstretched in a wide smile. "That girl with the kalsomine on her facemade remarks about folks butting in. And the fat man talked into hisdouble chin; dunno what all he was saying. Here's what's left of yourrope. I'll get you another one, Jean. I was afraid that gazabo wasgoing to run over you, is why I cut it."
"What's the matter over there? Aren't they glad they're out of thesand?" Jean held her horse quiet while she studied the buzzing group.
"Something busted. I guess we done some damage." Lite grinned andwatched them over his shoulder.
"You needn't go any further with me, Lite. That fat man's the one thathad the cattle. I am going over to the ranch for awhile, but don'ttell Aunt Ella." She turned to ride on up the hill toward the Lazy A,but stopped for another look at the perturbed motorists. "Well anyway,we snaked them out of the sand, didn't we, Lite?"
"We sure did," Lite chuckled. "They don't seem thankful, but I guessthey ain't any worse off than they was before. Anyway, it serves themright. They've no business here acting fresh."
Lite said that because he was not given the power to peer into thefuture, and so could not know that Fate herself had sent Robert GrantBurns into their lives; and that, by a somewhat roundabout method, shewas going to use the Great Western Film Company and Jean and himselffor her servants in doing a work which Fate had set herself to do.