CHAPTER IV

GOLDEN PASS

Mr. Hammond needed no introduction to Aunt Alvirah or Uncle Jabez, since he had known the old couple as long as he had known Ruth herself.

Neither did Ruth’s chums need any special introduction since they considered themselves--and with reason--long-standing acquaintances of the head of the Alectrion Film Corporation.

For it was Mr. Hammond who had accepted Ruth’s early scenario which she had called “The Heart of a School Girl” and filmed it with the aid of the two hundred odd girls at Briarwood Hall.

Some of the young men he had not met before and these introductions were made hastily and informally. Then Mr. Hammond turned to Ruth.

“I have already heard flattering criticisms of your picture. It will play to full houses for a long time, my dear. I can safely prophesy that.”

“Well, I trust they have no more explosions when they show it,” answered Ruth with a serious shake of her head.

“That explosion was not so bad as it seemed. Mr. Farstein told me so himself. Merely a lot of discarded films left in the storeroom by one of the distributing firms. More smoke than fire. He is already arranging to clean up the muss so he can open as usual to-morrow. And he said that nobody seemed to be seriously hurt, which is best of all.”

“I am awfully glad of that, Mr. Hammond.”

“It’s the Ruth Fielding luck,” and Mr. Hammond smiled. “And now that this picture is a success I suppose you are already figuring on doing something else as big or bigger,” he went on.

“I am,” Ruth answered quietly.

“Ah, I thought so! The old spirit. More worlds to conquer, aren’t there? Where is the new drama of the silver screen to be laid?” the motion picture magnate went on curiously.

“In the most beautiful spot in the world--or so we’re told on very good authority, you yourself! Golden Pass, Montana.”

As Ruth spoke there was a sudden cessation of careless chatter. The young folks looked at her eagerly, Aunt Alvirah looked anxiously expectant while Uncle Jabez scowled faintly.

“Montana! Whoop--ee!” cried Helen irrepressibly. “A wild-west picture full of thrilling scenes and good looking cowboys. Ain’t I glad I came!”

“You seem to be very sure of your welcome in the party,” said Chess severely. “How do you know Ruth will want you to go with her?”

“Oh, Ruth always wants me,” replied Helen with a flippancy that belied the gravity of her expression. “As a matter of fact, she couldn’t get along without me. She told me so herself!”

Chess grinned.

“Far be it from me----”

But at this point Helen put an end to the sentence by severely pinching the arm of its author.

“Oh, do hush! Don’t you see I’m trying to hear what Ruth’s saying?”

What Ruth was saying appeared to be of intense interest to the others of the party. They listened eagerly as she described the spot where most of the new picture she had in mind would be filmed.

“Golden Pass will be the ideal spot for the filming of my sort of picture. A land of fertile valleys and picturesque mountains----”

“It is pretty,” Mr. Hammond agreed. “As you say, I know the place you speak of, Miss Ruth, for I had to pass through Montana not long ago and I stopped off at Golden Pass. I had heard there was to be a big cattle round-up and I wanted to get pictures of it.”

Ruth leaned toward him eagerly.

“Is it so rugged and beautiful?”

“It is. It is a land of plains and hills and steep ravines, of sparkling dawns and gorgeous sunsets. The very finest location possible for an outdoor, western picture.”

“Dear me, Ruth Fielding,” spoke up Ann Hicks wistfully, “you make me homesick for those wide, open ranges. Can’t you take me with you? I can bust bronchos with the best of ’em. Don’t you need a really talented extra?”

Ruth laughed.

“I wish I could take you all. Oh, girls, wouldn’t that be fun?”

Mr. Hammond shortly took his departure, saying that he would like to see Ruth soon and hear something about her new picture.

His desertion seemed to be the signal for the general breaking up of the party. Aunt Alvirah was looking white and tired and Uncle Jabez was beginning to complain of the lateness of the hour.

It was hard to put an end to the fun. Ruth felt she had never before enjoyed herself so much. It was arranged, despite Ruth’s protests, that the visitors to Cheslow were to put up at the Cameron’s for the remainder of their stay.

“Don’t be a goose, Ruthie,” Helen whispered when Ruth was about to insist that she must have at least one of the girls with her at the Red Mill. “You will be rushed to death finishing your scenario and arranging all the details of the trip. We have plenty of room and nothing to do but entertain the girls while they stay. Besides, we shall probably be over at the Red Mill almost every day.”

“Well, then, I’ll have them all at the Red Mill for a night before we start,” Ruth declared. “Even you can’t stop me doing that much, Helen Cameron!”

All except Mercy Curtis, who lived in Cheslow, escorted Uncle Jabez, Aunt Alvirah and Ruth home first. Standing at the door with the two old people, Ruth answered the farewells of her friends.

“Good-by, all of you! It was a lovely party! Good-by!”

From down the road, as the little fleet of cars moved off, came softly to Ruth!

“S.B.—Ah-h-h! S.B.—Ah-h-h! Sound our battle-cry Near and far! S.B.—All! Briarwood Hall! Sweetbriars, do or die— This be our battle-cry— Briarwood Hall! That’s all!”

As they turned to enter the house together Ruth gave Aunt Alvirah a particularly hard hug.

“It _is_ a good old world, isn’t it, Auntie?” she cried.

The old woman peered up in the girl’s face, smiled, and nodded sympathetically.

“So it is, my pretty! So it is!”

The next day proved an eventful one for Ruth. Several days before she had wired Layton Boardman, an interesting young westerner who had served an early apprenticeship on a ranch and had later made a reputation for himself in moving pictures, requesting an interview with him at the Red Mill. Ruth felt sure he was just the one to fill the part of hero in her new picture.

Boardman had recently quarreled with Sol Bloomberg, the chief owner of the Palatial Films Corporation with which Boardman had been for some time associated. It was open gossip in moving picture circles that, since this quarrel, Layton Boardman was finding it hard to place himself with any of the other large motion picture concerns.

This might mean, of course, that Boardman had lost his grip, had gone stale, was no longer desirable. But Ruth, who had seen the actor’s last picture and been thrilled by the power of his acting and by the real magnetism of his screen personality, preferred not to believe this.

She thought it far more probable that Sol Bloomberg was pulling strings with the deliberate intention of keeping Boardman from obtaining another position until such time as the actor should be starved into accepting a position from the owner of Palatial Films on the latter’s own terms.

Ruth had debated with herself at length upon the wisdom of approaching Boardman in her own interests, for, courageous as she was, she feared Sol Bloomberg--and with reason. But at last her business instinct won. Boardman was exactly the type she needed for the rôle of hero; in fact, she had so come to visualize him in that part that her picture seemed utterly without force or power when she disassociated him from it.

So, taking her courage in both hands, she had sent a telegram, requesting an audience. Boardman had replied promptly, accepting.

Ruth had no idea that the actor himself would appear almost on the heels of his telegram, as it were. But then, Ruth had no idea how near to desperation Layton Boardman was!

So it came to pass that on this morning of the day after the excitement at the theater and the party given in her honor, Ruth was surprised when Aunt Alvirah brought in the actor’s card.

Ruth was in the room that she used for her study, deep in the revision and embellishing of her new scenario.

She looked vaguely from Aunt Alvirah to the card of Layton Boardman and back again.

“Are you sure Mr. Boardman gave you this?” she asked, her mind still on her work. “Why, Aunt Alvirah, I had no idea he would get here before to-morrow.”

“Well, he’s here, my pretty, and as likely a young man as I’m like to see anywhere,” said Aunt Alvirah with an emphatic bob of her white head. “Right fine lookin’ I’d call him. Reminds me of a picture I see once of a football star--from Yale or Princeton I think ’twas--broad-shouldered an’ handsome an’ sech a smile!”

Ruth laughed.

“Aunt Alvirah, I’m ashamed of you, falling in love with a strange young man. Don’t you know it’s up to you to set young folks a good example?”

Aunt Alvirah chuckled.

“I ain’t worryin’ none over you, my pretty,” she said. “An’ the question now seems to be not what he looks like but shall I let him in?”

“Oh, please do, Aunt Alvirah.” Ruth began hurriedly straightening the papers on her desk.

A shadow fell across her work and she looked up to see a towering figure in the doorway. She had known before that Layton Boardman was a big man, but she had never realized just how big he was. His shoulders seemed to block entirely the opening made by the door.

Ruth smiled and extended her hand.

“I am very glad to see you, Mr. Boardman. I imagine you and I will have a great deal to say to each other.”