CHAPTER XIITHE DANCE AT ALEXANDRIA BAY
“You might have been mistaken, I suppose, Miss Ruth?” suggested Mr. Hammond, the president of the film corporation, sitting at his desk in the room of the main bungalow which he used as an office. “It was growing dark when that speed boat passed you and your friend, was it not?”
“Not out on the river, Mr. Hammond. It was light enough for us to see the men in that boat plainly. Just as sure as one of them was a Chinaman, the short, fat man was Horatio Bilby.”
“It doesn’t seem possible that the fellow would chase away up here after us when he so signally failed down below. My lawyer tells me that he had no real authority from the Bureau of Indian Affairs to secure Wonota’s services, after all.”
“He is a man who would not need much authority to attempt any mean thing,” said the girl hotly.
“That may be true,” admitted Mr. Hammond. “But it seems quite too sensational.” He smiled,adding: “Quite too much like a movie plot, eh?”
“You say yourself that he has obtained the production rights to those ‘Running Deer’ stories that have appeared in theGotham Magazine,” said Ruth, with earnestness. “They are good stories, Mr. Hammond. I have read them.”
“Yes. I believe they are pretty good material for pictures. That is, if they were handled by a practical scenario writer like yourself.”
“It is too bad you did not get them.”
“Well, Bilby was ahead of us there. Somehow, he got backing and bought the picture and dramatic rights to the tales outright. He can find somebody besides Wonota to playRunning Deer.”
“He seems to have set his heart on our Wonota.”
“Yes. He did make Totantora a whacking good offer. I must admit he did. I could not begin to see such a price for the girl’s services. And on a mere speculation. But I pointed out to Totantora that, after all, a promise is only a promise. He and Wonota have already had considerable hard cash from us,” and Mr. Hammond ended with a laugh.
He was evidently not so much impressed by the possible danger of Bilby’s presence in the Thousand Islands as Ruth could have wished. She determined herself, however, to be sharply on thewatch for the reappearance of the coarse little fat man who had so troubled her and the Indians at the Red Mill.
She took Totantora into her confidence, after speaking to Mr. Hammond, although she did not say a word to Wonota. Despite the natural stoicism of the Osage maiden, Ruth did not know but that Wonota might become nervous if she knew the plotting Bilby was near at hand.
The chief listened to Ruth’s warning with a certain savage anger in his look that warned Ruth not to push the suggestion of Bilby’s determination to obtain possession of Wonota too far. The chief was not a patient man, and the possible threat against the safety of his daughter roused in him the instinct of defence.
“Me watch,” he said. “That fat man come here, me chase him away. Yes!”
“Don’t do him any harm, Totantora,” warned Ruth. “But tell Mr. Hammond or me if you see him.”
Nobody saw Bilby immediately, however; and as several days passed Ruth began to wonder if, after all, she had not been mistaken in her identification of the fat man in the boat.
Meanwhile, the making of the picture went on steadily; but something else—and something Helen Cameron at least considered of moment—was planned during this time.
Many other summer residents of the Thousand Islands besides the Copleys had now arrived, and the gaiety of the season was at its height. There was one very large hotel at Alexandria Bay, and it was planned to use its ballroom for a “big war dance,” to quote Helen. It was to be a costume dance, and everybody that appeared on the floor must be dressed in Indian costume.
Wonota helped the chums and the actresses with the Alectrion Film Corporation who attended, in the getting up of their costumes and the staining of their faces and arms. The Osage girl herself wore a beautiful beaded robe, feather-trimmed and brilliantly dyed. It was her “coronation robe” in the picture she was helping to film. But Mr. Hammond, who likewise attended the dance, allowed the girl to wear this finery, which really was part of the “props” of the company.
Launches were engaged from Chippewa Bay to take most of those from the camp who attended the dance, either as participants in the costume review or as spectators, but Chess Copley arranged to come for his particular friends in theLauriette.
Helen was tempted to refuse to go in the Copley launch; but when she saw Jean and Sara Copley beside their brother, she went aboard with Ruth and Tom. There actually was no friction between the two young men, although Tom usuallyaddressed Chess by that opprobrious nickname, ’Lasses, while Chess retorted by scoffing at all the ex-captain’s opinions and advice on any and all subjects.
Really, had she not felt that she was partly the cause of this mild strife, Ruth would have laughed at the two. They were, after all, but grown-up boys.
It was a gay party aboard theLauriette, nevertheless. Even Wonota (whom Ruth was keeping with her) was gay. And she was so pretty in her beautiful costume that when they arrived at the hotel the young men at the dance vied in their attempts to have her for a partner on the floor.
There was a fine band and the dancing floor was smooth. Even Mr. Hammond went on to the floor, having secured a costume, and Mother Paisley, who acted as chaperon for the moving picture girls, was as light as anybody on her feet and the embodiment of grace.
“Actor folk nowadays,” the old woman told Ruth once, “are not trained as they once were. I came of circus folk. My people had been circus performers in the old country for generations before my father and mother came over here. My husband was a trapeze performer.
“And working on the bars makes one supple and limber beyond any other form of exercise. Afterward, while still a young girl, I was in theballet. At least, when one has had my training, one brings to the speaking stage a grace and carriage that can scarcely be secured in any other way.
“As for this moving picture business,” she sighed, “I see these poor girls as awkward as heifers—and they are really learning very little. They depend upon the director to tell them how a lady should enter a room, and how to walk. But often the director has never seen a real lady enter a room! Directors of moving pictures are not masters of deportment as our old dancing masters were.”
Ruth always listened to strictures upon the moving picture art and gained what she could from such criticism. And the harshest critics the motion pictures have are the people who work in them. But, after all, Ruth had a vision.
She felt that in spite of all the “great,” “grand,” “magnificent,” “enormous” pictures already advertised upon the billboards, the public was still waiting for a really well made and properly written and acted series of pictures that claimed neither more sensationalism than they possessed, nor were hastily and carelessly made.
Ruth liked to work with Mr. Hammond, and he had been very kind and considerate of her. But she felt that, untrammeled, she would be able to make better pictures than she had made withhim. She wanted a free hand, and she felt the insistence of the treasurer’s office at her elbow. Money could be lavished upon anything spectacular—for instance, like this French-Indian picture they were making. But much had to be “speeded up” to save money in other phases of production.
Mr. Hammond, like most of the other moving picture producers, thought only of the audience coming out of the theater with “ohs!” and “ahs!” upon their lips regarding the spectacular features in the film shown. Ruth wanted to go deeper—wanted to make the impression upon the minds and intelligence of the audiences. She felt that the pictures could be something bigger than mere display.
But this is all aside from the fun they had at the costume dance. Ruth and Helen both danced with Mr. Hammond and Mr. Grand and with several others of the moving picture people, as well as with their own friends. Chess got the second dance with Ruth; and then he had the third; and then got the sixth. He might have gone on all the evening coming back to her and begging the favor had Ruth not insisted upon his devoting himself to some of his sisters’ friends.
But, at the same time, Ruth was somewhat piqued because Tom Cameron did not come near her all the first part of the evening. She couldnot understand what the matter really was with him—why he acted in so offish a manner.
After that sixth dance (and Ruth had danced them all with one partner or another) she sent Chess away from her definitely. She went in search of Tom. The orchestra began playing for the next dance. Ruth looked keenly about the brilliant assembly. She knew Tom’s costume—it was distinctive and could not be mistaken. But she could not mark it at all in the throng.
Two or three men asked her to dance, but she pleaded fatigue and continued to walk about the edge of the ballroom. Finally, in an alcove, sitting at an empty table, and with no companion, she spied the recreant Tom.
“Why, Tom!” she cried cheerfully, “are you sitting out this dance too? And the music is so pretty.”
“The music is all right,” he agreed.
“Don’t you want to dance?”
“No. I do not want to dance,” he answered sourly.
“Not—not even with me, Tom?” she ventured, smiling rather wistfully at his averted face.
“With nobody. I am waiting for Helen and the rest of you to get enough of this foolishness and go home.”
“Why, Tom! You—you are not ill?” she ventured,putting out a hand to touch his shoulder yet not touching it.
“Not at all, Ruth,” he said, and now he glanced up at her. His look was cold. “Not at all.”
“You are not yourself,” she said, more composedly. “What are you thinking of?”
“I am thinking,” said Tom, looking away again and with the same moodiness, “that I was a fool to leave the army. That was my job. I should have stuck to it. I should have used my commission and father’s influence to stay in the army. But it’s too late now. I guess I had my chance and didn’t know enough to use it.”
He arose abruptly, bowed stiffly, and walked away. If Tom had actually slapped her, Ruth could have felt no more hurt.
CHAPTER XIIITHE KINGDOM OF PIPES
Ruth Fielding at first felt only hurt; then she felt angry. She was no longer the timid, sensitive girl who had faced Jabez Miller when she first came to the Red Mill with a tremulous smile, to be sure, but tears standing thick in her eyes. No, indeed!
The present Ruth Fielding, a young woman of purpose and experience, not only could hide her feelings—especially if they were hurt ones—but possessed a saving sense of humor. And to her mind, just a moment later, Tom Cameron’s very military looking shoulders and stride seemed rather funny.
He had hurt her; but then, he had hurt her as a boy might. It was true, perhaps, Tom was not grown up. Ruth considered that she was—very much so!
There he was, daring to complain because his army career had ended so suddenly—wishing that he had remained in uniform. And how would hisfather and his sister have felt if he had done so!
“He’s a great, big booby!” Ruth whispered to herself. Then her smile came back—that wistful, caressing smile—and she shook her head. “But he’s Tom, and he always will be. Dear me! isn’t he ever going to grow up?”
So she hid her hurt and accepted the first partner thereafter who offered; but it was not Chess. Secretly she knew what the matter with Tom was. And she was too proud to let the ex-captain see that she cared. Nevertheless she was sorry that the party from down the river broke up as they did when the time to go home came.
She found herself in the Copley’s launch again, with Chess’ sisters and the members of the house party the Copleys were entertaining at their island. This dividing of the clans made it possible for Chess after letting the others out at the Copley dock, to take Ruth to the moving picture island alone.
It was a lovely, soft, moonlight night. The haze over the islands and the passages between could not be called a fog, but it was almost as shrouding as a fog. When Chess ran the launch outside into the main stream, where the current was broad and swift, the haze lay upon the rippling surface like a blanket.
They were going very swiftly here, for it was with the current. Suddenly Chess shut off theengine. The “plop” of the exhaust ceased. They drifted silently on the bosom of the St. Lawrence.
“I don’t see why I am treated so, Ruth,” Chess suddenly burst out. “Do you know, I’m awfully unhappy?”
“You poor boy!” said Ruth in her warm-hearted way. “I think you are over-sensitive.”
“Of course I am sensitive. I shall always be when I am—am—interested in any person and their treatment of me. It is congenital.”
“Dear, dear!” laughed Ruth. “They have discovered that even incipient congenital idiocy can be cured by the removal of the adenoids. But I don’t suppose such an operation will help you?”
“Oh, don’t tease a fellow,” complained her friend.
He reached for the throttle, then hesitated. Somewhere in the mist ahead was the throb of another engine.
“Who’s this?” muttered Chess.
“Maybe it is Tom—looking for us,” said Ruth, chuckling.
“The gall of him,” exclaimed the heated Copley. Then he made a gesture for silence. A long, quavering “co-ee! co-ee!” came through the mist and from the south.
“From one of the islands,” said Chess quickly.
“What island is that over there?” demandedRuth, in a whisper. “Isn’t it the one we took the first picture on?”
“It sure is,” agreed the young fellow, but wonderingly.
“The Kingdom of Pipes,” murmured Ruth.
“What’s that?” asked Chessleigh.
Ruth repeated Helen’s name for the rocky island on which Ruth had met the queer old man. “That call came from the island, didn’t it?” she asked.
“I believe it did. What’s going on here?”
“Hush!” begged Ruth. “That launch is coming nearer.”
As she spoke, a moving object appeared in the mist. There was no light upon this strange craft. Chessleigh shuttered his own cockpit lamp instantly.
“Good boy,” acclaimed Ruth. “There is something going on here——”
They heard the call from the island again. There was a low reply from the strange launch—a whistle. Then the launch pushed on and was hidden by the mist again from the curious eyes of Ruth and her companion.
But they knew it had gone close to the island, if it had not really touched there. Its engine was stilled. All they heard for a time was the lapping of the waves.
“I’d like to know what it means,” grumbled Chess.
Ruth agreed. “Let’s wait a while. We may hear or see something more.”
“Won’t see much, I guess,” replied her companion.
“Never mind. Let the boat drift. We’re all right out here in the current, are we not?”
“Guess so. It beats my time,” said her friend. “They say there is a lot of smuggling done along the border.”
“Do you say so?” gasped Ruth, clasping her hands and almost as excited as Helen might have been. “Smugglers! Think of it!”
“And bad eggs they are.”
“Of course there is no danger?”
“Danger of what?” he asked.
“Wouldn’t the smugglers hurt us if we caught them?”
“Don’t know. I’ve got a loaded pistol in the cabin. Guess I’ll get it out,” said Chess.
“I guess you won’t!” Ruth exclaimed. “We’ll go right away from here before we get into a fight!”
“Humph!” grunted Chess. “You don’t suppose they would welcome any spies if they are smugglers, do you?” he asked.
“But what do they smuggle? Diamonds? Precious stones?”
“Don’t know. Maybe. There is a heavy internal revenue tax on diamonds,” Chess said.
“Goodness! wouldn’t Helen like to be here.”
“She’d want to go ashore and take a hand in it,” grinned Copley. “I know her.”
“Yes, Helen is brave,” admitted Ruth.
“Humph! She’s foolish, you mean,” he declared. “Whatever and whoever those fellows are, they would not welcome visitors I fancy.”
Their launch had been drifting by the island, the upper ridge and trees of which they could see quite plainly. Suddenly a breath of wind—the forecast of the breeze that often rises toward daybreak—swooped down upon the river. It split the mist and revealed quite clearly the upper end of the island where Ruth had interviewed the queer old man, and which Copley’s launch had now drifted past.
A light showed suddenly, and for a few moments, close to the water’s edge. It revealed enough for the two in the drifting launch to see several figures outlined in the misty illumination of the light.
There was the bow of the mysterious boat close against the landing place. At least three men were in the boat and on the shore. Ruth could not be sure that either of them was the old man she had spoken with.
But she and Chess Copley saw that they wereunloading something from the boat—square, seemingly heavy boxes, yet not so heavy that they could not be passed from hand to hand. One was about all the weight a man might easily lift.
“What do you suppose those boxes are?” whispered Ruth, as the Copley launch drifted into the mist again and the end of the island and the other boat were blotted out of sight.
“Give it up. Provisions—supplies. Maybe they are going to camp there. Lots of people camp out on these smaller islands.”
“The King of the Pipes will have something to say about that,” laughed Ruth. “One thing sure about it,” she added the next moment, as Chess started his engine again. “Those boxes don’t contain diamonds.”
“I should say not!”
“So if we saw smugglers they are smuggling something besides precious stones,” said the girl gaily. “Won’t Helen be interested when I tell her!”
CHAPTER XIVA DEMAND IS MADE
Helen had gone to bed when Ruth went into their bedroom that morning, and either she was asleep or did not want to speak to her chum. Ruth felt that, after what had gone on at the ball at Alexandria Bay, she had better not wake Helen up to tell her about the strange launch that had landed at the Kingdom of the Pipes.
And in the morning the attitude of both Helen and Tom closed Ruth’s lips on all subjects. The twins were plainly offended. Why? Because Ruth had shown ordinary interest in other people besides themselves!
At least, that is how Ruth saw it. She thought it very silly for Helen to be jealous. Tom’s jealousy was another matter; but he had brought the situation on himself.
For once Ruth was determined not to give in, as she so often did when Helen showed spleen. Fortunately, Ruth was busy with her picture work, so she had good reason to excuse herself frommuch association with the Cameron twins during the next two days.
Then something happened to give them all an entirely different topic of thought and conversation. That day had been spent in taking close-ups and scenes under the canvas and glass roof of the make-shift studio that had been built at the camp. The great pageant of historical times along the St. Lawrence was moving swiftly on its way. The scenes of a picture are seldom taken in any sequence at all, but Mr. Hooley had gone so far now that the bulk of the scenes had been filmed; and as they had been run off in the little projection room, both Mr. Hammond and Ruth had expressed their approval of almost every finished length of celluloid.
The work was practically over for the day at four o’clock and the actors in their costumes—especially the Indians, including Wonota and her father—made a brilliant picture as they wandered about the lawns and in and out of the several bungalows on the island.
From the direction of Chippewa Bay appeared a chugging motor-launch that came directly to the dock. It was not one of the hired launches used by the picture company, nor were those in the launch men who had anything to do with Mr. Hammond’s corporation.
But when Ruth idly looked into the launch fromher seat with Helen and Miss Keith and Mrs. Paisley on the porch of their house, the girl of the Red Mill got up suddenly, uttering an astonished exclamation:
“That horrid man again!”
“Hoity-toity!” exclaimed Mrs. Paisley. “What man deserves such a title as that, Miss Fielding?”
“That Bilby!” exclaimed Ruth. “I just felt it in my bones—like Aunt Alvirah—that that creature would annoy us again.”
“Then you are not disappointed,” said Helen drily. “Is that the fellow—that big gawk in the blue suit?”
“No, no! I don’t know him,” said Ruth. “The little fat man tagging after the big fellow.”
For two men from the launch had now stepped ashore. In accordance with orders from Mr. Hammond, the visitors were stopped at the head of the dock. Nobody was allowed on the island without invitation or a permit.
“Let me tell you,” said the man in blue pompously, “that I am a county officer. You’d better have a care, young fellow.”
“Say! I don’t care if you are the King of the Yaps,” said Willie, the boatman. “I have my orders. This is private property. Stay where you are—right where you are, mind!—till I send for the boss.”
“You send for them two Injuns—that is who our business is with,” put in Bilby. “That Totantora and Wonota. I want to see them—not that Hammond.”
Ruth had run to another house to warn those very individuals to get out of the way and to keep out of sight until Bilby’s visit was over. She did not know, of course, who the big man in blue was.
The latter was inclined to be pompous and commanding, even when Mr. Hammond came down to the head of the dock to see him. It was evident that Bilby’s money felt warm in the deputy sheriff’s pocket, and he was determined to give the little fat man full weight for his cash.
“This here business is something that can be settled without any row, Mr. Hammond—if that’s your name,” said the officer, puffingly.
“It is my name, all right,” returned the president of the Alectrion Corporation. “And I don’t expect any row. What do you want—and that fellow behind you?”
Horatio Bilby grinned rather sheepishly. “Well, you know, Mr. Hammond, all’s fair in love and war.”
“This is certainly not love,” said the moving picture man. “Now, what do you both want?”
“You are ordered to bring two people into court,” said the deputy sheriff, “and show cause why they shouldn’t be handed over to Mr. Bilbypending certain proceedings to break their contract with you.”
“Blunt enough,” admitted Mr. Hammond, but without excitement. “Let’s see: You have a paper of some kind, I suppose, to serve on me?”
“I’ve a summons for you,” said the officer, drawing forth some papers, “and I propose to take the two Indians back to the Bay with me.”
“You can serve me, and I will arrange for my representative to appear for me in your court,” said Hammond. “But Totantora, to whom I suppose you refer, is a citizen of the United States, and you will have to find him to serve him.”
“He’s nothing but an Injun!” squealed Bilby, in wrath.
“Being an Osage Indian, and owning properly surveyed oil lands in Oklahoma, the Government has acknowledged his citizenship,” was the quiet reply. “He certainly is a good American and will doubtless answer to any court demand—if you can serve him legally.”
“You got him hid away somewhere?” demanded the deputy sheriff.
“And the girl, too!” cried Bilby. “I want the girl more than I do the crazy old Indian.”
“You’ll think he’s crazy if he ever sets eyes on you again, Mr. Bilby,” was Mr. Hammond’s warning. “He hasn’t forgotten you.”
Bilby drew back—and he looked frightened, too. “I—I don’t want him right now,” he muttered.
Hammond accepted the summons of the local court, glanced at it, and put it in his pocket.
“I see I have five days’ grace,” he remarked. “All right. I will see that proper representation is made before the court.”
“But we want them Indians,” said the deputy.
“This island is private property. I have hired its use for a certain term. I will allow you on it only under proper legal motion. Have you a search warrant?” Hammond asked the deputy.
“I ain’t got a warrant. I don’t need a warrant for a couple of Indians. They ain’t got any standing in this community. I know Indians all right. You give ’em over.”
“I do not even acknowledge that the two individuals you demand are under my control. At least, I know very well that no United States court can touch the young woman, Wonota, except through her guardian. That guardian is her father. I don’t see him here—do you?”
“You’d better produce him,” threatened the deputy.
“You can’t make me. Go back and get proper authority—if you can,” advised Mr. Hammond. “And don’t come here again—either of you—without proper authority. Willie!”
“On the job,” said the boatman, grinning.
“Don’t let these fellows upon the island again—not even on the dock. Not unless they are armed with a proper warrant.”
He turned his back on the visitors and started toward the nearest bungalow.
“You’ll be sorry for this, Hammond!” shouted Horatio Bilby. “I’ll get you yet, and don’t you forget it.”
“To get me, as you call it, you will have to have both right and might on your side, Bilby. And just now you do not seem to have either,” was the Parthian shot the president of the Alectrion Corporation sent over his shoulder.
Willie hustled the deputy and the fat man back into their launch.
“Go on away from here,” advised Willie. “I know you, Tom Satchett—known you all my life. All you are fit for is to jump a few fishermen and game hunters that break the law. This job is too big for you. You’re up against money and influence, both, this time.”
“I won’t forget you, Willie,” growled the deputy. “You’ll want something of me some time——”
“I want something of you right now,” put in the boatman. “A good reason for punching you. Go on into your boat before I find it.”
So the pair retreated. But Ruth came to Mr. Hammond in some little disturbance.
“What shall we do?” she demanded. “Suppose they take Wonota away before the picture is finished?”
“They won’t. At least, I don’t believe the court will allow it. I will telegraph to a good lawyer and have him come up here and watch proceedings.”
“But, if it should happen, we would be in a bad fix, Mr. Hammond. Mr. Hooley says nobody could double for Wonota.”
“Let’s not cross bridges until we come to them,” returned her friend.
But perhaps Mr. Hammond felt less confidence than he managed to get into his voice and appearance at that moment.
CHAPTER XVTHE YELLOW LADY
There could be no further haste about the making of the picture, “The Long Lane’s Turning.” Although most of the big scenes were already shot, those that remained to do held in them the more poignant action of the piece and must be rehearsed over and over again.
Much time is sometimes spent upon a single scene—a few feet of a reel. Infinite patience, repetition and experimenting go into the making of a pictured story. Infinite detail and a close attention to that detail make the successful picture.
To stage a “big” scene may seem to be a marvelous feat of the director. But in a big scene, with a large number of actors, the latter are divided into groups, each group has its captain, and each individual actor has to follow the lead of his particular captain. The groups are trained and perfected in every little motion before they come into the real scene before the camera.
Thus the allegorical picture that was a prologueto “The Long Lane’s Turning” had been gone over and rehearsed again and again by the principal actors in it, even before the company left New York City.
Now, with all these “big” scenes filmed, the more difficult work of making the individual scenes of action came to the fore. Wonota had to be coached over and over again in her scenes with Mr. Grand and Miss Keith. Both the latter were well-practised screen actors and could register the ordinary gamut of emotions as easily as they ate their breakfast or powdered their noses.
With Wonota, however, it was different. In the first place, she came of a tribe of people in whom it was bred to smother all expression of emotion—even the most poignant. Wonota almost worshiped her father; but did she ever look upon Chief Totantora with a smile of pride or with affection beaming in her eyes?
“Not so you’d notice it,” said Helen, on one occasion. “Ordinarily, as far as her looks go, Totantora might be a stranger to her.”
“Is there any wonder, then,” sighed Ruth, “that we find it so hard to make her register affection for Mr. Grand? And she already should have learned to do that in that first picture we took out West.”
“Maybe that’s the reason,” said Helen wickedly. “If she did not know Mr. Grand’s foiblesso well, she might the better show interest in him. Goodness knows he’s handsome enough.”
“Better than that, he can act,” said Ruth thoughtfully. “Not many of these handsome screen heroes can do that. But perhaps if Wonota did not disdain him so much (and she does, secretly) she could play up to him better.”
“Is there much more for her to do?” Helen asked, with renewed interest.
“Several scenes—and some of them most important. Mr. Hooley can not give all his time to her. I am trying to coach her in them. But there is so much going on here at the island——”
“Why not take her away to some other place and just pound it into her?”
“Not to the Kingdom of Pipes!” laughed Ruth suddenly.
“No. Let the old pirate have that place to his heart’s content. But there are other islands.”
“True enough. Fourteen hundred of them.”
“Come on!” exclaimed the energetic Helen. “Let’s get Willie and theGemand go somewhere with Wonota. You’ve all day to hammer at her. Get your continuity and try to get it into Wonota’s head that she is deeply and desperately in love with Grand.”
In spite of Helen’s brusk way of speaking, Ruth decided that her idea might be well worth following. Helen took some knitting and a parasol—anda hamper. Ruth gathered her necessary books and script; and likewise got Wonota. Then they boarded the launch and Willie took them up the river to a tiny islet not far from the Kingdom of Pipes, after all.
“I don’t see anybody moving over there,” Helen remarked, as Willie landed them at the islet selected. She was looking at the island on which Ruth had had her adventure with the King of the Pipes. “It looks deserted enough. We might have gone there just as well as not.”
“I feel as well satisfied to keep away from that queer old fellow,” her chum said.
“Who’s that?” asked Willie, the boatman, overhearing their remarks.
Ruth told him about the strange man, and Willie laughed.
“Oh! That old jigger? Was he the fellow the boss wanted we should shoo off that island? Why didn’t he say so? Old Charley-Horse Pond. We all know him about here.”
“Oh!” cried Helen. “Is he crazy?”
“Not enough to make any difference. Just got a twist in his brain. Calls himself a king, does he? Mebbe he will be a duke or an emperor next time. Or a doctor. Can’t tell. He gets fancies.”
“And of course he is not dangerous?” said Ruth.
“Just about as dangerous as a fly,” drawled Willie. “And not so much. For flies bite—sometimes, and old Charley-Horse Pond ain’t even got teeth to bite with. No, Ma’am!”
“But what are the ‘pipes’ he talks about? Why ‘King of the Pipes’?” demanded the insistent Helen.
“Got me. Never heard of ’em,” declared Willie. “Now, you ladies all right here?”
“All right, Willie,” said Ruth as theGemwas backed off the island.
“I’ll come for you at half past three, eh? That’s all right, then,” and the boatman was off.
The three girls, really glad to be away from the crowd and the confusion of the moving picture camp, settled down to several hours of companionship. Helen could be silent if she pleased, and with her knitting and a novel proceeded to curl up under a tamarack tree and bury herself for the time being.
Helen had not, however, forgotten the “inner woman,” as she pronounced it. When lunch time came she opened the covered basket which she had brought in addition to the book and the knitting, and produced sandwiches and cake, besides the wherewithal for the making of a cup of tea over a can of solidified alcohol. They lunched famously.
It was while they were thus engaged, and chatting,that the staccato exhaust of a motor-boat drew their attention to the Island of Pipes. From the other side, a boat was poking around into the passage leading to the American shore.
“My goodness!” exclaimed Helen, “the King of the Pipes isn’t in that boat, is he?”
“Not at all,” Ruth assured her. “I see nobody who looks like him among those men—”
“All are not men, Miss Ruth,” interrupted Wonota, the keen-eyed.
“What do you mean, Wonota?” gasped Helen, whirling around to gaze again at the passing launch.
But Ruth did not say a word. She had been examining the boat closely. She saw it was the very speedy boat she and Chess Copley had seen out on the wider part of the river several weeks before. The launch was not moving rapidly now, but Ruth was sure that it was a powerful craft.
It was Helen who marked the figure Wonota had spoken of in the boat. It certainly did not appear to be a man.
“Why Ruth! See! That is a woman!”
“A yellow-faced lady,” said Wonota calmly. “I saw her first, Miss Ruth.”
All three of the girls on the island stared after the moving motor-boat. Ruth saw the woman. She was dressed plainly but in modern garments. She did not seem to be one of the summer visitorsto the islands. Indeed, her clothing—such as could be seen—pointed to city breeding, but nothing was chosen, it would seem, for wear in such a place as this. She might have been on a ferryboat going from shore to shore of the Hudson!
“Sheisa yellow lady,” Wonota repeated earnestly.
“I should say she was!” exclaimed Helen. “What do you think of her, Ruth?”
“I am sure I do not know what to say,” the girl of the Red Mill answered. “Does she look like a white woman to you, Helen?”
“She is yellow,” reiterated Wonota.
“She certainly is not an Indian,” observed Helen. “What say, Ruth?”
“She surely is not,” agreed her chum.
“A yellow lady,” murmured Wonota again, as the boat drew behind another island and there remained out of sight.
CHAPTER XVIMAROONED
“I wonder if the boat did come from that island over yonder?” Ruth murmured, after a few moments of thought.
“For goodness’ sake! what are you worrying about?” asked Helen Cameron.
“I’m not worrying at all,” Ruth returned, smiling. “But I am curious.”
“About that yellow lady?”
“About what happens on that island the queer old man lives on.”
“You don’t know that he really lives there,” was the prompt rejoinder.
“That is so. He may not be there now. But—”
“But me no buts, unless you mean to go on,” said Helen, as Ruth hesitated again.
“It does seem queer,” said Ruth thoughtfully. “Other people go there besides the King of the Pipes.”
“Indeed! We all went there when that allegory was staged.”
“And since then,” said Ruth, and proceeded to tell the two girls what she and Chess Copley had seen early one morning.
“Men landing boxes on the island?” cried Helen, while Wonota merely looked puzzled. “There is a camp there, like enough. And those men—and the woman—in the launch might have come from there, of course. When Willie comes back for us, let’s sail around the island and see if we can spy where their tent is set up. For of course there is no house there?”
“Tom and I found no habitation when we went to search for the old man,” admitted Ruth.
“All right. It must be a tent, then,” said her chum with conviction. “We’ll see.”
But as it turned out, they made no such search that day. Indeed, Willie and theGemdid not return for them. The camp launch was not the first craft that appeared. Ruth was again coaching Wonota after lunch when Helen spied something on the water that caused her to cry out, drawing the other girls’ attention.
“Who under the sun is this coming in the canoe?” Helen demanded. “Why! he is making it fairly fly. I never!”
Wonota scarcely glanced in the direction of the distant moving picture camp, and she said composedly:
“It is Chief Totantora. He comes for me.”
The Indian in the canoe caused the craft to tear through the water. No such paddling had the two white girls ever seen before. Not a motion was lost on the part of Chief Totantora. Every stroke of his paddle drove the craft on with a speed to make anybody marvel.
“Something has happened!” gasped Ruth, standing up.
“He comes for me,” repeated Wonota, still calmly.
“What for?” queried Helen, quite as much disturbed now as her chum.
Before the Indian girl could have answered—had she intended to explain—the canoe came close in to the bank of the island, was swerved dexterously, and Totantora leaped ashore—a feat not at all easy to perform without overturning the canoe. It scarcely rocked.
He stooped and held it from scraping against the rock, and shot up at his daughter several brief sentences in their own tongue. He paid no attention to Ruth, even, although she stepped forward and asked what his errand was.
“I must go, Miss Ruth,” said Wonota quickly. “Mr. Hammond has sent him. It was arranged before.”
“What was arranged?” demanded Ruth, with some sharpness.
“We are going yonder,” she pointed to the hazyshore of Grenadier Island that was in view from where they stood. “It is said by Mr. Hammond that yonder the man with the little green eyes—the fat man—cannot have us taken.”
“For goodness’ sake!” gasped Helen, “she’s talking of that Bilby, isn’t she?”
“What does it mean? Has Bilby come again?” cried Ruth, speaking directly to Totantora.
“We go,” said the chief. “Hammond, he say so. Now. They come for me and for Wonota with talking papers from the white man’s court.”
“Then Mr. Hammond’s lawyer could not do all Mr. Hammond expected,” sighed Ruth. “The picture will be ruined.”
“I never heard of such a thing,” cried Helen angrily. “I’d like to know what sort of courts and judges they have up here in these woods?”
But Ruth wanted to know more. She held Wonota back as she would have stepped into the canoe.
“Wait,” she urged. “Tell me more, Totantora. Where are you taking Wonota?”
It was the Indian girl who answered.
“Over on that shore,” said she, pointing again to the Canadian island, “these courts cannot touch us. Mr. Hammond told my father so. We go there to wait until the trouble is over. Mr. Hammond spoke of it before. Totantora is informed.”
“But it means delay and expense,” cried Ruth.
“How mean!” exploded Helen. “I’d like to do something to that Bilby.”
“Have you money—plenty of money?” Ruth demanded of the Indian.
“I have money,” said Wonota, touching the bosom of her blouse. “We do not need much. We shall live quietly there until Mr. Hammond sends for us. We will be faithful to you, Miss Ruth.”
She turned, with more impulsiveness than she usually showed, and kissed the white girl’s cheek.
“You are so good to me!” she cried. “I will not forget all you have taught me. And I will rehearse every day so to be perfect when Mr. Hooley wants me again.”
There was no way to stop her. Indeed, as Mr. Hammond had advised this sudden move, Ruth knew she had no right to interfere. It was evident that an emergency had arisen of which she, herself, knew nothing. In some way the enemy had forced Mr. Hammond’s hand. Totantora and his daughter were in danger of being brought into court after all, and Mr. Hammond did not wish that to come about.
The Indian girl stepped lightly into the canoe and picked up the extra paddle. Her father leaped in after her, pushed the light craft away from the rock, and seized his own paddle. In another moment the canoe shot away from the island andoff toward the broad expanse of the open St. Lawrence.
Helen and Ruth stared after them—then at each other. Naturally it was Helen who first regained her voice and gave expression to her amazement.
“What do you know about that?” she demanded.
“I—I don’t know what to say,” murmured Ruth.
“Oh! I know what to say, all right,” said the disgusted Helen. “It’s no joke.”
Ruth herself admitted it was nothing to laugh about. She saw difficulties in the way of the completion of “The Long Lane’s Turning” of which Helen knew but little—or of which she did not think.
Ruth knew that there were scenes—some of them she had been studying with Wonota this day—that could not be changed nor eliminated. Wonota must be in them. No “double” could be used.
In the first place, the Indian girl’s personality was distinct. It could not easily be matched.
Ruth knew that, even at that time, one of the most popular screen actresses, because of her inability longer to look the child, was using a double for all her “close-ups” when she was forced to play those childish parts that a hungry public of “movie fans” demanded.
Nothing like this would save “The Long Lane’s Turning.” The throne room scene in Paris, whichwas yet to be photographed, was too delicate a matter to put in the hands of any double. Wonota was herself—even in this picture she was a distinct personality—and she must be shown to the very end of the last reel and the last “fade-out.”
The thoughts caused Ruth to feel very, very sober. Helen looked at her with some appreciation of her chum’s despair; yet she could not appreciate the situation in full.
Suddenly the lighter-minded Helen leaped to her feet from the bank on which she was sitting, and exclaimed:
“My goodness, Ruth! do you realize that we are marooned?”
“Marooned?” was the wondering rejoiner.
“Yes. Just as though we had been put ashore here by a crew of mutineers and deserted—a pair of Robinson Crusoesses!”
“Your English—”
“Bother my English!”
“It would surely bother Mrs. Tellingham—if she could hear it, poor dear.”
“Now, don’t sidetrack me,” remarked Helen. “Don’t you see we are cast away on this desert isle with no means of getting back to the camp unless we swim?”
“Willie will be after us.”
“But, will ’e?” asked the roguish Helen, punning on the boatman’s name.
“Do be sensible—”
“Even good sense will not rescue us,” interrupted Helen. “I’d like to get back to camp and hear all the exciting details. Totantora certainly can say less in a few moments than any person I ever saw. And Wonota is not much better.”
“It does not matter how much they said or how little. The fat is all in the fire, I guess,” groaned Ruth.
“Chirk up! Something is sure to turn up, I suppose. We won’t be left here to starve,” and Helen’s eyes flashed her fun.
“Oh,you!” began Ruth, half laughing too. Then she stopped and held up her hand. “What’s that?” she whispered.
The sound was repeated. A long-drawn “co-ee! co-ee!” which drained away into the depths of the forest-covered islands all about them. They were not where they could see a single isle known to be inhabited.
“Who is calling us?” demanded Helen.
“Hush!” commanded Ruth. “That is not for us. I have heard it before. It comes from the King of the Pipes’ island—to be sure it does.”
“He’s calling for help!” gasped Helen.
“He is doing nothing of the kind. It is a signal.” Ruth told Helen swiftly more of that early morning incident she and Chess Copley had observedwhen they saw the boxes carried ashore from the motor-boat.
“Seems to me,” grumbled Helen, “you have a lot of adventures with ’Lasses Copley, Ruth.”
“Your own fault that you don’t,” returned her chum promptly. “You could have been along. But you don’t like Mr. Copley.”
“What has that to do with it?” rejoined Helen smartly. “I would go adventuring with any boy—even ’Lasses.”
“Don’t call him that,” commanded Ruth.
“Pooh! He likes it. Or he used to.”
“He is a nice fellow,” Ruth declared, with more earnestness than there really seemed to be necessity for.
“I—de-clare!” murmured Helen. “Really! Does the wind sit in that quarter?”