CHAPTER XVIII
A NEW KIND OF PICTURE
"What you doing now?" Robert Grant Burns came around the corner of thehouse looking for her, half an hour later, and found her sitting on thedoorstep with the old atlas on her knees and her hat far back on herhead, scribbling away for dear life.
Jean smiled abstractedly up at him. "Why, I'm--why-y, I'm becoming afamous scenario writer! Do you want me to go and plaster my face withgrease-paint, and become a mere common leading lady again?"
"No, I don't." Robert Grant Burns chuckled fatly and held out his handwith a big, pink cameo on his little finger. "Let's see what a famousscenario looks like. What is it,--that plot you were telling me awhileago?"
"Why, yes. I'm putting on the meat." There was a slight hesitationbefore Jean handed him the pages she had done. "I expect it's awfullycrude," she apologized, with one of her diffident spells. "I'm afraidyou'll laugh at me."
Robert Grant Burns was reading rapidly, mentally photographing thescenes as he went along. He held out his hand again without lookingtoward her. "Lemme take your pencil a minute. I believe I'd have apanoram of the coulee,--a long shot from out there in the meadow. Andshow the brother and you leaving the house and riding toward thecamera; at the gate, you separate. You're going to town, say. Herides on toward the hills. That fixes you both as belonging here atthe ranch, identifies you two and the home ranch both in thirty feet orso of the film, with a leader that tells you're brother and sister.See what I mean?" He scribbled a couple of lines, crossed out a couple,and went on reading to where he had interrupted Jean in the middle of asentence.
"I see you're writing in a part for that Lite Avery; how do you knowhe'd do it? Or can put it over if he tries? He don't look to me likean actor."
"Lite," declared Jean with a positiveness that would have thrilledLite, had he heard her, "can put over anything he tries to put over.And he'll do it, if I tell him he must!" Which showed what were Jean'sideas, at least on the subject of which was the master.
"What you going to call it a The Perils of the Prairie, say?" Burnsabandoned further argument on the subject of Lite's ability.
"Oh, no! That's awfully cheap. That would stamp it as a melodramabefore any of the picture appeared on the screen."
Robert Grant Burns had not been serious; he had been testing Jean'soriginality. "Well, what will we call it, then?"
"Oh, we'll call it--" Jean nibbled the rubber on her pencil and lookedat him with that unseeing, introspective gaze which was a trick ofhers. "We'll call it--does it hurt if we use real names that we've aright to?" She got a head-shake for answer. "Well, we'll callit,--let's just call it--Jean, of the Lazy A. Would that sound as if--"
"Great! Girl, you're a winner! Jean, of the Lazy A! Say, that titlealone will jump the releases ten per cent., if I know the game.Featuring Jean herself; pictures made right at the Lazy A Ranch. Say,the dope I can give our publicity man--"
Thereupon Jean, remembering Gil Huntley's lecture on the commercialside of the proposition, startled his enthusiasm with one naivequestion.
"How much will the Great Western Film Company pay me extra forfurnishing the story I play in?"
"How much?" Robert Grant Burns blurted the words automatically.
"Yes. How much? If it will jump your releases ten per cent. theyought to pay me quite a lot more than they're paying me now."
"You're doing pretty well as it is," Burns reminded her, with a visibledampening of his eagerness.
"For keeping your cut-and-dried stories from falling flat, yes. Butfor writing the kind of play that will have just as many 'punches' andstill be true to life, and then for acting it all out and putting inthose punches,--that's a different matter, Mr. Burns. And you'll haveto pay Lite a decent salary, or I'll quit right here. I'm thinking upstunts for us two that are awfully risky. You'll have to pay for that.But it will be worth while. You wait till you see Lite in action!"
Gil would have been exuberant over the literal manner in which Jean wastaking his advice and putting it to the test, had he overheard herdriving her bargain with Robert Grant Burns. He would have beenexuberant, but he would never have dared to say the things that Jeansaid, or to have taken the stand that she took. Robert Grant Burnsfound himself very much in the position which Lite had occupied forthree years. He had well-defined ideas upon the subject before them,and he had the outer semblance of authority; but his ideas and hisauthority had no weight whatever with Jean, since she had made up hermind.
Before Jean left the subject of salary, Robert Grant Burns foundhimself committed to a promise of an increase, provided that Jeanreally "delivered the goods" in the shape of a scenario serial, and didthe stunts which she declared she could and would do.
Before she settled down to the actual planning of scenes, Robert GrantBurns had also yielded to her demands for Lite Avery, though you maythink that he thereby showed himself culpably weak, unless you realizewhat sort of a person Jean was in argument. Without having more than agood-morning acquaintance with Lite, Burns agreed to put him on "instock" and to pay him the salary Jean demanded for him, provided that,in the try-out of the first picture, Lite should prove he could deliverthe goods. Burns was always extremely firm in the matter of having the"goods" delivered; that was why he was the Great Western's leadingdirector. Mere dollars he would yield, if driven into a corner and keptthere long enough, but he must have results.
These things being settled, they spent about two hours on the doorstepof Jean's room, writing the first reel of the story; which is to saythat Jean wrote, and Burns took each sheet from her hands as it wasfinished, and read and made certain technical revisions now and then.Several times he grunted words of approbation, and several times he lethis fat, black cigar go out, while he visualized the scenes whichJean's flying pencil portrayed.
"I'll go over and get Lite," she said at last, rubbing the cramp out ofher writing-hand and easing her shoulders from their strain ofstooping. "There'll be time, while you send the machine after somereal hats for your rustlers. Those toadstool things were never seen inthis country till you brought them in your trunk; and this story isgoing to be real! Your rustlers won't look much different from thepunchers, except that they'll be riding different horses; we'll have toget some paint somewhere and make a pinto out of that wall-eyed cayuseGil rides mostly. He'll lead the rustlers, and you want the audienceto be able to spot him a mile off. Lite and I will fix the horse;we'll put spots on him like a horse Uncle Carl used to own."
"Maybe you can't get Lite," Burns pointed out, eyeing her over a matchblaze. "He never acted to me like he had the movie-fever at all.Passes us up with a nod, and has never showed signs of life on thesubject. Lee can ride pretty well," he added artfully, "even if hewasn't born in the saddle. And we can fake that rope work."
"All right; you can send the machine in with a wire to your company fora leading woman." Jean picked up her gloves and turned to pull thedoor shut behind her, and by other signs and tokens made plain herintention to leave.
"Oh, well, you can see if he'll come. I said I'd try him out, but--"
"He'll come. I told you that before." Jean stopped and looked at herdirector coldly. "And you'll keep your word. And we won't have anyfake stuff in this,--except the spots on the pinto." She smiled then."We wouldn't do that, but there isn't a pinto in the country right nowthat would be what we want. You had better get your bunch together,because I'll be back in a little while with Lite."
As it happened, Lite was on his way to the Lazy A, and met Jean in thebottom of the sandy hollow. His eyes lightened when he saw her comeloping up to him. But when she was close enough to read the expressionof his face, it was schooled again to the frank friendship which Jeanalways had accepted as a matter of course.
"Hello, Lite! I've got a job for you with the movies," Jean announced,as soon as she was within speaking distance. "You can come right backwith me and begin. It's going to be great. We're going to make a realWestern pict
ure, Lite, you and I. Lee and Gil and all the rest will bein it, of course; but we're going to put in the real West. And we'regoing to put in the ranch,--the REAL Lazy A, Lite. Not these dinkylittle sets that Burns has toggled up with bits of the bluff showingfor background, but the ranch just as it--it used to be." Jean's eyesgrew wistful while she looked at him and told him her plans.
"I'm writing the scenario myself," she explained, "and that's why youhave to be in it. I've written in stuff that the other boys can't doto save their lives. REAL stuff, Lite! You and I are going to run theranch and punch the cows,--Lazy A cattle, what there are left ofthem,--and hunt down a bunch of rustlers that have their hangoutsomewhere down in the breaks; we don't know just where, yet. Theplaces we'll ride, they'll need an airship to follow with the camera!I haven't got it all planned yet, but the first reel is about done;we're going to begin on it this afternoon. We'll need you in the firstscenes,--just ranch scenes, with you and Lee; he's my brother, andhe'll get killed-- Now, what's the matter with you?" She stopped andeyed him disapprovingly. "Why have you got that stubborn look to yourmouth? Lite, see here. Before you say a word, I want to tell you thatyou are not to refuse this. It--it means money, Lite; for you, and forme, too. And that means--dad at home again. Lite--"
Bite looked at her, looked away and bit his lips. It was long since hehad seen tears in Jean's steady, brown eyes, and the sight of them hurthim intolerably. There was nothing that he could say to strengthen herfaith, absolutely nothing. He did not see how money could free herfather before his sentence expired. Her faith in her dad seemed toLite a wonderful thing, but he himself could not altogether share it,although he had lately come to feel a very definite doubt about Aleck'sguilt. Money could not help them, except that it could buy back theLazy A and restock it, and make of it the home it had been three yearsago.
Lite, in the secret heart of him, did not want Jean to set her heart ondoing that. Lite was almost in a position to do it himself, just as hehad planned and schemed and saved to do, ever since the day when hetook Jean to the Bar Nothing, and announced to her that he intended totake care of her in place of her father. He had wanted to surpriseJean; and Jean, with her usual headlong energy bent upon the sameobject, seemed in a fair way to forestall him, unless he moved veryquickly.
"Lite, you won't spoil everything now, just when I'm given this greatopportunity, will you?" Jean's voice was steady again. She could evenmeet his eyes without flinching. "Gil says it's a great opportunity,in every way. It's a series of pictures, really, and they are to becalled 'Jean, of the Lazy A.' Gil says they will be advertised a lot,and make me famous. I don't care about that; but the company will payme more, and that means--that means that I can get out and find ArtOsgood sooner, and--get dad home. And you will have to help. Thewhole thing, as I have planned it, depends upon you, Lite. The ridingand the roping, and stuff like that, you'll have to do. You'll have towork right alongside me in all that outdoor stuff, because I am goingto quit doing all those spectacular, stagey stunts, and get down toreal business. I've made Burns see that there will be money in it forhis company, so he is perfectly willing to let me go ahead with it anddo it my way. Our way, Lite, because, once you start with it, you canhelp me plan things." Whereupon, having said almost everything shecould think of that would tend to soften that stubborn look in Lite'sface, Jean waited.
Lite did a great deal of thinking in the next two or three minutes, butbeing such a bottled-up person, he did not say half of what he thought;and Jean, closely as she watched his face, could not read what was inhis mind. Of Aleck he thought, and the slender chance there was of anyone doing what Jean hoped to do; of Art Osgood, and the meagerpossibility that Art could shed any light upon the killing of JohnnyCroft; of the Lazy A, and the probable price that Carl would put uponit if he were asked to sell the ranch and the stock; of the money hehad already saved, and the chance that, if he went to Carl now and madehim an offer, Carl would accept. He weighed mentally all the variouselements that went to make up the depressing tangle of the wholeaffair, and decided that he would write at once to Rossman, the lawyerwho had defended Aleck, and put the whole thing into his hands. Hewould then know just where he stood, and what he would have to do, andwhat legal steps he must take.
He looked at Jean and grinned a little. "I'm not pretty enough for apicture actor," he said whimsically. "Better let me be a rustler andwear a mask, if you don't want folks to throw fits."
"You'll be what I want you to be," Jean told him with the little smilein her eyes that Lite had learned to love more than he could ever say."I'm going to make us both famous, Lite. Now, come on, Bobby Burns hasprobably chewed up a whole box of those black cigars, waiting for us toshow up."
I am not going to describe the making of "Jean, of the Lazy A." Itwould be interesting, but this is not primarily a story of themotion-picture business, remember. It is the story of the Lazy A andthe problem that both Jean and Lite were trying to solve. The GreatWestern Film Company became, through sheer chance, a factor in thatproblem, and for that reason we have come into rather close touch withthem; but aside from the fact that Jean's photo-play brought Lite intothe company and later took them both to Los Angeles, this particularpicture has no great bearing upon the matter.
Robert Grant Burns had intended taking his company back to Los Anglesin August, when the hot winds began to sweep over the range land. ButJean's story was going "big." Jean was throwing herself into the partheart and mind. She lived it. With Lite riding beside her, helpingher with all his skill and energy and much enthusiasm, she almostforgot her great undertaking sometimes, she was so engrossed with herwork. With his experience, suggesting frequent changes, she added newtouches of realism to this story that made the case-hardened audienceof the Great Western's private projection room invent new ways ofvoicing their enthusiasm, when the negative films Pete Lowry sent in toheadquarters were printed and given their trial run.
They were just well started when August came with its hot winds. Theystayed and worked upon the serial until it was finished, and that meantthat they stayed until the first October blizzard caught them whilethey were finishing the last reel.
Do you know what they did then? Jean changed a few scenes around atLite's suggestion, and they went out into the hills in the teeth of thestorm and pictured Jean lost in the blizzard, and coming by chance uponthe outlaws at their camp, which she and Lite and Lee had been huntingthrough all the previous installments of the story. It was greatstuff,--that ride Jean made in the blizzard,--and that scene where,with numbed fingers and snow matted in her dangling braid, she held upthe rustlers and marched them out of the hills, and met Lite coming insearch of her.
You will remember it, if you have been frequenting the silent drama andwere fortunate enough to see the picture. You may have wondered at therealism of those blizzard scenes, and you may have been curious to knowhow the camera got the effect. It was wonderful photography, ofcourse; but then, the blizzard was real, and that pinched, half frozenlook on Jean's face in the close-up where she met Lite was real. Jeanwas so cold when she turned the rustlers over to Lite that when shestarted to dismount and fell in a heap,--you remember?--she was notacting at all. Neither was Lite acting when he plunged through thedrift and caught Jean in his arms and held her close against him justas that scene ended. In the name of realism they cut the scene,because Lite showed that he forgot all about the outlaws and the parthe was playing.
So they finished the picture, and the whole company packed their trunksthankfully and turned their faces and all their thoughts westward.
Jean was not at all sure that she wanted to go. It seemed almost asthough she were setting aside her great undertaking; as though she wereweakly deserting her dad when she closed the door for the last timeupon her room and turned her back upon Lazy A coulee. But there werecertain things which comforted her; Lite was going along to look afterthe horses, he told her just the day before they started. For RobertGrant Burns, with an eye to
the advertising value of the move, haddecided that Pard must go with them. He would have to hire an expresscar, anyway, he said, for the automobile and the scenery sets they hadused for interiors. And there would be plenty of room for Pard andLite's horse and another which Robert Grant Burns had used to carry himto locations in rough country, where the automobile could not go. Thecar would run in passenger service, Burns said,--he'd fix that,--soLite would be right with the company all the way out.
Jean appreciated all that as a personal favor, which merely proved howunsophisticated she really was. She did not know that Robert GrantBurns was thinking chiefly of furnishing material for the publicity manto use in news stories. She never once dreamed that the coming of"Jean, of the Lazy A" and Jean's pet horse Pard, and of Lite, who haddone so many surprising things in the picture, would be heralded in allthe Los Angeles papers before ever they left Montana.
Jean was concerned chiefly with attending to certain matters whichseemed to her of vital importance. If she must go, there was somethingwhich she must do first,--something which for three years she hadshrunk from doing. So she told Robert Grant Burns that she would meethim and his company in Helena, and without a word of explanation, sheleft two days in advance of them, just after she had had anothermaddening talk with her Uncle Carl, wherein she had repeated herintention of employing a lawyer.
When she boarded the train at Helena, she did not tell even Lite justwhere she had been or what she had been doing. She did not need totell Lite. He looked into her face and saw there the shadow of thehigh, stone wall that shut her dad away from the world, and he did notask a single question.