"What I have to do,"she stated,"is what Burns tells me to do.I should worry about it's being right or wrong;I'm not the producer."Jean faced her,frowning a little.Then she laughed,hung the bridle back on the rusty spike,and took down the saddle blanket."We'll play I'm Robert Grant Burns,"she said."I'll tell you what to do:Lay the blanket on straight,--it's shaped to Pard's back,so that ought to be easy,--with the front edge coming forward to his withers;that's not right.Maybe I had better do it first,and show you.Then you'll get the idea."So Jean,with the best intention in the world,saddled Pard,and wondered what there was about so simple a process that need puzzle any one.When she had tightened the cinch and looped up the latigo,and explained to Muriel just what she was doing,she immediately unsaddled him and laid the saddle down upon its side,with the blanket folded once on top,and stepped close to the manger.
"If your saddle isn't hanging up,that's the way it should be put on the ground,"she said."Now you do it.It's easy."It was easy for Jean,but Muriel did not find it so simple.Jean went through the whole performance a second time,though she was beginning to feel that nature had never fitted her for a teacher of young ladies.
Muriel,she began to suspect,rather resented the process of being taught.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 Huntley and those other desperados who had helped to brand the calf that other day.Gil was leading a little sorrel with a saddle on,--Muriel's horse evidently.Jean had started back to the house and her own affairs,but she lingered with a very human curiosity to see what they were all going to do.
She did not know that Robert Grant Burns was perfectly conscious of her presence even when he seemed busiest,and was studying her covertly even when he seemed not to notice her at all.Of his company,Pete Lowry was the only one who did know it,but that was because Pete himself was trained in the art of observation.
Pete also knew why Burns was 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 the mechanical part of making moving-pictures.
"I'd rather work with live things,"said Jean after a while."But I can see where this must be rather fascinating,too.""This is working with live things,if anybody wants to know,"Pete declared."Wait till you see Burns in action;handling bronks is easy compared to--""About where does the side line come,Pete?"Burns interrupted."If Gil stands here and holds the horse for that close-up saddling--"He whirled 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's that?"This was growing interesting.Jean backed to a convenient pile of old corral posts and sat down to watch,with her chin in her palms,and her mind weaving shuttle-wise back and forth from one person to another,fitting them all into the pattern which made the whole.
She watched Robert Grant Burns walking back and forth,growling and chuckling by turns as things pleased him or did not please him.She watched Muriel Gay walk to a certain spot which Burns had previously indicated,show sudden and uncalled-for fear and haste,and go through a pantomime of throwing the saddle on the sorrel.
She watched Lee Milligan carry the saddle up and throw it down upon the ground,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.For betraying your country and your flag is no crime at all compared with telling your director what he must do.
"Bring that saddle over here,"commanded Burns,indicating another spot eighteen inches from the first.
"And don't slop it down like it was a bundle of old clothes.Lay it on its side.How many times have Igot to tell you a thing before it soaks into your mind?"Not by tone or look or manner did he betray any knowledge that Jean had spoken,and Muriel decided that he could not have heard.
Lee Milligan moved the saddle and placed it upon its side,and Burns went to the camera and eyed the scene critically for its photographic value.He fumbled the in his hands,cocked an eye upward at the sun,stepped back,and gave a last glance to make sure that nothing could 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've just time enough to get there if you use every second.You were crying when the letter-scene closed,and this is about five minutes afterwards;you just had time enough to catch your horse and lead him out here to saddle him.Register a sob when you turn to pick up the saddle.You ought to do this all right without rehearsing.Get into the scene and start your action at the same time.Pete,you pick it up just as she gets to the horse's shoulder and starts to turn.Don't forget that sob,Gay.
Ready?Camera!"
Jean was absorbed,fascinated by this glimpse into a new and very busy little world,--the world of moving-picture makers.She leaned forward and watched every moment,every little detail."Grab the horn with your right hand,Miss Gay!"she cried involuntarily,when Muriel stooped and started to pick up the saddle.
"Don't--oh,it looks as if you were picking up a wash-boiler!I told you--""Register that sob!"bawled Robert Grant Burns,shooting a glance at Jean and stepping from one foot to the other like a fat gobbler in fresh-fallen snow.
