Three days had been spent in and around Scranton, and now the moving picture players were ready to start off again. Mr. Pertell was reconsidering some plans he and Russ had talked over, and it had not been definitely decided what to do as yet.
"We'll just keep on," said the manager, "and perhaps something will turn up to give me an idea for a novel film."
They had taken a train on a small branch line of the railroad to connect with a through express, and about an hour after starting, and when about half-way to the junction, they came to a sudden stop.
"Ha! An accident!" cried Russ, reaching for the small camera he kept for emergencies.
"Wait, I'll come with you," said the manager. "We may be able to make it into a film."
But when they got on the outside, followed by several of the members of the company, they saw no signs of anything wrong. There was no other train in sight, so there could have been no collision, and their own train was safely on the track. Off to one side, however, gathered about a tall structure of wood, was a knot of people.
"What's the matter?" asked Russ of one of the trainmen.
"They're going to shoot an oil well over there," was the answer, "and it's so close to the track that they signalled us to stop."
"Why didn't they wait until we got past?" asked Mr. DeVere who, with his daughters, had gone out to see what caused the delay.
"Why, they had already lowered the charge of nitro-glycerine into the well," the brakeman explained, "and something has gone wrong. The shot didn't go off, and they're afraid it may at any minute. So they're holding us back a little while."