"Tell that battery to get ready to fire!" cried Mr. Pertell, and this word went over the telephone.
"Come on now with that Union charge!" was the next command.
Then hundreds of horses thundered down the slopes of Oak Farm, while the hidden guns thundered. Down went horses and men while the girls screamed involuntarily, it all seemed so real.
"It's a good thing we didn't plant no corn in that there field this season," observed Belix Apgar, Sandy's father, as he saw the charge.
"That's right," agreed his wife. "There wouldn't have been 'nuff left to make a hominy cake."
"Do it over again!" ordered the manager. "Some of you fellows ride your horses as if you were going to a croquet game. Get some action into it!"
Once more the battery thundered its harmless shots and the men charged. This time the scene was satisfactory, and preparations were made to film it. Again the men thundered down the slope, and when they were almost at the battery a single rider—a girl—dashed out toward the approaching Union soldiers.
"Oh, she'll be killed!" cried Ruth. "They'll ride right over her!"
It did seem so, for she was headed straight toward the approaching horsemen.
"She's all right," said Paul. "She's quite a rider, I believe. Her part, as a Union sympathizer, is to rush out and warn them of the hidden battery, but she is delayed by a Southerner until it is too late, and she takes a desperate chance. There go the guns!"