"I didn't know nothin' about no picture—honest I didn't! I took this road because it was shorter. Don't shoot pap's cow-critters. I'll take 'em away."
"Well, that's all we want you to do," said Mr. Pertell, coming up with a grim smile. "You nearly got yourself and your cow-critters in trouble, my boy. Drive 'em back now, and we'll go on with the film. Did any of 'em get in, Russ?" he asked.
"Just a few, on the last inch or so of the reel. I can cut that out and go on from there. Hold the carriage where it is, Ruth," he called.
"All right," she answered, for she had now quieted the restive horses.
"Don't be afraid, boy," said Alice to the lad. "You won't be hurt."
"And won't they hurt pap's cow-critters, neither?"
"No, indeed. It was all a mistake."
"I—I didn't know there was no war goin' on," remarked the lad, as he sent an intelligent dog he had with him after the straying animals. "Me an' pap we lives away over yonder on t'other side of the mountain. An' we don't never hear no news. I was plum skeered when I seen all them ossifers. Thought sure I was ketched, same as I've heard my grandpap tell about bein' ketched in the army. He was a soldier with Sherman, and I've heard him tell about capturin' cow-critters when they was on the march."
"Well, this would be like old times to him, I suppose," said Mr. Pertell. "But this is only in fun, my boy—to make motion pictures. So take your cows away and we'll go on with the work. Drive 'em on," and the boy did so with a curious, backward look at the girls in the carriage, and at the Union soldiers, who were going back to their places to get ready anew for the skirmish charge.
"And this time we'll have it without cows," said Mr. Pertell. "They might go all right in a film of Sherman's march, but not in this skirmish fight. All ready now. Take your places again."