“Don’t stand around like a bunch of wooden Indians,” said the assistant director. “Show some interest when those horsemen come over the hills. I want plenty of action in this scene.”
“Keep close to us,” Janet advised Cora and Margie. “All you have to do is look excited.”
“That’s going to be easy,” smiled Margie. “I’m so nervous now I can’t stay still a minute.”
Final instructions were given and the cameras started grinding as a massed body of riders swept over the crest of the hills and galloped madly toward the village.
The girls, who had been in the restaurant, rushed into the street and joined the other members of the company and the villagers who had been pressed into service as extras.
It was action and good action. Janet thrilled at the magnificent riding of Curt Newsom, who rode with consumate skill and grace. He was a part of the horse he was astride and it was no effort to Janet to register extreme excitement.
The mounted men, a band of captives in the center of the group, reined in before the astonished villagers and Curt, dismounting, pulled one of the captives from his saddle and strode toward the door which was marked sheriff’s office. Curt pulled the protesting rider after him, disappearing into the sheriff’s office. That finished the sequence and the cameras stopped clicking.
It was the last of the big scenes and the rest of the day was to be spent in picking up shots to fill out the story.
“Do you suppose we looked all right?” asked Cora, who had been fitted out in a housedress and sunbonnet. Margie was similarly attired.
“I’m sure you looked your parts,” Janet assured them, “but don’t be too disappointed when you see the picture. There’ll only be a flash of this action on the screen and the ‘mob’ scene won’t last more than a few seconds.”