Читать книгу Janet Hardy in Radio City - Wheeler Ruthe S. - Страница 5

Helen looked at her companion through smiling, quizzical eyes.

“Well, what do you make of that?” she asked.

“I’m a little bit dizzy, but I guess Mr. Fenstow meant what he said. Do you suppose I can really turn out an acceptable story for a western picture?” Janet turned and shot the question squarely at Helen.

“I’m sure you can. That is,” she amended, “if you don’t let the thought of it scare you.”

“I’ll give it a lot of time and thought before I start writing the story.”

“There isn’t much time,” warned Helen, and Janet knew that her companion was right.

Ten days – sometimes it seemed like an endless length of time; then again it vanished like magic and she had a feeling that this might be the case.

Some members of the company left the bus and walked around to stretch their legs; the others remained quietly in their seats, only a few of them talking for they were glad the strain of making the picture was at an end.

Janet sniffed the late afternoon air. There seemed to be a faint odor of smoke, but she decided some of the men in the company must be smoking nearby.

The heat abated somewhat as they waited for the driver to repair the engine and a sharp breeze swept down out of the hills sending little swirls of dust dancing along the winding road ahead of them.

Helen leaned close to her companion.

“Smell smoke?” she asked.

“Not now, but I thought I did a few minutes ago,” replied Janet.

“I’m sure I can now,” went on Helen, sniffing intently.

Janet thought she caught another whiff of smoke, but she couldn’t be sure.

Curt Newsom, who had been trying to help repair the engine, came back along the bus. His face was smudged with grime and dirt and his hands were covered with grease. He raised one of them and motioned for Janet and Helen to join him. The girls left their seats and walked down the bus, Curt meeting them at the doorway.

“Come on,” he said sharply and in a manner that was little like his own.

He strode away through the dry grass, which crackled like tinder under his boots. He was a good fifty yards away from the bus and far beyond earshot when he stopped and faced the girls.

“It will be hours before that bus can be repaired,” he told them. “Someone will have to go back to the ranch or the nearest village and phone for another vehicle to come out from the city.”

The freshening breeze stirred up a cloud of dust which enveloped them for a moment. Curt sneezed heavily and then sniffed.

“Smell anything?” There was desperate intentness in his question.

Janet and Helen wrinkled their noses and sniffed eagerly.

Helen shook her head.

“Not now, but a while ago I thought I smelled smoke.”

“So did I,” added Janet. “It was kind of like tobacco smoke and then it wasn’t.”

Curt shook his head. “I’m afraid it isn’t tobacco smoke. I’ve been getting whiffs of it right along. Smells like a brush fire to me, but I can’t locate any sign of smoke.”

“What do you mean by brush fire?” asked Janet.

Curt looked at her sharply and then his eyes swept the rugged countryside where the sparse grass was brown and the brush as brittle as glass.

“It’s like a prairie fire – only worse. It’s even worse than a forest fire. It spreads more rapidly. Once a fire gets started in this dry, combustible stuff, it’s almost impossible to stop it. Either a good rain comes along or the blamed thing just burns itself out.”

“But I should think you could dodge a brush fire,” put in Helen.

“Maybe you could if you knew which way it was going to jump. But it moves almost like lightning and it’s on you before you know it.”

The cowboy star cast an anxious eye over the rolling hills, but there was no sign of smoke, no spear of flame to flash a warning of impending trouble.

“Keep your nose busy and your eyes and ears on the job. You might even stir around in the hills a bit. If you see anything that looks like it might spell trouble, let me know. I’m going back to try and help the driver. We’ll give you plenty of time to get back before we start on if we just happen to find the trouble.”

Curt, his spurs jingling musically, strode away, and Janet and Helen watched him go with mingled feelings. His words had aroused a very definite sense of alarm in their minds and they were a little white as they faced each other.

“I’m sure I smell smoke now,” said Helen, sniffing intently. Janet did likewise, but she couldn’t be sure, and the breeze was getting sharper.

“We’ll scout around these hills. Let’s try that one,” Janet pointed to a ragged outcropping of rock that towered above the rest.

“It’s going to be hard to climb,” cautioned Helen.

“I know, but once we’re on top we’ll be able to see all over this country. If there’s any sign of a brush fire, we’ll be able to see it from there.”

“I suppose you’re right. Wish I had left my heavy boots on. These shoes aren’t made for this kind of walking,” and Helen looked down at the low-heeled, comfortable oxfords she wore. They were all right for street wear, but when it came to climbing about over thin, rocky soil, they provided only a minimum of protection.

The outcropping Janet had selected was even steeper than they had anticipated and as they climbed, the outline of the bus in the valley became smaller. They stopped several times to rest and on the last occasion Janet sat down on a flat, sun-baked rock. There was a certain fetid odor about it but she thought nothing of it until Helen, who was about to sit down beside her, screamed.

Without thinking and so swiftly it must have been a reflex action, she hurled herself away from the rock.

She dropped in a twisting, rolling fall and as she turned she glimpsed a venomous head with lashing fangs which flashed out once from the rock and then disappeared.