ON THE BRINK

ON THE BRINK

“What — what’s your plan, Blake?” yelled Joe into his chum’s ear as he sat behind him on the jolting second saddle of the swaying motorcycle.

“What do you mean?” demanded Blake, half turning his head.

“I mean, how are you going to stop that runaway or rescue those fellows?”

“I haven’t thought yet, but if we can get ahead of the horse, we may be able to stop him before he gets to the road barrier or the dangerous turn.”

“That’s — right!” panted Joe, the words being fairly jolted out of him. “Head him off — I see!”

“Hold fast!” exclaimed Blake, as the conductor does when a trolley car goes around a curve. “Hold fast!”

There was a need for the advice, for a little turn in the road was just ahead of them, and[11] Blake intended to take it at almost top speed.

Bumping, swaying, jolting, spitting fire and smoke, with a rattle, clatter, and bang, rushed the motorcycle on its errand of rescue.

“Hark!” cried Joe, close to Blake’s ear. “Listen!”

“Can’t, with all this racket!” yelled back Blake, for he had opened the throttle to gain a little increase of power. “What’s the matter?”

“I thought I heard the horse.”

“Hearing him won’t do any good,” observed Blake grimly. “We’ve got to see him and get ahead!”

And he turned on a little more gasoline.

While Blake and Joe are thus speeding to the rescue of the men in the runaway, we will take a moment to introduce our new readers to the boys who will figure prominently in this story.

Joe Duncan and Blake Stewart were called the “Moving Picture Boys” for an apparent reason. They took moving pictures. With their curious box-like cameras, equipped with a thousand feet of sensitive celluloid film and the operating handle, they had risen from the ranks of mere helpers to expert operators. And now they were qualified to take moving pictures[12] of anything from a crowd shuffling along the street to a more complicated scene, such as a flood, earthquake, or volcanic eruption. And, incidentally, I might mention that they had been in all three of these last situations.

The first volume of this series is called “The Movie Boys on Call,” and in that, I introduced you to Blake and Joe.

They worked on adjoining farms, and one day, they saw a company of moving picture actors and actresses come to a stream near where they were to take a “movie drama.”

Naturally, Blake and Joe were interested at once, and making the acquaintance of Mr. Calvert Hadley, who was in charge of the taking of the play, or “filming it,” as the technical term has it, the two boys were allowed to get into the business.

They went to New York and began studying how moving pictures are taken, developed from the films, and the positives printed; then, through the projecting machine, they were projected on the screen more than life-size.

The process is intricate and complicated, requiring a lot of explanation. As I have already detailed in my first book of this series, I will not repeat it here. Those of you who wish to know more about the “movies”[13] than you can gain by looking at the interesting pictures in some theaters are respectfully referred to the initial volume.

Joe and Blake were very interested in the Film Theatrical Company. My former readers will well remember some members of that organization — C. C. Piper, or “Gloomy,” as he was called when not referred to as just “C. C.”; Birdie Lee, a pretty, vivacious girl; Mabel Pierce, a new member of the company; Henry Robertson, who played juvenile “leads”; Miss Shay, and others in whom you are more or less interested.

After various adventures in New York City, taking films of all sorts of perilous scenes, Joe and Blake went out West, their adventures there being told in the volume of that name. They had their fill of cowboys and Indians and, incidentally, were in no little danger.

Afterward, they went to the Pacific Coast, thence to the jungle, where many stirring wild animal scenes were obtained, and afterward, they had many adventures in Earthquake Land. There, they were in great danger from tremors of the earth and volcanoes, but good luck, no less than good management, brought them home with whole skins and with their cases filled with rare films.

Having finished in the land of uncertainty,[14] the work assigned to them by Mr. Hadley and his associates, Joe and Blake had gone for their vacation to the farm of Mr. Hiram Baker near Central Falls. But their intention of enjoying a quiet stay was rudely interrupted.

Not long after they had arrived and were resting quietly under a cherry tree in the shade, Mr. Ringold, with whom they were also associated in moving picture work, called them up on the long-distance telephone to offer them a most curious assignment.

This was to go to the flooded Mississippi Valley and get moving pictures of the “Father of Waters” on one of “his” annual rampages.

Of course, Blake and Joe went, and their adventures in the flood are described in the volume immediately preceding this one.

And now they had returned, anticipating a second session of their vacation. They had brought a motorcycle motorcycle with which to explore the picturesque countryside surrounding Central Falls.

“For,” reasoned Blake, “we haven’t much time left this summer, and if we want to enjoy ourselves, we’ll have to hustle. A motorcycle is the most hustling thing I know of this side of an automobile, and we can’t afford that yet.”

“I’m with you for a motorcycle,” Joe had said. So, one was purchased jointly.

[15]It was on returning from a pleasant ride that our heroes had seen the runaway with which we were immediately concerned. They were now speeding after the maddened horse dragging the frail carriage, hoping to get ahead of and stop the animal before it either crashed into the frail barrier and leaped into the ravine or upset the vehicle in trying to make the turn into the temporary road.

“There he is!” suddenly cried Blake. The motorcycle, bearing the two chums, had made the curve in the road successfully and was now straightened up on a long, level stretch. And yet not so long, either, for not more than a quarter of a mile ahead was another turn, and then came the bridge.

“I see him!” answered Joe. “Can you make it?”

“I’m going to!” declared Blake, closing his lips firmly.

Every little bump and stone in the road seemed magnified because of the speed at which they were moving. But Blake held the long handles firmly, and once the curve was passed, he turned the rubber grip, allowing a little more gasoline to flow into the carburetor to be vaporized and sprayed into the cylinders, where the electric spark exploded with a bang.

[16]“We — are — going — some!” panted Joe.

“Got — to!” assented Blake grimly.

On swayed the thundering, rattling motorcycle. The carriage top had either been let down, or some of the supports had broken, and it had fallen, and the boys could now plainly see the two men on the seat. They had not jumped, but they had given up trying to make the horse stop by pulling on the one rein, for the animal was speeding straight down the center of the road.

“We aren’t catching up to him very fast!” howled Joe into Blake’s ear, and he had to howl louder than usual, for they were then passing along a portion of the road densely shaded by trees. The branches of the trees met overhead in a thick arch, and it was like going through a leafy tunnel.

This top bower of twigs and branches threw back the noise of the explosions of the motorcycle and made an echo, above which it was almost impossible to make one’s voice heard.

“Look out!” suddenly cried Blake. “Hold fast!”

At first, Joe imagined that his chum was going to make another curve in the road, but none was at hand. Then, as Blake watched his chum’s right hand, he saw him slowly turn the movable[17] rubber handle that controls the gasoline supply. Blake was turning on more power, though now the machine was running at a higher rate than Joe or Blake had ever traveled before.

With a jump like that of a dog released from the leash, the motorcycle seemed to spring forward. Indeed, Joe must need to hold on, and as he was not so favorably seated as was his chum, it became a matter of no little trouble to maintain a grip with his legs and hands.

“We — sure — are — going — some!” muttered Joe. But he did not open his mouth anymore. It was too dangerous at the speed they had attained. A jolt over a stone or a bit of wood might send his teeth through his tongue if he parted his jaws. So he kept quiet.

Ahead of them, the carriage swayed and swerved. The horse was a speedy one, but no creature of bone, blood, muscles, and sinews could distance a fire-spitting and smoke-eating machine like a motorcycle. The distance was gradually being cut down.

But now, just ahead of them, was the curve, immediately beyond which was the broken bridge and also the temporary one, shunting off at a sharp angle from the main highway.

“Look out! Hold on!” once more cried Blake, speaking in quick tones.

[18]For a moment, Joe wondered at the added caution, and then he sensed what Blake was about to do.

To one side of them stretched a level field. The road made a slight detour about it just before meeting the ravine, and by crossing this field, the boys could reach the bridge ahead of the swaying carriage. But at the speed they were now running, it was dangerous and risky in the extreme to run across the uneven meadow.