Curt Newsom was the first to reach the unconscious Janet. He picked her up, almost without effort, and ran to the car in which Billy Fenstow had been following the action.

“Step on it, Billy. This girl’s had a bad fall,” he said, and the director swung the car quickly and sped back toward the ranchhouse. Helen, mounted, galloped after them and the rest of the company, including the camera crew, trailed along.

When Janet regained her senses she was lying on a bed in the ranchhouse with Helen, her face expressing her anxiety, bending over her.

“What happened?” asked Janet faintly.

“Your saddle came loose and you took a header,” explained Curt. “How do you feel?”

“Let me get up and take a few steps and then I’ll tell you,” replied Janet.

“Better stay quiet for a few more minutes. We’ve got a doctor coming out to look you over,” advised Billy Fenstow.

“But I’m sure there’s nothing really wrong with me, except perhaps I’m clumsy,” replied Janet.

Just then one of the cowboys tiptoed in and whispered something to Curt Newsom. Janet caught a flash of anger in his face as he turned and followed the cowboy outside.

The doctor arrived within a few minutes and made a thorough examination for possible injuries.

“Just a liberal supply of bumps and bruises,” he decided. “Better take it easy for a day or two.”

“Well, that’s that,” Janet managed to smile when the doctor had departed. “I’m afraid I spoiled another sequence and you’ll have to shoot it over.”

“I should say not,” replied Billy Fenstow. “The camera got every bit of action and I’ll work it in somehow. Any time I let a swell shot like that go unused you can write ‘finished’ after my name. Stay in bed the rest of the day. The schedule of scenes you were in is practically completed anyway.”

Helen was in and out the rest of the day for there were several shots in which she appeared and it was late afternoon when she came in to stay.

“Curt Newsom is on the warpath,” she said slowly as she sat down beside Janet.

“Sore about my mussing up that scene?” asked Janet.

“No. He’s been looking at the saddle and says someone tried to kill you.”

Helen’s voice was flat.

Janet sat up in bed.

“Someone tried to kill me?” she demanded.

Tears welled into Helen’s tired eyes.

“Oh, this is all a mess,” she cried. “We never should have come out here. There are too many intrigues and jealousies among those established.”

“Tell me just what you mean?” insisted Janet.

Helen waved her hands helplessly. “Curt’s found out that the saddle girth was almost cut through. That’s the reason your saddle came loose and you were pitched out.”

“Does he have any idea who did it?”

“If he does, he isn’t saying anything, but I heard him tell Billy Fenstow that this is the last picture he’ll work in with Bertie Jackson.”

“I wonder if that means he suspects Bertie?” Janet pondered.

“You could take it that way if you wanted to, and personally I think Bertie is fully capable of some despicable stunt like that. I’m glad shooting on this picture is practically over. I’ve seen all of Bertie I ever want to.”

“It doesn’t seem as though she would do anything like that, though,” said Janet. “But, after all, Bertie’s determined to get ahead and I expect she’s wholly unscrupulous when she thinks anything or anyone may be blocking her way. But why should she pick on us?”

“Because we came in as absolute greenhorns and got fairly good bits. She’s afraid we may be pushed ahead too fast because of Dad’s position with the company. I think it’s all plain enough.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” conceded Janet. “I’ll certainly watch myself when I’m around Bertie from now on.”

Janet felt much better the next morning. She was still stiff and sore, but was able to walk with only a moderate amount of discomfort.

It was the final day of shooting for “Broad Valley” and a certain tenseness gripped the whole company. Billy Fenstow was determined to finish on time and they worked like mad through the long, hot hours.

Janet had to do another riding sequence, and she went about it gamely, although every bone in her body ached as her horse galloped at a mad pace across the broad valley and into the rolling hills behind it. Then it was done. The picture was “in the can.”

Supper was served at the ranchhouse and after the meal, in the soft twilight of the summer evening, they piled into the bus that was to take them back to Hollywood.

There was little conversation on the way back to the city. Some of them were completely worn out by the strain of working against time for the last few days and a number dozed as the bus, striking a concrete road, rolled smoothly and swiftly toward Hollywood.

The days had been exciting and even thrilling for Janet and Helen – an experience they might never know again and both girls knew they would come to treasure the recent days highly.

Janet wondered what would be in store for them in Hollywood. Would they win other rôles or were they through? It would depend on the verdict after “Broad Valley” had its screening before the studio executives.

The lights of Hollywood glowed and they pulled up in front of the studio. Some of the actors and actresses had their own cars; others took busses and only a few signalled for waiting taxis. Janet and Helen were among these.

Henry Thorne was waiting for them when they reached home.

“All done?” he asked.

Helen nodded wearily. “The picture is and we may be too.”

“Why?”

“Won’t it depend on how our work shows up whether we get any more rôles?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” said her father, “but I could push you into some minor parts in other films.”

“Now you’re wrong, Dad. We don’t want that any more than you would want to do it.”

“I guess you’re right, dear. I did give you a boost with Billy and if you didn’t make good on ‘Broad Valley’ there’s little more that I can do.”

They were silent for a time. Helen’s mother, who had been to a neighborhood picture house, came home and they went into the dining room where a cold lunch was ready for them.

“I hear you had some unusual experiences,” said Helen’s father.

“Oh, we had a few falls,” admitted Janet. There was no use in voicing their suspicions about Bertie Jackson.

The next four days were spent in sight-seeing around Los Angeles, in a trip to Catalina Island and several swimming expeditions at Malibu. Then came a call from Billy Fenstow.

“We’re screening ‘Broad Valley’ at the studio tonight,” he informed them. “Better come on out. It’s at eight.”

This was the news they had been waiting for, but now that the actual screening was to take place, both girls felt nervous and upset. Helen’s father and mother insisted on coming with them, “to enjoy the triumph or share the sorrows.” Henry Thorne smiled and Janet later wondered whether he had advance information on the outcome of the picture.

The small auditorium in which the picture was screened was well filled that night with most of the members of the cast on hand, including Curt Newsom and Bertie Jackson.

The lights were out and the picture started. Janet read the title: “‘Broad Valley’ with Curt Newsom and Bertie Jackson, directed by William Fenstow; produced by the Ace Motion Picture Corporation.” Then came the cast of characters and well toward the bottom of the list she found her name. Her heart leaped and she held Helen’s arm close. What a thrill it was to actually read her own name in the cast of characters of a film.

Then the action started, the story of Curt Newsom’s fight to hold title to his ranch.

Almost before Janet and Helen knew it they were in the picture, the midwestern cousins arriving for a visit and in spite of herself Janet chuckled as she stumbled over the rug. It DID look wholly accidental.

Then for a time they were out of the action, coming back again in the riding sequence in which Janet was dumped into the watering trough. This entire bit of action had been kept in the film and she heard several hearty chuckles as she went headlong into the trough.

After that came the wild ride in which Janet was pitched from her horse and the final victory of Curt over his enemies. “Broad Valley” came to a close with Curt winning the affections of Bertie Jackson and Janet felt her distaste for the actress growing as she watched the final fadeout.

The lights in the projection room flashed up and Henry Thorne turned to the girls.

“Nice work,” he said.

“Do you really mean it, Dad?” asked Helen.

“Of course I do, honey. I think both of you handled your parts very well and Janet added a couple of top notch comedy incidents.”

“They weren’t intentional,” Janet assured him.

“Then that explains why they look so natural. Billy will be a sap if he cuts them out in the final version.”

“And I’m not a sap,” said Billy Fenstow, who had quietly joined them. “How about my next western? Think you could stand a few more weeks in my company?”

“Are you serious?” demanded Janet.

“Enough so that I’m promising you parts right now. In fact, we’ll pay you $75 a week instead of the $50 a week you got for this first picture. How does that sound?”

“Not enough,” put in Henry Thorne, “especially if the girls can give you some more comedy as good as the stuff they put into this one.”

“Now wait a minute,” protested the little director. “I don’t work on budgets that run up to half a million. I’ve got to watch my pay-roll.”

“I was only kidding, Billy. But honestly, the girls ought to be worth a hundred a week. You’ll only use them a couple of weeks and that’s pretty cheap.”

“I won’t make any promises about a hundred a week,” said Billy, “but you can count on another job if you want to join the company for my next western.”

“Then we’re in right now,” decided Helen, and Janet nodded her approval.

Chapter XXIV
“KINGS OF THE AIR”

The next morning Janet found an interesting paragraph in one of the morning papers, which had been written by a reporter who had attended the screening of “Broad Valley.”

“One of the pleasant surprises about this latest Billy Fenstow western was the work of Helen Thorne and Janet Hardy, two newcomers. Miss Thorne is the daughter of the famous director and Miss Hardy is a friend of hers from the middle west. Although playing minor rôles, both girls handled their parts well with Miss Hardy providing several of the best comedy touches seen in a western by this reviewer in some months. It is reported that both will be in the next western which the prolific Fenstow will produce.”

Janet read the brief comment three times, then clipped it out of the paper, wrote a brief note home, and sent the clipping to her folks.

Later in the day they received their final vouchers from the studio for work on “Broad Valley.” Altogether the two weeks work on the picture had netted them $100 apiece, more money than either of them had ever earned in a similar length of time.

“No wonder girls come to Hollywood,” said Helen as she looked at the check.

“Yes, but remember that we’re lucky. We didn’t have to break down any barriers; we didn’t have to make introductions. The way was all smoothed out for us. Look at those poor kids over at the casting office.”

Helen turned in the direction Janet pointed. Half a hundred young men and women were waiting patiently in a line before the window of the casting office. Most of them were rejected; only one or two were allowed inside.

“That’s what happens to the average seeker of fame in the films,” said Janet. “So many, with some beauty and high hopes, come out here expecting to make a success, and then almost starve. Of course they get a bit once in a while, but it’s hardly enough to buy their food much less their clothes and all of the other necessary things.”

“You’re right, of course,” admitted Helen. “If it hadn’t been for Dad we’d never have had a look-in.”

They were having lunch that noon at the studio restaurant with Helen’s father. They were waiting when he arrived. Accompanying him was a stranger.

“Girls, I want you to meet Mr. Rexler, general manager of the company.”

The general manager, tall, thin and exceedingly nervous, greeted them cordially, then seemed to forget that they even existed for he talked business from the moment they reached their table until lunch was over. But in spite of that Janet and Helen enjoyed the hour. Some of the most famous stars on the Ace lot were lunching there that noon and Janet and Helen enjoyed watching them come in.

The general manager, a man of quick thought and action, suddenly turned toward them.

“I saw ‘Broad Valley’ the other night. Congratulations on a nice bit of work.”

The hour passed quickly, with Helen’s father and the general manager continuing their conference in the executive’s private office in the administration building.

“Dad and Rexler are having trouble over the story for the new air picture,” said Helen. “I heard him talking with mother just last night. They can’t agree on the final version. Dad was going over it last night.”

“I’d like to read it,” said Janet.

“I’ll get it for you if he brings it home tonight.”

That night Janet had her chance to scan the script of Henry Thorne’s next picture. The tentative title was “Kings of the Air.” The action was fast and stirring, the panorama of the story covering the entire transcontinental route of one air mail system and Janet could understand that there was material here for a really great picture. But there was something lacking – a crashing climax that would make the spectators grip their seats.

Henry Thorne, watching Janet as she laid the script aside, spoke quietly.

“If you can suggest a suitable climax you can just about name your own ticket on our lot,” he said.

“How about a race for a contract?” suggested Helen.

“Too old; it’s worn out.”

“Then why not have the plane going through with valuable papers which are needed for say,” Janet paused, “a naval conference at Washington, on the outcome of which may hinge the fate of the world.”

Henry Thorne started to reject the idea, but halted. “Where did you get that idea?”

“Something I read in a paper several months ago suggested it,” admitted Janet. “Navy planes were racing across country with a naval envoy and they got held up somewhere in Wyoming on account of bad weather. You could have your mail plane take over there after the navy ship was grounded.”

“That would give the navy a black eye.”

“Some other solution could be worked out then,” said Janet.

“You know, that’s not a bad idea. It would require some rewriting of the script, but we’ve got to have a terrific air race against time and the elements in this thing for a conclusion. I’ll talk it over with Rexler in the morning.”

Then Helen’s father changed his mind. “No, I’ll talk it over with him tonight if he’s home.”

He phoned the general manager’s home, found Rexler there, and informed him he was coming over.

“We’ll see what he thinks of your suggestion,” he flung at Janet as he hurried out the door.

“Shall we wait up and learn the outcome of the conference?” asked Helen. “Just think if they should decide to work out a climax along the line you suggested.”

“I’m all for waiting up, but I’m afraid my suggestion is pretty weak,” said Janet.

At eleven o’clock Mrs. Thorne decided to retire and urged the girls to do likewise, but they insisted upon awaiting the return of Helen’s father.

Midnight passed and finally the clock struck one A. M.

“I’m too sleepy to stay up any longer,” admitted Helen.

“Oh, wait half an hour more,” urged Janet, and Helen agreed.

It was 1:20 when Director Thorne reached home. There were hollows under his eyes and he looked unusually tired, but in his eyes burned a spirit of elation that fatigue could not beat down. Mrs. Thorne, in a dressing gown, joined them.

“What’s the decision?” asked Helen.

“We’re going to work out the climax along the line suggested by Janet,” replied her father. “Rexler called two of the writers down and they’re working right on through the night on a new treatment for the whole script. It must be done tomorrow noon. We’re to start shooting next week. It means another bouquet for you, Janet.”

Janet blushed. “It was just luck.”

“No, it wasn’t luck. It was good, clear thinking and the ability to recall a worthwhile incident. Incidentally, both of you are going into the cast of ‘Kings of the Air’.”

“But, Dad, you can’t mean that!” exclaimed Helen.

“I mean just that,” retorted her father, “and I wasn’t the one who suggested it. Rexler insists that you be included. It’s his way of trying to repay Janet for her suggestion.”

“Then that means we’ll get another chance in a picture,” said Janet, and she felt her heart beating like mad.

“Indeed it does and you’ll be in the biggest feature the Ace company is producing this year,” Helen’s father assured them.

Chapter XXV
THE STARS VANISH

Janet and Helen did get rôles in “Kings of the Air” and even though they were very minor parts, both girls were elated. They were cast as waitresses in the restaurant which served the pilots at the main western terminal of the air mail line.

Almost every contract player on the Ace lot was in it, with a good, substantial rôle going to Curt Newsom, who was taken out of Billy Fenstow’s western unit long enough to play the part of a bitter field manager. Even Bertie Jackson got a part as a gold-digger who was out to get all the information she could from the pilots and was suspected of selling secrets to a rival air line.

Janet and Helen saw little of Helen’s father for the next few days. He was immensely busy on the details of the production and a complete airport was set up out in the California desert for one of the major sequences would revolve around this lonely outpost on the air mail route.

The sequences in which Janet and Helen were to appear were shot at Grand Central at Glendale, actually in the field restaurant and were among the first to be taken.

Janet had only four lines and Helen had three. All of them were in a brief scene with Curt Newsom and his encouragement helped them through for it was hard work under the glare of a brilliant battery of electrics. What made it all the harder was that Mr. Rexler was with the company the day this particular sequence was shot, but somehow they managed to get through with it. After that they were free to stay with the company and watch the rest of the shooting schedule until Billy Fenstow called them back for his next western.

It was during the second week of shooting that things started to go wrong. There were innumerable little delays that were maddening in themselves and when a dozen of them came, almost at the same time, even level-headed Henry Thorne showed signs of extreme exasperation. The cast was large and expensive and a dozen planes had been leased. The daily overhead was terrific and each day’s delay sent the cost of the picture rocketing.

When they went on location out in the desert Curt Newsom, lunching with Janet and Helen, gave voice to his fears.

“This outfit is getting jitters,” he said. “I heard this morning that one of the pilots found several of his control wires half way eaten through by acid. That’s bad business.”

Janet, looking up from a dish of ice cream, spoke slowly. “Then that means someone is deliberately trying to cripple the company?”

“It means someone is doing it. That flyer pulled out; refused to take his plane off the ground again and some good shots are already ‘in the can’ with his plane in it. Means they’ll have to get another plane and fix it up like his or shoot over a lot of footage. Either one will be expensive.”

That night Henry Thorne called the company together. Their location was at the edge of the ghost town of Sagebrush, and members of the company were sheltered in the three or four habitable houses which remained. All of them had grumbled a bit, but there was nothing that could be done about it for the nearest town of any size was too far away to make the drive back and forth daily.

Helen’s father spoke plainly.

“There have been a series of accidents,” he said. “These have slowed up production and put us almost a week behind schedule. All of you know what that means on a picture of this size. I am convinced that someone in the company is aiding in this sabotage and I am giving fair warning now that this town will be patrolled at night and that all equipment will be watched. The guards are armed and have orders to shoot first and ask questions afterward.”

That was all, but it started a buzz of conversation that lasted nearly an hour. When the company finally broke up to go to quarters, Janet happened to be watching Bertie Jackson and she saw the blond actress, slip between two buildings and vanish into the night.

Helen was some distance away and Janet, playing a hunch, followed Bertie at a safe distance.

There was no moon, but the sky was studded with stars. The walking through the sand was hard going, but noiseless, and Janet, keeping low, could discern Bertie’s silhouette.

Suddenly the older actress stopped and whistled softly, a long, a short and a long whistle. The sound could not have carried back to Sagebrush and Janet, vaguely alarmed, waited.

Almost before she knew it another figure joined Bertie and she could hear the two conversing, but she didn’t dare move closer. The newcomer struck a match to light a cigarette and carefully shielded though it was, Janet was close enough to glimpse his face. It was that of a stranger. The match went out and the night seemed darker.

Janet wanted to get closer, but as she moved forward she stumbled over something in the dark and plunged headlong into the sand.

Before she could regain her feet she heard a muttered exclamation and knew she had been discovered.

Then the thin beam from a shielded flashlight struck her face.

Janet knew her only chance was to run for it and she tried to rise, but her feet were entangled in a tough creeper.

“Look out! She may scream!” warned Bertie.

Janet opened her lips to cry out, but before she could do it, the man with Bertie leaped forward and thrust a heavy hand against Janet’s mouth. Suddenly the world went black, the stars vanished, and she dropped into the sand.