CHAPTER VI
HELPING TO MAKE THE MOVIES
"Whe-e-e-o-o-o! whe-e-e-o-o-o! whe-e-e-o-o-o!" screamed the siren asBruce Clifford's motorcycle came to a halt in front of the Weir cottageon Willow Street. Then:
"Hi, Bud--bud-de-de! Hello-o-o, Bud! Come on, wake up!" shouted theleader of the Owl Patrol, cupping his hands about his mouth and directinghis voice toward an upstairs window. A moment later the window inquestion opened and Bud in his undershirt, with a towel in one hand and acake of soap in the other, appeared.
"What're you making such a row for? I'm awake," he shouted ratherirritably, for Bud really never became thoroughly cheerful until after hehad had his breakfast.
"Say, Bud, the highway bridge over Muddy Brook--the one just below therailroad tracks on Lake Road; has gone down under a big motor truck fullof scenery and things belonging to the Historical Motion Picture Company,the outfit that has been taking Revolutionary War pictures over nearTiconderoga. The machine's half under water and the men need help.There's a chance for the Scouts to get busy. Are you with us?"
"You bet I am. I'll be to headquarters in three winks," said the leaderof the Blue Heron Patrol, considerably better natured.
"Fine! Hurry now! I'm off to headquarters to call the rest of thefellows together," said Bruce, as he started his motorcycle and shot upthe long incline that led to the machine-shop headquarters of QuarryTroop No. 1, of Woodbridge, popularly known as the Boy Scout Engineers.
The leader of the Owls had left home a little after daylight that morningwith fishing pole and creel strapped to his machine, for he intendedtrying the brown trout in Concord valley. But when he reached the littlehighway bridge where the Lake Road crossed a shallow brook near theRutland Railroad tracks, a situation presented itself that banished allthought of trout fishing.
The ends of the bridge timbers had rotted away from dampness and underthe weight of a big motor truck had parted from their stone pier. Theircollapse had projected the heavy vehicle front first into the stream, sothat its hood was jammed against the abutment, while its hind wheelsstill remained on the sloping bridge floor. The chauffeur and his twoassistants stood surveying the scene in a most dejected attitude.
Of course Bruce stopped at the stream and looked over the situation,asking innumerable questions. But the men were not in a pleasant frameof mind and gave him only disagreeable answers, which nettled the scoutto the point of exclaiming:
"Huh, if you weren't so grouchy about it, I'd like to try help you getout of the mess you are in. Maybe we could help a great deal. I'm amember of the Boy Scout Engineers, and it is just our fun to lend a handin a fix like this."
The chauffeur looked at the lad in amazement for a moment. Then he spokein milder tones.
"Excuse me, son. I didn't mean t' be so nasty. If you fellows will giveus a hand, we'd be mighty much obliged. I know what the scouts are.I've met 'em before."
"Thank you for the compliment," said Bruce. "We'll be here with blockand tackle in less than an hour. In the meantime, get your truckunloaded," and, turning about, he raced back to town, stopping only toawaken Bud Weir before reaching headquarters.
Entering the home of the troop, he hurried to the wire-room on the secondfloor and began calling the scouts from breakfast. The telegraph lineleading from headquarters was a big loop that extended through the townand connected with an instrument in the home of every second class scout,and all the boys could be called to headquarters in a jiffy.
When his summons had been answered by most of the boys, Bruce hurrieddownstairs and proceeded to get "Old Nanc," the troop's homemadeautomobile, ready for service. Into it he loaded all the manila rope hecould lay hands on, as well as blocks and pulleys, chains, crowbars,axes, sledges and everything else that might come in handy.
By the time this work was well under way the scouts began to arrive andlend a hand. They came on motor cycle and on foot until there weretwenty-odd gathered at headquarters. And when they were all assembled,Bruce outlined briefly the situation at the Lake Road bridge and gavethem his idea of how the task should be handled. Of course, they wereall eager to undertake the work, and in a few minutes they were on theirway to the scene of trouble.
The chauffeur and his men had done as Bruce suggested, and when the ladsarrived they found two great stacks of canvas scenery by the roadside.They gave this only a moment's inspection, however, for they had workbefore them. With as much system as a trained army corps they began tounload the coils of rope and the pulleys. Then, under Bruce's direction,several wove the cordage into a block and tackle arrangement. This done,a group headed by Romper Ryan removed shoes and stockings and began toford the shallow stream, carrying the block and tackle with them. In notime they had one of the pulleys lashed to a substantial maple tree bythe roadside. The other pulley was fastened to the back end of theautomobile truck, which was still on the sloping floor of the bridge.
When this was completed the single strand of rope on which they were tohaul was passed back across the stream and attached to the rear axle of"Old Nanc."
Then came the test of the boys' engineering skill. At the request ofBruce the scouts all seized the rope to assist "Old Nanc" in hauling thebig machine backward up the grade. Bud, the official driver of thetroop's automobile, climbed to his place and everything was ready.
"Now, all together! Pull!" shouted Bruce, and at the command every scoutarched his shoulders and hauled his hardest, while "Old Nanc's" enginebegan to cough and grumble furiously.
The tackle grew taut. The pulleys squeaked and groaned and the bridgetimbers protested in like manner as the big truck began to move. Up itcrawled, inch by inch. Now the hood was out of water! A moment laterthe rear wheels were onto the road! Slowly but surely it was lifted outof the brook until, finally, with a mighty tug, the lads backed it clearoff the bridge and safely onto the highway.
"Fine!" shouted the chauffeur. "I knew you scouts were the bully boys.But, say, fellows, how's the machine going to get across the stream! Weare bound for Woodbridge, you know, and we're on the wrong side of thebusted bridge now."
"Oh, maybe we can work that out some way," said Bruce. "I guess we'lltry to make a pair of shears out of a couple of fence rails, then hitchthe block and tackle to the bridge floor and hoist it back to its properlevel again. The rest of the fellows will get all of the discardedrailroad ties they can find along the tracks over yonder and build asquare crib under the bridge. They can lay the ties on top of each otherin log cabin fashion and I guess that will hold up the bridge under yourmachine. It will make the crossing safe until the town authorities canput new bridge timber in place, too."
"Sounds mighty sensible," said the chauffeur. "Will it take long?"
"I don't think so. It's only half past ten now. Here comes the tenthirty Montreal Special," said Bruce, as the Canadian flyer shot around abend in the railroad tracks, her whistle screaming her approach to theWoodbridge station.
"Come on, then, let's get busy right away. Perhaps we can have themachine into Woodbridge by noon," said the chauffeur. Then, to hisassistants, he called. "Hi, you fellows, git over there to the railroadtracks and pick up some o' those old ties. Go along with the scouts.They know old ones from new ones."
All the lads, except two or three of the older boys, waded the brook andstarted out after crib building material. The others remained to helpBruce rig up the shears and put the block and tackle into place.
Fortunately, section gangs had been working on the railroad recently,putting in new ties, and there were any number of discarded timbers alongthe embankment. These the lads appropriated, for they knew that therailroad men no longer wanted them and that sooner or later a bonfirewould be made of them. The heavy timbers were piled up on the bank ofthe brook as fast as the scouts could find them, and by the time Bruceand his helpers had hitched the block and tackle to the sagging bridgethe crib builders were ready to begin work.
Raising the bridge floor was accompli
shed quickly, for the woodenstructure was nowhere near as heavy as the auto truck. Indeed, "OldNanc" managed to haul it up all alone. This accomplished, the scoutswaded into the water again, and, working in pairs, carried the railroadties to a point just under the broken structure. The first two ties wereput up and down stream and weighted with stones to keep them fromfloating away. Two more were then placed across the stream on top of thefirst set, exactly like logs in a cabin. Then, like bees, the boystraveled back and forth to the bank, carrying the heavy ties, untilfinally the crib was constructed snugly under the bridge flooring withtwo heavy cross timbers resting safely on top.
When the tackle was finally removed and the bridge platform settled intoplace and gave every indication of being safely propped up by the crib,the scouts gave a ringing cheer, for their efforts had been successful.
And, as if in answer to the cheer, the loud honking of a motor horn washeard and a big red motor car containing one man and the driver cametearing down the road.
"Here comes our manager, Mr. Dickle!" exclaimed the chauffeur when he sawthe machine.
Mr. Dickle proved to be a very businesslike and bustling individual. Hebounded from the car before it stopped, demanding at the same time toknow all the particulars of what had happened. It seems that he had seenthe stalled motor truck from the window of the ten thirty train and hadhired the first automobile he could find at the Woodbridge station andrushed to the scene of trouble.
Briefly Bruce and the chauffeur told him all that had happened and allthat had been done.
"Rebuilt the bridge, eh? Looks as if it would hold a steam engine now.That's bully," exclaimed Mr. Dickle. "Now, if you fellows can tell me ofa building equipped with electricity that I can rent for a studio for acouple of days, you will have done me another great favor. We are goingto make some historical films of Ethan Allen and the Green Mountain Boys.Say, by the way, you fellows look intelligent. How would you like to bemy supes? I'll pay you fifty cents a day. How about it?"
"What's a supe?" asked Bruce and Bud together.
"Why, a supernumerary. I want a number of people to take part in theproduction, as Green Mountain Boys or British soldiers or the mob, orroles like that, where good actors are not needed. I have a big battlescene as a climax. I'll need you in that surely."
"In the movies, eh? Whoope-e-e-e! Fine!" exclaimed several, and themanager knew immediately that he would not have to look further foradditional members for his cast.
"And, say, about a studio; perhaps you could use the meeting room on thetop floor of our headquarters building. We have all the electricity youwant, only there isn't much daylight for taking pictures. There are onlythree windows, and--"
"Tut, tut, never mind the daylight. We don't need it in modernphotography. We'll go up and look at the place," said the manager. Thento the chauffeur he shouted: "Here, Jim, fasten a rope to the truck andI'll have this machine of mine tow you up to the scouts' headquarters."
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