“That runaway must be stopped!  It’s Miss Fielding and her friends in that wagon.  Stop them!”

“Great Scott, Boss! how you going to stop those mules?” Jim Hooley demanded.

But Wonota did not ask anybody as to the method of stopping the runaway.  She was perfectly fearless—­of either horses or mules.  She lashed her pinto ahead of the rest of the Indian band, cut across a curve of the trail, and bore down on the runaway wagon.

“That confounded girl is spoiling the shot!” yelled Hooley.

“Never mind!  Never mind!” returned Mr. Hammond.  “She is going to do something.  There!”

And Wonota certainly did do something.  Aiming her pinto across the noses of the lead-mules, she swerved them off the trail before they reached that sharp turn at the break of the rough hill.  The broken rein made it impossible for the driver to swerve the leaders that way; but Wonota turned the trick.

William stood up, despite the bounding wagon, his foot on the brake, yanking with all his might at the jaws of the other four mules.  All six swung in a wide circle.  But William admitted that it was the Indian girl who started the crazed mules into this path.

The wheels dipped and bounced, threatening each moment to capsize the wagon.  But the catastrophe did not occur.  The other Indians rode down upon the head of the string of wagons madly, with excited whoops.  For once the whole crowd forgot that they were making a picture.

And that very forgetfulness on the part of the actors made the picture a great success The finish was not quite as Ruth had written the story, or as Hooley had planned to take it.  But it was better!

“It’s a peach!  It’s a peach!  The shot was perfect!” the director cried, smiting Mr. Hammond on the back in his excitement.  “What do you know about that, Boss?  Can’t we let her stand as the camera has it?”

“I believe it is a good shot,” agreed Mr. Hammond.  “We’ll try it out to-night in the car.”  One end of the special car was arranged as a projection room.  “If the Indians did not hide the wagon too much, that dash of the girl was certainly spectacular.”

“It was a peach,” again declared the director.  “And nobody will ever see that she is a girl instead of a man.  We got one good shot, here, Mr. Hammond, whether anything else comes out right or not.”

The girls who had taken the parts of emigrant women in the runaway wagon were not quite so enthusiastic over the success of the event, not even when the director sent his congratulations to them.  All three were determined that if a “repeat” was demanded, they would refuse to play the parts again.

“I don’t want to ride in anything like that wagon again,” declared Ruth.  “It was awful.”

“Enough is enough,” agreed Helen.  “Another moment, and we would have been out on our heads.”

“I’m black and blue—­or will be—­from collar to shoes. What a jouncing we did get!  Girls, do you suppose that fellow with the shaggy ears did it on purpose?”