volunteered Russ. "We'll have to make the last
bit of this scene over," he went on, to Mr. Pertell.

"Yes, I suppose so," agreed the manager.

"And they'll want a little time to get over the scare so they can
pose properly," went on Russ, nodding at Alice and Paul, who, as well
as the others who filled in the background of the picture, were
somewhat disturbed.

"Yes, it will be just as well to take a breathing space," said Mr.
Pertell. "But don't run into danger, Russ. We've got lots of plays
yet to film."

"I won't," laughed the young operator, and as he went off after
Sandy, Ruth gazed after him with rather anxious eyes.

"I knew something like this would happen!" exclaimed Mr. Sneed,
gloomily. "That track thirteen----"

"Say, if you don't drop that you can look for another place!" cried
the manager, sharply. "Everything that happens you blame on that
silly superstition."

"And things aren't done happening yet, either," went on the "grouchy"
actor, but he took care not to let the manager hear him.

"To what low estate have I fallen!" soliloquized Wellington Bunn,
wiping his heated brow. He was wearing a slouch hat, instead of his
beloved silk one, and was attired in shabby garments, as befitted his
character of a farmhand. "The idea of a man who has played the
immortal Shakespearean characters falling so low as to consort with
wild bulls. Ah, it is pitiful--pitiful!" he murmured.

"You didn't consort mit dat bull very much!" put in Mr. Switzer, with
a cheerful laugh. "I saw you trying to git behint a corn stalk, to
consort mit 'im alretty yet!"

"Certainly, I did not wish to be trampled on," replied Mr. Bunn, with
dignity--that is, with as much dignity as he could muster under the
circumstances. "Oh, to what low estate have I fallen! A mere country
bumpkin--I, who once played Hamlet!"

The others were recovering their spirits, now that the danger was
over. Sandy and Russ followed the trail of the bull through the corn,
and soon they had him before the gate of his own enclosure.

"That gate is open!" exclaimed the young farmer. "I don't see how it
happened. There is something wrong here."

The bull was driven in, and then an examination disclosed the fact
that the lock of the gate had been broken; by a stone, evidently, for
a shattered rock lay on the ground nearby.

"This is strange," murmured Sandy. "Someone has done this on purpose,
I don't like it--after what happened the other night."

"What wa