Black Stallion's Shadow by Steven Farley Read Free Book Online Page B

the shouting and the noise of equipment being moved, the place sounded like a construction site.
    Frank Meyer, the director, called out orders to the crew. Alec asked Mike what was on the agenda. “Two scenes,” said Mike. “The first one should be simple—just some dialogue between two actors on horseback. The other scene is the problem.”
    Alec remembered that Wes had said something about a water-hole scene. He looked around but didn’t see anywater. Mike nodded to where Frank and Wes were marking a spot in the dirt. Four production assistants quickly began to dig a wide trench. A truck carrying tanks of water parked close by. As no water hole existed here, Mike explained, the art department was making one.
    Mike popped a toothpick into his mouth. “The trick’ll be getting the horses to run to the water.”
    â€œHow is Wes going to do it?”
    Mike shrugged. “Good question. There’s no telling what’ll happen if we just turn them loose up here. They might just lie down and take a nap. You can bet Wes has something up his sleeve, though.”
    â€œMike!” Wes cried. “Stop jabbering and get your butt over here.”
    Mike hustled over to where Wes stood with the director. Alec felt a little embarrassed about getting Mike yelled at by his boss. He jumped down from his saddle and silently pledged to stay out of the way.
    Wes, Mike and Frank huddled together for a moment. Then Mike and another wrangler mounted up and began moving the herd away from the location site to the far end of the box canyon. A white pickup truck followed; the words LOS ANGELES HUMANE COUNCIL were painted on its door.
    The Black seemed to sense the excitement in the air and perked up his ears. Alec looked for a place to stand that would be out of the way but where he could still see the action. He found a spot behind and to one side of the camera. Alec turned around to see if they were in anyone’s way. No one said anything to him.
    Frank crouched down and peered through a camera lens. Wearing a long-billed cap with flaps covering the back of his neck and ears, he looked like an actor from an old movie about the French Foreign Legion. Now he backed up and moved from side to side, checking every possible camera angle.
    â€œPlaces, everyone,” he called, ordering the actors onto the set. One of the wranglers brought over a pair of Quarter Horses. The actors swung themselves into the saddles and took up their positions.
    â€œOkay, you guys,” Frank called to the actors. “I’ll run down the situation again in case you’ve forgotten. The colt you’re trying to break just threw Lefty here and ran off. Got it?”
    â€œSure, Frank. We’re all set.”
    â€œGood.” He nodded to the sound man, who flipped a switch on his console.
    The assistant director spoke into a bullhorn. “Quiet on the set. We’re rolling.”
    A production assistant stepped in front of the video camera holding a black slate clapboard. He read out the words on the slate for the benefit of the soundtrack. “
Drover Days
, episode 17, scene 7, take 1.”
    A puff of dust blew by and the Black snorted to clear his nostrils—disturbing the quiet. Alec clamped his hand across the stallion’s nose.
    â€œAction!” called the director. The actors twisted their faces into sneers.
    â€œWhat’s the matter, Lefty? Are you losing your touch?” taunted Jed.
    â€œLet’s see you try him on for size,” Lefty replied.
    Jed’s horse shifted his weight from one leg to the other. The cameraman murmured something to the director. “Cut. Cut. Cut!” the director yelled. “Back it up, boys. Horse moved.”
    The action stopped and Wes stepped in to reposition the horse. After a moment the director called out, “Okay, let’s take it from the top. Places, everyone. Roll tape.”
    The assistant with the slate stepped in again and