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vi Introduction
makes sound design a very powerful emotive
device. Sound has the ability to evoke and
affect. The abstraction involved in the creation
of sound makes it a difficult subject to articulate
and communicate. People have a greater under-
standing of and are culturally more at ease with
visual language, the notion of visual communi-
cation, and film as a visual art. However, studies
show that if the audio quality and design of a
soundtrack are subpar, no matter how great the
pictures are, audiences react negatively and are
likely to dismiss or disengage from a film. While
sound design has traditionally been perceived as
a postproduction discipline, the consideration of
sound starts in preproduction, with an idea and a
script.
This book adopts a specific framework in
order to help demystify sound design for moving
image. It is not intended to serve as a sound
engineering handbook, but as a guide for moving
image content creators wanting to explore sound
and collaborate with sound designers. The term
“film” includes animated film unless stipulating
a variation between animation and live action.
While there are differences in film and anima-
tion production processes, the lines between live
action, CGI, and animation are blurring. Regard-
less of medium, the same or similar concepts can
be adopted, adapted, and applied to any project
employing sound.
Chapter 1 looks at how the practice has been
shaped by invention, innovation, and experimen-
tation across theater, magic lantern shows, the
first animated films, radio, and television drama,
to the advent of sound on film. Chapter 2 consid-
ers the influence of experimental practices, the
short film as a vehicle for alternative approaches
to audiovisual storytelling, the impact of science
fiction on sound design, and the establishment
of sound design in the context of contemporary
film. Chapter 3 outlines what constitutes the
soundtrack, the roles and responsibilities of the
sound department, various ways of conceptualiz-
ing sound design, sound as a medium, and how
practitioners use that knowledge to capture and
Introduction
Since the advent of moving image, storytellers
have used dialogue, sound effects, and music to
accompany visuals. Sound design is by no means
a new field; the practice has developed over time
through various disciplines. The relationship
between sound design and visual design is also a
long-standing one. Prior to the advent of cin-
ema, there were also many forms of time-based
arts that incorporated sound. The first “sound”
films and cartoons, however primitive by today’s
standards, marked the beginning of a field that is
continuously evolving. Sound is now a fundamen-
tal aspect of nearly every form of art, entertain-
ment, and media, from the inclusion of moving
image into contemporary theater, audiovisual
installations, broadcasting, film, animation,
games, and virtual reality / augmented reality
(VR/AR).
Fundamentally, sound design is the captur-
ing, generating, selecting, and shaping of the
aural palette that will define the sound of a mov-
ing image project. Contemporary sound design
can be further defined as the creation of a single
sound effect or sound design effect, and the
design of an entire soundtrack. Current practice
involves the recording, editing, generating, pro-
cessing, and mixing of sound. Microphones and
recorders are used to record sound, while synthe-
sizers, samplers, and virtual instruments are used
for generating sound. Processing (manipulation)
is the intentional alteration of audio through the
use of plug-ins and samplers. Digital audio work
stations (DAWs) are used for studio recording,
editing, layering, processing, and mixing sound.
That’s the how to do, but what about the why
and when to?
Sound, like image, can contribute to narra-
tive development. Sound is perceived emotionally
and aesthetically, as well as intellectually. Both
sound and image are equally able to convey infor-
mation, but it’s the combining of sounds and the
interplay between sound and image that con-
struct and determine meaning. While audiences
don’t typically consciously register what they’re
hearing when watching a film, they feel it, which
9781474235112_txt_app_00_i–vii.indd 6 10/30/17 3:11 PM

Introduction vii
manipulate sound. Chapter 4 looks at script and
sound and early stage development as a vehi-
cle for conceptualizing and planning for sound.
Chapter 5 covers the basics of sound production,
from recording and the creation of effects to
working with story reels. Chapter 6 touches on
sound and picture editing, the final mix, and how
those stages influence preproduction and story
development. Each chapter comes with associ-
ated online companion website content to further
support key concepts and processes outlined
within each chapter: www.bloomsbury.com/
scott-james-sound-design.
Sound is the unspoken narrative of our everyday lives. It is the words that feed our uncon-
scious and tell it what to think and do. In real life, we’re surrounded by this unwritten
narrative, it’s the story of real life going on around us constantly. How we interpret or
adapt to that narrative is what propels our individual stories. Movies give sound designers
the opportunity to control the narrative, real life doesn’t. But that doesn’t make the power
of sound any less potent. Why does sudden silence trigger the fear response? Why do
rhythms at 60bpm make us comfortable and double that anxious? Why does the sound of a
lawnmower in a neighborhood make it sound friendly and suburban? Why do we distrust
someone who jiggles coins in their pocket? We interpret sound constantly in real-life to
inform the ceaseless creation of our life narrative. Movies need to do it in two hours. The
intelligent sound designer has mastered the ability to create a sonic narrative that sup-
ports the spoken one in ways that can be far more potent than the screenplay imagined.
Mark Mangini
Sound Designer/Re-recording Mixer, 2016
9781474235112_txt_app_00_i–vii.indd 7 12/5/17 10:25 AM

Early Practice
It is difficult to pinpoint the exact birthplace of sound design for moving
image, but the practice developed much earlier than is assumed. The
history of early sound design is nonlinear, but nevertheless there are many
parallels, lines, and interrelationships between audiovisual art forms that
have informed sound design as a practice. Although the lineage is complex,
it is clear inventors and practitioners adopted and adapted ideas from one
discipline into another. The first sound designers were primarily perfor-
mance artists and concealed offstage, behind the screen, and later behind
a microphone. While associated technologies have changed, many of the
fundamental concepts and techniques developed are still relevant today.
1
9781474235112_txt_app_01_viii–035.indd 8 10/6/17 2:15 PM

The Staging of Sound 1
Stealing One’s Thunder
One of the most common early theatrical sound
effects was thunder, and it served three purposes,
the real (thunder in the physical world), the
subconscious (thunder as the sense of impend-
ing doom or danger), and the supernatural or
the unreal. Nicola Sabbatini, an Italian architect
of the Baroque and a pioneering inventor of set,
lighting, and stage machinery, was among the
first designers to create sophisticated machines
for audiovisual effects such as sea, storms, light-
ning, fire, hell, flying gods, clouds, and thunder.
In 1683, Sabbatini published Pratica di Fabricar
Scene e Machine ne’ Teatri (Manual for Con-
structing Scenes and Machines in the Theater),
which depicts an illustration for the thunder box.
The design calls for thirty-pound (approximately
13.6-kilogram) iron or stone balls and a case of
stairs. The balls rolling down the stairs simu-
lated the “roll” of thunder and thunder “claps”
as the balls fell onto the next step below. The
individual design of thunder sound props was of
some importance in early theater. In 1708, British
theater critic and writer John Dennis designed
the more controllable and realistic sounding
thunder sheet for one of his new plays at Drury
Lane Theatre in London. However, his play was
not a success and management withdrew it. A
later production of Macbeth at the Drury used
the thunder sheet, which angered Dennis, and he
accused the theater of stealing his thunder.
NOISES OFF
The Staging of
Sound
In theater, sound design works in the same way
as set, lighting, and performance design; deci-
sions are based on aesthetics, mood, and mean-
ing. The first person to be credited as a “theater
sound designer” was Dan Dugan, who began his
career as a lighting designer before migrating to
sound design. He introduced more complex and
atmospheric soundscapes to theater, which led
to the introduction of the new title. Another key
figure in theater sound is Abe Jacob, who also
advanced the concept of sound as a creative and
designed element, particularly the use of sound
to create mood and atmosphere. Today there is
a growing interest in cinematic theater, which
involves the integration of preproduced moving
image elements. Live streaming of theater and
on-demand theater content is also becoming
popular.
Despite the differences between theater and
film, theater existed long before moving image,
and many of the techniques used in early theater
were adopted for moving image production. Eliza-
bethan theater (1562–1642) used sound effects (or
“noises off”), which were performed backstage
(or offstage) while musicians were housed in one
of the balconies above the stage. Thunder runs
(rolling cannon balls) were built into the ceil-
ing and cannons were housed inside the roof to
emulate the sounds of battle and thunder. Actors
or voice artists mimicked everything from birds
to the wailing of ghosts. The most frequently
used sound effects were alarms, clocks, whistles,
chimes, bells, thunder, storms, gunshots, can-
nons, wolves, crickets, owls, roosters, croaking
toads, hounds, horses, armor, and swords. Most
early theater productions involved the imitation
of “natural” sounds by artificial or mechanical
means; however, Kabuki, a form of traditional
seventeenth-century Japanese theater, called for
both literal and stylized sound effects. Drums,
flutes, bells, and gongs were used to create tex-
tural sound effects and sound props for the more
literal effects.
Various designs
for thunder sound
effect props

2 Early Practice
are knocked on a slab of slate or marble. Some
men prefer to use cocoanut shells instead of
the blocks of wood; the shells, which must
be cut or ground flat, give a better ring to the
sound. (Browne, 1900, p. 65)
Browne was again identifying perspective,
and in combination with the choice of contact
materials, to create the right sound, within the
context of perspective. Materials like slate and
marble will generally produce a higher pitched
and therefore closer perspective sounding sound
than a material like wood. Wood contacting
wood does not give a realistic rendering of horses
trotting on a road; a road is usually concrete,
asphalt, paving, dirt, or gravel. Slate and mar-
ble surfaces are closer to concrete and paving.
Browne also offered a preferable alternative to
using wood blocks as hooves, which—as comical
as the use of coconut shells always sounds—does
sound more like horses trotting than the sound of
wooden blocks.
Puppetry, Slapstick, and Vaudeville
Another common sound effect prop in early theat-
rical performances was the “slapstick,” a paddle-
like device introduced by sixteenth-century
Commedia dell’arte (“comedy of skills”) troupes,
Behind the Scenes
Van Dyke Browne’s Secrets of Scene Painting and
Stage Effects (1900) includes a section on sound
effects offering an insight into early practices.
Browne was a scene painter, but one of his “bug-
bears” (things that annoyed him) was the lack
of attention to sound in amateur theater produc-
tions. He illustrated his discontent by discussing
specific scenarios such as the opening of a house
window in a busy London street:
Thanks to motorcars the sound of traffic is
easily produced on the stage. Two or three
motor horns will produce some of the sounds
with which people are familiar, but to get the
right effect the men using the horns must
retire from the window; indeed, one of the
horns should be some distance from it in the
first place. The only way to get this effect of
distance is to stand in the auditorium and
have the horns sounded from different places
behind the scenes. (Browne, 1900 p. 65)
Browne was not just identifying the type
of sound effects used to create a distant city
atmosphere but also isolating a sound effect that
is quick and easy for audiences to recognize and
understand. Browne also pinpointed the need
for considering perspective and the combining
of sounds. It’s unlikely and therefore unrealistic
for a car to be too close to a window, and for a
number of cars to be the exact same distance
from a window. His suggestion of standing in the
auditorium and listening (to the mix) was a way
of checking that the balance of sounds was cre-
ating the intended outcome, a city atmosphere,
from the perspective of the audience. Browne
also discussed “horses off,” or what would now
be described as the creation of Foley effects, in
similar detail:
The sound of horses trotting up the imaginary
road outside the imaginary house of stage-
land is easily produced. The man whose
business it is to produce this sound has a
couple of wooden blocks, each fitted with a
short band of webbing, into which he slips
his hands. The blocks are knocked on a board
placed on the floor of the stage, and when the
horses are supposed to be very near the scene
the board is discarded and the wooden blocks
Van Dyke Browne’s Secrets of Scene Painting and Stage Effects
(1900)

The Staging of Sound 3
although it has also been traced right back to
the theater performances of Plautus in the third
century. Commedia dell’arte was an improvisa-
tional style of theater originating in 1545 from
Italy. Traveling companies of professional actors
performed outdoors in public squares, using
simple backdrops and props. The slapstick is two
pieces of wood hinged together so when snapped
a slap, thwack, whack, shot, or whip crack sound
is created. Slapstick comedy, characterized by
absurd situations and vigorous or violent action,
became popular in vaudeville theater, and also
in silent film with comedians such as Charlie
Chaplin and Buster Keaton. The slapstick was
also a common sound prop used in puppetry. The
Punch and Judy puppet shows also had roots in
the sixteenth-century Italian Commedia dell’arte
and often included the slapstick. While very little
is written about sound for the Punch and Judy
shows, various illustrations suggest that dia-
logue, music, and other sound effect devices were
also used in performances. Puppetry and hand
shadows are thought to be one of the earliest
forms of theatrical storytelling. Shadow puppetry
originated during the Han Dynasty (121 BC), and
shows were also staged with music and sound
effects.
Vaudeville theaters were among the first
venues to screen early motion pictures during
the late 1800s. Vaudeville shows usually featured
eight to ten acts, which included magic lantern
shows, puppetry, acrobatics, pantomime, per-
formance, and film. Gertie the Dinosaur (1914),
American cartoonist and pioneer animator Winsor
McCay’s third short film, was used as part of a
vaudeville act that combined animation with a
live “interactive” performance. McCay appeared
onstage in front of the projection screen, and
brandishing a whip (“crack”) directed Gertie to
perform tricks. In the film’s finale, McCay disap-
peared behind the screen, reappearing in ani-
mated form and riding off on Gertie’s back. The
vaudeville version was later modified so that the
film could also be played in regular movie theat-
ers. The film version was prefaced with a live-
action sequence and the live dialogue replaced
with inter-titles, making it one of the earliest
known mixed-media, multi-platform productions.
A slapstick
Promotional poster for Gertie the Dinosaur (1914)

4 Early Practice
THE PICTURESQUE
OF SOUND
Magic Lantern
Shows,
Installations,
and Immersive
Entertainment
The use of sound effects in moving image sto-
rytelling originated with magic lantern shows
during the 1800s. Magic lantern shows used
both painted and then photographic images,
which were projected onto a screen or wall. A
projectionist could move the slides quickly, and
if they contained images of progressive motion,
they appeared “animated.” Various mechanisms
were developed to move glass plates against
one another to produce the illusion of move-
ment. Dissolves and other time-based visual
effects were also created by using multiple sys-
tems. As magic lantern shows were projected, a
live showman, sound effect artists, and musi-
cians provided the soundtrack. Magic lantern
shows predate film and animation so can be
thought of as the birth of animation (painted)
and film (photographic). The integration of a
live soundtrack also suggests the birth of sound
design for moving image.
The most ambitious period in the program-
ming of magic lantern shows began in 1854,
when Henry Pepper became the director of the
Royal Polytechnic Institution, a London society
devoted to the exploration of science and the
arts. They employed up to seven magic lan-
terns simultaneously, with a number of devices
installed behind the screen to produce sound
effects (Esteban and Segundo, 2010). By the
end of the nineteenth century, magic lantern
shows were the most popular form of moving
image entertainment until the advent of cin-
ema. Most shows were for general audiences,
although images of phantoms, devils, and
other macabre objects led to phantasmagoria,
a precursor to the modern horror film. Etienne-
Gaspard Robert, known by his stage name,
“Robertson,” was a Belgian physicist, stage
magician, and developer of phantasmagoria.
Robertson’s work is documented in an autobi-
ography written in the early 1830s and refers to
the use of specific instruments to create sound
effects. According to Robertson, terror was best
achieved when optical effects coincided with
sound effects. In his memoirs he discussed a
technique for enlarging and reducing an image
of Medusa, combined with the internal move-
ment of her eyes, and the sound of the Chinese
tam-tam. Other references include the use of
sound effects to emulate wind and thunder,
and a glass harmonica to create unsettling and
eerie “music.” Phantasmagoria marked a shift
from the use of “real” sound effects to the use
of unreal and surreal sound design effects for
moving images.
Early Animated Films
The first documented “animated films” were
screened in Paris by Frenchman Charles
Émile Reynaud, a painter of magic lantern
slides who had refined the Zoetrope, creating
the Praxinoscope. In 1892, he gave the first
Making sound
effects at the
Polytechnic in the
mid-nineteenth
century

Magic Lantern Shows, Installations, and Immersive Entertainment 5
public performance of Théâtre Optique (Opti-
cal Theater) at the Musée Grévin in Paris. The
show included three animated films, Pauvre
Pierrot (Poor Pete), Un Bon Bock (A Good Beer),
and Le Clown et ses Chiens (The Clown and
His Dogs). The films were back-projected
onto a screen while Reynaud manipulated
the images. He created composite imagery by
using static background images from one magic
lantern projected with animated characters
and objects from another. Reynaud designed
some of the drawings to be played backward
and forward, creating sequential moves. These
early screenings were also accompanied by a
live soundtrack. As a painter of magic lantern
slides, Reynaud would have been privy to the
sound techniques already employed or being
explored by magic lantern and theater produc-
ers. There is little documentation about the use
of sound in these screenings, but songs were
sung in time with characters’ gestures and
sound effects were triggered. It is unclear if
Reynaud was using a phonograph, sound effect
artists, or sound effect devices, but it is possi-
ble he had developed a basic system for either
triggering sound effects or cueing sound artists
to perform live sound effects.
Audiovisual Events and Installations
Scientists, psychologists, and epistemologists
often assisted in the design of early audiovisual
events. Investigations into the fields of optics
and acoustics were quite extensive in the
eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. German
physicist and musician Ernst Chladni (1756–
1827) experimented with sound-image visual-
izations by drawing a bow across the edge of
metal plates covered with sand to show how
different pitches produced different geometrical
figures. Visual artists were also experimenting
with the creation of audiovisual experiences
during the late 1700s. English artist Robert
Barker’s 1781 patent for a 360-degree painting
set up the groundwork for the panorama, which
developed into a form of large-scale audiovisual
entertainment. Artists employed techniques
such as placing foreground props at the edge of
the painting to create the illusion of looking into
a 3D (three-dimensional) space. With the aid of
lighting and the integration of viewing plat-
forms, spectators were placed “in” the picture.
Panoramas were also accompanied by sound
effects, which involved teams of concealed
sound effect artists manipulating a variety of
sound props to create soundtracks. The Mareo-
rama created by Hugo d’Alesi combined a large
replica of a passenger ship deck, which rested
on a universal joint and simulated the effect of
a ship pitching and rolling, with moving pano-
ramic paintings of landscapes. Props were used
to hide the cylinders that supported two large
canvases unrolled from port to starboard. The
illusion was enhanced with the use of lighting,
sound effects, costumed actors, and olfactory
elements such as seaweed and tar to create an
immersive experience.
The diorama, which originated in Paris in
1822, was another form of popular entertain-
ment. Scenes were hand-painted on linen and
selected areas were made transparent. A series
of these multilayered panels were arranged in a
deep, truncated tunnel and illuminated by sun-
light redirected via skylights, screens, shutters,
and colored blinds. Dioramas were also accom-
panied by music and sound effects, which
helped to create immersive experiences. British
artists Clarkson Stanfield and David Roberts
Reynaud’s
Théâtre Optique,
Musée Grévin in
Paris 1892

6 Early Practice
The Eidophusikon
showing Satan
arraying his troop
on the Banks of
a Fiery Lake (ca.
1782), painted by
Edward Francis
Burney
produced elaborate dioramas with sound
effects, music, and live performers throughout
the 1830s. Typical diorama illusions included
sound and image effects such as moonlit nights,
winter snow turning into a summer meadow,
rainbows after a storm, fountains, waterfalls,
thunder, lightning, and ringing bells.
A New Art
Prior to the panorama and diorama, multime-
dia styled presentations also integrated sound
with visual effects. Eidophusikon (taken from
Greek words meaning “image of nature”) was
a mechanical, theater-inspired, moving image
exhibition invented by artist Philip James de
Loutherbourg during the late eighteenth century.
Loutherbourg’s most commented upon works
were the exhibitions held in a small theater he
built in his home. He used lights, mirrors, colored
glass, paintings, and sound effects to depict var-
ious scenes. To create the sound of thunder and
lightning, Loutherbourg employed a sheet of thin
copper suspended by a chain, which later became
known as the “thunder sheet.” When the thunder
sheet was shaken by one of the lower corners, it
produced the rumbling of thunder and could also
“mimic” the crash of lightning. Loutherbourg also
integrated sound props for the creation of waves,
wind, rain, and hail sound effects. An octagonal
box with internal shelves containing small shells,
peas, and light balls was wheeled upon its axis
to create the sound of waves. Rain sound effects
were created through a long four-sided tube with
small seeds, which, depending on the degree of
motion, forced the seeds to create a “pattering”
stream to the bottom. Two circular machines
were covered with tightly strained silk, which
when pressed against each other through a swift
motion, created a hollow “whistling” sound and
gusts of wind. Accounts of these exhibitions
from an artist called William Henry Pyne (1823)
describe the events as genius, and “as prolific
in imitations of nature to astonish the ear, as
to charm the sight” (Pyne in Longman, Hurst,
Rees, Orme and Brown, 1823, p. 296). He credited
Loutherbourg with introducing a new art, which
he called the “picturesque of sound.” Pyne’s
descriptions of each of the sound props match
descriptions and images of theater sound devices
published in the early 1900s. The same devices
were later used in the creation of radio drama,
film, and animation soundtracks.

Phonography and Mechanical Mimicry 7
THE FALLACY OF
SILENCE
Phonography
and Mechanical
Mimicry
The idea of combining recorded sound with
moving images is older than film itself. The first
movie ever made was Eadweard Muybridge’s
The Horse in Motion (1878), whereas the first
sound recording device was invented twenty
years earlier. Édouard-Léon Scott de Martin-
ville, a French printer, built a sound recorder
in the late 1850s. His “phonautograph” used a
mouthpiece horn and membrane fixed to a sty-
lus, which recorded sound waves on a rotating
cylinder wrapped with smoke-blackened paper.
He discovered sound waves could be traced as a
visual image through the vibrations of a bristle.
There was no means to reproduce the sound,
but it was an important forerunner to Thomas
Edison’s phonograph.
Facsimile of an early Phonautograph tracing
After inventing the phonograph, Edison
started exploring the idea of coupling phono-
graph records with “instantaneous photogra-
phy.” In 1887, he wrote a paper expressing the
possibility of creating a device that would do for
the eye what the phonograph had already done
for the ear. However, while the sound recording
industry was advancing, the film industry was
still in its infancy. Synchronized film sound
was only made practical in the late 1920s with
the introduction of sound-on-disc and sound-
on-film systems. Despite this, the silent film
era (1894–1928) was not actually silent. The
soundtrack was created live and in much the
same way as it had been performed for magic
lantern and theater shows.
Live Film Soundtracks
It was quickly recognized that music con-
tributed atmosphere to the film experience
and provided additional advantages such as
masking the sound of the projector, preventing
audiences from talking during screenings, and
creating a sense of continuity between shots.
Small town and neighborhood movie theaters
usually had a pianist, while large city theaters
employed organists or ensembles of musicians.
Lesser documented is the use of sound effects,
which also became a common practice. Massive
theater organs were designed to create sound
effects, plus fill the gap between the simple
piano soloist and a larger orchestra. The organ
provided a cost-effective alternative and could
simulate orchestral sounds, percussion, and
sound effects such as train and boat whistles,
car horns, bird whistles, pistol shots, ringing
phones, the sound of surf, horses’ hooves,
smashing pottery, thunder, and rain.
American entertainer and filmmaker Lyman
Howe is believed to be the first person to use a
phonograph and live sound effects in the pres-
entation of movies. Howe started his career by
touring with a phonograph presenting recorded
“concerts” of music, speech, and sound effects,
which were a hit with audiences. Howe pre-
sented his first movie in Pennsylvania, USA, in
December 1896, making him the first person to
use sound and film in tandem for commercial
purposes. After acquiring Edison’s Black Dia-
mond Express (1896), he recorded an approach-
ing train. According to various accounts the
A number of inventors around the world
were working on various systems, but credit for
inventing the phonograph is usually attributed
to Thomas Edison. In 1877, Edison designed the
“tinfoil phonograph,” which consisted of a cylin-
drical drum wrapped in tinfoil and mounted on a
threaded axle. A mouthpiece attached to a dia-
phragm was connected to a stylus that etched
vibrational patterns from a sound source on the
rotating foil. For playback, the mouthpiece was
replaced with a “reproducer” that used a more
sensitive diaphragm. The first recordings were
faint and “tinny” sounding, but they marked the
start of what became known as sound recording
and reproduction.

8 Early Practice
rushing of steam, ringing of the bells, and the
roar of the wheels made the scene feel so realis-
tic it startled audiences into physically getting
out of the way. Audiences flocked to Howe’s
shows, and by 1899 he had added a backstage
crew to provide sound effects. On some films
the sound team comprised up to thirty people
who, after having rehearsed with the pictures,
performed the soundtrack concealed behind the
screen. These early films were not perceived
as films in the modern sense of the term, but
as “animated photographs,” “living” or “magic
pictures.” Voice actors and sound effects per-
formers were employed in an effort to make the
pictures feel more “real.”
give introductory remarks about the content
of the film about to be presented, sometimes
voiced the on-screen characters, and provided
translation for foreign films.
Sound Effect Machines
Standalone sound effect machines were later
developed specifically for the creation of cinema
sound effects. These units had various handles,
which when turned created sound effects. The
first machine was patented in France (1907),
followed by the “Allefex” in 1909, which was
invented by A. H. Moorhouse and described
as “the most comprehensive and ingenious
machine ever made for the mimicry of sound”
(Talbot, 1912, p. 140). Striking a drum at the top
of the machine where a chain mat had been
placed created a gunshot. A machine gun was
created by turning a shaft with tappets that
struck and lifted up wooden laths, which sub-
sequently released them to strike against the
framework of the machine. The interior of the
drum was fitted with three drumsticks, which
could be manipulated by turning a handle to
vary the number and speed of shots according
to the picture being screened. At the bottom of
the machine was a large bellow controlled by
the foot, which in conjunction with two handles
produced the sound of exhaust steam from a
locomotive and the rumbling of a train rushing
through a tunnel. Running water, rain, hail, and
the sound of rolling waves were created by turn-
ing a handle to rotate a ribbed wooden cylinder
against a board set at an angle, from the top of
which was a hanging chain. The crash of pots
and pans was produced by the revolution of a
shaft with mounted tappets striking against
hammers, which in turn came into contact
with a number of steel plates. Pendant tubes
produced church bells, a fire alarm, and a ship
bell. A revolving shaft carrying three tappets
that lifted up inverted cups created the sound of
trotting horses. The shaft was movable so that a
trot could be converted into gallop, and a muf-
fling attachment created the illusion of distance.
Thunder was made by shaking a thunder sheet
of steel hanging on one side of the machine.
Revolving a cylinder against a steel brush made
the puffing of an engine. The press of a bulb
Performing behind the screen, 1908
By 1908 a number of entertainers were pre-
senting “talking” films, using actors behind the
screen, some twenty years before “the talkies.”
The use of voice actors was not a new practice;
a narrator or lecturer was often hired by a film
exhibitor to introduce and interpret a film for
the audience. This also involved reading the
inter-titles, which were the short written lines
of text descriptions and dialogue inserted into
films. In Japan a person, or a group of people,
always supplied a live verbal component to
films. Benshi, as they were called, were influ-
ential and considered an integral part of early
cinema. They appeared before a screening to

Phonography and Mechanical Mimicry 9
produced the bark of a dog, bellows and another
attachment produced a warbling bird, and the
cry of the baby was created through the manip-
ulation of a plughole and bellows.
Trap Drummers
During early 1900s, the “trap drummer” (or
pit-drummer) migrated from theater and vaude-
ville into performing sound effects for silent
films. The first drum sets emerged in the second
half of the 1800s when it was realized there
were advantages to having one person play
a bass drum, snare drum, and cymbal at the
same time. Later drummers began adding other
“noise-making” devices like woodblocks, temple
blocks, gongs, chimes, glockenspiel, timpani,
and various sound effects. A newspaper article
from 1914 indicates there was probably a range
of skill levels and variations in sound effect
props. In the article, the author marvels at the
drummer’s ability to drum and perform sound
effects to moving images at the same time. The
“traps” mentioned include sleigh bells, sand-
paper, an eggbeater, and a nutmeg grater (The
Tropical Sun, 1914). Given the need for synchro-
nization of sound effects with pictures, highly
skilled drummers were perceived as having the
sense of rhythm, timing, and hand-eye coordi-
nation needed to play sound effects for moving
images.
Reviews of films with live sound effect per-
formers were initially mixed, and it is impossi-
ble to tell if an organ, live sound effects artists,
a machine, a drummer, or a phonograph record
produced the sound effects for “silent” films.
Some film reviewers noted the ill-considered
and overuse of sound effects, while others
responded favorably:
Where a sound will have a direct bearing
and effect upon something that is happening
in a picture, such as the ringing of a door
bell, the shot of a gun, wind in a storm, etc.,
then by all means come in with it strong, but
on the other hand, when you see a calf in
the background of a pretty farm scene don’t
detract from the acting by jangling a cow
bell when it has no bearing on the picture.
(Hoffman, 1910, p. 185)
The sound effects during the presentation
of “Trawler Fishing in a Hurricane” fairly
captured the audience. The shriek and moan
of the wind, the swish of the flying scud, the
resounding chug of heavy seas, as they were
shipped, were all reproduced with a realism
that carried the spectator into the throes of
the storm. (McQuade, 1912, p. 1107)
From around 1910, the idea of accompany-
ing pictures with sound effects was fashionable.
British writer Frederick A. Talbot wrote, “When
a horse gallops, the sound of its feet striking
the road are heard; the departure of a train is
accompanied by a whistle and a puff as the
engine gets under weigh; the breaking of waves
upon a pebbly beach is reproduced by a roaring
sound” (Talbot, 1912, p. 139). Talbot also wrote
about some of the problems that had started
to emerge, such as the “unpleasant shock” of
hearing the wrong sound effect, “when the
realism of a medieval battle is heightened by
the vigorous rattling of a machine gun, or when
horses galloping over the turf make a clatter
that only a city pavement could cause” (p. 139).
Problems aside, Talbot argued that since sound
effects were indispensable to the “legitimate”
stage (meaning theater), it was only logical
An American
effects setup,
“The Lure of the
Moving Picture
Shows,” New York
Herald, 17 April
1910

10 Early Practice
that the use of sound effects should extend to
moving images. He identified and advocated for
what he saw as an emerging trend, employing
sound effects with as much care as the pictures.
It was proposed that high-quality and well-
rehearsed sound effects were good for business.
Many early films have been lost due to the
fragility of early film (celluloid) and phonograph
records. Often when a film is restored, a new
soundtrack is added or the film is presented
mute. The Dickson Experimental Sound Film
is one of the few early films to be restored with
the original sound. The film was produced by
William Dickson in late 1894 or early 1895 and
is considered the first known film with recorded
sound. It also appears to be the first motion pic-
ture made for the Kinetophone, the proto-sound-
film system developed by Dickson and Edison.
In 2010, over 100 silent films were discovered
in an archive in New Zealand, including a film
by Lyman Howe called Lyman Howe’s Ride
on a Runaway Train (1921). The film has been
recently restored and is described as a thrill-
packed short accompanied by sound discs. It’s
an experimental live-action animated film with
sound, and, given the limited technology at
the time, it’s not surprising it caused quite a
sensation.
Lyman Howe’s
famous Ride on a
Runaway Train (1921)

Mental Imagery 11
RADIO WITH
PICTURES
Mental Imagery
Often overlooked is the impact early radio pro-
duction had on the development of sound design
practice and techniques. During the 1920s, radio
and recorded music were growing in popularity,
and new developments paved the way for film
sound. In much the same way, radio sound effect
artists also paved the way for film sound design.
Radio was initially a military communication
tool, which evolved into a popular entertain-
ment, culture, and news medium. Research in
“wireless telephony” during World War I led to
viable microphones and amplifiers that made
radio broadcasting possible. Early radio drama
was essentially broadcasted theater, and the first
shows were broadcast directly from theaters.
It took a while for producers to realize radio,
as a purely aural medium, needed a different
approach to scripting and production. Frequently
described as “theater of the mind,” the success of
a show hinged on involving the listeners’ imag-
ination. Unlike theater and film, radio drama
didn’t need costumes or sets; sound, or more
precisely sound effects, created the imagery.
Ora Nichols and her husband, Arthur, are
believed to be among the first to bring sound
effects to radio. Ora, who led the first in-house
sound effect team, is considered one of the most
pioneering figures in early sound effects crea-
tion. She and Arthur were both musicians who
migrated from vaudeville to silent film and then
to radio. Arthur was a violinist but had switched
to playing drums so he could play sound effects
for silent films. When the silent era ended and
the sound film was introduced, they both started
working in radio. While this might sound like a
strange choice in mediums, their decision to work
in radio production was most likely due to the
nature of early sound films (“the talkies”), which
were dialogue-driven so presented limited oppor-
tunities for creative sound artists.
Sound Effect Artistry
By the late 1930s, radio drama was hugely popu-
lar. Sound effects were initially created manually
or vocally, until superseded by sound effects on
records followed by tape. Common manual effects
included running a fingernail along the edge of
pocket comb for the sound of crickets, snapping
open an umbrella for the sudden ignition of fire,
cellophane or a bundle of bamboo splints twisted
together to produce the sound of fire crackling,
squeezing seltzer bottles into a pail for milking
a cow, shaking cups containing BBs for a rattle-
snake, twisting wallets for getting in or out of a
saddle, plunging a knife into a cabbage or melon
for body stabs, shaking a small chain attached to
piece of leather for a horse harness, and scratch-
ing rough paper with a paper clip for writing with
a pen. Radio sound effect departments grew to
house numerous sound props. Some were custom
designed and often for the production of multiple
sound effects. A slatted metal device was used to
create the sound of a guillotine and the sound of
footsteps on a fire escape. Props like kitchen sinks
were built to cover everything from dishwashing
to drink pouring, kettle filling and rainstorms.
Foley sound effects such as footsteps, impacts,
and falls were especially important in radio drama
as they gave stories movement, a sense of per-
spective, and realism. Plywood and marble slabs
were used for different hard surfaces, and boxes
were filled with different materials such as gravel.
Palm fronds and other plant materials were used
for footsteps in the forest, bush, or jungle.
Sound effects
chief Ora
Nichols assisted
by George
McDonnell, at
work on the CBS
radio program The
March of Time
(1935)

12 Early Practice
On comedy shows, sound effect artists were
considered comedians in their own right. Typ-
ical comedy effects included hollow wood hits
and boings, which were also common in early
animation. To “personify” a car in a comedic
sense involved combining sounds for the car with
additional and typically vocal effects, of the car
coughing, wheezing, gasping, and spluttering. Old
motors attached to riveted metal buckets for nuts,
bolts, and nails to be dropped in created rattles,
clanks, and bangs. “Authentic” sounds lack come-
dic character, whereas combining sound and vocal
effects created a “personality” and added comic
value. Comedy shows also used studio audiences
to provide live laughter, and sometimes “claques,”
who were people hired to laugh in different styles.
Another common strategy for devising effects was
based on phonetic imitation, or onomatopoeia,
which are words that phonetically resemble or
suggest the source of the sound that they describe.
This includes animal sounds such as “oink” or
“meow” and also applies to the naming conven-
tions of sound props designed to create specific
effects. One of the most obvious examples is the
“boing” box, which was used for creating comic
“boing” sound effects.
Early sound effect artists faced many of the
issues still prevalent today. There was a percep-
tion that all sound people thought and worked in
exactly the same way and that all sound effects
took the same amount of preparation regardless
of the actual sound. Playing the sound effect of a
thunderclap from a sound effect record was not
the same as physically creating the sound of body
falling in mud, or performing two live sound effects
at the same time, such as typing and a door knock,
which required one hand typing and one hand
knocking, or two people were needed. Even with
the introduction of sound effects on records, cer-
tain sounds were difficult to create and involved
the use of several turntables or performers.
Creating a steam train crash consists of several
different sound effects: the sounds leading to the
crash, the crash, metal skids, iron wheels locking,
brakes on rails, steam, and the collision. The less
obvious or complex types of sound effects required
deconstructing the intended sound and finding
items to create the “right” combination of sounds;
for example, the sound of blood boiling was
created through blowing bubbles in syrup with a
straw. Syrup has a similar consistency to blood,
and blowing bubbles through a straw provides
the boiling action. Late script changes also posed
problems because sound effects always needed to
be rehearsed before the live performance. Another
common misconception sound effect artists faced
stemmed from the lack of understanding concern-
ing weight, scale, and volume. Robert Mott tells
the story of Jim Rogan, a sound effect artist work-
ing for CBS who needed to create the sound of a
turbulent river and a stampede of horses. Rogan
stood in a tub of water and thrashed his feet while
drumming coconut shells in dirt. The director of
the show was underwhelmed with the results,
which would have sounded too “small” and not
what the director had envisioned.
An additional complication was the “visual
director,” who based the appropriateness of a
sound effect on how the props looked, as opposed
to how they actually sounded. Orson Welles was
known as a visual director. In a scene that required
the sound of a lawn being mowed, he requested
the studio be filled with “real” grass and a “real”
lawn mower to be pushed by a “real” actor. The
usual technique for creating the sound of lawn
mowing was using an eggbeater or a stripped-
back lawn mower and shredded newspaper. Welles
wanted realism but overlooked how sometimes
the “real” sound does not actually sound real. The
show also required a number of rehearsals, which
left no grass to cut, which made the resulting
Sound effect artists in Back of the Mike (1938)

Mental Imagery 13
sound even more unconvincing. In another show
that required footsteps on sand, Welles organized
for the studio to be filled with sand. The usual
technique for creating footsteps in sand is using a
pit or box filled with dirt or cornstarch. Footsteps in
sand are a difficult sound effect to create because
the “real” sound is very subtle and low in level
(volume/amplitude). If the level is raised, so are the
actors’ voices and any other sounds such as script
rustles. Sand is very fine, while dirt is grittier and
gravel even grittier. Certain sounds (“grit”) con-
tain more mid-high frequency content, which are
perceived as being louder. In both situations, the
original technique was reemployed.
Radio shows took anywhere between a day
and a week to prepare for, and busy shows needed
at least two sound effect artists. Everyone involved
in a show attended a read-through while the
director worked out rough timings. Corrections
were made and then the show was rehearsed with
sound effects. Rehearsals were necessary because
if mistakes were made, the whole show had to be
re-performed. The studio engineer was responsible
for making sure the various sound components
were mixed appropriately.
As the popularity of radio drama increased,
producers and directors sought greater realism, or
at least the idea of realism. Some producers con-
sidered sound effects as artificial and deceptive,
although this was more of an issue on news and
current affairs shows. Various sound effects were
used in news shows, although they were gener-
ally restricted to simple signature sounds. Current
affairs shows such as The March of Time (1931–35)
made no attempt to hide the use of sound effects
because the show was considered news “dram-
atizing.” A similar debate arises in documentary
filmmaking; some documentary filmmakers avoid
using sound design and music because of the
emotive and subjective impact, while others take
a more cinematic approach to the use of sound.
One of the most famous radio dramas was Orson
Welles’s adaptation of H. G. Wells’s novel The War
of the Worlds, broadcast in the 1930s. Welles’s
version of the story was sound designed and
suggested aliens from Mars were invading New
Jersey, leaving a trail of death and destruction in
their wake. According to various sources, people
thought it was real and believed that the end of
the world had arrived, which later caused wide-
spread outrage in the media. Despite complaints or
possibly because of them, Welles’s career took off.
The use of sound in his films, most notably Citizen
Kane (1941), was informed by his prior experiences
in radio drama production.
As radio fidelity and recording technologies
improved, manual sound effects were considered
inadequate and the use of sound effect records
started to replace the performing of effects. A
record library of hundreds of sound effects took up
less space than sound props. Sound effects records
were more economical; a single person with
three turntables could create an effect that would
require three manual sound artists. Record com-
panies started releasing more sound effect records
and improved on the quality. As recording tech-
nology evolved, audiotape and cartridge machines
replaced records, followed by CD libraries. Today
radio drama’s popularity waxes and wanes.
Advances in digital recording and the Internet
have revived it to an extent, and some countries
still produce radio drama, radio art (or sound art),
and radio documentaries. Audio books employ
the same techniques and sometimes to a scale
that rivals the film soundtrack. Despite changes
in technology, the practice is still employed in
moving image disciplines by sound designers and
Foley artists. While there are numerous sound
effects libraries, many sound and Foley effects
are unique to a project, so are still recorded “live”
while performing to pictures.
Performing sound effects for The March of Time (1935)

14 Early Practice
TRANSITIONING TO
SOUND
Amped and In Sync
The silent film era ended in 1927 with the arrival
of the “sound film,” a motion picture with syn-
chronized sound or sound coupled with image,
as opposed to a film accompanied with a live
soundtrack. While the union of sound and image
was a long-standing ambition, the two mediums
were not so easily combined. Image was recorded
in a linear and discontinuous fashion and sound in
a circular and continuous fashion, which posed a
problem. In addition, early recording mechanisms
were not sensitive enough to capture quality
dialogue, and the lack of amplification made it
impossible to reproduce sound for large audiences.
Films with sound were screened during the early
1900s through the use of a phonograph running in
mechanical synchronism with pictures; however,
reliable synchronization was difficult to achieve
due to mechanical failures. A number of inventors
throughout the world had been trying to create
the technology to combine sound and image, and
effectively the “silent” film era was a period of
development. While inventors were intent on the
unification of sound and image, the film industry
was initially resistant to the idea. Poor sound
quality, synchronization problems, and inadequate
amplification were all significant hurdles.
Sound-on-Disc
The very first sound films were limited to short
loops viewed and heard by a single person
through the combination of a Kinetoscope and
Kinetophone. The Kinetoscope created the illu-
sion of movement through a strip of perforated
film bearing sequential images over a light source
with a high-speed shutter. Edison introduced the
Kinetophone in 1895, which incorporated a cyl-
inder phonograph, effectively creating one of the
first audiovisual entertainment devices. Sound
was heard through tubes similar to a stethoscope,
connected to a diaphragm and stylus assembly.
Kinetophone/Kinetoscope
In addition to the work undertaken by
Edison, a number of other inventors were experi-
menting with sound and image synchronization.
In 1902, Léon Gaumont developed the Chrono-
phone to synchronize pictures with a phonograph
using a switchboard. Chronophone films were
created using a similar technique to modern
music videos, with the artist miming to a pre-
existing audio recording. French civil engineer,
musician, and painter Auguste Baron was also
one of the first to experiment with sound films.
In 1896, Baron and Fréderic Bureau patented a
system of shooting and projecting sound films
recorded on disc. An electrical device on the
motor-driven camera regulated the wax cylinder
recorder to maintain synchronization. Between
1896 and the early 1900s, a number of other
inventors were working on linking phonograph
records and films with various degrees of success
and failure.
By 1925, Western Electric’s Bell Telephone
Laboratories believed they had perfected the

Amped and In Sync 15
Vitaphone, which was based on the synchro-
nization of film with a phonograph record. A
recording lathe cut an audio signal–modulated
spiral groove into the polished surface of a slab
of wax-like material rotating on a turntable. The
wax was too soft to be played in the usual way,
but a specially supported and guided pickup
was used to play it back immediately to detect
any sound problems that might have gone
unnoticed. If there were problems, scenes could
be re-shot while everything was still in place.
Edward Craft, the executive vice president at
Bell, described the Vitaphone as “a development
which is destined to create an entirely new art
where the medium of expression is the synchro-
nized reproduction of sound and scene” (Craft,
1926). A turntable was geared to a projector and
driven by a constant-speed electric motor. The
needle generated an electrical current with the
same characteristics as the sound that produced
the original record and was amplified providing
enough energy to power loudspeakers behind the
screen. The first Warner Bros. Vitaphone features
were Don Juan (1926) and The Better ‘Ole (1926);
however, they had only synchronized music and
sound effects. The Jazz Singer (Crosland, 1927) is
considered the first feature-length motion picture
with synchronized dialogue sequences and is
hailed as the birth of the “talkies.” The film con-
tains synchronized singing sequences and about
two minutes of synchronized dialogue. The rest of
the dialogue was presented through inter-titles,
the common standard in silent movies. Early fea-
ture films with recorded sound typically included
music and sound effects only. Major Hollywood
studios made a “silent” version (with music and
effects) and a “sound” version (with dialogue),
which may be why many still consider non-
dialogue-driven films as “silent” today.
The Vitaphone was still susceptible to syn-
chronization problems. If records weren’t cued
correctly, the sound would start out of synchro-
nization with the image. Projectors had special
levers to advance and delay synchronization,
but only to a certain extent. The other limitation
was the inability to physically edit material. The
process entailed a microphone recording the
sound performed on set directly to a phonograph
master, which made it impossible to edit record-
ings. There was some experimentation with
Chronophone
First-nighters
outside the
Warners’ Theater
before the
premiere of Don
Juan (1926)
mixing, and dubbing systems were developed so
that source discs could be cued and dubbed to a
new master disc, but the wax master could not be
paused, so each playback turntable had to start
at just the right moment. The Vitaphone system
was the leading brand of sound-on-disc technol-
ogy at that time, but as sound-on-film systems
were improved on, they became the dominant
industry standard for talking pictures.

16 Early Practice
Sound-on-Film
The problems associated with sound-on-disc
systems led to the exploration of other concepts,
most importantly the printing of picture and sound
on the same piece of film. Sound was converted
into electrical signals, translated into light signals
and printed. Eugene Lauste, a French inventor,
developed an optical system called “Phonocine-
matophone” in 1910, but the system lacked the
amplification needed for playback in theaters.
Another system, developed by Polish-American
inventor Joseph Tykocinski-Tykociner, was suc-
cessfully demonstrated to a large audience in 1922.
Tykociner is believed to be the first, or one of the
first, to consider the idea of photographing sound.
He was an assistant research professor at the Uni-
versity of Illinois and given permission to experi-
ment with sound pictures. Jacob Kunz, a colleague
and theoretical physicist, had developed a photo-
electric cell, which Tykociner used to convert sound
impulses to light.
Three competing technologies surfaced during
the 1920s: RCA’s Photophone, an optical sound,
“variable-area” film exposure system, and two
“
variable-density” sound-on-film systems, Fox-
Case’s Movietone and Lee de Forest’s Phonofilm.
Variable density meant that the density of the
soundtrack varied in accordance with the ampli-
tude of the audio signal. Variable area meant that
the width of the soundtrack varied in accordance
Sound-on-
disc, Warners
Vitaphone
with the amplitude of the audio signal. The
soundtrack was photographically recorded on the
film by a beam of light modulated by the sound
waves. Sound was reproduced during projection by
directing a beam of light through the soundtrack
onto a photocell. The photographically recorded
electrical waveforms were then translated back into
sound waves and amplified as a film was projected.
Varying accounts suggest de Forest improved
on the work of Finnish inventor Eric Tigerstedt
and German inventors Josef Engl, Hans Vogt,
and Joseph Massole, who were developing the
Tri-Ergon process. Tigerstedt had a big interest
in sound recording technology and made signifi-
cant improvements to the amplification capacity
of the vacuum valve. He developed a prototype
for recording sound on a metal wire as early as
1912 and was confident sound could be recorded
directly on motion picture film. While his sound-
on-film technology wasn’t commercialized, he also
developed directional loudspeakers and predicted
future inventions such as the mobile phone. The
first sound short to use the system, Das Mädchen
mit den Schwefelhölzern (The Little Match Girl),
premiered in 1925 but ended in catastrophe. The
sound cut out and the audience responded nega-
tively. Years later, a sound-on-film technique based
on the Tri-Ergon system gained wider acceptance
in Europe.
The quality of de Forest’s Phonofilm was
initially poor, but with help from American inventor
Theodore Case, de Forest made some enhance-
ments, which led to the first commercial screening
of a short sound film in 1923. From 1922 to 1925,
Case and de Forest collaborated in the develop-
ment of the Phonofilm system; however, Case
ended the relationship due to de Forest’s tendency
to claim sole credit. Case had developed an interest
in using modulated light to carry speech as a
student at Yale University. In 1914, he established
a laboratory to study the photoelectric properties
of materials, which led to the development of the
Thallofide tube, a light-sensitive vacuum tube. He
also contributed to the development of the Aeo-
light, a light source that could be modulated by
audio signals and used to expose sound in sound
cameras. In 1922, Case and his assistant Earl I.
Sponable developed the Movietone, a modification
of the earlier Phonofilm system.
Charles Hoxie created the Pallophotophone,
which became the RCA Photophone. Hoxie worked
for General Electric (GE) following World War I

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S THE two young men walked down the brilliantly lighted main
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fellow who stands in front of the furnaces at the smelter in a
sleeveless shirt and with a red bandana around his neck. They have
a family of ten children, every one of them as bright as a new silver
dollar. Oh, we have lots of children here and by the way a good
public school. You see that log house just beyond? That is where
Boney Earnest used to live when he first came into camp—before his
brood was quite so numerous. It now belongs to Major Buell
Hampton. It is not much to look at, but just wait until you get
inside.”
“Then this Major Hampton, I presume, has furnished it up in great
shape?”
“No, nothing but rough benches, a table, some chairs and a few
shelves full of books. What I mean is that Major Hampton’s
personality is there and that beats all the rich furniture and all the
bric-à-brac on earth. As a college man you will appreciate him.”

Without ceremony Grant rapped vigorously at the door and
received a loud response to “come in.” At the far end of a room that
was perhaps 40 feet long by 20 feet in width was an open fireplace
in which huge logs of wood were burning. Here Major Hampton was
standing with his back to the fire and his hands crossed behind him.
As his visitors entered, the Major said in courtly welcome: “Mr.
Grant Jones, I am glad to see you.” And he advanced with hand
extended.
“Major, let me introduce you to a newcomer, Roderick Warfield.
We belong to the same ‘frat.’.rdquo;
“Mr. Warfield,” responded the Major, shaking the visitor’s hand, “I
welcome you not only to the camp but to my humble dwelling.”
He led them forward and provided chairs in front of the open fire.
On the center table was a humidor filled with tobacco and beside it
lay several pipes.
“Mr. Warfield,” observed the Major, speaking with a marked
southern accent, “I am indeed pleased, suh, to meet anyone who is
a friend of Mr. Jones. I have found him a most delightful companion
and I hope you will make free to call on me often. Interested in
mining, I presume?”
“Well,” replied Roderick, “interested, yes, in a way. But tentative
arrangements have been made for me to join the cowboy brigade. I
am to ride the range if Mr. Shields is pleased with me, as our friend
here seems to think he will be. He is looking for some more cowboys
and my name has been mentioned to him.”
“Yes,” concurred Grant, “Mr. Shields needs some more cowboys
very badly, and as Warfield is accustomed to riding, I’m quite sure
he’ll fill the bill.”
“Personally,” observed the Major, “I am very much interested in
mining. It has a great charm for me. The taking out of wealth from
the bosom of the earth—wealth that has never been tainted by
commercialism—appeals to me very much.”
“Then I presume you are doing some mining yourself.”

“No,” replied the Major. “If I had capital, doubtless I would be in
the mining business. But my profession, if I may term it so, is that of
a hunter. These hills and mountains are pretty full of game, and I
manage to find two or three deer a week. My friend and next door
neighbor, Mr. Boney Earnest, and his family consisting of a wife and
ten children, have been very considerate of me and I have
undertaken the responsibility of furnishing the meat for their table.
Are you fond of venison, Mr. Warfield?”
“I must confess,” said Roderick, “I have never tasted venison.”
“Finest meat in the world,” responded the Major. “Of course,” he
went on, “I aim to sell about one deer a week, which brings me a
fair compensation. It enables me to buy tobacco and ammunition,”
and he laughed good naturedly at his limited wants.
“One would suppose,” interjected Grant Jones, “that the Boney
Earnest family must be provided with phenomenal appetites if they
eat the meat of two deer each week. But if you knew the Major’s
practice of supplying not less than a dozen poor families with
venison because they are needy, you would understand why he does
not have a greater income from the sale of these antlered trophies
of the hills.”
The Major waved the compliment aside and lit his pipe. As he
threw his head well back after the pipe was going, Roderick was
impressed that Major Buell Hampton most certainly was an
exceptional specimen of manhood. He was over six feet tall,
splendidly proportioned, and perhaps weighed considerably more
than two hundred pounds.
There were little things here and there that gave an insight into
the character of the man. Hanging on the wall was a broad-brimmed
slouch hat of the southern planter style. Around his neck the Major
wore a heavy gold watch guard with many a link. To those who
knew him best, as Roderick came subsequently to learn, this chain
was symbolical of his endless kindnesses to the poor—
notwithstanding his own poverty, of such as he had he freely gave;
like the chain his charities seemed linked together without a

beginning—without an end. His well-brushed shoes and puttees, his
neatly arranged Windsor tie, denoted the old school of refinement
and good breeding.
His long dark hair and flowing mustaches were well streaked with
gray. His forehead was knotted, his nose was large but well formed,
while the tangled lines of his face were deep cut and noticeable.
From under heavily thatched eyebrows the eyes beamed forth the
rare tenderness and gentle consideration for others which his
conversation suggested. Long before the evening’s visit was over, a
conviction was fixed in Roderick’s heart that here indeed was a king
among men—one on whom God had set His seal of greatness.
In later days, when both had become well acquainted, Roderick
sometimes discovered moments when this strange man was in deep
meditation—when his eyes seemed resting far away on some
mysterious past or inscrutable future. And Roderick would wonder
whether it was a dark cloud of memory or anxiety for what was to
come that obscured and momentarily dimmed the radiance of this
great soul. It was in such moments that Major Buell Hampton
became patriarchal in appearance; and an observer might well have
exclaimed: “Here is one over whom a hundred winters or even
countless centuries have blown their fiercest chilling winds.” But
when Buell Hampton had turned again to things of the present, his
face was lit up with his usual inspiring smile of preparedness to
consider the simplest questions of the poorest among the poor of his
acquaintances—a transfiguration indescribable, as if the magic work
of some ancient alchemist had pushed the years away, transforming
the centenarian into a comparatively young man who had seen,
perhaps, not more than half a century. He was, indeed, changeable
as a chameleon. But in all phases he looked, in the broadest sense
of the word, the humanitarian.
As the three men sat that night around the fire and gazed into the
leaping flames and glowing embers, there had been a momentary
lull in the conversation, broken at last by the Major.
“I hope we shall become great friends, Mr. War-field,” he said.
“But to be friends we must be acquainted, and in order to be really

acquainted with a man I must know his views on politics, religion,
social questions, and the economic problems of the age in which we
live.”
He waved his hand at the bookshelves well filled with volumes
whose worn bindings showed that they were there for reading and
not for show. Long rows of periodicals, even stacks of newspapers,
indicated close attention to the current questions of the day.
“Rather a large order,” replied Roderick, smiling. “It would take a
long time to test out a man in such a thorough way.”
The Major paid no heed to the comment. Still fixedly regarding the
bookshelves, he continued: “You see my library, while not extensive,
represents my possessions. Each day is a link in life’s chain, and I
endeavor to keep pace with the latest thought and the latest steps in
the world’s progress.”
Then he turned round suddenly and asked the direct question: “By
the way, Mr. Warfield, are you a married man?”
Roderick blushed the blush of a young bachelor and confessed
that he was not.
“Whom God hath joined let no man put asunder,” laughed Grant
Jones. “The good Lord has not joined me to anyone yet, but I am
hoping He will.”
“Grant, you are a boy,” laughed the Major. “You always will be a
boy. You are quick to discover the ridiculous; and yet,” went on the
Major reflectively, “I have seen my friend Jones in serious mood at
times. But I like him whether he is frivolous or serious. When you
boys speak of marriage as something that is arranged by a Divine
power, you are certainly laboring under one of the many delusions of
this world.”
Roderick remembered his compact with Stella Rain, the pretty little
college widow. For a moment his mind was back at the campus
grounds in old Galesburg. Presently he said: “I beg your pardon,
Major, but would you mind giving me your ideas of an ideal
marriage?”

“An ideal marriage,” repeated the Major, smiling, as he knocked
the ashes from his meerschaum. “Well, an ideal marriage is a
something the young girl dreams about, a something the engaged
girl believes she has found, and a something the married woman
knows never existed.”
He looked deep into the open grate as if re-reading a half
forgotten chapter in his own life. Presently refilling and lighting his
pipe he turned to Roderick and said: “When people enter into
marriage—a purely civil institution—a man agrees to bring in the raw
products—the meat, the flour, the corn, the fuel; and the woman
agrees to manufacture the goods into usable condition. The husband
agrees to provide a home—the wife agrees to take care of it and
keep it habitable. In one respect marriage is slavery,” continued the
Major, “slavery in the sense that each mutually sentences himself or
herself to a life of servitude, each serving the other in, faithfully
carrying out, when health permits, their contract or agreement of
partnership. Therefore marriages are made on earth—not in heaven.
There is nothing divine about them. They are, as I have said, purely
a civil institution.”
The speaker paused. His listeners, deeply interested, were
reluctant by any interruption to break the flow of thought. They
waited patiently, and presently the Major resumed: “Since the laws
of all civilized nations recognize the validity of a partnership contract,
they should also furnish an honorable method of nullifying and
cancelling it when either party willfully breaks the marriage
agreement of partnership by act of omission or commission.
Individuals belonging to those isolated cases ‘Whom God hath
joined’—if perchance there are any—of course have no objections to
complying with the formalities of the institutions of marriage; they
are really mated and so the divorce court has no terrors for them. It
is only from among the great rank and file of the other class whom
‘God hath not joined’ that the unhappy victims are found hovering
around the divorce courts, claiming that the partnership contract has
been violated and broken and the erring one has proven a false and
faithless partner.

“In most instances, I believe, and it is the saddest part of it all,
the complainant is usually justified. And it is certainly a most wise,
necessary, and humane law that enables an injured wife or husband
to terminate a distasteful or repulsive union. Only in this way can the
standard of humanity be raised by peopling the earth with natural
love-begotten children, free from the effects of unfavorable pre-natal
influences which not infrequently warp and twist the unborn into
embryonic imbeciles or moral perverts with degenerate tendencies.
“Society as well as posterity is indebted fully as much to the civil
institution of divorce as it is to the civil institution of marriage. Oh,
yes, I well know, pious-faced church folks walk about throughout the
land with dubs to bludgeon those of my belief without going to the
trouble of submitting these vital questions to an unprejudiced court
of inquiry.”
The Major smiled, and said: “I see you young men are interested
in my diatribe, or my sermon—call it which you will—so I’ll go on.
Well, the churches that are nearest to the crudeness of antiquity,
superstition, and ignorance are the ones most unyielding and
denunciatory to the institution of divorce. The more progressive the
church or the community and the more enlightened the human race
becomes, the less objectionable and the more desirable is an
adequate system of divorce laws—laws that enable an injured wife
or husband to refuse to stultify their conscience and every instinct of
decency by bringing children into the world that are not welcome. A
womanly woman covets motherhood—desires children—love
offerings with which to people the earth—babes that are not
handicapped with parental hatreds, regrets, or disgust. Marriage is
not a flippant holiday affair but a most serious one, freighted not
alone with grave responsibilities to the mutual happiness of both
parties to the civil contract, but doubly so to the offspring resultant
from the union. But I guess that is about enough of my philosophy
for one evening, isn’t it?” he concluded, with a little laugh that was
not devoid of bitterness—it might have been the bitterness of
personal reminiscence, or bitterness toward a blind and misguided
world in general, or perhaps both combined.

Grant Jones turning to Roderick said: “Well, what do you think of
the Major’s theory?”
“I fear,” said Roderick in a serious tone, “that it is not a theory but
an actual condition.”
“Bravo,” said the Major as he arose from his chair and advanced to
Roderick, extending his hand. “All truth,” said he, “in time will be
uncovered, truth that today is hidden beneath the débris of
formalities, ignorance, and superstition.”
“But why, Major,” asked Grant, “are there so many divorces? Do
not contracting parties know their own minds? Now it seems
impossible to conceive of my ever wanting a divorce from a certain
little lady I know,” he added with a pleasant laugh—the care-free,
confiding laugh of a boy.
“My dear Jones,” said the Major, “the supposed reasons for divorce
are legion—the actual reasons are perhaps few. However it is not for
me to say that all the alleged reasons are not potent and sufficient.
When we hear two people maligning each other in or out of the
court we are prone to believe both are telling the truth. Truth is the
underlying foundation of respect, respect begets friendship, and
friendship sometimes is followed by the more tender passion we call
love. A man meets a woman,” the Major went on, thoughtfully,
“whom he knows is not what the world calls virtuous. He may fall in
love with her and may marry her and be happy with her. But if a
man loves a woman he believes to be virtuous and then finds she is
not—it is secretly regarded by him as the unforgivable sin and is
doubtless the unspoken and unwritten allegation in many a divorce
paper.”
He mused for a moment, then went on: “Sometime there will be a
single standard of morals for the sexes, but as yet we are not far
enough away from the brutality of our ancestors. Yes, it is infinitely
better,” he added, rising from his chair, “that a home should be
broken into a thousand fragments through the kindly assistance of a
divorce court rather than it should only exist as a family battle
ground.” The tone of his voice showed that the talk was at an end,

and he bade his visitors a courteous good-night, with the cordial
addition: “Come again.”
“It was great,” remarked Roderick, as the young men wended
their homeward way. “What a wealth of new thought a fellow can
bring away from such a conversation!”
“Just as I told you,” replied Grant “But the Major opens his inmost
heart like that only to his chosen friends.”
“Then I’m mighty glad to be enrolled among the number,” said
Roderick. “Makes a chap feel rather shy of matrimony though,
doesn’t it?”
“Not on your life. True love can never change—can never wrong
itself. When you feel that way toward a girl, Warfield, and know that
the girl is of the same mind, go and get the license—no possible
mistake can be made.”
Grant Jones was thinking of Dorothy Shields, and his face was
aglow. To Roderick had come thought of Stella Rain, and he felt
depressed. Was there no mistake in his love affair?—this was the
uneasy question that was beginning to call for an answer. And yet he
had never met a girl whom he would prefer to the dainty, sweet,
unselfish, brave little “college widow” of Galesburg.

W
CHAPTER IX—THE HIDDEN VALLEY
ITHIN a few days of Roderick’s advent into the camp he
was duly added to the cowboy list on the ranch of the
wealthy cattleman, Mr. Shields, whose property was located
a few miles east from the little mining town and near the banks of
the Platte River. A commodious and handsome home stood apart
from the cattle corral and bunk house lodgings for the cowboy
helpers. There were perhaps twenty cowboys in Mr. Shields’
employment. His vast herds of cattle ranged in the adjoining hills
and mountain canyons that rimmed the eastern edge of the valley.
Grant Jones had proved his friendship in the strongest sort of an
introduction, and was really responsible for Roderick securing a job
so quickly. But it was not many days before Roderick discovered that
Doro-try Shields was perhaps the principal reason why Grant rode
over to the ranch so often, ostensibly to visit him.
During the first month Roderick did not leave the ranch but daily
familiarized himself with horse and saddle. He had always been a
good rider, but here he learned the difference between a trained
steed and an unbroken mustang. Many were his falls and many his
bruises, but finally he came to be quite at home on the back of the
fiercest bucking broncho.
One Saturday evening he concluded to look up Grant Jones and
perhaps have another evening with Major Buell Hampton. So he
saddled a pony and started. But at the edge of town he met his
friend riding toward the country. They drew rein, and Grant
announced, as Roderick had already divined, that he was just
starting for the Shields home. They finally agreed to call on Major
Buell Hampton for half an hour and then ride out to the ranch
together.

As they approached Major Hampton’s place they found him
mounting his horse, having made ready for the hills.
“How is this, Major?” asked Grant Jones. “Is it not rather late in
the afternoon for you to be starting away with your trusty rifle?”
“Well,” replied the Major, after saluting his callers most cordially,
“yes, it is late. But I know where there is a deer lick, and as I am
liable to lose my reputation as a hunter if I do not bring in a couple
more venisons before long, why I propose to be on the ground with
the first streak of daylight tomorrow morning.”
He glanced at the afternoon sun and said: “I think I can reach the
deer lick soon after sun-down. I shall remain over night and be
ready for the deer when they first begin stirring. They usually
frequent the lick I intend visiting.”
The Major seemed impatient to be gone and soon his horse was
cantering along carrying him into the hills, while Roderick and Grant
were riding leisurely through the lowlands of the valley road toward
the Shields ranch.
All through the afternoon Buell Hampton skirted numerous rocky
banks and crags and climbed far up into the mountain country, then
down abrupt hill-sides only to mount again to still higher elevations.
He was following a dim trail with which he showed himself familiar
and that led several miles away to Spirit River Falls.
Near these falls was the deer lick. For three consecutive trips the
hunter had been unsuccessful. He had witnessed fully a dozen deer
disappear along the trail that led down to the river’s bank, but none
of them had returned. It was a mystery. He did not understand
where the deer could have gone. There was no ford or riffle in the
river and the waters were too deep to admit belief of the deer
finding a crossing. He wondered what was the solution.
This was the real reason why he had left home late that
afternoon, determined, when night came on, to tether his horse in
the woods far away from the deer lick, make camp and be ready the
following morning for the first appearance of some fine buck as he
came to slake his thirst. If he did not get that buck he would at least

find the trail—indeed on the present occasion it was less the venison
he was after than the solving of the mystery.
Arriving at his destination, the improvised camp was leisurely
made and his horse given a generous feed of oats. After this he
lighted a fire, and soon a steaming cup of coffee helped him to relish
the bread and cold meat with which he had come provided.
After smoking several pipes of tobacco and building a big log fire
for the night—for the season was far advanced and there was plenty
of snow around—Buell Hampton lay down in his blankets and was
soon fast asleep, indifferent to the blinking stars or to the rhythmic
stirring of clashing leafless limbs fanned into motion by the night
winds.
With the first breaking of dawn the Major was stirring. After
refreshing himself with hot coffee and glancing at the cartridges in
his rifle, he stole silently along under the overhanging foliage toward
the deer lick.
The watcher had hardly taken a position near an old fallen tree
when five deer came timidly along the trail, sniffing the air in a half
suspicious fashion.
Lifting his rifle to his shoulder the hunter took deliberate aim and
fired. A young buck leaped high in the air, wheeled about from the
trail and plunged madly toward his enemy. But it was the stimulated
madness of death. The noble animal fell to its knees—then partially
raised itself with one last mighty effort only to fall back again full
length, vanquished in the uneven battle with man. The Major’s
hunting knife quickly severed the jugular vein and the animal was
thoroughly bled. A little later this first trophy of the chase had been
dressed and gambreled with the dexterity of a stock yard butcher
and hung high on the limb of a near by tree.
The four remaining deer, when the Major fired, had rushed
frantically down the trail bordered with dense underbrush and young
trees that led over the brow of the embankment and on down to the
river. The hunter now started in pursuit, following the trail to the
water’s edge. But there were no deer to be seen.

Looking closely he noted that the tracks turned directly to the left
toward the waterfall.
The bank was very abrupt, but by hugging it closely and stepping
sometimes on stones in the water, while pushing the overhanging
and tangled brushwood aside, he succeeded in making some
headway. To his surprise the narrow trail gave evidence of much
use, as the tracks were indeed numerous. But where, he asked
himself, could it possibly lead? However, he was determined to
persevere and solve the mystery of where the deer had gone and
thus escaped him on the previous occasions.
Presently he had traversed the short distance to the great cataract
tumbling over the shelf of rock almost two hundred feet above. Here
he found himself under the drooping limbs of a mammoth tree that
grew so close to the waterfall that the splashing spray enveloped
him like a cold shower. Following on, to his astonishment he reached
a point behind the waterfall where he discovered a large cavern with
lofty arched roof, like an immense hall in some ancient ruined castle.
While the light was imperfect yet the morning sun, which at that
hour shone directly on the cascade, illuminated up the cavern
sufficiently for the Major to see into it for quite a little distance. It
seemed to recede directly into the mountain. The explorer cautiously
advanced, and soon was interested at another discovery. A stream
fully fifteen feet wide and perhaps two feet deep flowed directly out
of the heart of the mountain along the center of the grotto, to
mingle its waters with those of Spirit River at the falls.
Major Hampton paused to consider this remarkable discovery. He
now remembered that the volume of Spirit River had always
impressed him as being larger below the noted Spirit River Falls than
above, and here was the solution. The falls marked the junction of
two bodies of water. Where this hidden river came from he had no
idea. Apparently its source was some great spring situated far back
in the mountain’s interior.
The Major was tensioned to a high key, and determined to
investigate further. Making his way slowly and carefully along the low

stone shelf above the river, he found that the light did not penetrate
more than about three hundred feet. Looking closely he found there
was an abundance of deer sign, which greatly mystified him.
Retracing his steps to the waterfall, the Major once more crept
along the path next to the abrupt river bank, and, climbing up the
embankment, regained the deer trail where he had shot the young
buck. He seated himself on an old fallen tree. Here on former
occasions Major Hampton had waited many an hour for the coming
of deer and indulged in day-dreaming how to relieve the ills of
humanity, how to lighten the burdens of the poor and oppressed.
Now, however, he was roused to action, and was no longer wrapped
in the power of silence and the contemplation of abstract subjects.
His brain and his heart were throbbing with the excitement of
adventure and discovery.
After full an hour’s thought his decision was reached and a course
of action planned. First of all he proceeded to gather a supply of dry
brush and branches, tying them into three torch-like bundles with
stout cord, a supply of which he invariably carried in his pockets.
Then he inspected his match box to make sure the matches were in
good condition. Finally picking up his gun, pulling his hunting belt a
little tighter, examining his hatchet and knife to see if they were safe
in his belt scabbard, he again set forth along the deer trail, down to
the river. Overcoming the same obstacles as before, he soon found
himself in the grotto behind the waterfall.
Lighting one of his torches the Major started on a tour of further
discovery. His course again led him over the comparatively smooth
ledge of rock that served as a low bank for the waters of the hidden
stream. But now he was able to advance beyond the point previously
gained. After a while his torch burned low and he lighted another.
The subterranean passage he was traversing narrowed at times until
there was scarcely more than room to walk along the brink of the
noisy waters, and again it would widen out like some great
colosseum. The walls and high ceilings were fantastically enchanting,
while the light from his torch made strange shadows, played many
tricks on his nerves, and startled him with optical illusions. Figures of

stalactites and rows of basaltic columns reflected the flare of the
brand held aloft, and sometimes the explorer fancied himself in a
vault hung with tapestries of brilliant sparkling crystals.
Finally the third and last torch was almost burned down to the
hand hold and the Major began to awaken to a keen sense of his
difficult position, and its possible dangers. When attempting to
change the stub of burning brushwood from one hand to the other
and at the same time not drop his rifle, the remnants of the torch
fell from his grasp into the rapid flowing waters and he was left in
utter darkness. Apprehension came upon him—an eerie feeling of
helplessness. True, there was a box of matches in the pocket of his
hunting coat, but these would afford but feeble guidance in a place
where at any step there might be a pitfall.
Major Hampton was a philosopher, but this was a new experience,
startling and unique. Everything around was pitch dark. He seemed
to be enveloped in a smothering black robe. Presently above the
murmur and swish of running water he could hear his heart beating.
He mentally figured that he must have reached a distance of not less
than three miles from Spirit River Falls. The pathway had proved
fairly smooth walking, but unknown dangers were ahead, while a
return trip in Stygian darkness would be an ordeal fraught with much
risk.
Stooping over the low bank he thrust his hand into the current to
make sure of its course. The water was only a little below the flat
ledge of rock on which he was standing, and was cold as the waters
of a mountain spring. It occurred to him that he had been thirsty for
a long time although in his excitement he had not been conscious of
this. So he lay down flat and thrust his face into the cool grateful
water.
Rising again to his feet he felt greatly refreshed, his nerve
restored, and he had just about concluded to retrace his steps when
his eyes, by this time somewhat accustomed to the darkness,
discovered in an upstream direction, a tiny speck of light He blinked
and then questioningly rubbed his eyes. But still the speck did not
disappear. It seemed no larger than a silver half dollar. It might be a

ray of light filtering through some crevice, indicating a tunnel
perhaps that would afford means of escape.
Using his gun as a staff wherewith to feel his way and keeping as
far as possible from the water’s edge, Major Hampton moved slowly
upstream toward the guiding spot of radiance. In a little while he
became convinced it was the light of day shining in through an
opening. The speck grew larger and larger as he slowly moved
forward.
Every once in a while he would stop and turn his face in the
opposite direction, remaining in this position for a few moments and
then quickly turning round again to satisfy himself that he was under
no illusion. But the luminous disc was really growing larger—it
appeared now to be as big as a saucer. His heart throbbed with hope
and his judgment approved that the advance should be continued.
Yes, the light was increasing, and looking down he fancied he
could almost see the butt of his gun which was being used as a
walking stick. Presently his feet could indistinctly be seen, and then
the rocky pavement over which he was so cautiously shuffling his
way.
Ten minutes later the mouth of a tunnel was reached, and he was
safe once more, bathed in God’s own sunshine, his eyes still dazzled
after the Cimmerian blackness from which he had emerged. He had
traversed the entire length of the subterranean cave or river
channel, and had reached the opposite side of a high mountain.
Perhaps the distance through was only about three and a half miles.
Trees and underbrush grew in profusion about the mouth of the
tunnel into which the hidden river flowed. There was less snow than
on the other side of the barrier. Deer sign were everywhere, and he
followed a zig-zag deer path out into an open narrow valley.
The Major’s heart now leaped with the exultation of
accomplishment. Brushing the light covering of snow away, he
seated himself on the bank of the stream which could not, now that
he looked upon it in the open day, be dignified by calling it a river.

Along the edges of the watercourse were fringes of ice but in the
center the rapid flow was unobstructed.
It was only a big mountain brook, but one perhaps that had never
been seen before by the eyes of man. The exploration and the
excitement together had greatly fatigued Buell Hampton, and he was
beginning to be conscious of physical exhaustion and the need of
food notwithstanding the sustaining stimulus of being a discoverer in
one of Nature’s jealously guarded wonderlands.
After resting a short time he started to walk farther into the valley
and forage along the stream. The hunter was on the lookout for
grouse but succeeded in shooting only a young sage hen. This was
quickly dressed and broiled, the forked stick that served as a spit
being skilfully turned in the blaze of a fire of twigs and brushwood.
The repast was a modest one, but the wayfarer felt greatly
refreshed, and now stepped briskly on, following the water channel
toward its fountain head.
It was indeed a beautiful valley—an ideal one—very little snow and
the deer so plentiful that at a distance they might be mistaken for
flocks of grazing sheep. The valley appeared to be exceedingly fertile
in season. It was a veritable park, and so far as the explorer could at
present determine was completely surrounded by high snow-capped
mountains which were steep enough to be called precipices. He soon
came to a dyke that ran across the valley at right angles to the
stream. It was of porphyry formation, rising to a height of from
three to four feet, and reaching right across the narrow valley from
foothill to foothill. When Major Hampton climbed upon this dyke he
noticed that the swiftly flowing brook had cut an opening through it
as evenly almost as if the work had been chiseled by man. He was
anxious to know whether the valley would lead to an opening from
among the mountains, and after a brief halt pushed hurriedly on.
But an hour later he had retraced his steps and was again seated
on the bench-like dyke of porphyry. He had made a complete circuit
of this strange “nest” or gash in the vastness of the Rocky Mountain
Range and was convinced there was no opening. The brook had its
rise in a number of mammoth springs high up on the mountain

foothills at the upper end of the valley, where it was also fed by
several waterfalls that dropped from the dizzy cliffs far above.
The valley was perhaps three miles long east and west and not
over one-half mile wide north and south. The contour of the
mountain sides to the south conformed to the contour on the north,
justifying the reasonable conjecture that an earthquake or violent
volcanic upheaval must have tom the mountains apart in prehistoric
times. It was evidently in all truth a hidden valley—not on the map
of the U. S. Survey—a veritable new land.
“To think,” mused the Major, aloud, “that I have discovered a new
possession. What an asylum for the weary! Surely the day has been
full of startling surprises.”
He was seated on the dyke almost at the very edge of the brock
where the waters were singing their song of peaceful content. He let
his glance again sweep the valley with the satisfied look of one
conscious of some unanalyzed good fortune.
There was no snow on the porphyry dyke where he rested. It was
moss-covered in many places with the coating of countless
centuries. Most likely no human foot but his had ever pressed the
sod of this sequestered nook among the mighty mountains. The very
thought was uplifting—inspiring. Pulling his hunter’s hatchet from its
sheath he said aloud: “I christen thee ‘Hidden Valley,’”and struck the
porphyry rock a vigorous blow, so vigorous indeed that it chipped off
a goodly piece.
Major Buell Hampton paused, astonished. He looked and then he
looked again. He picked up the chipped off piece of rock and gazed
long and earnestly at it, then rubbed his eyes in amazement. It was
literally gleaming with pure gold.
Immediately the hatchet again came into play. Piece after piece
was broken open and all proved to be alike—rich specimens fit for
the cabinet of a collector. The drab moss-covered dyke really
contained the wealth of a King Solomon’s mine. It was true—true,
though almost unbelievable. Yet in this moment of overwhelming
triumph Buell Hampton saw not with the eyes of avarice and greed

for personal gain, but rather with the vision of the humanitarian.
Unlimited wealth had always been for him a ravishing dream, but he
had longed for it, passionately, yearningly, not as a means to supply
pleasures for himself but to assuage the miseries of a suffering
world.
He was not skilled in judging rock carrying values of precious
metals, but in this instance the merest novice could hardly be
mistaken. Hastily breaking as much of the golden ore as he could
carry in his huge coat pockets and taking one last sweeping survey
over the valley, the Major started on his return trip to Spirit River
Falls. Arriving at the point where the waters of the brook
disappeared in the natural tunnel of the “Hidden River,” the name he
mentally gave to the romantic stream, he gathered some torch
material and then started on the return trip. Two hours later he
emerged from behind the turbulent waters at Spirit River Falls. In
the waning afternoon he regained his camp. After watering his
patient horse, giving it another feed of oats and apologizing with
many a gentle caressing pat for his long absence and seeming
neglect, the Major set out for home, the dressed deer strapped on
behind his saddle, with the deer skin rolled around the venison as a
protection.
Early the following morning Buell Hampton visited an assay office,
carrying with him an ore sack containing nine pounds and a half of
ore. The Major felt certain it was ore—gold ore, almost pure gold—
but was almost afraid of his own convictions. The discovery was
really too good to be true.
The assayer tossed the sack of gold onto a table where other
samples were awaiting his skill and said: “All right, Major, come in
sometime tomorrow.”
“It’s important,” replied the Major, “that you assay it at once. It is
high grade; I wish to sell.”
“Oh, ho!” replied the assayer with elevated eyebrows. Possibly he
was like many another who encouraged the “high-graders” in their

nefarious thefts from their employers when they were trusted to
work on a rich property.
“Why, Major Hampton, I didn’t know you were one of ‘em—one of
us,” and he finished with a leer and a laugh. “Bet I can tell what
mine it came from,” he went on as he leisurely untied the ore sacks.
“I will remain right here,” replied Major Hampton firmly, without
yielding to the assayer’s offensive hilarity, “until you have my
samples assayed and make me an offer.”
By this time the sack of rock had been emptied into an ore pan
and the astonishment depicted on the assayer’s countenance would
have beggared description. The sight of the ore staggered him into
silence. Other work was pushed hurriedly aside and before very long
the fire test was in process of being made. When finally finished the
“button” weighed at the rate of $114.67 per pound, and the assayer,
still half bewildered, handed over a check for almost eleven hundred
dollars.
“I say,” he almost shouted, “I say, Major Hampton, where in hell
did that ore come from? Surely not from any of the producing mines
about here?”
“It seems to be a producer, all right,” replied the Major, as he
folded the check and placed it in his pocketbook.

W
CHAPTER X.—THE FAIR RIDER OF
THE RANGE
HEN Buell Hampton left the assayer’s office he felt a
chilliness in the air that caused him to cast his eyes
upwards. There had been bright sunshine early that
morning, but now the whole sky was overcast with a dull
monotonous gray pall. Not a breath of wind was stirring; there was
just a cold stillness in the air that told its own tale to those
experienced in the weather signs of the mountains.
“Snow,” muttered the Major, emphatically. “It has been long in
coming this winter, but we’ll have a big fall by night.”
The season indeed had been exceptionally mild. There had been
one or two flurries of snow, but each had been followed by warm
days and the light fall had speedily melted, at least in the open
valley. High up, the mountains had their white garb of winter, but
even at these elevations there had been no violent storms.
Buell Hampton, however, realized that the lingering autumn was
now gone, and that soon the whole region would be in the rigorous
grip of the Snow King. Henceforth for some months to come would
be chill winds, protracted and frequently recurring downfalls of
snow, great high-banked snowdrifts in the canyons, and later on the
mighty snowslides that sheared timber-clad mountain slopes as if
with a giant’s knife and occasionally brought death and destruction
to some remote mining camp. For the present the Major’s hunting
expeditions were at an end. But as he glanced at the heavy canopy
of snow-laden cloud he also knew that days must elapse, weeks
perhaps, before he could revisit the hidden valley high up in the
mountains. For yet another winter tide Nature would hold her
treasure safe from despoiling hands.

Buell Hampton faced the situation with characteristic philosophy.
All through the afternoon he mused on his good fortune. He was
glad to have brought down even only a thousand dollars from the
golden storehouse, for this money would ensure comfort during the
inclement season for a good few humble homes. Meanwhile, like a
banker with reserves of bullion safely locked up in his vault, he could
plan out the future and see how the treasure was to be placed to
best advantage. In Buell Hampton’s case the field of investment was
among the poor and struggling, and the only dividends he cared for
were increased percentages of human happiness. The coming of
winter only delayed the good work he had in mind, but even now
the consciousness of power to perform brought great joy to his
heart. Alone in his home he paced the big room, only pausing at
times to throw another log on the fire or gaze awhile into the
glowing embers, day-dreaming, unspeakably happy in his day-
dreams.
Meanwhile, in anticipation of the coming snowstorm, young
Warfield was riding the range and gathering cattle and yearlings that
had strayed away from the herd. As he was surmounting a rather
steep foothill across the valleys to the westward between the two
Encampment rivers, he was startled at hearing the patter of a
horse’s hoofs. Quickly looking up he saw a young woman on
horseback dashing swiftly along and swinging a lariat. She wore a
divided brown skirt, wide sombrero, fringed gauntlets, and sat her
horse with graceful ease and confidence. She was coming down the
mountainside at right angles to his course.
Bringing his pony quickly to a standstill Roderick watched the
spirited horse-woman as she let go her lariat at an escaping yearling
that evidently had broken out of some corral The lariat went straight
to its mark, and almost at the same moment he heard her voice as
she spoke to her steed, quickly but in soft melodious tones: “That
will do, Fleetfoot. Whoa!” Instantly the well-trained horse threw
himself well back on his haunches and veered to the left. The fleeing
yearling was caught around one of its front feet and thrown as
neatly as the most expert cowboy on the range could have done it.

“By George,” said Roderick to himself, “what a fine piece of work.”
He watched with admiring eyes as the young lady sat her horse in
an attitude of waiting. Presently a cowboy rode up, and relieving her
of the catch started the yearling back, evidently toward the corral.
Turning about, the horsewoman started her horse at a canter
directly toward him, and Roderick fell to wondering what sort of a
discovery he had made.
A moment later she brought her horse to a standstill and
acknowledged his salutation as he lifted his sombrero. He saw the
red blood glowing under the soft tan of her cheeks, and as their
eyes met he was fairly dazzled by her beauty. He recognized at a
glance the western type of girl, frank and fearless, accustomed to
the full and health-giving freedom of life in the open, yet
accomplished and domesticated, equally at home in the most
tastefully adorned drawing room as here on horseback among the
mountains.
“I beg pardon,” he said in a stammering way, “but can I be of any
service?”
At his words she pulled her pony to a standstill and said: “In what
way, pray?”—and there was a mischievous smile at Roderick’s
obvious embarrassment.
“Why, I saw you lariating a yearling.”
“Oh,” she said, throwing back her head and laughing softly, “that
was a long time ago. It is doubtless in the corral by now.”
As she spoke, Roderick dismounted. He was capable now of
assimilating details, and noted the silken dark Egyptian locks that fell
in fluffy waves over her temples in a most bewitching manner, and
the eyes that shone with the deep dark blue of the sapphire. His
gaze must have betrayed his admiration, for, courteously waving her
hand, she touched with her spurs the flanks of her mount and
bounded away across the hills. Roderick was left standing in
wonderment.
“Who the dickens can she be?” he soliloquized. “I’ve been riding
the range for a good many weeks, but this is the first time I’ve

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