o this bit of riding.

"Will you want me to gallop?" he asked, recalling the unhappy experience
with Dexter.

"No; just walk him beyond the camera line. The camera'll trick it up all
right." So, safely, confidently, he had ridden his steed beyond the
lens range at a curious shuffling amble, and his work at the Come All Ye
Dance Hall was done.

Then came some adventurous days in the open. In motor cars the company
of artists was transported to a sunny nook in the foothills beyond
the city, and here in the wild, rough, open spaces, the drama of
mother-love, sacrifice, and thrills was further unfolded.

First to be done here was the continuation of the hero's escape from the
dance-hall. Upon his faithful horse he ambled along a quiet road until
he reached the shelter of an oak tree. Here he halted at the roadside.

"You know the detective is following you," explained Baird, "and you're
going to get him. Take your nag over a little so the tree won't mask
him too much. That's it. Now, you look back, lean forward in the saddle,
listen! You hear him coming. Your face sets--look as grim as you can.
That's the stuff--the real Buck Benson stuff when they're after him.
That's fine. Now you get an idea. Unlash your rope, let the noose
out, give it a couple of whirls to see is everything all right. That's
it--only you still look grim--not so worried about whether the rope is
going to act right. We'll attend to that. When the detective comes in
sight give about three good whirls and let her fly. Try it once. Good!
Now coil her up again and go through the whole thing. Never mind about
whether you're going to get him or not. Remember, Buck Benson never
misses. We'll have a later shot that shows the rope falling over his
head."

Thereupon the grim-faced Benson, strong, silent man of the open, while
the cameras ground, waited the coming of one who hounded him for a
crime of which he was innocent. His iron face was relentless. He leaned
forward, listening. He uncoiled the rope, expertly ran out the noose,
and grimly waited. Far up the road appeared the detective on a galloping
horse. Benson twirled the rope as he sat in his saddle. It left his
hand, to sail gracefully in the general direction of his pursuer.

"Cut!" called Baird. "That was bully. Now you got him. Ride out into
the road. You're dragging him off his horse, see? Keep on up the road;
you're still dragging the hound. Look back over your shoulder and light
your face up