adder from the loft, somewhat impeded by the spurs, and went into
the kitchen. Metta Judson, washing dishes, gave a little cry of alarm.
Nothing like this had ever before invaded the Gashwiler home by front
door or back.

"Why, Mert' Gill, whatever you dressed up like that for? My stars, you
look like a cowboy or something! Well, I must say!"

"Say, Metta, do me a favour. I want to see how these things look in a
glass. It's a cowboy outfit for when I play regular Buck Benson parts,
and everything's got to be just so or the audience writes to the
magazines about it and makes fun of you."

"Go ahead," said Metta. "You can git a fine look at yourself in the tall
glass in the old lady's bedroom."

Forthwith he went, profaning a sanctuary, to survey himself in a glass
that had never reflected anything but the discreet arraying of his
employer's lady. He looked long and earnestly. The effect was quite all
he had hoped. He lowered the front of the broad-brimmed hat the least
bit, tightened his belt another notch and moved the holster to a better
line. He looked again. From feet to head he was perfect.

Then, slightly crouching, he drew his revolver from the holster and held
it forward from the hip, wrist and forearm rigidly straight.

"Throw up your hands!"

He uttered the grim words in a low tone, but one facing him would not
have been deceived by low tones. Steely-eyed, grim of face, relentless
in all his bearing, the most desperate adversary would have quailed.
Probably even Gashwiler himself would have quailed. When Buck Benson
looked and spoke thus he meant it.

He held it a long, breathless moment before relaxing. Then he tiptoed
softly from the hallowed confines of a good woman's boudoir and
clattered down the back stairs to the kitchen. He was thinking: "I
certainly got to get me another gun if I'm ever going to do Two-Gun
Benson parts, and I got to get the draw down better. I ain't quick
enough yet."

"Well, did you like your rig?" inquired Metta genially.

"Oh, it'll do for the stills we're shooting to-day," replied the actor.
"Of course I ought to have a rattlesnake-skin band on my hat, and the
things look too new yet. And say, Metta, where's the clothesline? I want
to practise roping a little before my camera man gets here."

"My stars! You're certainly goin' to be a real one, ain't you?"

She brought him the clothesline, in use only on Mondays. He re-coiled it
carefully and made a running noose in on