the product of the cities and the product of the
open country studied each other curiously.

"Come on," urged Jean in her lazily friendly drawl. "It's simple
enough, once you get the hang of it." And she smiled before she added,
"A latigo is just the strap that fastens the cinch. I'll show you."

"I'll bet Bobby Burns doesn't know that," said Muriel Gay, and got up
from the bench. "It's awfully good of you; Mr. Burns is so--"

"I noticed that," said Jean, while Muriel was waiting for a word that
would relieve her feelings without being too blunt.

Burns and Pete Lowry and the assistant had gone down the coulee, still
studying the bluff closely. "I've got to ride down that bluff," Muriel
informed Jean, her eyes following her director gloomily. "He asked me
last night if I could throw a rope. I don't know what for; it's an
extra punch he wants to put in this picture somewhere. I wish to
goodness they wouldn't let him write his own scenarios; he just lies
awake nights, lately, thinking up impossible scenes so he can bully us
afterwards. He's simply gone nutty on the subject of punches."

"Well, it's easy enough to learn how to saddle a horse," Jean told
Muriel cheerfully. "First you want to put on the bridle--"

"Burns told me to put on the saddle first; and then he cuts the scene
just as I pick up the bridle. The trouble is to get the saddle on
right, and then--that latigo dope!"

"But you ought to bridle him first," Jean insisted. "Supposing you just
got the saddle on, and your horse got startled and ran off? If you
have the bridle on, even if you haven't the reins, you can grab them
when he jumps."

"Well, that isn't the way Burns directed the scene yesterday," Muriel
Gay contended. "The scene ends where I pick up the bridle."

"Then Robert Grant Burns doesn't know. I've seen men put on the bridle
last; but it's wrong. Lite Avery, and everybody who knows--"

Muriel Gay looked at Jean with a weary impatience. "What I have to do,"
she stated, "is what Burns tells me to do. I should worry about it's
being right or wrong; I'm not the producer."

Jean faced her, frowning a little. Then she laughed, hung the bridle
back on the rusty spike, and took down the saddle blanket. "We'll play
I'm Robert Grant Burns," she said. "I'll tell you what to do: Lay the
blanket on straight,--it's shaped to Pard's back, so that ought to be
easy,--with the front edge coming forward to his withers; that's not
right