Book »M5_ GsyriglitN0 - CQFBRIGHT DEPOSIT. t r Scanned from the collections of The Library of Congress AUDIO-VISUAL CONSERVATION at The LIBRARY of CONGRESS Packard Campus for Audio Visual Conservation www.loc.gov/avconservation Motion Picture and Television Reading Room www.loc.gov/rr/mopic Recorded Sound Reference Center www.loc.gov/rr/record It Vfc-iL iJt HAffllN £-££>" "former premier of f RANCE SCENE FROM "THE TWO-GUN Mj VN' (Essanay) )RIES FROM THE WORLD'S BEST PHOTOPLAYS, BEAUTIFULLY ILLUSTRATED, TO CHARM, INSTRUCT AND ENTERTAIN J y\5 Any of our 13,000 dealers will be glad to demonstrate the remark- able playing possibilities of Edison Amberol Records This is an Edison Amberol Record— made by Mr. Edison, for the Edison Phonograph — rnade to increase the entertaining ability fection of the Amberol. Do so, and you of the Edison Phonograph — made to give Edison Phonograph owners longer, better, more complete and more carefully exe- cuted songs and instrumental music. This record, no larger than the ordinary cylinder record, has a playing time oifour- znd-one-half minutes. Do you realize what a playing time of rour-and-one-half minutes means ? Did you ever time a song-hit with its choruses and its encores, an overture or a Grand Opera aria? Do so, and you will understand why so many good songs and so much good music never appeared in record form up to the time of the per- will realize the necessity of getting an Edison Phonograph with its Amberol Records, if you want to have in your home those things you have enjoyed most at concerts, musical comedies, and the opera. Edison Standard Records $ .35 Edison Amberol Records (play twice as long-) .50 Edison Grand Opera Records . . $ .75 to $2.00 There is an Edison Phonograph at a price to suit everybody' s means, from the Gem at $15 to the Amberola at $200 sold at the same prices everywhere in the United States. Get complete t *alogs from your dealer or from us. THOMAS A. EDISON, Inc., 144 Lakeside Avenue, Orange, N.J. With the Edison Business Phone aph you just talk directly to the man who reads your letters as you talk t i the man on the other end of the phone. o m 4 3 DC 3 DC 3 DC THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE TABLE OF CONTENTS, AUGUST, 1911. GALLERY OF PICTURE PLAYERS: PAGE Mrs. B. F. Clinton 2 Miss Flora Finch 2 Arthur V. Johnson 3 Miss Mabel Trunnelle 4 Miss Agnes. Mapes 5 Charles M. Seay 6 Miss Mabel Normand 7 PHOTOPLAY STORIES: The Veil of Happiness John Elleridge Chandos The Badge of Courage Malcolm. Campbell Indian Brothers Louis Reeves In the Right of Way Edzvin M. La Roche The Hair Restorer and the Indians Emmett Campbell Hall Memories of the Past Louis Reeves Harrison Bob and Rowdy Gladys Roosevelt Fighting Blood Frank J. Earle Always a Way Dorothy Harpur "B,illy the Kid" Marie Coolidge Rask The Tenderfoot's Claim Guy Sham PAGE Frank Dayton 8 Miss Alice Joyce 9 Miss Florence Lawrence 10 William West 11 Ben Cooper 12 Miss Mildred Bracken 12 Miss Fanny Midgeley 12 13 18 25 33 45 5i 59 65 75 &i 99 128 133 138 T'he Death of Edward the Third Montanye Perry 107 Trie' New Church Carpet Helen M. Coolidge 114 The Minute Men General Horatio C. King 122 The Capture of Ticonderoga Luliette Bryant The Corporation and the Ranch Girl Peter Wade The Clown's Baby Leona Radnor VERSES: What I Love Best Lizzie Pinson The Picture Show Minna Irving Robbie's Choice Kenneth S. Clark The Ruined Picture ,. .L. Case Russell The Stay at Home Traveler John S. Grey The Moving Picture Cowboy E. A. Brininstool 105 A Curiosity 143 SPECIAL ARTICLES: Children and "The Movies" 97 Religious Possibilities of the Motion Picture Herbert A. Jump 92 The Cash Prize Contest 150 Answers to Inquiries 144 Musings of a Photoplay Philosopher 147 58 63 64 74 9i IE THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE Copyright 1911, by The M. P. Publishing Co. Entered at the Brooklyn, N. Y., Post Office as second-class matter Feb. 21, 1911. A magazine of Picture Plays, Done in stories in pleasing ways; Its purpose neither slight nor vain, To charm, instruct and entertain. Owned and published by The M. P. Publishing Co., a New York corporation, its office and principal place of business, No. 26 Court Street, Brooklyn, N. Y. J. Stuart Blackton, President; D. R. Shafer, Vice-President; Eugene V. Brewster, Sec.-Treas. and Editor; Montanye Perry, and Edwin M, La Roche, Ass't Editors. Subscription, $1.50. a year in advance, including postage in the U. S., Cuba and Mexico; in Canada, and in other foreign countries, $2.00. Single copies, 15 cents, postage prepaid. Stamps accepted. All manufacturers of Motion Pictures are invited to submit Scenarios and photos, which, if accepted, will be paid for at usual rates. The editor cannot undertake to read and pass upon the merits of scenarios, stories and plots; these must be submitted direct to the manufacturers of Motion Pictures. This magazine has its own staff, who write all stories that appear in this magazine. THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE, 26 Court Street, Brooklyn, N. Y. go 6 4 : d : □ c 3 DC ^ GALLERY ^ OF ^ PHOTOPLAYERS x MRS. B. F. CLINTON (Vitagraph) MISS FLORA FINCH (Vitagraph) MISS AGNES MAPES ( KAUM, IN IRELAND) CHARLES M. SEAY (Edisory MISS MABEL NORM AND. (Vitagraph) U55ANAYJ MISS ALICE JOYCE AS MOLLY FINNEY. (Kalem) Miss Florence, Lawrence Clvbin) m x ^ 1 J 1 ' : , 15 ■'■ Gz BEN COOPER- MISS MILDRED BRACKEN-MISS FANNY MIDGELEY (Melies) (Zt+j 3o^/f // THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE Vol. II AUGUST No. 7 The Veil of Happiness (Pathe" Freres) By JOHN ELLERIDGE CHANDOS From the scenario of Georges Clemenceau, former Premier of France The interesting questions, "Why are we here?" and "What are we here for?" supplied the great Chinese mandarin, Chang, with a favorite subject of thought, on which he dwelt with unceasing delight during his waking hours. He was enough of a poet to be fond of com- munion with Nature in her various moods, resigning himself to her influ- ences and giving free rein to his imagination while listening to mur- murs of the breeze, while smelling the fragrant exhalations of plants and flowers, while feeling the sun's warmth, but he was denied the charms of color and form. Chang was blind. His secretary had drawn Chang's attention to the invasion of Christian missionaries and had explained their purposes and many-colored beliefs in his own way. Chang understood the tendency of man toward the worship of Nature. It was but recognition of an unknown, invisible and irresistible power and led up to the personifica- tion of a deity known in China as "The Old Man in the Sky." That was all very pretty and very simple ; the disturbing element was the an- tagonism of doctrines. Only one could be right, hence the rest must be wrong, and this might provoke quar- rels among his cheerful people. An- ger, above all things, was to be avoid- ed. Life should be made comfortable. What comfort was there in believing that we are two things at war with each other, a body getting along the best it can and a soul always grum- bling and dissatisfied? According to Confucius, the breath dissolves in air and the body reverts to dust, both returning to the sources from which they came, so it was only irritating to think of "souls," and quite distress- ing to find that some men are born saints while the rest are only mortals. It might be pleasant to imagine, Chang admitted, that we were sure to live again after death, but he had yet to find an atom of evidence in the his- tory of Christianity that this was more than an opium dream. So it came about that the blind mandarin conceived the idea of enlightening poor, deluded humanity on this sub- ject by sending Chinese missionaries into all Christian countries. This necessity appeared to be more impera- tive when he came to fully realize that Christian forms of belief were mu- tually exclusive, whereas a Chinaman could be Confucianist, Buddhist and Maorist, individually or collectively, with no detriment to his moral char- acter or social standing. Then, true reverence for a deity should not im- ply offense on his part if an humble creature of earth failed to select the right doctrine. While Chang was convinced that Christianity was all wrong, he was too polite to enforce his conclusions rudely. He set about devising some way of teaching Christians gentle tol- 13 14 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE THE MANDARIN DISCOVERS HIS SON AND TUTOR MOCKING HIM erance in a manner inoffensive. In China it is customary to keep back bad news as long as possible. During his hours of reverie it occurred to Chang that much that men do in a philanthropic way may proceed from low motives if their activities are di- rected toward attaining publicity, whereas influences exerted in a simple manner, not disagreeing with real character, are honest and more effect- ive. He became personally sweet to all within his sphere, radiating kind- ness upon wife, son and servants; breathing a moral atmosphere upon his household and neighbors. While Chang's secretary supplied him with material for reverie and con- tributed to the happy abstraction of a mind contemplating lofty ideals, he failed to tell the mandarin how his benefactions were received. This con- cealment might have resulted from a lack of sincerity, combined with the universal dread of giving offense, but silence on this subject was never broken. It was just as well that the truth was not told to beaming and ever-joyous Chang. He was supreme- ly happy in the supposed devotion of his wife, child and servants, and plainly believed that they loved him as he loved all humankind. In truth, the ceremonial politeness with which the mighty mandarin was treated, while as comforting as an air cushion, had really nothing in it. One day a rumor reached Chang's keen ears that a famous sorcerer had arrived in the neighborhood and was creating a sensation by relieving the woes of supposed incurables. The mandarin secreted a purse in the am- ple folds of his gown, called his sec- retary and went forth to walk among his people. After reaching an isolated THE VEIL OF HAPPINESS 15 spot, he made known his desire to in- terview the sorcerer. This was readi- ly accomplished, and the meeting was held where no one would witness the association of an illustrious mandarin with a sorcerer. The latter was, how- ever, fully informed as to the charac- ter of his patient, and prepared for extraordinary treatment of his afflic- tion. He produced a small vial of powerful nerve stimulant, and care- fully measured a few drops for appli- cation, stating that double the amount would act in reverse and cause hope- less loss of sight. The application was painful, causing the mandarin intense suffering while the remedy was taking effect, but the result was miraculous. Chang saw things as they were. In a burst of enthusiasm, and, to help oth- ers who might be suffering from blindness, the mandarin purchased the sorcerer's visible supply of the wondrous remedy. He was again cau- tioned as to its employment in exact proportion, and he, in his turn, warned both his secretary and the sor- cerer to keep the sudden restoration of vision a profound secret until the joyous news could be proclaimed with becoming ceremony. Devotion to prec- edent imposed silence on all three, and Chang returned to his home with delight in his heart so great that it could only be shared piecemeal with members of his household. One glorious result of this physical transformation was freedom of move- ment. Chang had scarcely been left alone by his secretary before an irre- sistible impulse to try his newly ac- quired sense led him to tiptoe about the rooms of his palace, and directed his steps to the throne room. His silent approach was not noted by his son and the latter 's tutor while they were engaged in a mimicry of the daily lesson, which caused Chang no little perplexity. The boy was imi- tating the teacher's voice, while the latter repeated in droning monotone : "He who violates propriety is de- ficient in filial piety." "He who neglects his duties is de- ficient in filial piety." "He who lacks courage is deficient in filial piety." These were recited ironically by the boy and echoed with sneering empha- sis by the tutor until both were unable to proceed because of laughter. Chang glanced into the room. THE MANDARIN RETURNS TO BLINDXKSS 16 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE THE DOCTOR ADMINISTERS THE POTION His dutiful son, usually respectful and polite to an extreme degree, was seated on the throne with Chang's ivory scepter in hand and the man- darin's cap tilted over one eye, mock- ing his blind father. The tutor was kneeling before the throne in derisive humility, rolling his eyes and praising Chang 's noble character in exaggerat- ed terms. Chang's breast heaved with indignation ; his right hand flew to his sword; he would not only have been justified in beheading both hypocrites, but Chinese law and custom approved of such an act. There had, however, grown up in the heart of the blind man a tolerance beyond his teachings. His hand dropperd to his side; his head drooped on his bosom, and he staggered away to his private rooms to weep in silence. It was evening when Chang rose, wan and worn from mental anguish, looked forth upon his moonlit garden, and idly watched the shadows creep- ing there. He was sore at heart, real- izing iully that his only son had returned unfaith for sincere trust, disrespect for unfailing kindness, ridicule for tender love. Chang sighed heavily. There was no one now on whom he could lean but her whose lips had ever been responsive to his kiss, whose caressing hands had soft- ened his darkest moods — his wife. She was there, in the garden, in the semi-darkness. He rose wearily and followed out into the enchanted ground of flowerdom. From long habit, he proceeded cau- tiously among the shadows, guided more by his sense of hearing than his new-born power of vision, following the tones of his loved one 's voice until he reached a point where her utter- ances could be distinguished in detail. She was engaged in the only recre- ation accorded women in China and somewhat enjoyed by those of other nations — she was gossiping. The mandarin smiled to himself. Appreciation of human society was keen among the women of his race, and was the secret of their cheerful- ness. His wife was saying: "I hate the TEE VEIL OF HAPPINESS 17 sight of him. He bores me more than you can understand. He is forever preaching and giving advice, while I long for one who will understand me and exchange sweet thoughts that I love. I am tired of his vulgar habits ; the very expression of his face, after he has eaten his fill, his expression of egotistical satisfaction, gets on my nerves. I am sick of petting him and pretending an affection I do not feel. He nauseates me, but I must keep up the farce, lest the others should sus- pect, and wait for the few sweet mo- ments when I can be with you." Chang peered out from concealment and beheld the woman who had his honor in her small hands reclining in the arms of a handsome lover. Her cheeks were aglow with new-found love and her eyes and lips were tell- ing the story of a passion her hus- band had not dreamed she could ever assume. "Listen !" the lover whispered. 1 ' Somebody is coming i ' ' The wife held herself rigid for a moment. "You are mistaken,' ' she breathed in relief. "No one would dare to en- ter the mandarin's private garden." There was an ominous silence. Not far away, Chang stepped into view and stood trembling, his mighty frame convulsed with some racking emotion. There was foam on his lips ; his face was drawn by a conflict of rage and fierce will; his eyes rolled like those of a man on the verge of complete mental dissolution. His sword hand hovered with vacillating purpose over his weapon until his nails dug deep in the flesh; then his snarling teeth set in desperate resolu- tion and he staggered into the house. "If he had seen us!" the lover gasped. "No danger!" she sneered, "tho that is the first time I ever saw him tormented with suspicion. ' ' "He may have heard!" the lover shuddered. "Our heads are safe," she as- sured him. Then, pouting, "Don't you think my hair is too pretty to be cut that way ? ' ' A terrible cry rang out from the house, and the lover escaped just as lights appeared in the windows. The mandarin's son came running into the garden. "What is the matter?" she asked with mild concern. The boy dragged her into the house, panting: "He was rolling on the floor! He was screaming with pain! He was tearing at his eyes! It is terrible!" They found great Chang seated in his chair, half -supported by servants. The wife went to his side and ca- ressed his cheeks. The boy kneeled at his feet. The mandarin placed his right hand on the boy's head in tender re- assurance and turned a smiling face to his wife. She started back in horror. The flesh in both of the mandarin 's eye-sockets was burned to a crisp, leaving nothing but two dark caverns. Clenched in the mighty Chang's left hand was the vial the sorcerer had given him — empty! It's His Business By JOHN S, GREY He who fights and runs away May live to fight another day!" Of course ! He 's doing it for pay — Works in the Moving Picture play ! The Badge of Courage (Kalem) By MALCOLM CAMPBELL The earliest incident of his life which Tom Waring could recall was waking, screaming with ter- ror, scarce freed, even when wide awake and close held in his mother's arms, from the agony of a dream — a dream of sunlit, sparkling water, which- to all others seemed gay and harmless, but which revealed to him a nameless horror which lurked be- neath the gleaming surface, as tho Death smiled with the face of a beau- tiful woman, and reached out, from bright, silken garments, skeleton fin- gers to clutch him by the throat. He did not tell the nature of the dream that had frightened him, and present- ly went to sleep again, close held in his mother's arms, but even in his sleep he would start and shudder, and a cold dampness break out on his white forehead. It was some years later, when Tom had grown into a merry, well-liked and sturdy chap of seven, that he first visited the seashore. At the first sight of the sunlit, dancing waves, and at the sound of the low purr of the spent breakers crawling up the white sand, the lad lived again the agony of that dream. With the sensitiveness of a child, fearing the ridicule of those other children who played so uncon- cernedly on the sand, he fought with his terror. "Go on, Tom, and wade with the others, ' ' his father said, and gave him a playful push. "Don't be bashful — a great big chap like you ! ' ' With white face and set teeth, the child took a step forward, just as a wave raised itself in a green concave, and he saw, down beneath the sun- light, the Terror. With a cry he sprang back, clutching and clinging to his father's arm, his frame shaken with sobs. "Why, I believe he is afraid of the water!" his father exclaimed, turn- ing toward Mrs. Waring. In a mo- ment she had dropped upon her knees, and Tom was held closely against her breast. "I don't like it, Mary; I don't like it at all, ' ' Mr. Waring said impatient- ly, later in the evening, when Tom had been put safely to bed. "The boy is a perfectly healthy specimen, and I have never before seen any in- dication of an unreasoning fear. Why, he acted like an absolute cow- ard!" he continued, with growing displeasure. The mother regarded him with troubled eyes. "Perhaps there was something we didn't quite understand," she sug- gested. ' ' I — I would not like to think my boy a coward," she said, appeal- ingly. "Well, we will see to-morrow what the trouble is," Mr. Waring said de- cisively. "You — you will be gentle with him, John ? He is such a little fellow, after all, ' ' the mother whispered. "Of course I will be gentle with him. I shall simply prove to him that there is nothing to fear — that every one else has a lot of fun in the water, ' ' he responded as he rose to retire. The day following Tom and his father, clad in bathing suits, appeared upon the beach, and for some time watched the bathers in the surf. At last Mr. Waring picked the child up in his arms, and talking merrily, started to walk out into the water. "Don't put me down, papa! Oh, please take me back!" Tom pled, his small arms gripping tightly about his father's neck. "Nonsense, Tom ! Don't be a baby ! You will think it fine as soon as you get used to it," Mr. Waring said, and allowed him to slip down just as a wave broke about them in a knee- deep smother of foam. One cry burst 19 20 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE TOMMY REFUSES TO BATHE IN THE SURF from the child as the water touched him, and he tore himself from his father's grasp. Running and stum- bling, he fled back to the beach, and pitched in a dead faint at his mother's feet. Curiously enough, still water in lakes and rivers had no terrors for Tom, and, as he grew up, he evinced a decided fondness for swimming. In the course of his college life he estab- lished several amateur records, and was the winner of several medals for victories in still-water swimming con- tests. These bits of gold he valued highly, because, after each had been attained, a girl had greeted him with shining eyes and thrilling handclasp as she whispered: "I'm glad, Tom! I knew you would win. ' ' That was what made victory really desirable — Jane Mayfield 's joy in his triumph. It was to win her praise that he had carried off honors in ex- aminations as well as in athletics ; that caused him to buckle down to business, working like a galley slave, after his graduation. When, alone, he swung his first successful "deal," it was to Jane Mayfield that he had gone for his first congratulations. "Of coarse you are going to suc- ceed, every time. I couldn't dream of your failing in anything, ' ' she told him. Then, with sudden, maternal solicitude, she looked closely into his face. "But you are not to work too hard, ' ' she warned ; ' ' 'specially while I am not here to look after you, sir. In fact, you are to drop everything, instantly, when I send you word, and come down to Bay side and play with me." "Oh, I wouldn't fail to come when you called, if you had managed to climb up into the moon ! " he laughed, but back of the laugh was a note that thrilled the girl. The command to come and play came in August, and Tom promptly obeyed the summons. He found the grounds of the Mayfield cottage deco- rated for a garden party, and a num- ber of merry guests already assem- bled. The banker and Mrs. Mayfield greeted him warmly, but an outsider THE BADGE OF COURAGE 21 would have seen nothing more than casual friendliness in the smile that came to Jane 's face. It was some time before Tom succeeded in detaching the girl from the laughing crowd — a move which she had several times blocked with a teasing light in her eyes — but at last it was accomplished, and they strolled away to a pretty and secluded nook. ' ' I — er — I have something to say to you, Jane," Tom said formally, and swallowed hard. "Good gracious! I hope so. I do hate to do all the talking!" the girl laughed merrily. ' ' But, then, you al- most always have something to say — more or less — so why mention it ? " Tom gulped and awkwardly took her hand in his. "Why, you know, Jane, of course — that is, you have always understood — when I was really established in busi- ness, and all that sort of thing — and I am doing all right now, so I guess it isn't necessary to say anything more, is it, dear?" he stammered, and fum- blingly took from his pocket a ring that sparkled brilliantly. A soft light came into her eyes, and she gently smoothed back the hair that tumbled over his forehead. "No, it isn't necessary to say any- thing more, Tom ; I understand. But I ivish you to say it, dear; the pretty things, and the sweet things, and the foolish things — all the things that a girl will never forget, when they have been told to her by the man she loves, Tom. You haven't even said you loved me — you haven 't kist me once ! ' ' And thereupon his shyness fell away like a garment, and with a joy- ous little cry he caught her to his breast, and whispered on her lips all the sweet, foolish things that lovers have whispered since the world was young. Presently Jane suddenly remem- bered her guests, and hurried Tom along with her to where the young people were grouped. "We've taken a vote, and the raa- AFTER THE GARDEN PARTY 2z TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE jority has declared for a plunge," Jimmy Stetson informed her. "I'm running things now," he casually added. "Hostess runs off and hides in the garden, and somebody had to take charge." "And you did, of course. I knew you would — that's why I ran off, just to give you a chance to assert your- self, ' ' Jane retorted. ' ' All right, ma- jority rules. Come on, Tom, let's go and dance in the sunshine with the little waves." But Tom did not respond to her banter. A sudden cloud came over his face, and he fumbled with his watch. "Er — really, I'm afraid I haven't time — got an appointment — very im- portant— with a man — at the hotel," he stammered. Jane looked at him curiously. Then she rested her hand shyly on his arm. "Come on, Tom, I want you," she said softly. For a moment he hesitated, and a curious grayness crept over his cheek. Then he nodded stiffly, and they fol- lowed the others to where two large automobiles waited. Tho he accompanied them to the beach, Tom could not be induced to don a bathing suit. The others were soon laughing and shouting amid the breakers, working their way out, and were a considerable distance from shore when Jane gave up her attempt to induce Tom to come into the water. "With a laugh, she scooped up a hand- ful of the brine, threw it toward him and plunged into the waves, striking out with accustomed strokes across the deep spot which separated her from the shoal on which the rest of the party were now resting. Sudden- ly they heard her cry out, an an- guished appeal for help, and then the water closed over her. Tom sprang to his feet, and with his face curiously drawn and twisted, ran toward the surf -line. The other bathers were al- ready moving with utmost speed, but they were much further from the struggling girl, who had fought her way to the surface, than was Tom, and it was to Tom that she turned her eyes. She was silent now, fighting grimly with the cramp that gripped her and the current that dragged her down. A wave reared upward, mak- ing a deep green cavern at its base, and another, breaking, curled about Tom's legs, whispering softly on the sand. In the green cavern he saw a grinning, nameless Thing, and with his hands covering his eyes, he stag- gered backward to the dry sand. "Oh, God! I cannot!" he moaned, and turning, fled as tho the very spirit of Fear strode at his heels. The other bathers reached Jane in time, and presently, pale but unhurt, she lay upon the warm sand. Tom approached slowly, and silently stood where she might see him. Not one of the others broke the silence, tho each condemned him with chilling eyes. At last Jane spoke, her voice low and tense : "Winner of swimming medals — coward — go!" Silent, with hanging head, he turned and left them. Just as it was only for Jane's sake that he had cared for his college prizes, it was only of her that Tom thought in the shame that had come upon him. Old friends turned their backs when he approached, but, ab- sorbed in his agony of spirit, he did not see their slights, nor would he have cared. All things else were blot- ted out by the one great sorrow. At last he realized that his mind would give way unless he took some decisive action, and he nerved himself to seek the girl at her home. 1 i They will probably have the ser- vants kick me from the door," he muttered, "and it would be right. But no!" he raged in fury, "it is something outside of me — some curse laid on me at birth — it is not I that is afraid. My God, how cheerfully would I die for her sake ! To die — that is nothing! But that other Thing!" Shaking, he wiped the cold damp- ness from his face. A short time before Jane had left her home, intending to visit her father's office, and informing her THE BADGE OF COURAGE 23 maid of her destination. When Tom arrived, he Avas spared the pain of her refusal to see him, as would most cer- tainly have occurred had she been at home. "I — I think I will write and leave a note for your mistress," he said, and the maid showed him to a desk, at which he seated himself wearily. Upon arriving at the office, Jane found that her father was out, a sin- gle clerk being on duty at the time. As Mr. Mayfield was expected to re- turn at any moment, Jane decided to wait. The clerk answered the call of the telephone, then turned to the girl. "If you intend to remain here, Miss Mayfield, I will run down to the bank," he said; "there seems to be a matter which requires explanation. I will return in fifteen minutes, even if Mr. Mayfield is not in by that time." "Go on, certainly," she replied, and the clerk hurried away. Jane was aroused from the sad reverie into which she had fallen by a curious feeling that all was not well. Nervously she rose, crossed the room and threw open the door leading to the corridor, to be instantly driven back by a cloud of strangling smoke. Swiftly she crossed to the window, but no hope of escape lay there — there was a sheer drop of four stories to the pavement below. The smoke pouring from the windows showed her that the fire was on the floor immediately be- low that on which she stood. For a moment she stood still, her senses paralyzed ; then, with a little moan of hope, she sprang to the telephone. For half an hour Tom Waring sat at the desk, his aching head supported by his hand. A dozen times he dipped his pen, and each time the ink dried before he could determine upon the first word to place upon the paper. How could he explain what he himself did not understand i Several times 1^, ■ .' 4* w-1 :.53u§ X £« ■ y^i-yf i l J * \n a Mi 1 ^K 1 H ■I- >^l 1 WINNER OF SWIMMING MEDALS — COWARD — GO ! " CRIED JANE 24 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE the maid came to the door, observed his preoccupation, and went away without disturbing him. Then the telephone at his elbow rang sharply, insistently. Instinctively his hand went out; then, remembering that he was in another's house, he waited for the maid to answer the call, but she did not appear. Again the bell shrilled with such a continued call that Tom lifted the receiver. "It might be something urgent, " he muttered. ' ' This is Central, ' ' an excited voice spoke in his ear. "The Standard Building is on fire. Miss Mayfield is cut off in Mr. Mayfield 's office. I have told the fire department, but thought some one at her home " Tom dropped the instrument and sprang to his feet with an exclamation of horror. A moment later he had plunged down the front steps. A mo- torcycle stood at the curb, and heed- less of the owner's shouts, Tom sprang upon it and sped away. Already the police had driven back the crowd and established fire lines when Tom reached the big building, from the upper windows of which the smoke was pouring blackly. An offi- cer caught his coat as he plunged thru the line, but the cloth gave way as he lunged forward, and an instant later he was inside the building. As he en- tered the ground floor corridor, one of the big electric elevators dropped down the shaft, and a fireman, scorched and blackened, stumbled out. "It can't be done!" he gasped, as his comrades caught his reeling figure. "You could shoot the car thru, but any man would be dead before it reached the top floor." Even in his pain the man cast a look of pity toward Mayfield, who crouched, white and trembling, against the wall. Tom sprang into the car. "Stop that man — it's certain death!" the fire chief shouted, but Tom had already thrown the lever, and the car shot upward. Above, the shaft was filled with leaping flame at the level of the fourth floor, but al- most before he had time to realize its fury, the car was in its midst. For an instant his brain reeled as his skin cracked in the fierce heat. Then Tom was conscious that the car was stand- ing still — was thru the flames and had been stopped by the automatic brakes at the top floor. Thru the stifling smoke he stumbled to the door of Mayfield 's office, realizing that but seconds remained before the flames would burn thru the floor of the ele- vator car and cut off the only retreat. The door gave way before his lunge, and he stumbled over a form that had fallen to the floor. With the swiftness of desperation he rolled Jane in the heavy rug, caught her up and stag- gered back into the corridor. He seemed lost in a world of swirling smoke thru which for years he had gasped and fought, and consciousness was fast slipping away. "I must ! I must!" some other voice seemed to be whispering, and at last he stumbled against the hot grating of the elevator shaft, then into the car. With the last flicker of light in his mind, he pulled the lever over, and the car dropped downward thru the red flames. Two weeks later Tom was dis- charged from the hospital, quite re- covered from the effects of the fire, except for a shortage of hair and eye- brows. On the sidewalk he paused uncertainly, then with sudden deter- mination walked rapidly away. On the shaded porch of her home he found Jane, and to him her pale face, into which the color was just be- ginning to return, seemed even fairer than when he had seen it aglow with rioting health. Without a word, he stood before her. Slowly, yearningly, she held out her arms, while a tender smile came to her lips. Indian Brothers (Biograph) By LOUIS REEVES Green the heaving breast of na- ture, where the hills rose in bil- lows, with occasional sharp crests, to the far-distant, haze-soft- ened divide that stood sharply defined against the sky's unbroken blue. Down in the valley, where the willows clustered and the cottonwoods trem- bled, there was a shimmer of flowing water, coolness and shade. Cradled in soft embrace between the two, Lone Pine, last great chieftain of his tribe, was in conference with his successor and only brother, known as The Whirlwind. Sick to death with thoughts that came like a blight upon his unfettered spirit, the venerable chief was yielding slowly, yet not fal- tering, to the inevitable. Earth had given him birth, had nourished him and had claimed his service ; to earth he would return. To this fate he was reconciled, but he complained to Whirlwind : "I sorrow for my people. We be- long to the woods and the hills. By blood and birth we are theirs and they are ours, but there are few of us left to-day, and there will be fewer as we fall like red leaves before the white blast. How can we live? Gone the brown buffaloes from the plains, the yellow antelope from the hills, the LONE PINE ILL, HIS BROTHER STARTS ON A HUNTING TRIP ALONE WHIRLWIND CONSULTS THE SNAKE WOMAN broad-winged eagle from the skies. Those of us who still stand erect must soon take a last look at the great coun- try we have lost, or cringe in shame like dogs and renegades. ' ' Whirlwind made no reply, but went to Meda, the snake woman, who laughed foolishly and said wise things. "Lone Pine's stomach is crying for food," she sneered. "We sold what we had and spent what we got; now we want more in the same easy way. Go to the shadows of the forest, to the hush of the woods, and hunt as our fathers did for what is needed." . Whirlwind cast aside his blanket of sorrow like the strong and whole man that he was and set forth new-souled, his blood once more warmed by his youth's dawn, but none followed him. The tribe horses, herded carelessly by boys, wandered almost at will over the bordering hills and vales; white- haired old men drew their robes as closely about them as if it was win- ter and chattered ceaselessly; young braves painted their faces and plaited their hair listlessly, while a few of 26 TEE MOTION PICTURE ST0R1 MAGAZINE their number stood motionless, senti- nels from habit, watching whatever moved in the distance. The women were busy tanning hides, drying meat and pounding pemmican, while young girls wandered down to where the wil- lows bent to the stream to watch the silken stems sway in the rippling waters. Lone Pine was left to his bitter thoughts. Like a gray rock of silence and soli- tude, the great chief had breasted the white storm o 'erspreading the land, until he realized in dumb anguish that many of his own people had sunk to the degradation of renouncing kin- dred to beg at the doors where they had sold their birthright. Stone by stone cities rose on plain and hill, bound together by steel strands of traffic and intercommunication, un- til the mighty empire stretching from ocean to ocean had become an entang- ling network from which there was no escape for the nobler spirits of his race. It was of no avail to resist the cloud of snowflakes that came falling by millions to cover the land and its decaying red leaves, but there was a hate in his heart for the sneaking thieves and outcasts of his tribe, who had traded their very souls to the same unscrupulous element among the white invaders. His sad forecast of tribal elimination was embittered by the realization of treacherous be- trayal. Such was Lone Pine 's mood when a drink-crazed outcast, who had crept into camp, was brought before him, begging food and shelter. The old chief listened in grim silence to the artful pleadings of the prodigal and nodded assent when he begged to be taken in as one of the tribe. "We have little food to spare," said the chief, "but always some to share. Go sit with the women." The chief scornfully offered the renegade a squaw's dress. The' man recoiled with an expres- sion of deadly hate in his face and ran away, followed by the jeers of the braves. He fled so precipitately that they thought he had gone for good, LONE PINE SCORNFULLY OFFERS THE RENEGADE A SQUAW 's DRESS but he circled and crawled back as soon as they left sick Lone Pine to his sad meditations. Inch by inch the renegade wormed his way until within reach of Lone Pine, then he lifted the old chief's left arm and stabbed him to the heart. Lone Pine fell back with a soft sigh of relief, not knowing who had killed him. There he was found when pur- suit of the murderer seemed out of the question, but there was a rush to don war-clothes and head-dress, to secure weapons and mount horses, to send scouts afoot in every trail lead- ing into the valleys or over the hills. There was no methodical attempt to find the renegade, the death of Lone Pine and the absence of Whirlwind leaving no one in command. It was Meda, the snake woman, who first thought of drawing the absent brother's attention. A smoke fire was built by the squaws where it could be THUS THEY SIGNAL TO LONE PINE S BROTHER INDIAN BROTHERS 27 THE RENEGADE IN FLIGHT seen from a far sweep of hills, and the women smothered it at intervals with a blanket, releasing it suddenly in sharp columns, according to a simple code which summoned stragglers or hunting parties in a moment of ex- treme peril. On a hill to the west of the lodge Whirlwind was stalking game when his eyes fell upon the figure of the outcast running in and out of a stream down in the valley, and the chief's brother understood. The rene- gade was coming from the direction of the lodge and was trying to balk pur- suit ; therefore there must be pursuers from that direction. Where were they ? Whirlwind gathered some fag- ots and mounted to the top of the hill. Turning his eyes toward the camp, he saw the signal. He lighted a fire and answered. Presently a party of his braves came up, acclaiming him chief and relating the manner of Lone Pine's tragic death. Whirlwind re- ceived the news with impassive coun- tenance, stood silent for some mo- ments, then commanded the braves to return. "Bury Lone Pine," he instructed. "I will bring something to plant at the foot of his grave that his spirit may be vexed no more. He was more to me than chief. His blanket wrapped me in kindness and shielded me from the winds when I was a boy. WHIRLWIND KINDLES A FIRE IN ANSWER TO THE SIGNAL THE RENEGADE IS MORE CRAFTY IN MURDER THAN IN THEFT His strong hand held my weak one whenever I fell. Kindness such as his I have never known. Lone Pine was a chief. Lone Pine was a brave. Lone Pine was a friend. Lone Pine was a brother. No one of us is more." The braves returned to their sad duty, while Whirlwind set his face to the east and pursued the outcast alone. Ever active and in constant train- ing, Whirlwind was bound to come up with the fugitive if the chase contin- ued on foot, for he followed like a dog trailing a scent, and there was a friendly lodge up the stream which the renegade would have to skirt, but the man he was following was cun- ning, and he knew that he must take to horse to escape. He proved to be more crafty in murder than in theft, for he was caught in the act of trying to cut out one of the animals in the 28 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE WHIRLWIND IN PURSUIT OF THE RENEGADE herd and was captured by a small band. When Whirlwind came up, the man was as safe from his vengeance as if he had been a thousand miles away. He had been taken as a horse thief and was the property of his cap- tors. Whirlwind pleaded hard for possession of the prisoner, going to the length of claiming him as a mem- ber of his own tribe. He coaxed with bribes and teased with taunts, using all the arts of persuasion at his com- mand, but the chief captor would not relinquish his prey. Other induce- ments failing, Whirlwind threw aside all weapons but his knife and offered to fight a duel for what he so earnestly desired. The light of battle shone in the eyes of the chief captor, and his knife flashed forth in glad defiance. The others, including the prisoner, looked on with all the interest shown by Romans in gladiatorial contests, while brave faced brave in what might prove to be deadly conflict. They threatened and they enticed; they lunged without compassion and defended without terror ; they fought with equal skill and courage until the hand of one ran crimson and he dropped his weapon with a woebegone expression. Whirlwind had won ! The renegade was at first profuse in his cringing thanks and protesta- tions of false friendship, but quivered with fear when Whirlwind took up his weapons and bade him march toward the lodge where Lone Pine had met ignominious death. The last splendors of day had died over the mountains, and the first stars were peeping forth when Whirlwind WHIRLWIND PLEADS FOR POSSESSION OF THE PRISONER "YOU SHALL NOT DIE LIKE that!" CRIED WHIRLWIND reached the end of his hard journey. He brought his captive to a rough tomb of boughs, on which lay the mor- tal remains of great Lone Pine. One glance at the face of his victim made the murderer cower, and he shud- dered from head to foot when the squaws began a death chant. Whirl- wind watched him in stoical silence for a while, then drew his attention to the last light of the sun. "You shall not die like the sun," he whispered, "for it rises again and sheds new light on us all. You will go down into the valley of the shadow ; you will climb the peak ; you will plunge into the ravine. You will fall until you are rent in pieces, and INDIAN BROTHERS 29 WHIRLWIND VICTORIOUS, BUT THE RENEGADE 's JOY IS SHORT-LIVED all that is left of you shall be scattered to the winds. The wolves shall pick your bones like those of a dog. Die, renegade !" Absorbed and tormented until he had consummated his vengeance, Whirlwind became suddenly elevated and transfigured. The others depart- ed one by one, but he stood there with outstretched arms, his robust frame subject to wondrous tension, appeal- ing to the spirits of the air and the stars to bear his brother's spirit gen- tly away to where it should be vexed no more. There he stood as the night gath- ered, his powerful nerves supporting the weight of a valorous soul, a crea- ture of vain ideals, of aspirations un- realized, of painful struggle without adequate victory — a man. WHIRLWIND BECOMES SUDDENLY ELE- VATED AND TRANSFIGURED 0 m Shadows, All By PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE From what sphere Float these phantoms flickering here From what mystic circle cast In the dim, Ionian past ? Many voices make reply, But they only rise to die Down the midnight mystery, While earth's mocking voices call, Shadows, shadows, shadows, all ! Shadows, all ! From the birth robe to the pall, In this travesty of life, Hollow calm and fruitless strife, Whatsoe'er the actors seem, They are posturing in a dream ; Fates may rise and fates may fall, Shadows are they, shadows all ! m m THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE 31 SCENES FROM "THE QUEST OF GOLD" (VITAGRAPH) 32 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE SCENES FROM "THE QUEST OP GOLD" (VITAGRAPH) In the Right of Way (Melies) By EDWIN M. LA ROCHE Spring had opened early in all the grassy country of the Guada- lupe. The upland prairie, un- soiled by the touch of man, unfolded its broad reaches of lush pasture, swelling gently to the ranges of vision. Scattered here and there, like driftwood on the sea, patches of cul- tivated grain and fruit marked the inroad of the settler ; fields of waving wheat and oats, pale green young corn; slender orchards of peaches, plums and figs. On the banks of the clear flowing Cibolo young vineyards, too, were putting out their first shoots in the mellow air. The virgin coun- try, gently harnessed to the yoke of man, was giving up its first-born to the call of the pioneer. On the trail from San Antonio to Fort Inge, where the outskirts of the town were dotted feebly on the vega, a wagon train was forming for its creaking passage across the prairie. It comprised some forty vehicles in all, a motley caravan. In the van a few weather-worn Government service wagons and a string of seasoned mus- tangs bore witness of an official escort. Then followed some dingy " schoo- ners " of cattle and sheep traders, seeking a golden harvest on the Paci- fic Coast. The rear was made up of colonizers, some twenty wagons, white- topped, gayly painted, teeming with household litter and farm gear. One or two, curiously boxed and top- heavy, were built at the thriving Ger- man settlement of New Braunfels, nearby. Drawn up apart from the train was a mud-crusted, weary wagon, with its sheet yellowed and dim from the buf- fets of the plains, showing plainly that it was an old traveler, tarrying its ceaseless wheels by force of cir- cumstance. In fact, John and Mary Walsh had been in San Antonio but a few days, awaiting the make-up of the emigrant train with its endless delays. They had left forever the heavy timber of Leon county a fortnight ago, and 'had made the first welcome stage of the long journey westward. Many pulling things had broken the home ties and driven Walsh to do it. He was a left-over from father to son of the old type of hunter and trapper, and held the encroaching, stolid farm- ers and planters in silent contempt. First the railroads, then the timber- cutters and settlers and finally the failing game had driven him from his covert. The rich land of the grazers that he had passed thru, open to all, held for him only an easy passage, and now he had come to the confines of civilization and paused on the edge of the unknown. The Germans, Alsatians, French and Louisianians in the train, seduced by the whisperings of Mexican drift- ers in Bexar and Guadalupe, were making for the fabulous fruit valley of El Paso, alluvial, teeming with an- cient Spanish gardens. Walsh, too, had heard of mountains covered with timber and unsought game and had silently joined them, to draw off as quietly when his road differed from theirs. At last the wished-for day arrived. The argosy wagons were hitched and sheeted and the stock driven in from the plains. Preceded by a grizzled scout and a few troopers, the long, slow chain climbed and dropped with the rolling slopes, swelling away from the town of dazzling white and the brown squat missions along the wind- ing river. And now the sentinels of the silent country posted the unsettled land. Mesquite and cactus lined the trail and stood thorny duty across the un- broken plains. For uncounted days and still nights they wound snake- 33 34 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE like thru the sterile land; an oc- casional swift-flowing stream, the* glimpse of far-distant majestic moun- tains, the rest an unbroken sea of impenetrable, stunted chaparral. Of their suffering and losses in the deserts of Pecos and Presidio we can- not stop to take the toll. There is an old Spanish saying that the three fates of the treeless plain — thirst, heat and hunger — must needs collect their dues. Somewhat less in numbers, parched brown, and thin, with a following of scraggy stock, they came out upon the valley land of the Grande del Norte. Beholding its canopy of leafy cotton- wood and tornillo, and its carpet of wild grasses, they grew glad and knew that the grim passage was draw- ing to a close. As they neared Ysleta, the land of promise redeemed itself on every side. Fat cattle grazed knee deep in the rank pastures. Osage orange blos- somed and hedged the orchards of pear, damson and apple. Here and there, guarded by walls of mesquite and cat's-claw, ancient, luscious vine- yards were tended by the seventh gen- eration of vine-dressers, as their fore- bears had tended them in the sunny vales of Spain. Where the Guadalupe Pass crosses the river, Walsh and Mary bid the set- tlers good-bye and wished them a fruitful planting; then, turning northward, they set their faces toward the mountains, the home of the whis- pering pines and of the unsought antelope. In a narrow mountain valley, near the edge of an arroyo, and sheltered by towering timber, Walsh built his shack of native woods. The chimney he fashioned from a yellowish, flat outcropping of stone in the slender soil, and the flooring and sheathing he hewed and broad-axed from the shel- tering evergreen. It was a rough, sub- stantial home, and when the slender furniture was installed, their new life really began. Summer passed away in their cool fastness, and when autumn came, the deer began to frequent the woods and to seek the forest streams. It was then that Walsh was up before day- light and off to the runways, . exult- ing in his mastery of the solitude. At the foot of streams he noticed buffalo wallows, too, and he relished the first herd that would come in from the plains. One day, at twilight, returning with a doe across his shoulders, he was astonished to hear a faint shot far up the arroyo. With the exception of Mary's gentle voice, it was the first manifestation of mankind he had heard in his silent kingdom. No In- dian reservation was nearer than the Brazos, that of the pacified Co- manches, and no hostile tribes ever crossed the mountains. Walsh swayed homeward with his burden, in great perplexity from the warning shot. He dropped the doe just outside the clearing, and, bent double, with Winchester cocked and trailing, he worked noiselessly thru the forest. Coming to the brink of the arroyo, he crawled to the edge and conned its narrow horizon with a hunter's all-seeing glance. Nothing disturbing met his gaze. The confines of the gully were deserted. He repeated this operation several times, each time commanding a new reach of the arroyo. On his fourth survey, his search was rewarded; the snapped branches and torn leaves of a screw-bean showed him where some heavy object had stood on the edge of the gully and grasped the delicate foliage. In a flash he saw what had hap- pened. Some one or something had unknowingly reached the edge of the treacherous arroyo and had toppled off, with an unavailing clutch at the bush in descending. Walsh got up quickly and, holding fast to the heavy-rooted bush, peered down into the arroyo. Bits of torn grass and loosened gravel on its al- most sheer side seemed to prove his suspicions, and far below its shadowy bed baffled his straining vision. Whoever had gone over this mur- derous crack deserved the priest more than him, and Walsh turned back, / IN TEE BIGHT OF WAY 35 WALSH LEAVING HOME with the hunter's instinct trans- formed to pity and a lump in his throat at such an unfair chance for life that some one must have had. Making a long detour, he came out upon the gully's brink at a place where the wall sloped down at a less sharp angle, and with many hazard- ous toe-holds and prone-sliding, he accomplished its descent. Walsh ran panting back to the spot under the broken screw-bean, and his eyes fast- ened on a lump of a man fallen face upward in the bed of the arroyo. He was white, young and dressed in the hunting clothes of a city man. One arm lay curiously bent under his body, and "Walsh lost no time in lift- ing the apparently lifeless man and in ordering his twisted arm. In his rush over the gravel, the face had been deeply scarred, and blood welled from an ugly wound on his forehead. The hunter stanched the bloody flow with knowing fingers and a strip from his woolen shirt. Then, lifting his limp burden, he carried him lightly down the gloomy reaches of the gully. A mile or two to the south, the arroyo ended in an arm of his valley, and to this point Walsh carried the hapless hunter ere he laid him down. At this egress he knew of a pool of mountain water, and there, with rough but kindly hands, he washed the grit and caked blood from the man's face, and waited for the faint heart-beats to gather strength or to cease. At length the eyelids in the ruined face fluttered faintly, and Walsh knew that life was pausing in its flight — for a time, at least. Again picking up his burden, and hooking the uninjured arm around his neck, by painful stages he at last made the clearing. Mary met them at the opened door, and together they carried him to the only bed, a relic from home, and eased his weight into the soft feathers. Again the imperceptible fluttering of the eyelids and then a faint intake of breath. Life had folded its wings, unwilling to soar away. Walsh stood up, and, reaching high, stretched the taut muscles of his ach- ing back. He felt confidently that, with Mary's backing, they could coax back health to the battered intruder. Mary had won stricken men who had been in worse passes than this, and Walsh exulted in her tenderness that NURSING THE WOUNDED MAN 36 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE knew no walls of prejudice or fear. He went out, and returning with an armful of pine boughs, heaped them in a corner and threw himself upon them in a heavy, untroubled sleep. The gray day dawned, and with it consciousness to the stranger, who opened his eyes wide and whispered for water. Mary, sleepless, watching for a first symptom, held a cool pitch- er to his lips, and the deep drink seemed to quench his inward fires. During the day, with nimble fingers, she splinted and bandaged his useless arm, and at nightfall she allowed him a bowl of delicious gruel, altho she afterward admitted it was mainly water. That night he told them that his name was Burton, that he was a civil engineer, but spent most of his time hunting. He had started out from El Paso with an Indian guide, a Lipanos, but had discharged him for drinking, down by the Guadalupe Pass. Pushing into the mountains alone, he had found traces of deer, and had drawn a bead on a fine buck just as he hurtled into Walsh's arroyo. Day followed day in the changeless forest, and Burton, propped up out of doors, watched Walsh jerk his win- ter's supply of venison, or else, alone, would speculate on Walsh's return, laden with a deer or empty-handed. He felt the life blood ebbing back thru his frame, and could even make scarecrow gestures with his bandaged arm. It was in December, when the cool, balsamic breezes bathed his forehead like an anointed bandage, that Bur- ton decided to leave. Walsh had been away three days, after the early geese on the river, and on returning with a fine string of gray fowl, he found his guest prepared to bid him good-bye. The mountaineer had brought back a young Mescaleros pack-carrier with him, and it was decided that Burton, who was none too strong, should leave on the following day under the In- dian's guidance. Mary spent a busy evening prepar- ing for Burton's departure. She packed an old carpet bag with jerked venison, a pair of roast geese and a mess of pone cakes. And long after Burton had turned in, she was fuss- ing around the roaring wood stove with " so 'thin' myster'ous," that he had not been permitted to see. A gray light filtered thru the chinks of the shack's rough sides, and Burton arose and walked out into the sweet air of early morning. His eyes slowly covered the sweep of the rest- ful valley, evergreen, primeval. A pinkish light tinged the firs on the eastern slope and imperceptibly crept down into the valley. He drew a deep, cool breath and felt as if the delicate glow was bathing his dusty soul. The young Mescaleros, too, had risen, and, silently facing the east, seemed to invoke the sundawn. As the edge of the winter disk peeped over the mountains, Burton turned to find Walsh and Mary standing on the threshold of their shack. Their far- seeing look and simple unity made them a part of the majestic prelude, and had they not turned toward him smiling, he would have liked to have gone away as from a finished pic- ture. Walsh's big hand closed on his like an otter trap, and, as he freed his, Mary held out both of hers to him. Burton had taken a few homeward steps, when he heard Mary calling, and turning, he saw her running toward him with a packet. "I almos' forgot it," she panted, " an ' I know you set a powerful store by goodies." She thrust the labors of the night, a big raisin cake, into his hands and took his thanks with the conscious pride of a successful cook. As Burton grew smaller in the dis- tance, working down the valley with vigorous strides, the pride of the nurse, who has won a fight with death, shone in Mary's eyes. But this is a maternal instinct with the childless, who continue sweet, so perhaps she does not deserve too much credit. Countless winter suns have risen and set across the mountain valley, 7AT TEE RIGHT OF WAY 37 BURTON BIDDING THE WALSHES GOOD-BYE twenty fruit-bearing seasons have waxed and waned in the gardens of the Grande del Norte. Sheltered from storm and tornado, taming pest and drought, the settlers have prospered. The call has gone out to the stranger. Irrigation has broadened the fructes- cence of the valley. Towns have sprung up along the river banks. But, like an iron pot, which belies its sweet contents, the barrier of the mountains resisted further encroach- ment. To the north all was yet a bleak desert; the uncut firs covered the slopes like primordial hair on the body of man. 'But a change, nascent, upheaving, was coming over the land. The wood- en shutters and batten door of Walsh's shack were closed and fast- ened. Nailed to the door a tattered notice fluttered in the breeze to all who could read; "State of Texas, County of El Paso. Southwestern R. R., Plaintiff, vs. }■ Order. John Walsh, Defendant. "Sheriff of El Paso County : "You are hereby ordered to take pos- session of the property of John Walsh, hereinafter described, for the benefit of the Southwestern Railroad, Plaintiff in the above entitled cause." A day's journey to the north, a busy gang of men, like pestiferous ants, were running out chains and driving little painted stakes into the prairie. The great white sword of civilization was about to lunge into the mountains to touch the settle- ments on the river. Walsh had been gone several months, far to the northwestern Hue- cos, after the vanishing antelope. 38 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE Each succeeding winter the now griz- zled hunter had made a longer and more protracted trip from his cabin, to return with the opening of spring. Except for Nature's stamp, furrows and a gray beard, he was as straight- standing and far-seeing as in the days of Burton's sojourn in the time of the early settlers. One compelling thing turned his trail ever backward to the closed and weather-worn shack. It was Mary's grave. She had passed away peace- fully some ten years back, like a mountain flower that had bloomed for him alone, and he had buried her alone in the narrow valley. He took the last few steps that brought him to the deserted shack, and the stained order caught his eye. Slowly he took it down, and in the gathering dusk spelled out the few menacing words. So they were com- ing after him, after all these years! He could listen unwillingly to the panting mechanism climbing the grades into his virgin valley, and its drawn-out, derisive shriek as it passed thru. The hounded man dropped the paper on his doorstep and turned off into the forest. The first light of morning found him, gun in hand, posted on a little rise of cleared ground which com- manded the sweep of the valley to the north. The hunter 's instinct told him that from there he would catch a first glimpse of his enemy. He had not long to wait. The sun had barely silvered the tops of the pines, when he heard the sharp sounds of shod hoofs striking hard against stones, and a mounted man climbed slowly into the head of the valley. The blue-shirted horseman dis- mounted and taking a curious instru- ment, like an enormous open-faced watch, from his saddlebag, fastened it cautiously to a nearby tree. Walsh could see its glass glistening in the young light. It seemed to be calling out ' ' Time for you to quit ! ' ' and an uncontrollable longing came over him to draw a bead and shatter the menacing aneroid. The engineer turned and rode out of the valley. This miniature inva- sion was but the advance guard of a real one. Much hallooing and shout- ing, with the creak of heavy wagon wheels, proclaimed the coming of the outfit. Three ponderous wagons, piled high with duffel, worked into the flat of the valley and, as if by magic, a little tent city began springing up. A sheet-iron stove was set up, and resinous smoke floated along the sky- line. Walsh watched the pitching of the camp with a sinking heart. As the instruments were lifted down and the heavy transit set up and adjusted in his direction, it seemed like a menac- ing rifle,, beyond his ken of range or mechanism. A broad-shouldered man poised himself near the transit and deftly threw out a long length of slender, flexible chain. Two others, carrying a bundle of stakes, walked along its length, looking for kinks. Coming to its end, one waved his hand, and, seizing the seeming fragile thing, pulled it taut with straining muscles and stiffened back. With much shout- ing and waving from the transit man, the first length was " lined in" and a first stake driven. All thru the long morning this process was repeated, the line of stakes gradually working up the val- ley, and the insect men taking a huge delight in their work. Gradually it dawned upon Walsh that the merciless line was making straight as an arrow for his clearing. It might even bring the steel rails and moving havoc within a. few feet of his shack. As he thought of his coming banishment and the impending dese- cration of Mary's home, the latent savage in the man swelled with a rush of blind fury. Shouldering his antiquated Win- chester, he swung off into the for- est; anything to get away from the sight and sounds of man. The work of the location crew went on thru the valley with taunting regu- larity. The chain, that silent serpent of advancement, had crept to a spot IN THE RIGHT OF WAY 39 WALSH PREPARING FOR THE DEFENSE known by engineers as the ' ' hub. ' ' It was almost on the gentle lift of ground leading to Walsh's clearing. Just here a low rustic fence made a little enclosure. Within it a simple board seat, and a headstone made from a stake and crossed board, was all that indicated Mary's resting place. It was a reservation such as a busy man might pass by many times and not notice its significance, but to Walsh it was the sacred bourne of his wife's life and the one tie that held him in the valley. The chief engineer paused in front of it hurriedly and signed to one of the axmen to demolish the slender pal- ing. With a few strokes the encum- brance came down, and the chain- men started the second run across the little plot. They were driving a painted stake into the thin soil of the enclosure, when Walsh appeared, moving swift- ly across the clearing. His eyes were fixed and staring like a maniac's, and he gripped the barrel of his rifle with tense fingers. The location crew, scattered about the clearing, paused in their ant-like activity at sight of the grim appari- tion and awaited his oncoming. The mountaineer did not hesitate. With swift, still strides he approached to within a few paces of the chainmen and with an abrupt motion brought his rifle to his shoulder and covered the now thoroly frightened men. "Keep off!" he shouted, hoarsely. ' ' The next fool thet drives a stake on my property I '11 drop in his tracks ! ' ' There was nothing to do but go. The chief engineer had climbed the slope to search for possible pockets, and the weapons were back in camp. With some show of dignity, they picked up their tools and belongings and retreated out of the clearing. Walsh reached the former enclosure and jolted the surveyor's stake loose 40 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE with his rifle butt. Pulling it from the ground, he hurled it after the dis- appearing crew. He knew that he had not seen the end of them, and that the first tame conclusion was but the comic prelude to a struggle. All that afternoon he waited, with cocked rifle slung across his knees, be- hind the chink of his cabin door, but no one further trespassed on his clear- ing. The continual shouting, the crashing thru the woods and the stake-driving had ceased, and the for- mer stillness reigned in the ever- greens. Walsh did not know what to make of the absolute cessation of hostility, but if there was an attack preparing he was not going to be caught unpre- pared. What had actually happened was this. During the morning a messen- ger had arrived at the camp with a bag of letters for the chief. He had glanced hurriedly thru them until one, postmarked "Ysleta," held his glance. Its terse contents ran thus : "Mr. John Graham, in charge of location party, Southwestern R. R. : "Dear Sir — Push work on Lariat Branch as hard as possible. Expect to be out to examine work myself soon. "Burton, "President." Graham was by nature a driver, and he had pushed his crew across the prairie at the speed-limit consistent with accuracy. He stared at the let- ter in moody silence. Did Burton ex- pect him to take the mountains in a flying leap and land in the bottoms without a curve or gradient? He spent the rest of the morning in ill-concealed wrath. When a chain- man climbed the western wall of the valley and found him, field glasses in hand, sweeping the southward outlet, he was prepared for trouble of some kind. Trouble regularly hangs around a location camp. On hearing the recital of Walsh's attack and the retreat of his men, his pent-up wrath uncorked and he literally swore his way down the slopes and into the office tent. That afternoon a teamster was sent post haste on the trail that joins the road to Ysleta with the following mes- sage: "Sheriff of El Paso County : "Try to arrive to-morrow with posse. Armed resistance to location work of Southwestern R. R. "Graham. "Chief of Location." Toward sundown of the following day, when the hard-riding horsemen arrived at his camp, he knew that the urgent message had struck home. It was too late, however, for the arm of the law to take action that day, and he invited the weary sheriff into his tent to slick up and talk over the situation. The second morning after the rout of the chainmen dawned sharp and clear, and the usual noisy activity started in the cook's tent. That popu- lar gentleman of color had a dozen extra men to feed, and the four-holed stove groaned under the weight of ex- tra logs and pots. It had been de- cided that the attack should be made by two parties, the engineer and his crew surrounding the rear of the house and clearing and the sheriff's men making a direct attack in front. It was necessary to completely sur- round the old woodsman, or else, in case of escape, he would attack them from unknown angles. Breakfast over, the two groups were formed and, taking separate ways, a devious march started toward Walsh's cabin. The sheriff's posse arrived at the edge of the clearing first and, taking cover, awaited the prearranged signal shot from the engineer's crew. On first sight the shack seemed en- tirely deserted. The shutters were drawn, the door fastened, and no smoke came from the chimney. There were two evidences of habitation, however, one of them hostile. Faint gleams of candlelight strayed thru several chinks, and a hole large enough to contain a rifle barrel had been cut thru the inhospitable door. A piece of dirty paper fluttered IN THE RIGHT OF WAY 41 from a tree trunk, and the sheriff dodged gingerly across to see what it meant. He read and digested a few printed characters as follows : "Warnin — anibody coamin in range of John Walsh's rifle will be shot without notis." Without pondering on the spelling or the contradiction of the message, the sheriff glanced about to see if the range was possible, and then retreated to a better cover. Walsh's orthogra- phy might not be official in the county, but his shooting was. A shot rang out from the rear of the building, and the sheriff's men im- mediately opened up a sharp fire. They were armed with repeating Springfields of approved model, and were told to concentrate their fire on the door and windows. As a re- sult, after a few minutes ' firing, these closed apertures were a mass of splint- ers, having been punctured like sieves. The old fighter had evidently been cowed and driven to cover. During a lull in the firing, an ex- plosion of the old Winchester sound- ed, and a tiny patch of smoke lifted from an upper corner of the shack. A deputy in the posse gave a sharp cry and dropped behind his covering tree with a winged arm. John Walsh had finally given notice ! The posse covered the offensive cor- ner of the shack, and almost knocked it down with a steady shower of lead. Without warning, the concealed Win- chester spoke again — this time from the lower opposite corner — and a sheriff's man dropped with a shat- tered leg. The sheriff cursed, as the most important functionary in the county is entitled to, cursed loud, deep and with endless variety. "Break cover, you bunch of lop- eared mavericks !" he bellowed, "and rake the cursed shack from every direction under the rotten sun ! ' ' The posse crawled back into thick- er timber and worked back to the clearing, so as to surround it on three sides. Again the firing started, this time a cross-fire, dangerous alike to besieg- WALSH ORDERS THE SHERIFF FROM HIS SHACK 42 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE ers and besieged. A dismal howl came from the circle of fire, and the sheriff clapped a brown hand over its fellow, now maimed and bleeding. It looked as if the old cloth-covered bul- lets would pick them off one by one. The Springfields sang mercilessly, and the leaden insects fairly ate holes in the grim cabin. A dull thud, as if a heavy piece of furniture had fallen, came from the building, and the de- pleted posse held fire to pick up its meaning. ' l The old coyote 's winged ! ' ' the ex- ultant sheriff shouted, ' ' and has fallen from the rafters. Beat in the door, boys, and drag the singed painter out!" A rush was made for the shack, and this time the unerring Winchester was silent. With heavy butt strokes the door was dashed open, and the crowd tumbled headlong in. The old woodsman was lying on his side by an overturned table and was feebly try- ing to level his weapon. The sheriff wrenched it from him with his whole hand, and beckoned a pair of deputies to lift the prostrate man. With a grip under either armpit, he was raised, and half dragged, half carried, from the wrecked building. Then the posse and surveying crew, joining forces, wreaked their spite on the hapless furniture. Chairs, tables and cupboards were carried out of THE RAILROAD PRESIDENT APPEARS IN THE RIGHT OF WAY 43 doors and axed to splinters by the willing workers. Several brought pine brush and heaped a pile against the captured place, ready to fire it when the wrecking was completed. "Walsh, with a tiny hole thru his shoulder, was held up, swaying, and watched with an inscrutable face. Just then a middle-aged, slim man, in spick Eastern clothes, walked rap- idly out into the clearing and stared for a moment with slack jaw at the battered shack. The group, with the limp woodsman in their midst, next fascinated him equally, and then with a few leaps he fronted them. "Don't drop that man!" he shout- ed authoritatively, "and don't move another thing from his shack." "Walsh," he continued, "don't you know me? I'm Burton, your old ar- royo leaper, back to see how you and Mary are getting on." "Walsh trembled violently, and his gray eyes seemed to bore thru Burton with their searching gaze. "I reckon it air you," he said, al- most reluctantly, and hesitated as if he could not fit the mixing events together. At a sign from Burton, the old man was placed sitting on the doorstep, and the man of affairs placed a sup- porting arm across his back. "With a sharp gesture, he bade the rest' with- draw. And now, Walsh, making sense of the queer things, with sundry mut- terings, told him the story of his fight for the remnants of his home. When he had finished, Burton pat- ted his back gently, in silent sym- pathy, and turning toward him, asked him where Mary was. The wounded mountaineer did not answer, but clutching the door frame, drew himself slowly to his feet. "Walk with me out yonder," he drawled finally, "and I'll show you where Mary 's been keepin ' for a right long spell — if the d railroaders haven't frightened her away!" he added, as they slowly walked to where the last stake had been driven. Burton looked keenly at the splin- tered fence, the pulled-up, numbered stake and the little crossed board in BURTON MAKES REPARATION the former enclosure, and the story told itself without further words. "Walsh," he said quietly, "you love the old home, don't you? and I needn't ask you any reasons why." He thought for a moment intently and gave a low shout, which was an- swered in kind by Graham from the edge of the clearing. "Mr. Graham," he said, when the chief had approached, "let me look over your field notes, please; I may alter them a trifle. ' ' He studied them for a moment and, looking up, said sharply: "You will destroy these back to the second hub, and make a new location, where a cross valley meets this one some two miles to the east. ' ' Graham stared at him as if he was beyond comprehension. Then, as the president's eyes flashed, he made an expressive gesture, which seemed to say, "Yours be the cost," and ripped out the offending pages. Burton gripped them, and with an impulsive gesture pressed them into Walsh's loose hand. "It isn't strictly legal, John," he laughed, "but this is about the best title I can give you on the moment. The Southwestern Railroad can't take your grades any better than I did when you first found me ! Do you remember?" SCENES FROM KALEM MOTION PICTURES OF THE LATE MEXICAN INSURRECTION (JUAREZ) I . — Custom-house Headquarters of Madero and Provisional Government. Place where President Taft and Diaz Shook Hands. 2. — Barricade over Commercial Street, Showing Effect of Machine-gun Fire. 3. — Barricade Across Streets. 4. — First Point of Attack by Insurrectionists. 5. — First Document Signed with a Seal of the Provisional Government under Madero. 6.— After the Battle. Last Stand of Navarro Before Surrender. The Hair Restorer and the Indians (Edison) By EMMETT CAMPBELL HALL Having finally connected with the chuck wagon that afternoon, we lay contentedly about the fire on the edge of the little plateau and lazily blinked at the stars begin- ning to twinkle overhead. A half- mile away the close-herded cattle loomed darkly. Happy Joe poured out his sentimental soul thru his mouth-organ. Dave Wheeler started to tell again his adventures in Chi- cago, and some one mustered energy enough to smother him with a saddle blanket. It was very peaceful. The Kid had wandered away to the little Indian camp over the ridge, with the reprehensible intention of beguiling from young Spotted Cow a certain bridle of braided rawhide. Suddenly the Kid rejoined us, his mouth and eyes round with excitement. "Say, what you reckon I saw over in old Lame Dog's tepee?" he de- manded. "Soap?" Texas Pete lazily sug- gested, and the bunch grinned appre- ciatively. "Scalps — women's scalps!" the Kid whispered, tensely. "Aw, rats!" Texas commented, unkindly. "If you think that's a joke " the Kid began hotly, but the Old Man interrupted, soothingly : "That's all right, Kid; I know old Lame Dog has got a bunch of scalps. Know when he took 'em. An' yet this here Texas maverick has, as the poet feller said, come tolerable close to tellin' the truth when he was a-jokin'. That's the only way Texas would come near tellin ' the truth — when he was a-jokin'," he added, quizzically. "Why, old Lame Dog wouldn't hurt a jack rabbit — he won't even scratch for fear of hurtin' a flea!" Texas retorted, disdaining to reply to the aspersion on his veracity. The Old Man shook his head sadly. " 'Pears like you shorthorns don't know nothin'," he sighed. "Honest, now, didn't youall never hear of the Bunion Massacre ? ' ' There was prompt denial. Happy Joe put his mouth-organ in his pocket, and all turned toward the Old Man, who finally coaxed the pipeful of wet plug into burning, and told the sad story of the passing of the Flake and Drake Dramatic Company. Shorn of the quaint turns of speech, and the soft drawl, of which imitation is impossible, and decked with certain flowers of fancy added by the present narrator, the tale ran thus : The Flake and Drake Dramatic Company was stranded. Two thou- sand miles from the cheerful lights of Broadway, it sat upon its trunks in the miserable little town of Yellow Sky, where no free lunch was attached to the bars. Grayson, the manager, was out scouting, and tho they had seen this inventive genius prove equal to some decidedly bad situations since they had foolishly put the Mississippi behind them, the present prospect offered little encouragement. "I wonder do we eat to-day?" the Leading Lady sighed, and thru force of habit dabbed at her nose with a bit of chamois, taken from a particu- larly flat purse. "And to think," sighed Mr. Regi- nald Wentworth Tracy, romantic leads, "that this time, one year ago, they were bein' turned away when I was playin' in Blackberry Crossing, Vermont ! " He sighed soulf ully and passed a handkerchief over the smooth expanse exposed when he removed his jaunty little hat. ' ' I dreamed last night, ' ' the Funny Man said reflectively, "I dreamed that I bit Tracy." ' ' Bit Reggy ? Whuffor ? " the Lead- ing Lady demanded. 45 46 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE "I thought he was a ham," the Funny Man explained. Mr. Reginald Wentworth Tracy ex- panded his chest a full inch, and was preparing to deliver a retort which should crush the Funny Man into the alkali dust, when Grayson appeared, driving a wagon. The perspiration streamed from his face, but in his eyes was the light of inspiration. "Folks," he announced cheerfully, "I got it!" "I thought it proper to say them," the Funny Man muttered, his eyes wandering significantly from Gray- son's flaming nose to a pocket which showed the unmistakable outlines of a flask. "We got in wrong in this sec- tion," Grayson continued, cheerfully. "These here yaps ain't educated up to paying to see a first-class dramatic production, an aggregation of stars of the first magnitude, with three car- loads of magnificent scenery, offering that wonderful and heart-touching drama, 'Bertha, the ' " "'Say, old man, you'll be getting that off in your sleep if you ain 't care- ful," the Leading Lady interrupted kindly. "Er, sure!" Grayson responded, absently. "What I was about to say was, that as long as these cow dry- nurses won't pay to see our show, we '11 have to give free shows. ' ' "Ain't he the kind-hearted thing !" the Soubrette giggled, but the others only stared and waited. "Medicine show," Grayson eluci- dated, cheerfully. "What!" thundered Mr. Eeginald Wentworth Tracy, with a look of anguish upon his classic face. ' ' Oh, cut it out, Reggy ! We really gotter eat some time," the Lead- ing Lady remarked impatiently. "What?s the scheme, Billy?" "This, ladies an' gen Temen, " Gray- son announced, suddenly whipping out the flask from his coat pocket, "this is the justly celebrated, fa- mous and never-failing Doctor Bun- ion's Hair Restorer! It has never failed " "What am it, Mister Grayson, dat no one eber wishes to get, but neber wishes to lose when he am got hit ? " the Funny Man demanded. Gripped by the force of ancient habit, Mr. Grayson bowed politely. "Let me understand you correctly, Mr. Wheaton. You ask, 'What is it that no one ever wishes to acquire, but which, having attained, no one ever desires to dispense with ? ' What is it, Mr. Wheaton, that no one de- sires to have, yet is not willing to part with?" "A bald head — hay-ha!" Mr. Wheaton explained, and in the ab- sence of a tambourine, brought a con- venient cigar-box down upon Mr. Tracy's crown with considerable energy. ' ' For the love of grease paint ! ' ' the Leading Lady sighed wearily. "If you try to work off that ancient one, we will be lynched, sure ! What you got in the dope, Bill? Don't believe it would be safe to try and work any red-ink-and- water game. ' ' Mr. Grayson appeared hurt. "This wonderful remedy, Miss Neviene, ' ' he said solemnly, ' ' contains — er — absolutely pure ingredients and twenty per cent, alcohol. It might be good for the hair, you know, ' ' he add- ed, with a cheerful grin. ' ' Come on. ' ' The Doctor Bunion Hair Restorer Company was soon in active operation and did what the dramatic offering had never done — drew a crowd. At the very first performance the tent was well filled, and the audience was willing to applaud, even tho their long and untrimmed locks argued a poor market for the restorer. In the very front row an Indian sat and with un- ruffled gravity watched the antics of the Funny Man, whose most success- ful stunt was to slip up behind the dignified Mr. Tracy and produce from him a well-simulated yell of agony by a sharp tug at his luxuriant locks. "Be careful or you will pull the thing off!" Mr. Tracy was forced to hiss after a particularly energetic tug. Certainly the restorer appeared to have worked wonders for the mem- bers of the company, for not since Samson's day had more abundant THE HAIR RESTORER AND THE INDIANS 47 HBb^ ts^ H£^ iB V^l ■"• ^^. y Hk pJ^Jt |jr 1 ^*^wBb Ml I^bH ^Sk* ~~ £ - 4P 4^.^J3i' Br W ^x* ^^^S '■^B ^^^. i 1 ft i MR ^ H 1 BW "SsS ' ! 1^^.' '^K- X ■1 B|^ | ^ ^M fil 1 1 blJj & J^-; SMELL IT, TASTE IT, TRY IT ! " HE URGED shocks and tresses decked human heads. Mr. Grayson uncorked a flask of the remedy and passed it out to the audience. "Smell it, gentlemen! Taste it! Try it ! ' ' he urged. ' ' Perfectly harm- less, yet guaranteed effective !" The Indian in the front row re- ceived the bottle gravely, sniffed, grunted, grasped the flask tightly, placed a quarter in Grayson's willing palm and stalked from the tent. Out- side, the red man grunted again, tipped the flask skyward, and allowed half the contents to flow down his appreciative throat. "Ugh! Medicine heap good fire- water!" he muttered, and gravely communicated the glad tidings to a group of tribesmen nearby. The In- dian agent was strict and clever; not even red ink, to say nothing of the more desirable "Pain Killer," had poor Lo been able to obtain for many moons. This was an opportunity not to be neglected, and yet, lest the watchful agent spoil it all, they must act with caution. They trooped into the tent. Lame Dog pointed admir- ingly to Mr. Tracy's tumbled locks, while the others gave grunts of ad- miration as the Leading Lady allowed her hair to fall in a rippling cascade which almost reached her knees. 1 ' Heap much fine hair ! Indian like fine hair, too ! Buy big medicine ! "Wah!" Lame Dog grunted, and fol- lowing his lead, each blanketed war- rior possessed himself of as many flasks as his supply of silver would purchase. "Say, what do you think of your Uncle Bill— what?" Grayson later de- manded, when the entire supply of restorer had been disposed of. He jingled a handful of silver. "Us for the next town with this game — yes? Right onto the wagon ! ' ' The Doctor Bunion Hair Restorer Company thereupon, and very cheer- 48 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE fully, shook the dust of Yellow Sky from its feet and took the road which would eventually bring them to Three Tanks, from whence the rails drew parallel lines even unto far-off Broad- way. But between Yellow Sky and Three Tanks there was space enough for many things to happen, and some things were already taking place. Just off the road lay the camp of Lame Dog and his people, and they were ' ' making medicine. ' ' Amid joy- ous whoopings, the bottles of Doctor Bunion's Hair Restorer circulated rapidly. It was certainly a glad oc- casion— until the supply of restorer ran out. At this depressing moment a cloud of dust appeared on the road, and the eyes of Lame Dog were still sharp, tho his legs were uncertain. He recognized those flowing locks. ' 'Wan ! More big medicine ! Heap much, we catch 'em wagon!" he shouted, and a moment later the camp seemed desolate, with not an Indian in sight. The wagon came bumpinj cheerfully on. Suddenly the horses stopped and reared, snorting with ter- ror as a painted form caught at their bridles. The Leading Lady shrieked and clung to the trembling Funny Man, as a whooping band of savages surrounded the wagon. ' ' Fire - water ! Heap much fire- water ! ' ' Lame Dog yelled and waved his knife fiercely. * ' Fire-water ! Fire- water!" the other repeated, leaping wildly into the air. "There ain't a drop, old man — honest there ain 't ! " Grayson shouted, as several of the warriors began to tumble the trunks from the wagon. His tone carried conviction, and Lame Dog gave an ear-splitting yell of dis- appointment and fury. "No fire-water, then heap much scalp!" he screamed, and twisted his hand into the Leading Lady's glori- ous tresses, while his knife whirled about her head. With a cry of terror, the Leading Lady sprang from him and sped down the road, her bald head bare to the world, while Lame Dog, too drunk to realize that the scalp had required no knife for its severance, gave yell after yell of vic- tory. Every other member of the company had suffered a fate similar to that of the Leading Lady, for every THE HAIR RESTORER IS APPLIED INTERNALLY THE HAIR RESTORER AND THE INDIANS 49 t "VJ! / tt a' \ \ •<> I Jr 3 mm •->) ' - j fl • ■ 'i f*^ • • ! \ T\\ ^^^3 mbMt ■ ..'■' J SCALPING MADE EASY member was in fact bald and the wearer of a wig. Fortunately, in each case the warrior had taken a firm grip of the victim 's hair only, and the victim had straightway departed, leaving the hair behind. When, bad- ly winded, the members of Doctor Bunion's Hair Restorer Company paused on an elevation a mile away and glanced fearfully over their shoulders, a column of smoke told the fate of their trunks and boxes. Sadly they took up their weary way toward Three Tanks, where they would find the parallel rails that led on and on, even to Broadway, two thousand miles away. The Leading Lady sobbed and tried to fashion a completery concealing cap from the handkerchief that Grayson had given her. The Funny Man, with a queerly tender smile on his lips, put his hand on her arm and detained her until the others had gone on a little way. " Don't you worry, kid/' he whis- pered. "Honest, you don't look any more funny to me than my jokes sound. And say, kiddie, how would you like for me to buy 'em for you hereafter?" "All right — if you'll get me a yel- low one ! ' ' she said, and hid her face against his shoulder. "What became of the bunch?" the Kid asked, when the Old Man had apparently concluded. ' ; Oh, they beat it back East, finally — all except Grayson. He took a lik- ing to the cattle country, an' stuck around. ' ' Texas was regarding him suspi- ciously. ' ' How you come to know all the de- tails and dialog of this here remark- able narrative?" he demanded. The Old Man smiled slowly ' and knocked the ashes from his pipe. "Oh, my shore-enough name ain't 1 Old Man, ' you know ; it 's Grayson, ' ' he said. "He is the greatest artist who has embodied in the sum of his works the greatest number of the greatest ideas." — Buskin, Modem Painters. SCENE FROM "CHERRY BLOSSOMS." (Vitagraph) Memories of the Past (Pathe Freres) By LOUIS REEVES HARRISON His eyes, as dark as a starless night, were those of a dreamer, who sought not to break the silence of the future, but who could sit alone with a flame barely penetrating the gloom and see far-off things in the lives he had lived of yore. David Waldemar could recall a song heard when a child and flash a picture on memory's screen of every detail asso- ciated with the singer. "I remember," he said to his nephew, Eolfe, "when, like you, I had barely crossed the threshold of man- hood. I was little concerned about what was to come and unimpressed by the vain struggle men were making to exceed their limitations. I recog- nized that I was a mere sum of those congenial and exterior influences which form the character of each indi- vidual, a creature of inherited ten- dencies and acquired habits tossed here and there by the lawless element of luck, a helpless entity with ances- tors and environment forechosen, merely a battle-ground of faithless in- stinct and impotent aspiration. ' ' "If we cannot help ourselves," Rolfe argued, "we cannot be blamed for what we do. ' ' "You are not alone in the world," Waldemar retorted. "You cannot set- tle your responsibility to yourself in accord with your own conscience be- cause you are helped by others from the cradle to the grave. You must make return of some kind for what you have received. You say that you love this young girl. The most pow- erful desire that ever thrilled the heart of man is the one you feel, but consider its selfishness. You hunger for the affection and companionship she has to bestow ; you long to possess all she has to give, and you are per- fectly aware that she will have to carry heavy burdens as a wife. What do you purpose doing in exchange? You have not shown ambition enough to support yourself, because you have been assured of happiness in the house I provided when you came here a penniless orphan. You ride your horse forth in the forests, accept Nature's generous response to your requirements, and come upon an ex- quisite product of God's divine agent. 'Will you be mine?' you say to her. She answers according to the habits of thousands who preceded her, and you think that settles it. You have an endowment of health and some train- ing, but so far you have contributed almost nothing to your own welfare. What could you do for those who must depend on you ? What of value have you ever done for others?" "You make me feel very small," said the nephew, "but it is hardly fair, when I have been molded by your hands, to reproach me for what I am." "I have prepared you to be a man," the uncle commanded. "Go out into the world and demonstrate that you are one." "No," Rolfe answered, "I would only prove that you have unfitted me, instead of preparing me, for a strug- gle against odds." There was a pause. The two men were facing each other in a luxurious- ly furnished library, the dreamer musing, his more material nephew watching with vague uneasiness. "What sort of a girl is she?" the elder asked. "Warm, sympathetic and gener- ous " the younger began. "Bad as that, eh?" Waldemar smiled. "With a heart big enough " Rolfe started. ' ' They all keep a guest room, ' ' the uncle cut in. "Rare lover, he who 51 52 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE appeals to more than half of woman's two-sided nature, hence the eternal triangle. ' ' ' ' That is not fair, ' ' the nephew re- torted hotly. ' ' You are not acquaint- ed with all womankind, yet you judge the entire sex by a few. Per- haps ■ ' ' "Perhaps?" Waldemar aided him. 1 1 You were bitterly disappointed in love," Eolfe blurted out, "and have been sore ever since." Waldemar paled, suppressed an angry rejoinder and turned away. "Forgive me," the nephew begged. "I have touched a tender spot, but the discovery has helped me to under- stand you. I have often wondered why a man like you, with everything to make you happy, should sit and brood for hours as if nursing a secret pain, and I have wished I could do something to ease your sorrow. I do wish I could." Waldemar 's eyes turned soft. He sat down, sighed gently and said: "I have doubtless had the appear- ance of brooding because I have loved to trace my soul 's wanderings back to the moment it was first bound to ser- vitude on earth. Always when night descends on my spirit's prison I hear the rushing wings of old memories; my eyes sweep the vast expanse of centuries and review the shades of a thousand deaths I have died. I have looked far back of all known periods to the fierce moment when, as a sav- age, I struggled to convert the gut- tural sounds coming from my throat into a medium of thought transfer- ence. So it happens. Others dream and forget, while I dream and re- member. ' ' "Come out into the sunshine," Rolfe begged with youthful enthusi- asm; "this is summer-time." "I love the season of slow fading flame, ' ' Waldemar sighed, ' ' when the fields are garnered, and dropping leaves cause dark branches to stretch heavenward in dumb appeal. I have nothing to live for but the bygone summers; they, only, remind me of — " He paused, smiled and contin- ued, " — of baffled ambition. Now let us consider your proposition. Has she money?" "None," Rolfe sighed, "and no prospects." "Therefore you come to me," his uncle observed ; ' ' not so much for my consent as for what it would imply. I will think the matter over and let you know very soon." "Thank you," Rolfe bowed. 1 ' Not yet, ' ' commanded Waldemar, indicating that he wished to be alone, "nor at all. Gratitude expressed in words suggests a delighted anticipa- tion of further favors." Rolfe saluted in silence and started to leave by a door on a line with the west wall near which his uncle was sitting. On the threshold the nephew glanced back and saw Waldemar gaz- ing intently at the wall, as if he saw something there beyond the vision of ordinary mortals. There was nothing unusual about his dreamy attitude it- self, but it invariably came upon him when his attention was fixed upon this particular spot. Rolfe mounted his horse and rode to a forest, where Marjorie Norman was painting trees, flowers and grass ; where the sunlight slanted thru the leaves and wove fantastic patterns on the green carpet below. Marjorie was in an appropriate setting, herself a freshly blossomed lily, swaying with the other flowers, laughing with them when she was not crooning to the stream that babbled by, or answering a far-off thrush with a piping whistle, to let every one know that she, too, lived in joy-land. She was simply a young girl who painted an occasional canvas and spent most of the rest of her waking hours laughing and won- dering why. ' ' So nice of papa and mamma ! ' ' she giggled when Rolfe rode up and dis- mounted. "They stole away as soon as they saw you coming, not too far away, but just enough not to over- hear." "I've just told uncle," Rolfe in- formed her in low tones. "Go on painting and I'll help." He helped by handing her unneces- sary brushes. MEMORIES OF THE PAST 53 HE HELPED BY HANDING HER UNNECESSARY BRUSHES Marjorie looked up and begged: "What did he say?" "Very little," Rolfe sighed. "I started to tell him that I loved a young girl, when he cut me short and made a few observations calculated to show me where I stand and to dis- pense with full confession. It does not matter who you are or what you are with a man like uncle. He will simply decide if it is best for me to marry now, and will either assure our happiness beyond any question or he will ask me to wait until I can prove my case. There never was a man more noble and just, but he has lived so long in his memories of the past that this summer-world of ours is au- tumn for him. He has a secret." "I saw him once thru the hedge," Marjorie whispered in awe. ' ' His sad eyes and sweet face told me the secret. He needs to be loved." Marjorie bent low over her work, and presently there stood a blossom ivory-white amid the shimmer of gold and green, bending its head sunward, yet drooping in pain as if light had failed to come its way. Rolfe watched and understood. "May I have the picture?" he pleaded. "It is for him," she smiled assent. She was about to give Rolfe the can- vas when he restrained her. "Your name," he suggested. She wrote Marjorie Roy Norman in the corner, and the paint had time to dry while they talked at long inter- vals, between stolen kisses and quiver- ing handclasps, not of Uncle Walde- mar's secret, but of their own, which was none at all. Evening had fallen when Rolfe re- turned, picture in hand, to his uncle '& library. He listened at the door. Waldemar was talking aloud in self- communion. "So tired! I cannot wait for the end of my dreary days to come and give my soul the peace it has never known. There is no joy; there is 54 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE •i 1 p _. * -"S5i ^S^IHr m f f KvBL ifMra r iF^LJ Em HP- HI I SAW CLEARLY THE FIRST NIGHT THAT HE WAS INTRODUCED nothing but the shadow of what has been." Rolfe knocked and entered. Walde- mar bowed his head in gentle consent. "I will provide for the safety and happiness of your bride," he said. "Nothing stands between you and your fondest desire except assurance that you are as truly loved as you love." Rolfe brightened and showed his uncle Marjorie's gift. Waldemar instantly caught the sig- nificance of the lone flower bending toward the sun and, at first, smiled fondly. Then he started, and his white face was drawn out of its nat- ural sweetness by a wild riot of emo- tion, with hate and fear struggling for domination. He thrust the paint- ing aside, turned away and covered his face with his hands. "Uncle!" Rolfe protested, "you cannot possibly know Marjorie. She is not long out of a convent, and but recently joined her parents at a small house over the hill, where they came to settle down in a modest way after a protracted stay in southern Italy. ' ' Waldemar shook his head to indi- cate that he had heard enough, and Rolfe waited in perplexed silence for an explanation of the sudden change. "Sit down," said Waldemar, after a nervous period of suffering. He took a place near his nephew and con- tinued painfully : "They came here from Italy be- cause they had exhausted all other resources. The father is an intermit- tent genius, given to prolonged sprees, or he could support his wife. I never knew that there was a child. I helped the wife secretly whenever she wrote for aid, but I have not seen her for twenty years. She was to have been my bride shortly before Roy Norman arrived to play the role of villain in the eternal triangle. I was not a fool. I saw clearly the first night he was intro- duced to my intended at a fancy dress ball that he was one of those gentle- men who come along at the eleventh hour to steal what another has earned. My sweetheart, as dear and true as yours can ever be, was dressed in the costume of Janice Meredith, and I in court style to suit. We were as happy MEMORIES OF THE PAST 55 as two children, having grown fonder of each other every year since she was a mere breath of spring, with a smile like its flowering. Your joy is as light as thistledown in comparison to the deep happiness that had become strongly rooted in my heart. I had lived long years in her company, until all our tastes merged like our souls in delightful harmony. For her I had overcome all the difficulties that usu- ally beset lovers ; I had prospered and built this house for our life occu- pancy. Not an essential to its beauty has been changed since we selected and arranged it together. Together we gained parental consent. It was not one of our difficulties, for her widowed father was almost too good- natured — a man of sunny temper and unsuspicious of evil. It was he who brought the snake to our nest and warmed him there. Norman was an artist, and he furthered his ends by seeking to paint the portrait of my bride-elect. Her father consented. I pointed out to him the character of the attention his daughter was receiving — the artist's real purpose was obvious — but parental pride had been aroused, and that, coupled with pleadings not easy to resist, quieted my misgivings. A life-sized portrait was painted, and it turned out to be a veritable work of art, but the end of the sittings found the artist weeping in despair and his model in a condition of min- gled vanity and pity that resulted in their elopement. I went down into the valley of the shadow, under the menace of hollow years to come, and I there remained for long months, with tearless eyes and aching heart, chal- lenging death to come and take me." Waldemar paused. It seemed for a moment that he would break down under emotional excitement, but he mastered his intense feelings from set- tled habits of self-discipline and said coldly : "The daughter of Roy Norman may be superior to her parents — the sum of their finer qualities — but it is out of the question for me to reward her father's treachery and her moth- er's breach of faith by endowing their issue. Their presence in this neigh- borhood is an offense inexcusable and the artist's real purpose was obvious' 56 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE not at all accidental. I do not forbid you to see the daughter, nor even to marry her, but you may count me out of any arrangements you may make where she is concerned." "You certainly have been deeply wronged ' ' Rolf e began. "Say no more," Waldemar com- manded. "My decision is final." Rolfe sighed heavily and walked out of the room, but he had taken only a few steps, when he was halted by a sound of weeping, and he returned under a sympathetic impulse. His uncle was crying and was so blinded by his tears that the return of his nephew was unnoticed. His hand was engaged in groping beneath a picture on the west wall, and, presently, the wall, itself a door, slid noiselessly aside and revealed the shrine at which Waldemar worshiped. David Waldemar had exhibited a wondrous knowledge of the influences controlling our careers when he de- scribed himself as a creature of in- herited tendencies and acquired hab- its, tossed here and there by the law- less element of luck, but he had not taken into consideration another great power exerted in shaping hu- man affairs. Rolfe flew on the wings of love to sweet Marjorie and related all that had happened, including tha accidental revelation of his uncle's secret. Marjorie was not a deep schemer, but she and Rolfe entered into a conspiracy with her father and mother, the treacherous artist and faithless bride-elect of bygone days, intended to upset the final decision of the injured Waldemar. A visit to the old home of Marjorie 's mother, in- cluding a garret expedition and much ransacking of trunks, brought to light facts, contributory to Waldemar 's life problem and helpful in solving that of the lovers. Waldemar was allowed to dream PLEADINGS NOT EASY TO RESIST MEMORIES OF THE PAST 57 over fading memories and live over past scenes, even to project his imagi- nation into the dark ages of our pri- meval ancestors, undisturbed, until one evening when he was confronted with a live issue. "When all was prepared, Rolfe led his uncle from the garden to his library and there made an ad- dress. It was awkwardly delivered and faultily phrased, but the idea was there and left its impress. It was to the effect that Waldemar was going contrary to his own advice in settling his responsibility to himself in accord with his own conscience. He was liv- ing in a graveyard of past hopes, his thoughts wandering in shadowland, with no greater result than the pro- longation of a sorrow that should have healed long ago. Worst of all, he was paying his debt to past generations by hurting, not helping, the future ones. There was more to the speech, but Eolfe became agitated on seeing how it affected his uncle, and prompt- ly forgot the rest. He nervously pressed the button concealed behind a hanging picture on the west wall and Mistress Marjorie was revealed in the garb of Janice Meredith, the same her mother had worn a score of years be- fore. Marjorie was to have said some- thing poetic, but Rolfe 's false cue had scattered her lines, and the best she could do was to extend her white arms and breathe : "I am only Marjorie ! ' ' She had taken the place of the life- sized portrait her father had painted while falling in love with her mother, which had ever since been Walde- mar 's shrine, hallowed by the seeming presence of his lost love. The effect on Waldemar was at first terrible, then pitiful to behold. He instantly grasped both the deception practiced and its object, and shrank back in convulsive horror. But the living Marjorie was far sweeter than the picture she had displaced. Instead of a lifeless representation of what had been, what had only served to waken dim sorrow and old pain, she stood forth, pulsing with warm blood, her rose lips opening with prom- ise of eternal laughter and song, her tender eyes brimming with sym- pathy, her young breasts rising with quickened breath, her whole appeal striking a chord responsive in the breast of him whose heart-cry had been none less fervid than her own, if all in vain. Waldemar softened. Marjorie advanced to him timidly and, as he enfolded her in his arms, breathed softly: "Take me for your niece, and I will love you so much in years to come that you will forget the unhappy ones gone by." So it came that a lily grew where a faded rose had been. Rather Expensive In the old days when Moving Pictures were confined principally to church entertainments, a company of exhibitors was giving an evening's enjoy- ment to a small congregation at one of the many little chapels just outside of Baltimore. Among the pictures shown was a particularly interesting one, quite exciting with the sound effects, entitled ' ' Life of a Fireman, ' ' in which, after a thrilling run from the engine house, one of the brave fire laddies climbs to the third-story window of a burning building, smashes some large windows with an ax and rescues a little child. "Don't you find it quite expensive to present that picture?" asked an old man at the end of the performance. ' ' Why so ? " asked the proprietor. "Well," returned the old man, "it appears to me it must cost a lot of money to put new panes of glass in those big windows after every perform- ance. ' ' — Harry Lewy. 58 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE ft * What I Love Be& By LIZZIE PINSON When the frost is on the ground And the pond is ripe for skating, How I love to glide around ! What is more exhilarating ? I am tempted oft to bowl (It's a circumstance most rare "When the ball I deftly roll, Yet can't make a "strike" or "spare"). Eowing, tennis, golf, croquet — Yes, I dearly love them all, E 'en it makes me madly gay "When I hear the cry : " Play ball ! ' ' My gymnasium I love — Dumb-bells, Indian clubs and weights ; But there's something far above All these things — that fascinates ! That instructs and entertains While a nameless charm holds sway, And thruout the year remains King of sports — the Photoplay ! £L mr^\ Bob and Rowdy (Edison) By GLADYS ROOSEVELT There is something irresistibly fas- cinating to me in a house with its shades left up in the evening, the bright light streaming out upon the passerby. I love the little glimpses one gets of a blazing hearth, with the family grouped about it ; of a ladened dinner- table, lined 'with merry faces; of a broad stairway leading up to flower- papered, chintz - becurtained rooms above. I passed such a house the other eve- ning. The wide front door was thrown open to the soft summer breeze. LTpon the great rug, in the middle of the hallway, a collie pet lay contentedly stretched out, his eyes fol- lowing closely his young master and mistress, who were chasing each other around the hall. The sister seemed to have a letter which the brother was trying to get. The collie watched them in all sym- pathy. He would have enjoyed rac- ing around with them, too, but his shaggy coat felt rather warm that night. As I watched, the mother came and stood between the portieres in the li- brary doorway. She seemed to re- mind the daughter of the hour. There was smiling sympathy in her eyes and quiet command. The girl was half-way up the stairs, looking back laughingly at her broth- er, who was leaning against the newel- post, his arms stretched up over the balustrade, reaching for the letter. "All right, mother," I heard the girlish voice sing out as she quietly came down the steps ; and the brother gathered letter and sister, both, into a manly good-night embrace. Is there anything more charmingly artistic than a kiss over the stairs? Were I a dramatist, I know how all my plays would end ! I do not think that my stopping to watch the little scene in the hallway that night would have been censured. Often it is not so much what we do as the manner in which we do it, that causes misinterpretation; and I know that my feeling was sympathy — if not comparable with the mother's, at least equal to that of the collie. As I walked on, the thought came to me that it is in the houses where there are children that the shades are most often left up — children, or those with the hearts of children. Can it be because then it is that people are less conscious of self? Oh, how nice it would be if all houses only had fronts that opened, like the fronts of our dollhouses! What fun! Oh, what fun! "But they haven't," you say. No, but let's pretend. Let's pretend that we can open the house of Bob, our hero, just as we used to open Rose Cottage, where our china dolls lived. Let's pretend that there's an unseen Hand behind, which makes everybody move, just as our big brother used to pull the strings behind the scenes when he gave Cin- derella in our paper-doll theater. ' ' Oh, what a dear little boy that is, playing outside of that house!" did you say? That's Bob, and he's just as dear in character as he is in looks. The dog he is playing with is named Rowdy, and they are inseparable chums. Rowdy is so called because he is so noisy and lively. He's always ready for a game and so is Bob, so you can see why they love to play together. That queer noise ? Why, that 's the front of the house, opening. Don't you remember how the top hinge al- ways squeaked, and what a noise the front made when it was pushed back as far as it would go ? Of course you do. I was sure you would remember. Bob's room is the one which the 59 60 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE ROWDY SOILS THE COUNTERPANE maid has just left. She has a hard time keeping it in order, because Bob- bie never wants to play the same game for more than five minutes at a time, and he will sit on the bed, and Rowdy pulls everything out of the play-box and tears all over the room with them. That sounds like Rowdy pattering up the stairs now, and he's going right for Bob's room, of course. Oh, he 's jumped up on the bed ! Rowdy, get off, quickly. You'll ruin the spread with your muddy paws, and Bob will get a scolding, and you will be in disgrace. Quick, Rowdy, quick! Here comes Bob and his mother. Dogs are the most exasperating creatures. But, somehow, one always forgives them. They have such an ir- resistible way of bobbing up serenely after they have been punished. It doesn't look as tho Bob's mother is going to forgive Rowdy, however, for she has chased him out of the room, and, in spite of Bob's pleading, says he must be sent away. Let's see where he has escaped to. The kitchen, of course. Dogs always like the kitchen, especially if the cook is kind to them. Doesn't the pie she is making look good? I used to have my cook make flannel cakes all the time. Real flan- nel cakes they were, too, cut out of some yellow flannel I found in the piece drawer. I made them nice and round by marking them off with the bottom of a thimble. They lasted a long time. Mercy, what a scream ! Why, look at the cook and Rowdy! He has frightened her by jumping up on the table and has made her spill the flour, and they are both simply covered with it. Did you ever see anything so funny? Oh, dear! Here comes the mistress. Now there will be trouble. If Rowdy would only be more careful. Now he's off again — into Bob's sis- ter's room this time. There's a hat on the chair. He '11 get it ! I know he will. Yes, there he goes, tearing it all to pieces ! And here comes its owner and her mother. Rowdy, I'm afraid this settles you? for Bobbie has BOB AND ROWDY 61 gone to school and there's no one to plead for you now. But I tell you, I wouldn 't send him away if / owned him. I believe that children ought to have pets to play with. It develops a certain side of their character as nothing else can. When I was a wee baby, we had a dog, and one day he was found, with both of his front paws resting on the side of the bed, watching me. My mother was exceedingly frightened, and sent him away at once, and we've never had a pet animal of any kind around the house since. I'm sure that the little fellow didn't intend any harm. He just wanted to see what kind of a human being there could be, no bigger than himself. Hello! Here comes the milkman. He and Bobbie 's mother seem to have a great deal to say about that bill she is paying. Why, they are giving him the dog ! Oh, I hope he '11 be kind to poor Rowdy! Gracious! Such barking! The whole neighborhood is rushing out to see what the trouble is, and the little girl next door looks quite distressed. * Poor Bobbie! He is on his way back from school now, whistling for Eowdy. Into the hall he goes — no Rowdy. Upstairs — no Rowdy. Out- side he comes, still whistling, but his beloved companion does not respond. Ah, Bobbie, I'm afraid that all your whistling cannot bring back your old friend ! But the little girl next door — she hears you, she knows whom you are calling, and she it is who tells you the cruel news that the milkman has taken Rowdy away. The milkman! How will he find out where he lives ? Into the kitchen he goes. He sees the receipted bill. (Ah, who shall say that we are not guided in our actions by an all-wise Hand ? ) Now he has the address safe in his pocket. But what is that which he is taking out — a bank? Sure enough, it is his little dime savings ROWDY SPILLS THE FLOUR 62 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE ROWDY CHEWS UP A HAT bank! It only takes a moment to break it open, pocket the money and start bravely down the street. He will not have a hard time in finding where the milkman lives, for he is going to the rescue of a friend, and all roads are waiting; besides, there is the nnseen Hand. He still keeps up his whistling — courage and whistling are so inseparable ! At length he reaches the gate. He compares the number with the address on the bill, to make sure. Then he whistles, whistles with all his might. And where is Rowdy ? Tied to the barn, but he hears the familiar call. He barks, he jumps, he howls and with a frantic effort breaks the rope. Oh, such a greeting ! Such excited yelps, such demonstrations by muddy paws, such affectionate licking, such huggings by boyish arms! Ah, what friend is like unto this one ? Now, Bob, you can go home, happy once more. But, no, he is going on. What is the boy going to do ? There is a little country post-office ahead, which he enters. "What can he want in there ? He buys a postal card, and on it puts a special delivery stamp. What next? Let us look over his shoulder while be writes ; ' ' Dere Foks : I found Rowdy. You dont lik us. We has gone to the Roky Mountains to ketch bares for the zoo. Bobbie/' Oh, Bobbie, would you do it really ? Think of mother, of the comfortable nursery bed. Don't you know that it is a long way to the Rocky Mountains, and that the bears might "ketch you ef you don 't watch out ' ' ? But Bobbie doesn't think of that — only of the fact that "Nobody loves us." Yet somebody does love him. Four people are frantically searching the house for him. Four frightened voices are calling him. Perhaps if they whistled they might have cour- age enough to find him. But they are all females — mother, sister, maid and cook — and none of them can whistle. Ah, here comes somebody who can — father. He will whistle until he finds him. The directing Hand is sending a messenger boy up the street, as fast as he can trot, to deliver a curious- looking postal card, with a special delivery stamp upon it. Hooray! The postmark is a clue. Pleasantdale ! Not far, thank good- ness! Into the waiting automobile mother and father jump. Never mind the speed laws! They must find Bob before he boards a train ! But Bobbie has no intention of go- ing by train. All the adventures of his book-friends have always been on foot, and "bares" can best be found in lonely mountain passes. The road's the thing; and he tramps on past farms, orchards and chicken- yards, meadows and babbling brooks. The mountains are much farther off than he had thought, but there are trees ahead, and a shady bank beside the road. He and Rowdy will rest there, and Rowdy will be his pillow, as on winter nights when they used to lie before the open hearth and watch the pictures in the fire. Meanwhile the auto has reached the little country post-office, and the kind- ly postmaster, awkwardly pushing his BOB AND ROWDY 63 spectacles up on his forehead, has come all the way out of his box to show them which way the sturdy little lad had gone. On the great car speeds. What's that dark heap on the bank by the roadside ahead? It must be — yes, it is — Bobbie ! Bobbie is not loath to be lifted into the auto. But when they start off without his good friend, Rowdy, his ire is roused, and the West with Rowdy once more grows attractive. But mother quickly dispels that illu- sion by taking Rowdy into the auto- mobile, too. And soon they are home, where many waiting arms convince Bobbie that his lot can never be quite loveless. THE POSTMARK IS A CLUE ' * It 's over, ' ' ycu sigh. Yes, it 's over. But wasn 't it fun ? And isn't it nice to know that you you only try hard enough, you can can open a house-front, and that if pretend — anything? €^^"»^-» The Picture Show By MINNA IRVING Oh ! I have always longed to see Strange countries far from home, The gardens of the Bosphorus, The palaces of Rome, The snowy splendors of the Alps, The wonders of the Pole, And summer islands where the blue Pacific billows roll. But I was born to tread a round Of toil from sun to sun ; I march in Labor's crowded ranks, My work is never done ; And tho I try to scrimp and save, Yet all my little store Would never take me fifty miles Beyond my humble door. But yesternight I gazed upon The lands I yearned to view: The castled Rhine, the Matterhorn, The Bay of Naples, too. The glories of the Golden Horn, The shores of Greece, and lo ! It cost me but a single dime ! 'Twas in a picture show. _ . ^ ^ ^_. ^ POEM C I A5».H«^*^i!^V^iMi^i^»T5WSJ4M>'itQWi ROBBIE'S CHOICE By KENNETH S. CLARK Said Robbie, in his adult way, ' ' I had a party yesterday ; For I was ten years old. you see, And when my mother said to me, 'I'll get some lovely things to eat, For my big Robbie 's birthday treat, ' Said I, 'If it's the same to you, There 's something else I 'd like to do ; That is, I 'd dearly love to go To see a Moving Picture show. ' And so we went, at half -past three — The 'party' was mamma and me. I guess my eyes just opened wide To see the way those cowboys ride ; And when the giant, fierce and tall, Was turned into a dwarf, quite small, I hardly could believe my eyes, So I just shouted with surprise ; But when some lady came to die, I felt so bad I had to cry, And if they 'd turned up all the light My eyes would then have been a sight. So I was glad when, after that, A man went chasing for his hat, At which I laughed till I was sore. And so, when we had reached the door, My mother said, 'Well, you've had fun! What did you think of it, my son ? ' To which I answered, ' Mother dear, Those pictures made one thing quite clear : The good man is the one who wins, The bad man suffers for his sins. So you just wait, and you shall see I '11 be as good as good can be ! ' " <♦> 64 MM Fi [ghting f Biograph Bloc .d $fa