He leaned forward, listening. He uncoiled the rope, expertly ran out
the noose, and grimly waited. Far up the road appeared the detective
on a galloping horse. Benson twirled the rope as he sat in his
saddle. It left his hand, to sail gracefully in the general
direction of his pursuer.

"Cut!" called Baird. "That was bully. Now you got him. Ride out into
the road. You're dragging him off his horse, see? Keep on up the
road; you're still dragging the hound. Look back over your shoulder
and light your face up just a little--that's it, use Benson's other
expression. You got it fine. You're treating the skunk rough, but
look what he was doing to you, trying to pinch you for something you
never did. That's fine--go ahead. Don't look back any more."

Merton was chiefly troubled at this moment by the thought that
someone would have to double for him in the actual casting of the
rope that would settle upon the detective's shoulders. Well, he must
practise roping. Perhaps, by the next picture. he could do this
stuff himself. It was exciting work, though sometimes tedious. It
had required almost an entire morning to enact this one simple
scene, with the numerous close-ups that Baird demanded.

The afternoon was taken up largely in becoming accustomed to a pair
of old Spanish spurs that Baird now provided him with. Baird said
they were very rare old spurs which he had obtained at a fancy price
from an impoverished Spanish family who had treasured them as
heirlooms. He said he was sure that Buck Benson in all his vast
collection did not possess a pair of spurs like these. He would
doubtless, after seeing them worn by Merton Gill in this picture,
have a pair made like them.