Motion Picture Magazine (Feb-Jul 1919)

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Y Citjs THERE'S ONLY ONE WAY TO SECURE A SATIN SKIN 9 APPLY SATIN SKIN CREAM, THEN SATIN SKIN POWDER. Tom Mixes In (Continued from page 67) in for that. You may not believe it, but the best dressed cowboys come from Indian Territory and Oklahoma. Why, those fellows are regular dudes. Yet they're the best ropers in the world. I remember one time down in Oklahoma at a rodeo, there were twenty-seven of us in a roping contest and every man roped his steer in less than a minute." "What is the record for throwing a steer?" I queried. "Why, the world's record is 17 seconds, made at Canyon City, in 1911," he answered. "Do you know the man?" I persisted. Tom Mix hesitated, then ventured, "I'm he. Beat the world's record of 18 seconds by one second." Then he added, bashfully, "I also hold the record for bulldogging steers. I bulldogged six in an average of 9*4 seconds for each one, and one I bulldogged in 5 seconds flat. It's great sport. Some time when you come again, we'll have a little exhibition. Goodbye, and good luck ! I'm due for another scene in three quarters of an hour so I'll have to hurry. If there's anything else you want to see or know, ask Jake here. He's general information." I turned to peer into the sparkling eyes of a wizened, old cow-hand. "Didn't get no news from Tom, did ye?" he snorted. "Gad, Tom's a tightmouth. Bet he didn't tell about the time he arrested 113 men single-handed — bad eggs, too — boot-leggers and gamblers ; did he? Come on, we'll get set yonder in the old 1860 stage coach and I'll tell you about that feller." So, seated in the driver's seat of Tom Mix's choicest relic, the oldest cow-hand began : "You know Tom was once an enforcement officer in Kansas an' they sent him seven miles out o' Independence to help keep the bad crew away from the 3,000 men who was buildin' a cement plant on Table Mountain. In them days, the bad 'uns would gather on pay day and sell booze an' get the fellers to gamble. Tom he'rd them fellers was goin' full blast in a buildin' near the plant. So he rode out there, got off'n his horse, pulled his guns, an' opened the door on that there faro layout. There was a bit of a fuss, but Tom covered the crowd and told 'em they was all arrested. " 'Boys,' he yelled, 'I'm some shooter. The first feller what tries to beat it, I'm going to plug. If you want to know wat kind o' a shot I am, start somethin'." "Au' say, miss, them boobies jes' piled into the buggies Tom had brung for 'em, and Tom covered the whole bloomin' bunch clean into Independence. The people in the town thought it were a p'rade, for Tom had 113 men, mind ye, and the folks cheered and hollered fit to rip 'em in two. Tom never winked an eye, but kept 'em on the go till the deputy sheriffs came along and they landed the whole 113 in jail. "Tom's a great feller. Like his little joke al' right. You know he alius had some reppytation as a good shot and mebby that's why the bad 'uns was leery of 'im. He wanted to impress 'em, so one night he took three surveyor's pegs, fetched 'em to the woods and shot a hole thru each one of 'em. Then he put 'em back on the pile right where he could find 'em next day. 'Long 'bout noon he saw some fellers gazin' onto the plains. They was bad 'uns and Tom calc'lated it was time they knew he was boss around there. He went to the wood pile and plucked up them three sticks he'd shot and pUt 'em up in different places for targets. Then he rode back about 200 feet, an' then, with his ol' horse on a wild tear, he rode for 'em, shooting' at 'em as he came full force. Of course he hit the sticks; he'd hit 'em the night before. The men examined the sticks after he'd rode away, and each thunderin' peg had a bullet hole. The story of ol' Tom's daredevil shootin' went the rounds, and that night there wasn't a bad 'un left. Old Jake took out a corncob pipe. He lit it deliberately as he pondered over his business of story-telling. "Ye know," he continued, eyeing me quizzically, "Tom was born in El Paso. Tom's right proud of his folks. Dad fought in the Civil War. Tom's used to horses — Dad had a ranch. Why, when he was only a little shaver, Tom could ride like a streak and do all them tricks that some folks make such a fuss over. Aint no fuss 'bout Tom. Makes him sick. "Tom's brother was a Yale man, and won the all-'round athletic champ'onship in 1895. 'Pears like it runs in the family, eh? Dont it beat all?" the old man chuckled. "Tom alius was right smart too. Outgrew his tutors in no time 'tall, and his folks sent him to Virginia Military Academy. He was a powe'ful big feller an' his horseback stunts won him a heap o' admirers. We'd begun to think he'd keep at his learnin', but the SpanishAmerican War came up in 1898 and the fust thing we knowed, he'd enlisted in the artillery. He was in the battle of Guaymas when the news reached us. "Then they plucked 'im out of it and put 'im at scout duty under General Chaffee. Tom was wounded an' they sent 'im to Montauk Point, L. L, to get patched up. They mustered 'im out after that, but he j'ined up with the provisional army an' went to the Philippines. Jes' got there in time to be sent to China with the 9th Infantry. Y'know, the Boxer Uprising in China? Well, that's the time. He marched clean up to Pekin, Tom did. But they got 'im in that country and he had to quit fightin'. "After he come home he went to Denver to break horses in for England. An' in 1913, he helped General Cronje put on 'The Boer War' at the St. Louis Fair. Was you to that? Great, wa'n't it? "Then Tom got a job as deputy United States marshall rounding up outlaws in Oklahoma. Jes' got goin' good when the bloomin' state went dry, so they made him special enforcement officer. That wa'n't enough for Tom, so he got a job as special revenue officer an' also United States marshal to keep whiskey peddlers an' outlaws away from the big dams that was being built in the Tennessee Mountains. The bad 'uns hated Tom an' 'lowed they'd better get 'im, so they fixed up a scheme an' shot 'im. That did 'im up for a whole year. "Tom got tired pretty soon of bummin' by hisself. 'Lowed he'd better mix in a little. So he joined up with some fellers who was goin' in for a little picture work. Guess that's all Tom's history up to date. Gotta get a little feed for them trick horses now." The old man climbed down from the old stage coach. "Yes," I thought, as I watched him amble along. "Tom has mixed in — to his own and everyone else's — advantage." 10 lAS£ "