Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1920)

x* h -i? ^'ol- "My Pinto and Me •)•) By BILL HART The Westerner's favorite pony has come back to steal another picture. MORE than two years ago I retired my Pinto pony to a life of ease in the green pasture and luxurious corral of my Hollywood ranch. That is, I reckoned I retired him. The Pinto had worked with me for two previous years. And he had sure worked hard. He had been ridden over high banks and rolled over chffs; he had leaped dangerous obstacles and swam turbulent rivers; he had jumped through windows and he had fallen '"dead" while in full gallop; he had carried me sure-footedly through desert sagebrush and over rough mountain trails; and he had "acted" with marvelous intelligence when I directed. Had the Pinto failed in any one of these feats we both would have suffered serious injury. We took our chances together. After a miraculous escape from death in one of the scenes of "The Narrow Trail," I vowed that my Pinto should enjoy a long rest from the hard and dangerous work necessary to my productions. But his motion picture friends have kept faith with him all this time. For instance, I never need buy sugar for my Pinto. Almost every week he receives a box of cube sugar from the people who love him as I do. And it is always addressed to him — in care of me. Their demands to see the horse again have become so insistent that I have decided to let him. "steal" another picture from me. Many of the people say that if I take chances why shouldn't the Pinto take them with me, — so we're going to take a few more together. He's fat and sassy now, but he's sure game. An unexpected incident occurred during the production of "Sand!" the Pinto's return picture after his Bernhardt farewell. In the wildest and most inaccessable parts of the California mountains we were seeking suitable locations, when Lambert Hillyer, my director, discovered the ideal scenic oddity absolutely required for certain scenes. Never pass up an opportunity is the golden rule in producing motion pictures. And, accordingly, my Pinto pony attempted a feat which nearly cost me my favorite horse, — and my sister Mary her only brother. The odd scene is a natural bridge, or dome of rock walls, formed by a river running through a huge cave underneath. The water is very deep in the cave which is about one hundred and fifty yards in length. Also, it is as pitch dark as night inside. The action required that the Pinto and I swim through the cave. In the darkness the advance guard of explorers failed to notice a wicked ledge which projects beneath the water from one side of the cave. This obstacle is in the verv center of the cavern. .S8 Beloxv — vie'w of the entrance to the cave \vherein Bill Hart and the Pinto fought death side by side. When I started with the Pinto through the cave I knew the risk we were taking. Joe August, at the starting point, turned the crank of his camera until both of us had disappeared into the darkness. The Pinto and I were getting through in fine shape, until we reached what I know now to be the center of the tunnel. I was still in the saddle. Suddenly, while swimming, the Pinto's feet struck something under water. It was the ledge projecting from one side of the cave about three feet under water. He naturally tried to swim over the obstacle, and — we fell over backwards into a well of water. Down we went, — I don't know how far but I'll bet the pool is s'xty feet deep. In the struggle under water I was torn loose from the saddle. When I came to the surface I was free of the Pinto but I managed to make out his form in the darkness thrashing madly about through the water in a frantic attempt to climb the walls of the cave. As they are shaped like a dome he fell over backwards again. I finally turned him around and headed in the right direction. When at last we saw a dim shaft of light penetrating through the damp gloom of the cave — well, we just streaked it for the good old outside world. It is a very odd coincidence that the pony and I should narrowly escape death in our first picture together in more than two years, because in "The Narrow Trail," the photoplay which made the Pinto famous, a similar accident occurred which resulted in the retirement of the horse. "The Narrow Trail" required that I ride the horse over a log across a canyon, one hundred feet wide. As the log was round, the feat proved difficult. It was accomplished successfully once, but a "close-up" on the middle of the log was necessary. The stunt had to be done over again. The Pinto knew he had performed the feat once; he knew he could not do better. Consequently, he became nervous and fell off the log, — and I fell under him. As the horse lay on the jagged stones of the canyon basin, his front feet were not more than six inches from my face. I could not move from where I lay — pinned under the horse's body. If the horse had kicked or thrashed about, my head would have been smashed. But the intelligent animal lay quiet. When aid came I was released safely. Upon examination it was discovered that the horse's side was covered with nasty cuts and bruises. The faithful Pinto had borne the intense pain unflinchingly because he knew that if he moved it meant serious injury to me. And so he retired. But the usually fickle public never forgot him— and I'm sure he'll be welcome when he comes back.