Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1920)

THE first slanting rays of dawn shot across the valley of the Little Laramie in the lush verdure of full summer. Searching through the foliage of the woodland bordering the river the dancing sunbeams cast a softly brilliant pattern of light and shade under the trees. Another perfect Wyoming day was born. Just a ripple of breeze swept up the river and stirred the grove. A • flickering ray of sunshine piercing deep into the woods lighted up the face of a sleeping man. He stirred uneasily under the irritation of the light. His head was pillowed on a crushed hat. His cfiat was drawn up close about his neck, as if for warmth. Turning laboriously in his sleep, seeking a more comfortable position, the unwelcome light fell strong upon him and brought his blinking, heavy-lidded eyes open to face the morning. Wearily the sleeper pulled himself up sitting. Stretching his aching body with a long yawn, he looked about. The glint of a bottle caught his eye. He glanced familiarly at it and picked it up hopefully to peer through it at the light. It was empty. "Shucks!" He tossed it away, making a wry face as he felt about with his swollen, furry tongue. It seemed to him at least two sizes too big for his mouth. In his exclamation there was a tone that might have meant either disappointment at the emptiness of the bottle or disgust at the bottle's betrayal of him the night before, or both. Painfully he made his way to the river's brink for scant and brief ablutions. With a casual stroke or two he straightened out his crumpled hat, shook a wrinkle out of his coat and was on his way through the woods toward the road. There was the easy air about him which some call vagabondage and others call freedom. At the roadside he paused and looked up and down its dusty way, cheerfully as one with a fair open mind and no prejudices. As do many who are much alone, he talked to himself in a cordial monotone. "That road leads to town — that town has a marshal and that marshal keeps a jail — lets go the other way." He went swinging up the road with leisurely stride. His only destination was breakfast and the whereabouts of that were unknown. Our rambling adventurer had been on his way but a few scant rods when a turn of the road brought to view a scene that fetched him up short, then sent him with swift caution to the concealing shade of an overhanging tree. A hundred yards away a railway train stood on the prairie and men with guns stood alongside. The engine and express car were being detached. They ran down the track a short distance and then stopped. A masked man clambered over the tender and dropped into the cab. Rose studied liim witli a gaze that was not all curiosity. Jubilo frankly returned Her inspection. B I mmmmt Wherein a singing vagabond stumbles into the dark lives of two, sets their melodrama to music, and provides a flawlessly happy ending. A puff of smoke followed by an explosion came from the express car as a door shattered and fell in. The observer under the tree watched with tense curiosity the drama spread out before him in the morning light. A man on horseback dashed up to the express car, shouting orders and directing his band. The rider's back was turned to the tree retreat of the wanderer, but the marking of the horse, a big bay splashed heavily with white on the rump, was conspicuously visible. "The train robber who'd ride a horse marked like that is sure one dare-devil," reflected the observer under his tree, where he stood nervously chewing a twig in his silent excitement. The hold-up was swiftly executed. The robbers ran from (he train, mounted their horses and galloped out of sight across the prairie. Presently the trainmen appeared and then the passengers swarmed out of the coaches, talking excitedly. A hrakeman started climbing a pole to reach the telegraph line. "Show's over," our cheerful wanderer under the tree announced to himself. "And if the sheriff's posse finds me here they're going to get considerable inquisitive. Let's go!" Down the dusty road again, with the same swinging gait, but quickened a trifle. He had no place to go, but he had some place to leave. The warmth of the advancing day brought cheer. Pushing his hat jauntilv back he broke into a droning song: "De massa run? Ha! Ha! De darky stay? Ho! Ho! . ft must be now de Kingdom comin' And de Year ob Jubilo!" With a hitch at his belt and a warm boyish smile on his face he sang on. "De train's been robbed? Ha ! Ha ! I saw the job — Ho! Ho! The sheriff will pinch some one soon, So move on — Jubilo!" The day had worn well on and the impulse to song had faded when the road-faring stranger slackened his pace with weariness and looked about him. He had not yet arrived at breakfast. The mouth of a lane down the road bore promise. Up at the other end of that lane Jim Hardy, stern, strong, grey and fifty, was in his barnyard, watering his stock, '^•usy with her kitchen tasks his daughter, Rose, looked from the window and discovered the