Picture-Play Weekly (Apr-Oct 1915)

\ On the Night Stage (NEW YORK FILM) By Robert Keeae In this story, taken from the five-reel production of the New York Motion-picture Corporation, you may read how one man paid his debt of gratitude to another, in the setting of the "good old, glorious days of '49," in the West. Written with the realism that makes reading these reviews almost the same thing as seeing the films themselves, the story is sure to grip you. The cast: Austin, the "sky pilot"... Robert Edeson BeUe Shields Rhea Mitchell "Texas" Smith Wm. S. Hart "Handsome Jack" Malone Hershal Mayall 1 OWING your pardners !" "All sashay!" The dance hall was gayly noisy with the stamping of feet, the scrape of fiddles, and the shouting of the master of J ceremonies of the moment, who called the numbers frorn his place on the musicians' platform. The owner of the clarion voice that dmonished the dancers on the floor be'.j\y him to "bow to your lady!"' and to swing 'em to the right!'' was Texas Smith. He was a tall, wiry, weather-bronzed man in his early thirties. His highcrowned stovepipe hat was of white beaver — the last word in fashionable headgear for men in that year of 1853. It could have cost him not less than thirty-five dollars. Texas' long-tailed coat of dark blue, cut in tightly at the waist, with wide, rolling lapels, and trimmed with jet buttons the size of silver dollars, was of the verj finest broadcloth that money :ould buy. His trousers were of doeskin, strapped under the insteps of a pair of eighteen-dollar Russian leather boots. All in all, he was dressed up to the minute. If a little gaudy, his attire made up in costliness what it lacked in ^ood taste. The inhabitants of Red julch. Arizona, at least, saw nothing to xiticize in his apparel. Texas was -.nown as the best-dressed man in town. And where did he get the money to clothe himself thus grandly? That was a question which nobodj in Red Gulch was able to answer. That Texas' pockets were always jingling '.vith gold was a fact which not alone bis prosperous appearance, but his ready generosity at the bar, or to an acquaintance in need of a loan of anything from twenty-five cents up to a hundred dollars, amply attested. Texas was not a miner. Neither was he a professional gambler. Xor a saloon keeper. He did not own a hotel or an eating house. These were the only means by which a man could make a living in Red Gulch. Then where did he get his income? Texas, addressing his shouts to the dancers while he clapped his hands, seemed to be giving his undivided attention to the swaying couples on the floor beneath him. But all the time, out of the corner of his eye, he was watching a pair who were not joining in the dance. Standing in the doorway of the room, one of that couple on whom Texas' gaze rested was a man who had lateh" come to town. Dressed all in sedate black, he was what his square-shouldered, athletic frame and his firm-jawed, fearlesseyed, handsome face would not have led one to suppose him to be — a minister of the gospel. The "sky pilot.'' as the men of Red Gulch called him. was named Austin. He was talking to a girl, dressed in the short skirt and gaylj colored waist of the typical denizens of the dance halls in those early days of the West. She was Belle Shields, whose red cheeks and sparkling black eyes, all the dark prettiness of her, had long ago stolen Texas' heart away. Xow, as he continued to conduct the dance as though his whole soul was in that work and none other, Texas' thoughts were tormenting him. What was the parson talking to her about? And how was Belle taking what he was saying? Texas would have had to be blind not to see that Austin had fallen in love with her. And Belle The answer to that unspoken question in Texas' mind was not long forthcoming. The fiddlers ceased. The dance was over. He jumped down from the platform, and hurried toward the pair in the doorwaj of the room. Texas had Belle's promise for the next dance. By custom, he was entitled to take her away from her present escort now, and lead her to the bar for refreshments before the music summoned them to the floor. Texas was only three yards away, when Belle, slipping her arm through Austin's, turned and walked out of the place with him. Slowly Texas followed, to lean gloomily against a pillar of the dance hall's porch outside. Tliat was how much chance he stood against Austin, it seemed ! Belle cared more for the parson than him. Texas, his brow clouding with jealous hatred of his fortunate rival, started to reach grimlj for his gun under the wide tails of his magnificent coat — but then he remembered that he had been forced to check the weapon at the bar, hy the dance hall's rules, as had all the rest of the men who gained admission to the floor. Texas heard a rough laugh behind him. He turned to confront Sam Davis, the ''bad man" of the town, who stood watching him from the doorway between two of his equally notorious cronies. ''Feelin' bad, Texas?" inquired the