“First, I’ll wise you up a little bit,” said Baird. “You’ve come out here to work on a ranche in the great open spaces, and these cowboys all love you and come to town with you every time, and they’ll stand by you when the detective from New York gets here. Now--let’s see--I guess first we’ll get your entrance. You come in the front door at the head of them. You’ve ridden in from the ranche. We get the horseback stuff later. You all come in yelling and so on, and the boys scatter, some to the bar and some to the wheel, and some sit down to the tables to have their drinks and some dance with the girls. You distribute money to them from a paper sack. Here’s the sack.” From a waiting property boy he took a paper sack. “Put this in your pocket and take it out whenever you need money. “It’s the same sack, see, that the kid put the stolen money in, and you saved it after returning the money. It’s just a kind of an idea of mine,” he vaguely added, as Merton looked puzzled at this. “All right, sir.” He took the sack, observing it to contain a rude imitation of bills, and stuffed it into his pocket. “Then, after the boys scatter around, you go stand at the end of the bar. You don’t join in their sports and pastimes, see? You’re serious; you have things on your mind. Just sort of look around the place as if you were holding yourself above such things, even if you do like to give the boys a good time. Now we’ll try the entrance.” Cameras were put into place, and Merton Gill led through the front door his band of rollicking good fellows. He paused inside to give them bills from the paper sack. They scattered to their dissipations. Their leader austerely posed at one end of the bar and regarded the scene with disapproving eyes. Wine, women, and the dance were not for him. He produced again the disillusioned look that had won Henshaw. “Fine,” said Baird. “Gun it, boys.” The scene was shot, and Baird spoke again: “Hold it, everybody; go on with your music, and you boys keep up the dance until Mother’s entrance, then you quit and back off.” Merton was puzzled by this speech, but continued his superior look, breaking it with a very genuine shock of surprise when his old mother tottered in at the front door. She was still the disconsolate creature of the day before, bedraggled, sad-eyed, feeble, very aged, and still she carried her bucket and the bundle of rags with which she had mopped. Baird came forward again. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Of course you had your old mother follow you out here to the great open spaces, but the poor old thing has cracked under the strain of her hard life, see what I mean? All her dear ones have been leaving the old nest and going out over the hills one by one-you were the last to go-and now she isn’t quite right, see?