The detective brutally ordered his quarry inside. Benson, seeing he was beaten, made a manly plea that he might be let to bid his horse good-by. The detective seemed moved. He relented. Benson went to his good old pal. “Here’s your chance for a fine bit,” called Baird. “Give it to us now the way you did in that still. Broaden it all you want to. Go to it.” Well did Merton Gill know that here was his chance for a fine bit. The horse was strangely like Dexter upon whom he had so often rehearsed this bit. He was a bony, drooping, sad horse with a thin neck. “They’re takin’ ye frum me, old pal--takin’ ye frum me. You an’ me has seen some tough times an’ I sort o’ figgered we’d keep on together till the last--an’ now they got me, old pal, takin’ me far away where ye won’t see me no more--” “Go to it, cowboy--take all the footage you want!” called Baird in a curiously choked voice. The actor took some more footage. “But we got to keep a stiff upper lip, old pal, you and me both. No cryin’, no bustin’ down. We had our last gallop together, an’ we’re at the forkin’ of th’ trail. So we got to be brave--we got to stand the gaff.” Benson released his old pal, stood erect, dashed a bit of moisture from his eyes, and turned to the waiting detective who, it seemed, had also been strangely moved during this affecting farewell. Yet he had not forgotten his duty. Benson was forced to march back into the Come All Ye Dance Hall. As he went he was wishing that Baird would have him escape and flee on his old pal. And Baird was a man who seemed to think of everything, or perhaps he had often seen the real Buck Benson’s play, for it now appeared that everything was going to be as Merton Gill wished. Baird had even contrived an escape that was highly spectacular. Locked by the detective in an upper room, the prisoner went to the window and glanced out to find that his loyal horse was directly beneath him. He would leap from the window, alight in the saddle after a twenty-foot drop, and be off over the border. The window scene was shot, including a flash of the horse below. The mechanics of the leap itself required more time. Indeed, it took the better part of a morning to satisfy Baird that this thrilling exploit had been properly achieved. From a lower window, quite like the high one, Merton leaped, but only to the ground a few feet below. “That’s where we get your take-off,” Baird explained. “Now we get you lighting in the saddle.” This proved to be a more delicate bit of work. From a platform built out just above the faithful horse Merton precariously scrambled down into the saddle. He glanced anxiously at Baird, fearing he had not alighted properly after the supposed twenty-foot drop, but the manager appeared to be delighted with his prowess after the one rehearsal, and the scene was shot. “It’s all jake,” Baird assured him. “Don’t feel worried. Of course we’ll trick the bit where you hit the saddle; the camera’ll look out for that.”