into their saddles and urged their
beloved leader to do the same. But he lingered beside his own horse,
pleading with them to go ahead. He must remain in the place of danger
yet awhile for he had forgotten to bring out his old mother. They
besought him to let them bring her out, but he would not listen. His
alone was the task.

Reluctantly the cowboys galloped off. As he turned to re-enter the
dance-hall he was confronted by the detective, who held two frowning
weapons upon him. Benson was at last a prisoner.

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 out 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