And then one of them suddenly cleared his throat with a rasping sound like old Dave Wiswell, his dried little cowman of the picture, and embarrassment dropped from Luck like a cloak flung aside.  He was here to put his work to the test; to let these men say whether The Phantom Herd was worthy to be called a great picture, one of which the West could be proud.  So he pushed back his mop of hair—­grayer than the hair of many here old enough to be his father—­with the fiat of his palm, and looked straight into the faces of these men and said what he had to say: 

“Mr. Chairman, and gentlemen of this Convention, I consider it a great privilege to be able to stand here and speak to you—­a greater privilege than any of you realize, perhaps.  For my heart has always been in the range-land, my people have been the people of the plains.  I have to-day been honored by the hand-grip of old-timers who were riding circle, trailing long-horns, and working cattle when I was a boy in short pants.

“I have trailed herds on the pay roll of one man who remembers me here to-day, and of others who have crossed the Big Divide.  I have seen the open range shrink before the coming of barbed wire and settlers.  I have watched the ‘long shadow’ fall across God’s own cattle country.

“Since I entered the motion-picture business, my one great aim and my one great dream has been to produce one real Western picture.  One picture that I could present with pride to such a convention as this, and have men who have spent their lives in the cattle industry give it the stamp of their approval; one picture that would make such men forget the present and relive the old days when they were punchers all and proud of it.  Such an opportunity came to me last fall and I made the most of it.  I got me a bunch of real boys, and went to work on the picture I have called The Phantom Herd. From the trail-herds going north I have tried to weave into my story a glimpse of the whole history of the range critter, from the shivering, new-born calf that hit the range along with a spring blizzard, to the big, four-year-old steer prodded up the chutes into the shipping cars.

“I want you, who know the false from the real, to see The Phantom Herd and say whether I have done my work well.  I finished the picture yesterday, and I have brought it down here for the purpose of asking you to honor me by accepting an invitation to a private showing of the picture this evening, here in this hall.  I want you to come and bring your wives and your children with you if you can.  I want you to see The Phantom Herd before it goes to the public—­and to-morrow I shall face you again and accept your verdict.  You know the West.  You will know a Western picture when you see it.  I know you know, and I want you to tell me what you think of it.  Your word will be final, as far as I am concerned.  Gentlemen, I hope you will all be present here to-night at eight o’clock as my guests.  I thank you for your attention.”