ABSTRACT
Poetic conception is an excellent assistant in the concoction of plots and the construction of romances. But the poetic conception which has embodied so many impossibilities in good film under the name of West deserves some pruning or some other operation which will at least curb, or in some degree control, its altogether exuberant fancy. Closer attention to historic fact would add to the interest, even though it might reduce the sensation. Fierce rides do not make a cowboy, nor do fine feathers make an Indian.
