And with that for a starter, I'm going to show the real range; the _real_ range--get that, boys?
I'm going to cut clean away from regulation moving-picture West; clear out away from posses chasing outlaws all over a ten-acre location.

I'm going to find me a real old cow-ranch; or if I can't find one, by thunder I'm going to _make_ me one.
I'm sick of piling into a machine and driving out into Griffith Park and hunting a location for shooting scrapes to take place in.

I know a place where I could produce stuff that would make people talk about it for a month after.

Maybe the buildings would need some doctoring, but there's sure some round-pole corrals that would make your mouth water." "We used to have some," sighed Andy, "at the Flying U.But they kinda went to pieces, and Chip's been replacing them with plank.

By gracious, you don't see many round-pole corrals any more, come to think of it.
There's remains, scattered around over the country." "The West--the real honest-to-goodness, twelve-months-in-the-year West," Luck went on riding his hobby, "has been mighty little used in films.
Ever notice that?
It's all gone to shooting, and stealing the full product of all the gold mines in the world, and killing off more bad men than the Lord ever sent a flood to punish.