Bronco Bill and the Schoolmistress (1912)

Maxwell Henry Aronson was born in 1880 or thereabouts (there is some doubt) and kicked around with various jobs before going into vaudeville as Gilbert M. Anderson. In 1903, he played several roles in The Great Train Robbery, including the passenger who is shot in the back as he tries to escape. You’ve seen the clip.

Then came the creation of the amiable, just-bright-enough cowboy, Bronco Billy, and Anderson became the first star of western movies.

Bronco Billy and the Schoolmistress is one of Anderson’s Snakeville Comedies, Snakeville, Rattlesnake County, being the setting. When the cheerful new schoolmarm arrives on the stage, she’s met by the town layabouts, led by Alkali Ike (Augustus Carney), who would headline a series of his own. The men follow her to the hotel, flirting and just generally acting like idiots. She doesn’t mind. After all, men are but grown up boys—some are just goofier than others. (I haven't been able to find the name of the actress who played the schoolmistress. So much for immorality in the movies.)

Then a card comes up telling us that the real plot is about to begin—“The Rivals.” One of them, played by Brinsley Shaw, hangs around the school to chat her up, but she happily goes off with Bronco Billy when he comes to call. Later, back at the hotel, she shows the group of her admirers a small pistol she carries in her pocket for protection. No one believes she’d ever use it.

This gets the nameless Rival to thinking. He suggests that, as a joke, they stage “a fake hold-up to try the school ma’am’s nerve.” The entourage loves this idea and responds to it by rolling their eyes, laughing, winking, nudging and nodding. It sounds silly but the men don’t overplay it and come across as a bunch of child-men with a chance to do something idiotic, but fun.

Anderson directed these little films as well as acted in them, and his use of this inane chorus is well crafted. Their reactions keep the image active even when they’re just standing there.

The gang finds Billy and tells him of the gag. Anderson is a delight as the plot slowly works its way into his imagination. His face goes blank. His jaw drops open. Then he gets it. Afraid that someone in the gang might actually frighten his lady love, Billy volunteers to play the bandit, a trick to which the Rival readily agrees. As the joke plays out, Billy pops up with a mask on, the Schoolmistress pulls her gun, and the Rival, after stepping away from the rest of the boys, shoots Bill for real.

Walter Kerr pointed out that a silent movie convention modern audiences have to get used to is the selective use of sound. Sometimes, because we can’t hear a thing, the characters can’t hear it, either. The men react to the sound of the lady’s gun, but not to the Rival’s, which goes off right behind them.

Anyway, the Schoolmistress, easily the smartest person in the picture, proves that the bullet that wounded Bill couldn’t have come from her gun. She accuses the Rival and Ike discovers that his is the guilty weapon. When Billy starts to recover, the Rival is driven out of the county (and into Coyote County) with the warning “If you ever cross that line again, you’ll eat lead.”

The film ends with a shot of Snakeville’s children in celebration as they cavort in front of a sign that reads: “School closed. Teacher married Bronco Billy.”

Watching the film I was reminded of an anecdote I once read about occasional hijinks in Dodge City, KS. Some of the locals used to put on Indian garb and ride out of town to frighten visitors in the stage on its way to town. They were referred to as “Dodgers.” You can find hints of real history in the strangest places.

Welcome to Snakeville.