Many an honest cowpuncher, taking his girl to the show with him to let her see what a daredevil he is, has died the death upon discovering that he was merely “doubling” for some cow-eyed hero who lacked the nerve to do the stunt himself.

“Doug” Fairbanks is one of the few movie heroes who have never had a “double.”  He asks no man to do that which he is afraid to do himself.  No fall is too hard for him, no fight too furious, no ride too dangerous.  There is not a single one of his pictures in which he hasn’t taken a chance of breaking his neck or his bones; but, as one bronco-buster observed, “He jes’ licks his lips an’ asks for more.”

To be sure, few actors have brought such super-physical equipment to the strenuous work of the movies.  Fairbanks, in addition to being blessed with a strong, lithe body, has developed it by expert devotion to every form of athletic sport.  He swims well, is a crack boxer, a good polo player, a splendid wrestler, a skilful acrobat, a fast runner, and an absolutely fearless rider.

There is never a picture during the progress of which he does not interpolate some sudden bit of business as the result of his quick wit and dynamic enthusiasm.  In one play, for instance, he was supposed to enter a house at sight of his sweetheart beckoning to him from an upper window.  As he passed up the steps, however, his roving eye caught sight of the porch railing, a window-ledge, and a balcony, and in a flash he was scaling the facade of the house like any cat.

In another play he was trapped on the roof of a country home.  Suddenly Fairbanks, disregarding the plan of retreat indicated by the author, gave a wild leap into a near-by maple, managed to catch a bough, and proceeded to the ground in a series of convulsive falls that gave the director heart-failure.

During “The Half-Breed” picture, some of the action took place about a fallen redwood that had its great roots fully twenty feet into the air.

“Climb up on top of those roots, Doug,” yelled the director.

Instead of that, “Douggie” went up to a young sapling that grew at the base of the fallen tree.  Bending it down to the ground, as an archer bends his bow, he gave a sudden spring, and let the tough birch catapult him to the highest root.

“What do you want me to do now?” he grinned.

“Come back the same way,” grinned the director.

Most “legitimate” actors—­the valuation is their own—­find the movies rather dull.  Time hangs very heavily upon their hands.  As one remarked to me in tones that were thick with a divine despair:  “There’s absolutely nothing for a chap to do.  In lots of the God-forsaken holes they drag you to, there isn’t even a hotel.  No companionship, no diversion of any kind, and oftentimes no bathtubs.”

Douglas Fairbanks enters no such complaint.  He draws upon the energy and interest that ought to be in every human being, and when entertainment is not in sight, he goes after it.  When they were making “The Half-Breed” pictures in the Carquinez woods of Northern California, he was never seen around the camp except when actually needed by the camera man.  Upon his return from these absences, it was noticed that his hands were usually bleeding, and his clothing stained and torn.