“Born in shame, knowing no father and only an indifferent mother, Bud Halworth sat about the little cowtown of Center Gulch, stupid, sullen, despised of men, accepting the jibes and insults of both man and woman with like taciturnity, a thing of shame with every vestige of manhood long ago dead. Such was Bud Halworth, neither quite man nor quite beast. But a short distance from the charity cabin in which his mother eked out a tiresome life, stood the home of good mother Brown, whose only son, Ed, was a straight, manly boy, the apple of his mother’s eye, the pride of Center Gulch. He was the idol of men. Two types of humanity more opposite could not exist. A time came when a man rushed frantically into the one street of the town, coatless, breathless, with the tale of the murder of a villager in the mountains by that much-feared “Terror,” who now for three weeks had taken life and property on every side. Center Gulch in all its wild career knew no character whose names and deeds were blacker than the “Terror.” The town assembled in the roadway. The village “boss,” with star in hand, headed a delegation that went to Ed Brown and pinned the star upon him. Then, with revolver handy, he headed for the dreary hills which hid the human viper, more deadly than its many rattlesnakes. And Bud Halworth, despised of men, sat sullenly by the open saloon door, neither seeing, heeding nor caring. Out into the hills went Ed, and they brought him back with a bullet hole through his heart. And the mother of Ed grieved as few people grieve and live. Her mind tottered— she threw herself upon the prostrate form and babbled into the silent ear of her beloved dead. That afternoon Bud Halworth went home to see his mother die. It was his first contact with death and the horror of her white features unnerved him, stirred his sluggish brain and gave him a peculiar numbness in the region of his heart. He did not understand its significance. He went back to the saloon and brooded dully in the sunlight by the open door. Then, actuated by some strange impulse, he hurried to the cabin where lay the body of the idol of the town. Again, in the presence of death, he felt a strange stirring in his breast as though a long dormant emotion moved him. On his way back he passed an aged cripple whose particular delight was to taunt Bud. This time Bud stopped and gave more heed to the ancient masculine Mother Grundy. Grief had shattered a mother’s mind and the mother of Ed wandered alone to the great precipice on which the town was built. Bud, strolling dully through the hills, saw her, followed her and caught her in his arms just as she toppled dizzily over the brow of the mountain. She rested in his arms and her confused brain thought him Ed, her beloved son. And in the days that followed, the motherless son lived with the worshipping mother and she thought him, in her crazed gentle way, her Edward. She showered love upon him, and a mighty change came over the dull and stupid brain. One day he arose quickly from the doorstep and rushed into the room, hearing news of the “Terror.” In a confused way, hardly knowing what he did, Bud tore the guns from the “boss’s” belt and rushed away into the zone of death. From the high top of a tree Bud fell with terrific force on the “Terror,” bound him and brought him in triumph into town, his won brain buzzing, his heart beating in response to a new feeling— pride. And then they pinned the star upon him and he rushed hurriedly home to show the badge to his mother. That star stirred vague memories in the shattered mind of the woman— she reeled and fell dead in his arms. When he had buried her the villagers saw, silhouetted against the setting sun, the beautiful form of Bud Halworth, despised among men, standing at the brow of the dangerous precipice. The stoop in his shoulders was gone— fire had come into the big, handsome eyes— a new being had been born— from the Ashes of Three a Man was Made!” - Moving Picture News, May 17, 1913, p.23
This production combined the first and second company. The British Film Institute holds the negative and a viewing copy for the first reel.
Only the first reel of the British Film Institute print remains. This is certainly too bad because what remains involves members from both companies, interesting situations and good cinematography. - DD