I looked at a Pathegram one-reel cutdown of a six-reel Leo Maloney western and that was a mistake. There's a gang, there's a ranch, there's riding around, there's grabbing the womenfolk and riding around with them. This goes on for five minutes until we are informed that Maloney has been captured by the bad guys and if Peggy Montgomery ever wants to see him again, a check will be fine.
Maloney, in the few movies I've seen him in, strikes me as the sort of B Western star who could ride well and outact a tree. He obviously was no dope, capable of getting Ford Beebe to write his scripts, casting well from Gower Gulch and directing them himself, but his cluttered compositions are distracting and whatever charm his movies may have had at greater lengths winds up looking like 5-year-olds playing Cowboys & Indian at this length. He died in 1929 at age 41, so we'll never find out if he could speak in the movies. Or sing.
