JIM. [In real tenderness.] Why, Kate—Katie—see here—I'm your friend—they ain't anybody in the world feels as bad for you as I do—but be reasonable—it's only a question of time. I s'pose every man in Bowlin' Green that owns a gun or a bowie knife's collectin' up there at the Court House—your own pa and Dave—they'll be back here after a while—and what then?—don't you see?

KATE. It's horrible—don't tell me it is duty makes them hunt a fellow-man like that. [Rises.

JIM. I don't pretend to know anything about that—[Pause. Picks up dipper; looks at KATE.] Poor chap—thirsty—oh, well—that's your business, Kate. [Puts dipper on the bench.

KATE. [At bay herself.] You're not a man, Jim Radburn, you're a bloodhound—you hunt men.

JIM. Yes! [Pause.

KATE. Yes. [End of rocker-chair.

JIM. See here, Kate—I want a word or two with Mr. Travers. I think the honestest thing he ever done was liking you—I—

KATE. [Fiercely.] And that is why you hate him! You think he likes me! You think if it hadn't been for him I might have liked you! Well, I do like him—[Pause.] that's why you hunt him! It isn't your duty prompts you—it's your jealousy!

JIM. [A pause in which he decides the question.] He's in that closet.

KATE. [Turning.] He is not.

JIM. [Straddling a chair and facing closet. Speaks in ordinary tone.] Travers, come out. If you don't come out, I'll shoot through the door.

TRAVERS. [Bursting from closet and levelling pistol.] Throw up your hands!

JIM. [Pause. In fateful monotone.] You're a damn fool! The sound of a gun now would fill both them streets with pitchforks.

KATE. Don't—don't—shoot.

JIM. Oh, he won't!

TRAVERS. Do you think you can arrest me—alive?

JIM. It don't make no difference to me.

KATE. [Anxiously pleading.] If you are innocent, Mr. Travers—if you have acted in self-defence—

JIM. Wait, Kate—we ain't got time to try him now. He ain't got time; the boys are waiting up at the Court House. Mr. Travers, this young lady likes you—very much. [He slowly rises.

TRAVERS. [Still covering him.] I know the cause of your hatred, Mr. Radburn—I know you are here because I love her.

JIM. No, I'm here because she likes you—if she didn't like you 'twouldn't make any difference to me how quick we came to terms; but she likes you—your Pinkerton friend—[Pause. Indicating neck.] dead—the boys are up at the Court House. Clark is pretty hot about them Jumbo bottles, and they wouldn't be reasonable—my hoss is standing at the door—with anything like a fair start he can hold his own—Louisiana town is eleven miles away, and jist across from that is Illinois—and then you'll have to look out for yourself—now go!

KATE. [With emotional appreciation.] Jim!

JIM. [With a restraining gesture.] Never mind, Kate.

TRAVERS. You tell me to go?

JIM. [Pause.] Yes.

TRAVERS. Why, there's ten thousand dollars' reward—

JIM. For the man that—went—in—that—car—but you ain't that man.

TRAVERS. On your horse?

JIM. Yes.

TRAVERS. Kate—[Starts toward her.

KATE. [Shrinking.] Oh—h!

TRAVERS. [Holds out hand.] Jim Radburn!

JIM. No—I give you my horse, but I'm damned if I shake hands with you—!!

Exit TRAVERS. KATE sinks in chair sobbing. JIM in doorway regards her tenderly.

CURTAIN.



ACT IV.

SCENE. Exterior of JIM RADBURN'S cabin-front, stoop and steps showing. Rail-fence partly broken down is across the stage at right and continues in painting on the panorama back-drop of rough country with stacks of cord wood. Many stumps showing. A mud road winds into the distance, a stile crosses fence.

DISCOVERED. JIM on step with pencil and queer note-paper, writing on a piece of broken board.

JIM. Hello! Dropped my pencil. [Picks it up.] Of course fell on the "buttered side," an' I've got to whittle it agin. [Takes enormous knife from his pocket and opens it.

Enter EM'LY, with milk-pails filled.

EM'LY. Say, Jim—

JIM. [Whets knife on boot.] Well?

EM'LY. You let the pony out?

JIM. [Sharpens pencil.] No.

EM'LY. Ain't in his stall.

JIM. I know. [EM'LY looks at JIM a moment and exits back of house. Looking at paper.] I reckon that's right—Mayor and City Council—[Writes—first wetting pencil in his mouth.] Huh—I s'pose I ought to write it in ink—dog gone it—[Writing through his speech.] If it wasn't for Em'ly I wouldn't care—not a damn—[Looks up.] I wonder whether it's U.G. or E.G. [Writes.] I'll jus' kinder round off the top an' play it both ways. "Resignation," and after that, why they kin see me personally.

Re-enter EM'LY, with pails empty. EM'LY sings.

EM'LY. [Pause.] Who did let him out?

JIM. Who?

EM'LY. Pony.

JIM. Me.

EM'LY. Why, I thought you said you didn't.

JIM. Well, not to pasture; I give him to a feller.

EM'LY. [Surprised.] Give him?

JIM. Yes.

EM'LY. Why?

JIM. [With meaning.] He needed him awful bad. [Writes.

EM'LY stands looking at him a moment; then turns to go.

EM'LY. Say! [Puts pails down.

JIM. What?

EM'LY. Here comes Sam.

JIM. [Writing and not looking up.] Bully!

EM'LY. You want him?

JIM. No, but I reckon you will.

EM'LY. [Smiling.] Git out.

JIM. [Writing.] "P.S. This goes into effect from last night, and is a copy—Joe Vernon has the original document."

EM'LY. [On the stile. Looking off.] Hello!

SAM. [Off.] Hello!

Enter SAM.

EM'LY. Awful glad.

SAM. Hello, Jim.

JIM. Hello, Sam.

SAM. Know where your pony is?

JIM. Gone East.

SAM. He's in Louisiana.

JIM. Who's got him?

SAM. Why, ain't you heard?

JIM. Ain't heard nothing this morning.

EM'LY. What?

SAM. [To JIM.] Travers stole him. [To EMILY.] Stole Jim's pony after shootin' the Pinkerton.

EM'LY. Why, Jim—

JIM. Never mind, Em'ly. [To SAM.] Who told you?

SAM. The fellers. You know Travers was—er—

EM'LY. The train-robber—yes, you told us last night that—

SAM. Yes, but I mean you know he was—killed?

JIM. [Rising. With some interest.] Killed? When?

SAM. Last night—didn't you know?

JIM. No.

SAM. [Puzzled.] Why, I thought you did—why, the fellers said—why, dog gone it, they were blamed funny about it—they said, "Oh, I reckon Jim knows"—then stuck their tongues this way in their jaw—I thought maybe—[Pantomimes pulling trigger.

JIM. No, hadn't even heard of it.

SAM. Going to run an extra this morning—over a dozen goin' down just to see. Thought maybe Em'ly 'd like to go 'long and take a look at the remains.

EM'LY. [Eagerly.] Jim!

JIM. You're going, are you, Sam?

SAM. Why, calculated to.

JIM. Well, I wish you'd stay home this mornin' and kind a look after Em'ly.

SAM. Certainly.

JIM. I'm goin' to be pretty busy, I think, eh?

SAM. [Willing to stay.] Sure.

Exit JIM into house.

EM'LY. Something's worrying Jim. [Crosses to porch.

SAM. I guess this fellow's getting away last night.

EM'LY. No, something else. The operator waked me up after twelve o'clock with a telegram—an' Jim answered it, and then got up and dressed himself, and took both his guns and sat out on the porch here—oh, for an hour.

SAM. Telegrams, eh?

EM'LY. Yes.

SAM. Well, I guess some other robbery or something. A sheriff has so much of that.

EM'LY. I know. But Jim's worried.

SAM. Well, I couldn't sleep myself last night.

EM'LY. Me neither. After you left here, and a-telling me about it, it seemed I could see Travers shooting the man's neck every time I closed my eyes.

SAM. He's a good deal better this morning.

EM'LY. Who?

SAM. The Pinkerton that was shot.

EM'LY. The Pinkerton?

SAM. Yes.

EM'LY. I thought he was dead.

SAM. Oh, that's what Clark said—but the other doctor turned him over and got him breathing again.

EM'LY. I'm so glad—poor fellow—and Jim kicked him so yesterday—clean across that stile.

SAM. When he come here?

EM'LY. Yes, with that letter.

SAM. Speakin' of letters, I got one myself this morning.

EM'LY. [Gets letter from pocket.] Who from?

SAM. Looks like a girl wrote it.

EM'LY. What!

SAM. It's in typewritin' an' so I guess a girl did write it—but its from the company.

EM'LY. More mean things?

SAM. Nicer than pie. See here, [Reads:] "And regretting deeply our error, we of course cannot deal with any lawyer, but would be pleased with a personal call from you—your salary awaits you for the time you have been absent—"

EM'LY. [Indignantly.] Been absent!

SAM. And they having me locked up in a hotel.

EM'LY. I should say so.

SAM. [Reading:]—"been absent. And we can guarantee your regular employment in our offices here or at any other station you may prefer. Yours very truly, etc.,—Superintendent."

EM'LY. Well, what do you think?

SAM. Not much—Bollinger says we can get twenty thousand dollars.

EM'LY. I know—that's what he told Jim too—he wanted us to put off the wedding.

SAM. Jim?

EM'LY. No—Bollinger—

SAM. Why?

EM'LY. He said it would make a stronger case.

SAM. [Resenting the idea.] Well, see here, Em'ly—

EM'LY. I'm only telling you what Bollinger said.

SAM. Put off our wedding?

EM'LY. He said for about two months.

SAM. What's he take me for?

EM'LY. Jim heard him.

SAM. What did Jim say?

EM'LY. He said—why, he said that was about ten thousand a month, just for waiting.

SAM. No, sir-ee.

EM'LY. An' Bollinger, tryin' to encourage me, said he'd let his wife go that long for half the money.

SAM. Well, do you think it's right?

EM'LY. What?

SAM. Why, this postponing for damages.

EM'LY. Not if you don't—only Bollinger said it wouldn't hurt any to wait.

SAM. See here, Em'ly—seems to me you ain't any too anxious you'self.

EM'LY. Well, how can a girl be, Sam—I can't just up and say I won't wait—especially when they're your damages—I haven't got any right to say I'm worth ten thousand dollars a month.

SAM. [Embracing her.] Well, you bet your life you are.

EM'LY. [Acquiescing.] Well—

Enter DAVE and LIZBETH.

DAVE. Hello, Sam.

SAM. Hello.

LIZBETH. [Pleased with the example of SAM and EM'LY.] Dave!

EM'LY. Why, how do you do?

DAVE. Where's Jim?

SAM. In the house.

LIZBETH. Isn't it awful, Em'ly. [She and EM'LY go to the little porch.

SAM. What's the matter?

DAVE. People don't understand it.

SAM. What do you mean?

DAVE. Why, Jim; lots of 'em thinks he did it.

SAM. Did what? Shoot Travers?

DAVE. No, give him that horse—

SAM. Give to him? Git out.

DAVE. Well, you bet they said so, and Bollinger and Sarber and Cal and lots of them think so.

SAM. [Astonished.] Git out!

DAVE. Yes, sir-ee.

SAM. They better not say that to me.

DAVE. Why, they'd say it to Jim—you ought to hear them talking at the convention—

SAM. Is this the day of the convention?

DAVE. 'Tain't come to order yit, but they're all up to the Court House,—one feller nailed the telegrams on a bulletin where everybody could read them.

SAM. What telegrams?

DAVE. Why, Jim's.

Enter JIM from house.

JIM. Mornin', Lizbeth.

LIZBETH. How de do, Jim.

JIM. Kate feelin' all right?

LIZBETH. Well; you know—

JIM. Oh, yes—natural enough—ain't you workin', Dave?

DAVE. Convention.

JIM. Sure. Forgot the convention.

DAVE. Me and Lizbeth come together because we thought Sam and Em'ly'd stand up with us.

JIM. At the Squire's?

DAVE. No, preacher's.

JIM. I reckon. [Looks at EM'LY.

EM'LY. Of course.

JIM. Convention ain't met?

DAVE. Not yit.

JIM. I think I'll go down to the Court House. [Starts down and stops as he reaches the stile.] Hello!

SAM. What's up?

JIM. Nothing'—some o' the boys—comin' here, I expect—Say!

SAM. What?

JIM. I mean Dave.

DAVE. How's that?

JIM. Will you do me a favour?

DAVE. Certainly.

JIM. [Pointing off right.] This letter—give it to the Mayor, or any of the Council—some of them's sure to be at the convention.

DAVE. All right. [He goes onto the stile and stops.] Bollinger's one, ain't he?

JIM. Yes.

DAVE. He's comin' with them fellers—

JIM. Well, give it to him—a little before he gits here.

DAVE. All right, Jim. [Starts off—stops.] No trouble, you don't reckon?

JIM. No, I reckon not.

Exit DAVE.

EM'LY. Jim!

JIM. I want you and Lizbeth to go in the house. Go on!

EM'LY. [Going.] What's the matter?

JIM. You go with them, Sam—and take care of 'em.

SAM. [Joining the girls on the porch.] Why, Jim, if there's goin' to be any trouble—

JIM. [Watching the coming mob.] I reckon they ain't—and anyway I want this side of the fence by myself. [Exeunt LIZBETH and EM'LY to house.] Take 'em way back to the kitchen.

SAM. [At the door.] All right?

JIM. Dead sure.

Exit SAM. JIM removes his paper collar—adjusts the two guns under his coat-tails—takes a chew of tobacco, and fatefully waits. Enter back of fence, BOLLINGER, SARBER, CAL, ESROM, DAVE, and SUPERS; DAVE drifts away from them to left. ESROM playing Jew's-harp. All enter when JIM gets through his preparations and leans against porch.

BOLLINGER. [Loudly.] Here, stop the band.

SARBER. Stop her.

ESROM is silent.

BOLLINGER. [Pause.] Hello, Jim. [His tone carries a nagging insinuation.

JIM. Hello.

DAVE. I'll tell the old man, Jim. [Going.

JIM. Oh, no hurry, Dave.

Exit DAVE.

BOLLINGER. Well, they killed our friend down at Louisiana last night. [JIM chews and nods once.] Where's your pony?

JIM. [After pause.] Have you looked in the stable?

BOLLINGER. [Sneering.] No.

JIM. Well, don't.

BOLLINGER. Didn't calculate to, Jim. [Pause.] You know what that fellow said before they shot him.

JIM. [Shakes his head.] No.

SARBER. [In quarrelsome bawl. Pointing at JIM.] Why, he said—

BOLLINGER. [Maintaining his leadership.] Hold on! it was understood I was to do the talkin'.

ALL. Go on! Shut up, Sarber!

SARBER. He was takin' all day fur it.

BOLLINGER. [Clashing.] I'll take as long as I damn please, and I'll have the nigger play tunes between times if I want to—

ALL. Go on, Bollinger!

BOLLINGER. [Resuming his nag of JIM.] Know what he said?

JIM. [Pause. Chews and shakes head.] Don't care.

BOLLINGER. He said you give him the pony.

JIM. You hear him say so?

BOLLINGER. No, but the boys down Louisiana did; they knowed it was your pony, and they arrested him.

SARBER. [Again intruding.] Then they telegraphed you—

BOLLINGER. Hold on! [Growl from MOB.] They didn't know he was the train-robber—only thought he was a hoss thief—so they held him while they telegraphed you—[JIM nods. Pause.] That's the way we got on to him—the operator showed us the message—[Pause. JIM nods.] Showed us your answer, too. [Pause. JIM nods.] Here's a copy of it marked Exhibit B. "The man tells the truth. The pony is his'n.—Jim Radburn."

SARBER. And we saw the original.

JIM nods.

BOLLINGER. [His anger now lifting his tone into police court tirade.] While we were waiting up at the Court House where you told us to go—and I didn't have a durn thing but a butcher knife—you were a-standin' in with this feller and a-givin' him your boss to git away on.

SARBER. [In same manner.] And durn good reason—Sam Fowler stood in with him, an' he's a-goin' to marry your sister—in the house now—I kin see him at the kitchen window. [All growl, and half start over the stile toward kitchen.

JIM. [With sudden vehemence.] Hold on! [Impressive pause; and quiet by CROWD.] You better talk it over with me first.

BOLLINGER. Well, you give him the pony, didn't you? [JIM is silent.] Didn't you?

JIM. What's that to you?

BOLLINGER. [Half laughing.] Well—what is it to us—

All laugh derisively.

ESROM. [Emboldened to participate.] I knew 'twasn't no clinker in de coke, 'cause he frowed de mud in it and—

BOLLINGER. Shoot that nigger.

SARBER. Shut up! [Smashes NIGGER in the mouth.

BOLLINGER. [To JIM.] Well, say—[Pause.] That was a fine way for a sheriff to do,—wasn't it?

JIM. I've resigned.

BOLLINGER. I got your letter. You hadn't resigned last night; you know there's a law for you, Mr. Radburn.

JIM. That's all right.

BOLLINGER. You'll have to "do time."

JIM. [Smiling.] When?

BOLLINGER. This session—you git a taste of the jug this morning.

JIM. Not this morning!

BOLLINGER. Well, we'll see—you go with us.

Murmur and start.

JIM. [Again in sudden warning.] Hold on, boys—[Pause and recovery of calm.] I claim everything this side of the fence. Now I know it ain't sociable, but I don't want you to come in. Whenever the District Attorney gits his witnesses together, I'll be there, but I won't go this mornin'—[Pause.] and anyhow I won't go with such a mangy lot of heelers as you've scraped up this trip.

BOLLINGER. I reckon you will, Jim.

Murmur and movement.

JIM. Hold on—[Pause, with both hands on guns.] I don't want to break my record, but I'll have to do it if you trespass on the lawn.

BOLLINGER. [Discreetly on stile. After a pause.] I hope you don't think we're scared, Jim?

JIM. No—ain't anything to be scared about, Tom—as long as you stay outside.—Keep off the grass.

BOLLINGER. [His irritation returning. Threateningly.] And don't you dare to draw a gun on any of us. Say, Sarber—go down to the Court House and git a warrant. If you had a warrant we could walk right in.

MRS. VERNON. [Off.] Now, Kate, be careful.

Enter KATE and MRS. VERNON over the stile—the MOB parting to admit them.

KATE. What is the matter? Jim!

JIM. Won't you come in? Howdy, Mrs. Vernon?

KATE and MRS. VERNON come on.

KATE. [Anxiously. To JIM.] What do these men want? [To BOLLINGER.] What is the trouble here?

BOLLINGER. [Pointing at JIM.] Malfeasance.

KATE. What?

BOLLINGER. Why, Miss Kate, he gave his horse to a man he ought to have arrested—a train-robber—a murderer—and—

JIM. Hold on, Bollinger—man's dead, and he used to be a friend to these ladies.

KATE. [Crosses to the MEN.] No—do not speak of him—we thought he was a friend—but why do you accuse Mr. Radburn?

JIM. No use talkin', Kate, they know.

BOLLINGER. You bet.

JIM. Lizbeth's inside—you an' Kate better go in, Mrs. Vernon.

KATE. No. Do you blame this man?

BOLLINGER. Blame him! Why, he's an accessory after the fact, and maybe before—I don't see how he can git out of it! Here's his telegram, really better than a plea of guilty—we ought to arrest him!

KATE. [To BOLLINGER.] He is not guilty. [To JIM.] Oh, Jim, Jim! Can you forgive me? [She extends her hand.

JIM. [Taking her hand.] Why, Kate, 'tain't none o' their business.

KATE. No, it is all mine. [Murmur from CROWD.—To the MEN.] Listen; all of you must know that Mr. Travers was attentive to me—I believed he was a gentleman—we thought he was a friend—[Half crying.] but he never was half the friend—never could be half the friend that Jim Radburn's been—

JIM. [Expostulating.] Kate!

KATE. [To JIM.] Yes, I know all about it now—my father has told me all—everything about my college days—I am humiliated to the dust.

JIM. Now, Kate—

KATE. You should have told me in the shop, when I presumed to speak of your disadvantages.

JIM. [To MEN.] See here—this is a little matter between me and Kate Vernon—none of your business—so why don't you saunter off? [MEN start to go.

KATE. [To the MEN.] No, I want them to stay. I have nothing to say of Mr. Travers' doings—we were mistaken—but Jim Radburn thought I cared for the man, and he was big enough to let him escape for me—I am the one at fault—he has almost given up his life to me. You, Col. Bollinger, and every one knows that he could win his nomination if he wanted to—[Turning to JIM.]—But he gave that up, too, because Joe Vernon, my father, wants it. Oh, Jim! Jim! [Sinks on steps, sobbing.

MRS. VERNON. [Crosses to her.] There, Kate, I knowed it would be too much fur you. [To JIM.] She's took on this way since daylight.

JIM. Say, you fellers ain't got spunk enough to keep hoss flies off a you. What do you want? Cold victuals?

BOLLINGER. Come on, fellers—[The MEN start off.] hold on, here's Joe. [MEN return.

MRS. VERNON. Joe Vernon!

Enter JOE and DAVE.

JOE. What's the matter, Jim? ain't nobody hurt? Why, Kate—

JIM. You made a pretty mess of it, ain't you?

JOE. What?

JIM. [Pointing to KATE.] Tellin' everything.

JOE. Well, that ain't all of it.

JIM. What ain't?

JOE. Why, they put them blamed telegrams up at the convention—I didn't see them till the fust ballot was over, and they'd nominated me—

MRS. VERNON. For Jefferson, Joe?

JOE. [In great excitement.] Yes, for the Legislature.

Cheers from CROWD.

JIM. There, Kate, do you hear that? Now, what's the use cryin'?

JOE. And I made a speech—

MRS. VERNON. Git out.

JOE. Git out yourself—

MRS. VERNON. Say, your pa's been nominated, and made a speech!

JOE. Well, lemme tell you—

JIM. Well, never mind the speech, Joe—you're as good as elected anyhow.

JOE. And you done every bit of it—why, I took them blamed telegrams, and I told that convention everything I knew. Everything Kate told me—about your getting off the track 'cause you liked her. Tom, you told me yourself that Jim wasn't makin' no canvass fur the nomination. Do you know why? 'Cause he liked my Kate. Last night he gimme his resignation as sheriff. Do you know why?

BOLLINGER. Afore he give him the hoss?

JOE. Long before—and Jim Radburn, I believe you knowed then who that feller was, and I told the convention so. He did give Travers the hoss, and then I said, "He give up his pony to this feller 'cause he didn't have the heart to make Kate feel bad"—and I said—"What's Mizzoura—what's Pike County comin' to if we kin persecute a man like that," and, by golly, they jus' stood on their hind legs and hollered fur you!

BOLLINGER. I'm a-comin' inside myself if he pulls both guns. [Comes over the stile.

JIM. Why, Tom.

They shake hands.

JOE. An' they're up there now, like a pack of howlin' idiots, unanimously re-electing you sheriff by acclamation, and "Vivy Vochy," over and over agin.

JIM. There, there, Kate—you're goin' to Jefferson soon—an' you kin forgit all about it.

KATE. I don't want to go to Jefferson, Jim—I don't want to—forget it. [Turns, weeps on JOE'S breast.

MRS. VERNON. Now, talk to her, Jim!

JIM. Not now—she feels too bad.

MRS. VERNON. But she'll get over that—she's comin' to her senses, an' she knows she likes you. Talk to her.

JIM. Some other time.

CURTAIN.

THE END