(_Interior of the cabin. At the back three steps descend from the planked door to the dirt floor of the cabin. Windows, curtained, are on either side of the door. They are so high up that only a tall man can see out. A wide fireplace made of stone rises from the floor at the right end of the room. In the left corner of the cabin, a wide double-deck bunk juts out. Crazy quilts cover both beds. A few chairs, a rough table (set for breakfast at right of steps) and utensils for cooking at the fireplace—complete the furnishings. A fire burns in the fireplace; coffee bubbles on a little iron stand on the hearth. It is dark and gloomy; no direct sunlight has ever reached this secret place._ ELLY, _a tall, dark woman of thirty-five, stands tensely by the corner of the bunk. Her face, even in her excitement, is brooding and restrained. Her thick black hair, parted in the middle, is done up in a knob at the back of her head. She is wearing a faded, predominantly purple, plaid dress—full-sleeved, full-skirted, pulled in at the waist. After a moment she goes swiftly to the fireplace, pokes the fire, then goes across to the window nearest the bunk, and with extraordinary agility and grace steps upon a chair under the window and looks out. She gets down, goes slowly toward the fireplace. In the center of the room she halts, wheels about and faces the door. It opens. A man comes in quickly, and closes the door as if shutting something out. He turns, facing her from the top of the steps. He is of medium height, brutal, crafty. His clothes are nondescript and unclean. His hair slants into his eyes._) ELLY Butch! Thank God! I didn’t see ya— (_She makes a step toward him._) BUTCH (_quickly_) Shet up! ELLY Butch, w’at is it? BUTCH (_in a hoarse whisper_) Shet up, I tell you! Squawkin’ like a hen. You wanta git me killed? (_In a low voice._) They follered me. ELLY Tell me—w’at is it—? BUTCH I’ll show ’em! They won’t git me. I’ve got away frum better men ’n they are. They won’t git me alive—the lousy bums! I’d like to see ’em! They follered me. I been at the Switch. An’ when I started back I seen three men a-follerin’. They’ll come here. (_He stops thoughtfully._) They ain’t got nuthin’ on me. They cain’t prove nuthin’— (_In a hard, matter-of-fact voice._) They don’t _know_ it’s me done it. They only got somebody’s word. They don’t know it, and they cain’t prove it. No one saw me— ELLY (_with foreboding_)