JIM Dat's right, Daisy, you go git you one them mens whut don't mind smelling mules--and beating de white folks to de barn every morning. I don't wanta be bothered wid nothin' but dis box. DAVE And I can't strain wid nothin' but my feets and my gun. I kin git mo' turkey gobblers, but never no job. (Daisy walks slowly away in the direction from which she came. Both watch her a little wistfully for a minute. The sun is setting.) DAVE Guess I better be gitin' on back--it's most dark. Where you goin, Jim? JIM I don't know, Dave. Down de road, I reckon. DAVE Whyncher come on back to town? Taint no use you proagin' up and down [Note: corrected missing space] de railroad track when you got a home. JIM They done lawed me way from it for hittin' you wid dat bone. DAVE Dat ain't nothin'. It was my head you hit. An' if I don't keer whut dem ole ugly-rump niggers got to do wid it? JIM They might not let me come in town. DAVE (Seizing Jim's arm and facing him back toward the town.) They better! Look here, Jim, if they try to keep you out dat town we'll go out to dat swamp and git us a mule bone a piece and come back and boil dat stew down to a low gravy. JIM You mean dat Dave? (Dave nods his head eagerly.) DAVE Us wasn't mad wid one 'nother nohow. Come on less go back to town. Dem mullet heads better leave me be, too. (Picks up a heavy stick) I wish Lum would come tellin' me bout de law when I got all dis law in _my_ hands. An' de rest of dem 'gator-face jigs--if they ain't got a whole set of mule bones and a good determination they better not bring de mess up. _CURTAIN_ End of Project Gutenberg's De Turkey and De Law, by Zora Neale Hurston