[_As the song ends, the door at the rear opens soundlessly, revealing the vast expanse of moonlit plains and desolate buttes. Lon shivers and turns up his coat collar, finally facing about to discover the cause of the chill. Observing the open door, he goes to it, closes and locks it, the click of the key being distinctly audible. He then returns and sits as before, and again the song comes._] HANK [_in the Bar_]. There's many a star shall jangle in the west; There's many a leaf below. There's many a damn that will light upon the man For treating a poor girl so. [_Now both of the double doors swing open, without sound. Lon shivers, then, looking over his shoulder, suddenly gets up, glares about him and makes hastily for the door to the Bar, where he almost collides with Hank entering with bottle and glass._] HANK. Here, mister, I was just comin'. LON. What the devil's the matter with your doors? HANK. Them? Oh, the lock's no good. When the wind's southwest they fly right open. Got to be wedged with a shingle. [_He goes over to the doors, slams them shut, picks up a shingle from the floor and inserts firmly between them._] LON [_relieved_]. H'm. Well, that's all right. HANK. Now it's blame cur'us the way old places gits. You'll hear these floor boards creak at times like as if som'un was sneakin' over 'em b'ar-foot. Feller told me onct it was made by contrapshun and temper'ture. Mebbe so, but I reckon [_knowingly_] there's more goes on around than we give credit fer. [_Hank dusts off the table and puts bottle and glass down. Lon seizes them eagerly and begins drinking._] LON [_after a couple of glasses_]. You mean--spirits? HANK. Well, I dunno as you'd call 'em that. But it's a fact, there's more liquor goes over the Bar than gits paid for. 'Tain't _stole_ either. It just _goes_.... As old Pete Gunderson used to say, "I'm a hell of a th'usty p'uson, and when I croak I'll be a hell of a th'usty spirit." I sometimes wonder-- [_Padie appears above, in a loose dressing sack, her hair hanging in a great wavy mass, and holding a pitcher._] PADIE. Lon, please fetch some water. LON [_not moving_]. I don't dast go out in the night. I've caught a kind of chill from to-day's drive. HANK [_going up the stairs_]. I'll fetch it you, m'am. [_She comes down to meet him and the two are momentarily hidden from the audience. Lon continues to drink steadily, pouring down one glass after another. Hank reappears, treading with a certain gayety, and goes out rear, whistling the Tennessee "warble."_] PADIE [_leaning out of the shadow of the stairway toward her husband_]. Ain't you comin' up soon, Lon? LON [_ignoring the query_]. Scarcely no resemblance whatever. PADIE [_with sudden fierceness_]. You lie! [_She ascends to the top of the landing. Outside a pump cranks dismally._]