BOLLINGER. Oh, Sam's all right--say, kin one of you boys lend me a gun--we're huntin' fur him. JOE. Hunting who? BOLLINGER. [_Intolerant of_ JOE'S _stupidity_.] Why, Travers. JIM. [_In quiet contrast_.] Where'd he go? BOLLINGER. Right through the window--knocked over both them green lights--kicked a box o' lickerish all over the sidewalk--kin you spare one? JOE. [_Bustling about_.] I ain't got but one, and I reckon I'll take a hand myself. JIM. [_To_ EM'LY.] Come, little gal, we got to go home. JOE. [_At door. Calls_.] Ma--ma!--Say, Jim, you can't resign to-night--I knowed they'd be trouble if you quit. JIM. Better meet at the Court House. [_Exit with_ EM'LY _and passes window going left_. _Enter_ MRS. VERNON. JOE. Where's my gun? MRS. VERNON. What you want it fur? JOE. [_Who is running a circle_.] What do you s'pose--fry eggs? Where is it? LIZBETH. Travers killed a man. MRS. VERNON. [_Adding her part to the hubbub_.] Lor'! Travers! JOE. Where is it, Lizbeth? BOLLINGER. Ain't you got anything you kin lend me? MRS. VERNON. Here it is. [_Hands gun_. JOE. Loaded? MRS. VERNON. Don't pint it. JOE. That--the butt end--come on! BOLLINGER. A butcher-knife's better than nothing. LIZBETH. Here! [_Hands knife to_ BOLLINGER. DAVE. [_As_ LIZBETH _holds him_.] You don't think I'm scared. _Exeunt_ BOLLINGER _and_ JOE. MRS. VERNON. I don't want you to shoot anybody, Joe; pint it in the air. DAVE _exits; when off calls_ "Good-bye!" MRS. VERNON. [_Impatient in doorway_.] I can't see what business it is of Dave's when they's three policemen in town; uniforms--where's Em'ly? LIZBETH. Jim took her home. MRS. VERNON. Did somebody say Travers? LIZBETH. Yes. _Enter_ Kate. KATE. What is it? LIZBETH. Travers shot a man. KATE. What man--why? MRS. VERNON. [_Accusingly._] Jus' natural deviltry--purty pass things is coming to! KATE. Whom did he shoot? LIZBETH. We don't know--shot him here, in the neck. _Enter_ Sarber _from street, hurriedly._ SARBER. Hello,--where's the boys? MRS. VERNON. Have they ketched him? SARBER. Don't know--we're all huntin'--[_Starts off._ KATE. [_Quickly._] Mr. Sarber-- SARBER. Eh? KATE. Who is hurt? SARBER. [_Shouting._] Don't know his name--Clark stuffed the hole full of cotton. [_Indicating neck._] Says city'll have to pay for his green lights and lickorish. KATE. Did Mr. Travers shoot the man? SARBER. Yes'm--nearer than you an' me--which way'd they go? LIZBETH. Court House. SARBER. Been an awful hot day. [_Exit._ KATE. [_In haunted fear._] What have you heard about it? MRS. VERNON. Why, it don't surprise me, Kate. LIZBETH. They say Travers is the _train-robber_-- KATE. Lizbeth! LIZBETH. Sam Fowler knew him the minute he saw him--, that's why Travers had to shoot--to git away! MRS. VERNON. Not Sam? LIZBETH. No, didn't shoot Sam. KATE. There has been some mistake--these people have never liked Mr. Travers.