DAVE. [Going.] I got to get the leather put on this shaft—­but that’s great. [Exit.

KATE appears in outside door.

KATE. [Coming toward JIM, who is turning gumbo thoughtfully in his hands.] Jim!

JIM.  Why, Kate—­[Gumbo.] See here—­how’s this for an idea?

KATE.  What did you mean—­by this? [She extends letter.

JIM.  Why, just that.  I thought it looked like his writin’,—­same backhand, and no shadin’ to it.

KATE.  How could Mr. Travers have written it?

JIM.  Why, no use gettin’ mad, Kate.  It kin look like his writin’, can’t it?

KATE. [Going to anvil and leaning on back of it.] You don’t like him, Jim, do you?

JIM. [Picks up old horse-shoe.] Well—­[Mechanically pounds gumbo with horse-shoe.

KATE. [Pause.] Not much—­

JIM.  No—­not a great deal, Kate.

KATE. [Displaying the letter.] Do you think he’s a bad enough man to have done this?

JIM.  Well, a fellow who takes a risk like that—­to clear another man who’s been arrested in his place, ain’t so bad.

KATE.  A train robber!

JIM.  Why, I don’t say he done it.

KATE.  But you think so.

JIM. [Laughing.] Oh, no, I don’t—­there’s a ten thousand dollar reward for the right man.

KATE.  Then why hand this letter to me?  Why imply it?

JIM.  Why, Kate, I’m a friend of—­your pa’s—­I’ve known you ever since you was eight or ten years old.  I don’t know this man Travers—­you don’t know him.  He comes to your house.

KATE.  Well.

JIM.  Comes to see you, don’t he?

KATE. [Getting in front of anvil.] He does—­what of it?

JIM.  Why—­I don’t think I’d like a preacher of the Gospel if he was to do that. [Pause.] I—­I never meant to say anything—­but when men—­other men—­I mean anybody gets to payin’ you attention, why, I’m afraid to keep still any longer—­

KATE. [Turns away.] To keep still—­

JIM. [Advances.] Yes, I’ve been sheriff here, an’ whenever I’ve had anything to do, I’ve said to myself, now don’t—­do anything—­ugly—­’cause Kate—­[KATE turns toward him; he qualifies tone.] some day, you know—­Kate might think more of me if I hadn’t done it.  You know yourself that I quit drinkin’ a year before the local option—­on account of that essay you read, examination day—­why, Kate, I care more for how you feel about anything than I do for anybody in the State of Mizzoura—­that’s just how it is. [Pause. KATE is silent.] You kin remember yourself when you was a little girl an’ I used to take a horse-shoe an’ tie it on the anvil an’ make a side-saddle for you—­an’ I reckon I was the first fellow in Bowling Green that ever called you.  Miss Kate when you come back from school.