DISCOVERED. JIM on step with pencil and queer note-paper, writing on a piece of broken board.

JIM.  Hello!  Dropped my pencil. [Picks it up.] Of course fell on the “buttered side,” an’ I’ve got to whittle it agin. [Takes enormous knife from his pocket and opens it.

Enter EM’LY, with milk-pails filled.

EM’LY.  Say, Jim—­

JIM. [Whets knife on boot.] Well?

EM’LY.  You let the pony out?

JIM. [Sharpens pencil.] No.

EM’LY.  Ain’t in his stall.

JIM.  I know. [EM’LY looks at JIM a moment and exits back of house.  Looking at paper.] I reckon that’s right—­Mayor and City Council—­[Writes—­first wetting pencil in his mouth.] Huh—­I s’pose I ought to write it in ink—­dog gone it—­[Writing through his speech.] If it wasn’t for Em’ly I wouldn’t care—­not a damn—­[Looks up.] I wonder whether it’s U.G. or E.G. [Writes.] I’ll jus’ kinder round off the top an’ play it both ways.  “Resignation,” and after that, why they kin see me personally.

Re-enter EM’LY, with pails empty. EM’LY sings.

EM’LY. [Pause.] Who did let him out?

JIM.  Who?

EM’LY.  Pony.

JIM.  Me.

EM’LY.  Why, I thought you said you didn’t.

JIM.  Well, not to pasture; I give him to a feller.

EM’LY. [Surprised.] Give him?

JIM.  Yes.

EM’LY.  Why?

JIM. [With meaning.] He needed him awful bad. [Writes.

EM’LY stands looking at him a moment; then turns to go.

EM’LY.  Say! [Puts pails down.

JIM.  What?

EM’LY.  Here comes Sam.

JIM. [Writing and not looking up.] Bully!

EM’LY.  You want him?

JIM.  No, but I reckon you will.

EM’LY. [Smiling.] Git out.

JIM. [Writing.] “P.S.  This goes into effect from last night, and is a copy—­Joe Vernon has the original document.”

EM’LY. [On the stile.  Looking off.] Hello!

SAM. [Off.] Hello!

Enter SAM.

EM’LY.  Awful glad.

SAM.  Hello, Jim.

JIM.  Hello, Sam.

SAM.  Know where your pony is?

JIM.  Gone East.

SAM.  He’s in Louisiana.

JIM.  Who’s got him?

SAM.  Why, ain’t you heard?

JIM.  Ain’t heard nothing this morning.

EM’LY.  What?

SAM. [To JIM.] Travers stole him. [To EMILY.] Stole Jim’s pony after shootin’ the Pinkerton.

EM’LY.  Why, Jim—­

JIM.  Never mind, Em’ly. [To SAM.] Who told you?

SAM.  The fellers.  You know Travers was—­er—­

EM’LY.  The train-robber—­yes, you told us last night that—­

SAM.  Yes, but I mean you know he was—­killed?