JIM. [Rising.  With some interest.] Killed?  When?

SAM.  Last night—­didn’t you know?

JIM.  No.

SAM. [Puzzled.] Why, I thought you did—­why, the fellers said—­why, dog gone it, they were blamed funny about it—­they said, “Oh, I reckon Jim knows”—­then stuck their tongues this way in their jaw—­I thought maybe—­[Pantomimes pulling trigger.

JIM.  No, hadn’t even heard of it.

SAM.  Going to run an extra this morning—­over a dozen goin’ down just to see.  Thought maybe Em’ly ’d like to go ’long and take a look at the remains.

EM’LY. [Eagerly.] Jim!

JIM.  You’re going, are you, Sam?

SAM.  Why, calculated to.

JIM.  Well, I wish you’d stay home this mornin’ and kind a look after
Em’ly.

SAM.  Certainly.

JIM.  I’m goin’ to be pretty busy, I think, eh?

SAM. [Willing to stay.] Sure.

Exit JIM into house.

EM’LY.  Something’s worrying Jim. [Crosses to porch.

SAM.  I guess this fellow’s getting away last night.

EM’LY.  No, something else.  The operator waked me up after twelve o’clock with a telegram—­an’ Jim answered it, and then got up and dressed himself, and took both his guns and sat out on the porch here—­oh, for an hour.

SAM.  Telegrams, eh?

EM’LY.  Yes.

SAM.  Well, I guess some other robbery or something.  A sheriff has so much of that.

EM’LY.  I know.  But Jim’s worried.

SAM.  Well, I couldn’t sleep myself last night.

EM’LY.  Me neither.  After you left here, and a-telling me about it, it seemed I could see Travers shooting the man’s neck every time I closed my eyes.

SAM.  He’s a good deal better this morning.

EM’LY.  Who?

SAM.  The Pinkerton that was shot.

EM’LY.  The Pinkerton?

SAM.  Yes.

EM’LY.  I thought he was dead.

SAM.  Oh, that’s what Clark said—­but the other doctor turned him over and got him breathing again.

EM’LY.  I’m so glad—­poor fellow—­and Jim kicked him so
yesterday—­clean across that stile.

SAM.  When he come here?

EM’LY.  Yes, with that letter.

SAM.  Speakin’ of letters, I got one myself this morning.

EM’LY. [Gets letter from pocket.] Who from?

SAM.  Looks like a girl wrote it.

EM’LY.  What!

SAM.  It’s in typewritin’ an’ so I guess a girl did write it—­but its from the company.

EM’LY.  More mean things?

SAM.  Nicer than pie.  See here, [Reads:] “And regretting deeply our error, we of course cannot deal with any lawyer, but would be pleased with a personal call from you—­your salary awaits you for the time you have been absent—­”

EM’LY. [Indignantly.] Been absent!