Exit DAVE.

BOLLINGER.  Well, they killed our friend down at Louisiana last night. [JIM chews and nods once.] Where’s your pony?

JIM. [After pause.] Have you looked in the stable?

BOLLINGER. [Sneering.] No.

JIM.  Well, don’t.

BOLLINGER.  Didn’t calculate to, Jim. [Pause.] You know what that fellow said before they shot him.

JIM. [Shakes his head.] No.

SARBER. [In quarrelsome bawl.  Pointing at JIM.] Why, he said—­

BOLLINGER. [Maintaining his leadership.] Hold on! it was understood
I was to do the talkin’.

ALL.  Go on!  Shut up, Sarber!

SARBER.  He was takin’ all day fur it.

BOLLINGER. [Clashing.] I’ll take as long as I damn please, and I’ll have the nigger play tunes between times if I want to—­

ALL.  Go on, Bollinger!

BOLLINGER. [Resuming his nag of JIM.] Know what he said?

JIM. [Pause.  Chews and shakes head.] Don’t care.

BOLLINGER.  He said you give him the pony.

JIM.  You hear him say so?

BOLLINGER.  No, but the boys down Louisiana did; they knowed it was your pony, and they arrested him.

SARBER. [Again intruding.] Then they telegraphed you—­

BOLLINGER.  Hold on! [Growl from MOB.] They didn’t know he was the train-robber—­only thought he was a hoss thief—­so they held him while they telegraphed you—­[JIM nods.  Pause.] That’s the way we got on to him—­the operator showed us the message—­[Pause. JIM nods.] Showed us your answer, too. [Pause. JIM nods.] Here’s a copy of it marked Exhibit B.  “The man tells the truth.  The pony is his’n.—­Jim Radburn.”

SARBER.  And we saw the original.

JIM nods.

BOLLINGER. [His anger now lifting his tone into police court tirade.] While we were waiting up at the Court House where you told us to go—­and I didn’t have a durn thing but a butcher knife—­you were a-standin’ in with this feller and a-givin’ him your boss to git away on.

SARBER. [In same manner.] And durn good reason—­Sam Fowler stood in with him, an’ he’s a-goin’ to marry your sister—­in the house now—­I kin see him at the kitchen window. [All growl, and half start over the stile toward kitchen.

JIM. [With sudden vehemence.] Hold on! [Impressive pause; and quiet by CROWD.] You better talk it over with me first.

BOLLINGER.  Well, you give him the pony, didn’t you? [JIM is silent.] Didn’t you?

JIM.  What’s that to you?

BOLLINGER. [Half laughing.] Well—­what is it to us—­

All laugh derisively.

ESROM. [Emboldened to participate.] I knew ’twasn’t no clinker in de coke, ’cause he frowed de mud in it and—­