e window--stepped right into the
perfumery case, then on the sody-water counter, and this fellow
grabbed him. First we see Travers had his gun right against the
fellow's neck and--bang--he turned around with both hands up, this
way, and kneels down right at Bill Sarber's feet.

EM'LY. And Sam?

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'--[_Star