p s 
 
 Z 5 15 
 
 1903 
 
 !Br ' 
 
 THE 
 
 HORSE THIEVES 
 
 IT 
 
 HERMANN HAGEDORN 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 
 
 COPYRIGHT OFFICE. 
 
 J 
 
 No registration o^NWe of this b^ 
 as a preliminary to copyright protec- 
 tion has been found. 
 
 Forwarded to Order Division -WJMi^i^Xi l^HJ 
 
 (bate) 
 
 (Apr. 5, 1901—5,000.) 
 
 Glass 
 
 TS 3 5lo 
 
 Book 
 
 •Aa^ He 
 
 
 |<Jfl3 
 
THE 
 
 Horse Thieves 
 
 A Comedy in One Act 
 
 BY 
 
 HERMANN HAGEDORN 
 
 Privately Reprinted from the Boston Transcript 
 May, 1909 
 
 On Sale at the Harvard Co-operative Society 
 Cambridge, Massachusetts 
 
s 
 
 •v^ 
 
 
 Copyright 1909, by Hermann Hagedorn 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 Copyright also as a Dramatic Composition 
 
 F<ecaived from 
 
 Copyright Offfc©. 
 MAR 1910 
 
To 
 
 Shaun Kelly 
 
 IN REMEMBRANCE OF COLORADO DAYS 
 
FOREWORD 
 
 "The Horse Thieves/' together with 
 "Five in the Morning," by the same author, 
 and two other one-act plays, was produced 
 by the Harvard Dramatic Club in Boston 
 and Cambridge on the evenings of May 
 17, 18 and 20, 1909. It was published in 
 the Boston Evening Transcript of May 
 22, 1909, with the following note of the 
 literary editor: 
 
 "This play was produced by the Harvard Dra- 
 matic Club last Monday, and is offered as an 
 example of the literary work now being done for 
 the stage by graduates of recent years. It is 
 founded on fact, and the horse thieves in quesf- 
 tion are now in jail. The sheriff is still telling 
 the story of their capture, and Mrs. Bartlett Is 
 still celebrating the Sabbath on Saturday on her 
 ranch on White River." 
 
 The right to perform "The Horse 
 Thieves" and "Five in the Morning" may 
 be procured from the author, care of The 
 Players, 16 Gramercy Park, New York 
 City. "Five in the Morning" will be pub- 
 lished by the Houghton Mifflin Company 
 next autumn in a volume entitled "A 
 Troop of the Guard and Other Poems." 
 
 The author desires to thank Mr. E. F. 
 Edgett, literary editor of the Boston Tran- 
 script, for permission to reprint "The 
 
Horse Thieves" in book form from the 
 original type. He furthermore extends 
 his hearty thanks to the Harvard Dra- 
 matic Club and, in particular, to its coach, 
 Mr. Wilfred North, for the skilful presen- 
 tation of his plays. 
 
 H. H. 
 
 Cambridge, Massachusetts, 
 May 24, 1909. 
 
PROGRAM 
 
 OF THE 
 
 SPRING PRODUCTION 
 
 OF THE 
 
 HARVARD DRAMATIC CLUB 
 
 Presented at Potter Hall, in Boston, on May 
 
 17, and in Brattle Hall, Cambridge, 
 
 on May 18 and 20, 1909. 
 
 "THE HORSE THIEVES" 
 By Hermann Hagedorn 
 
 "DEATH AND THE DICERS" 
 By Frederic Schenck 
 
 "FIVE IN THE MORNING" 
 By Hermann Hagedorn 
 
 "THE HEART OF THE IRISHMAN" 
 By Leonard Hatch 
 
 CAST OF ''THE HORSE THIEVES" 
 
 Al Bartlett Mr. James S. Savery 
 
 Mrs. Eliza Bartlett. .Miss Charlotte Adams 
 
 Laura Miss Anna Bourke 
 
 Burt Haskell Mr. Philip Snedeker 
 
 Olib Morrill Mr. James C. Nicholson 
 
 Rev. James Clinch. .Mr. Robert C. Benchley 
 
The Horse Thieves 
 
Persons in the Play 
 
 Al Bartlett, Sheriff of Rio Blanco County, 
 
 Colorado 
 Mrs. Eliza Bartlett^ his wife 
 Laura, their daughter 
 Burt Haskell 
 Olih Morrill 
 Rev. Jamhs Clinch 
 
 SCENE: The kitchen of the ranch house of 
 Al Bartlettj the sheriff. The room is small 
 and simply though neatly furnished. The 
 three walls visihle to the audience are papered 
 with newspapers, whose scare-heads, illustra- 
 tions and patent-medicine portraits furnish 
 the only contrast and act in place of the more 
 usual chromes. On the left, between two 
 doors, the nearer of which leads to the bed- 
 rooms of the adjacent cabin and the farther 
 to the toolroom and smithy, stands a large 
 stove on which a kettle is boiling: lazily. In 
 the back wall, to right and left of the main 
 door leading to the portico, are windows with 
 clean muslin curtains. A woodbox stands un- 
 derneath the left window, and at the one at 
 the right is a small table on which an oil 
 lamp is burning brightly. Above the table 
 and a little to the left is a telephone. Four 
 or five chairs are placed at the table or 
 against the adjoining wall. On the right wall 
 there is a door forward leading to the bed- 
 room occupied by Mr. Clinch, and beyond it 
 is a third curtained window. The time is 
 about eight o'clock of a Saturday evening. 
 Mrs. Bartlett, dressed in a sober gown of 
 black, is discovered sitting with folded hands 
 in a rocking chair at the side of the atovo 
 nearest the audience. A copy of the "Advent 
 Herald" is in her lap. A sound of chopping 
 is heard outside. 
 
 II 
 
Mrs. Bartlett — (In a weary voice, slightly 
 naeal and drawling). Laura! 
 
 Laura — (In a sing-song, while the chop- 
 ping continues). Bu-sy! 
 
 Mrs. Bartlett — (After a moment). Laura! 
 (The chopping ceases.) 
 
 Laura — (Resigned). Well. Ma, come on! 
 Rustle along, though. I ain't got a heap 
 o' time. 
 
 Mrs. Bartlett (Slowly). Waal, Laura, it's 
 just about this Mr. Clinch. He's a nice, 
 good 
 
 Laura — (Still outside, resuming her chop- 
 ping with new vigor). Oh, shucks. Ma! 
 
 Mrs. Bartlett — (Undismayed). He's a 
 very nice young man. I don't agree with 
 all his religious views, hut he's very gen- 
 tlemanly and nice, and I don't s'pose 
 there's so much difference between bein' a 
 Presbyterian and bein' a Seventh Day Ad- 
 ventist as how it ought to make enemies o' 
 people. Though the Advent Herald do say 
 that the Presbyterians is about as far as 
 any from the truth o' God. 
 
 (The figure of Laura with an armful of 
 wood suddenly appears in the doorway, 
 back. She is eighteen, tall and well-built, 
 with her brown hair in a braid down her 
 back. She wears a blue calico dress, cov- 
 ered partly by a dirty brown apron.) 
 
 Laura — (With a touch of sarcasm). Com- 
 fortable, Ma? (She drops her burden into 
 the wood-box and then turns her attention 
 to the kettle on the stove.) 
 
 Mrs, Bartlett — (Innocently). Why, yes, I 
 think I am. 
 
 Laura— (Disgusted). Well, all I can say. 
 
 12 
 
Ma, is that it's jest the best thing in the 
 world that the rest of the family don't in- 
 dulge in no Seventh Day Advent business. 
 There' d be a murder before the fust day 
 come round again, even if Pa Is the sheriff 
 of Rio OBlanco County, Colorado. 
 
 Mrs. Bartlett — Laura, I don't know if 
 you ain't pretty wicked sometimes, goin' 
 aroun' so much with your father. Don't 
 you know the commandment of the Sab- 
 bath—to keep it holy? 
 
 Laura — ^Well, I don't much see the use 
 o' keepin' one commandment if ye've got 
 to bust two or three others to do it. What's 
 the good o' commandments anyhow? Kill- 
 in' people sounds pretty bad in church, but 
 Pa shoots a man easy as talkin', and no- 
 body sez nothin', and the more he shoots 
 the surer he is o' gettin' elected again nex' 
 fall. 
 
 Mrs. Bartlett— He's not so sure of it this 
 time, he sez. 
 
 Laura— He is if he gets them horse-rust- 
 lers what's been operatin' on the "K bar 
 Q" range. He's been after 'em fur a 
 month good an' hard, an' the county 
 knows it. 
 
 Mrs. Bartlett — (Resigned). I s'pose 
 he '11 be back sometime. 
 
 Laura — He will if they don't see him 
 fust. Horse-rustlers ain't the same as 
 other thieves. They 're desprlt charac- 
 ters an' they fight like gee! They may 
 ha' plunked Pa now — he 's been away so 
 long. 
 
 (The sound of a horse in canter is 
 heard, followed by a second's silence, and 
 
 ^3 
 
then a voice — "Stop, stop, I say!" — and 
 footsteps on the portico.) 
 
 Mrs. Bartlett— (Mildly). Well, I guess 
 that must be Mr. Clinch. It 's a pleasant 
 evenin', Mr. Clinch. I was wonderin'— 
 
 (Clinch enters as Mrs. Bartlett is talk- 
 ing. He is fair, of medium height, clean- 
 shaven, a type bred anywhere between 
 Kansas City and Pittsburg. He wears 
 Western clothes — corduroy trousers, flan- 
 nel shirt, boots, straps, bandana, sombrero 
 — but the effort is apparent. He is very 
 shy, but whenever he rises out of his em- 
 barrassment, he is slightly patronizing. 
 He is painfully neat and precise in word 
 and action, and carefully dusts his shoes 
 and brushes spots from his clothes when- 
 ever he is left out of the conversation a 
 moment.) 
 
 Clinch — (Entering, is embarrassed at 
 the presence of the two women). Good 
 morning!— I mean, good evening. 
 
 Laura — That 's right. It 's evenin', Mr. 
 Clinch. Ye 're late. Supper 's cleared. 
 
 Clinch— Oh— er— thank you— thank you so 
 much for not waiting. I— that is— we— er— 
 have dined— at the Rio Blanco— in Meeker. 
 
 Laura — Ye don't dine at the Rio Blan- 
 co. Ye feed. 
 
 Clinch — Miss Laura — -er — I 've got some 
 news for you. 
 
 Laura — (Without much concern). 
 Well, come on with it. 
 
 Clinch — (A trifle kittenish). Guess. 
 
 Laura — Pa get plunked? 
 
 Clinch — (Amazed). Eh? (Then, beam- 
 ingly as he comprehends) Oh! How 'd 
 
 14 
 
you know it was about your father? No, 
 he 's back. 
 
 Mrs. Bartlett — Well, I do say! 
 
 Laura (Deeply interested). Alone? 
 
 Clinch — (Not understanding). He is 
 now. But I took supper with him. 
 
 Laura— (Losing patience). I don't care 
 about you. I mean did he get them hoss- 
 thieves? 
 
 Clinch — Oh! Why didn't you say so? 
 He 's got them. Down in Galopp, New 
 Mexico, nine hundred miles, thirty-two 
 
 days' riding (Stopping suddenly and 
 
 considering). Or was it thirty-three? I 
 don't know. He said 
 
 Laura — That '11 fetch the election, 
 sure! 
 
 Clinch — I think it was thirty-two! 
 Anyway, they 're in the village jail, and 
 — er — Mr. Bartlett thinks they will be 
 condemned for fifteen years. (Taking 
 out a note-book). I've got the law here. 
 I always carry such things about with 
 me. It helps me to be accurate. 
 
 Laura — Fifteen years! Serves 'em 
 right. Orter get strung. But the jail 
 won't hold 'em long if they got any 
 sense. Pa locked me in it once just for 
 fun, an' I crawled out through the stove- 
 pipe hole. But I was some dirty when I 
 got out, I guess. 
 
 Clinch — (Turning the leaves of his 
 notebook hurriedly). Breaking jail? Oh! 
 Extra penalty. They're safe. Mr. Bart- 
 lett has-er-threatened to shoot, if such 
 a-er-desperate attempt should be made. 
 
 Laura — Starve 'em out if they got in 
 
 15 
 
the mountains. I guess they won't budge 
 much. Where's Pa? 
 
 Clinch — Oh-er-he's at Mr. Nimick's. 
 
 Laura — (Surprised). What for? 
 
 Clinch— He's telephoning round. You 
 see — some one in town took our horses 
 by mistake. We got a couple from Mr. 
 Bryan's corral — 
 
 Laura — Some more rustlin', eh? 
 
 Clinch— Mr. Bartlett was-er-a little 
 worried. 
 
 Laura — I guess you'll think you've 
 struck a place that needs a parson some. 
 
 Clinch— (With a long breath of sudden 
 desperate resolve and speaking in a low 
 voice to Laura). I '11 stay here— for a 
 consideration. 
 
 Laura — My, but ain't you kind? Oh, I 
 guess the ranch people'll send you round 
 enough bacon an' beans to live, an' moun- 
 tain veal now an' then, when the game 
 wardens ain't lookin'. An' ye can ketch 
 fish pretty well for a parson. 
 
 Clinch — (Seriously). You failed to 
 grasp my meaning. To be precise — I 
 mean you. 
 
 Laura — (Turning away with a shrug). 
 Oh, then I guess Rio Blanco County, Col- 
 orado '11 have to go to hell. 
 
 Mrs. Bartlett — Laura! I wish you could 
 do something with her, Mr. Clinch. She's 
 got a wicked streak — from her pa, I 
 guess. 
 
 Clinch — Now look here, Miss Laura — 
 
 Laura — Well, I guess 'tween a Presby- 
 terian parson and a Seventh Day Ad- 
 ventist there ain't much show for a plain 
 
 l6 
 
girl what ain't got no frills. I guess it's 
 me to work. Talk to Ma, Mr. Clinch. 
 Convert her to your Presbyterian bizness 
 or anythin' else that'll keep her out o' 
 that rocker on a Saturday. It'd ease 
 things up lots b'tween Ma and me. (She 
 picks up a pail and starts to go out, but 
 stops in the door. The sound of hoofs is 
 heard.) There's someone comin' — two 
 men — I wonder if they'll go by, (After a 
 pause.) They're stoppin'. 
 
 Voice — (Outside). Al Bartlett the 
 sheriff in? 
 
 Laura — Ain't come back yet. Wanter 
 wait? 
 
 Voice— Guess we will, if yo don' mind. 
 
 Laura — Well, hitch your hosses by the 
 fence. They'll be all right. No rustlers 
 this-a-ways. 
 
 Voice— All right. Thanks. 
 
 Mrs. Bartlett — (Drawling). Well, now, 
 I wonder who them are. 
 
 Clinch — I don't know, Mrs. Bartlett. I 
 suppose we may find out if they come in. 
 
 Laura — (Dryly). P'raps we may. 
 
 (Laura has remained standing in the 
 door waiting for the visitors, who now 
 enter, taking off their high-crowned felt 
 hats as they do so, and bowing awkward- 
 ly to Mrs. Bartlett and Laura. They are 
 dressed in the customary habit of cow- 
 boys, and wear vests over their blue 
 shirts, but no coats. Their clothes are 
 covered with soot. The elder, Olie Mor- 
 rill, is about thirty years old, with a 
 blond bristly beard and keen, protruding 
 eyes, whose brightness suggests drink. 
 
 17 
 
Burt Haskell, the younger man, is tall 
 and slender, with a long, rather thin face 
 and clear, honest eyes and mouth. He is 
 habitually clean-shaven, but a three- 
 days' growth is fairly visible on his lips 
 and the tip of his chin. He is bony and 
 awkward and is scarcely more than 
 twenty-two. Both men appear to be in 
 high spirits, apparently from some other 
 cause than drink.) 
 
 Morrill — Al ain't in, eh? (Recollecting 
 his manners.) 'Scuse us fer tumblin' in 
 on ye in this way. We was down in 
 Meeker an' just thought we'd like to look 
 up our ol' frien' Al. 
 
 Laura — Pa'll be back pretty soon, I 
 guess. Ben off a month chasin' hoss- 
 thieves down in New Mexico. 
 
 Morrill — (Heartily). Ye don't say! 
 
 Burt — (With an effort). Oh, yes. Ye 
 don't say. 
 
 Clinch — (Feeling the responsibilities of 
 the honneurs). Mr. Bartlett will return 
 shortly. Take chairs-er-gentlemen. 
 
 Mrs. Bartlett — (With mild cordiality.) 
 Why, yes, set down. 
 
 Morrill — (Looking Clinch over dubious- 
 ly). You ain't from these parts. 
 
 Mrs. Bartlett — (With a touch of pride). 
 Mr. Clinch is a minister. 
 
 Morrill — (Satisfied). I thought ye 
 wuz n't from these parts. 
 
 Clinch. Eh? I don't think I — er — 
 quite see the connection. (Morrill turns 
 away and examines the wall-paper. 
 Clinch looks after him q.uestioningly a 
 moment, then pulls out his handkerchief 
 
 l8 
 
and carefully dusts off his shoes. Burt 
 and Laura hold the centre of the stage.) 
 
 Laura — (To Burt). I seen you some- 
 where. 
 
 Burt — I dunno as I jest remember 
 where. 
 
 Laura — Oh, I know now. Up on the 
 range, the time I went after that cow of 
 cum what got away. 
 
 Morrill — (Turning round suddenly). 
 Oh, I guess not, miss. Warn't it down 
 at the school-house on the Fourth — 
 that square dance — you rec'llect — you 
 danced with — I guess it was him there 
 (pointing to Clinch) ana Burt, he was 
 dancin'. 
 
 Laura — Shucks! Wouldn't I rec'llect 
 where I seen him? (Emharrassed sud- 
 denly at her own warmth) — I mean — I 
 warn't at that dance, anyhow. You (to 
 Morrill) was ropin' a colt up by the lake 
 where the salt is fer the cattle. Own a 
 ranch that-a-way? 
 
 Morrill — (Glibly). Down by the South 
 Fork, near — near Beaver Creek. Ye 
 know that place where the river takes 
 a big turn— 
 
 Burt — (With suspicious haste). And 
 the road goes up to Buford. Ye want to 
 come down that way some time. I re- 
 member the fust time Olie and I come 
 up the river — I sez to Olie, "Now this 
 place suits me right down;" an' Olie sez, 
 "Burt Haskell — " 
 
 Laura — What were ye ropin' that colt 
 up there for? 
 
 Burt — Which colt? 
 
 J9 
 
Morrill — (Gasping at Laura's quick- 
 ness). Oh, she means the sorrel what we 
 sold to the General. A fine man, the Gen- 
 eral. I 'minds me how when I wuz a 
 kid — (takes a flask out of his boot). 
 Have a swig, Burt? Sort o' hot in here, 
 Miss. I guess I '11 get a breath. You 
 entertain the lady, Burt. (He gets up 
 and starts for the door). 
 
 Burt — (Despairingly). Don't leave me, 
 Olie! 
 
 Laura — (Busying herself at the stove). 
 The one I mean was a black. 
 
 Burt — (Mopping his brow). Oh, sure, 
 I remember now. We wuz lookin' after 
 his brand which wuz sort o' hid by his 
 hair growin' so long, an' you come up — 
 
 Laura — What 's your brand? 
 
 Burt — Three bars in a circle — this 
 way — 
 
 Laura — This wuz a "K bar Q." 
 
 Morrill — (At the door, breaking into 
 convulsions of laughter). Judas, but 
 she's got keen headlights, Burt! 
 
 Burt — (Seriously to Laura). Ye see, 
 how three bars in a circle, sorter over- 
 grown, can look mighty like a "K bar 
 Q." Soon as we found out, we let him 
 go, of course. 
 
 Laura — O' course, ye did. Ye did n't 
 think I thought ye wuz hoss-rustlers, 
 did ye? 
 
 Morrill — (Going out with another 
 burst of laughter). Judas, Burt! 
 
 Burt — O' course, we did n't. But ye 
 see, your pa bein' the sheriff — 
 
 Laura — Um. 
 
 20 
 
Burt — We thought ye might be sort o' 
 suspicious o' strangers, particularly as 
 there 's them two fellers the sheriff 's 
 been after fer a month. 
 
 Laura — Oh, them's caught. They're 
 jugged and '11 get fifteen apiece, I guess. 
 
 Burt — (Lamely). Ye don't say! That's 
 sort o' good work for Al, ain't it? 
 
 Clinch — (Looking up from his brushing 
 and dusting). Got them at Galopp, New 
 Mexico. He told me the whole story. I 
 can give you all the details. It begins 
 away back in November before last 
 
 Laura— (Paying no attention to Clinch). 
 Orter be strung up. Ef ye can't trust your 
 hosses on the range, ye might as well shut 
 up shop. 
 
 Clinch — There might be extenuating cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 Burt — (Suspiciously). What's them? 
 
 Clinch — Something making the thieving 
 not quite so bad. 
 
 Burt— D'ye think that, too. Miss? 
 
 Laura — Well, I dunno. Thievin' is thiev- 
 in', but hoss-thievin's dirty mean, an' I 
 dunno as anything short o' hangin' is good 
 enough for a mean pusson. 
 
 Clinch — Well, after all, it isn't as bad as 
 robbing a bank where the widows and or- 
 phans 
 
 Laura— (Dryly). You ask Pa what they 
 did to the people what tried to rob the 
 bank. 
 
 Burt— What? 
 
 Laura — Waal, there wuz no expenses of 
 a trial, 
 
 21 
 
Morrill — (Appearing at the door). I don't 
 see no signs of Al comin* down the road. 
 
 Mrs. Bartlett — ^Why, ye might telephone. 
 I dunno but he'd want to come right soon 
 if he knew thar wuz friends waitin' fer 
 him. 
 
 Morrill — (With a sudden guffaw, nudg- 
 ing Burt). Telephone! 
 
 Burt — (Restless). I guess we don't mind 
 waitin'. 
 
 Morrill — I dunno, I think it'd be right 
 sociable to hev our friend Al come in an' 
 jine us now. 
 
 Clinch — He's just down a half-mile or a 
 trifle more at Nimick's, using the long dis- 
 tance telephone to ask around about some 
 horses we lost in town. This telephone 
 just goes to five or six ranches 
 
 Morrill — A bay mare an' a chestnut? 
 
 Clinch — Why, yes; where did you see 
 them? 
 
 Morrill — Ye left them by the Rio Blancfi" 
 Restaurant, didn't ye? 
 
 Clinch — Yes, in the shed behind. 
 
 (Morrill nudges Burt surreptitiously and 
 bursts into peals of laughter. Then, with 
 his finger pointed at Clinch, he asks him, 
 gasping.) 
 
 Morrill — What's his number? 
 
 Clinch — I don't see the joke exactly. 
 
 Morrill— (Holding his sides). Whow!— 
 what's the call? 
 
 Burt— Don't, Olie! 
 
 Morrill — What do you care? 
 
 Burt — Don't, that's all I sez. I'm goin* 
 to quit. I'm goin' back. 
 
 Morrill — (Winking). Home, eh? 
 
 22 
 
Burt — Quit it! It ain't the sport I 
 thought 'twas goin' to be, an' I'm no go. 
 Laura — (Dryly). Well, I don't see as 
 there's anything keepin' ye here. If we 
 ain't entertainin' enough for ye, well^ 
 maybe ye can do better s'mother place. 
 
 Burt — 'Scuse me' miss, I guess I warn't 
 any too perlite. 'Taint that I ain't havin* 
 a snortin' good time. Miss, but I guess-I- 
 jest got to move on. 
 
 Morrill — Come oft, Burt! Ye'll get back 
 there quick enough. See it out. 
 Burt — I w^on't. 
 
 Morrill— (To Clinch). What's that call? 
 Clinch — Eh? Oh, the telephone? Two 
 short and a long. 
 
 Burt — Cut it out, Olie! What's the use 
 o' her findin' out — 
 Laura — Me? 
 
 Morrill — He meant Al findin' out we 
 wuz here. (Gives two short rings and a 
 long one to the telephone). Hel-lo- 
 
 Burt — Quit it, Olie. Come on, we'll 
 cut — 
 
 Morrill — (At the telephone). Hello! 
 This Mr. Nimick? Sheriff there? Oh, tell 
 him jest a couple of friends. Yeh, yeh — 
 got 'em, did he? Good man, the sheriff. 
 Guess he'll get the election? Yeh, yeh. 
 Fifteen years — that's a bit high, ain't it? 
 Well, all right. Glad to have seen ye. 
 Hello! That you, Al? (Laughs.) Don't 
 you know me, Al? Guess! Nope. Guess 
 again. Ben waitin' fer ye with my part- 
 ner here at your place for a half hour. Oh, 
 come off. Al. Judas! Don't bust the ma- 
 chine. Yep, it's me all right, and here's 
 
 ^3 
 
Burt, big as life and twice as na'tural, 
 makin' up to yer han'some daughter. 
 Thought we'd drop in and spend a pleas- 
 ant evenin' wi' you. (Laughing.) Ye 
 did, did ye? Through the stove-pipe hole. 
 Darn dirty hole, too. Better have it 
 cleaned. Ha. ha. 
 
 Laura — The stove-pipe hole! 
 
 Morrill — (At the telephone). No rush. 
 We won't cut. So long. (Hangs up the 
 receiver). I thought he'd come ef I ast 
 him. 
 
 Laura — So three bars is your brand, 
 eh? Pity ye wouldn't take a noose on a 
 gallows. 
 
 Morrill — Mebbe we will. Miss. 
 
 Clinch — I'm afraid I don't quite under- 
 stand. 
 
 Laura — You never crawled through a 
 stove-pipe hole. 
 
 Clinch — That's in the jail, you said, 
 didn't you? 
 
 Laura — An' them's those what orter be 
 there. 
 
 Clinch — The hoss thieves? 
 
 Mrs. Bartlett — Mercy me! 
 
 Laura> — (Going quietly to the wall and 
 taking down a Winchester). The guns 
 on this here ranch is loaded. 
 
 Burt — (Sullenly). We ain't goin' to 
 cut, Miss. 
 
 Laura — Good reason, I guess. 
 
 Clinch— (Whispering to Laura). Don't 
 make them desperate. 
 
 Laura — I guess I know how to treat 
 a hoss thief. 
 
 Burt — We ain't come to do no harm. 
 
 24. 
 
Miss. Sort o' evenin' call on our friend 
 Al — that's all. I'm mighty sorry — 
 
 Laura — Hoss-thief ! 
 
 Burt — -Well, I'm afraid that's what 
 you'd call it. 
 
 Laura — They used to decorate the cot- 
 tonwoods with hoss-thieves when I wuz 
 a kid. But times is gettin' worse. 
 
 Morrill — That's a bit hard, ain't it, 
 Miss? 
 
 Laura — I'd be harder'n that if I could. 
 
 Mrs. Bartlett — Why, Laura! 
 
 Burt — (Lamely to Morrill). I guess our 
 little joke ain't so very funny. 
 
 Laura— (To Burt). Joke, eh? Ye lie 
 and ye steal bosses — what else d'ye do? 
 I s'pose ye get drunk and shoot up towns 
 an' hold up women an' kill babies. Funny, 
 ain't it? I wish I wuz the jury to try 
 you when ye comes up in the fall. Fif- 
 teen years I I wouldn't give ye a day. 
 I'd have ye swing, if I had to do it myself. 
 Him there (indicating Morrill), he's dif- 
 ferent. I'm sorry for him. He don't 
 know no better. God didn't start him 
 right; but you — Burt, or whatever he 
 calls you— you've got a milk face and 
 eyes and a mouth that tells people you're 
 a good sort, when ye ain't. And that's 
 why I'd string ye, because, without sayin' 
 a word or doin' a thing, you're a liar; and 
 when you're tellin' the truth, you're ten 
 times the liar than when you're lyin' — an' 
 ye can take that to jail wi' you and be — 
 there's pa! 
 
 (Hoofs are heard outside, and a second 
 later Al Bartlett appears. He is short 
 
 25 
 
and stocky, with a small head, low 
 brows, deep-set keen eyes, and a sandy 
 moustache. He wears a sack coat and a 
 vest above his corduroy trousers and 
 boots. A heavy silver watch chain and 
 the sheriff's badge are prominent. As he 
 enters, he is most excited.) 
 
 Bartlett — So here ye are, are ye? Ye 
 thought ye'd cut, did ye? 
 
 Morrill — We wuz .iest allowin' we'd 
 give you a sort o' friendly call, that's all. 
 Sort o' lonely down there — 
 Bartlett — Now see here — 
 Morrill — Oh, come off. Al. Ye're not 
 goin' to take offence at a little liberty 
 between friends. 
 
 Clinch — (Amazed). Eh? 
 Burt — We wuzn't meanin' no harm, Al. 
 Morrill — Jest a little excursion. 
 Burt— Ye see we did n't try to light out. 
 Morrill — Come right to you — even tele- 
 phones you — begged you to keep us com- 
 pany — I don't know but you 're sort o' 
 poor-spirited, Al, to take offence that 
 way. 
 
 Bartlett — ^Now look a-here, Olie Mor- 
 rill, I 've treated you boys pretty white. 
 Followed you nine hundred miles, all the 
 way to Galopp, New Mexico, thirty-two 
 days a-horse-back, an' never laid a iron 
 on ye when I got ye. Ye know me, I sez, 
 an' ye know I don't stand for no foolin'. 
 Ef ye try to cut, I shoots, an' I never 
 wings a man, I lays him out. Them wuz 
 my words, an' ye never give me any 
 trouble. 
 
 26 
 
Morrill — Well, I don't see as how ye 've 
 got much of a kick comin', Al. 
 
 Bartlett — I bein' so kind to you boys, it 
 jest hurts me to see you goin' on this 
 way. Why, jest this mornin, I wuz think- 
 in' of havin' ye both up here to the ranch 
 over Sunday fer some flshin'. Ye see how 
 I trusted ye. 
 
 Laura — Hev them up here? 
 
 Bartlett — Why, yes — friends o' mine — I 
 don't see no harm. 
 
 Laura — (Hanging the gun on the wall 
 again). Well, ye can hav 'em. That's 
 all. I 'm going to bed. 
 
 Burt — Say, Miss . 
 
 Laura — Well, I guess I hain't got any- 
 thing more to say to you. (She goes out, 
 left, forward.) 
 
 Bartlett — I don't know where the girl 
 got her manners, except from you, Mrs. 
 Bartlett. 
 
 Mrs. Bartlett — Why, Al, I don't think 
 you 're quite reasonable. 
 
 Clinch — ^Miss Laura got a bit excited 
 before you came. 
 
 Morrill — Het up, ye might say. 
 
 Bartlett — ^Well, cool her down, Eliza. 
 Me an' my friends '11 just have a drop— 
 ye need n't wait — ye need n't wait, Mrs. 
 Bartlett. 
 
 Mrs. Bartlett — I don't know as I care to 
 much, Mr. Bartlett. (Exit, left.) 
 
 Bartlett— No hard feelin', boys. Set 
 down. I know ye must 'a ben a bit lone- 
 ly down there, an' the jail ain't all it 
 might be fur comfort. (The three sit 
 down at the table. Bartlett turns to- 
 
 27 
 
ward Clinch who is apparently waiting 
 for an invitation.) Comin', Mr. Clinch? 
 Ye might as well set down and join the 
 publicans an' sinners. 
 
 Clinch — ^Don't mention it — I mean — er — 
 of course. Thank you very much. 
 
 Bartlett — Me an' the boys is good 
 friends, even if I have to jug 'em. (Aside 
 to Clinch.) Liftin' horses off the range. 
 Too bad, ain't it, particularly the young- 
 er? Oh, it hurts sometimes, I tell ye. 
 An' those letters from their mothers! 
 Really touchin'. But they re bad boys. 
 Rode nine hundred miles after 'em, thir- 
 ty-two days a-horse-back, I did, and got 
 'em in Galopp, New Mexico — eh, boys? 
 
 Burt — Guess ye did, Al. 
 
 Bartlett — An' I never put an iron on 
 'em. I just sez to 'em. Now, boys, ye 
 know me. I never wings a man, I lays 
 'im out. 
 
 Morrill — (Pulling out a flask). Have a 
 drink, Al? 
 
 Bartlett — (After a long drink, continu- 
 ing). As I wuz sayin', Mr. Clinch, the 
 boys knows me in this county. They 
 knows I ishoot. (Aside) Now, them two 
 boys there. When I got 'em down in Ga- 
 lopp, New Mexico, nine hundred miles — 
 
 Clinch — (Seriously). Thirty-two days' 
 riding — 
 
 Bartlett — I told ye about that, did n't 
 I? Well, I came awfully near shootin' 
 'em. It 'd done 'em good. But I 'm kind 
 0' softhearted, Mr. Clinch, as the Scrip- 
 ture sez — you know more about that than 
 me — "longsufferin' an' forbearin' " — that 's 
 
 28 
 
what I am, "forbearin'." An' the mothers 
 wrote me letters — pathetic it was. Now 
 Burt's mother there, down in Oklahoma. 
 She always wrote him to be good an' how 
 she was lookin' her eyes out to see him 
 come back. Too bad, ain't it? 
 
 Clinch — ^^Could n't you give them an- 
 other chance? 
 
 Bartlett — Well now, there's that elec- 
 tion — an' this county needs me, it does, 
 an' I do feel how it 's my duty to get 
 elected again. 
 
 Morrill— (With a twinkle). There ain't 
 any more hoss-thieves you 're huntin* 
 for, Al? 
 
 Bartlett — Well, I dunno, now, I 'm sort 
 o' worried. I tell ye, it 's a responsible 
 job I 've got. I work pretty hard. 
 
 Burt— (Calmly). No harder 'n we do. 
 
 Clinch — Pardon me. You 're a hoss- 
 thief, aren't you? 
 
 Morrill — Well, ain't that workin'? 
 
 Clinch — (Meekly). Er-yes-I-er hadn't ex- 
 actly thought of it that way. 
 
 Bartlett — Now there is more hoss- 
 thieves in this here county, an' ye might 
 as well know it, an' it won't make the 
 Jedge any lighter on ye either. Now 
 se'e here. Some rustlers right down in 
 Meeker village took our bosses while 
 we wuz hevin' our dinner — a bay mare 
 an' a chestnut — 
 
 (Morrill nudges Burt and looks up at 
 Bartlett interestedly, but with a twinkle 
 in his eye). 
 
 Morrill — Might 'a broke loose, might n't 
 they? 
 
 29 
 
Bartlett — Them bosses never broke 
 loose on me yet. 
 
 Morrill — How d'ye come up from 
 town? 
 
 Clincb — (Ratber proudly). Bareback. 
 Have you ever ridden bareback? 
 
 Bartlett — Got a couple of mares from 
 Tom Bryan — 
 
 Burt — He 's out o' town. 
 
 Bartlett — Well, I know Tom pretty 
 well, an' his corral — 
 
 Morrill — Begad, Al, you stole 'em! 
 
 Bartlett — Now, look a-here, Olie — 
 
 Burt — Hoss-rustler, begosh! 
 
 Bartlett — Shut up, Burt, 1 'm goin' to 
 take 'em back tomorrow. 
 
 Morrill — Yes, you are! 
 
 Bartlett— Ye didn't think I'd walk, 
 did ye, Olie Morrill? 
 
 Morrill — Well, I did n't want to walk 
 much myself. 
 
 Burt — I wuz wonderin' why them stir- 
 rups wuz so short. 
 
 Bartlett — Eh? 
 
 Morrill — (After a quick burst of 
 laughter in which Burt joins, taking out 
 his flask). Have a swig, pard. 
 
 Bartlett — (Hotly). By gee! I '11 string 
 you boys yet! (After a moment, senti- 
 mentally.) Now, I 've been good to you 
 boys. I might 'a shot ye both down in 
 Galopp, New Mexico, but I did n't an' I 
 brought ye back — 
 
 Clinch— (Innocently). Nine hundred 
 
 miles — ' 
 
 Bartlett — Nine hundred miles an' never 
 
 30 
 
laid an iron on ye, an' I wuz goin' to hev 
 ye up to the ranch fer some fishin' — 
 
 Morrill — Well, here we are. What's 
 the kick? Ain't the fishin' good? 
 
 Bartlett — An' I tell ye I'm through 
 with ye. Gimme that bottle. (He takes 
 a long pull out of Morrill's bottle.) Now 
 gimme that right fist o' yours, Olie Mor- 
 rill, an' your left, Burt Haskell. 
 
 Burt — Ye ain't goin' to go back on a 
 friend, Al? 
 
 Bartlett — Come on. 
 
 Morrill — Ye ain't goin' to mind a little 
 joke between friends? 
 
 Bartlett — I 've had enough of jokes, I 
 hev. Come on. 
 
 (They reach out their hands and in a 
 flash are handcuffed together.) 
 
 Morrill — Well, I guess this is something 
 like gettin' married, Burt. Is the parson 
 goin' to say the blessin', Al? (Bartlett 
 rises and surreptitiously takes another pull 
 at the bottle which he quietly draws out 
 of Morrill's pocket.) 
 
 Clinch — (Aside to Morrill and Burt). If 
 there's anything I can do for you fellowa 
 
 Bartlett— (Turning). What's that the 
 Scripture sez, Mr. Clinch — you know that 
 better'n me — "What man has jined together 
 let not God put asunder." I guess this is 
 my job, Mr. Clinch. 
 
 Clinch — (Rising). I wasn't going to in- 
 terfere. 
 
 Bartlett — No offence, no offence. As the 
 Scripture sez— "Let not the sun go settin' 
 
 31 
 
on your wrath." You don't think I wuz 
 meanin' no offence, Mr. Clinch? 
 
 Clinch— Of course not. But I guess I'll 
 go to bed, Mr. Bartlett. See you in the 
 morning. They'll stay here, of course? 
 
 Bartlett— ^(Going to tool-room door and 
 opening it). There's your palatial head- 
 quarters, boys. Get in there quick. 
 
 Morrill — Well, good night, parson. 
 
 Burt— ^Good night. 
 
 Clinch — Good night. Good night, Mr. 
 Bartlett. 
 
 Bartlett— Ye'd better ride 'back to Bryan's 
 early -wi' that mare, or I'll be arrestin' you. 
 
 Clinch— I'll see to that. (Exit right.) 
 
 Bartlett— (Confidentially). I didn't want 
 to say things before the parson, but ye 
 
 know, boys (He staggers a little from 
 
 the effects of the whiskey, then straightens 
 himself, speaking with great precision.) 
 I don't blame you boys for stealin' bosses, 
 I've done that myself 
 
 Morrill — (Deprecatingly). Ye're fabricat- 
 in', Al. 
 
 Bartlett — No, I ain't; no, I ain't. I don't 
 blame ye, I don't, for stealin'. I just blame 
 ye for — gettin' caught. Ye wuz careless, 
 an' I believe — in doin' things up right. 
 That's why I shoot so straight. I never 
 wings a man, I lays 'im out an' they knows 
 it. Now git to bed. 
 
 Morrill — Happy dreams, Al. 
 
 Bartlett--Git to bed. 
 
 Burt — Good night. Say, Al 
 
 Bartlett— What's doin'? 
 
 Burt — Ye won't be stealin' our bosses 
 
 32 
 
while we're asleep, will ye? A bay mare 
 an' a chestnut. 
 
 Bartlett— (Hotly). Git in there. 
 
 (Burt and Morrill scamper into the tool- 
 rooni; laughing; the sherifE follows slowly 
 and unsteadily and locks the door. Then 
 he returns to the middle of the room and 
 stands a moment sunk in thouffht. Sud- 
 denly he remembers what he wanted to do 
 and goes over to the table and blows out 
 the lamp. The room is not entitely dark, 
 however, for a clear moon is shining out- 
 side. Bartlett crosses the room to the door 
 left, forward, leading to the bedrooms. He 
 stumbles across the rocker with a muttered 
 exclamation, then sinks into it with a great 
 sigh of contentment. For a while he talks 
 lazily to himself, then drops asleep). 
 
 Bartlett — Followed 'em nine hundred 
 miles, thirty-two days a-horseback, to Gal- 
 opp. New Mexico, an' brought 'em back an' 
 never put — an — iron — on 'em. I jest sez to 
 'em, Boys, now ye know Al Bartlett. He 
 never — wings a man — he lays — 'em — out 
 
 (For a moment only the sheriff's heavy 
 breathing may be heard. Then suddenly 
 the figure of Laura appears in the main 
 door back. She listens an instant, then 
 opens the screen door and enters. She 
 hears her father's breathing and leans an 
 instant over his chair. Assuring herself 
 that he is asleep, she turns to the tool-room 
 door and unlocks it.) 
 
 Laura — (Calling in a whisper). Burt! 
 Say, Burt Haskell! 
 
 Bartlett — (Talking in his sleep). Rustlin' 
 hosses on the range — Galopp, New Mex- 
 
 32 
 
Laura — (Raises her Taead to listen; then 
 when the sheriff is silent again she calls 
 once more). Burt Haskell! 
 
 (The door is opened slightly and Mor- 
 rill's head appears. He smiles genially.) 
 
 Morrill— -Oood evenin', Miss. 
 
 Laura — (Impatiently). I want Burt. 
 
 Morrill — ^Well, I guess ye can't hev him 
 without havin' me. We're married. 
 
 Laura — Quit your foolin'. There ain't 
 'nough time. 
 
 Morrill — Come here, Burt, an' show the 
 lady. "We're sort o' Siamese Twins' — 
 
 Laurai — What ye talkin'? 
 
 Morrill — Sort o' "Love me, love my 
 dog." 
 
 Burt — (Showing his head behind Mor- 
 rill). We're han'cuffed, Miss. 
 
 Laura — ^Well, come out. 
 
 Burt — All right. Miss. 
 
 (The two heads disappear an instant. 
 The voice of Morrill is heard muttering: 
 "Come here with that boot, young feller. 
 This ain't no socio-logical community.") 
 
 Laura — (In a sharp whisper). Hustle 
 up thar! 
 
 (The men appear. Laura draws Burt 
 aside. When Morrill naturally follows, 
 she looks at him as an intruder, then, re- 
 membering, smiles a little.) 
 
 Laura — Come here, Burt Haskell. (To 
 Morrill). All right, since you're han'- 
 cuffed. (To Burt). I tor ye I hated ye, 
 an' I do. But I want ye to git. 
 
 Burt— Git? 
 
 Morrill — (Explaining). She wants ye 
 to flew the coop, Burt, 
 
 34 
 
Burt — 'Tain't no use. Miss. They'd 
 starve us out, or shoot us full o' lead. 
 
 Laura — I'll' see to father. 
 
 Burt — 'Scuse me, Miss, but I guess ye 
 don't know the ol' man much. 
 
 Morrill — Gettin' us means the election, 
 Miss. 
 
 Laura— I wuzn't talkin' to you. Te want 
 to remember that this is private here an' 
 you ain't really thar. 
 
 Morrill — Well, I dunno as I can help 
 hearin.' 
 
 Laura — You can help talkin', I guess. 
 
 Burt — Shut up, Olie! 
 
 Morrill — (Protesting). 'Tain't no easy 
 position for a man — 
 
 Laura— Ye say ye can't git, Burt Has- 
 kell? 
 
 Burt — They'd catch us in a week. If 
 we could, don't ye think we'd a lit out 
 when we broke jail tonight? 
 
 Laura — (Suddenly). Where's your 
 home? 
 
 Burt — Oklahoma. 
 
 Laura — Ranch ? 
 
 Burt — Yep, Miss. 
 
 Laura — Folks livin'? 
 
 Burt — My mother keeps the place. 
 
 Laura — ^What d'ye steal them hosses 
 for? Ye don't seem to mind much get- 
 tin' jailed, 
 
 Burt — (Shifting from one foot to the 
 other in embarrassment). Well, I don't 
 guess it was nuthin' but — I don't know 
 — an' about not mindin' this (pointing to 
 the handcuffs) well, I got a pretty rough 
 
 35 
 
road to travel an' there don't seem much, 
 use bawlin' about it. 
 
 Laura— Was there none of them 'ten- 
 uating circumstances? 
 
 Burt — (Hunching his shoulders, rest- 
 lessly). "Well, things got sort o' tight 
 down to the ranch an' — 
 
 Laura — (With an approving grunt). Go 
 
 on. 
 
 Burt. There ain't no "go on." 
 
 Laura — Ever do it again? 
 
 Morrill — (Interposing). He won't get 
 the chance, I guess. Miss. 
 
 Laura — We ain't talkin' to you. (To 
 Burt). If ye got free, would ye? 
 
 Burt — ^Don't reckon I would, Miss. 
 
 Laura — Would ye go to the ranch an' 
 work? 
 
 Burt — ^Well, I guess there ain't no use 
 talkin' o' them things. 
 
 Laura — (Persisting). Would ye now? 
 
 Burt — If I wasn't goin' up for fifteen 
 years, l don't know but I would. 
 
 Laura — Promise. 
 
 Burt — ^What for? 
 
 Laura — Promise. 
 
 Morrill — Judas! Burt, what 's she 
 want? 
 
 Laura — Promise. 
 
 Burt — CSimply). I will, Miss. 
 
 Morrill — (Aside to Burt). She's worse'n 
 the parson, Burt. 
 
 Laura — (Walking up to the door of 
 Clinch's room on the right, and knocking 
 softly). Parson! Mr. Clinch! 
 
 Clinch— (In the room, yawning). All right. 
 What's the matter? 
 
 36 
 
Laura — ^Come on out. I want ye to 
 marry me. 
 
 Clinch — (With a shout). Laura! 
 
 Morrill — Judas, Burt! 
 
 Laura — Get out, Mr. Clinch. Te needn't 
 get fresh jest 'cause you 're t'other side the 
 door. Comin' ? 
 
 Clinch — (Opening the door a crack and 
 peering through). I don't understand. 
 Miss Laura. 
 
 Laura — No, you 're slow. Ready? 
 
 Clinch— In a minute. (He closes the 
 door and appears again a moment later 
 in a long bath robe. His hair is ruffled 
 and his eyes blinking.) 
 
 Morrill — (In a stage whisper). Look-a- 
 thar, Burt. He 's got on his parson's 
 outfit. 
 
 Burt — (Uncomfortably). What's up, 
 anyhow? Are ye on, Olie? 
 
 Morrill — ^Dead beat. 
 
 Clinch— (To Laura). You want me — 
 let me understand you clearly — to marry 
 — you? 
 
 Laura — Yep, an' as quick as you can 
 do it. 
 
 Clinch — Are you sure that your deep- 
 est — 'er — affections are involved in the 
 matter? This is a serious thing, Laura, 
 and much as I desire your happiness, I 
 want to be sure, to have — clear evidence. 
 That is— 
 
 Laura — (Impatiently). There ain't no 
 evidence. 
 
 Clinch — To be precise, Laura, I must 
 know positively that with your whole 
 soul you — er — love — me. 
 
 27 
 
Laura — You? 
 
 Clinch — ^Why, yes, of course. It is a 
 wonderful miracle of God that has turned 
 your heart 
 
 Laura — No, it ain't. (Pointing to Burt.) 
 That's him. 
 
 Burt— Me? 
 
 Clinch— 'Eh? The horse- thief? 
 
 Morrill — Well, I dunno, but whoever 
 marries Burt's got to marry me. 
 
 Clinch — (Flushing). You — you've insult- 
 ed me. 
 
 Laura — (Hotly). Now you go right 
 along, Mr. Clinch. He ain't so bad even 
 if he is a hoss-thief. 
 
 Clinch — You can't expect me — er — to mar- 
 ry you off to a — ^jailbird. 
 
 Laura — Look-a-here, Mr. Clinch. I'm no 
 three-year-old, an' I guess I know what 
 I'm doin'. 
 
 Morrill — That's the way, Miss. 
 
 Clinch — (To Laura). That's just where I 
 don't agree with you. I believe that you 
 don't know what you are doing. I'm going 
 to call your father. 
 
 (Laura, without answering, goes to the 
 table and deliberately lights the lamp. Then 
 she turns to Clinch again.) 
 
 Laura— Wake him if ye want to, an' if 
 ye can. Everything's ready. We'll have it 
 out. 
 
 Clinch — Well, you can have a row if you 
 want to, but it won't do any good. He 
 won't let this — er — prisoner go. He can't 
 afford to. 
 
 Laura — ^That's just it — an' he's got to. 
 You're a parson, Mr. Clinch. Ye want to 
 
 38 
 
save souls, don't ye? It's sort o* your 
 business. 
 
 Clinch— Not exactly. More, a calling. 
 
 Laura— Well, ye like to do it, don't ye? 
 Same's— same's some folks take to rustiin' 
 bosses? Now bere's Burt. He's goin' to 
 get fifteen years if he don't light out. That 
 finishes him, don't it? He'll be ready to 
 go on the road an' kill people by the time 
 he comes out. 
 
 Clinch— It's a hard case, I know; but 
 you're too good for him, and 
 
 Laura— I ain't a great hand at savin' 
 souls, but I'm not goin' to let Burt's fry. 
 Jest a human interest, that's all. I'm gain' 
 to marry him now and take him home to 
 Oklahoma, an' the ol' man can't say noth- 
 in'. He can't send down my husband, an' 
 he knows it. 
 
 Clinch— (Struggling for expression). D-d- 
 darn souls, Miss Laura! I love you and I'd 
 rather have the whole of Rio Blanco Coun- 
 ty_er—er— fry— than see you throw your- 
 self away in pity of a horse-thief. 
 
 Laura— (In astonishment, appreciatively). 
 That's talkin' some, for you, parson. 
 
 Clinch— Besides, your father '11 shoot. 
 He '11 shoot Burt Haskell dead on the spot. 
 He 's got the right to do it. He 's broken 
 
 jail. 
 
 Burt— (Dryly). I guess I'll take my 
 chances on that, if the lady thinks 
 
 Laura— (After a pause, deliberately). 
 Well, here's a gamble, Mr. Clinch. You 
 marry me and Burt there, an' if Pa shoots, 
 it's ofE, an' I'll marry you. Are you game? 
 
 39 
 
Clinch — (Staring at Laura as ii not fully- 
 understanding her meaning). What? 
 
 Burt— (To Clinch). It's just if the ole 
 man plunks me, you're next. 
 
 Morrill — (Likewise to Clinch, persua- 
 sively, innocently). Te see how much 
 she's set on havin' Burt thar. She's 
 takin' a orful risk. 
 
 Clinch — (To Laura). You'll marry me 
 — sure? 
 
 Laura — (Contemptuously). I ain't a 
 quitter, Mr. Clinch. 
 
 Clinch— (Slowly). Oh, dear! It's mor- 
 tal sin — but I will! (As he is speaking, 
 Bartlett in his chair becomes restless and 
 turns round.) 
 
 Bartlett — (Talking in his sleep). I 
 never wings 'em, I lays 'em out— 
 
 Morrill — (Nudging Burt). I reckon 
 you 're cinched. 
 
 Laura — (Dragging Clinch into the tool- 
 room and beckoning the others to follow). 
 Don't let pa know till it 's done. (To 
 Morrill.) You're witness. Come along. 
 
 Burt — (In a stage whisper to Morrill). 
 I half wish I wuz back in the jail, Olie. 
 (They go out and a moment later Clinch's 
 voice may be heard reading the marriage 
 service behind the closed door. Indis- 
 tinctly and in a hum, the sound comes to 
 Bartlett who makes a gesture as if to 
 brush away a fly. Slowly his eyes open. 
 As the fact of the room's being lighted 
 dawns upon him, he stares in stupid as- 
 tonishment at the burning lamp.) 
 
 Bartlett — (Puzzled). Al Bartlett, you 
 put out that lamp. (He gets up and 
 
 40 
 
stands a moment in the centre of the 
 room collecting- himself and listening. 
 The sleep has somewhat relieved him 
 from the effects of his potations. ' He 
 turns to the door, on the left forward, 
 and calls.) 
 
 Bartlett— Eliza ! E-liza ! 
 Mrs. Bartlett — (Inside). Ain't ye com- 
 in' to bed yet, Mr. Bartlett? 
 
 Bartlett — Did I put out this lamp, or 
 didn't I? 
 
 Mrs. Bartlett — (Appearing, scantily 
 garbed, at the door). Hadn't ye better 
 sleep it off, Al? 
 
 Bartlett — ^See here, Mrs. B., I 'm sober, 
 I am, an' I put out this here lamp, an' 
 now it 's lit. 
 
 Mrs. Bartlett — (Listening). What's 
 that noise? 
 
 Bartlett — Them boys a-talkin', I guess. 
 Mrs. Bartlett — Gracious, Mr. Bartlett, 
 I hope you'll never have any hoss-thieves 
 in this ranch again. 
 
 Bartlett — Oh, them boys is all right. 
 (He goes to the door, but just as he is 
 about to turn the key, the door is opened 
 from the inside and Clinch comes out 
 with Laura, Burt and Morrill. Bartlett 
 jumps back in astonishment.) 
 
 Bartlett — By gee! What's this — a 
 prayer meetin'? 
 
 Mrs. Bartlett — Why, Laura! 
 (There is a moment's silence. No one 
 seems anxious to be the one to explain.) 
 
 Laura — (Slowly). Pa, you've got to 
 let Burt go. 
 
 41 
 
Bartlett — (Staring). Te ain't gone 
 plumb crazy, hev ye, Laura? 
 
 Laura — (Steadily). Ye've got to let 
 him go. 
 
 Bartlett — (To Burt and Morrill, point- 
 ing to the toolroom). Git back in thar, 
 boys! Git back, an' quick! 
 
 Burt— Mr. Bartlett — 
 
 Laura — (To Burt). You stay right 
 thar. 
 
 Morrill — (Aside to Burt). Guess you 
 won't have much to say even if you do 
 get her. 
 
 Bartlett — I'm the eheriflC here an' I 
 guess if I brought you boys nine hundred 
 miles — 
 
 Laura — Ye got to let him go. 
 
 Bartlett — Eh? 
 
 Laura — I've married him. 
 
 Mrs. Bartlett — Gracious! If you ain't 
 a wicked girl, Laura! 
 
 Bartlett — (Speechless with rage, his 
 hand in a flash on his hip pocket). 
 'Twon't be long, by gee! 
 
 Laura — (Coming quickly over to her 
 father and laying her hand on his right 
 arm, steadily). Pa, you've got to let us 
 go. We're goin' to the ranch in Okla- 
 homa and won't bother you or the hosses. 
 I've made up my mind.. Burt ain't a bad 
 sort an' I won't let ye send him up for 
 no fifteen years. 'T ain't right an' it 's no 
 go. Come on. Pa. Where's the key to 
 the irons? 
 
 Bartlett — (Shaking off her hold and 
 
 42 
 
slowly drawing his six-shooter). That's 
 no game to work on Al Bartlett. No 
 man's ever got away from me fur any 
 reason. I've brought 'em back, dead or 
 alive. Get away there, gal. Te needn't 
 get in front o' him that way. 
 
 Morrill — That ain't a friendly way o' 
 treatin' a partner, Al. 
 
 Bartlett— (Pushing Laura aside roughly, 
 with yet a touch of kindness in his voice). 
 Get to bed, gal. This ain't no job for you 
 to get mixed in. 
 
 Laura — Ye won't shoot, Pa? 
 
 Bartlett — 'Tain't true, then, you've 
 married him? 
 
 Clinch— (Biting his lip). It's true, Mr. 
 Bartlett. 
 
 Bartlett — There's nuthin' fer it then. 
 I'm sorry, Burt — 
 
 Laura— (Quickly). Pa! 
 
 Bartlett — 'Tain't no use, gal. He's a 
 hoss-thief an' — an' — It's no use — 
 
 Laura — Te're makin' it worse if ye 
 shoot. 
 
 Bartlett — I'll take the risk o' your ap- 
 pearin' against me. 
 
 Laura— 'Tain't that. I've made an agree- 
 ment with Mr. Clinch here. 
 
 Bartlett — That don't affect this business 
 none, I guess, gal 
 
 Laura — Well, it do. 
 
 Clinch — (Interposing), Are you ^oing to 
 tell him? 
 
 Laura — I sure am, 
 
 Bartlett — Come on. 
 
 Laura- He wouldn't tie the knot with 
 
 43 
 
Burt here 'less I promised to marry him 
 if ye shot. 
 
 Bartlett— An' ye promised? 
 
 Laura — I guess I did. 
 
 (The expression of the sheriff's face 
 changes slowly; and the pistol is slipped 
 mechanically back into the holster. Bart- 
 lett takes a step forward and lays a hand 
 on the irons binding together Burt" and 
 Morrill, at the same time, scarce noticed 
 by the others on the stage, drawing a key 
 from his pocket. He sets the tiny key 
 quickly into the lock.) 
 
 Bartlett — I can't shoot up the whole of 
 Rio Blanco County for one gal. (He gives 
 the key a quick turn and the handcuffs 
 fall to the ground. Then, laying his hand 
 on Burt's shoulder). Now git, Burt Has- 
 kell. (Turning to Clinch.) As for you, Mr. 
 Parson Clinch, by gee, I'd rather lose the 
 election. 
 
 (While the sheriff is talking to Clinch, 
 Morrill turns and slips unobserved out of 
 the door.) 
 
 Laura — (Taking Burt by the arm). Come 
 on, Burt. It's Oklahoma for us. 
 
 Bartlett— Where 's Olie Morrill? 
 
 Morrill — (Sticking his head in at the 
 door). So long, Al. 
 
 Burt — (Rushing for the door). So long, 
 pal! 
 
 Bartlett — (Doing likewise). Olie Morrill! 
 Ye hoss-thief! This don't take ye in. 
 
 Morrill— (Looking suddenly in at the win- 
 dow, right). Hard luck, Al! Ye dassn't 
 show up with one of us, without the other! 
 
 Laura — He's gone! 
 
Bartlett — (With a shout). Gone with the 
 roan! 
 
 Clinch — (Jumping as if shot). Why, 
 that's the horse I got from Tom Bryan's 
 corral! 
 
 Bartlett — (Picking up the handcuffs from 
 the floor). Well, Mr. Clinch, I guess I got 
 to arrest ye for a hoss-thief. 
 
 (As Clinch stares in stupid amazement 
 at the sheriff, Bartlett moves forward with 
 the handcuffs, and the curtain falls.) 
 
 45 
 
mn ao iqiq 
 
 Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
 Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
 Treatment Date: Sept. 2009 
 
 PreservationTechnologies 
 
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