KATE. [Doubting him.] Why did they try to arrest you?

TRAVERS.  I—­I don’t know, Kate—­some mistake.

KATE.  They said the express robbery.

TRAVERS.  It isn’t so—­

KATE. [Goes to table and leans on it with her back to TRAVERS.] Ah!

TRAVERS.  Kate, [Pause.] Kate, [Pause.] you must believe me!  Why should I be here [Pause.] in this little town—­

KATE.  Why did you shoot?

TRAVERS.  I had to—­they would have killed me—­it is all a mistake—­Kate, Kate—­

KATE.  What shall we do?

TRAVERS.  If I had a horse—­

KATE.  But why?

TRAVERS.  Listen!

There is again the sound of approaching hoofs.

KATE.  Some one is coming—­[He turns at bay.] No—­I couldn’t stand it—­go in here—­[Opens closet.] Quick!

TRAVERS.  Yes! [He enters the closet—­she closes the door of the closet and throws open the street door; goes to table.

JIM rides into view and drops from his horse.

JIM. [In door.] Hello?

KATE. [Behind table.] Well?

JIM. [After looking slowly about.] Where is he?

KATE.  I—­I—­where is who?

JIM. [In a matter of course way] Travers.

KATE.  Why, how should I know?

JIM.  Then why don’t you jes’ say you don’t know?

KATE. [Behind chair.] Well, then, I don’t know.

JIM. [Shaking his head.] Too late now.

KATE.  Too late?

JIM.  Yes—­if it’d been all right, you wouldn’t a-tried to dodge me.

KATE. [Near melodeon.] You may think as you choose.

JIM. [Pause.] I’m awful sorry for you, Kate.

KATE.  Oh, you needn’t be.

JIM. [On the “qui vive."] But I want to see Mr. Travers.

KATE. [In distress.] You—­you annoy me very much. [Sits left of table.

JIM. [In real tenderness.] Why, Kate—­Katie—­see here—­I’m your friend—­they ain’t anybody in the world feels as bad for you as I do—­but be reasonable—­it’s only a question of time.  I s’pose every man in Bowlin’ Green that owns a gun or a bowie knife’s collectin’ up there at the Court House—­your own pa and Dave—­they’ll be back here after a while—­and what then?—­don’t you see?

KATE.  It’s horrible—­don’t tell me it is duty makes them hunt a fellow-man like that. [Rises.

JIM.  I don’t pretend to know anything about that—­[Pause.  Picks up dipper; looks at KATE.] Poor chap—­thirsty—­oh, well—­that’s your business, Kate. [Puts dipper on the bench.

KATE. [At bay herself.] You’re not a man, Jim Radburn, you’re a bloodhound—­you hunt men.

JIM.  Yes! [Pause.

KATE.  Yes. [End of rocker-chair.

JIM.  See here, Kate—­I want a word or two with Mr. Travers.  I think the honestest thing he ever done was liking you—­I—­