George Baker - Nevada

Vermont ( bowing ). Very glad to meet you.

Agnes ( offering her hand ). And I am proud to know you. Moselle is a bright scholar: she has made many friends at school, but I know the warmest corner in her heart is kept for you.

Vermont. Thank you, marm: if I can serve you, call on Vermont every time.

Jube. An' when de ole man ain't roun', jes' look dis way. I's spry, and dreffel willin'.

Win-Kye. Alle same so lookee me.

Agnes. Thank you all.

Mother. You must be hungry after your long ride. Supper's all ready.

Moselle. Supper! Where is it? I never was so hungry but once: that's now.

Mother. This way, Miss Fairlee. ( Exeunt Mother and Agnes into cabin. )

Jube. Come on, Win. Tote de luggage in. ( Exit into cabin. )

Win-Kye. All ligh'! Schoolee-marm some punkee. ( Exit to cabin. )

Moselle. Ain't she lovely, daddy? ( Goes to door, turns, and looks at Tom , who stands L. C. looking at door. ) Tom ( puts her hand on heart, and sighs ), I'd pity you, but I'm so hungry. Ha, ha, ha! ( Exit. )

Tom. Lovely? Never was a more tempting bait set before the eyes of a hungry miner to lure him back to civilization. Out of a world from which we have banished ourselves for greed of gold, she comes, gentle and refined, to show us the lost state of peace and happiness to which, though the earth unbosom its richest treasures, we hardened wretches can never return.

Vermont. Tom, what yer starin' at that door for? Ain't in love, air yer?

Tom ( comes down ). In love? I never yet saw a woman that could bring a blush to my face. That's one of the indications, isn't it?

Vermont. Exactly.

Mother (sticking her head out of door ). Tom, come and have some supper. ( Disappears. )

Tom. No, thank yer: I'm not hungry.

Vermont. That's another indication.

Tom. Vermont, isn't she lovely?

Vermont. The widder?

Tom. The widow! No: the other.

Vermont. Mosey?

Tom. Miss Fairlee, – Agnes Fairlee, – Agnes, – what a name! So poetical! Agnes, – so sweet!

Vermont. Spell it, Tom: there's nothing like lengthened sweetness long drawn out.

Tom. Old man, you're laughing at me. You needn't: I'm all right.

Vermont. Not in love?

Tom. Not a bit of it.

Vermont. Ain't goin' back on the comforts of life?

Tom. No, old man; but when that —

Vermont. Agnes ( smacks his lips ) does taste kinder sweet.

Tom. When Miss Fairlee placed her little hand in my arm, and looked up into my face, I felt as though I would like to die for her.

Vermont. Must have been a killing look.

Tom. And when she spoke, the queerest feeling – There it is again. Old man, I feel sick.

Jube. Sick? Don't you do it. Dar ain't a fusycian widdin fourteen miles.

Win-Kye. Me bling pillee man velly quick.

Vermont. All the doctor he wants is in the cabin. Tom, you're talking like a blamed fool; but it's jest nater: when a woman touches the fancy of a man, it's like the wind among the timber. The little ones sway and rustle, and seem mighty tickled; but the big brawny trees groan and tremble as though their last day had come. Shake yourself together, boy, jump into your hole, a good steady diet of pick and shovel is a sure cure for love or bile.

Jerden ( speaking as he comes down to stage ). Morning, mates: where can I find one Tom Carew?

Tom. I answer to that name, stranger.

Jerden. Ah! I'm in luck. They say you're the best informed miner in these parts. I'm looking for a man who came from the East, – Richard Fairlee.

Tom. Don't know him, stranger.

Vermont. Names don't count here. Most of us is baptized and rechristened when we arrive. What does he look like?

Jube. Has he got all his arms and legs, years and eyes?

Win-Kye. Any strawbelly marks, John?

Jerden. I have traced him by many aliases . How he looks now, I cannot say; but when he left the East he looked like this.

( Takes photograph from pocket-book, and hands it to Tom , who looks at it, Vermont, Jube , and Win-Kye crowd round him. )

Tom. A good-looking fellow. I don't know him.

Jerden. Don't belong in this camp.

Jube. No, sir: dat air feller ain't got no beard, an' has light complex, jes' like Win-Kye.

Win-Kye. No Chinaman; 'Melican man plaps, Ilishman plaps; no Chinaman.

Jerden. Well, there he is; and he's wanted by a bank.

Tom. Robbery?

Jerden (C.). Forgery, twenty thousand dollars.

Tom. You're a detective?

Jerden. Yes. Shall I have your help in securing this fugitive from justice?

Tom ( coldly ). We're not man-hunters. Many a poor fellow, made criminal by passion or misfortune, has drifted among us to be made better by a life of hardship and privation. We ask no man's past history. If he be knave or fool, he shows his hand, and he is lost. Miner law is swift and sure.

Vermont. You've your answer, stranger.

Jerden. All right: I'll find my man without your help; but, if you should change your minds, there's a thousand dollars for the man who gives information.

Tom and Vermont ( draw revolvers, cover Jerden , and speak together ). You get!

Silas. Look out for paint. ( Exit Jerden.) Seems to be in a hurry. ( Comes down to stage. ) How are you, boys? White, black, and yellow. The widow said she had an assortment of colors, and here they are. Put up your shooting-irons, gentlemen: I'm a friend of the widow's. I left my card here an hour ago. ( Points to rock. )

Tom. Any friend of the widow's is heartily welcome.

Vermont. From the east, stranger?

Silas ( sets paint-pail down near rock ). Switcham, Vt. Name, Silas Steele. Occupation, painter and decorator. For further particulars seek any prominent bowlder, and look out for paint.

Jube. Golly! dar's a heap er talent in dat ar brush, I know; fur I used to whitewash myself.

(Win-Kye edges up to paint, examines it, takes brush, and daubs a little on rock during the following scene, dropping it, and taking it up as Silas turns and watches him. )

Silas. Whitewash yourself? You took a big contract.

Tom. Stopping with the widow?

Silas. No: only a chance acquaintance. She came from Vermont.

Vermont. So did I.

Silas. Did you? Then, you're the man I've been looking for.

Vermont ( starts ). Eh?

Silas. My old man took it into his head about twelve years ago to start west, minin'; and we've never seen him from that day to this. Nice old fellow, the deacon, but queer. Started off without so much as a good-by, Hannah, and has been lost to his family, the church, and Switcham, ever since. But we heard from him occasionally in the shape of gold-dust to mother, but no word or clew to his whereabouts. Mother's worried so, I've come out here to look him up if he's alive. Any of you know Deacon Steele?

Jube. Deacon who? Golly! we's all out ob deacons: dey fall from grace when dey git out here.

Vermont. You're wasting time, youngster: the deacon's dead and buried.

Silas. You knew him?

Vermont. No: but deacons die young here.

Tom. Perhaps 'tis Nevada.