Two Men of Sandy Bar

Sandy (starting, aside). Don Jose! (Aloud.) Hush, hush! She will hear you. No—that is—(stops, confused and embarrassed. Aside.) She will hear of my disgrace. He will tell her the whole story.

Starbottle. I shall await your apology one hour. At the end of that time, if it is not forthcoming, I shall—er—er—waive your menial antecedents, and expect the—er—satisfaction of a gentleman. Good-morning, sir. (Turns to schoolhouse.)

Sandy. No, no: you shall not go!

Starbottle. Who will prevent me?

Sandy (grappling him). I will. (Appealingly.) Look yer, stranger, don't provoke me, I, a desperate man, desperate and crazed with drink,—don't ye, don't ye do it! For God's sake, take your hands off me! Ye don't know what ye do. Ah! (Wildly, holding STARBOTTLE firmly, and forcing him backward to precipice beyond ledge of rocks.) Hear me. Three years ago, in a moment like this, I dragged a man—my friend—to this precipice. I—I—no! no!—don't anger me now! (Sandy's grip on STARBOTTLE relaxes slightly, and his head droops.)

Starbottle (coolly). Permit me to remark, sir, that any reminiscence of your—er—friend—or any other man is—er—at this moment, irrelevant and impertinent. Permit me to point out the—er—fact, sir, that your hand is pressing heavily, demned heavily, on my shoulder.

Sandy (fiercely). You shall not go!

Starbottle (fiercely). Shall not?

Struggle. STARBOTTLE draws derringer from his breast-pocket, and SANDY seizes his arm. In this position both parties struggle to ledge of rocks, and COL. STARBOTTLE is forced partly over.

Miss Mary (opening schoolhouse door). I thought I heard voices. (Looking toward ledge of rocks, where COL. STARBOTTLE and SANDY are partly hidden by trees. Both men relax grasp of each other at MISS MARY'S voice.)

Col. Starbottle (aloud and with voice slightly raised, to SANDY). By—er—leaning over this way a moment, a single moment, you will—er—perceive the trail I speak of. It follows the canyon to the right. It will bring you to—er—the settlement in an hour. (To MISS MARY, as if observing her for the first time.) I believe I am—er—right; but, being—er—more familiar with the locality, you can direct the gentleman better.

SANDY slowly sinks on his knees beside rock, with his face averted from schoolhouse, as COL. STARBOTTLE disengages himself, and advances jauntily and gallantly to schoolhouse.

Col. Starbottle. In—er—er—showing the stranger the—er—way, I perhaps interrupted our interview. The—er—observances of—er—civility and humanity must not be foregone, even for—er—the ladies. I—er—believe I address Miss Mary Morris. When I—er—state that my name is Col. Starbottle, charged on mission of—er—delicate nature, I believe I—er—explain MY intrusion.

MISS MARY bows, and motions to schoolhouse door; COL. STARBOTTLE, bowing deeply, enters; but MISS MARY remains standing by door, looking toward trees that hide SANDY.

Miss Mary (aside). I am sure it was Sandy's voice! But why does he conceal himself?

Sandy (aside, rising slowly to his feet, with his back to schoolhouse door). Even this conceited bully overcomes me, and shames me with his readiness and tact. He was quick to spare her—a stranger—the spectacle of two angry men. I—I—must needs wrangle before her very door! Well, well! better out of her sight forever, than an object of pity or terror. [Exit slowly, and with downcast eyes, right.

Miss Mary (watching the trail). It WAS Sandy! and this concealment means something more than bashfulness. Perhaps the stranger can explain.

[Enters schoolhouse, and closes door.

SCENE 2.—The same. Enter CONCHO, lame, cautiously, from R. Pauses at R., and then beckons to HOP SING, who follows R.

Concho (impatiently). Well! you saw him?

Hop Sing. Me see him.

Concho. And you recognized him?

Hop Sing. No shabe likoquize.

Concho (furiously). You knew him, eh? Carramba! You KNEW him.

Hop Sing (slowly and sententiously). Me shabe man you callee Diego. Me shabbee Led Gulchee call Sandy. Me shabbee man Poker Flat callee Alexandlee Molton. Allee same, John! Allee same!

Concho (rubbing his hands). Bueno! Good John! good John! And you knew he was called Alexander Morton? And go on—good John—go on!

Hop Sing. Me plentee washee shirtee—Melican man Poker Flat. Me plentee washee shirt Alexandlee Molton. Always litee, litee on shirt allee time. (Pointing to tail of his blouse, and imitating writing with finger.) Alexandlee Molton. Melican man tellee me—shirt say Alexandlee Molton—shabbee?

Concho. Bueno! Excellent John. Good John. His linen marked Alexander Morton. The proofs are gathering! (crosses to C.)—the letter I found in his pack, addressed to Alexander Morton, Poker Flat, which first put me on his track; the story of his wife's infidelity, and her flight with his partner to red Gulch, the quarrel and fight that separated them, his flight to San Jose, his wanderings to the mission of San Carmel, to the rancho of the Holy Fisherman. The record is complete!

Hop Sing. Alexandlee Molton—

Concho (hurriedly returning to HOP SING). Yes! good John; yes, good John—go on. Alexander Morton—

Hop Sing. Alexandlee Molton. Me washee shirt, Alexandlee Molton; he no pay washee. Me washee flowty dozen hep—four bittie dozen—twenty dollar hep. Alexandlee Molton no payee. He say, "Go to hellee!" You pay me (extending his hand).

Concho. Car—! (checking himself). Poco tiempo, John! In good time, John. Forty dollar—yes. Fifty dollar! Tomorrow, John.

Hop Sing. Me no likee "to-mollow!" Me no likee "nex time, John!" Allee time Melican man say, "Chalkee up, John," "No smallee change, John,"—umph. Plenty foolee me!

Concho. You shall have your money, John; but go now—you comprehend. Carramba! go! (Pushes HOP SING to wing.)

Hop Sing (expostulating). Flowty dozen, hep, John! twenty dollar, John. Sabe. Flowty—twenty—(gesticulating with fingers).

[Exit HOP SING, pushed off by CONCHO.

Concho. The pagan dolt! But he is important. Ah, if he were wiser, I should not rid myself of him so quickly! And now for the schoolmistress,—the sweetheart of Sandy. If these men have not lied, he is in love with her; and, if he is, he has told her his secret before now; and she will be swift to urge him to his rights. If he has not told her—umph! (laughing) it will not be a DAY—an HOUR—before she will find out if her lover is Alexander Morton, the rich man's son, or "Sandy," the unknown vagabond. Eh, friend Sandy! It was a woman that locked up your secret: it shall be a woman, Madre di Dios! who shall unlock it. Ha! (Goes to door of schoolhouse as door opens, and appears COL. STARBOTTLE.)

Concho (aside). A thousand devils! the lawyer of the old man Morton. (Aloud.) Pardon, pardon! I am a stranger. I have lost my way on the mountain. I am seeking a trail. Senor, pardon!

Starbottle (aside). Another man seeking the road! Ged, I believe he's lying too. (Aloud.) It is before you, sir, DOWN,—down the mountain.

Concho. A thousand thanks, senor. (Aside.) Perdition catch him! (Aloud.) Thanks, senor. [Exit R.

Starbottle. Ged, I've seen that face before. Ged, it's Castro's major-domo. Demn me, but I believe all his domestics have fallen in love with the pretty schoolma'am.

Enter MISS MARY from schoolhouse.

Miss Mary (slowly refolding letter). You are aware, then, of the contents of this note; and you are the friend of Alexander Morton, sen.?

Col. Starbottle. Permit me a moment, a single moment, to—er—er—explain. I am Mr. Morton's legal adviser. There is—er—sense of—er—responsibility,—er—personal responsibility, about the term "friend," that at the—er—er—present moment I am not—er—prepared to assume. The substance of the letter is before you. I am here to—er—express its spirit. I am here (with great gallantry) to express the—er—yearnings of cousinly affection. I am aware—er—that OUR conduct,—if I may use the—er—the plural of advocacy,—I am aware that—er—OUR conduct has not in the past years been of—er—er—exemplary character. I am aware that the—er—death of our lamented cousin, your sainted mother, was—er—hastened—I may—er—say—pre—cip—itated—by our—er—indiscretion But we are hereto—er—confess judgment—with—er—er—costs.

Miss Mary (interrupting). In other words, your client, my cousin, having ruined my father, having turned his own widowed relation out of doors, and sent me, her daughter, among strangers to earn her bread; having seen my mother sink and die in her struggle to keep her family from want,—this man now seeks to condone his offences—pardon me, sir, if I use your own legal phraseology—by offering me a home; by giving me part of his ill-gotten wealth, the association of his own hypocritical self, and the company of his shameless, profligate son—

Starbottle (interrupting). A moment, Miss Morris,—a single moment! The epithets you have used, the—er—vigorous characterization of our—er—conduct, is—er—within the—er—strict rules of legal advocacy, correct. We are—er—rascals! we are—er—scoundrels! we are—er—well, I am not—er—prepared to say that we are not—er—demn me—hypocrites! But the young man you speak of—our son, whose past life (speaking as Col. Starbottle) no one more sincerely deprecates than myself,—that young man has reformed; has been for the past few months a miracle of sobriety, decorum, and industry; has taken, thanks to the example of—er—friends, a position of integrity in his father's business, of filial obedience in his father's household; is, in short, a paragon; and, demn me, I doubt if he's his father's son.

Miss Mary. Enough, sir! You are waiting for my answer. There is no reason why it should not be as precise, as brief, and as formal as your message. Go to my cousin; say that you saw the person he claims as his relation; say that you found her, a poor schoolmistress, in a rude mining camp, dependent for her bread on the scant earnings of already impoverished men, dependent for her honor on the rude chivalry of outcasts and vagabonds; and say that then and there she repudiated your kinship, and respectfully declined your invitation.

Starbottle (aside). Ged! Star! this is the—er—female of your species! This is the woman—the—er—one woman—for whom you are responsible, sir!—personally responsible!

Miss Mary (coldly). You have my answer, sir.

Col. Starbottle. Permit me—er—single moment,—a single moment! Between the er—present moment, and that of my departure—there is an—er—interval of twelve hours. May I, at the close of that interval—again present myself—without prejudice, for your final answer?