Ratts. I'll see to that. [Draws revolver.] If he stirs, I'll put a bullet through his skull, mighty quick.
M'Closky. Come, form a court then, choose a jury—we'll fix this varmin.
Enter Thibodeaux and Caillou, L.
Thibo. What's the matter?
Lafouche. We've caught this murdering Injiun, and are going to try him. [Wahnotee sits L., rolled in blanket.]
Pete. Poor little Paul—poor little nigger!
Scud. This business goes agin me, Ratts—'tain't right.
Lafouche. We're ready; the jury's impanelled—go ahead—who'll be accuser?
Ratts. M'Closky.
M'Closky. Me?