LAURA. When do we go?
JOHN. Right away. The great idea is to get away.
LAURA. All right.
[Gets hat off trunk, crosses to bureau, puts it on.
JOHN. Laura, you've got trunks enough, haven't you? One might think we're moving a whole colony. [Turns to her with a smile.] And, by the way, to me you are a whole colony—anyway you're the only one I ever wanted to settle with.
LAURA. That's good. [Takes bag off bureau, crosses to trunk, gets purse, coat, umbrella, as if ready to leave. She hurriedly gathers her things together, adjusting her hat and the like, and almost to herself in a low tone:] I'm so excited. [Continues preparations.] Come on.
In the meantime JOHN crosses by to get his hat and coat, and while the preparations are about to be completed and LAURA has said "Come on," she is transfixed by the noise of the slamming of the outer door. She stops as if she had been tremendously shocked, and a moment later the rattling of a latch-key in the inner door also stops JOHN from going any further. His coat is half on. LAURA looks toward the door, paralyzed with fright, and JOHN looks at her with an expression of great apprehension. Slowly the door opens, and BROCKTON enters with coat and hat on. As he turns to close the door after him, LAURA, pitifully and terribly afraid, retreats two or three steps, and lays coat, bag, purse and umbrella down in armchair, standing dazed. BROCKTON enters leisurely, paying no attention to anyone, while JOHN becomes as rigid as a statue, and follows with his eyes every move BROCKTON makes. The latter walks leisurely across the stage, and afterwards into the rooms through the portières. There is a wait of a second. No one moves. BROCKTON finally reënters with coat and hat off, and throws back the portières in such a manner as to reveal the bed and his intimate familiarity with the outer room. He goes down stage in the same leisurely manner and sits in a chair opposite JOHN, crossing his legs.
WILL. Hello, Madison, when did you get in?
Slowly JOHN seems to recover himself. His right hand starts up toward the lapel of his coat and slowly he pulls his Colt revolver from the holster under his armpit. There is a deadly determination and deliberation in every movement that he makes. WILL jumps to his feet and looks at him. The revolver is uplifted in the air, as a Western man handles a gun, so that when it is snapped down with a jerk the deadly shot can be fired. LAURA is terror-stricken, but before the shot is fired she takes a step forward and extends one hand in a gesture of entreaty.
LAURA. [In a husky voice that is almost a whisper.] Don't shoot.