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 appears on run.)
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?