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!
(Jerden turns, and runs up run, against Silas, who is descending.)
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.