Silas. Mr. Fairlee, you've had a close shave.
Win-Kye. Catchee man close shabe too. No lazor, no soapee: see! (With a quick movement snatches beard from Jerden.)
Dick. Stephen Corliss!
Agnes. That man!
Jerden. Yes, that man. Agnes Fairlee, to win you I have plotted. I have failed, and now await my sentence.
Tom. I told you miner law was swift and sure. (Jube creeps up run, and crouches behind masking rocks.)
Jerden. I understand,—a rope, a tree, and murder. (Draws pistol.) Not for me. (Dashes up run. Jube rises before him.)
Jube (wrests pistol from him). Dis is a private way, dangerous passing.
Jerden. Curse the luck! (Turns, and runs off L. behind cabin.)
Vermont. Not that way, man.