Jarvis. So is Kentucky. That's where I came from. You're Spanish?
Princess. Yes.
Jarvis. Then you'll understand—those shots you heard, that was the end of a feud. I was called home suddenly by the death of my father—shot in the back—feud—man after man—two families—the Marcums and my own had shot each other down. Then my Dad fell and I was left to fight it out alone.
Princess. Couldn't you?
Jarvis. Couldn't I? God only knows what I've been through since. Those two shots you heard—that was the finish. This morning when I got back to my hotel, there was a message waiting for me. It was signed Jim Marcum, head of the family, and proposed that, as we were out of Kentucky, we meet and end the feud amicably. He asked me to meet him at this hotel in his room—no matter what hour—he would be waiting. He was leaving at six in the morning and wanted it settled. It was a pretty scheme. I knew the man and I saw the trap. I came over here prepared and went directly to his room. It was on this floor. I flung open the door and met Jim Marcum face to face. He was waiting. Without a word he fired. I fired, and he dropped. Now do you understand why the law would not give me justice?
Princess. Did you kill him?
Jarvis. I don't know—I didn't wait.
Princess. What are you going to do?
Jarvis. I don't know. Do you know what it means to fight single-handed against fearful odds—to fight an endless fight alone?