In the well in
the middle is a table with benches round it. A few other benches
are in disorder round the room. The autumn sun is shining warmly
through the windows and the open door. The women, whose dress and
speech are those of pioneers of civilisation in a territory of
the United States of America, are seated round the table and on
the benches, shucking nuts. The conversation is at its height.
BABSY [a bumptious young slattern, with some good looks] I say
that a man that would steal a horse would do anything.
LOTTIE [a sentimental girl, neat and clean] Well, I never should
look at it in that way. I do think killing a man is worse any day
than stealing a horse.
HANNAH [elderly and wise] I dont say it's right to kill a man. In
a place like this, where every man has to have a revolver, and
where theres so much to try people's tempers, the men get to be a
deal too free with one another in the way of shooting. God knows
it's hard enough to have to bring a boy into the world and nurse
him up to be a man only to have him brought home to you on a
shutter, perhaps for nothing, or only just to shew that the man
that killed him wasn't afraid of him. But men are like children
when they get a gun in their hands: theyre not content til theyve
used it on somebody.
JESSIE [a good-natured but sharp-tongued, hoity-toity young
woman; Babsy's rival in good looks and her superior in tidiness]
They shoot for the love of it. Look at them at a lynching.
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