The Danites in the Sierras (in four acts)

Front matter

/f I o

(IN FOUR ACTS) BY

JOAQUIN MILLER , ,

Act I

Scene : "The Howlin' Wilderness." Saloon. Bar. Water bucket on table. Mining tools, rocker, etc. Miners discovered lounging about. The Judge and Limber Tim at bar, drinking.

Judge. Well, well, well. And so that boy, Billy Piper, is livin' in that old cabin up the Middle Fork where them three miners handed in their checks to the Danites?

Limber Tim. Livin' there all alone by hisself, Judge !

Judge. Why, I wouldn't live in that 'ere cabin all alone by myself, Tim, for that cradle full of gold.

Tim. It's been empty, that cabin, 'bout a year. Judge.

Judge. Empty as a bran new coffin, Tim.

Tim. And folks just about as willin' to get into it, as into a bran new coffin, I guess.

Judge. Tim, me and Sandy had gone out to help the emigrants, where we seed that poor gal, Nancy Williams, killed, and we warn't here. But you was. Tell me how it was the Danites killed 'em all three in that cabin, and you fellows didn't smell a mouse till it was all over. {Miners gather around.)

Tim. Well, them three miners was kind o' exclusive like, just as if they war a bit afraid of suthin'. They come from Hannibal, Missouri. But they was good miners and good neighbors, too, and was a makin' money like mud.

Judge. Yes, hard workers. Struck it, too, in the channel afore Sandy and me went out to meet the emigrants that time?

Tim. Yes, you remember ^em, Judge. All strong, healthy, handsome fellows. But you see — shoo! Be careful, boys, when you speak of it — but they was of that hundred masked men that killed the Mormon Prophet, Joe Smith.

Judge. And the Danites hunted 'em down, every one, even away out here in the heart of the Sierras.

Tim. Yes. Three as fine, hearty fellows as ever you see, and a makin' money like dirt, when along comes a chap, gets in with 'em, and the first thing you know, a rope breaks in the shaft, and one of 'em is killed. Then the water breaks in one night, and one is drowned. And then the last one of the three is found dead at the foot of the crag yonder.

Judge. And nobody suspectin' nothin' all this time?

Tim. No. But they did, at last, and when me and the boys went there and found that long-haired stranger chap gone, and all their clothes, and all the gold scattered over the floor, why we knew it was — Shoo ! Danites !

Judge. Left all their clothes, and just lots of gold scattered all over the cabin floor! When I got back, and heard about the gold, I went right up

Tim. But too late. Judge. The old clothes was there, but the gold — well, that had evaporated.

Judge. Yes, you had been there, Tim. I don't want any more old clothes, and come to think, I don't want any gold that comes to a fellow's hand like that. Why, boys, that little old cabin is haunted, and that boy a livin' in it.

Tim. And all alone, boys.

Judge. Well, if that boy don't see ghosts in that cabin, livin' all alone by hisself like that — there ain't any, that's all. How long's he been there, Tim ?

Tim. I don't know. Month or two, maybe. You see after the men was all dead, and that stranger chap skipped out, nobody hked to go near the cabin ; kinder 'fraid of the Danites. (Enter Bill Hickman and Carter L. C.)

Judge. Shoo Tim! See! {Miners fall hack down L.)

Hickman. {Making sign to Barkeeper.) Dan shall be a serpent by the way, an adder in the path, that biteth the horse's heels so that his rider shall fall backwards. {They grasp hands, drink and exit L. C.)

Tim. Them's Danites.

Judge. {Grasping pickhandle.) Well, as Judge of this ar camp, I'd just like to purify this glorious climate of California with

Tim. Judge! Judge! The Bar keep too? a Danite ; didn't you see the grip he gave ? You don't know who is and who ain't. Now just you remember them three poor fellows up the Canyon and keep still: Hello! My Pard. {Enter Sandy and the Parson L. C. and cross to Bar.)

Sandy. Come boys. {All make rush to Bar.) Well, you are all alive here I see.

Parson. None of these 'uns dead Sandy, eh? {All laugh.) But poor Dolores. Just been a helpin' Capt. Tommy and Bunkerhill put her in the coffin.

Sandy. Was starved to death. Yes she was boys, and right here. Yes, and Tim, when you went to get a subscription for the Dutchman that broke his leg

Tim. Why she sot up in bed and took off a ring, and

Sandy. Took off a ring — her marriage ring — the last one she had, and you didn't have sense enough to see it. Oh, I don't blame you Tim, that was her way, you know. She was starvin' then. But boys look here; the Parson he wrote "Small Pox," on that butcher's door, that refused her meat, and now — well, he'll go into bankruptcy.

All. Good! Good! Served him right!

Judge. But, I say, Sandy, did you see them strangers ?

Sandy. The tall, religious sort of chaps?

Judge. Talkin' about Dan bein' a serpent in the path.

Sandy. Yes. Seed 'em lookin' at the dead body of Dolores, down there. What of it? You seem skeered.

Judge. Danites !

Tim. Danites in the Sierras 1

Sandy. What !

Judge. Yes, Danites. And the very fellows, too, I think, that you and me run across when we went out to meet the emigrants, after we found this 'ere minin' camp.

^ Sandy. That shot — that hunted down the last of the Williams and shot, shot her — that pretty, that sweetly pretty girl that, that we found. Judge, and tried to save and bring back to camp to the boys ? j^^

Judge. The same hungry, Bible-howlin' varmifs, I do believe.

Sandy. Judge, I'll be revenged for that poor girl's death if it takes me ten years. Why, there she came to us just at the gray of dawn, just as we seed the gold of the mornin' star croppin' out of the heavens; came to us, weary, torn, half-dead with hunger and fright, flyin' into camp Hke a wounded dove, there on the bank of the deep, foamin' Truckee river. "Why, poor Httle bird," I said, and I put my arms about her and took her up when she fell at our feet, boys, and laid her away to rest under the tree, by the bank. Judge, you know, and watched over her, we two did, Judge, as if she'd been our own kid. And then. Judge, when she waked up, you remember, and we fed her, and she talked and told us all. And how we promised and swore to save her. Judge. And then, just as we got all packed up and ready to come back, the Danites came burstin' in upon us, leadin' the Ingins, and all of 'em a shootin' at that poor, helpless baby, that never did anybody any harm.

Judge. (Crying and imping eyes.) That alkali dust out there hurts my eyes yet. (Rushes to bar and drinks,) That strengthens the eyes.

Sandy. And then, boys, after the battle was over and I turned to look for her — Gone! Gone! Only the deep, dark river rollin' between its willow walls. Gone ! Gone ! Only the dark and ugly river gurglin', sweepin' and rollin' by, and the willows leanin' over it and drippin' and drippin' and bendin' to the ugly waters. Leanin' and weepin' as if in tears for her. Only the dark river rollin' there under the bendin' willows and — and — and my heart as cold and empty as a dead man's hand.

Tim. Why, Sandy, my poor old pard, we'll all stand by you and help you git even on 'em.

Parson. Stand by you agin the Danites, Sandy, till the cows come home ; and thar's my hand.

Sandy. (Wiping his eyes and going.) If them's them, Judge, I'll find 'em and raise 'em out of their boots. No, you needn't come, boys. If I can find 'em, that's all I ask. Let me have 'em all to myself, boys. (Exit, L. C. )

Judge. Poor Sand. He loved her, boys. And she was pretty. So sweetly pretty. And to go and get shot and drowned like that, when we was fightin' for her.

Tim. Why he talks about her yet in his sleep, Parson. But he wouldn't know her if he seed her.

Judge. Only seed her by the camp-fire, boys. But he hain't been the same man since.

Parson. Always was a little soft here. (Taps heart.) But he's good, Tim. I ain't sayin' nothin' agin' your pard. Only he's tender hearted. (Enter Washee Washee, L. C.)

Washee Washee. (Down stage.) I say, Plosson, plack tlain comee.

Judge. (Aside.) The pack train ! Then there will be some news. And maybe some strangers; and maybe some business. Must brush up a bit.

Washee. Yes, plack tlain comee down way uppee mountain, an' a somebodee alle samee a Captin' Tommy; Blunkel hillee.

Tim. All the same Capt. Tommy?

Parson. All the same Bunkerhill? Now you git out of here. You've been lyin' enough. Git, I tell you. (Kicks at him and Washee exits, L. C.) Lie! Why, that Chinaman can lie the bark off a tree. (All laugh.)

Judge. Guess he can steal some, too. Parson.

Parson. Steal? He even steals from himself, just to keep his hand in. (Enter Sandy, L. C.)

Sandy. Couldn't find 'em. And that's what makes me think it imis Danites. Judge, they come and go as if they came up out of, or sink into the ground, like that.

Tim. Maybe they're gone up to the haunted cabin to see Billy Piper?

Judge. Oh, do you know, Parson, Stubbs here, says he's a wearin'^ of them dead men's old clothes ?

Parson. Hold on, I've got an idea! That boy Billy Piper's a Danite!

Sandy. Now look here. Parson, you don't like that boy, I know.

Parson. No. I don't like nobody that lives all alone by hisself and in a place like that. Why, the blood ain't hardly dry yet, where them three men died, and he a livin' there.

Sandy. Well, now, maybe he ain't got no other place to stay. And he ain't strong, you know. Why, the first time I ever seed him, I met him in the trail, and he got out of it as I come by, and held down his head, all for the world like a timid bit of a girl. Judge. And when I said, "boy, what's your name?" he stammered, and as if he wanted to get away, Judge, and at last, with his head still held down, he told me his name — Billy Piper — then smiled so sadly, like her, Judge, and went on.

Judge. Well, Sandy, ain't nothin' wonderful 'bout it, is there ?

Sandy. No, Judge, not that. It's only Billy Piper, that's all. That's his name, boys. And don't you go for to nick-name him. But, Judge, that smile was like her — like her smile, he'/s.

Tim. Oh, now, Sandy, don't; that's a good fellow. Forget all about that.

Judge. Yes. Talk about — 'bout suthin' new, talk about the weather — ^this glorious climate of California, and — and — and — take a drink?

Sandy. Why, of course, boys. That's all right. But you. Parson, don't be too hard on little Billy Piper. I know it does make one feel kind o' skeery to think where he lives, and how he lives. But he's squar', squar', Parson.

Tim. And a poet. Yes. Says pretty things as he stands lookin' up at the moon, a wheelin' through the pine tops ; prettier things than you can find in a book.

Sandy. And says things as sets you a thinkin', too. Why, he says to hisself today, kind o' quiet like, when some of the boys was tauntin' Bunker about the hump on her back, says he, takin' Bunkerhill's hand, says he, "God has made some women a little bit plain, in order that He might have some women that is perfectly good."

Tim. Just Hke a book, ain't it?

Judge. A little shaky here. {Taps head.) Maybe he's had trouble.

Sandy. Jest so, Judge, jest so. O, but I say, boys. Forgot to tell you. Seed Soapy Dan the stoorkeeper just now, when I went out to look for them fellows and what do you think? Why his pack train is comin' in, and a missionary is a comin' in on it, too.

All. a Missionary !

Parson. A — a — now look here? Not a missionary? Of all things under the heavens, or on the earth, what use have we for a missionary here?

All. No use, no use at all.

Judge. No ! We're too good now.

Parson. A derned sight too good!

Judge. Why it's insinervatious, that's what it is.

Tim. Better send him to the Cannibal Islands, eh, Parson?

Parson. Do they take us for Cannibals out here, in this 'ere camp?

Judge. He'll want to be Judge and everything else.

Parson. It is an insult. A roarin', howlin' insult, for that 'ere storekeeper to let 'em come in here on his mules. And if he sets foot in here, boys, and he will set foot in here, he'll come in here to take up a collection right off — O yes, I know 'em. I seed 'em in Missouri and on the Mississippi, and seed 'em when I went down the river and took ship. Oh I know the white choker gentry. They will have the best in the land and pay nothing. They never miss a meal and never pay a cent. A Boston missionary, bah!

Judge. (Shakes pickhandle.) Well, then, gentlemen, it's my official opinion, as judge of this 'ere camp, that we'd best find him guilty on the spot, and execute him when he arrives.

Parson. Tried, and found guilty.

All. Yes ; let's all go for him.

Tim. O, but he won't come in here.

Parson. Won't he, though? This is the sittin' room of the hotel. He'll come to the hotel to get his fodder, won't he ? O they always have the best in the land, the broad-brimmed, long-legged, lean, lantern- jawed, hymn-howlin', white chokered sons of guns. I'm down on 'em, I am.

Sandy. Well, guess we'd better all go for him, eh, boys?

Parson. O, no. Don't let's go for him. Let's pass around the hat for brother Tompkinsonsonson ; let's take up a collection; do suthin' religious.

Tim. (Taking drink from bucket.) Let's all be baptized. (All laugh.)

[II]

Parson. Bully for Tim ! Let's baptize the missionary !

Sandy. That's the idea, boys. Say, boys. Look here. When he comes in at that door

Parson. Baptize him, then and thar. Yes ! Let's baptize him and give him his new name, like all the rest of us.

Sandy. (All sitting; pans; water.) We'll do it, and I'll be chief mourner.

Tim. Wonder if he's a sprinkler or a dipper?

Sandy. Well, we'll make him think he's a dipper.

Parson. Won't he look funny though, with his broad-brimmed Quaker hat all wilted down like a cabbage leaf?

Tim. An' his long-tailed coat all a streamin'.

Sandy. And his umbrella won't do him no good, for the water will rain from below. (All roar. Enter Washee Washee.)

Parson. He's a comin' right in. Told you so, boys. Washee, take that, and give him one for his mother. (Hands water.) Comin' in. Told you so.

Sandy. There, boys ! Pullin' at the latch-string. Give it to him. (Enter Widow, hag in Itand, scar on cheek. Miners fall hack.)

All. Calico !

Widow. I am the missionary.

Parson. The missionary!

Sandy. (To miners; down water.) Yes, and the very kind of missionary the camp wanted.

Widow. (Aside.) Why, they all had gold-pans in their hands. How industrious these honest miners are.

Parson. Say, Sandy, let's send to the Board of Missions for a thousand missionaries.

Widow. I sent word by the storekeeper that I was coming. I hope you were ready to receive the missionary ?

Judge. Hem ! We — we was ready to receive the missionary, mum, but — ^but not that kind of a missionary, mum.

Sandy. But we're glad, we're glad it is this kind of one, all the same.

Parson. {Brushing up and coming close to the

widow.) Yes we are, mum, by the {hand over

mouth,)

Sandy. The biggest strike. Judge, since we found the Forks. Now go in. Make a speech. Speak for me. Don't let the parson have it all to say.

Judge. This glorious climate, California, mum. Mum, mum, welcome. Welcome, mum, to the — the — ^the — to — Married, mum? {Widow shakes head. Miners wild with delight.) California widow, perhaps? {She modestly turns away.) A widder, boys. A real, squar', modest mite of a widder.

Parson. Yes, she's a widder. And pretty. God bless the pretty widder.

Sandy. A widder! A California widder?

Judge. Yes, yes, Sandy. That's all right. You see the other kind never gets this far. They seem to spile first.

Parson. Have suthin' to drink, widder?

Widow. O no, thank you. But if you could show me a room

Parson. The best room in the Forks is yourn till you can get a cabin of your own. This way. {Shozuing her ofF,R.)

Sandy. Yes ; but we all must be allowed to pay for it together. Parson.

Widow. Parson ?

Sandy. This is the Parson, mum.

Widow. O, I'm so glad. I shall have you preach at every service. (Exit, R.)

All. Have you preach? (All laugh.)

Parson. Have me preach?

Sandy. Why, she don't know we call you the Parson because you can out cuss any man in the camp. Come! My treat! (All rush to bar.)

Judge. Who's goin' to be baptized now, Parson ?

Parson. I am. Yes, I am, boys. I'm converted ; and I'm willin' to be baptized.

Sandy. Leastwise, we don't baptize the widder, no way. (Sadly.) But what strange wind or storm blew her away in here among the crags and pines, boys? And so pretty, too; pretty as poor little Nancy Williams. And the scar? But pshaw, no. This cannot be her.

Parson. Pretty, pretty, and good as gold. But she's had trouble, old pard. That's been a bullet made that scar.

Sandy. That's just what set me to thinkin' just now. And I want to look at her pretty face agin, boys. For you see them Danites came just as she came. Now we couldn't find the body of Nancy Williams, Judge, you know, and with that scar and them Danites, I tell you this might be Nancy Williams, and if

Judge. Sandy! Sandy! You That's not

possible. You're always thinkin' of poor Nancy Williams. Why that river rolls over her, Sandy. Forget her, do. Now, here's this 'ar widder •

Tim. O that pretty widder. (Straightening up collar.) I'm goin' to fix myself up.

Parson. And me, too. (Miners repeat this and all exit J leaving Sandy.)

Widow. (Entering.) All alone? And so thougtful and still.

Sandy. (Starts.) Why I — I was a thinkin' a bit, widder. I — the boys have gone to fix up, I guess. You see you're the first woman in the Forks, mum.

Widow. And are there no ladies here then?

Sandy. Ladies? No, no ladies, mum. No children. No young folks at all. Only one. Billy Piper. A pale-faced, lonesome little fellow that lives all alone by hisself.

Widow. Why, how sad for him. I shall seek him out and console him.

Sandy. You mind me, mum, of a face that I saw once in the dusk and in trouble; a sweet, sad face, that vanished away like a dear, tender dream. But no, no, you are taller than she.

Widow. Why, how strange. I must have you tell me all about it. But here are your friends. (Miners entering dressed loudly, drink, and edge up to widow.)

Parson. Now Sandy's had her five minutes all by hisself. She's talked to him five whole minutes. I'd a been converted and baptized by this time. (Enter Billy Piper; pick and pan.)

Sandy. This is the boy Billy Piper, mum, that lives all alone by hisself.

Widow. I'm very glad to know you. We shall be the best of friends.

Billy. O, I thank you so much. (Aside.) A woman. And a kind, true woman, too. Life will not be so hard now. No, not so utterly desolate.

But Sandy ! How he looks at her. Looks at her tenderly as he once looked at me.

Widow. And you are a little miner. I should so like to dig the pure gold from the earth, too.

Billy. Then come, and I will show you how it is done. (Exit.)

Parson. Curse that Danite boy! His smooth tongue and face will win that widder's heart in five minutes. Well, if she don't baptize him, I will, and in deeper water than he thinks. (Goes to door. Shouts outside.) Hello! Boys after that Chinaman again !

Washer. Blandee ! Blandee ! Me likee blandee. (Drinks again.) Blandee makee Chinaman feel allee same likee flighten clock. (Going to door.) Melican man no comee. No catchee Chinaman. (Drinks.) Melican man he no comee. Chinaman he no go. (Shouts outside. Enter miners, excited.)

Parson. There he is, boys. (Rush at Washee.)

Tim. Well, he's got 'em. You bet he has. Let's search him.

Judge. Yes, search him. And if you find he's got anything, why I'll find him guilty.

Parson. Yes, and if you find him guilty, Judge, he's got to swing.

Judge. Got anything more, Washee? If you got anything the law will make you give it up. You can't go on breakin' the seventh commandment like that, in this glorious climate of California, I can tell you. No, not while I'm Judge, you can't. Got anything about you? (Seizes queue, and pulls about.) Got anything about you, I say?

Washee. Yesee. My gotee that! (Draws pistol, Judge hacks.)

Parson. He's drawed a pistol! A Chinaman dares to draw a pistol ! Has it come to this in California ? A Chinaman draws a pistol on a white man in California! Bring that rope. (Miners hand rope.)

Judge. (Hiding behind Sandy.) Hang him! Hang him ! And I'll pronounce sentence of death on him afterwards.

Sandy. (Takes pistol.) Hand in your checks, Washee, Washee.

Parson. Here boys ! Out to the nearest tree. (Throzvs noose over Washee' s head; other end to miners. Dragging to door. Shouting wildly: ''Hang him!" Enter widow, C, with Billy. She lifts hand; all let go. Washee at her feet. She throws off rope. Miners down stage in shame.)

Curtain.

Act II

Scene: Moonlight on the Sierras. Rocky Run crossing the stage; ledge overhanging ; set cabin, practical door, foot of run, background of distant snow-capped peaks. {Enter Hickman and Carter from R. i. E.)

Hickman. That's her cabin. The missionary. Humph ! As if we could not find her out, though she professed herself a saint. Her time has come.

Carter. Yes. But it seems to me, after she has escaped the bullet and the flood, and hid away here, toiling too as she does, it is hard to kill her. Maybe the Lord has willed to spare her.

Hick. {Close and solemn.) And Dan shall be a serpent in the path, that biteth the horse's heel till his rider falleth backward. Is she not sentenced to death? Do we not hold our commission for her execution ?

Carter. But I — I'm tired of this hunting down helpless women. As long as it was men I did my part, but now — well she had no hand in the Prophet's death.

Hick. But her father had. And are you to sit in judgment now on this? You are not the judge. You are only the executioner. No! She and all her kindred shall perish from the earth. For I will be revenged, saith the Lord, unto the third and fourth generation.

Carter. And I am to kill her ? Enter that cabin like a thief and kill her with this knife? This hand ? I will not! I

Hick. And be an apostate? And die by this knife? And this hand?

Carter. I will defend myself.

Hick. Fool! Defend yourself against the destroying angels ? Whistle against the winds of the Sierras, but defy not the Danites of the Church. Hush! (Exit, R. i. E. Enter Widow and Billy from cabin, L.) \V^ Billy. How beautiful! The whole moon's heart fs. poured out into the mighty Sierras. O, what a miracle; the moon and golden stars; and all the majesty and mystery of this calm, still world to love. O, life is not so hard now.

Widow. And you love the world, with all your sad, hard life ?

Billy. And why not? Is it less beautiful because / have had troubles? My sweet friend, it seems to me the highest, the holiest religion that we can have, is to love this world, and the beauty, the mystery, the majesty that environs us.

Widow. How strange all this from one so young. I came here, a missionary, to teach; I am being taught. But stay awhile yet. You see by the moonlight on the mountain, it is not so late as you thought. We may still read another chapter of your little Testament.

Billy. No, I must go now. Besides, I know Sandy is coming this evening. Oh, I know you expect him. And he, he would not like to see me here.

Widow. And why not ? His is a high, loyal nature, above the petty quarrels and jealousies of the camp. Come, come in and wait till he calls. Then you see you will not leave me alone.

Billy. Alone? And do you fear to be alone? Oh ! do you, too, shudder and start at strange sounds and signs as I do? Last night, up yonder on the banks of the stream, in my cabin in the thick woods, as I lay there I heard footsteps about my cabin. I heard the chapparal and manzanita crackle, as if monsters prowled about ; wild beasts, waiting to devour me.

Widow. Then come in. You shall not go till you are at least in better heart. (Info cabin. Enter Parson up canyon at back, breathless, pick on shoulder.)

Parson. Well! That is a climb for you. If I'd lost my footin' comin' up that precipice, good-bye Parson. But it was a mile around by the trail, and I wanted to get to the widder's cabin afore Sandy. She's in thar'. Lord love her ! The sweetest thing in these 'ere Sierras. These 'ere Sierras ? . The sweetest and the prettiest in this universal world. Yes, and the boys all know it. They all knowed it when she came. But when she took this 'ere cabin, and took in that cussed, thievin' little heathen, kind o' absorbed him like, and set up to washin' the boys' clothes; workin' like the rest of us — when I see'd that 'ere little widder a bendin' over a wash-tub, earnin' her bread by the sweat of her brow ; wearin' a diadem of diamonds on her forehead; well, I thought of my mother and my sister, an' it made me better — better — and I loved her so, I loved her so. (Has been coming down Run; is at door. Stops and listens. ) The widder readin' ? And — and to him — that boy Piper. That brat that's either Danite, Devil or imp? I'll — I'll strangle him. I'll take him by the throat and choke the life out of him with these two hands and chuckle with delight while doin' it. He's comin' out. I'll wait till I catch him alone and then I'll throttle him. (Exit, L. Enter Billy and widow.)

Billy. O, yes. I am quite strong now. It was only a passing shadow ; as the clouds will sometimes shut out the light of the sun or the beauty of yon moon. I suppose such moments come to us all. Good-night. My cabin is not far.

Widow. And if anything happens, or you feel at all sad or lonely, come back, and Sandy, if he comes, I am sure will be glad to take you to his own cabin and cheer you up.

Billy. Sandy! You know not what you say. But no. It is I rather, that know not what / say. Good-night.

Widow. Good-night. And come again soon to read the other chapters.

Billy. I will come. Good-night. (Widow closes door. Billy looks off.) How full of rest and peace the whole world seems. But I ? I am as the dove that was sent forth from out the Ark and found not where to set its foot. The olive branch? It is not for me. (Enter Judge and Tim, L.)

Tim. Yes, Judge, my pard's cut the sand clean from under the Parson's feet, I guess. He's goin' to pop to-night, he tells me, if he can only pump up the spunk to do it. (Takes bottle from boot leg; they drink; he returns it.)

Judge. Goin' to get married? Well Tim, in this glorious climate of California, I tell you one feels like — like — well, as if he must do suthin', Tim.