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will you? MED. SHOT as Burns leaves Hildy and goes over to desk and picks up his phone again. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER Finding the door locked, he knocks. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY as another knock comes, they take it big. HILDY (calling) Who is it? EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER What's the idea of locking this? INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY HILDY That's Bensinger. That's his desk. BURNS (whispering) What's his name? The door knob is rattled violently. HILDY Bensinger -- of the Tribune. EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER Open this door! INT. PRESS ROOM CLOSE SHOT BURNS He starts for the door. BURNS I'll handle him. CAMERA TRUCKS WITH HIM to the door. BURNS The Tribune, eh? Watch me! He opens the door. AT DOOR BENSINGER (as he comes in) Ain't you got any more sense than to -- ? (sees Burns and is overcome) Oh, h-hello, Mr. Burns. Why, quite an honor having you come over here. BURNS (casually) Hello, Bensinger. BENSINGER Excuse me, I just want to -- He starts for the desk. Hildy's typing goes on, coming in over the scene. BURNS (starting for the desk, suddenly blocking his path) Quite a coincidence, my running into you tonight. Isn't it, Hildy? HILDY'S VOICE Yeh. BENSINGER How do you mean? CLOSEUP BURNS AND BENSINGER BURNS I was having a little chat about you just this afternoon -- with our Mister Duffy. BENSINGER (essaying a pleasantry) Nothing -- ah -- detrimental, I hope. BURNS I should say not! That was one swell story you had in the paper this morning. BENSINGER (deeply moved) Oh, did you -- care for the poem, Mr. Burns? BURNS (startled) The poem?... The poem was great! BENSINGER (blinking at these words) Remember the ending? (and he recites) " -- and all is well, outside his cell, But in his heart he hears the hangman Calling and the gallows falling And his white-haired mother's tears..." BURNS (overcome) Heartbreaking! How would you like to work for me? BENSINGER What? MEDIUM SHOT taking in table, Hildy typing there. BURNS (to Bensinger) We need somebody like you. All we've got now are a lot of low-brows. Like Johnson here. He starts shoving Bensinger away from the desk, toward the table. BENSINGER Seriously, Mr. Burns? Clinging to him, Burns takes him to the phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! I'm sending Bensinger over to see you. (looking up at Bensinger) Mervyn, isn't it? BENSINGER No. Roy. Roy V. BURNS (with a little laugh at his own forgetfulness) Of course! (into phone) Roy Bensinger, the poet. Of course you wouldn't know! You probably never heard of Shakespeare, either! Put Mr. Bensinger right on the staff. (to Bensinger) How much are you getting on the Tribune, Roy? BENSINGER Seventy-five. BURNS I'll give you a hundred and a by- line. ANOTHER ANGLE as Burns continues. BURNS (into phone) Let him have everything he wants. (puts down the receiver; turns to Bensinger) Now hustle and write me a story from the point of view of the escaped man. (acting it out) He hides, cowering... Afraid of every light, of every sound... hears footsteps... his heart going like that... And all the time they're closing in... Get the sense of an animal at bay! BENSINGER Sort of a Jack London style? TRUCKING SHOT BURNS Exactly! Leads him hurriedly to the door. BENSINGER I got my rhyming dictionary in -- (indicating desk) BURNS (getting him to door) It doesn't have to rhyme! CLOSE SHOT - AT DOOR as Bensinger turns there. BENSINGER Gee, I'm terribly grateful, Mister Burns. Do you suppose there might be an opening some time as foreign correspondent? I parley a little French, you know. Burns shakes hands with him and opens the door with the other hand. BURNS I'll keep you in mind. BENSINGER (going) Au revoir, mon capitaine. BURNS (never at a loss in any language) Bon jour! Continuing his French, he gets the door closed and relocked and turns for the table, singing as he does so: BURNS Mademoiselle from Armontieres, parlay -- MED. SHOT Burns returns alertly to table, not noticing that Hildy has stopped typing, and sits staring moodily before her. BURNS (into phono) Duffy! Got this! CLOSEUP BURNS - AT PHONE BURNS A rat from the Tribune is coming over to get a job -- Bensinger, the guy I told you about. Handle him with kid gloves. Tell him to get busy writing poetry... No, we don't want him. Stall him along until the extra comes out. Then tell him his poetry stinks and kick him downstairs. He lays down receiver. WIDER ANGLE taking in Hildy. She looks up at him. HILDY (to Burns) Double-crossing swine! BURNS You said it! But this'll teach him a lesson. He won't quit his paper without giving notice after this. Hildy doesn't bother to reply. She rests her chin on her hands and stares moodily ahead. BURNS Tear into it, will you? Don't sit there like a frozen robin! HILDY I'm finished. BURNS Finished! He grabs the last sheet of paper out of her typewriter, kisses her and rushes over to the telephone. CLOSEUP BURNS at phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! All right -- here we go! And got it out as soon as you can. I want this paper out on the streets in half an hour! (reading Hildy's copy) "So once more the Morning Post --" EXT. CRIMINAL COURTS BLDG. - NIGHT MED. SHOT Diamond Louie, bearing evidence of a mishap, his hat crushed, his face bruised and his clothes torn, comes running down the sidewalk and up the steps into the buildings. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Hildy is up now, pacing. HILDY Bruce ought to be back by now. Walter, you're not trying anything again, are you? BURNS (coming over to her) Hildy, you think I could? After this story? (taking a flask from his pocket) Here! You're just nervous. Hildy takes the flask and takes a drink. There is a knock on the door. Burns takes the flask from her, restores it to his pocket and goes to the door. BURNS Who is it? LOUIE'S VOICE It's me, Boss -- Louie. BURNS (opening the door) It's Louie! Louie slips in and Burns relocks the door. BURNS (seeing Louie's disarray) What's the matter? Hildy crosses to Louie. HILDY (frantically) Where's Mrs. Baldwin? BURNS What did you do with her? HILDY (almost afraid to speak) What happened? CLOSE SHOT - THE THREE BURNS You been in a fight? LOUIE (still out of breath) Down Western Avenue. We were going sixty-five miles an hour. You know what I mean? BURNS Take that mush out of your mouth! HILDY Where's the old lady? LOUIE I'm telling you! CLOSEUP - LOUIE as he gets breath and blurts: LOUIE We run smack into a police patrol. You know what I mean? We broke it in half! BACK TO GROUP HILDY (moaning) Oh-h-h... was she hurt? BURNS Where is she? Tell me! HILDY Louie! LOUIE I'm telling you. Can you imagine bumping into a load of cops?! They come rollin' out like oranges! HILDY (seizing him) What did you do with her? LOUIE Search me! When I come to I was running down Thirty-fifth Street. HILDY -- You were with her. You were in the cab, weren't you? LOUIE (exposing his bruised scalp) Was I? The driver got knocked cold. BURNS Butter-fingers! I give you an old lady to take somewhere, and you hand her over to the cops! LOUIE What do you mean, I handed her? The patrol wagon was on the wrong side of the street. BURNS Now everything's fine. She's probably squawking her head off in some police station. CLOSEUP - LOUIE LOUIE I don't think she's talking much... You know what I mean? He winks reassuringly. BACK TO GROUP HILDY (paralyzed) Don't tell me -- was she killed? BURNS (hopefully) Was she? Did you notice? LOUIE Say, me with a gun on my hip and a kidnapped old lady on my hands, I should stick around asking questions from a lot of cops! You know what I mean? Hildy sinks into a chair. CLOSE SHOT HILDY IN THE CHAIR HILDY Dead... dead! That's the end! Burns comes into scene to her. BURNS It's Fate, Hildy. What will be, will be. HILDY (wildly) What am I going to say to Bruce? What'll I tell him? BURNS If he really loves you, you won't have to tell him anything. (whacking her on the shoulder) Snap out of it! Would you rather have had the old dame dragging the whole police force in here? HILDY I killed her. I'm responsible. Oh- h... what can I do now? How can I ever face him? Oh, I hope he never comes back! She buries her face in her hands. BURNS Look at me, Hildy -- HILDY (springing up) I'm looking at you -- you murderer! BURNS If it was my own mother, I'd carry on! You know I would. For the paper! HILDY (calling off to Louie) Louie, where'd it happen? I'm going out! MED. SHOT GROUP The Post phone rings. BURNS (grabbing Hildy) You stay here. I'll find out everything. LOUIE (to Hildy) Western an' Thirty-fourth. Hildy jumps for the outside phone on the desk. TWO SHOT INCLUDING BURNS AT PHONE AND HILDY AT PHONE BURNS (into phone) Hello -- hello... HILDY (into phone) Gimme Western four-five-five-seven. BURNS (guarded) Who? (wildly) Hello, Butch! Where are you? HILDY (into phone) Mission Hospital? Gimme the Receiving Room. BURNS (into phone) What are you doing there? Haven't you even started? HILDY (into phone) Hello -- Eddie? Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady brought in from an auto smashup? BURNS (into phone) Oh, for -- (yelling) H. Sebastian -- Butch! Listen, it's a matter of life and death! Listen! HILDY (into phone) Nobody? (jiggles hook) Morningside three-one-two-four. BURNS (into phone) I can't hear... You got who? Speak up! A what?... You can't stop for a dame now! HILDY (into phone) Is this the Community Hospital? BURNS (howling into phone) I don't care if you've been after her for six years! Butch, our whole lives are at stake! Are you going to let a woman come between us after all we've been through? HILDY (into phone) Hello, Max, Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady --? BURNS (into phone, drowning out Hildy) Butch! I'd put my arm in fire for you -- up to here! (indicates up to where) Now, you can't double-cross me!... She does? All right -- put her on. I'll talk to her... Hello! Oh, hello, Madam... Now listen, you ten-cent glamour girl, you can't keep Butch away from his duty... What's that? You say that again and I'll come over there and knock your eye out! Hello? (turning, as he hangs up) I'll kill 'em! I'll kill both of 'em! (into Post phone) Duffy! (to the universe) Mousing around with some big blonde Annie on my time! That's co-operation! (screaming into phone) Duffy!! HILDY Shut up, will you? (into phone) You sure? Nobody? BURNS (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) Well, where is Duffy? (throwing receiver to desk) Diabetes! I ought to know better than to hire anybody with a disease. (turning) Louie. MED. SHOT GROUP BURNS (to Louie) It's up to you. LOUIE (loyally) Anything you want, Boss. BURNS Beat it out and get hold of some guys. LOUIE Who do you want? BURNS (starting for the door, followed by Louie) Anybody with hair on his chest. Get 'em off the street -- anywhere. Offer them anything -- only get them. (confidentially) We've got to get this desk out of here. He unlocks the door. LOUIE You know me. The shirt off my back. BURNS You got plenty of money? LOUIE Sure, boss. BURNS I mean real money -- not counterfeit! LOUIE I always have both. He goes out. BURNS (calling after him) And don't bump into anything. He relocks the door. HILDY Lafayette two-one-hundred. BURNS (turning from door) That dumb immigrant'll flop on me. I know it. (bitterly) Can you imagine Butch doing this to me -- at a time like this? CLOSE SHOT HILDY AT PHONE, TAKING IN DESK Burns steps into scene. BURNS (confidentially) If Louie doesn't come back in five minutes we'll get it out alone. There's millions of ways. We can start a fire and get the firemen to carry it out in the confusion. He crosses to the desk and inspects it. HILDY (into phone) Ring that number, will you? BURNS (to Hildy, oblivious of her telephoning) Come here. See if we can move it. HILDY (into phone) Hello -- hello! Is this the Lying -- In Hospital? Did you have an auto accident in the last -- BURNS (interrupting) Will you come here? HILDY (into phone) Oh, I see. I beg your pardon. BURNS When I'm surrounded, with my back against the wall, you're not going to lay down on me, are you -- HILDY Yes. She jiggles the phone hook. BURNS (going to her) Hildy, you just can't leave me out on a limb now. It -- it wouldn't be cricket! HILDY I don't care what you say. I'm going to find Bruce's mother. (she jiggles the hook madly) Oh-h... (she hangs up) I'm going out and find her! Grabbing her hat and purse, she starts for the door. MED. SHOT OF HILDY, TAKING IN DOOR There is a loud knocking on the door. BURNS (coming into scene after Hildy) Don't open that! HILDY (at the door) Who says so? I'm going to the morgue -- to look -- She unlocks the door. CLOSE SHOT AT DOOR as Hildy flings the door open, only to find the Sheriff, accompanied by two deputies -- Carl and Frank -- and surrounded by McCue, Murphy, Schwartz, Wilson and Endicott. MURPHY There she is! MCCUE Say, Hildy... Hildy makes a decision and tries to push through them, but the Sheriff grabs her and pushes her back. HARTMAN Just a minute, Johnson! HILDY Let go o' me. What's the idea? MCCUE What's your hurry? MURPHY We want to see you. The deputies seize her. HILDY Take your paws off me! HARTMAN Hold her, boys! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (to Sheriff) Who do you think you are, breaking in here like this? HARTMAN You can't bluff me, Burns. I don't care who you are or what paper you're editor of. HILDY (struggling) Let me go! (hysterically) Fellows, something's happened to my mother-in-law. HARTMAN Hang onto her! Keep her in here! MED. SHOT as Hildy breaks loose and retreats back into the room before Hartman and the deputies. MCCUE We know what you're up to. ENDICOTT Probably goin' out to get Williams. SCHWARTZ The door was locked. WILSON She and Mollie were talking. HILDY I don't know anything, I tell you. There's been an accident. HARTMAN Johnson, there's something very peculiar going on. HILDY You can send somebody with me if you don't believe me! HARTMAN I wasn't born yesterday. Now the boys tell me you and this Mollie Malloy -- HILDY Nobody's trying to put anything over on you. I'm getting out of here and you can't stop me! MURPHY (comes into scene) You're not going anywhere. (to the Sheriff) She's got the story sewed up, Pete. (indicating Burns) That's why Burns is here. SCHWARTZ We're on to you, Hildy. Let us in on it. TWO SHOT - SHERIFF AND BURNS BURNS (purring) If you've any accusations to make, Hartman, make them in the proper manner. Otherwise, I'll have to ask you to get out. HARTMAN (pop-eyed; stammering) You'll ask me to what? BURNS Get out! HARTMAN (to deputies, off) Close that door. Don't let anybody in or out. MED. SHOT - THE GROUP MURPHY Come on, Pinky! Give 'em a little third degree. ENDICOTT Make them talk and you got Williams, Pinky! HARTMAN Johnson, I'm going to the bottom of this. What do you know about Williams? Are you going to talk or aren't you? HILDY What do I know about Williams? HARTMAN All right, boys. Take her along. I got ways of making her talk. The deputies seize Hildy. She struggles. HILDY Look out, you -- MCCUE (nervously) What's the use of fighting, Hildy? Hildy manages to get in a few resounding smacks on the deputies' faces. The reporters swarm around the struggling trio. There are shouts of: "I got her!" "No, you don't!" "Aw, Hildy...", etc. In the struggle, Hildy suddenly drops her purse. It lands with a clank and comes open. A gun is revealed on the floor. Hildy picks it up. DEPUTIES Hey, she's got a gun! Look out, she's got a gun! The deputies and reporters start to close in on her cautiously. HILDY (trying to face in all directions) No, you don't! Walter! BURNS What is it? Here! She tosses the gun to Walter, but one of the deputies intercepts the throw. HARTMAN Gimme that. He takes the gun from the deputy. CLOSER SHOT The Sheriff stands frozen, staring at the gun. HARTMAN (to Hildy) Where'd you get this? HILDY I've got a right to carry a gun if I want to. HARTMAN Not this gun! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (easily) I can explain that, Hartman. When Hildy told me she wanted to interview Earl Williams I thought it might be dangerous and I gave her a gun to defend herself. HARTMAN Oh, you did! Well, that's very, very interesting. This happens to be the gun that Earl Williams shot his way out with! REPORTERS AD LIB What? What's that? Etc... BURNS (advancing on Sheriff) Are you trying to make me out a liar? MURPHY (bitterly at Hildy) It's the last time I ever trust a woman, Hildy. SCHWARTZ Maybe Williams was gonna be her best man. WILSON That's pretty rotten, Hildy. Crossing your own pals. HARTMAN (shoving up to Hildy; trembling) Where is Earl Williams? Where you got him? BURNS (sympathetically) You're barking up the wrong tree, Hartman. HARTMAN I'll give you three minutes to tell me where he is. HILDY He went over to the hospital to call on Professor Egelhoffer. HARTMAN (outraged) What? HILDY With a bag of marshmallows. The Sheriff stands silent -- then hastily turns. MED. SHOT GROUP AROUND HILDY REPORTERS AD LIB Come on, Hildy. Where is he?... This is a sweet trick, Hildy... I thought we were friends... Etc. (to Sheriff) Look here, Pete! What about Mister Burns?... Ask the Master Mind! What's he doing over here? HARTMAN (grabbing Burns' arm) Speak up! What do you know about this. BURNS (gently but firmly disengaging his hand) My dear Hartman! He moves casually to a post before the desk and maintains it. MURPHY Can that! Where is he? BURNS (to Sheriff) The Morning Post is not obstructing justice or hiding criminals. You ought to know that. HARTMAN No? Well -- (turning to Hildy) Johnson, you're under arrest. (turning to Burns) You, too, Burns. BURNS (calmly) Who's under arrest? You pimple-headed, square-toed spy -- do you realize what you're doing? HARTMAN I'll show you what I'm doing. Burns, you're guilty of obstructing justice and so is the Morning Post. I'm going to see that the Post is fined ten thousand dollars for this. BURNS You'll see nothing of the kind, Sheriff. HARTMAN We'll just start by impounding the Post property. (pointing to Bensinger's desk, addressing Hildy) Is that your desk? HILDY (jumping) No! BURNS (almost simultaneously) Yes! What are you afraid of Hildy? I dare him to move that desk out of here. HARTMAN Oh, you do, eh? (to deputies) All right, boys. Confiscate that desk. Several of the deputies start toward the desk. BURNS (trying to intercept deputies) Hartman, if you take this desk out of this building, I'll put you behind bars. HARTMAN You will, eh? Well, we'll see about that. (to deputies) All right, boys. Take it. BURNS I'm warning you -- it'll be a Federal offense. (to deputy nearest him) And you'll be an accessory! HARTMAN We'll take a chance on that, Burns. (to deputies) Go ahead, boys. (the deputies continue toward the desk) INT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Flanked by two policemen, Mrs. Baldwin, dishevelled, with her hat over one ear, is marching toward the Press Room, bound for vengeance. Bruce, considerably upset, is with her. As they reach the door to the Press Room, Mrs. Baldwin stops. MRS. BALDWIN You wait outside, Bruce. BRUCE But, mother -- MRS. BALDWIN (firmly) No! You'll weaken when you see that little Jezebel! I'm going to tell her what I think of her! She plumps her hat down more firmly on her head and marches into the Press Room followed by the two policemen. Bruce remains outside the door. INT. PRESS ROOM Taking in door as it opens and Mrs. Baldwin, followed by the policemen, comes in. HILDY (leaping forward) Mother! MRS. BALDWIN (pointing out Burns to the officers) That man there! HILDY (hugging Mrs. Baldwin) Mother! Oh, I'm so glad to see you! Are you all right? Tell me. Mrs. Baldwin indignantly shakes her off. HARTMAN What's the idea here? POLICEMAN This lady claims she was kidnapped. HARTMAN What? MRS. BALDWIN They dragged me all the way down the stairs -- HARTMAN Just a minute. Did -- did -- (points to Burns) -- this man have anything to do with it? MRS. BALDWIN He was the one in charge of everything! He told them to kidnap me! BURNS (amazed) Are you referring to me, Madam? MRS. BALDWIN You know you did! HARTMAN What about this, Burns? Kidnapping, eh? BURNS (round-eyed) Oh, trying to frame me, eh! I never saw this woman before in my life! MRS. BALDWIN Oh, what a thing to say! I was standing right here - after the girl jumped out of the window. HARTMAN Did you get the Mayor? DEPUTY He's coming over. BURNS (to Mrs. Baldwin) Now, Madam -- be honest. If you were out joy-riding, drunk, and got into some scrape, why don't you admit it, instead of accusing innocent people? MRS. BALDWIN (beginning to doubt her senses) You ruffian! How dare you say a thing like that? HILDA Please, Mother, he's just crazy! MRS. BALDWIN (to Sheriff) I'll tell you something more. I'll tell you why they did it! BURNS (fidgeting) Come on, Sheriff. We've got to get bail. MRS. BALDWIN (continuing crescendo) I was in here -- and they had some kind of murderer in with them. They were hiding him! This is a bombshell. The room is electrified. HARTMAN Hiding him? In here? Murphy, followed by the reporters, comes into scene. MURPHY Hiding him where? HILDY Mother! REPORTERS Where was he?... Where'd they have him?... Etc. CLOSE SHOT BURNS at the desk. BURNS (with superb indignation) Madam, you're a cockeyed liar! And you know it! To emphasize his righteousness, he pounds on the desk three times, forgetting that that is his signal to Williams. Then, realizing what he has done, he gasps. MED. SHOT Burns advances from desk, the others retreating before him. BURNS (anxiously) Come on, Sheriff, we've got to get bail. Three answering knocks come from the desk. GROUP SHOT WITH DOORWAY IN B.G They jump around to face the desk. HARTMAN (whispering) What was that? REPORTERS AD LIB He's in the desk! -- For the love of -- He's in there! Etc. HARTMAN Aha! I thought so! Stand back, everybody! DEPUTY Look out, Sheriff. He may shoot! HARTMAN Get your guns out! The policemen and deputies get out their guns. HILDY He's harmless. HARTMAN Don't take any chances. Shoot through the desk. HILDY He can't hurt anybody. You've got his gun. MRS. BALDWIN (panic-stricken) Oh, dear! Oh, dear! BURNS You grey-haired old Judas! MRS. BALDWIN Let me out! Let me out of here! She streaks for the door, flings it open and goes. The reporters tear out of scene to their telephones. HARTMAN (to policeman) You stand there! MURPHY'S VOICE City Desk! Quick! SCHWARTZ' VOICE Gimme the Desk! HARTMAN (to another policeman) You there! ENDICOTT'S VOICE City Desk! Hurry! MCCUE'S VOICE Gimme Emil... HARTMAN (to a Deputy, pointing with his gun toward the window) You cover the window. MURPHY'S VOICE Look out where you're pointing that gun! The Sheriff draws his men in around the desk, their guns drawn on it. WILSON'S VOICE Lemme have the Desk! Quick! MURPHY'S VOICE Hold the wire! I've got a flash for you! BURNS (to Hildy) Call Duffy! HARTMAN No, you don't! BURNS (to Sheriff, furiously) Do you want to get us scooped? MCCUE'S VOICE Emil? Hang on for a second. HARTMAN Now then, everybody aim at the center. And when I say three -- HILDY That's murder! HARTMAN (changing his mind) All right! Carl! Frank! One of you get on each side of the desk. Take hold of the cover. They do. HARTMAN Now then! We got you covered, Williams. Don't try to move. Now! Everybody quiet and ready for an emergency. I'm going to count three. SCHWARTZ Hold it! Something coming up. HARTMAN One! ENDICOTT Hold the phone! MURPHY (into the phone) I'll have it in a minute. HARTMAN Two! WILSON (into phone) Right away now! HARTMAN (turning back to desk) Everybody ready? All right. Now then, up with it. Two deputies raise the cover. Williams is revealed, cowering in the desk, his hands over his face. The Sheriff rushes on him, jabbing his gun into him. CLOSE SHOT SHERIFF AND WILLIAMS HARTMAN Got you, Williams! WILLIAMS (a wail) Go on -- shoot me! MEDIUM SHOT as the police and deputies come in to assist the Sheriff. The reporters are telephoning in, the police shouting -- all the voices mixing in, in incredible confusion, as the Sheriff rushes Williams to the door and takes him out. MURPHY'S VOICE Earl Williams was just captured in the Press Room of the Criminal Courts Building, hiding in a desk. OFFICERS AD LIB (all talking at once) Grab him! That's him! Don't let him shoot! Stick 'em up! -- Etc. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) ...Williams in a rolltop -- CLOSEUP WILSON AT PHONE WILSON (into phone) -- nabbed Williams hiding -- ENDICOTT'S VOICE -- found Williams' hiding place. SCHWARTZ' VOICE He offered no resistance. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) Williams put up a desperate struggle but the police overpowered -- CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) -- tried to shoot it out with the cops but his gun wouldn't work, so -- WILSON'S VOICE -- trying to break through the cordon of police -- CLOSEUP ENDICOTT AT PHONE ENDICOTT (into phone) Williams was unconscious when they opened the desk -- CLOSEUP BURNS grabbing the Post phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Morning Post just turned Earl Williams over to the Sheriff. CLOSE SHOT THE SHERIFF coming in the door with two policemen and leaping to get the phone away from Burns. MED. SHOT BURNS AT PHONE, HILDY BESIDE HIM BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Sheriff and police come into scene. HARTMAN (indicating Burns and Hildy) Put the cuffs on those two! The police handcuff Hildy and Burns. ENDICOTT An anonymous note received by the Sheriff led to Williams' capture. More later. He hangs up. CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) An old sweetheart of Williams' doublecrossed him. Call you back. He hangs up. MED. SHOT TAKING IN DOOR REPORTERS Where's that old lady? Hey, Madam! Where'd she go? Where's the old dame? Etc., etc. They run out after Mrs. Baldwin, the Mayor entering just after they go. Burns and Hildy, handcuffed together, stand near the Sheriff. HARTMAN (into phone) Hello, girlie -- gimme Cooley. Quick! BURNS Hartwell, you're going to wish you'd never been born! The Mayor comes into scene. MAYOR Fine work, Pete! You certainly delivered the goods. I'm proud of you. HARTMAN (holding the phone) Look kind o' natural, don't they, Fred? MAYOR (happily) A sight for sore eyes! HARTMAN (rolling in catnip) Aiding an escaped criminal! And a little charge of kidnapping I'm looking into. (into phone; suddenly) But that's the jail! There must be somebody there! MAYOR Well! Looks like about ten years apiece for you birds! BURNS Does it? You forget the power that always watches over the Morning Post. MAYOR Your luck's not with you now! HARTMAN (into phone) Cooley?... I caught Williams single- handed -- we're going to proceed with the hanging per schedule! He wiggles the hook for another call. BURNS (to Mayor) You're going to be in office for exactly two days more and then we're pulling your nose out of the feed bag. HARTMAN (into phone) Give me the District Attorney's office. (to Burns) I'll tell you what you'll be doing -- making brooms in the State penitentiary. (into phone) Hello, D'Arrasty! This is Hartwell. Come over to my office, will you? I've just arrested a couple of important birds and I want to take their confessions. He hangs up. Burns makes a sudden lunge for the Morning Post phone and cries into it. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! Get Liebowitz! MAYOR All the lawyers in the world aren't going to help you! BURNS This is the Morning Post you're talking to! MAYOR (enjoying himself) The power of the press, huh! He laughs. Pinkus, the Governor's messenger, plentifully stewed, reels in the door. He approaches the Mayor and Sheriff who have their backs to him. BURNS (at the Mayor) Bigger men than you have found out what the power of the press is... President!... Yes -- and Kings! PINKUS (woozy; handing Sheriff the reprieve over his shoulder) Here's your reprieve. The Mayor and Sheriff spin around. MAYOR (in a panic) Get out of here! PINKUS You can't bribe me! BURNS What's this? HARTMAN Get out of here, you! PINKUS I

disappointment

How many times the word 'disappointment' appears in the text?

will you? MED. SHOT as Burns leaves Hildy and goes over to desk and picks up his phone again. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER Finding the door locked, he knocks. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY as another knock comes, they take it big. HILDY (calling) Who is it? EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER What's the idea of locking this? INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY HILDY That's Bensinger. That's his desk. BURNS (whispering) What's his name? The door knob is rattled violently. HILDY Bensinger -- of the Tribune. EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER Open this door! INT. PRESS ROOM CLOSE SHOT BURNS He starts for the door. BURNS I'll handle him. CAMERA TRUCKS WITH HIM to the door. BURNS The Tribune, eh? Watch me! He opens the door. AT DOOR BENSINGER (as he comes in) Ain't you got any more sense than to -- ? (sees Burns and is overcome) Oh, h-hello, Mr. Burns. Why, quite an honor having you come over here. BURNS (casually) Hello, Bensinger. BENSINGER Excuse me, I just want to -- He starts for the desk. Hildy's typing goes on, coming in over the scene. BURNS (starting for the desk, suddenly blocking his path) Quite a coincidence, my running into you tonight. Isn't it, Hildy? HILDY'S VOICE Yeh. BENSINGER How do you mean? CLOSEUP BURNS AND BENSINGER BURNS I was having a little chat about you just this afternoon -- with our Mister Duffy. BENSINGER (essaying a pleasantry) Nothing -- ah -- detrimental, I hope. BURNS I should say not! That was one swell story you had in the paper this morning. BENSINGER (deeply moved) Oh, did you -- care for the poem, Mr. Burns? BURNS (startled) The poem?... The poem was great! BENSINGER (blinking at these words) Remember the ending? (and he recites) " -- and all is well, outside his cell, But in his heart he hears the hangman Calling and the gallows falling And his white-haired mother's tears..." BURNS (overcome) Heartbreaking! How would you like to work for me? BENSINGER What? MEDIUM SHOT taking in table, Hildy typing there. BURNS (to Bensinger) We need somebody like you. All we've got now are a lot of low-brows. Like Johnson here. He starts shoving Bensinger away from the desk, toward the table. BENSINGER Seriously, Mr. Burns? Clinging to him, Burns takes him to the phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! I'm sending Bensinger over to see you. (looking up at Bensinger) Mervyn, isn't it? BENSINGER No. Roy. Roy V. BURNS (with a little laugh at his own forgetfulness) Of course! (into phone) Roy Bensinger, the poet. Of course you wouldn't know! You probably never heard of Shakespeare, either! Put Mr. Bensinger right on the staff. (to Bensinger) How much are you getting on the Tribune, Roy? BENSINGER Seventy-five. BURNS I'll give you a hundred and a by- line. ANOTHER ANGLE as Burns continues. BURNS (into phone) Let him have everything he wants. (puts down the receiver; turns to Bensinger) Now hustle and write me a story from the point of view of the escaped man. (acting it out) He hides, cowering... Afraid of every light, of every sound... hears footsteps... his heart going like that... And all the time they're closing in... Get the sense of an animal at bay! BENSINGER Sort of a Jack London style? TRUCKING SHOT BURNS Exactly! Leads him hurriedly to the door. BENSINGER I got my rhyming dictionary in -- (indicating desk) BURNS (getting him to door) It doesn't have to rhyme! CLOSE SHOT - AT DOOR as Bensinger turns there. BENSINGER Gee, I'm terribly grateful, Mister Burns. Do you suppose there might be an opening some time as foreign correspondent? I parley a little French, you know. Burns shakes hands with him and opens the door with the other hand. BURNS I'll keep you in mind. BENSINGER (going) Au revoir, mon capitaine. BURNS (never at a loss in any language) Bon jour! Continuing his French, he gets the door closed and relocked and turns for the table, singing as he does so: BURNS Mademoiselle from Armontieres, parlay -- MED. SHOT Burns returns alertly to table, not noticing that Hildy has stopped typing, and sits staring moodily before her. BURNS (into phono) Duffy! Got this! CLOSEUP BURNS - AT PHONE BURNS A rat from the Tribune is coming over to get a job -- Bensinger, the guy I told you about. Handle him with kid gloves. Tell him to get busy writing poetry... No, we don't want him. Stall him along until the extra comes out. Then tell him his poetry stinks and kick him downstairs. He lays down receiver. WIDER ANGLE taking in Hildy. She looks up at him. HILDY (to Burns) Double-crossing swine! BURNS You said it! But this'll teach him a lesson. He won't quit his paper without giving notice after this. Hildy doesn't bother to reply. She rests her chin on her hands and stares moodily ahead. BURNS Tear into it, will you? Don't sit there like a frozen robin! HILDY I'm finished. BURNS Finished! He grabs the last sheet of paper out of her typewriter, kisses her and rushes over to the telephone. CLOSEUP BURNS at phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! All right -- here we go! And got it out as soon as you can. I want this paper out on the streets in half an hour! (reading Hildy's copy) "So once more the Morning Post --" EXT. CRIMINAL COURTS BLDG. - NIGHT MED. SHOT Diamond Louie, bearing evidence of a mishap, his hat crushed, his face bruised and his clothes torn, comes running down the sidewalk and up the steps into the buildings. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Hildy is up now, pacing. HILDY Bruce ought to be back by now. Walter, you're not trying anything again, are you? BURNS (coming over to her) Hildy, you think I could? After this story? (taking a flask from his pocket) Here! You're just nervous. Hildy takes the flask and takes a drink. There is a knock on the door. Burns takes the flask from her, restores it to his pocket and goes to the door. BURNS Who is it? LOUIE'S VOICE It's me, Boss -- Louie. BURNS (opening the door) It's Louie! Louie slips in and Burns relocks the door. BURNS (seeing Louie's disarray) What's the matter? Hildy crosses to Louie. HILDY (frantically) Where's Mrs. Baldwin? BURNS What did you do with her? HILDY (almost afraid to speak) What happened? CLOSE SHOT - THE THREE BURNS You been in a fight? LOUIE (still out of breath) Down Western Avenue. We were going sixty-five miles an hour. You know what I mean? BURNS Take that mush out of your mouth! HILDY Where's the old lady? LOUIE I'm telling you! CLOSEUP - LOUIE as he gets breath and blurts: LOUIE We run smack into a police patrol. You know what I mean? We broke it in half! BACK TO GROUP HILDY (moaning) Oh-h-h... was she hurt? BURNS Where is she? Tell me! HILDY Louie! LOUIE I'm telling you. Can you imagine bumping into a load of cops?! They come rollin' out like oranges! HILDY (seizing him) What did you do with her? LOUIE Search me! When I come to I was running down Thirty-fifth Street. HILDY -- You were with her. You were in the cab, weren't you? LOUIE (exposing his bruised scalp) Was I? The driver got knocked cold. BURNS Butter-fingers! I give you an old lady to take somewhere, and you hand her over to the cops! LOUIE What do you mean, I handed her? The patrol wagon was on the wrong side of the street. BURNS Now everything's fine. She's probably squawking her head off in some police station. CLOSEUP - LOUIE LOUIE I don't think she's talking much... You know what I mean? He winks reassuringly. BACK TO GROUP HILDY (paralyzed) Don't tell me -- was she killed? BURNS (hopefully) Was she? Did you notice? LOUIE Say, me with a gun on my hip and a kidnapped old lady on my hands, I should stick around asking questions from a lot of cops! You know what I mean? Hildy sinks into a chair. CLOSE SHOT HILDY IN THE CHAIR HILDY Dead... dead! That's the end! Burns comes into scene to her. BURNS It's Fate, Hildy. What will be, will be. HILDY (wildly) What am I going to say to Bruce? What'll I tell him? BURNS If he really loves you, you won't have to tell him anything. (whacking her on the shoulder) Snap out of it! Would you rather have had the old dame dragging the whole police force in here? HILDY I killed her. I'm responsible. Oh- h... what can I do now? How can I ever face him? Oh, I hope he never comes back! She buries her face in her hands. BURNS Look at me, Hildy -- HILDY (springing up) I'm looking at you -- you murderer! BURNS If it was my own mother, I'd carry on! You know I would. For the paper! HILDY (calling off to Louie) Louie, where'd it happen? I'm going out! MED. SHOT GROUP The Post phone rings. BURNS (grabbing Hildy) You stay here. I'll find out everything. LOUIE (to Hildy) Western an' Thirty-fourth. Hildy jumps for the outside phone on the desk. TWO SHOT INCLUDING BURNS AT PHONE AND HILDY AT PHONE BURNS (into phone) Hello -- hello... HILDY (into phone) Gimme Western four-five-five-seven. BURNS (guarded) Who? (wildly) Hello, Butch! Where are you? HILDY (into phone) Mission Hospital? Gimme the Receiving Room. BURNS (into phone) What are you doing there? Haven't you even started? HILDY (into phone) Hello -- Eddie? Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady brought in from an auto smashup? BURNS (into phone) Oh, for -- (yelling) H. Sebastian -- Butch! Listen, it's a matter of life and death! Listen! HILDY (into phone) Nobody? (jiggles hook) Morningside three-one-two-four. BURNS (into phone) I can't hear... You got who? Speak up! A what?... You can't stop for a dame now! HILDY (into phone) Is this the Community Hospital? BURNS (howling into phone) I don't care if you've been after her for six years! Butch, our whole lives are at stake! Are you going to let a woman come between us after all we've been through? HILDY (into phone) Hello, Max, Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady --? BURNS (into phone, drowning out Hildy) Butch! I'd put my arm in fire for you -- up to here! (indicates up to where) Now, you can't double-cross me!... She does? All right -- put her on. I'll talk to her... Hello! Oh, hello, Madam... Now listen, you ten-cent glamour girl, you can't keep Butch away from his duty... What's that? You say that again and I'll come over there and knock your eye out! Hello? (turning, as he hangs up) I'll kill 'em! I'll kill both of 'em! (into Post phone) Duffy! (to the universe) Mousing around with some big blonde Annie on my time! That's co-operation! (screaming into phone) Duffy!! HILDY Shut up, will you? (into phone) You sure? Nobody? BURNS (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) Well, where is Duffy? (throwing receiver to desk) Diabetes! I ought to know better than to hire anybody with a disease. (turning) Louie. MED. SHOT GROUP BURNS (to Louie) It's up to you. LOUIE (loyally) Anything you want, Boss. BURNS Beat it out and get hold of some guys. LOUIE Who do you want? BURNS (starting for the door, followed by Louie) Anybody with hair on his chest. Get 'em off the street -- anywhere. Offer them anything -- only get them. (confidentially) We've got to get this desk out of here. He unlocks the door. LOUIE You know me. The shirt off my back. BURNS You got plenty of money? LOUIE Sure, boss. BURNS I mean real money -- not counterfeit! LOUIE I always have both. He goes out. BURNS (calling after him) And don't bump into anything. He relocks the door. HILDY Lafayette two-one-hundred. BURNS (turning from door) That dumb immigrant'll flop on me. I know it. (bitterly) Can you imagine Butch doing this to me -- at a time like this? CLOSE SHOT HILDY AT PHONE, TAKING IN DESK Burns steps into scene. BURNS (confidentially) If Louie doesn't come back in five minutes we'll get it out alone. There's millions of ways. We can start a fire and get the firemen to carry it out in the confusion. He crosses to the desk and inspects it. HILDY (into phone) Ring that number, will you? BURNS (to Hildy, oblivious of her telephoning) Come here. See if we can move it. HILDY (into phone) Hello -- hello! Is this the Lying -- In Hospital? Did you have an auto accident in the last -- BURNS (interrupting) Will you come here? HILDY (into phone) Oh, I see. I beg your pardon. BURNS When I'm surrounded, with my back against the wall, you're not going to lay down on me, are you -- HILDY Yes. She jiggles the phone hook. BURNS (going to her) Hildy, you just can't leave me out on a limb now. It -- it wouldn't be cricket! HILDY I don't care what you say. I'm going to find Bruce's mother. (she jiggles the hook madly) Oh-h... (she hangs up) I'm going out and find her! Grabbing her hat and purse, she starts for the door. MED. SHOT OF HILDY, TAKING IN DOOR There is a loud knocking on the door. BURNS (coming into scene after Hildy) Don't open that! HILDY (at the door) Who says so? I'm going to the morgue -- to look -- She unlocks the door. CLOSE SHOT AT DOOR as Hildy flings the door open, only to find the Sheriff, accompanied by two deputies -- Carl and Frank -- and surrounded by McCue, Murphy, Schwartz, Wilson and Endicott. MURPHY There she is! MCCUE Say, Hildy... Hildy makes a decision and tries to push through them, but the Sheriff grabs her and pushes her back. HARTMAN Just a minute, Johnson! HILDY Let go o' me. What's the idea? MCCUE What's your hurry? MURPHY We want to see you. The deputies seize her. HILDY Take your paws off me! HARTMAN Hold her, boys! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (to Sheriff) Who do you think you are, breaking in here like this? HARTMAN You can't bluff me, Burns. I don't care who you are or what paper you're editor of. HILDY (struggling) Let me go! (hysterically) Fellows, something's happened to my mother-in-law. HARTMAN Hang onto her! Keep her in here! MED. SHOT as Hildy breaks loose and retreats back into the room before Hartman and the deputies. MCCUE We know what you're up to. ENDICOTT Probably goin' out to get Williams. SCHWARTZ The door was locked. WILSON She and Mollie were talking. HILDY I don't know anything, I tell you. There's been an accident. HARTMAN Johnson, there's something very peculiar going on. HILDY You can send somebody with me if you don't believe me! HARTMAN I wasn't born yesterday. Now the boys tell me you and this Mollie Malloy -- HILDY Nobody's trying to put anything over on you. I'm getting out of here and you can't stop me! MURPHY (comes into scene) You're not going anywhere. (to the Sheriff) She's got the story sewed up, Pete. (indicating Burns) That's why Burns is here. SCHWARTZ We're on to you, Hildy. Let us in on it. TWO SHOT - SHERIFF AND BURNS BURNS (purring) If you've any accusations to make, Hartman, make them in the proper manner. Otherwise, I'll have to ask you to get out. HARTMAN (pop-eyed; stammering) You'll ask me to what? BURNS Get out! HARTMAN (to deputies, off) Close that door. Don't let anybody in or out. MED. SHOT - THE GROUP MURPHY Come on, Pinky! Give 'em a little third degree. ENDICOTT Make them talk and you got Williams, Pinky! HARTMAN Johnson, I'm going to the bottom of this. What do you know about Williams? Are you going to talk or aren't you? HILDY What do I know about Williams? HARTMAN All right, boys. Take her along. I got ways of making her talk. The deputies seize Hildy. She struggles. HILDY Look out, you -- MCCUE (nervously) What's the use of fighting, Hildy? Hildy manages to get in a few resounding smacks on the deputies' faces. The reporters swarm around the struggling trio. There are shouts of: "I got her!" "No, you don't!" "Aw, Hildy...", etc. In the struggle, Hildy suddenly drops her purse. It lands with a clank and comes open. A gun is revealed on the floor. Hildy picks it up. DEPUTIES Hey, she's got a gun! Look out, she's got a gun! The deputies and reporters start to close in on her cautiously. HILDY (trying to face in all directions) No, you don't! Walter! BURNS What is it? Here! She tosses the gun to Walter, but one of the deputies intercepts the throw. HARTMAN Gimme that. He takes the gun from the deputy. CLOSER SHOT The Sheriff stands frozen, staring at the gun. HARTMAN (to Hildy) Where'd you get this? HILDY I've got a right to carry a gun if I want to. HARTMAN Not this gun! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (easily) I can explain that, Hartman. When Hildy told me she wanted to interview Earl Williams I thought it might be dangerous and I gave her a gun to defend herself. HARTMAN Oh, you did! Well, that's very, very interesting. This happens to be the gun that Earl Williams shot his way out with! REPORTERS AD LIB What? What's that? Etc... BURNS (advancing on Sheriff) Are you trying to make me out a liar? MURPHY (bitterly at Hildy) It's the last time I ever trust a woman, Hildy. SCHWARTZ Maybe Williams was gonna be her best man. WILSON That's pretty rotten, Hildy. Crossing your own pals. HARTMAN (shoving up to Hildy; trembling) Where is Earl Williams? Where you got him? BURNS (sympathetically) You're barking up the wrong tree, Hartman. HARTMAN I'll give you three minutes to tell me where he is. HILDY He went over to the hospital to call on Professor Egelhoffer. HARTMAN (outraged) What? HILDY With a bag of marshmallows. The Sheriff stands silent -- then hastily turns. MED. SHOT GROUP AROUND HILDY REPORTERS AD LIB Come on, Hildy. Where is he?... This is a sweet trick, Hildy... I thought we were friends... Etc. (to Sheriff) Look here, Pete! What about Mister Burns?... Ask the Master Mind! What's he doing over here? HARTMAN (grabbing Burns' arm) Speak up! What do you know about this. BURNS (gently but firmly disengaging his hand) My dear Hartman! He moves casually to a post before the desk and maintains it. MURPHY Can that! Where is he? BURNS (to Sheriff) The Morning Post is not obstructing justice or hiding criminals. You ought to know that. HARTMAN No? Well -- (turning to Hildy) Johnson, you're under arrest. (turning to Burns) You, too, Burns. BURNS (calmly) Who's under arrest? You pimple-headed, square-toed spy -- do you realize what you're doing? HARTMAN I'll show you what I'm doing. Burns, you're guilty of obstructing justice and so is the Morning Post. I'm going to see that the Post is fined ten thousand dollars for this. BURNS You'll see nothing of the kind, Sheriff. HARTMAN We'll just start by impounding the Post property. (pointing to Bensinger's desk, addressing Hildy) Is that your desk? HILDY (jumping) No! BURNS (almost simultaneously) Yes! What are you afraid of Hildy? I dare him to move that desk out of here. HARTMAN Oh, you do, eh? (to deputies) All right, boys. Confiscate that desk. Several of the deputies start toward the desk. BURNS (trying to intercept deputies) Hartman, if you take this desk out of this building, I'll put you behind bars. HARTMAN You will, eh? Well, we'll see about that. (to deputies) All right, boys. Take it. BURNS I'm warning you -- it'll be a Federal offense. (to deputy nearest him) And you'll be an accessory! HARTMAN We'll take a chance on that, Burns. (to deputies) Go ahead, boys. (the deputies continue toward the desk) INT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Flanked by two policemen, Mrs. Baldwin, dishevelled, with her hat over one ear, is marching toward the Press Room, bound for vengeance. Bruce, considerably upset, is with her. As they reach the door to the Press Room, Mrs. Baldwin stops. MRS. BALDWIN You wait outside, Bruce. BRUCE But, mother -- MRS. BALDWIN (firmly) No! You'll weaken when you see that little Jezebel! I'm going to tell her what I think of her! She plumps her hat down more firmly on her head and marches into the Press Room followed by the two policemen. Bruce remains outside the door. INT. PRESS ROOM Taking in door as it opens and Mrs. Baldwin, followed by the policemen, comes in. HILDY (leaping forward) Mother! MRS. BALDWIN (pointing out Burns to the officers) That man there! HILDY (hugging Mrs. Baldwin) Mother! Oh, I'm so glad to see you! Are you all right? Tell me. Mrs. Baldwin indignantly shakes her off. HARTMAN What's the idea here? POLICEMAN This lady claims she was kidnapped. HARTMAN What? MRS. BALDWIN They dragged me all the way down the stairs -- HARTMAN Just a minute. Did -- did -- (points to Burns) -- this man have anything to do with it? MRS. BALDWIN He was the one in charge of everything! He told them to kidnap me! BURNS (amazed) Are you referring to me, Madam? MRS. BALDWIN You know you did! HARTMAN What about this, Burns? Kidnapping, eh? BURNS (round-eyed) Oh, trying to frame me, eh! I never saw this woman before in my life! MRS. BALDWIN Oh, what a thing to say! I was standing right here - after the girl jumped out of the window. HARTMAN Did you get the Mayor? DEPUTY He's coming over. BURNS (to Mrs. Baldwin) Now, Madam -- be honest. If you were out joy-riding, drunk, and got into some scrape, why don't you admit it, instead of accusing innocent people? MRS. BALDWIN (beginning to doubt her senses) You ruffian! How dare you say a thing like that? HILDA Please, Mother, he's just crazy! MRS. BALDWIN (to Sheriff) I'll tell you something more. I'll tell you why they did it! BURNS (fidgeting) Come on, Sheriff. We've got to get bail. MRS. BALDWIN (continuing crescendo) I was in here -- and they had some kind of murderer in with them. They were hiding him! This is a bombshell. The room is electrified. HARTMAN Hiding him? In here? Murphy, followed by the reporters, comes into scene. MURPHY Hiding him where? HILDY Mother! REPORTERS Where was he?... Where'd they have him?... Etc. CLOSE SHOT BURNS at the desk. BURNS (with superb indignation) Madam, you're a cockeyed liar! And you know it! To emphasize his righteousness, he pounds on the desk three times, forgetting that that is his signal to Williams. Then, realizing what he has done, he gasps. MED. SHOT Burns advances from desk, the others retreating before him. BURNS (anxiously) Come on, Sheriff, we've got to get bail. Three answering knocks come from the desk. GROUP SHOT WITH DOORWAY IN B.G They jump around to face the desk. HARTMAN (whispering) What was that? REPORTERS AD LIB He's in the desk! -- For the love of -- He's in there! Etc. HARTMAN Aha! I thought so! Stand back, everybody! DEPUTY Look out, Sheriff. He may shoot! HARTMAN Get your guns out! The policemen and deputies get out their guns. HILDY He's harmless. HARTMAN Don't take any chances. Shoot through the desk. HILDY He can't hurt anybody. You've got his gun. MRS. BALDWIN (panic-stricken) Oh, dear! Oh, dear! BURNS You grey-haired old Judas! MRS. BALDWIN Let me out! Let me out of here! She streaks for the door, flings it open and goes. The reporters tear out of scene to their telephones. HARTMAN (to policeman) You stand there! MURPHY'S VOICE City Desk! Quick! SCHWARTZ' VOICE Gimme the Desk! HARTMAN (to another policeman) You there! ENDICOTT'S VOICE City Desk! Hurry! MCCUE'S VOICE Gimme Emil... HARTMAN (to a Deputy, pointing with his gun toward the window) You cover the window. MURPHY'S VOICE Look out where you're pointing that gun! The Sheriff draws his men in around the desk, their guns drawn on it. WILSON'S VOICE Lemme have the Desk! Quick! MURPHY'S VOICE Hold the wire! I've got a flash for you! BURNS (to Hildy) Call Duffy! HARTMAN No, you don't! BURNS (to Sheriff, furiously) Do you want to get us scooped? MCCUE'S VOICE Emil? Hang on for a second. HARTMAN Now then, everybody aim at the center. And when I say three -- HILDY That's murder! HARTMAN (changing his mind) All right! Carl! Frank! One of you get on each side of the desk. Take hold of the cover. They do. HARTMAN Now then! We got you covered, Williams. Don't try to move. Now! Everybody quiet and ready for an emergency. I'm going to count three. SCHWARTZ Hold it! Something coming up. HARTMAN One! ENDICOTT Hold the phone! MURPHY (into the phone) I'll have it in a minute. HARTMAN Two! WILSON (into phone) Right away now! HARTMAN (turning back to desk) Everybody ready? All right. Now then, up with it. Two deputies raise the cover. Williams is revealed, cowering in the desk, his hands over his face. The Sheriff rushes on him, jabbing his gun into him. CLOSE SHOT SHERIFF AND WILLIAMS HARTMAN Got you, Williams! WILLIAMS (a wail) Go on -- shoot me! MEDIUM SHOT as the police and deputies come in to assist the Sheriff. The reporters are telephoning in, the police shouting -- all the voices mixing in, in incredible confusion, as the Sheriff rushes Williams to the door and takes him out. MURPHY'S VOICE Earl Williams was just captured in the Press Room of the Criminal Courts Building, hiding in a desk. OFFICERS AD LIB (all talking at once) Grab him! That's him! Don't let him shoot! Stick 'em up! -- Etc. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) ...Williams in a rolltop -- CLOSEUP WILSON AT PHONE WILSON (into phone) -- nabbed Williams hiding -- ENDICOTT'S VOICE -- found Williams' hiding place. SCHWARTZ' VOICE He offered no resistance. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) Williams put up a desperate struggle but the police overpowered -- CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) -- tried to shoot it out with the cops but his gun wouldn't work, so -- WILSON'S VOICE -- trying to break through the cordon of police -- CLOSEUP ENDICOTT AT PHONE ENDICOTT (into phone) Williams was unconscious when they opened the desk -- CLOSEUP BURNS grabbing the Post phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Morning Post just turned Earl Williams over to the Sheriff. CLOSE SHOT THE SHERIFF coming in the door with two policemen and leaping to get the phone away from Burns. MED. SHOT BURNS AT PHONE, HILDY BESIDE HIM BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Sheriff and police come into scene. HARTMAN (indicating Burns and Hildy) Put the cuffs on those two! The police handcuff Hildy and Burns. ENDICOTT An anonymous note received by the Sheriff led to Williams' capture. More later. He hangs up. CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) An old sweetheart of Williams' doublecrossed him. Call you back. He hangs up. MED. SHOT TAKING IN DOOR REPORTERS Where's that old lady? Hey, Madam! Where'd she go? Where's the old dame? Etc., etc. They run out after Mrs. Baldwin, the Mayor entering just after they go. Burns and Hildy, handcuffed together, stand near the Sheriff. HARTMAN (into phone) Hello, girlie -- gimme Cooley. Quick! BURNS Hartwell, you're going to wish you'd never been born! The Mayor comes into scene. MAYOR Fine work, Pete! You certainly delivered the goods. I'm proud of you. HARTMAN (holding the phone) Look kind o' natural, don't they, Fred? MAYOR (happily) A sight for sore eyes! HARTMAN (rolling in catnip) Aiding an escaped criminal! And a little charge of kidnapping I'm looking into. (into phone; suddenly) But that's the jail! There must be somebody there! MAYOR Well! Looks like about ten years apiece for you birds! BURNS Does it? You forget the power that always watches over the Morning Post. MAYOR Your luck's not with you now! HARTMAN (into phone) Cooley?... I caught Williams single- handed -- we're going to proceed with the hanging per schedule! He wiggles the hook for another call. BURNS (to Mayor) You're going to be in office for exactly two days more and then we're pulling your nose out of the feed bag. HARTMAN (into phone) Give me the District Attorney's office. (to Burns) I'll tell you what you'll be doing -- making brooms in the State penitentiary. (into phone) Hello, D'Arrasty! This is Hartwell. Come over to my office, will you? I've just arrested a couple of important birds and I want to take their confessions. He hangs up. Burns makes a sudden lunge for the Morning Post phone and cries into it. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! Get Liebowitz! MAYOR All the lawyers in the world aren't going to help you! BURNS This is the Morning Post you're talking to! MAYOR (enjoying himself) The power of the press, huh! He laughs. Pinkus, the Governor's messenger, plentifully stewed, reels in the door. He approaches the Mayor and Sheriff who have their backs to him. BURNS (at the Mayor) Bigger men than you have found out what the power of the press is... President!... Yes -- and Kings! PINKUS (woozy; handing Sheriff the reprieve over his shoulder) Here's your reprieve. The Mayor and Sheriff spin around. MAYOR (in a panic) Get out of here! PINKUS You can't bribe me! BURNS What's this? HARTMAN Get out of here, you! PINKUS I

hand

How many times the word 'hand' appears in the text?

will you? MED. SHOT as Burns leaves Hildy and goes over to desk and picks up his phone again. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER Finding the door locked, he knocks. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY as another knock comes, they take it big. HILDY (calling) Who is it? EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER What's the idea of locking this? INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY HILDY That's Bensinger. That's his desk. BURNS (whispering) What's his name? The door knob is rattled violently. HILDY Bensinger -- of the Tribune. EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER Open this door! INT. PRESS ROOM CLOSE SHOT BURNS He starts for the door. BURNS I'll handle him. CAMERA TRUCKS WITH HIM to the door. BURNS The Tribune, eh? Watch me! He opens the door. AT DOOR BENSINGER (as he comes in) Ain't you got any more sense than to -- ? (sees Burns and is overcome) Oh, h-hello, Mr. Burns. Why, quite an honor having you come over here. BURNS (casually) Hello, Bensinger. BENSINGER Excuse me, I just want to -- He starts for the desk. Hildy's typing goes on, coming in over the scene. BURNS (starting for the desk, suddenly blocking his path) Quite a coincidence, my running into you tonight. Isn't it, Hildy? HILDY'S VOICE Yeh. BENSINGER How do you mean? CLOSEUP BURNS AND BENSINGER BURNS I was having a little chat about you just this afternoon -- with our Mister Duffy. BENSINGER (essaying a pleasantry) Nothing -- ah -- detrimental, I hope. BURNS I should say not! That was one swell story you had in the paper this morning. BENSINGER (deeply moved) Oh, did you -- care for the poem, Mr. Burns? BURNS (startled) The poem?... The poem was great! BENSINGER (blinking at these words) Remember the ending? (and he recites) " -- and all is well, outside his cell, But in his heart he hears the hangman Calling and the gallows falling And his white-haired mother's tears..." BURNS (overcome) Heartbreaking! How would you like to work for me? BENSINGER What? MEDIUM SHOT taking in table, Hildy typing there. BURNS (to Bensinger) We need somebody like you. All we've got now are a lot of low-brows. Like Johnson here. He starts shoving Bensinger away from the desk, toward the table. BENSINGER Seriously, Mr. Burns? Clinging to him, Burns takes him to the phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! I'm sending Bensinger over to see you. (looking up at Bensinger) Mervyn, isn't it? BENSINGER No. Roy. Roy V. BURNS (with a little laugh at his own forgetfulness) Of course! (into phone) Roy Bensinger, the poet. Of course you wouldn't know! You probably never heard of Shakespeare, either! Put Mr. Bensinger right on the staff. (to Bensinger) How much are you getting on the Tribune, Roy? BENSINGER Seventy-five. BURNS I'll give you a hundred and a by- line. ANOTHER ANGLE as Burns continues. BURNS (into phone) Let him have everything he wants. (puts down the receiver; turns to Bensinger) Now hustle and write me a story from the point of view of the escaped man. (acting it out) He hides, cowering... Afraid of every light, of every sound... hears footsteps... his heart going like that... And all the time they're closing in... Get the sense of an animal at bay! BENSINGER Sort of a Jack London style? TRUCKING SHOT BURNS Exactly! Leads him hurriedly to the door. BENSINGER I got my rhyming dictionary in -- (indicating desk) BURNS (getting him to door) It doesn't have to rhyme! CLOSE SHOT - AT DOOR as Bensinger turns there. BENSINGER Gee, I'm terribly grateful, Mister Burns. Do you suppose there might be an opening some time as foreign correspondent? I parley a little French, you know. Burns shakes hands with him and opens the door with the other hand. BURNS I'll keep you in mind. BENSINGER (going) Au revoir, mon capitaine. BURNS (never at a loss in any language) Bon jour! Continuing his French, he gets the door closed and relocked and turns for the table, singing as he does so: BURNS Mademoiselle from Armontieres, parlay -- MED. SHOT Burns returns alertly to table, not noticing that Hildy has stopped typing, and sits staring moodily before her. BURNS (into phono) Duffy! Got this! CLOSEUP BURNS - AT PHONE BURNS A rat from the Tribune is coming over to get a job -- Bensinger, the guy I told you about. Handle him with kid gloves. Tell him to get busy writing poetry... No, we don't want him. Stall him along until the extra comes out. Then tell him his poetry stinks and kick him downstairs. He lays down receiver. WIDER ANGLE taking in Hildy. She looks up at him. HILDY (to Burns) Double-crossing swine! BURNS You said it! But this'll teach him a lesson. He won't quit his paper without giving notice after this. Hildy doesn't bother to reply. She rests her chin on her hands and stares moodily ahead. BURNS Tear into it, will you? Don't sit there like a frozen robin! HILDY I'm finished. BURNS Finished! He grabs the last sheet of paper out of her typewriter, kisses her and rushes over to the telephone. CLOSEUP BURNS at phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! All right -- here we go! And got it out as soon as you can. I want this paper out on the streets in half an hour! (reading Hildy's copy) "So once more the Morning Post --" EXT. CRIMINAL COURTS BLDG. - NIGHT MED. SHOT Diamond Louie, bearing evidence of a mishap, his hat crushed, his face bruised and his clothes torn, comes running down the sidewalk and up the steps into the buildings. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Hildy is up now, pacing. HILDY Bruce ought to be back by now. Walter, you're not trying anything again, are you? BURNS (coming over to her) Hildy, you think I could? After this story? (taking a flask from his pocket) Here! You're just nervous. Hildy takes the flask and takes a drink. There is a knock on the door. Burns takes the flask from her, restores it to his pocket and goes to the door. BURNS Who is it? LOUIE'S VOICE It's me, Boss -- Louie. BURNS (opening the door) It's Louie! Louie slips in and Burns relocks the door. BURNS (seeing Louie's disarray) What's the matter? Hildy crosses to Louie. HILDY (frantically) Where's Mrs. Baldwin? BURNS What did you do with her? HILDY (almost afraid to speak) What happened? CLOSE SHOT - THE THREE BURNS You been in a fight? LOUIE (still out of breath) Down Western Avenue. We were going sixty-five miles an hour. You know what I mean? BURNS Take that mush out of your mouth! HILDY Where's the old lady? LOUIE I'm telling you! CLOSEUP - LOUIE as he gets breath and blurts: LOUIE We run smack into a police patrol. You know what I mean? We broke it in half! BACK TO GROUP HILDY (moaning) Oh-h-h... was she hurt? BURNS Where is she? Tell me! HILDY Louie! LOUIE I'm telling you. Can you imagine bumping into a load of cops?! They come rollin' out like oranges! HILDY (seizing him) What did you do with her? LOUIE Search me! When I come to I was running down Thirty-fifth Street. HILDY -- You were with her. You were in the cab, weren't you? LOUIE (exposing his bruised scalp) Was I? The driver got knocked cold. BURNS Butter-fingers! I give you an old lady to take somewhere, and you hand her over to the cops! LOUIE What do you mean, I handed her? The patrol wagon was on the wrong side of the street. BURNS Now everything's fine. She's probably squawking her head off in some police station. CLOSEUP - LOUIE LOUIE I don't think she's talking much... You know what I mean? He winks reassuringly. BACK TO GROUP HILDY (paralyzed) Don't tell me -- was she killed? BURNS (hopefully) Was she? Did you notice? LOUIE Say, me with a gun on my hip and a kidnapped old lady on my hands, I should stick around asking questions from a lot of cops! You know what I mean? Hildy sinks into a chair. CLOSE SHOT HILDY IN THE CHAIR HILDY Dead... dead! That's the end! Burns comes into scene to her. BURNS It's Fate, Hildy. What will be, will be. HILDY (wildly) What am I going to say to Bruce? What'll I tell him? BURNS If he really loves you, you won't have to tell him anything. (whacking her on the shoulder) Snap out of it! Would you rather have had the old dame dragging the whole police force in here? HILDY I killed her. I'm responsible. Oh- h... what can I do now? How can I ever face him? Oh, I hope he never comes back! She buries her face in her hands. BURNS Look at me, Hildy -- HILDY (springing up) I'm looking at you -- you murderer! BURNS If it was my own mother, I'd carry on! You know I would. For the paper! HILDY (calling off to Louie) Louie, where'd it happen? I'm going out! MED. SHOT GROUP The Post phone rings. BURNS (grabbing Hildy) You stay here. I'll find out everything. LOUIE (to Hildy) Western an' Thirty-fourth. Hildy jumps for the outside phone on the desk. TWO SHOT INCLUDING BURNS AT PHONE AND HILDY AT PHONE BURNS (into phone) Hello -- hello... HILDY (into phone) Gimme Western four-five-five-seven. BURNS (guarded) Who? (wildly) Hello, Butch! Where are you? HILDY (into phone) Mission Hospital? Gimme the Receiving Room. BURNS (into phone) What are you doing there? Haven't you even started? HILDY (into phone) Hello -- Eddie? Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady brought in from an auto smashup? BURNS (into phone) Oh, for -- (yelling) H. Sebastian -- Butch! Listen, it's a matter of life and death! Listen! HILDY (into phone) Nobody? (jiggles hook) Morningside three-one-two-four. BURNS (into phone) I can't hear... You got who? Speak up! A what?... You can't stop for a dame now! HILDY (into phone) Is this the Community Hospital? BURNS (howling into phone) I don't care if you've been after her for six years! Butch, our whole lives are at stake! Are you going to let a woman come between us after all we've been through? HILDY (into phone) Hello, Max, Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady --? BURNS (into phone, drowning out Hildy) Butch! I'd put my arm in fire for you -- up to here! (indicates up to where) Now, you can't double-cross me!... She does? All right -- put her on. I'll talk to her... Hello! Oh, hello, Madam... Now listen, you ten-cent glamour girl, you can't keep Butch away from his duty... What's that? You say that again and I'll come over there and knock your eye out! Hello? (turning, as he hangs up) I'll kill 'em! I'll kill both of 'em! (into Post phone) Duffy! (to the universe) Mousing around with some big blonde Annie on my time! That's co-operation! (screaming into phone) Duffy!! HILDY Shut up, will you? (into phone) You sure? Nobody? BURNS (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) Well, where is Duffy? (throwing receiver to desk) Diabetes! I ought to know better than to hire anybody with a disease. (turning) Louie. MED. SHOT GROUP BURNS (to Louie) It's up to you. LOUIE (loyally) Anything you want, Boss. BURNS Beat it out and get hold of some guys. LOUIE Who do you want? BURNS (starting for the door, followed by Louie) Anybody with hair on his chest. Get 'em off the street -- anywhere. Offer them anything -- only get them. (confidentially) We've got to get this desk out of here. He unlocks the door. LOUIE You know me. The shirt off my back. BURNS You got plenty of money? LOUIE Sure, boss. BURNS I mean real money -- not counterfeit! LOUIE I always have both. He goes out. BURNS (calling after him) And don't bump into anything. He relocks the door. HILDY Lafayette two-one-hundred. BURNS (turning from door) That dumb immigrant'll flop on me. I know it. (bitterly) Can you imagine Butch doing this to me -- at a time like this? CLOSE SHOT HILDY AT PHONE, TAKING IN DESK Burns steps into scene. BURNS (confidentially) If Louie doesn't come back in five minutes we'll get it out alone. There's millions of ways. We can start a fire and get the firemen to carry it out in the confusion. He crosses to the desk and inspects it. HILDY (into phone) Ring that number, will you? BURNS (to Hildy, oblivious of her telephoning) Come here. See if we can move it. HILDY (into phone) Hello -- hello! Is this the Lying -- In Hospital? Did you have an auto accident in the last -- BURNS (interrupting) Will you come here? HILDY (into phone) Oh, I see. I beg your pardon. BURNS When I'm surrounded, with my back against the wall, you're not going to lay down on me, are you -- HILDY Yes. She jiggles the phone hook. BURNS (going to her) Hildy, you just can't leave me out on a limb now. It -- it wouldn't be cricket! HILDY I don't care what you say. I'm going to find Bruce's mother. (she jiggles the hook madly) Oh-h... (she hangs up) I'm going out and find her! Grabbing her hat and purse, she starts for the door. MED. SHOT OF HILDY, TAKING IN DOOR There is a loud knocking on the door. BURNS (coming into scene after Hildy) Don't open that! HILDY (at the door) Who says so? I'm going to the morgue -- to look -- She unlocks the door. CLOSE SHOT AT DOOR as Hildy flings the door open, only to find the Sheriff, accompanied by two deputies -- Carl and Frank -- and surrounded by McCue, Murphy, Schwartz, Wilson and Endicott. MURPHY There she is! MCCUE Say, Hildy... Hildy makes a decision and tries to push through them, but the Sheriff grabs her and pushes her back. HARTMAN Just a minute, Johnson! HILDY Let go o' me. What's the idea? MCCUE What's your hurry? MURPHY We want to see you. The deputies seize her. HILDY Take your paws off me! HARTMAN Hold her, boys! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (to Sheriff) Who do you think you are, breaking in here like this? HARTMAN You can't bluff me, Burns. I don't care who you are or what paper you're editor of. HILDY (struggling) Let me go! (hysterically) Fellows, something's happened to my mother-in-law. HARTMAN Hang onto her! Keep her in here! MED. SHOT as Hildy breaks loose and retreats back into the room before Hartman and the deputies. MCCUE We know what you're up to. ENDICOTT Probably goin' out to get Williams. SCHWARTZ The door was locked. WILSON She and Mollie were talking. HILDY I don't know anything, I tell you. There's been an accident. HARTMAN Johnson, there's something very peculiar going on. HILDY You can send somebody with me if you don't believe me! HARTMAN I wasn't born yesterday. Now the boys tell me you and this Mollie Malloy -- HILDY Nobody's trying to put anything over on you. I'm getting out of here and you can't stop me! MURPHY (comes into scene) You're not going anywhere. (to the Sheriff) She's got the story sewed up, Pete. (indicating Burns) That's why Burns is here. SCHWARTZ We're on to you, Hildy. Let us in on it. TWO SHOT - SHERIFF AND BURNS BURNS (purring) If you've any accusations to make, Hartman, make them in the proper manner. Otherwise, I'll have to ask you to get out. HARTMAN (pop-eyed; stammering) You'll ask me to what? BURNS Get out! HARTMAN (to deputies, off) Close that door. Don't let anybody in or out. MED. SHOT - THE GROUP MURPHY Come on, Pinky! Give 'em a little third degree. ENDICOTT Make them talk and you got Williams, Pinky! HARTMAN Johnson, I'm going to the bottom of this. What do you know about Williams? Are you going to talk or aren't you? HILDY What do I know about Williams? HARTMAN All right, boys. Take her along. I got ways of making her talk. The deputies seize Hildy. She struggles. HILDY Look out, you -- MCCUE (nervously) What's the use of fighting, Hildy? Hildy manages to get in a few resounding smacks on the deputies' faces. The reporters swarm around the struggling trio. There are shouts of: "I got her!" "No, you don't!" "Aw, Hildy...", etc. In the struggle, Hildy suddenly drops her purse. It lands with a clank and comes open. A gun is revealed on the floor. Hildy picks it up. DEPUTIES Hey, she's got a gun! Look out, she's got a gun! The deputies and reporters start to close in on her cautiously. HILDY (trying to face in all directions) No, you don't! Walter! BURNS What is it? Here! She tosses the gun to Walter, but one of the deputies intercepts the throw. HARTMAN Gimme that. He takes the gun from the deputy. CLOSER SHOT The Sheriff stands frozen, staring at the gun. HARTMAN (to Hildy) Where'd you get this? HILDY I've got a right to carry a gun if I want to. HARTMAN Not this gun! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (easily) I can explain that, Hartman. When Hildy told me she wanted to interview Earl Williams I thought it might be dangerous and I gave her a gun to defend herself. HARTMAN Oh, you did! Well, that's very, very interesting. This happens to be the gun that Earl Williams shot his way out with! REPORTERS AD LIB What? What's that? Etc... BURNS (advancing on Sheriff) Are you trying to make me out a liar? MURPHY (bitterly at Hildy) It's the last time I ever trust a woman, Hildy. SCHWARTZ Maybe Williams was gonna be her best man. WILSON That's pretty rotten, Hildy. Crossing your own pals. HARTMAN (shoving up to Hildy; trembling) Where is Earl Williams? Where you got him? BURNS (sympathetically) You're barking up the wrong tree, Hartman. HARTMAN I'll give you three minutes to tell me where he is. HILDY He went over to the hospital to call on Professor Egelhoffer. HARTMAN (outraged) What? HILDY With a bag of marshmallows. The Sheriff stands silent -- then hastily turns. MED. SHOT GROUP AROUND HILDY REPORTERS AD LIB Come on, Hildy. Where is he?... This is a sweet trick, Hildy... I thought we were friends... Etc. (to Sheriff) Look here, Pete! What about Mister Burns?... Ask the Master Mind! What's he doing over here? HARTMAN (grabbing Burns' arm) Speak up! What do you know about this. BURNS (gently but firmly disengaging his hand) My dear Hartman! He moves casually to a post before the desk and maintains it. MURPHY Can that! Where is he? BURNS (to Sheriff) The Morning Post is not obstructing justice or hiding criminals. You ought to know that. HARTMAN No? Well -- (turning to Hildy) Johnson, you're under arrest. (turning to Burns) You, too, Burns. BURNS (calmly) Who's under arrest? You pimple-headed, square-toed spy -- do you realize what you're doing? HARTMAN I'll show you what I'm doing. Burns, you're guilty of obstructing justice and so is the Morning Post. I'm going to see that the Post is fined ten thousand dollars for this. BURNS You'll see nothing of the kind, Sheriff. HARTMAN We'll just start by impounding the Post property. (pointing to Bensinger's desk, addressing Hildy) Is that your desk? HILDY (jumping) No! BURNS (almost simultaneously) Yes! What are you afraid of Hildy? I dare him to move that desk out of here. HARTMAN Oh, you do, eh? (to deputies) All right, boys. Confiscate that desk. Several of the deputies start toward the desk. BURNS (trying to intercept deputies) Hartman, if you take this desk out of this building, I'll put you behind bars. HARTMAN You will, eh? Well, we'll see about that. (to deputies) All right, boys. Take it. BURNS I'm warning you -- it'll be a Federal offense. (to deputy nearest him) And you'll be an accessory! HARTMAN We'll take a chance on that, Burns. (to deputies) Go ahead, boys. (the deputies continue toward the desk) INT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Flanked by two policemen, Mrs. Baldwin, dishevelled, with her hat over one ear, is marching toward the Press Room, bound for vengeance. Bruce, considerably upset, is with her. As they reach the door to the Press Room, Mrs. Baldwin stops. MRS. BALDWIN You wait outside, Bruce. BRUCE But, mother -- MRS. BALDWIN (firmly) No! You'll weaken when you see that little Jezebel! I'm going to tell her what I think of her! She plumps her hat down more firmly on her head and marches into the Press Room followed by the two policemen. Bruce remains outside the door. INT. PRESS ROOM Taking in door as it opens and Mrs. Baldwin, followed by the policemen, comes in. HILDY (leaping forward) Mother! MRS. BALDWIN (pointing out Burns to the officers) That man there! HILDY (hugging Mrs. Baldwin) Mother! Oh, I'm so glad to see you! Are you all right? Tell me. Mrs. Baldwin indignantly shakes her off. HARTMAN What's the idea here? POLICEMAN This lady claims she was kidnapped. HARTMAN What? MRS. BALDWIN They dragged me all the way down the stairs -- HARTMAN Just a minute. Did -- did -- (points to Burns) -- this man have anything to do with it? MRS. BALDWIN He was the one in charge of everything! He told them to kidnap me! BURNS (amazed) Are you referring to me, Madam? MRS. BALDWIN You know you did! HARTMAN What about this, Burns? Kidnapping, eh? BURNS (round-eyed) Oh, trying to frame me, eh! I never saw this woman before in my life! MRS. BALDWIN Oh, what a thing to say! I was standing right here - after the girl jumped out of the window. HARTMAN Did you get the Mayor? DEPUTY He's coming over. BURNS (to Mrs. Baldwin) Now, Madam -- be honest. If you were out joy-riding, drunk, and got into some scrape, why don't you admit it, instead of accusing innocent people? MRS. BALDWIN (beginning to doubt her senses) You ruffian! How dare you say a thing like that? HILDA Please, Mother, he's just crazy! MRS. BALDWIN (to Sheriff) I'll tell you something more. I'll tell you why they did it! BURNS (fidgeting) Come on, Sheriff. We've got to get bail. MRS. BALDWIN (continuing crescendo) I was in here -- and they had some kind of murderer in with them. They were hiding him! This is a bombshell. The room is electrified. HARTMAN Hiding him? In here? Murphy, followed by the reporters, comes into scene. MURPHY Hiding him where? HILDY Mother! REPORTERS Where was he?... Where'd they have him?... Etc. CLOSE SHOT BURNS at the desk. BURNS (with superb indignation) Madam, you're a cockeyed liar! And you know it! To emphasize his righteousness, he pounds on the desk three times, forgetting that that is his signal to Williams. Then, realizing what he has done, he gasps. MED. SHOT Burns advances from desk, the others retreating before him. BURNS (anxiously) Come on, Sheriff, we've got to get bail. Three answering knocks come from the desk. GROUP SHOT WITH DOORWAY IN B.G They jump around to face the desk. HARTMAN (whispering) What was that? REPORTERS AD LIB He's in the desk! -- For the love of -- He's in there! Etc. HARTMAN Aha! I thought so! Stand back, everybody! DEPUTY Look out, Sheriff. He may shoot! HARTMAN Get your guns out! The policemen and deputies get out their guns. HILDY He's harmless. HARTMAN Don't take any chances. Shoot through the desk. HILDY He can't hurt anybody. You've got his gun. MRS. BALDWIN (panic-stricken) Oh, dear! Oh, dear! BURNS You grey-haired old Judas! MRS. BALDWIN Let me out! Let me out of here! She streaks for the door, flings it open and goes. The reporters tear out of scene to their telephones. HARTMAN (to policeman) You stand there! MURPHY'S VOICE City Desk! Quick! SCHWARTZ' VOICE Gimme the Desk! HARTMAN (to another policeman) You there! ENDICOTT'S VOICE City Desk! Hurry! MCCUE'S VOICE Gimme Emil... HARTMAN (to a Deputy, pointing with his gun toward the window) You cover the window. MURPHY'S VOICE Look out where you're pointing that gun! The Sheriff draws his men in around the desk, their guns drawn on it. WILSON'S VOICE Lemme have the Desk! Quick! MURPHY'S VOICE Hold the wire! I've got a flash for you! BURNS (to Hildy) Call Duffy! HARTMAN No, you don't! BURNS (to Sheriff, furiously) Do you want to get us scooped? MCCUE'S VOICE Emil? Hang on for a second. HARTMAN Now then, everybody aim at the center. And when I say three -- HILDY That's murder! HARTMAN (changing his mind) All right! Carl! Frank! One of you get on each side of the desk. Take hold of the cover. They do. HARTMAN Now then! We got you covered, Williams. Don't try to move. Now! Everybody quiet and ready for an emergency. I'm going to count three. SCHWARTZ Hold it! Something coming up. HARTMAN One! ENDICOTT Hold the phone! MURPHY (into the phone) I'll have it in a minute. HARTMAN Two! WILSON (into phone) Right away now! HARTMAN (turning back to desk) Everybody ready? All right. Now then, up with it. Two deputies raise the cover. Williams is revealed, cowering in the desk, his hands over his face. The Sheriff rushes on him, jabbing his gun into him. CLOSE SHOT SHERIFF AND WILLIAMS HARTMAN Got you, Williams! WILLIAMS (a wail) Go on -- shoot me! MEDIUM SHOT as the police and deputies come in to assist the Sheriff. The reporters are telephoning in, the police shouting -- all the voices mixing in, in incredible confusion, as the Sheriff rushes Williams to the door and takes him out. MURPHY'S VOICE Earl Williams was just captured in the Press Room of the Criminal Courts Building, hiding in a desk. OFFICERS AD LIB (all talking at once) Grab him! That's him! Don't let him shoot! Stick 'em up! -- Etc. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) ...Williams in a rolltop -- CLOSEUP WILSON AT PHONE WILSON (into phone) -- nabbed Williams hiding -- ENDICOTT'S VOICE -- found Williams' hiding place. SCHWARTZ' VOICE He offered no resistance. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) Williams put up a desperate struggle but the police overpowered -- CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) -- tried to shoot it out with the cops but his gun wouldn't work, so -- WILSON'S VOICE -- trying to break through the cordon of police -- CLOSEUP ENDICOTT AT PHONE ENDICOTT (into phone) Williams was unconscious when they opened the desk -- CLOSEUP BURNS grabbing the Post phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Morning Post just turned Earl Williams over to the Sheriff. CLOSE SHOT THE SHERIFF coming in the door with two policemen and leaping to get the phone away from Burns. MED. SHOT BURNS AT PHONE, HILDY BESIDE HIM BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Sheriff and police come into scene. HARTMAN (indicating Burns and Hildy) Put the cuffs on those two! The police handcuff Hildy and Burns. ENDICOTT An anonymous note received by the Sheriff led to Williams' capture. More later. He hangs up. CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) An old sweetheart of Williams' doublecrossed him. Call you back. He hangs up. MED. SHOT TAKING IN DOOR REPORTERS Where's that old lady? Hey, Madam! Where'd she go? Where's the old dame? Etc., etc. They run out after Mrs. Baldwin, the Mayor entering just after they go. Burns and Hildy, handcuffed together, stand near the Sheriff. HARTMAN (into phone) Hello, girlie -- gimme Cooley. Quick! BURNS Hartwell, you're going to wish you'd never been born! The Mayor comes into scene. MAYOR Fine work, Pete! You certainly delivered the goods. I'm proud of you. HARTMAN (holding the phone) Look kind o' natural, don't they, Fred? MAYOR (happily) A sight for sore eyes! HARTMAN (rolling in catnip) Aiding an escaped criminal! And a little charge of kidnapping I'm looking into. (into phone; suddenly) But that's the jail! There must be somebody there! MAYOR Well! Looks like about ten years apiece for you birds! BURNS Does it? You forget the power that always watches over the Morning Post. MAYOR Your luck's not with you now! HARTMAN (into phone) Cooley?... I caught Williams single- handed -- we're going to proceed with the hanging per schedule! He wiggles the hook for another call. BURNS (to Mayor) You're going to be in office for exactly two days more and then we're pulling your nose out of the feed bag. HARTMAN (into phone) Give me the District Attorney's office. (to Burns) I'll tell you what you'll be doing -- making brooms in the State penitentiary. (into phone) Hello, D'Arrasty! This is Hartwell. Come over to my office, will you? I've just arrested a couple of important birds and I want to take their confessions. He hangs up. Burns makes a sudden lunge for the Morning Post phone and cries into it. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! Get Liebowitz! MAYOR All the lawyers in the world aren't going to help you! BURNS This is the Morning Post you're talking to! MAYOR (enjoying himself) The power of the press, huh! He laughs. Pinkus, the Governor's messenger, plentifully stewed, reels in the door. He approaches the Mayor and Sheriff who have their backs to him. BURNS (at the Mayor) Bigger men than you have found out what the power of the press is... President!... Yes -- and Kings! PINKUS (woozy; handing Sheriff the reprieve over his shoulder) Here's your reprieve. The Mayor and Sheriff spin around. MAYOR (in a panic) Get out of here! PINKUS You can't bribe me! BURNS What's this? HARTMAN Get out of here, you! PINKUS I

happened

How many times the word 'happened' appears in the text?

will you? MED. SHOT as Burns leaves Hildy and goes over to desk and picks up his phone again. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER Finding the door locked, he knocks. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY as another knock comes, they take it big. HILDY (calling) Who is it? EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER What's the idea of locking this? INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY HILDY That's Bensinger. That's his desk. BURNS (whispering) What's his name? The door knob is rattled violently. HILDY Bensinger -- of the Tribune. EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER Open this door! INT. PRESS ROOM CLOSE SHOT BURNS He starts for the door. BURNS I'll handle him. CAMERA TRUCKS WITH HIM to the door. BURNS The Tribune, eh? Watch me! He opens the door. AT DOOR BENSINGER (as he comes in) Ain't you got any more sense than to -- ? (sees Burns and is overcome) Oh, h-hello, Mr. Burns. Why, quite an honor having you come over here. BURNS (casually) Hello, Bensinger. BENSINGER Excuse me, I just want to -- He starts for the desk. Hildy's typing goes on, coming in over the scene. BURNS (starting for the desk, suddenly blocking his path) Quite a coincidence, my running into you tonight. Isn't it, Hildy? HILDY'S VOICE Yeh. BENSINGER How do you mean? CLOSEUP BURNS AND BENSINGER BURNS I was having a little chat about you just this afternoon -- with our Mister Duffy. BENSINGER (essaying a pleasantry) Nothing -- ah -- detrimental, I hope. BURNS I should say not! That was one swell story you had in the paper this morning. BENSINGER (deeply moved) Oh, did you -- care for the poem, Mr. Burns? BURNS (startled) The poem?... The poem was great! BENSINGER (blinking at these words) Remember the ending? (and he recites) " -- and all is well, outside his cell, But in his heart he hears the hangman Calling and the gallows falling And his white-haired mother's tears..." BURNS (overcome) Heartbreaking! How would you like to work for me? BENSINGER What? MEDIUM SHOT taking in table, Hildy typing there. BURNS (to Bensinger) We need somebody like you. All we've got now are a lot of low-brows. Like Johnson here. He starts shoving Bensinger away from the desk, toward the table. BENSINGER Seriously, Mr. Burns? Clinging to him, Burns takes him to the phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! I'm sending Bensinger over to see you. (looking up at Bensinger) Mervyn, isn't it? BENSINGER No. Roy. Roy V. BURNS (with a little laugh at his own forgetfulness) Of course! (into phone) Roy Bensinger, the poet. Of course you wouldn't know! You probably never heard of Shakespeare, either! Put Mr. Bensinger right on the staff. (to Bensinger) How much are you getting on the Tribune, Roy? BENSINGER Seventy-five. BURNS I'll give you a hundred and a by- line. ANOTHER ANGLE as Burns continues. BURNS (into phone) Let him have everything he wants. (puts down the receiver; turns to Bensinger) Now hustle and write me a story from the point of view of the escaped man. (acting it out) He hides, cowering... Afraid of every light, of every sound... hears footsteps... his heart going like that... And all the time they're closing in... Get the sense of an animal at bay! BENSINGER Sort of a Jack London style? TRUCKING SHOT BURNS Exactly! Leads him hurriedly to the door. BENSINGER I got my rhyming dictionary in -- (indicating desk) BURNS (getting him to door) It doesn't have to rhyme! CLOSE SHOT - AT DOOR as Bensinger turns there. BENSINGER Gee, I'm terribly grateful, Mister Burns. Do you suppose there might be an opening some time as foreign correspondent? I parley a little French, you know. Burns shakes hands with him and opens the door with the other hand. BURNS I'll keep you in mind. BENSINGER (going) Au revoir, mon capitaine. BURNS (never at a loss in any language) Bon jour! Continuing his French, he gets the door closed and relocked and turns for the table, singing as he does so: BURNS Mademoiselle from Armontieres, parlay -- MED. SHOT Burns returns alertly to table, not noticing that Hildy has stopped typing, and sits staring moodily before her. BURNS (into phono) Duffy! Got this! CLOSEUP BURNS - AT PHONE BURNS A rat from the Tribune is coming over to get a job -- Bensinger, the guy I told you about. Handle him with kid gloves. Tell him to get busy writing poetry... No, we don't want him. Stall him along until the extra comes out. Then tell him his poetry stinks and kick him downstairs. He lays down receiver. WIDER ANGLE taking in Hildy. She looks up at him. HILDY (to Burns) Double-crossing swine! BURNS You said it! But this'll teach him a lesson. He won't quit his paper without giving notice after this. Hildy doesn't bother to reply. She rests her chin on her hands and stares moodily ahead. BURNS Tear into it, will you? Don't sit there like a frozen robin! HILDY I'm finished. BURNS Finished! He grabs the last sheet of paper out of her typewriter, kisses her and rushes over to the telephone. CLOSEUP BURNS at phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! All right -- here we go! And got it out as soon as you can. I want this paper out on the streets in half an hour! (reading Hildy's copy) "So once more the Morning Post --" EXT. CRIMINAL COURTS BLDG. - NIGHT MED. SHOT Diamond Louie, bearing evidence of a mishap, his hat crushed, his face bruised and his clothes torn, comes running down the sidewalk and up the steps into the buildings. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Hildy is up now, pacing. HILDY Bruce ought to be back by now. Walter, you're not trying anything again, are you? BURNS (coming over to her) Hildy, you think I could? After this story? (taking a flask from his pocket) Here! You're just nervous. Hildy takes the flask and takes a drink. There is a knock on the door. Burns takes the flask from her, restores it to his pocket and goes to the door. BURNS Who is it? LOUIE'S VOICE It's me, Boss -- Louie. BURNS (opening the door) It's Louie! Louie slips in and Burns relocks the door. BURNS (seeing Louie's disarray) What's the matter? Hildy crosses to Louie. HILDY (frantically) Where's Mrs. Baldwin? BURNS What did you do with her? HILDY (almost afraid to speak) What happened? CLOSE SHOT - THE THREE BURNS You been in a fight? LOUIE (still out of breath) Down Western Avenue. We were going sixty-five miles an hour. You know what I mean? BURNS Take that mush out of your mouth! HILDY Where's the old lady? LOUIE I'm telling you! CLOSEUP - LOUIE as he gets breath and blurts: LOUIE We run smack into a police patrol. You know what I mean? We broke it in half! BACK TO GROUP HILDY (moaning) Oh-h-h... was she hurt? BURNS Where is she? Tell me! HILDY Louie! LOUIE I'm telling you. Can you imagine bumping into a load of cops?! They come rollin' out like oranges! HILDY (seizing him) What did you do with her? LOUIE Search me! When I come to I was running down Thirty-fifth Street. HILDY -- You were with her. You were in the cab, weren't you? LOUIE (exposing his bruised scalp) Was I? The driver got knocked cold. BURNS Butter-fingers! I give you an old lady to take somewhere, and you hand her over to the cops! LOUIE What do you mean, I handed her? The patrol wagon was on the wrong side of the street. BURNS Now everything's fine. She's probably squawking her head off in some police station. CLOSEUP - LOUIE LOUIE I don't think she's talking much... You know what I mean? He winks reassuringly. BACK TO GROUP HILDY (paralyzed) Don't tell me -- was she killed? BURNS (hopefully) Was she? Did you notice? LOUIE Say, me with a gun on my hip and a kidnapped old lady on my hands, I should stick around asking questions from a lot of cops! You know what I mean? Hildy sinks into a chair. CLOSE SHOT HILDY IN THE CHAIR HILDY Dead... dead! That's the end! Burns comes into scene to her. BURNS It's Fate, Hildy. What will be, will be. HILDY (wildly) What am I going to say to Bruce? What'll I tell him? BURNS If he really loves you, you won't have to tell him anything. (whacking her on the shoulder) Snap out of it! Would you rather have had the old dame dragging the whole police force in here? HILDY I killed her. I'm responsible. Oh- h... what can I do now? How can I ever face him? Oh, I hope he never comes back! She buries her face in her hands. BURNS Look at me, Hildy -- HILDY (springing up) I'm looking at you -- you murderer! BURNS If it was my own mother, I'd carry on! You know I would. For the paper! HILDY (calling off to Louie) Louie, where'd it happen? I'm going out! MED. SHOT GROUP The Post phone rings. BURNS (grabbing Hildy) You stay here. I'll find out everything. LOUIE (to Hildy) Western an' Thirty-fourth. Hildy jumps for the outside phone on the desk. TWO SHOT INCLUDING BURNS AT PHONE AND HILDY AT PHONE BURNS (into phone) Hello -- hello... HILDY (into phone) Gimme Western four-five-five-seven. BURNS (guarded) Who? (wildly) Hello, Butch! Where are you? HILDY (into phone) Mission Hospital? Gimme the Receiving Room. BURNS (into phone) What are you doing there? Haven't you even started? HILDY (into phone) Hello -- Eddie? Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady brought in from an auto smashup? BURNS (into phone) Oh, for -- (yelling) H. Sebastian -- Butch! Listen, it's a matter of life and death! Listen! HILDY (into phone) Nobody? (jiggles hook) Morningside three-one-two-four. BURNS (into phone) I can't hear... You got who? Speak up! A what?... You can't stop for a dame now! HILDY (into phone) Is this the Community Hospital? BURNS (howling into phone) I don't care if you've been after her for six years! Butch, our whole lives are at stake! Are you going to let a woman come between us after all we've been through? HILDY (into phone) Hello, Max, Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady --? BURNS (into phone, drowning out Hildy) Butch! I'd put my arm in fire for you -- up to here! (indicates up to where) Now, you can't double-cross me!... She does? All right -- put her on. I'll talk to her... Hello! Oh, hello, Madam... Now listen, you ten-cent glamour girl, you can't keep Butch away from his duty... What's that? You say that again and I'll come over there and knock your eye out! Hello? (turning, as he hangs up) I'll kill 'em! I'll kill both of 'em! (into Post phone) Duffy! (to the universe) Mousing around with some big blonde Annie on my time! That's co-operation! (screaming into phone) Duffy!! HILDY Shut up, will you? (into phone) You sure? Nobody? BURNS (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) Well, where is Duffy? (throwing receiver to desk) Diabetes! I ought to know better than to hire anybody with a disease. (turning) Louie. MED. SHOT GROUP BURNS (to Louie) It's up to you. LOUIE (loyally) Anything you want, Boss. BURNS Beat it out and get hold of some guys. LOUIE Who do you want? BURNS (starting for the door, followed by Louie) Anybody with hair on his chest. Get 'em off the street -- anywhere. Offer them anything -- only get them. (confidentially) We've got to get this desk out of here. He unlocks the door. LOUIE You know me. The shirt off my back. BURNS You got plenty of money? LOUIE Sure, boss. BURNS I mean real money -- not counterfeit! LOUIE I always have both. He goes out. BURNS (calling after him) And don't bump into anything. He relocks the door. HILDY Lafayette two-one-hundred. BURNS (turning from door) That dumb immigrant'll flop on me. I know it. (bitterly) Can you imagine Butch doing this to me -- at a time like this? CLOSE SHOT HILDY AT PHONE, TAKING IN DESK Burns steps into scene. BURNS (confidentially) If Louie doesn't come back in five minutes we'll get it out alone. There's millions of ways. We can start a fire and get the firemen to carry it out in the confusion. He crosses to the desk and inspects it. HILDY (into phone) Ring that number, will you? BURNS (to Hildy, oblivious of her telephoning) Come here. See if we can move it. HILDY (into phone) Hello -- hello! Is this the Lying -- In Hospital? Did you have an auto accident in the last -- BURNS (interrupting) Will you come here? HILDY (into phone) Oh, I see. I beg your pardon. BURNS When I'm surrounded, with my back against the wall, you're not going to lay down on me, are you -- HILDY Yes. She jiggles the phone hook. BURNS (going to her) Hildy, you just can't leave me out on a limb now. It -- it wouldn't be cricket! HILDY I don't care what you say. I'm going to find Bruce's mother. (she jiggles the hook madly) Oh-h... (she hangs up) I'm going out and find her! Grabbing her hat and purse, she starts for the door. MED. SHOT OF HILDY, TAKING IN DOOR There is a loud knocking on the door. BURNS (coming into scene after Hildy) Don't open that! HILDY (at the door) Who says so? I'm going to the morgue -- to look -- She unlocks the door. CLOSE SHOT AT DOOR as Hildy flings the door open, only to find the Sheriff, accompanied by two deputies -- Carl and Frank -- and surrounded by McCue, Murphy, Schwartz, Wilson and Endicott. MURPHY There she is! MCCUE Say, Hildy... Hildy makes a decision and tries to push through them, but the Sheriff grabs her and pushes her back. HARTMAN Just a minute, Johnson! HILDY Let go o' me. What's the idea? MCCUE What's your hurry? MURPHY We want to see you. The deputies seize her. HILDY Take your paws off me! HARTMAN Hold her, boys! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (to Sheriff) Who do you think you are, breaking in here like this? HARTMAN You can't bluff me, Burns. I don't care who you are or what paper you're editor of. HILDY (struggling) Let me go! (hysterically) Fellows, something's happened to my mother-in-law. HARTMAN Hang onto her! Keep her in here! MED. SHOT as Hildy breaks loose and retreats back into the room before Hartman and the deputies. MCCUE We know what you're up to. ENDICOTT Probably goin' out to get Williams. SCHWARTZ The door was locked. WILSON She and Mollie were talking. HILDY I don't know anything, I tell you. There's been an accident. HARTMAN Johnson, there's something very peculiar going on. HILDY You can send somebody with me if you don't believe me! HARTMAN I wasn't born yesterday. Now the boys tell me you and this Mollie Malloy -- HILDY Nobody's trying to put anything over on you. I'm getting out of here and you can't stop me! MURPHY (comes into scene) You're not going anywhere. (to the Sheriff) She's got the story sewed up, Pete. (indicating Burns) That's why Burns is here. SCHWARTZ We're on to you, Hildy. Let us in on it. TWO SHOT - SHERIFF AND BURNS BURNS (purring) If you've any accusations to make, Hartman, make them in the proper manner. Otherwise, I'll have to ask you to get out. HARTMAN (pop-eyed; stammering) You'll ask me to what? BURNS Get out! HARTMAN (to deputies, off) Close that door. Don't let anybody in or out. MED. SHOT - THE GROUP MURPHY Come on, Pinky! Give 'em a little third degree. ENDICOTT Make them talk and you got Williams, Pinky! HARTMAN Johnson, I'm going to the bottom of this. What do you know about Williams? Are you going to talk or aren't you? HILDY What do I know about Williams? HARTMAN All right, boys. Take her along. I got ways of making her talk. The deputies seize Hildy. She struggles. HILDY Look out, you -- MCCUE (nervously) What's the use of fighting, Hildy? Hildy manages to get in a few resounding smacks on the deputies' faces. The reporters swarm around the struggling trio. There are shouts of: "I got her!" "No, you don't!" "Aw, Hildy...", etc. In the struggle, Hildy suddenly drops her purse. It lands with a clank and comes open. A gun is revealed on the floor. Hildy picks it up. DEPUTIES Hey, she's got a gun! Look out, she's got a gun! The deputies and reporters start to close in on her cautiously. HILDY (trying to face in all directions) No, you don't! Walter! BURNS What is it? Here! She tosses the gun to Walter, but one of the deputies intercepts the throw. HARTMAN Gimme that. He takes the gun from the deputy. CLOSER SHOT The Sheriff stands frozen, staring at the gun. HARTMAN (to Hildy) Where'd you get this? HILDY I've got a right to carry a gun if I want to. HARTMAN Not this gun! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (easily) I can explain that, Hartman. When Hildy told me she wanted to interview Earl Williams I thought it might be dangerous and I gave her a gun to defend herself. HARTMAN Oh, you did! Well, that's very, very interesting. This happens to be the gun that Earl Williams shot his way out with! REPORTERS AD LIB What? What's that? Etc... BURNS (advancing on Sheriff) Are you trying to make me out a liar? MURPHY (bitterly at Hildy) It's the last time I ever trust a woman, Hildy. SCHWARTZ Maybe Williams was gonna be her best man. WILSON That's pretty rotten, Hildy. Crossing your own pals. HARTMAN (shoving up to Hildy; trembling) Where is Earl Williams? Where you got him? BURNS (sympathetically) You're barking up the wrong tree, Hartman. HARTMAN I'll give you three minutes to tell me where he is. HILDY He went over to the hospital to call on Professor Egelhoffer. HARTMAN (outraged) What? HILDY With a bag of marshmallows. The Sheriff stands silent -- then hastily turns. MED. SHOT GROUP AROUND HILDY REPORTERS AD LIB Come on, Hildy. Where is he?... This is a sweet trick, Hildy... I thought we were friends... Etc. (to Sheriff) Look here, Pete! What about Mister Burns?... Ask the Master Mind! What's he doing over here? HARTMAN (grabbing Burns' arm) Speak up! What do you know about this. BURNS (gently but firmly disengaging his hand) My dear Hartman! He moves casually to a post before the desk and maintains it. MURPHY Can that! Where is he? BURNS (to Sheriff) The Morning Post is not obstructing justice or hiding criminals. You ought to know that. HARTMAN No? Well -- (turning to Hildy) Johnson, you're under arrest. (turning to Burns) You, too, Burns. BURNS (calmly) Who's under arrest? You pimple-headed, square-toed spy -- do you realize what you're doing? HARTMAN I'll show you what I'm doing. Burns, you're guilty of obstructing justice and so is the Morning Post. I'm going to see that the Post is fined ten thousand dollars for this. BURNS You'll see nothing of the kind, Sheriff. HARTMAN We'll just start by impounding the Post property. (pointing to Bensinger's desk, addressing Hildy) Is that your desk? HILDY (jumping) No! BURNS (almost simultaneously) Yes! What are you afraid of Hildy? I dare him to move that desk out of here. HARTMAN Oh, you do, eh? (to deputies) All right, boys. Confiscate that desk. Several of the deputies start toward the desk. BURNS (trying to intercept deputies) Hartman, if you take this desk out of this building, I'll put you behind bars. HARTMAN You will, eh? Well, we'll see about that. (to deputies) All right, boys. Take it. BURNS I'm warning you -- it'll be a Federal offense. (to deputy nearest him) And you'll be an accessory! HARTMAN We'll take a chance on that, Burns. (to deputies) Go ahead, boys. (the deputies continue toward the desk) INT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Flanked by two policemen, Mrs. Baldwin, dishevelled, with her hat over one ear, is marching toward the Press Room, bound for vengeance. Bruce, considerably upset, is with her. As they reach the door to the Press Room, Mrs. Baldwin stops. MRS. BALDWIN You wait outside, Bruce. BRUCE But, mother -- MRS. BALDWIN (firmly) No! You'll weaken when you see that little Jezebel! I'm going to tell her what I think of her! She plumps her hat down more firmly on her head and marches into the Press Room followed by the two policemen. Bruce remains outside the door. INT. PRESS ROOM Taking in door as it opens and Mrs. Baldwin, followed by the policemen, comes in. HILDY (leaping forward) Mother! MRS. BALDWIN (pointing out Burns to the officers) That man there! HILDY (hugging Mrs. Baldwin) Mother! Oh, I'm so glad to see you! Are you all right? Tell me. Mrs. Baldwin indignantly shakes her off. HARTMAN What's the idea here? POLICEMAN This lady claims she was kidnapped. HARTMAN What? MRS. BALDWIN They dragged me all the way down the stairs -- HARTMAN Just a minute. Did -- did -- (points to Burns) -- this man have anything to do with it? MRS. BALDWIN He was the one in charge of everything! He told them to kidnap me! BURNS (amazed) Are you referring to me, Madam? MRS. BALDWIN You know you did! HARTMAN What about this, Burns? Kidnapping, eh? BURNS (round-eyed) Oh, trying to frame me, eh! I never saw this woman before in my life! MRS. BALDWIN Oh, what a thing to say! I was standing right here - after the girl jumped out of the window. HARTMAN Did you get the Mayor? DEPUTY He's coming over. BURNS (to Mrs. Baldwin) Now, Madam -- be honest. If you were out joy-riding, drunk, and got into some scrape, why don't you admit it, instead of accusing innocent people? MRS. BALDWIN (beginning to doubt her senses) You ruffian! How dare you say a thing like that? HILDA Please, Mother, he's just crazy! MRS. BALDWIN (to Sheriff) I'll tell you something more. I'll tell you why they did it! BURNS (fidgeting) Come on, Sheriff. We've got to get bail. MRS. BALDWIN (continuing crescendo) I was in here -- and they had some kind of murderer in with them. They were hiding him! This is a bombshell. The room is electrified. HARTMAN Hiding him? In here? Murphy, followed by the reporters, comes into scene. MURPHY Hiding him where? HILDY Mother! REPORTERS Where was he?... Where'd they have him?... Etc. CLOSE SHOT BURNS at the desk. BURNS (with superb indignation) Madam, you're a cockeyed liar! And you know it! To emphasize his righteousness, he pounds on the desk three times, forgetting that that is his signal to Williams. Then, realizing what he has done, he gasps. MED. SHOT Burns advances from desk, the others retreating before him. BURNS (anxiously) Come on, Sheriff, we've got to get bail. Three answering knocks come from the desk. GROUP SHOT WITH DOORWAY IN B.G They jump around to face the desk. HARTMAN (whispering) What was that? REPORTERS AD LIB He's in the desk! -- For the love of -- He's in there! Etc. HARTMAN Aha! I thought so! Stand back, everybody! DEPUTY Look out, Sheriff. He may shoot! HARTMAN Get your guns out! The policemen and deputies get out their guns. HILDY He's harmless. HARTMAN Don't take any chances. Shoot through the desk. HILDY He can't hurt anybody. You've got his gun. MRS. BALDWIN (panic-stricken) Oh, dear! Oh, dear! BURNS You grey-haired old Judas! MRS. BALDWIN Let me out! Let me out of here! She streaks for the door, flings it open and goes. The reporters tear out of scene to their telephones. HARTMAN (to policeman) You stand there! MURPHY'S VOICE City Desk! Quick! SCHWARTZ' VOICE Gimme the Desk! HARTMAN (to another policeman) You there! ENDICOTT'S VOICE City Desk! Hurry! MCCUE'S VOICE Gimme Emil... HARTMAN (to a Deputy, pointing with his gun toward the window) You cover the window. MURPHY'S VOICE Look out where you're pointing that gun! The Sheriff draws his men in around the desk, their guns drawn on it. WILSON'S VOICE Lemme have the Desk! Quick! MURPHY'S VOICE Hold the wire! I've got a flash for you! BURNS (to Hildy) Call Duffy! HARTMAN No, you don't! BURNS (to Sheriff, furiously) Do you want to get us scooped? MCCUE'S VOICE Emil? Hang on for a second. HARTMAN Now then, everybody aim at the center. And when I say three -- HILDY That's murder! HARTMAN (changing his mind) All right! Carl! Frank! One of you get on each side of the desk. Take hold of the cover. They do. HARTMAN Now then! We got you covered, Williams. Don't try to move. Now! Everybody quiet and ready for an emergency. I'm going to count three. SCHWARTZ Hold it! Something coming up. HARTMAN One! ENDICOTT Hold the phone! MURPHY (into the phone) I'll have it in a minute. HARTMAN Two! WILSON (into phone) Right away now! HARTMAN (turning back to desk) Everybody ready? All right. Now then, up with it. Two deputies raise the cover. Williams is revealed, cowering in the desk, his hands over his face. The Sheriff rushes on him, jabbing his gun into him. CLOSE SHOT SHERIFF AND WILLIAMS HARTMAN Got you, Williams! WILLIAMS (a wail) Go on -- shoot me! MEDIUM SHOT as the police and deputies come in to assist the Sheriff. The reporters are telephoning in, the police shouting -- all the voices mixing in, in incredible confusion, as the Sheriff rushes Williams to the door and takes him out. MURPHY'S VOICE Earl Williams was just captured in the Press Room of the Criminal Courts Building, hiding in a desk. OFFICERS AD LIB (all talking at once) Grab him! That's him! Don't let him shoot! Stick 'em up! -- Etc. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) ...Williams in a rolltop -- CLOSEUP WILSON AT PHONE WILSON (into phone) -- nabbed Williams hiding -- ENDICOTT'S VOICE -- found Williams' hiding place. SCHWARTZ' VOICE He offered no resistance. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) Williams put up a desperate struggle but the police overpowered -- CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) -- tried to shoot it out with the cops but his gun wouldn't work, so -- WILSON'S VOICE -- trying to break through the cordon of police -- CLOSEUP ENDICOTT AT PHONE ENDICOTT (into phone) Williams was unconscious when they opened the desk -- CLOSEUP BURNS grabbing the Post phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Morning Post just turned Earl Williams over to the Sheriff. CLOSE SHOT THE SHERIFF coming in the door with two policemen and leaping to get the phone away from Burns. MED. SHOT BURNS AT PHONE, HILDY BESIDE HIM BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Sheriff and police come into scene. HARTMAN (indicating Burns and Hildy) Put the cuffs on those two! The police handcuff Hildy and Burns. ENDICOTT An anonymous note received by the Sheriff led to Williams' capture. More later. He hangs up. CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) An old sweetheart of Williams' doublecrossed him. Call you back. He hangs up. MED. SHOT TAKING IN DOOR REPORTERS Where's that old lady? Hey, Madam! Where'd she go? Where's the old dame? Etc., etc. They run out after Mrs. Baldwin, the Mayor entering just after they go. Burns and Hildy, handcuffed together, stand near the Sheriff. HARTMAN (into phone) Hello, girlie -- gimme Cooley. Quick! BURNS Hartwell, you're going to wish you'd never been born! The Mayor comes into scene. MAYOR Fine work, Pete! You certainly delivered the goods. I'm proud of you. HARTMAN (holding the phone) Look kind o' natural, don't they, Fred? MAYOR (happily) A sight for sore eyes! HARTMAN (rolling in catnip) Aiding an escaped criminal! And a little charge of kidnapping I'm looking into. (into phone; suddenly) But that's the jail! There must be somebody there! MAYOR Well! Looks like about ten years apiece for you birds! BURNS Does it? You forget the power that always watches over the Morning Post. MAYOR Your luck's not with you now! HARTMAN (into phone) Cooley?... I caught Williams single- handed -- we're going to proceed with the hanging per schedule! He wiggles the hook for another call. BURNS (to Mayor) You're going to be in office for exactly two days more and then we're pulling your nose out of the feed bag. HARTMAN (into phone) Give me the District Attorney's office. (to Burns) I'll tell you what you'll be doing -- making brooms in the State penitentiary. (into phone) Hello, D'Arrasty! This is Hartwell. Come over to my office, will you? I've just arrested a couple of important birds and I want to take their confessions. He hangs up. Burns makes a sudden lunge for the Morning Post phone and cries into it. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! Get Liebowitz! MAYOR All the lawyers in the world aren't going to help you! BURNS This is the Morning Post you're talking to! MAYOR (enjoying himself) The power of the press, huh! He laughs. Pinkus, the Governor's messenger, plentifully stewed, reels in the door. He approaches the Mayor and Sheriff who have their backs to him. BURNS (at the Mayor) Bigger men than you have found out what the power of the press is... President!... Yes -- and Kings! PINKUS (woozy; handing Sheriff the reprieve over his shoulder) Here's your reprieve. The Mayor and Sheriff spin around. MAYOR (in a panic) Get out of here! PINKUS You can't bribe me! BURNS What's this? HARTMAN Get out of here, you! PINKUS I

moodily

How many times the word 'moodily' appears in the text?

will you? MED. SHOT as Burns leaves Hildy and goes over to desk and picks up his phone again. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER Finding the door locked, he knocks. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY as another knock comes, they take it big. HILDY (calling) Who is it? EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER What's the idea of locking this? INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY HILDY That's Bensinger. That's his desk. BURNS (whispering) What's his name? The door knob is rattled violently. HILDY Bensinger -- of the Tribune. EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER Open this door! INT. PRESS ROOM CLOSE SHOT BURNS He starts for the door. BURNS I'll handle him. CAMERA TRUCKS WITH HIM to the door. BURNS The Tribune, eh? Watch me! He opens the door. AT DOOR BENSINGER (as he comes in) Ain't you got any more sense than to -- ? (sees Burns and is overcome) Oh, h-hello, Mr. Burns. Why, quite an honor having you come over here. BURNS (casually) Hello, Bensinger. BENSINGER Excuse me, I just want to -- He starts for the desk. Hildy's typing goes on, coming in over the scene. BURNS (starting for the desk, suddenly blocking his path) Quite a coincidence, my running into you tonight. Isn't it, Hildy? HILDY'S VOICE Yeh. BENSINGER How do you mean? CLOSEUP BURNS AND BENSINGER BURNS I was having a little chat about you just this afternoon -- with our Mister Duffy. BENSINGER (essaying a pleasantry) Nothing -- ah -- detrimental, I hope. BURNS I should say not! That was one swell story you had in the paper this morning. BENSINGER (deeply moved) Oh, did you -- care for the poem, Mr. Burns? BURNS (startled) The poem?... The poem was great! BENSINGER (blinking at these words) Remember the ending? (and he recites) " -- and all is well, outside his cell, But in his heart he hears the hangman Calling and the gallows falling And his white-haired mother's tears..." BURNS (overcome) Heartbreaking! How would you like to work for me? BENSINGER What? MEDIUM SHOT taking in table, Hildy typing there. BURNS (to Bensinger) We need somebody like you. All we've got now are a lot of low-brows. Like Johnson here. He starts shoving Bensinger away from the desk, toward the table. BENSINGER Seriously, Mr. Burns? Clinging to him, Burns takes him to the phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! I'm sending Bensinger over to see you. (looking up at Bensinger) Mervyn, isn't it? BENSINGER No. Roy. Roy V. BURNS (with a little laugh at his own forgetfulness) Of course! (into phone) Roy Bensinger, the poet. Of course you wouldn't know! You probably never heard of Shakespeare, either! Put Mr. Bensinger right on the staff. (to Bensinger) How much are you getting on the Tribune, Roy? BENSINGER Seventy-five. BURNS I'll give you a hundred and a by- line. ANOTHER ANGLE as Burns continues. BURNS (into phone) Let him have everything he wants. (puts down the receiver; turns to Bensinger) Now hustle and write me a story from the point of view of the escaped man. (acting it out) He hides, cowering... Afraid of every light, of every sound... hears footsteps... his heart going like that... And all the time they're closing in... Get the sense of an animal at bay! BENSINGER Sort of a Jack London style? TRUCKING SHOT BURNS Exactly! Leads him hurriedly to the door. BENSINGER I got my rhyming dictionary in -- (indicating desk) BURNS (getting him to door) It doesn't have to rhyme! CLOSE SHOT - AT DOOR as Bensinger turns there. BENSINGER Gee, I'm terribly grateful, Mister Burns. Do you suppose there might be an opening some time as foreign correspondent? I parley a little French, you know. Burns shakes hands with him and opens the door with the other hand. BURNS I'll keep you in mind. BENSINGER (going) Au revoir, mon capitaine. BURNS (never at a loss in any language) Bon jour! Continuing his French, he gets the door closed and relocked and turns for the table, singing as he does so: BURNS Mademoiselle from Armontieres, parlay -- MED. SHOT Burns returns alertly to table, not noticing that Hildy has stopped typing, and sits staring moodily before her. BURNS (into phono) Duffy! Got this! CLOSEUP BURNS - AT PHONE BURNS A rat from the Tribune is coming over to get a job -- Bensinger, the guy I told you about. Handle him with kid gloves. Tell him to get busy writing poetry... No, we don't want him. Stall him along until the extra comes out. Then tell him his poetry stinks and kick him downstairs. He lays down receiver. WIDER ANGLE taking in Hildy. She looks up at him. HILDY (to Burns) Double-crossing swine! BURNS You said it! But this'll teach him a lesson. He won't quit his paper without giving notice after this. Hildy doesn't bother to reply. She rests her chin on her hands and stares moodily ahead. BURNS Tear into it, will you? Don't sit there like a frozen robin! HILDY I'm finished. BURNS Finished! He grabs the last sheet of paper out of her typewriter, kisses her and rushes over to the telephone. CLOSEUP BURNS at phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! All right -- here we go! And got it out as soon as you can. I want this paper out on the streets in half an hour! (reading Hildy's copy) "So once more the Morning Post --" EXT. CRIMINAL COURTS BLDG. - NIGHT MED. SHOT Diamond Louie, bearing evidence of a mishap, his hat crushed, his face bruised and his clothes torn, comes running down the sidewalk and up the steps into the buildings. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Hildy is up now, pacing. HILDY Bruce ought to be back by now. Walter, you're not trying anything again, are you? BURNS (coming over to her) Hildy, you think I could? After this story? (taking a flask from his pocket) Here! You're just nervous. Hildy takes the flask and takes a drink. There is a knock on the door. Burns takes the flask from her, restores it to his pocket and goes to the door. BURNS Who is it? LOUIE'S VOICE It's me, Boss -- Louie. BURNS (opening the door) It's Louie! Louie slips in and Burns relocks the door. BURNS (seeing Louie's disarray) What's the matter? Hildy crosses to Louie. HILDY (frantically) Where's Mrs. Baldwin? BURNS What did you do with her? HILDY (almost afraid to speak) What happened? CLOSE SHOT - THE THREE BURNS You been in a fight? LOUIE (still out of breath) Down Western Avenue. We were going sixty-five miles an hour. You know what I mean? BURNS Take that mush out of your mouth! HILDY Where's the old lady? LOUIE I'm telling you! CLOSEUP - LOUIE as he gets breath and blurts: LOUIE We run smack into a police patrol. You know what I mean? We broke it in half! BACK TO GROUP HILDY (moaning) Oh-h-h... was she hurt? BURNS Where is she? Tell me! HILDY Louie! LOUIE I'm telling you. Can you imagine bumping into a load of cops?! They come rollin' out like oranges! HILDY (seizing him) What did you do with her? LOUIE Search me! When I come to I was running down Thirty-fifth Street. HILDY -- You were with her. You were in the cab, weren't you? LOUIE (exposing his bruised scalp) Was I? The driver got knocked cold. BURNS Butter-fingers! I give you an old lady to take somewhere, and you hand her over to the cops! LOUIE What do you mean, I handed her? The patrol wagon was on the wrong side of the street. BURNS Now everything's fine. She's probably squawking her head off in some police station. CLOSEUP - LOUIE LOUIE I don't think she's talking much... You know what I mean? He winks reassuringly. BACK TO GROUP HILDY (paralyzed) Don't tell me -- was she killed? BURNS (hopefully) Was she? Did you notice? LOUIE Say, me with a gun on my hip and a kidnapped old lady on my hands, I should stick around asking questions from a lot of cops! You know what I mean? Hildy sinks into a chair. CLOSE SHOT HILDY IN THE CHAIR HILDY Dead... dead! That's the end! Burns comes into scene to her. BURNS It's Fate, Hildy. What will be, will be. HILDY (wildly) What am I going to say to Bruce? What'll I tell him? BURNS If he really loves you, you won't have to tell him anything. (whacking her on the shoulder) Snap out of it! Would you rather have had the old dame dragging the whole police force in here? HILDY I killed her. I'm responsible. Oh- h... what can I do now? How can I ever face him? Oh, I hope he never comes back! She buries her face in her hands. BURNS Look at me, Hildy -- HILDY (springing up) I'm looking at you -- you murderer! BURNS If it was my own mother, I'd carry on! You know I would. For the paper! HILDY (calling off to Louie) Louie, where'd it happen? I'm going out! MED. SHOT GROUP The Post phone rings. BURNS (grabbing Hildy) You stay here. I'll find out everything. LOUIE (to Hildy) Western an' Thirty-fourth. Hildy jumps for the outside phone on the desk. TWO SHOT INCLUDING BURNS AT PHONE AND HILDY AT PHONE BURNS (into phone) Hello -- hello... HILDY (into phone) Gimme Western four-five-five-seven. BURNS (guarded) Who? (wildly) Hello, Butch! Where are you? HILDY (into phone) Mission Hospital? Gimme the Receiving Room. BURNS (into phone) What are you doing there? Haven't you even started? HILDY (into phone) Hello -- Eddie? Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady brought in from an auto smashup? BURNS (into phone) Oh, for -- (yelling) H. Sebastian -- Butch! Listen, it's a matter of life and death! Listen! HILDY (into phone) Nobody? (jiggles hook) Morningside three-one-two-four. BURNS (into phone) I can't hear... You got who? Speak up! A what?... You can't stop for a dame now! HILDY (into phone) Is this the Community Hospital? BURNS (howling into phone) I don't care if you've been after her for six years! Butch, our whole lives are at stake! Are you going to let a woman come between us after all we've been through? HILDY (into phone) Hello, Max, Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady --? BURNS (into phone, drowning out Hildy) Butch! I'd put my arm in fire for you -- up to here! (indicates up to where) Now, you can't double-cross me!... She does? All right -- put her on. I'll talk to her... Hello! Oh, hello, Madam... Now listen, you ten-cent glamour girl, you can't keep Butch away from his duty... What's that? You say that again and I'll come over there and knock your eye out! Hello? (turning, as he hangs up) I'll kill 'em! I'll kill both of 'em! (into Post phone) Duffy! (to the universe) Mousing around with some big blonde Annie on my time! That's co-operation! (screaming into phone) Duffy!! HILDY Shut up, will you? (into phone) You sure? Nobody? BURNS (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) Well, where is Duffy? (throwing receiver to desk) Diabetes! I ought to know better than to hire anybody with a disease. (turning) Louie. MED. SHOT GROUP BURNS (to Louie) It's up to you. LOUIE (loyally) Anything you want, Boss. BURNS Beat it out and get hold of some guys. LOUIE Who do you want? BURNS (starting for the door, followed by Louie) Anybody with hair on his chest. Get 'em off the street -- anywhere. Offer them anything -- only get them. (confidentially) We've got to get this desk out of here. He unlocks the door. LOUIE You know me. The shirt off my back. BURNS You got plenty of money? LOUIE Sure, boss. BURNS I mean real money -- not counterfeit! LOUIE I always have both. He goes out. BURNS (calling after him) And don't bump into anything. He relocks the door. HILDY Lafayette two-one-hundred. BURNS (turning from door) That dumb immigrant'll flop on me. I know it. (bitterly) Can you imagine Butch doing this to me -- at a time like this? CLOSE SHOT HILDY AT PHONE, TAKING IN DESK Burns steps into scene. BURNS (confidentially) If Louie doesn't come back in five minutes we'll get it out alone. There's millions of ways. We can start a fire and get the firemen to carry it out in the confusion. He crosses to the desk and inspects it. HILDY (into phone) Ring that number, will you? BURNS (to Hildy, oblivious of her telephoning) Come here. See if we can move it. HILDY (into phone) Hello -- hello! Is this the Lying -- In Hospital? Did you have an auto accident in the last -- BURNS (interrupting) Will you come here? HILDY (into phone) Oh, I see. I beg your pardon. BURNS When I'm surrounded, with my back against the wall, you're not going to lay down on me, are you -- HILDY Yes. She jiggles the phone hook. BURNS (going to her) Hildy, you just can't leave me out on a limb now. It -- it wouldn't be cricket! HILDY I don't care what you say. I'm going to find Bruce's mother. (she jiggles the hook madly) Oh-h... (she hangs up) I'm going out and find her! Grabbing her hat and purse, she starts for the door. MED. SHOT OF HILDY, TAKING IN DOOR There is a loud knocking on the door. BURNS (coming into scene after Hildy) Don't open that! HILDY (at the door) Who says so? I'm going to the morgue -- to look -- She unlocks the door. CLOSE SHOT AT DOOR as Hildy flings the door open, only to find the Sheriff, accompanied by two deputies -- Carl and Frank -- and surrounded by McCue, Murphy, Schwartz, Wilson and Endicott. MURPHY There she is! MCCUE Say, Hildy... Hildy makes a decision and tries to push through them, but the Sheriff grabs her and pushes her back. HARTMAN Just a minute, Johnson! HILDY Let go o' me. What's the idea? MCCUE What's your hurry? MURPHY We want to see you. The deputies seize her. HILDY Take your paws off me! HARTMAN Hold her, boys! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (to Sheriff) Who do you think you are, breaking in here like this? HARTMAN You can't bluff me, Burns. I don't care who you are or what paper you're editor of. HILDY (struggling) Let me go! (hysterically) Fellows, something's happened to my mother-in-law. HARTMAN Hang onto her! Keep her in here! MED. SHOT as Hildy breaks loose and retreats back into the room before Hartman and the deputies. MCCUE We know what you're up to. ENDICOTT Probably goin' out to get Williams. SCHWARTZ The door was locked. WILSON She and Mollie were talking. HILDY I don't know anything, I tell you. There's been an accident. HARTMAN Johnson, there's something very peculiar going on. HILDY You can send somebody with me if you don't believe me! HARTMAN I wasn't born yesterday. Now the boys tell me you and this Mollie Malloy -- HILDY Nobody's trying to put anything over on you. I'm getting out of here and you can't stop me! MURPHY (comes into scene) You're not going anywhere. (to the Sheriff) She's got the story sewed up, Pete. (indicating Burns) That's why Burns is here. SCHWARTZ We're on to you, Hildy. Let us in on it. TWO SHOT - SHERIFF AND BURNS BURNS (purring) If you've any accusations to make, Hartman, make them in the proper manner. Otherwise, I'll have to ask you to get out. HARTMAN (pop-eyed; stammering) You'll ask me to what? BURNS Get out! HARTMAN (to deputies, off) Close that door. Don't let anybody in or out. MED. SHOT - THE GROUP MURPHY Come on, Pinky! Give 'em a little third degree. ENDICOTT Make them talk and you got Williams, Pinky! HARTMAN Johnson, I'm going to the bottom of this. What do you know about Williams? Are you going to talk or aren't you? HILDY What do I know about Williams? HARTMAN All right, boys. Take her along. I got ways of making her talk. The deputies seize Hildy. She struggles. HILDY Look out, you -- MCCUE (nervously) What's the use of fighting, Hildy? Hildy manages to get in a few resounding smacks on the deputies' faces. The reporters swarm around the struggling trio. There are shouts of: "I got her!" "No, you don't!" "Aw, Hildy...", etc. In the struggle, Hildy suddenly drops her purse. It lands with a clank and comes open. A gun is revealed on the floor. Hildy picks it up. DEPUTIES Hey, she's got a gun! Look out, she's got a gun! The deputies and reporters start to close in on her cautiously. HILDY (trying to face in all directions) No, you don't! Walter! BURNS What is it? Here! She tosses the gun to Walter, but one of the deputies intercepts the throw. HARTMAN Gimme that. He takes the gun from the deputy. CLOSER SHOT The Sheriff stands frozen, staring at the gun. HARTMAN (to Hildy) Where'd you get this? HILDY I've got a right to carry a gun if I want to. HARTMAN Not this gun! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (easily) I can explain that, Hartman. When Hildy told me she wanted to interview Earl Williams I thought it might be dangerous and I gave her a gun to defend herself. HARTMAN Oh, you did! Well, that's very, very interesting. This happens to be the gun that Earl Williams shot his way out with! REPORTERS AD LIB What? What's that? Etc... BURNS (advancing on Sheriff) Are you trying to make me out a liar? MURPHY (bitterly at Hildy) It's the last time I ever trust a woman, Hildy. SCHWARTZ Maybe Williams was gonna be her best man. WILSON That's pretty rotten, Hildy. Crossing your own pals. HARTMAN (shoving up to Hildy; trembling) Where is Earl Williams? Where you got him? BURNS (sympathetically) You're barking up the wrong tree, Hartman. HARTMAN I'll give you three minutes to tell me where he is. HILDY He went over to the hospital to call on Professor Egelhoffer. HARTMAN (outraged) What? HILDY With a bag of marshmallows. The Sheriff stands silent -- then hastily turns. MED. SHOT GROUP AROUND HILDY REPORTERS AD LIB Come on, Hildy. Where is he?... This is a sweet trick, Hildy... I thought we were friends... Etc. (to Sheriff) Look here, Pete! What about Mister Burns?... Ask the Master Mind! What's he doing over here? HARTMAN (grabbing Burns' arm) Speak up! What do you know about this. BURNS (gently but firmly disengaging his hand) My dear Hartman! He moves casually to a post before the desk and maintains it. MURPHY Can that! Where is he? BURNS (to Sheriff) The Morning Post is not obstructing justice or hiding criminals. You ought to know that. HARTMAN No? Well -- (turning to Hildy) Johnson, you're under arrest. (turning to Burns) You, too, Burns. BURNS (calmly) Who's under arrest? You pimple-headed, square-toed spy -- do you realize what you're doing? HARTMAN I'll show you what I'm doing. Burns, you're guilty of obstructing justice and so is the Morning Post. I'm going to see that the Post is fined ten thousand dollars for this. BURNS You'll see nothing of the kind, Sheriff. HARTMAN We'll just start by impounding the Post property. (pointing to Bensinger's desk, addressing Hildy) Is that your desk? HILDY (jumping) No! BURNS (almost simultaneously) Yes! What are you afraid of Hildy? I dare him to move that desk out of here. HARTMAN Oh, you do, eh? (to deputies) All right, boys. Confiscate that desk. Several of the deputies start toward the desk. BURNS (trying to intercept deputies) Hartman, if you take this desk out of this building, I'll put you behind bars. HARTMAN You will, eh? Well, we'll see about that. (to deputies) All right, boys. Take it. BURNS I'm warning you -- it'll be a Federal offense. (to deputy nearest him) And you'll be an accessory! HARTMAN We'll take a chance on that, Burns. (to deputies) Go ahead, boys. (the deputies continue toward the desk) INT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Flanked by two policemen, Mrs. Baldwin, dishevelled, with her hat over one ear, is marching toward the Press Room, bound for vengeance. Bruce, considerably upset, is with her. As they reach the door to the Press Room, Mrs. Baldwin stops. MRS. BALDWIN You wait outside, Bruce. BRUCE But, mother -- MRS. BALDWIN (firmly) No! You'll weaken when you see that little Jezebel! I'm going to tell her what I think of her! She plumps her hat down more firmly on her head and marches into the Press Room followed by the two policemen. Bruce remains outside the door. INT. PRESS ROOM Taking in door as it opens and Mrs. Baldwin, followed by the policemen, comes in. HILDY (leaping forward) Mother! MRS. BALDWIN (pointing out Burns to the officers) That man there! HILDY (hugging Mrs. Baldwin) Mother! Oh, I'm so glad to see you! Are you all right? Tell me. Mrs. Baldwin indignantly shakes her off. HARTMAN What's the idea here? POLICEMAN This lady claims she was kidnapped. HARTMAN What? MRS. BALDWIN They dragged me all the way down the stairs -- HARTMAN Just a minute. Did -- did -- (points to Burns) -- this man have anything to do with it? MRS. BALDWIN He was the one in charge of everything! He told them to kidnap me! BURNS (amazed) Are you referring to me, Madam? MRS. BALDWIN You know you did! HARTMAN What about this, Burns? Kidnapping, eh? BURNS (round-eyed) Oh, trying to frame me, eh! I never saw this woman before in my life! MRS. BALDWIN Oh, what a thing to say! I was standing right here - after the girl jumped out of the window. HARTMAN Did you get the Mayor? DEPUTY He's coming over. BURNS (to Mrs. Baldwin) Now, Madam -- be honest. If you were out joy-riding, drunk, and got into some scrape, why don't you admit it, instead of accusing innocent people? MRS. BALDWIN (beginning to doubt her senses) You ruffian! How dare you say a thing like that? HILDA Please, Mother, he's just crazy! MRS. BALDWIN (to Sheriff) I'll tell you something more. I'll tell you why they did it! BURNS (fidgeting) Come on, Sheriff. We've got to get bail. MRS. BALDWIN (continuing crescendo) I was in here -- and they had some kind of murderer in with them. They were hiding him! This is a bombshell. The room is electrified. HARTMAN Hiding him? In here? Murphy, followed by the reporters, comes into scene. MURPHY Hiding him where? HILDY Mother! REPORTERS Where was he?... Where'd they have him?... Etc. CLOSE SHOT BURNS at the desk. BURNS (with superb indignation) Madam, you're a cockeyed liar! And you know it! To emphasize his righteousness, he pounds on the desk three times, forgetting that that is his signal to Williams. Then, realizing what he has done, he gasps. MED. SHOT Burns advances from desk, the others retreating before him. BURNS (anxiously) Come on, Sheriff, we've got to get bail. Three answering knocks come from the desk. GROUP SHOT WITH DOORWAY IN B.G They jump around to face the desk. HARTMAN (whispering) What was that? REPORTERS AD LIB He's in the desk! -- For the love of -- He's in there! Etc. HARTMAN Aha! I thought so! Stand back, everybody! DEPUTY Look out, Sheriff. He may shoot! HARTMAN Get your guns out! The policemen and deputies get out their guns. HILDY He's harmless. HARTMAN Don't take any chances. Shoot through the desk. HILDY He can't hurt anybody. You've got his gun. MRS. BALDWIN (panic-stricken) Oh, dear! Oh, dear! BURNS You grey-haired old Judas! MRS. BALDWIN Let me out! Let me out of here! She streaks for the door, flings it open and goes. The reporters tear out of scene to their telephones. HARTMAN (to policeman) You stand there! MURPHY'S VOICE City Desk! Quick! SCHWARTZ' VOICE Gimme the Desk! HARTMAN (to another policeman) You there! ENDICOTT'S VOICE City Desk! Hurry! MCCUE'S VOICE Gimme Emil... HARTMAN (to a Deputy, pointing with his gun toward the window) You cover the window. MURPHY'S VOICE Look out where you're pointing that gun! The Sheriff draws his men in around the desk, their guns drawn on it. WILSON'S VOICE Lemme have the Desk! Quick! MURPHY'S VOICE Hold the wire! I've got a flash for you! BURNS (to Hildy) Call Duffy! HARTMAN No, you don't! BURNS (to Sheriff, furiously) Do you want to get us scooped? MCCUE'S VOICE Emil? Hang on for a second. HARTMAN Now then, everybody aim at the center. And when I say three -- HILDY That's murder! HARTMAN (changing his mind) All right! Carl! Frank! One of you get on each side of the desk. Take hold of the cover. They do. HARTMAN Now then! We got you covered, Williams. Don't try to move. Now! Everybody quiet and ready for an emergency. I'm going to count three. SCHWARTZ Hold it! Something coming up. HARTMAN One! ENDICOTT Hold the phone! MURPHY (into the phone) I'll have it in a minute. HARTMAN Two! WILSON (into phone) Right away now! HARTMAN (turning back to desk) Everybody ready? All right. Now then, up with it. Two deputies raise the cover. Williams is revealed, cowering in the desk, his hands over his face. The Sheriff rushes on him, jabbing his gun into him. CLOSE SHOT SHERIFF AND WILLIAMS HARTMAN Got you, Williams! WILLIAMS (a wail) Go on -- shoot me! MEDIUM SHOT as the police and deputies come in to assist the Sheriff. The reporters are telephoning in, the police shouting -- all the voices mixing in, in incredible confusion, as the Sheriff rushes Williams to the door and takes him out. MURPHY'S VOICE Earl Williams was just captured in the Press Room of the Criminal Courts Building, hiding in a desk. OFFICERS AD LIB (all talking at once) Grab him! That's him! Don't let him shoot! Stick 'em up! -- Etc. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) ...Williams in a rolltop -- CLOSEUP WILSON AT PHONE WILSON (into phone) -- nabbed Williams hiding -- ENDICOTT'S VOICE -- found Williams' hiding place. SCHWARTZ' VOICE He offered no resistance. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) Williams put up a desperate struggle but the police overpowered -- CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) -- tried to shoot it out with the cops but his gun wouldn't work, so -- WILSON'S VOICE -- trying to break through the cordon of police -- CLOSEUP ENDICOTT AT PHONE ENDICOTT (into phone) Williams was unconscious when they opened the desk -- CLOSEUP BURNS grabbing the Post phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Morning Post just turned Earl Williams over to the Sheriff. CLOSE SHOT THE SHERIFF coming in the door with two policemen and leaping to get the phone away from Burns. MED. SHOT BURNS AT PHONE, HILDY BESIDE HIM BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Sheriff and police come into scene. HARTMAN (indicating Burns and Hildy) Put the cuffs on those two! The police handcuff Hildy and Burns. ENDICOTT An anonymous note received by the Sheriff led to Williams' capture. More later. He hangs up. CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) An old sweetheart of Williams' doublecrossed him. Call you back. He hangs up. MED. SHOT TAKING IN DOOR REPORTERS Where's that old lady? Hey, Madam! Where'd she go? Where's the old dame? Etc., etc. They run out after Mrs. Baldwin, the Mayor entering just after they go. Burns and Hildy, handcuffed together, stand near the Sheriff. HARTMAN (into phone) Hello, girlie -- gimme Cooley. Quick! BURNS Hartwell, you're going to wish you'd never been born! The Mayor comes into scene. MAYOR Fine work, Pete! You certainly delivered the goods. I'm proud of you. HARTMAN (holding the phone) Look kind o' natural, don't they, Fred? MAYOR (happily) A sight for sore eyes! HARTMAN (rolling in catnip) Aiding an escaped criminal! And a little charge of kidnapping I'm looking into. (into phone; suddenly) But that's the jail! There must be somebody there! MAYOR Well! Looks like about ten years apiece for you birds! BURNS Does it? You forget the power that always watches over the Morning Post. MAYOR Your luck's not with you now! HARTMAN (into phone) Cooley?... I caught Williams single- handed -- we're going to proceed with the hanging per schedule! He wiggles the hook for another call. BURNS (to Mayor) You're going to be in office for exactly two days more and then we're pulling your nose out of the feed bag. HARTMAN (into phone) Give me the District Attorney's office. (to Burns) I'll tell you what you'll be doing -- making brooms in the State penitentiary. (into phone) Hello, D'Arrasty! This is Hartwell. Come over to my office, will you? I've just arrested a couple of important birds and I want to take their confessions. He hangs up. Burns makes a sudden lunge for the Morning Post phone and cries into it. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! Get Liebowitz! MAYOR All the lawyers in the world aren't going to help you! BURNS This is the Morning Post you're talking to! MAYOR (enjoying himself) The power of the press, huh! He laughs. Pinkus, the Governor's messenger, plentifully stewed, reels in the door. He approaches the Mayor and Sheriff who have their backs to him. BURNS (at the Mayor) Bigger men than you have found out what the power of the press is... President!... Yes -- and Kings! PINKUS (woozy; handing Sheriff the reprieve over his shoulder) Here's your reprieve. The Mayor and Sheriff spin around. MAYOR (in a panic) Get out of here! PINKUS You can't bribe me! BURNS What's this? HARTMAN Get out of here, you! PINKUS I

goes

How many times the word 'goes' appears in the text?

will you? MED. SHOT as Burns leaves Hildy and goes over to desk and picks up his phone again. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER Finding the door locked, he knocks. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY as another knock comes, they take it big. HILDY (calling) Who is it? EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER What's the idea of locking this? INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY HILDY That's Bensinger. That's his desk. BURNS (whispering) What's his name? The door knob is rattled violently. HILDY Bensinger -- of the Tribune. EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER Open this door! INT. PRESS ROOM CLOSE SHOT BURNS He starts for the door. BURNS I'll handle him. CAMERA TRUCKS WITH HIM to the door. BURNS The Tribune, eh? Watch me! He opens the door. AT DOOR BENSINGER (as he comes in) Ain't you got any more sense than to -- ? (sees Burns and is overcome) Oh, h-hello, Mr. Burns. Why, quite an honor having you come over here. BURNS (casually) Hello, Bensinger. BENSINGER Excuse me, I just want to -- He starts for the desk. Hildy's typing goes on, coming in over the scene. BURNS (starting for the desk, suddenly blocking his path) Quite a coincidence, my running into you tonight. Isn't it, Hildy? HILDY'S VOICE Yeh. BENSINGER How do you mean? CLOSEUP BURNS AND BENSINGER BURNS I was having a little chat about you just this afternoon -- with our Mister Duffy. BENSINGER (essaying a pleasantry) Nothing -- ah -- detrimental, I hope. BURNS I should say not! That was one swell story you had in the paper this morning. BENSINGER (deeply moved) Oh, did you -- care for the poem, Mr. Burns? BURNS (startled) The poem?... The poem was great! BENSINGER (blinking at these words) Remember the ending? (and he recites) " -- and all is well, outside his cell, But in his heart he hears the hangman Calling and the gallows falling And his white-haired mother's tears..." BURNS (overcome) Heartbreaking! How would you like to work for me? BENSINGER What? MEDIUM SHOT taking in table, Hildy typing there. BURNS (to Bensinger) We need somebody like you. All we've got now are a lot of low-brows. Like Johnson here. He starts shoving Bensinger away from the desk, toward the table. BENSINGER Seriously, Mr. Burns? Clinging to him, Burns takes him to the phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! I'm sending Bensinger over to see you. (looking up at Bensinger) Mervyn, isn't it? BENSINGER No. Roy. Roy V. BURNS (with a little laugh at his own forgetfulness) Of course! (into phone) Roy Bensinger, the poet. Of course you wouldn't know! You probably never heard of Shakespeare, either! Put Mr. Bensinger right on the staff. (to Bensinger) How much are you getting on the Tribune, Roy? BENSINGER Seventy-five. BURNS I'll give you a hundred and a by- line. ANOTHER ANGLE as Burns continues. BURNS (into phone) Let him have everything he wants. (puts down the receiver; turns to Bensinger) Now hustle and write me a story from the point of view of the escaped man. (acting it out) He hides, cowering... Afraid of every light, of every sound... hears footsteps... his heart going like that... And all the time they're closing in... Get the sense of an animal at bay! BENSINGER Sort of a Jack London style? TRUCKING SHOT BURNS Exactly! Leads him hurriedly to the door. BENSINGER I got my rhyming dictionary in -- (indicating desk) BURNS (getting him to door) It doesn't have to rhyme! CLOSE SHOT - AT DOOR as Bensinger turns there. BENSINGER Gee, I'm terribly grateful, Mister Burns. Do you suppose there might be an opening some time as foreign correspondent? I parley a little French, you know. Burns shakes hands with him and opens the door with the other hand. BURNS I'll keep you in mind. BENSINGER (going) Au revoir, mon capitaine. BURNS (never at a loss in any language) Bon jour! Continuing his French, he gets the door closed and relocked and turns for the table, singing as he does so: BURNS Mademoiselle from Armontieres, parlay -- MED. SHOT Burns returns alertly to table, not noticing that Hildy has stopped typing, and sits staring moodily before her. BURNS (into phono) Duffy! Got this! CLOSEUP BURNS - AT PHONE BURNS A rat from the Tribune is coming over to get a job -- Bensinger, the guy I told you about. Handle him with kid gloves. Tell him to get busy writing poetry... No, we don't want him. Stall him along until the extra comes out. Then tell him his poetry stinks and kick him downstairs. He lays down receiver. WIDER ANGLE taking in Hildy. She looks up at him. HILDY (to Burns) Double-crossing swine! BURNS You said it! But this'll teach him a lesson. He won't quit his paper without giving notice after this. Hildy doesn't bother to reply. She rests her chin on her hands and stares moodily ahead. BURNS Tear into it, will you? Don't sit there like a frozen robin! HILDY I'm finished. BURNS Finished! He grabs the last sheet of paper out of her typewriter, kisses her and rushes over to the telephone. CLOSEUP BURNS at phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! All right -- here we go! And got it out as soon as you can. I want this paper out on the streets in half an hour! (reading Hildy's copy) "So once more the Morning Post --" EXT. CRIMINAL COURTS BLDG. - NIGHT MED. SHOT Diamond Louie, bearing evidence of a mishap, his hat crushed, his face bruised and his clothes torn, comes running down the sidewalk and up the steps into the buildings. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Hildy is up now, pacing. HILDY Bruce ought to be back by now. Walter, you're not trying anything again, are you? BURNS (coming over to her) Hildy, you think I could? After this story? (taking a flask from his pocket) Here! You're just nervous. Hildy takes the flask and takes a drink. There is a knock on the door. Burns takes the flask from her, restores it to his pocket and goes to the door. BURNS Who is it? LOUIE'S VOICE It's me, Boss -- Louie. BURNS (opening the door) It's Louie! Louie slips in and Burns relocks the door. BURNS (seeing Louie's disarray) What's the matter? Hildy crosses to Louie. HILDY (frantically) Where's Mrs. Baldwin? BURNS What did you do with her? HILDY (almost afraid to speak) What happened? CLOSE SHOT - THE THREE BURNS You been in a fight? LOUIE (still out of breath) Down Western Avenue. We were going sixty-five miles an hour. You know what I mean? BURNS Take that mush out of your mouth! HILDY Where's the old lady? LOUIE I'm telling you! CLOSEUP - LOUIE as he gets breath and blurts: LOUIE We run smack into a police patrol. You know what I mean? We broke it in half! BACK TO GROUP HILDY (moaning) Oh-h-h... was she hurt? BURNS Where is she? Tell me! HILDY Louie! LOUIE I'm telling you. Can you imagine bumping into a load of cops?! They come rollin' out like oranges! HILDY (seizing him) What did you do with her? LOUIE Search me! When I come to I was running down Thirty-fifth Street. HILDY -- You were with her. You were in the cab, weren't you? LOUIE (exposing his bruised scalp) Was I? The driver got knocked cold. BURNS Butter-fingers! I give you an old lady to take somewhere, and you hand her over to the cops! LOUIE What do you mean, I handed her? The patrol wagon was on the wrong side of the street. BURNS Now everything's fine. She's probably squawking her head off in some police station. CLOSEUP - LOUIE LOUIE I don't think she's talking much... You know what I mean? He winks reassuringly. BACK TO GROUP HILDY (paralyzed) Don't tell me -- was she killed? BURNS (hopefully) Was she? Did you notice? LOUIE Say, me with a gun on my hip and a kidnapped old lady on my hands, I should stick around asking questions from a lot of cops! You know what I mean? Hildy sinks into a chair. CLOSE SHOT HILDY IN THE CHAIR HILDY Dead... dead! That's the end! Burns comes into scene to her. BURNS It's Fate, Hildy. What will be, will be. HILDY (wildly) What am I going to say to Bruce? What'll I tell him? BURNS If he really loves you, you won't have to tell him anything. (whacking her on the shoulder) Snap out of it! Would you rather have had the old dame dragging the whole police force in here? HILDY I killed her. I'm responsible. Oh- h... what can I do now? How can I ever face him? Oh, I hope he never comes back! She buries her face in her hands. BURNS Look at me, Hildy -- HILDY (springing up) I'm looking at you -- you murderer! BURNS If it was my own mother, I'd carry on! You know I would. For the paper! HILDY (calling off to Louie) Louie, where'd it happen? I'm going out! MED. SHOT GROUP The Post phone rings. BURNS (grabbing Hildy) You stay here. I'll find out everything. LOUIE (to Hildy) Western an' Thirty-fourth. Hildy jumps for the outside phone on the desk. TWO SHOT INCLUDING BURNS AT PHONE AND HILDY AT PHONE BURNS (into phone) Hello -- hello... HILDY (into phone) Gimme Western four-five-five-seven. BURNS (guarded) Who? (wildly) Hello, Butch! Where are you? HILDY (into phone) Mission Hospital? Gimme the Receiving Room. BURNS (into phone) What are you doing there? Haven't you even started? HILDY (into phone) Hello -- Eddie? Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady brought in from an auto smashup? BURNS (into phone) Oh, for -- (yelling) H. Sebastian -- Butch! Listen, it's a matter of life and death! Listen! HILDY (into phone) Nobody? (jiggles hook) Morningside three-one-two-four. BURNS (into phone) I can't hear... You got who? Speak up! A what?... You can't stop for a dame now! HILDY (into phone) Is this the Community Hospital? BURNS (howling into phone) I don't care if you've been after her for six years! Butch, our whole lives are at stake! Are you going to let a woman come between us after all we've been through? HILDY (into phone) Hello, Max, Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady --? BURNS (into phone, drowning out Hildy) Butch! I'd put my arm in fire for you -- up to here! (indicates up to where) Now, you can't double-cross me!... She does? All right -- put her on. I'll talk to her... Hello! Oh, hello, Madam... Now listen, you ten-cent glamour girl, you can't keep Butch away from his duty... What's that? You say that again and I'll come over there and knock your eye out! Hello? (turning, as he hangs up) I'll kill 'em! I'll kill both of 'em! (into Post phone) Duffy! (to the universe) Mousing around with some big blonde Annie on my time! That's co-operation! (screaming into phone) Duffy!! HILDY Shut up, will you? (into phone) You sure? Nobody? BURNS (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) Well, where is Duffy? (throwing receiver to desk) Diabetes! I ought to know better than to hire anybody with a disease. (turning) Louie. MED. SHOT GROUP BURNS (to Louie) It's up to you. LOUIE (loyally) Anything you want, Boss. BURNS Beat it out and get hold of some guys. LOUIE Who do you want? BURNS (starting for the door, followed by Louie) Anybody with hair on his chest. Get 'em off the street -- anywhere. Offer them anything -- only get them. (confidentially) We've got to get this desk out of here. He unlocks the door. LOUIE You know me. The shirt off my back. BURNS You got plenty of money? LOUIE Sure, boss. BURNS I mean real money -- not counterfeit! LOUIE I always have both. He goes out. BURNS (calling after him) And don't bump into anything. He relocks the door. HILDY Lafayette two-one-hundred. BURNS (turning from door) That dumb immigrant'll flop on me. I know it. (bitterly) Can you imagine Butch doing this to me -- at a time like this? CLOSE SHOT HILDY AT PHONE, TAKING IN DESK Burns steps into scene. BURNS (confidentially) If Louie doesn't come back in five minutes we'll get it out alone. There's millions of ways. We can start a fire and get the firemen to carry it out in the confusion. He crosses to the desk and inspects it. HILDY (into phone) Ring that number, will you? BURNS (to Hildy, oblivious of her telephoning) Come here. See if we can move it. HILDY (into phone) Hello -- hello! Is this the Lying -- In Hospital? Did you have an auto accident in the last -- BURNS (interrupting) Will you come here? HILDY (into phone) Oh, I see. I beg your pardon. BURNS When I'm surrounded, with my back against the wall, you're not going to lay down on me, are you -- HILDY Yes. She jiggles the phone hook. BURNS (going to her) Hildy, you just can't leave me out on a limb now. It -- it wouldn't be cricket! HILDY I don't care what you say. I'm going to find Bruce's mother. (she jiggles the hook madly) Oh-h... (she hangs up) I'm going out and find her! Grabbing her hat and purse, she starts for the door. MED. SHOT OF HILDY, TAKING IN DOOR There is a loud knocking on the door. BURNS (coming into scene after Hildy) Don't open that! HILDY (at the door) Who says so? I'm going to the morgue -- to look -- She unlocks the door. CLOSE SHOT AT DOOR as Hildy flings the door open, only to find the Sheriff, accompanied by two deputies -- Carl and Frank -- and surrounded by McCue, Murphy, Schwartz, Wilson and Endicott. MURPHY There she is! MCCUE Say, Hildy... Hildy makes a decision and tries to push through them, but the Sheriff grabs her and pushes her back. HARTMAN Just a minute, Johnson! HILDY Let go o' me. What's the idea? MCCUE What's your hurry? MURPHY We want to see you. The deputies seize her. HILDY Take your paws off me! HARTMAN Hold her, boys! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (to Sheriff) Who do you think you are, breaking in here like this? HARTMAN You can't bluff me, Burns. I don't care who you are or what paper you're editor of. HILDY (struggling) Let me go! (hysterically) Fellows, something's happened to my mother-in-law. HARTMAN Hang onto her! Keep her in here! MED. SHOT as Hildy breaks loose and retreats back into the room before Hartman and the deputies. MCCUE We know what you're up to. ENDICOTT Probably goin' out to get Williams. SCHWARTZ The door was locked. WILSON She and Mollie were talking. HILDY I don't know anything, I tell you. There's been an accident. HARTMAN Johnson, there's something very peculiar going on. HILDY You can send somebody with me if you don't believe me! HARTMAN I wasn't born yesterday. Now the boys tell me you and this Mollie Malloy -- HILDY Nobody's trying to put anything over on you. I'm getting out of here and you can't stop me! MURPHY (comes into scene) You're not going anywhere. (to the Sheriff) She's got the story sewed up, Pete. (indicating Burns) That's why Burns is here. SCHWARTZ We're on to you, Hildy. Let us in on it. TWO SHOT - SHERIFF AND BURNS BURNS (purring) If you've any accusations to make, Hartman, make them in the proper manner. Otherwise, I'll have to ask you to get out. HARTMAN (pop-eyed; stammering) You'll ask me to what? BURNS Get out! HARTMAN (to deputies, off) Close that door. Don't let anybody in or out. MED. SHOT - THE GROUP MURPHY Come on, Pinky! Give 'em a little third degree. ENDICOTT Make them talk and you got Williams, Pinky! HARTMAN Johnson, I'm going to the bottom of this. What do you know about Williams? Are you going to talk or aren't you? HILDY What do I know about Williams? HARTMAN All right, boys. Take her along. I got ways of making her talk. The deputies seize Hildy. She struggles. HILDY Look out, you -- MCCUE (nervously) What's the use of fighting, Hildy? Hildy manages to get in a few resounding smacks on the deputies' faces. The reporters swarm around the struggling trio. There are shouts of: "I got her!" "No, you don't!" "Aw, Hildy...", etc. In the struggle, Hildy suddenly drops her purse. It lands with a clank and comes open. A gun is revealed on the floor. Hildy picks it up. DEPUTIES Hey, she's got a gun! Look out, she's got a gun! The deputies and reporters start to close in on her cautiously. HILDY (trying to face in all directions) No, you don't! Walter! BURNS What is it? Here! She tosses the gun to Walter, but one of the deputies intercepts the throw. HARTMAN Gimme that. He takes the gun from the deputy. CLOSER SHOT The Sheriff stands frozen, staring at the gun. HARTMAN (to Hildy) Where'd you get this? HILDY I've got a right to carry a gun if I want to. HARTMAN Not this gun! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (easily) I can explain that, Hartman. When Hildy told me she wanted to interview Earl Williams I thought it might be dangerous and I gave her a gun to defend herself. HARTMAN Oh, you did! Well, that's very, very interesting. This happens to be the gun that Earl Williams shot his way out with! REPORTERS AD LIB What? What's that? Etc... BURNS (advancing on Sheriff) Are you trying to make me out a liar? MURPHY (bitterly at Hildy) It's the last time I ever trust a woman, Hildy. SCHWARTZ Maybe Williams was gonna be her best man. WILSON That's pretty rotten, Hildy. Crossing your own pals. HARTMAN (shoving up to Hildy; trembling) Where is Earl Williams? Where you got him? BURNS (sympathetically) You're barking up the wrong tree, Hartman. HARTMAN I'll give you three minutes to tell me where he is. HILDY He went over to the hospital to call on Professor Egelhoffer. HARTMAN (outraged) What? HILDY With a bag of marshmallows. The Sheriff stands silent -- then hastily turns. MED. SHOT GROUP AROUND HILDY REPORTERS AD LIB Come on, Hildy. Where is he?... This is a sweet trick, Hildy... I thought we were friends... Etc. (to Sheriff) Look here, Pete! What about Mister Burns?... Ask the Master Mind! What's he doing over here? HARTMAN (grabbing Burns' arm) Speak up! What do you know about this. BURNS (gently but firmly disengaging his hand) My dear Hartman! He moves casually to a post before the desk and maintains it. MURPHY Can that! Where is he? BURNS (to Sheriff) The Morning Post is not obstructing justice or hiding criminals. You ought to know that. HARTMAN No? Well -- (turning to Hildy) Johnson, you're under arrest. (turning to Burns) You, too, Burns. BURNS (calmly) Who's under arrest? You pimple-headed, square-toed spy -- do you realize what you're doing? HARTMAN I'll show you what I'm doing. Burns, you're guilty of obstructing justice and so is the Morning Post. I'm going to see that the Post is fined ten thousand dollars for this. BURNS You'll see nothing of the kind, Sheriff. HARTMAN We'll just start by impounding the Post property. (pointing to Bensinger's desk, addressing Hildy) Is that your desk? HILDY (jumping) No! BURNS (almost simultaneously) Yes! What are you afraid of Hildy? I dare him to move that desk out of here. HARTMAN Oh, you do, eh? (to deputies) All right, boys. Confiscate that desk. Several of the deputies start toward the desk. BURNS (trying to intercept deputies) Hartman, if you take this desk out of this building, I'll put you behind bars. HARTMAN You will, eh? Well, we'll see about that. (to deputies) All right, boys. Take it. BURNS I'm warning you -- it'll be a Federal offense. (to deputy nearest him) And you'll be an accessory! HARTMAN We'll take a chance on that, Burns. (to deputies) Go ahead, boys. (the deputies continue toward the desk) INT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Flanked by two policemen, Mrs. Baldwin, dishevelled, with her hat over one ear, is marching toward the Press Room, bound for vengeance. Bruce, considerably upset, is with her. As they reach the door to the Press Room, Mrs. Baldwin stops. MRS. BALDWIN You wait outside, Bruce. BRUCE But, mother -- MRS. BALDWIN (firmly) No! You'll weaken when you see that little Jezebel! I'm going to tell her what I think of her! She plumps her hat down more firmly on her head and marches into the Press Room followed by the two policemen. Bruce remains outside the door. INT. PRESS ROOM Taking in door as it opens and Mrs. Baldwin, followed by the policemen, comes in. HILDY (leaping forward) Mother! MRS. BALDWIN (pointing out Burns to the officers) That man there! HILDY (hugging Mrs. Baldwin) Mother! Oh, I'm so glad to see you! Are you all right? Tell me. Mrs. Baldwin indignantly shakes her off. HARTMAN What's the idea here? POLICEMAN This lady claims she was kidnapped. HARTMAN What? MRS. BALDWIN They dragged me all the way down the stairs -- HARTMAN Just a minute. Did -- did -- (points to Burns) -- this man have anything to do with it? MRS. BALDWIN He was the one in charge of everything! He told them to kidnap me! BURNS (amazed) Are you referring to me, Madam? MRS. BALDWIN You know you did! HARTMAN What about this, Burns? Kidnapping, eh? BURNS (round-eyed) Oh, trying to frame me, eh! I never saw this woman before in my life! MRS. BALDWIN Oh, what a thing to say! I was standing right here - after the girl jumped out of the window. HARTMAN Did you get the Mayor? DEPUTY He's coming over. BURNS (to Mrs. Baldwin) Now, Madam -- be honest. If you were out joy-riding, drunk, and got into some scrape, why don't you admit it, instead of accusing innocent people? MRS. BALDWIN (beginning to doubt her senses) You ruffian! How dare you say a thing like that? HILDA Please, Mother, he's just crazy! MRS. BALDWIN (to Sheriff) I'll tell you something more. I'll tell you why they did it! BURNS (fidgeting) Come on, Sheriff. We've got to get bail. MRS. BALDWIN (continuing crescendo) I was in here -- and they had some kind of murderer in with them. They were hiding him! This is a bombshell. The room is electrified. HARTMAN Hiding him? In here? Murphy, followed by the reporters, comes into scene. MURPHY Hiding him where? HILDY Mother! REPORTERS Where was he?... Where'd they have him?... Etc. CLOSE SHOT BURNS at the desk. BURNS (with superb indignation) Madam, you're a cockeyed liar! And you know it! To emphasize his righteousness, he pounds on the desk three times, forgetting that that is his signal to Williams. Then, realizing what he has done, he gasps. MED. SHOT Burns advances from desk, the others retreating before him. BURNS (anxiously) Come on, Sheriff, we've got to get bail. Three answering knocks come from the desk. GROUP SHOT WITH DOORWAY IN B.G They jump around to face the desk. HARTMAN (whispering) What was that? REPORTERS AD LIB He's in the desk! -- For the love of -- He's in there! Etc. HARTMAN Aha! I thought so! Stand back, everybody! DEPUTY Look out, Sheriff. He may shoot! HARTMAN Get your guns out! The policemen and deputies get out their guns. HILDY He's harmless. HARTMAN Don't take any chances. Shoot through the desk. HILDY He can't hurt anybody. You've got his gun. MRS. BALDWIN (panic-stricken) Oh, dear! Oh, dear! BURNS You grey-haired old Judas! MRS. BALDWIN Let me out! Let me out of here! She streaks for the door, flings it open and goes. The reporters tear out of scene to their telephones. HARTMAN (to policeman) You stand there! MURPHY'S VOICE City Desk! Quick! SCHWARTZ' VOICE Gimme the Desk! HARTMAN (to another policeman) You there! ENDICOTT'S VOICE City Desk! Hurry! MCCUE'S VOICE Gimme Emil... HARTMAN (to a Deputy, pointing with his gun toward the window) You cover the window. MURPHY'S VOICE Look out where you're pointing that gun! The Sheriff draws his men in around the desk, their guns drawn on it. WILSON'S VOICE Lemme have the Desk! Quick! MURPHY'S VOICE Hold the wire! I've got a flash for you! BURNS (to Hildy) Call Duffy! HARTMAN No, you don't! BURNS (to Sheriff, furiously) Do you want to get us scooped? MCCUE'S VOICE Emil? Hang on for a second. HARTMAN Now then, everybody aim at the center. And when I say three -- HILDY That's murder! HARTMAN (changing his mind) All right! Carl! Frank! One of you get on each side of the desk. Take hold of the cover. They do. HARTMAN Now then! We got you covered, Williams. Don't try to move. Now! Everybody quiet and ready for an emergency. I'm going to count three. SCHWARTZ Hold it! Something coming up. HARTMAN One! ENDICOTT Hold the phone! MURPHY (into the phone) I'll have it in a minute. HARTMAN Two! WILSON (into phone) Right away now! HARTMAN (turning back to desk) Everybody ready? All right. Now then, up with it. Two deputies raise the cover. Williams is revealed, cowering in the desk, his hands over his face. The Sheriff rushes on him, jabbing his gun into him. CLOSE SHOT SHERIFF AND WILLIAMS HARTMAN Got you, Williams! WILLIAMS (a wail) Go on -- shoot me! MEDIUM SHOT as the police and deputies come in to assist the Sheriff. The reporters are telephoning in, the police shouting -- all the voices mixing in, in incredible confusion, as the Sheriff rushes Williams to the door and takes him out. MURPHY'S VOICE Earl Williams was just captured in the Press Room of the Criminal Courts Building, hiding in a desk. OFFICERS AD LIB (all talking at once) Grab him! That's him! Don't let him shoot! Stick 'em up! -- Etc. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) ...Williams in a rolltop -- CLOSEUP WILSON AT PHONE WILSON (into phone) -- nabbed Williams hiding -- ENDICOTT'S VOICE -- found Williams' hiding place. SCHWARTZ' VOICE He offered no resistance. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) Williams put up a desperate struggle but the police overpowered -- CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) -- tried to shoot it out with the cops but his gun wouldn't work, so -- WILSON'S VOICE -- trying to break through the cordon of police -- CLOSEUP ENDICOTT AT PHONE ENDICOTT (into phone) Williams was unconscious when they opened the desk -- CLOSEUP BURNS grabbing the Post phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Morning Post just turned Earl Williams over to the Sheriff. CLOSE SHOT THE SHERIFF coming in the door with two policemen and leaping to get the phone away from Burns. MED. SHOT BURNS AT PHONE, HILDY BESIDE HIM BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Sheriff and police come into scene. HARTMAN (indicating Burns and Hildy) Put the cuffs on those two! The police handcuff Hildy and Burns. ENDICOTT An anonymous note received by the Sheriff led to Williams' capture. More later. He hangs up. CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) An old sweetheart of Williams' doublecrossed him. Call you back. He hangs up. MED. SHOT TAKING IN DOOR REPORTERS Where's that old lady? Hey, Madam! Where'd she go? Where's the old dame? Etc., etc. They run out after Mrs. Baldwin, the Mayor entering just after they go. Burns and Hildy, handcuffed together, stand near the Sheriff. HARTMAN (into phone) Hello, girlie -- gimme Cooley. Quick! BURNS Hartwell, you're going to wish you'd never been born! The Mayor comes into scene. MAYOR Fine work, Pete! You certainly delivered the goods. I'm proud of you. HARTMAN (holding the phone) Look kind o' natural, don't they, Fred? MAYOR (happily) A sight for sore eyes! HARTMAN (rolling in catnip) Aiding an escaped criminal! And a little charge of kidnapping I'm looking into. (into phone; suddenly) But that's the jail! There must be somebody there! MAYOR Well! Looks like about ten years apiece for you birds! BURNS Does it? You forget the power that always watches over the Morning Post. MAYOR Your luck's not with you now! HARTMAN (into phone) Cooley?... I caught Williams single- handed -- we're going to proceed with the hanging per schedule! He wiggles the hook for another call. BURNS (to Mayor) You're going to be in office for exactly two days more and then we're pulling your nose out of the feed bag. HARTMAN (into phone) Give me the District Attorney's office. (to Burns) I'll tell you what you'll be doing -- making brooms in the State penitentiary. (into phone) Hello, D'Arrasty! This is Hartwell. Come over to my office, will you? I've just arrested a couple of important birds and I want to take their confessions. He hangs up. Burns makes a sudden lunge for the Morning Post phone and cries into it. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! Get Liebowitz! MAYOR All the lawyers in the world aren't going to help you! BURNS This is the Morning Post you're talking to! MAYOR (enjoying himself) The power of the press, huh! He laughs. Pinkus, the Governor's messenger, plentifully stewed, reels in the door. He approaches the Mayor and Sheriff who have their backs to him. BURNS (at the Mayor) Bigger men than you have found out what the power of the press is... President!... Yes -- and Kings! PINKUS (woozy; handing Sheriff the reprieve over his shoulder) Here's your reprieve. The Mayor and Sheriff spin around. MAYOR (in a panic) Get out of here! PINKUS You can't bribe me! BURNS What's this? HARTMAN Get out of here, you! PINKUS I

er

How many times the word 'er' appears in the text?

will you? MED. SHOT as Burns leaves Hildy and goes over to desk and picks up his phone again. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER Finding the door locked, he knocks. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY as another knock comes, they take it big. HILDY (calling) Who is it? EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER What's the idea of locking this? INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY HILDY That's Bensinger. That's his desk. BURNS (whispering) What's his name? The door knob is rattled violently. HILDY Bensinger -- of the Tribune. EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER Open this door! INT. PRESS ROOM CLOSE SHOT BURNS He starts for the door. BURNS I'll handle him. CAMERA TRUCKS WITH HIM to the door. BURNS The Tribune, eh? Watch me! He opens the door. AT DOOR BENSINGER (as he comes in) Ain't you got any more sense than to -- ? (sees Burns and is overcome) Oh, h-hello, Mr. Burns. Why, quite an honor having you come over here. BURNS (casually) Hello, Bensinger. BENSINGER Excuse me, I just want to -- He starts for the desk. Hildy's typing goes on, coming in over the scene. BURNS (starting for the desk, suddenly blocking his path) Quite a coincidence, my running into you tonight. Isn't it, Hildy? HILDY'S VOICE Yeh. BENSINGER How do you mean? CLOSEUP BURNS AND BENSINGER BURNS I was having a little chat about you just this afternoon -- with our Mister Duffy. BENSINGER (essaying a pleasantry) Nothing -- ah -- detrimental, I hope. BURNS I should say not! That was one swell story you had in the paper this morning. BENSINGER (deeply moved) Oh, did you -- care for the poem, Mr. Burns? BURNS (startled) The poem?... The poem was great! BENSINGER (blinking at these words) Remember the ending? (and he recites) " -- and all is well, outside his cell, But in his heart he hears the hangman Calling and the gallows falling And his white-haired mother's tears..." BURNS (overcome) Heartbreaking! How would you like to work for me? BENSINGER What? MEDIUM SHOT taking in table, Hildy typing there. BURNS (to Bensinger) We need somebody like you. All we've got now are a lot of low-brows. Like Johnson here. He starts shoving Bensinger away from the desk, toward the table. BENSINGER Seriously, Mr. Burns? Clinging to him, Burns takes him to the phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! I'm sending Bensinger over to see you. (looking up at Bensinger) Mervyn, isn't it? BENSINGER No. Roy. Roy V. BURNS (with a little laugh at his own forgetfulness) Of course! (into phone) Roy Bensinger, the poet. Of course you wouldn't know! You probably never heard of Shakespeare, either! Put Mr. Bensinger right on the staff. (to Bensinger) How much are you getting on the Tribune, Roy? BENSINGER Seventy-five. BURNS I'll give you a hundred and a by- line. ANOTHER ANGLE as Burns continues. BURNS (into phone) Let him have everything he wants. (puts down the receiver; turns to Bensinger) Now hustle and write me a story from the point of view of the escaped man. (acting it out) He hides, cowering... Afraid of every light, of every sound... hears footsteps... his heart going like that... And all the time they're closing in... Get the sense of an animal at bay! BENSINGER Sort of a Jack London style? TRUCKING SHOT BURNS Exactly! Leads him hurriedly to the door. BENSINGER I got my rhyming dictionary in -- (indicating desk) BURNS (getting him to door) It doesn't have to rhyme! CLOSE SHOT - AT DOOR as Bensinger turns there. BENSINGER Gee, I'm terribly grateful, Mister Burns. Do you suppose there might be an opening some time as foreign correspondent? I parley a little French, you know. Burns shakes hands with him and opens the door with the other hand. BURNS I'll keep you in mind. BENSINGER (going) Au revoir, mon capitaine. BURNS (never at a loss in any language) Bon jour! Continuing his French, he gets the door closed and relocked and turns for the table, singing as he does so: BURNS Mademoiselle from Armontieres, parlay -- MED. SHOT Burns returns alertly to table, not noticing that Hildy has stopped typing, and sits staring moodily before her. BURNS (into phono) Duffy! Got this! CLOSEUP BURNS - AT PHONE BURNS A rat from the Tribune is coming over to get a job -- Bensinger, the guy I told you about. Handle him with kid gloves. Tell him to get busy writing poetry... No, we don't want him. Stall him along until the extra comes out. Then tell him his poetry stinks and kick him downstairs. He lays down receiver. WIDER ANGLE taking in Hildy. She looks up at him. HILDY (to Burns) Double-crossing swine! BURNS You said it! But this'll teach him a lesson. He won't quit his paper without giving notice after this. Hildy doesn't bother to reply. She rests her chin on her hands and stares moodily ahead. BURNS Tear into it, will you? Don't sit there like a frozen robin! HILDY I'm finished. BURNS Finished! He grabs the last sheet of paper out of her typewriter, kisses her and rushes over to the telephone. CLOSEUP BURNS at phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! All right -- here we go! And got it out as soon as you can. I want this paper out on the streets in half an hour! (reading Hildy's copy) "So once more the Morning Post --" EXT. CRIMINAL COURTS BLDG. - NIGHT MED. SHOT Diamond Louie, bearing evidence of a mishap, his hat crushed, his face bruised and his clothes torn, comes running down the sidewalk and up the steps into the buildings. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Hildy is up now, pacing. HILDY Bruce ought to be back by now. Walter, you're not trying anything again, are you? BURNS (coming over to her) Hildy, you think I could? After this story? (taking a flask from his pocket) Here! You're just nervous. Hildy takes the flask and takes a drink. There is a knock on the door. Burns takes the flask from her, restores it to his pocket and goes to the door. BURNS Who is it? LOUIE'S VOICE It's me, Boss -- Louie. BURNS (opening the door) It's Louie! Louie slips in and Burns relocks the door. BURNS (seeing Louie's disarray) What's the matter? Hildy crosses to Louie. HILDY (frantically) Where's Mrs. Baldwin? BURNS What did you do with her? HILDY (almost afraid to speak) What happened? CLOSE SHOT - THE THREE BURNS You been in a fight? LOUIE (still out of breath) Down Western Avenue. We were going sixty-five miles an hour. You know what I mean? BURNS Take that mush out of your mouth! HILDY Where's the old lady? LOUIE I'm telling you! CLOSEUP - LOUIE as he gets breath and blurts: LOUIE We run smack into a police patrol. You know what I mean? We broke it in half! BACK TO GROUP HILDY (moaning) Oh-h-h... was she hurt? BURNS Where is she? Tell me! HILDY Louie! LOUIE I'm telling you. Can you imagine bumping into a load of cops?! They come rollin' out like oranges! HILDY (seizing him) What did you do with her? LOUIE Search me! When I come to I was running down Thirty-fifth Street. HILDY -- You were with her. You were in the cab, weren't you? LOUIE (exposing his bruised scalp) Was I? The driver got knocked cold. BURNS Butter-fingers! I give you an old lady to take somewhere, and you hand her over to the cops! LOUIE What do you mean, I handed her? The patrol wagon was on the wrong side of the street. BURNS Now everything's fine. She's probably squawking her head off in some police station. CLOSEUP - LOUIE LOUIE I don't think she's talking much... You know what I mean? He winks reassuringly. BACK TO GROUP HILDY (paralyzed) Don't tell me -- was she killed? BURNS (hopefully) Was she? Did you notice? LOUIE Say, me with a gun on my hip and a kidnapped old lady on my hands, I should stick around asking questions from a lot of cops! You know what I mean? Hildy sinks into a chair. CLOSE SHOT HILDY IN THE CHAIR HILDY Dead... dead! That's the end! Burns comes into scene to her. BURNS It's Fate, Hildy. What will be, will be. HILDY (wildly) What am I going to say to Bruce? What'll I tell him? BURNS If he really loves you, you won't have to tell him anything. (whacking her on the shoulder) Snap out of it! Would you rather have had the old dame dragging the whole police force in here? HILDY I killed her. I'm responsible. Oh- h... what can I do now? How can I ever face him? Oh, I hope he never comes back! She buries her face in her hands. BURNS Look at me, Hildy -- HILDY (springing up) I'm looking at you -- you murderer! BURNS If it was my own mother, I'd carry on! You know I would. For the paper! HILDY (calling off to Louie) Louie, where'd it happen? I'm going out! MED. SHOT GROUP The Post phone rings. BURNS (grabbing Hildy) You stay here. I'll find out everything. LOUIE (to Hildy) Western an' Thirty-fourth. Hildy jumps for the outside phone on the desk. TWO SHOT INCLUDING BURNS AT PHONE AND HILDY AT PHONE BURNS (into phone) Hello -- hello... HILDY (into phone) Gimme Western four-five-five-seven. BURNS (guarded) Who? (wildly) Hello, Butch! Where are you? HILDY (into phone) Mission Hospital? Gimme the Receiving Room. BURNS (into phone) What are you doing there? Haven't you even started? HILDY (into phone) Hello -- Eddie? Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady brought in from an auto smashup? BURNS (into phone) Oh, for -- (yelling) H. Sebastian -- Butch! Listen, it's a matter of life and death! Listen! HILDY (into phone) Nobody? (jiggles hook) Morningside three-one-two-four. BURNS (into phone) I can't hear... You got who? Speak up! A what?... You can't stop for a dame now! HILDY (into phone) Is this the Community Hospital? BURNS (howling into phone) I don't care if you've been after her for six years! Butch, our whole lives are at stake! Are you going to let a woman come between us after all we've been through? HILDY (into phone) Hello, Max, Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady --? BURNS (into phone, drowning out Hildy) Butch! I'd put my arm in fire for you -- up to here! (indicates up to where) Now, you can't double-cross me!... She does? All right -- put her on. I'll talk to her... Hello! Oh, hello, Madam... Now listen, you ten-cent glamour girl, you can't keep Butch away from his duty... What's that? You say that again and I'll come over there and knock your eye out! Hello? (turning, as he hangs up) I'll kill 'em! I'll kill both of 'em! (into Post phone) Duffy! (to the universe) Mousing around with some big blonde Annie on my time! That's co-operation! (screaming into phone) Duffy!! HILDY Shut up, will you? (into phone) You sure? Nobody? BURNS (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) Well, where is Duffy? (throwing receiver to desk) Diabetes! I ought to know better than to hire anybody with a disease. (turning) Louie. MED. SHOT GROUP BURNS (to Louie) It's up to you. LOUIE (loyally) Anything you want, Boss. BURNS Beat it out and get hold of some guys. LOUIE Who do you want? BURNS (starting for the door, followed by Louie) Anybody with hair on his chest. Get 'em off the street -- anywhere. Offer them anything -- only get them. (confidentially) We've got to get this desk out of here. He unlocks the door. LOUIE You know me. The shirt off my back. BURNS You got plenty of money? LOUIE Sure, boss. BURNS I mean real money -- not counterfeit! LOUIE I always have both. He goes out. BURNS (calling after him) And don't bump into anything. He relocks the door. HILDY Lafayette two-one-hundred. BURNS (turning from door) That dumb immigrant'll flop on me. I know it. (bitterly) Can you imagine Butch doing this to me -- at a time like this? CLOSE SHOT HILDY AT PHONE, TAKING IN DESK Burns steps into scene. BURNS (confidentially) If Louie doesn't come back in five minutes we'll get it out alone. There's millions of ways. We can start a fire and get the firemen to carry it out in the confusion. He crosses to the desk and inspects it. HILDY (into phone) Ring that number, will you? BURNS (to Hildy, oblivious of her telephoning) Come here. See if we can move it. HILDY (into phone) Hello -- hello! Is this the Lying -- In Hospital? Did you have an auto accident in the last -- BURNS (interrupting) Will you come here? HILDY (into phone) Oh, I see. I beg your pardon. BURNS When I'm surrounded, with my back against the wall, you're not going to lay down on me, are you -- HILDY Yes. She jiggles the phone hook. BURNS (going to her) Hildy, you just can't leave me out on a limb now. It -- it wouldn't be cricket! HILDY I don't care what you say. I'm going to find Bruce's mother. (she jiggles the hook madly) Oh-h... (she hangs up) I'm going out and find her! Grabbing her hat and purse, she starts for the door. MED. SHOT OF HILDY, TAKING IN DOOR There is a loud knocking on the door. BURNS (coming into scene after Hildy) Don't open that! HILDY (at the door) Who says so? I'm going to the morgue -- to look -- She unlocks the door. CLOSE SHOT AT DOOR as Hildy flings the door open, only to find the Sheriff, accompanied by two deputies -- Carl and Frank -- and surrounded by McCue, Murphy, Schwartz, Wilson and Endicott. MURPHY There she is! MCCUE Say, Hildy... Hildy makes a decision and tries to push through them, but the Sheriff grabs her and pushes her back. HARTMAN Just a minute, Johnson! HILDY Let go o' me. What's the idea? MCCUE What's your hurry? MURPHY We want to see you. The deputies seize her. HILDY Take your paws off me! HARTMAN Hold her, boys! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (to Sheriff) Who do you think you are, breaking in here like this? HARTMAN You can't bluff me, Burns. I don't care who you are or what paper you're editor of. HILDY (struggling) Let me go! (hysterically) Fellows, something's happened to my mother-in-law. HARTMAN Hang onto her! Keep her in here! MED. SHOT as Hildy breaks loose and retreats back into the room before Hartman and the deputies. MCCUE We know what you're up to. ENDICOTT Probably goin' out to get Williams. SCHWARTZ The door was locked. WILSON She and Mollie were talking. HILDY I don't know anything, I tell you. There's been an accident. HARTMAN Johnson, there's something very peculiar going on. HILDY You can send somebody with me if you don't believe me! HARTMAN I wasn't born yesterday. Now the boys tell me you and this Mollie Malloy -- HILDY Nobody's trying to put anything over on you. I'm getting out of here and you can't stop me! MURPHY (comes into scene) You're not going anywhere. (to the Sheriff) She's got the story sewed up, Pete. (indicating Burns) That's why Burns is here. SCHWARTZ We're on to you, Hildy. Let us in on it. TWO SHOT - SHERIFF AND BURNS BURNS (purring) If you've any accusations to make, Hartman, make them in the proper manner. Otherwise, I'll have to ask you to get out. HARTMAN (pop-eyed; stammering) You'll ask me to what? BURNS Get out! HARTMAN (to deputies, off) Close that door. Don't let anybody in or out. MED. SHOT - THE GROUP MURPHY Come on, Pinky! Give 'em a little third degree. ENDICOTT Make them talk and you got Williams, Pinky! HARTMAN Johnson, I'm going to the bottom of this. What do you know about Williams? Are you going to talk or aren't you? HILDY What do I know about Williams? HARTMAN All right, boys. Take her along. I got ways of making her talk. The deputies seize Hildy. She struggles. HILDY Look out, you -- MCCUE (nervously) What's the use of fighting, Hildy? Hildy manages to get in a few resounding smacks on the deputies' faces. The reporters swarm around the struggling trio. There are shouts of: "I got her!" "No, you don't!" "Aw, Hildy...", etc. In the struggle, Hildy suddenly drops her purse. It lands with a clank and comes open. A gun is revealed on the floor. Hildy picks it up. DEPUTIES Hey, she's got a gun! Look out, she's got a gun! The deputies and reporters start to close in on her cautiously. HILDY (trying to face in all directions) No, you don't! Walter! BURNS What is it? Here! She tosses the gun to Walter, but one of the deputies intercepts the throw. HARTMAN Gimme that. He takes the gun from the deputy. CLOSER SHOT The Sheriff stands frozen, staring at the gun. HARTMAN (to Hildy) Where'd you get this? HILDY I've got a right to carry a gun if I want to. HARTMAN Not this gun! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (easily) I can explain that, Hartman. When Hildy told me she wanted to interview Earl Williams I thought it might be dangerous and I gave her a gun to defend herself. HARTMAN Oh, you did! Well, that's very, very interesting. This happens to be the gun that Earl Williams shot his way out with! REPORTERS AD LIB What? What's that? Etc... BURNS (advancing on Sheriff) Are you trying to make me out a liar? MURPHY (bitterly at Hildy) It's the last time I ever trust a woman, Hildy. SCHWARTZ Maybe Williams was gonna be her best man. WILSON That's pretty rotten, Hildy. Crossing your own pals. HARTMAN (shoving up to Hildy; trembling) Where is Earl Williams? Where you got him? BURNS (sympathetically) You're barking up the wrong tree, Hartman. HARTMAN I'll give you three minutes to tell me where he is. HILDY He went over to the hospital to call on Professor Egelhoffer. HARTMAN (outraged) What? HILDY With a bag of marshmallows. The Sheriff stands silent -- then hastily turns. MED. SHOT GROUP AROUND HILDY REPORTERS AD LIB Come on, Hildy. Where is he?... This is a sweet trick, Hildy... I thought we were friends... Etc. (to Sheriff) Look here, Pete! What about Mister Burns?... Ask the Master Mind! What's he doing over here? HARTMAN (grabbing Burns' arm) Speak up! What do you know about this. BURNS (gently but firmly disengaging his hand) My dear Hartman! He moves casually to a post before the desk and maintains it. MURPHY Can that! Where is he? BURNS (to Sheriff) The Morning Post is not obstructing justice or hiding criminals. You ought to know that. HARTMAN No? Well -- (turning to Hildy) Johnson, you're under arrest. (turning to Burns) You, too, Burns. BURNS (calmly) Who's under arrest? You pimple-headed, square-toed spy -- do you realize what you're doing? HARTMAN I'll show you what I'm doing. Burns, you're guilty of obstructing justice and so is the Morning Post. I'm going to see that the Post is fined ten thousand dollars for this. BURNS You'll see nothing of the kind, Sheriff. HARTMAN We'll just start by impounding the Post property. (pointing to Bensinger's desk, addressing Hildy) Is that your desk? HILDY (jumping) No! BURNS (almost simultaneously) Yes! What are you afraid of Hildy? I dare him to move that desk out of here. HARTMAN Oh, you do, eh? (to deputies) All right, boys. Confiscate that desk. Several of the deputies start toward the desk. BURNS (trying to intercept deputies) Hartman, if you take this desk out of this building, I'll put you behind bars. HARTMAN You will, eh? Well, we'll see about that. (to deputies) All right, boys. Take it. BURNS I'm warning you -- it'll be a Federal offense. (to deputy nearest him) And you'll be an accessory! HARTMAN We'll take a chance on that, Burns. (to deputies) Go ahead, boys. (the deputies continue toward the desk) INT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Flanked by two policemen, Mrs. Baldwin, dishevelled, with her hat over one ear, is marching toward the Press Room, bound for vengeance. Bruce, considerably upset, is with her. As they reach the door to the Press Room, Mrs. Baldwin stops. MRS. BALDWIN You wait outside, Bruce. BRUCE But, mother -- MRS. BALDWIN (firmly) No! You'll weaken when you see that little Jezebel! I'm going to tell her what I think of her! She plumps her hat down more firmly on her head and marches into the Press Room followed by the two policemen. Bruce remains outside the door. INT. PRESS ROOM Taking in door as it opens and Mrs. Baldwin, followed by the policemen, comes in. HILDY (leaping forward) Mother! MRS. BALDWIN (pointing out Burns to the officers) That man there! HILDY (hugging Mrs. Baldwin) Mother! Oh, I'm so glad to see you! Are you all right? Tell me. Mrs. Baldwin indignantly shakes her off. HARTMAN What's the idea here? POLICEMAN This lady claims she was kidnapped. HARTMAN What? MRS. BALDWIN They dragged me all the way down the stairs -- HARTMAN Just a minute. Did -- did -- (points to Burns) -- this man have anything to do with it? MRS. BALDWIN He was the one in charge of everything! He told them to kidnap me! BURNS (amazed) Are you referring to me, Madam? MRS. BALDWIN You know you did! HARTMAN What about this, Burns? Kidnapping, eh? BURNS (round-eyed) Oh, trying to frame me, eh! I never saw this woman before in my life! MRS. BALDWIN Oh, what a thing to say! I was standing right here - after the girl jumped out of the window. HARTMAN Did you get the Mayor? DEPUTY He's coming over. BURNS (to Mrs. Baldwin) Now, Madam -- be honest. If you were out joy-riding, drunk, and got into some scrape, why don't you admit it, instead of accusing innocent people? MRS. BALDWIN (beginning to doubt her senses) You ruffian! How dare you say a thing like that? HILDA Please, Mother, he's just crazy! MRS. BALDWIN (to Sheriff) I'll tell you something more. I'll tell you why they did it! BURNS (fidgeting) Come on, Sheriff. We've got to get bail. MRS. BALDWIN (continuing crescendo) I was in here -- and they had some kind of murderer in with them. They were hiding him! This is a bombshell. The room is electrified. HARTMAN Hiding him? In here? Murphy, followed by the reporters, comes into scene. MURPHY Hiding him where? HILDY Mother! REPORTERS Where was he?... Where'd they have him?... Etc. CLOSE SHOT BURNS at the desk. BURNS (with superb indignation) Madam, you're a cockeyed liar! And you know it! To emphasize his righteousness, he pounds on the desk three times, forgetting that that is his signal to Williams. Then, realizing what he has done, he gasps. MED. SHOT Burns advances from desk, the others retreating before him. BURNS (anxiously) Come on, Sheriff, we've got to get bail. Three answering knocks come from the desk. GROUP SHOT WITH DOORWAY IN B.G They jump around to face the desk. HARTMAN (whispering) What was that? REPORTERS AD LIB He's in the desk! -- For the love of -- He's in there! Etc. HARTMAN Aha! I thought so! Stand back, everybody! DEPUTY Look out, Sheriff. He may shoot! HARTMAN Get your guns out! The policemen and deputies get out their guns. HILDY He's harmless. HARTMAN Don't take any chances. Shoot through the desk. HILDY He can't hurt anybody. You've got his gun. MRS. BALDWIN (panic-stricken) Oh, dear! Oh, dear! BURNS You grey-haired old Judas! MRS. BALDWIN Let me out! Let me out of here! She streaks for the door, flings it open and goes. The reporters tear out of scene to their telephones. HARTMAN (to policeman) You stand there! MURPHY'S VOICE City Desk! Quick! SCHWARTZ' VOICE Gimme the Desk! HARTMAN (to another policeman) You there! ENDICOTT'S VOICE City Desk! Hurry! MCCUE'S VOICE Gimme Emil... HARTMAN (to a Deputy, pointing with his gun toward the window) You cover the window. MURPHY'S VOICE Look out where you're pointing that gun! The Sheriff draws his men in around the desk, their guns drawn on it. WILSON'S VOICE Lemme have the Desk! Quick! MURPHY'S VOICE Hold the wire! I've got a flash for you! BURNS (to Hildy) Call Duffy! HARTMAN No, you don't! BURNS (to Sheriff, furiously) Do you want to get us scooped? MCCUE'S VOICE Emil? Hang on for a second. HARTMAN Now then, everybody aim at the center. And when I say three -- HILDY That's murder! HARTMAN (changing his mind) All right! Carl! Frank! One of you get on each side of the desk. Take hold of the cover. They do. HARTMAN Now then! We got you covered, Williams. Don't try to move. Now! Everybody quiet and ready for an emergency. I'm going to count three. SCHWARTZ Hold it! Something coming up. HARTMAN One! ENDICOTT Hold the phone! MURPHY (into the phone) I'll have it in a minute. HARTMAN Two! WILSON (into phone) Right away now! HARTMAN (turning back to desk) Everybody ready? All right. Now then, up with it. Two deputies raise the cover. Williams is revealed, cowering in the desk, his hands over his face. The Sheriff rushes on him, jabbing his gun into him. CLOSE SHOT SHERIFF AND WILLIAMS HARTMAN Got you, Williams! WILLIAMS (a wail) Go on -- shoot me! MEDIUM SHOT as the police and deputies come in to assist the Sheriff. The reporters are telephoning in, the police shouting -- all the voices mixing in, in incredible confusion, as the Sheriff rushes Williams to the door and takes him out. MURPHY'S VOICE Earl Williams was just captured in the Press Room of the Criminal Courts Building, hiding in a desk. OFFICERS AD LIB (all talking at once) Grab him! That's him! Don't let him shoot! Stick 'em up! -- Etc. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) ...Williams in a rolltop -- CLOSEUP WILSON AT PHONE WILSON (into phone) -- nabbed Williams hiding -- ENDICOTT'S VOICE -- found Williams' hiding place. SCHWARTZ' VOICE He offered no resistance. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) Williams put up a desperate struggle but the police overpowered -- CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) -- tried to shoot it out with the cops but his gun wouldn't work, so -- WILSON'S VOICE -- trying to break through the cordon of police -- CLOSEUP ENDICOTT AT PHONE ENDICOTT (into phone) Williams was unconscious when they opened the desk -- CLOSEUP BURNS grabbing the Post phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Morning Post just turned Earl Williams over to the Sheriff. CLOSE SHOT THE SHERIFF coming in the door with two policemen and leaping to get the phone away from Burns. MED. SHOT BURNS AT PHONE, HILDY BESIDE HIM BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Sheriff and police come into scene. HARTMAN (indicating Burns and Hildy) Put the cuffs on those two! The police handcuff Hildy and Burns. ENDICOTT An anonymous note received by the Sheriff led to Williams' capture. More later. He hangs up. CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) An old sweetheart of Williams' doublecrossed him. Call you back. He hangs up. MED. SHOT TAKING IN DOOR REPORTERS Where's that old lady? Hey, Madam! Where'd she go? Where's the old dame? Etc., etc. They run out after Mrs. Baldwin, the Mayor entering just after they go. Burns and Hildy, handcuffed together, stand near the Sheriff. HARTMAN (into phone) Hello, girlie -- gimme Cooley. Quick! BURNS Hartwell, you're going to wish you'd never been born! The Mayor comes into scene. MAYOR Fine work, Pete! You certainly delivered the goods. I'm proud of you. HARTMAN (holding the phone) Look kind o' natural, don't they, Fred? MAYOR (happily) A sight for sore eyes! HARTMAN (rolling in catnip) Aiding an escaped criminal! And a little charge of kidnapping I'm looking into. (into phone; suddenly) But that's the jail! There must be somebody there! MAYOR Well! Looks like about ten years apiece for you birds! BURNS Does it? You forget the power that always watches over the Morning Post. MAYOR Your luck's not with you now! HARTMAN (into phone) Cooley?... I caught Williams single- handed -- we're going to proceed with the hanging per schedule! He wiggles the hook for another call. BURNS (to Mayor) You're going to be in office for exactly two days more and then we're pulling your nose out of the feed bag. HARTMAN (into phone) Give me the District Attorney's office. (to Burns) I'll tell you what you'll be doing -- making brooms in the State penitentiary. (into phone) Hello, D'Arrasty! This is Hartwell. Come over to my office, will you? I've just arrested a couple of important birds and I want to take their confessions. He hangs up. Burns makes a sudden lunge for the Morning Post phone and cries into it. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! Get Liebowitz! MAYOR All the lawyers in the world aren't going to help you! BURNS This is the Morning Post you're talking to! MAYOR (enjoying himself) The power of the press, huh! He laughs. Pinkus, the Governor's messenger, plentifully stewed, reels in the door. He approaches the Mayor and Sheriff who have their backs to him. BURNS (at the Mayor) Bigger men than you have found out what the power of the press is... President!... Yes -- and Kings! PINKUS (woozy; handing Sheriff the reprieve over his shoulder) Here's your reprieve. The Mayor and Sheriff spin around. MAYOR (in a panic) Get out of here! PINKUS You can't bribe me! BURNS What's this? HARTMAN Get out of here, you! PINKUS I

opening

How many times the word 'opening' appears in the text?

will you? MED. SHOT as Burns leaves Hildy and goes over to desk and picks up his phone again. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER Finding the door locked, he knocks. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY as another knock comes, they take it big. HILDY (calling) Who is it? EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER What's the idea of locking this? INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY HILDY That's Bensinger. That's his desk. BURNS (whispering) What's his name? The door knob is rattled violently. HILDY Bensinger -- of the Tribune. EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER Open this door! INT. PRESS ROOM CLOSE SHOT BURNS He starts for the door. BURNS I'll handle him. CAMERA TRUCKS WITH HIM to the door. BURNS The Tribune, eh? Watch me! He opens the door. AT DOOR BENSINGER (as he comes in) Ain't you got any more sense than to -- ? (sees Burns and is overcome) Oh, h-hello, Mr. Burns. Why, quite an honor having you come over here. BURNS (casually) Hello, Bensinger. BENSINGER Excuse me, I just want to -- He starts for the desk. Hildy's typing goes on, coming in over the scene. BURNS (starting for the desk, suddenly blocking his path) Quite a coincidence, my running into you tonight. Isn't it, Hildy? HILDY'S VOICE Yeh. BENSINGER How do you mean? CLOSEUP BURNS AND BENSINGER BURNS I was having a little chat about you just this afternoon -- with our Mister Duffy. BENSINGER (essaying a pleasantry) Nothing -- ah -- detrimental, I hope. BURNS I should say not! That was one swell story you had in the paper this morning. BENSINGER (deeply moved) Oh, did you -- care for the poem, Mr. Burns? BURNS (startled) The poem?... The poem was great! BENSINGER (blinking at these words) Remember the ending? (and he recites) " -- and all is well, outside his cell, But in his heart he hears the hangman Calling and the gallows falling And his white-haired mother's tears..." BURNS (overcome) Heartbreaking! How would you like to work for me? BENSINGER What? MEDIUM SHOT taking in table, Hildy typing there. BURNS (to Bensinger) We need somebody like you. All we've got now are a lot of low-brows. Like Johnson here. He starts shoving Bensinger away from the desk, toward the table. BENSINGER Seriously, Mr. Burns? Clinging to him, Burns takes him to the phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! I'm sending Bensinger over to see you. (looking up at Bensinger) Mervyn, isn't it? BENSINGER No. Roy. Roy V. BURNS (with a little laugh at his own forgetfulness) Of course! (into phone) Roy Bensinger, the poet. Of course you wouldn't know! You probably never heard of Shakespeare, either! Put Mr. Bensinger right on the staff. (to Bensinger) How much are you getting on the Tribune, Roy? BENSINGER Seventy-five. BURNS I'll give you a hundred and a by- line. ANOTHER ANGLE as Burns continues. BURNS (into phone) Let him have everything he wants. (puts down the receiver; turns to Bensinger) Now hustle and write me a story from the point of view of the escaped man. (acting it out) He hides, cowering... Afraid of every light, of every sound... hears footsteps... his heart going like that... And all the time they're closing in... Get the sense of an animal at bay! BENSINGER Sort of a Jack London style? TRUCKING SHOT BURNS Exactly! Leads him hurriedly to the door. BENSINGER I got my rhyming dictionary in -- (indicating desk) BURNS (getting him to door) It doesn't have to rhyme! CLOSE SHOT - AT DOOR as Bensinger turns there. BENSINGER Gee, I'm terribly grateful, Mister Burns. Do you suppose there might be an opening some time as foreign correspondent? I parley a little French, you know. Burns shakes hands with him and opens the door with the other hand. BURNS I'll keep you in mind. BENSINGER (going) Au revoir, mon capitaine. BURNS (never at a loss in any language) Bon jour! Continuing his French, he gets the door closed and relocked and turns for the table, singing as he does so: BURNS Mademoiselle from Armontieres, parlay -- MED. SHOT Burns returns alertly to table, not noticing that Hildy has stopped typing, and sits staring moodily before her. BURNS (into phono) Duffy! Got this! CLOSEUP BURNS - AT PHONE BURNS A rat from the Tribune is coming over to get a job -- Bensinger, the guy I told you about. Handle him with kid gloves. Tell him to get busy writing poetry... No, we don't want him. Stall him along until the extra comes out. Then tell him his poetry stinks and kick him downstairs. He lays down receiver. WIDER ANGLE taking in Hildy. She looks up at him. HILDY (to Burns) Double-crossing swine! BURNS You said it! But this'll teach him a lesson. He won't quit his paper without giving notice after this. Hildy doesn't bother to reply. She rests her chin on her hands and stares moodily ahead. BURNS Tear into it, will you? Don't sit there like a frozen robin! HILDY I'm finished. BURNS Finished! He grabs the last sheet of paper out of her typewriter, kisses her and rushes over to the telephone. CLOSEUP BURNS at phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! All right -- here we go! And got it out as soon as you can. I want this paper out on the streets in half an hour! (reading Hildy's copy) "So once more the Morning Post --" EXT. CRIMINAL COURTS BLDG. - NIGHT MED. SHOT Diamond Louie, bearing evidence of a mishap, his hat crushed, his face bruised and his clothes torn, comes running down the sidewalk and up the steps into the buildings. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Hildy is up now, pacing. HILDY Bruce ought to be back by now. Walter, you're not trying anything again, are you? BURNS (coming over to her) Hildy, you think I could? After this story? (taking a flask from his pocket) Here! You're just nervous. Hildy takes the flask and takes a drink. There is a knock on the door. Burns takes the flask from her, restores it to his pocket and goes to the door. BURNS Who is it? LOUIE'S VOICE It's me, Boss -- Louie. BURNS (opening the door) It's Louie! Louie slips in and Burns relocks the door. BURNS (seeing Louie's disarray) What's the matter? Hildy crosses to Louie. HILDY (frantically) Where's Mrs. Baldwin? BURNS What did you do with her? HILDY (almost afraid to speak) What happened? CLOSE SHOT - THE THREE BURNS You been in a fight? LOUIE (still out of breath) Down Western Avenue. We were going sixty-five miles an hour. You know what I mean? BURNS Take that mush out of your mouth! HILDY Where's the old lady? LOUIE I'm telling you! CLOSEUP - LOUIE as he gets breath and blurts: LOUIE We run smack into a police patrol. You know what I mean? We broke it in half! BACK TO GROUP HILDY (moaning) Oh-h-h... was she hurt? BURNS Where is she? Tell me! HILDY Louie! LOUIE I'm telling you. Can you imagine bumping into a load of cops?! They come rollin' out like oranges! HILDY (seizing him) What did you do with her? LOUIE Search me! When I come to I was running down Thirty-fifth Street. HILDY -- You were with her. You were in the cab, weren't you? LOUIE (exposing his bruised scalp) Was I? The driver got knocked cold. BURNS Butter-fingers! I give you an old lady to take somewhere, and you hand her over to the cops! LOUIE What do you mean, I handed her? The patrol wagon was on the wrong side of the street. BURNS Now everything's fine. She's probably squawking her head off in some police station. CLOSEUP - LOUIE LOUIE I don't think she's talking much... You know what I mean? He winks reassuringly. BACK TO GROUP HILDY (paralyzed) Don't tell me -- was she killed? BURNS (hopefully) Was she? Did you notice? LOUIE Say, me with a gun on my hip and a kidnapped old lady on my hands, I should stick around asking questions from a lot of cops! You know what I mean? Hildy sinks into a chair. CLOSE SHOT HILDY IN THE CHAIR HILDY Dead... dead! That's the end! Burns comes into scene to her. BURNS It's Fate, Hildy. What will be, will be. HILDY (wildly) What am I going to say to Bruce? What'll I tell him? BURNS If he really loves you, you won't have to tell him anything. (whacking her on the shoulder) Snap out of it! Would you rather have had the old dame dragging the whole police force in here? HILDY I killed her. I'm responsible. Oh- h... what can I do now? How can I ever face him? Oh, I hope he never comes back! She buries her face in her hands. BURNS Look at me, Hildy -- HILDY (springing up) I'm looking at you -- you murderer! BURNS If it was my own mother, I'd carry on! You know I would. For the paper! HILDY (calling off to Louie) Louie, where'd it happen? I'm going out! MED. SHOT GROUP The Post phone rings. BURNS (grabbing Hildy) You stay here. I'll find out everything. LOUIE (to Hildy) Western an' Thirty-fourth. Hildy jumps for the outside phone on the desk. TWO SHOT INCLUDING BURNS AT PHONE AND HILDY AT PHONE BURNS (into phone) Hello -- hello... HILDY (into phone) Gimme Western four-five-five-seven. BURNS (guarded) Who? (wildly) Hello, Butch! Where are you? HILDY (into phone) Mission Hospital? Gimme the Receiving Room. BURNS (into phone) What are you doing there? Haven't you even started? HILDY (into phone) Hello -- Eddie? Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady brought in from an auto smashup? BURNS (into phone) Oh, for -- (yelling) H. Sebastian -- Butch! Listen, it's a matter of life and death! Listen! HILDY (into phone) Nobody? (jiggles hook) Morningside three-one-two-four. BURNS (into phone) I can't hear... You got who? Speak up! A what?... You can't stop for a dame now! HILDY (into phone) Is this the Community Hospital? BURNS (howling into phone) I don't care if you've been after her for six years! Butch, our whole lives are at stake! Are you going to let a woman come between us after all we've been through? HILDY (into phone) Hello, Max, Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady --? BURNS (into phone, drowning out Hildy) Butch! I'd put my arm in fire for you -- up to here! (indicates up to where) Now, you can't double-cross me!... She does? All right -- put her on. I'll talk to her... Hello! Oh, hello, Madam... Now listen, you ten-cent glamour girl, you can't keep Butch away from his duty... What's that? You say that again and I'll come over there and knock your eye out! Hello? (turning, as he hangs up) I'll kill 'em! I'll kill both of 'em! (into Post phone) Duffy! (to the universe) Mousing around with some big blonde Annie on my time! That's co-operation! (screaming into phone) Duffy!! HILDY Shut up, will you? (into phone) You sure? Nobody? BURNS (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) Well, where is Duffy? (throwing receiver to desk) Diabetes! I ought to know better than to hire anybody with a disease. (turning) Louie. MED. SHOT GROUP BURNS (to Louie) It's up to you. LOUIE (loyally) Anything you want, Boss. BURNS Beat it out and get hold of some guys. LOUIE Who do you want? BURNS (starting for the door, followed by Louie) Anybody with hair on his chest. Get 'em off the street -- anywhere. Offer them anything -- only get them. (confidentially) We've got to get this desk out of here. He unlocks the door. LOUIE You know me. The shirt off my back. BURNS You got plenty of money? LOUIE Sure, boss. BURNS I mean real money -- not counterfeit! LOUIE I always have both. He goes out. BURNS (calling after him) And don't bump into anything. He relocks the door. HILDY Lafayette two-one-hundred. BURNS (turning from door) That dumb immigrant'll flop on me. I know it. (bitterly) Can you imagine Butch doing this to me -- at a time like this? CLOSE SHOT HILDY AT PHONE, TAKING IN DESK Burns steps into scene. BURNS (confidentially) If Louie doesn't come back in five minutes we'll get it out alone. There's millions of ways. We can start a fire and get the firemen to carry it out in the confusion. He crosses to the desk and inspects it. HILDY (into phone) Ring that number, will you? BURNS (to Hildy, oblivious of her telephoning) Come here. See if we can move it. HILDY (into phone) Hello -- hello! Is this the Lying -- In Hospital? Did you have an auto accident in the last -- BURNS (interrupting) Will you come here? HILDY (into phone) Oh, I see. I beg your pardon. BURNS When I'm surrounded, with my back against the wall, you're not going to lay down on me, are you -- HILDY Yes. She jiggles the phone hook. BURNS (going to her) Hildy, you just can't leave me out on a limb now. It -- it wouldn't be cricket! HILDY I don't care what you say. I'm going to find Bruce's mother. (she jiggles the hook madly) Oh-h... (she hangs up) I'm going out and find her! Grabbing her hat and purse, she starts for the door. MED. SHOT OF HILDY, TAKING IN DOOR There is a loud knocking on the door. BURNS (coming into scene after Hildy) Don't open that! HILDY (at the door) Who says so? I'm going to the morgue -- to look -- She unlocks the door. CLOSE SHOT AT DOOR as Hildy flings the door open, only to find the Sheriff, accompanied by two deputies -- Carl and Frank -- and surrounded by McCue, Murphy, Schwartz, Wilson and Endicott. MURPHY There she is! MCCUE Say, Hildy... Hildy makes a decision and tries to push through them, but the Sheriff grabs her and pushes her back. HARTMAN Just a minute, Johnson! HILDY Let go o' me. What's the idea? MCCUE What's your hurry? MURPHY We want to see you. The deputies seize her. HILDY Take your paws off me! HARTMAN Hold her, boys! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (to Sheriff) Who do you think you are, breaking in here like this? HARTMAN You can't bluff me, Burns. I don't care who you are or what paper you're editor of. HILDY (struggling) Let me go! (hysterically) Fellows, something's happened to my mother-in-law. HARTMAN Hang onto her! Keep her in here! MED. SHOT as Hildy breaks loose and retreats back into the room before Hartman and the deputies. MCCUE We know what you're up to. ENDICOTT Probably goin' out to get Williams. SCHWARTZ The door was locked. WILSON She and Mollie were talking. HILDY I don't know anything, I tell you. There's been an accident. HARTMAN Johnson, there's something very peculiar going on. HILDY You can send somebody with me if you don't believe me! HARTMAN I wasn't born yesterday. Now the boys tell me you and this Mollie Malloy -- HILDY Nobody's trying to put anything over on you. I'm getting out of here and you can't stop me! MURPHY (comes into scene) You're not going anywhere. (to the Sheriff) She's got the story sewed up, Pete. (indicating Burns) That's why Burns is here. SCHWARTZ We're on to you, Hildy. Let us in on it. TWO SHOT - SHERIFF AND BURNS BURNS (purring) If you've any accusations to make, Hartman, make them in the proper manner. Otherwise, I'll have to ask you to get out. HARTMAN (pop-eyed; stammering) You'll ask me to what? BURNS Get out! HARTMAN (to deputies, off) Close that door. Don't let anybody in or out. MED. SHOT - THE GROUP MURPHY Come on, Pinky! Give 'em a little third degree. ENDICOTT Make them talk and you got Williams, Pinky! HARTMAN Johnson, I'm going to the bottom of this. What do you know about Williams? Are you going to talk or aren't you? HILDY What do I know about Williams? HARTMAN All right, boys. Take her along. I got ways of making her talk. The deputies seize Hildy. She struggles. HILDY Look out, you -- MCCUE (nervously) What's the use of fighting, Hildy? Hildy manages to get in a few resounding smacks on the deputies' faces. The reporters swarm around the struggling trio. There are shouts of: "I got her!" "No, you don't!" "Aw, Hildy...", etc. In the struggle, Hildy suddenly drops her purse. It lands with a clank and comes open. A gun is revealed on the floor. Hildy picks it up. DEPUTIES Hey, she's got a gun! Look out, she's got a gun! The deputies and reporters start to close in on her cautiously. HILDY (trying to face in all directions) No, you don't! Walter! BURNS What is it? Here! She tosses the gun to Walter, but one of the deputies intercepts the throw. HARTMAN Gimme that. He takes the gun from the deputy. CLOSER SHOT The Sheriff stands frozen, staring at the gun. HARTMAN (to Hildy) Where'd you get this? HILDY I've got a right to carry a gun if I want to. HARTMAN Not this gun! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (easily) I can explain that, Hartman. When Hildy told me she wanted to interview Earl Williams I thought it might be dangerous and I gave her a gun to defend herself. HARTMAN Oh, you did! Well, that's very, very interesting. This happens to be the gun that Earl Williams shot his way out with! REPORTERS AD LIB What? What's that? Etc... BURNS (advancing on Sheriff) Are you trying to make me out a liar? MURPHY (bitterly at Hildy) It's the last time I ever trust a woman, Hildy. SCHWARTZ Maybe Williams was gonna be her best man. WILSON That's pretty rotten, Hildy. Crossing your own pals. HARTMAN (shoving up to Hildy; trembling) Where is Earl Williams? Where you got him? BURNS (sympathetically) You're barking up the wrong tree, Hartman. HARTMAN I'll give you three minutes to tell me where he is. HILDY He went over to the hospital to call on Professor Egelhoffer. HARTMAN (outraged) What? HILDY With a bag of marshmallows. The Sheriff stands silent -- then hastily turns. MED. SHOT GROUP AROUND HILDY REPORTERS AD LIB Come on, Hildy. Where is he?... This is a sweet trick, Hildy... I thought we were friends... Etc. (to Sheriff) Look here, Pete! What about Mister Burns?... Ask the Master Mind! What's he doing over here? HARTMAN (grabbing Burns' arm) Speak up! What do you know about this. BURNS (gently but firmly disengaging his hand) My dear Hartman! He moves casually to a post before the desk and maintains it. MURPHY Can that! Where is he? BURNS (to Sheriff) The Morning Post is not obstructing justice or hiding criminals. You ought to know that. HARTMAN No? Well -- (turning to Hildy) Johnson, you're under arrest. (turning to Burns) You, too, Burns. BURNS (calmly) Who's under arrest? You pimple-headed, square-toed spy -- do you realize what you're doing? HARTMAN I'll show you what I'm doing. Burns, you're guilty of obstructing justice and so is the Morning Post. I'm going to see that the Post is fined ten thousand dollars for this. BURNS You'll see nothing of the kind, Sheriff. HARTMAN We'll just start by impounding the Post property. (pointing to Bensinger's desk, addressing Hildy) Is that your desk? HILDY (jumping) No! BURNS (almost simultaneously) Yes! What are you afraid of Hildy? I dare him to move that desk out of here. HARTMAN Oh, you do, eh? (to deputies) All right, boys. Confiscate that desk. Several of the deputies start toward the desk. BURNS (trying to intercept deputies) Hartman, if you take this desk out of this building, I'll put you behind bars. HARTMAN You will, eh? Well, we'll see about that. (to deputies) All right, boys. Take it. BURNS I'm warning you -- it'll be a Federal offense. (to deputy nearest him) And you'll be an accessory! HARTMAN We'll take a chance on that, Burns. (to deputies) Go ahead, boys. (the deputies continue toward the desk) INT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Flanked by two policemen, Mrs. Baldwin, dishevelled, with her hat over one ear, is marching toward the Press Room, bound for vengeance. Bruce, considerably upset, is with her. As they reach the door to the Press Room, Mrs. Baldwin stops. MRS. BALDWIN You wait outside, Bruce. BRUCE But, mother -- MRS. BALDWIN (firmly) No! You'll weaken when you see that little Jezebel! I'm going to tell her what I think of her! She plumps her hat down more firmly on her head and marches into the Press Room followed by the two policemen. Bruce remains outside the door. INT. PRESS ROOM Taking in door as it opens and Mrs. Baldwin, followed by the policemen, comes in. HILDY (leaping forward) Mother! MRS. BALDWIN (pointing out Burns to the officers) That man there! HILDY (hugging Mrs. Baldwin) Mother! Oh, I'm so glad to see you! Are you all right? Tell me. Mrs. Baldwin indignantly shakes her off. HARTMAN What's the idea here? POLICEMAN This lady claims she was kidnapped. HARTMAN What? MRS. BALDWIN They dragged me all the way down the stairs -- HARTMAN Just a minute. Did -- did -- (points to Burns) -- this man have anything to do with it? MRS. BALDWIN He was the one in charge of everything! He told them to kidnap me! BURNS (amazed) Are you referring to me, Madam? MRS. BALDWIN You know you did! HARTMAN What about this, Burns? Kidnapping, eh? BURNS (round-eyed) Oh, trying to frame me, eh! I never saw this woman before in my life! MRS. BALDWIN Oh, what a thing to say! I was standing right here - after the girl jumped out of the window. HARTMAN Did you get the Mayor? DEPUTY He's coming over. BURNS (to Mrs. Baldwin) Now, Madam -- be honest. If you were out joy-riding, drunk, and got into some scrape, why don't you admit it, instead of accusing innocent people? MRS. BALDWIN (beginning to doubt her senses) You ruffian! How dare you say a thing like that? HILDA Please, Mother, he's just crazy! MRS. BALDWIN (to Sheriff) I'll tell you something more. I'll tell you why they did it! BURNS (fidgeting) Come on, Sheriff. We've got to get bail. MRS. BALDWIN (continuing crescendo) I was in here -- and they had some kind of murderer in with them. They were hiding him! This is a bombshell. The room is electrified. HARTMAN Hiding him? In here? Murphy, followed by the reporters, comes into scene. MURPHY Hiding him where? HILDY Mother! REPORTERS Where was he?... Where'd they have him?... Etc. CLOSE SHOT BURNS at the desk. BURNS (with superb indignation) Madam, you're a cockeyed liar! And you know it! To emphasize his righteousness, he pounds on the desk three times, forgetting that that is his signal to Williams. Then, realizing what he has done, he gasps. MED. SHOT Burns advances from desk, the others retreating before him. BURNS (anxiously) Come on, Sheriff, we've got to get bail. Three answering knocks come from the desk. GROUP SHOT WITH DOORWAY IN B.G They jump around to face the desk. HARTMAN (whispering) What was that? REPORTERS AD LIB He's in the desk! -- For the love of -- He's in there! Etc. HARTMAN Aha! I thought so! Stand back, everybody! DEPUTY Look out, Sheriff. He may shoot! HARTMAN Get your guns out! The policemen and deputies get out their guns. HILDY He's harmless. HARTMAN Don't take any chances. Shoot through the desk. HILDY He can't hurt anybody. You've got his gun. MRS. BALDWIN (panic-stricken) Oh, dear! Oh, dear! BURNS You grey-haired old Judas! MRS. BALDWIN Let me out! Let me out of here! She streaks for the door, flings it open and goes. The reporters tear out of scene to their telephones. HARTMAN (to policeman) You stand there! MURPHY'S VOICE City Desk! Quick! SCHWARTZ' VOICE Gimme the Desk! HARTMAN (to another policeman) You there! ENDICOTT'S VOICE City Desk! Hurry! MCCUE'S VOICE Gimme Emil... HARTMAN (to a Deputy, pointing with his gun toward the window) You cover the window. MURPHY'S VOICE Look out where you're pointing that gun! The Sheriff draws his men in around the desk, their guns drawn on it. WILSON'S VOICE Lemme have the Desk! Quick! MURPHY'S VOICE Hold the wire! I've got a flash for you! BURNS (to Hildy) Call Duffy! HARTMAN No, you don't! BURNS (to Sheriff, furiously) Do you want to get us scooped? MCCUE'S VOICE Emil? Hang on for a second. HARTMAN Now then, everybody aim at the center. And when I say three -- HILDY That's murder! HARTMAN (changing his mind) All right! Carl! Frank! One of you get on each side of the desk. Take hold of the cover. They do. HARTMAN Now then! We got you covered, Williams. Don't try to move. Now! Everybody quiet and ready for an emergency. I'm going to count three. SCHWARTZ Hold it! Something coming up. HARTMAN One! ENDICOTT Hold the phone! MURPHY (into the phone) I'll have it in a minute. HARTMAN Two! WILSON (into phone) Right away now! HARTMAN (turning back to desk) Everybody ready? All right. Now then, up with it. Two deputies raise the cover. Williams is revealed, cowering in the desk, his hands over his face. The Sheriff rushes on him, jabbing his gun into him. CLOSE SHOT SHERIFF AND WILLIAMS HARTMAN Got you, Williams! WILLIAMS (a wail) Go on -- shoot me! MEDIUM SHOT as the police and deputies come in to assist the Sheriff. The reporters are telephoning in, the police shouting -- all the voices mixing in, in incredible confusion, as the Sheriff rushes Williams to the door and takes him out. MURPHY'S VOICE Earl Williams was just captured in the Press Room of the Criminal Courts Building, hiding in a desk. OFFICERS AD LIB (all talking at once) Grab him! That's him! Don't let him shoot! Stick 'em up! -- Etc. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) ...Williams in a rolltop -- CLOSEUP WILSON AT PHONE WILSON (into phone) -- nabbed Williams hiding -- ENDICOTT'S VOICE -- found Williams' hiding place. SCHWARTZ' VOICE He offered no resistance. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) Williams put up a desperate struggle but the police overpowered -- CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) -- tried to shoot it out with the cops but his gun wouldn't work, so -- WILSON'S VOICE -- trying to break through the cordon of police -- CLOSEUP ENDICOTT AT PHONE ENDICOTT (into phone) Williams was unconscious when they opened the desk -- CLOSEUP BURNS grabbing the Post phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Morning Post just turned Earl Williams over to the Sheriff. CLOSE SHOT THE SHERIFF coming in the door with two policemen and leaping to get the phone away from Burns. MED. SHOT BURNS AT PHONE, HILDY BESIDE HIM BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Sheriff and police come into scene. HARTMAN (indicating Burns and Hildy) Put the cuffs on those two! The police handcuff Hildy and Burns. ENDICOTT An anonymous note received by the Sheriff led to Williams' capture. More later. He hangs up. CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) An old sweetheart of Williams' doublecrossed him. Call you back. He hangs up. MED. SHOT TAKING IN DOOR REPORTERS Where's that old lady? Hey, Madam! Where'd she go? Where's the old dame? Etc., etc. They run out after Mrs. Baldwin, the Mayor entering just after they go. Burns and Hildy, handcuffed together, stand near the Sheriff. HARTMAN (into phone) Hello, girlie -- gimme Cooley. Quick! BURNS Hartwell, you're going to wish you'd never been born! The Mayor comes into scene. MAYOR Fine work, Pete! You certainly delivered the goods. I'm proud of you. HARTMAN (holding the phone) Look kind o' natural, don't they, Fred? MAYOR (happily) A sight for sore eyes! HARTMAN (rolling in catnip) Aiding an escaped criminal! And a little charge of kidnapping I'm looking into. (into phone; suddenly) But that's the jail! There must be somebody there! MAYOR Well! Looks like about ten years apiece for you birds! BURNS Does it? You forget the power that always watches over the Morning Post. MAYOR Your luck's not with you now! HARTMAN (into phone) Cooley?... I caught Williams single- handed -- we're going to proceed with the hanging per schedule! He wiggles the hook for another call. BURNS (to Mayor) You're going to be in office for exactly two days more and then we're pulling your nose out of the feed bag. HARTMAN (into phone) Give me the District Attorney's office. (to Burns) I'll tell you what you'll be doing -- making brooms in the State penitentiary. (into phone) Hello, D'Arrasty! This is Hartwell. Come over to my office, will you? I've just arrested a couple of important birds and I want to take their confessions. He hangs up. Burns makes a sudden lunge for the Morning Post phone and cries into it. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! Get Liebowitz! MAYOR All the lawyers in the world aren't going to help you! BURNS This is the Morning Post you're talking to! MAYOR (enjoying himself) The power of the press, huh! He laughs. Pinkus, the Governor's messenger, plentifully stewed, reels in the door. He approaches the Mayor and Sheriff who have their backs to him. BURNS (at the Mayor) Bigger men than you have found out what the power of the press is... President!... Yes -- and Kings! PINKUS (woozy; handing Sheriff the reprieve over his shoulder) Here's your reprieve. The Mayor and Sheriff spin around. MAYOR (in a panic) Get out of here! PINKUS You can't bribe me! BURNS What's this? HARTMAN Get out of here, you! PINKUS I

everything

How many times the word 'everything' appears in the text?

will you? MED. SHOT as Burns leaves Hildy and goes over to desk and picks up his phone again. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER Finding the door locked, he knocks. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY as another knock comes, they take it big. HILDY (calling) Who is it? EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER What's the idea of locking this? INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY HILDY That's Bensinger. That's his desk. BURNS (whispering) What's his name? The door knob is rattled violently. HILDY Bensinger -- of the Tribune. EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER Open this door! INT. PRESS ROOM CLOSE SHOT BURNS He starts for the door. BURNS I'll handle him. CAMERA TRUCKS WITH HIM to the door. BURNS The Tribune, eh? Watch me! He opens the door. AT DOOR BENSINGER (as he comes in) Ain't you got any more sense than to -- ? (sees Burns and is overcome) Oh, h-hello, Mr. Burns. Why, quite an honor having you come over here. BURNS (casually) Hello, Bensinger. BENSINGER Excuse me, I just want to -- He starts for the desk. Hildy's typing goes on, coming in over the scene. BURNS (starting for the desk, suddenly blocking his path) Quite a coincidence, my running into you tonight. Isn't it, Hildy? HILDY'S VOICE Yeh. BENSINGER How do you mean? CLOSEUP BURNS AND BENSINGER BURNS I was having a little chat about you just this afternoon -- with our Mister Duffy. BENSINGER (essaying a pleasantry) Nothing -- ah -- detrimental, I hope. BURNS I should say not! That was one swell story you had in the paper this morning. BENSINGER (deeply moved) Oh, did you -- care for the poem, Mr. Burns? BURNS (startled) The poem?... The poem was great! BENSINGER (blinking at these words) Remember the ending? (and he recites) " -- and all is well, outside his cell, But in his heart he hears the hangman Calling and the gallows falling And his white-haired mother's tears..." BURNS (overcome) Heartbreaking! How would you like to work for me? BENSINGER What? MEDIUM SHOT taking in table, Hildy typing there. BURNS (to Bensinger) We need somebody like you. All we've got now are a lot of low-brows. Like Johnson here. He starts shoving Bensinger away from the desk, toward the table. BENSINGER Seriously, Mr. Burns? Clinging to him, Burns takes him to the phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! I'm sending Bensinger over to see you. (looking up at Bensinger) Mervyn, isn't it? BENSINGER No. Roy. Roy V. BURNS (with a little laugh at his own forgetfulness) Of course! (into phone) Roy Bensinger, the poet. Of course you wouldn't know! You probably never heard of Shakespeare, either! Put Mr. Bensinger right on the staff. (to Bensinger) How much are you getting on the Tribune, Roy? BENSINGER Seventy-five. BURNS I'll give you a hundred and a by- line. ANOTHER ANGLE as Burns continues. BURNS (into phone) Let him have everything he wants. (puts down the receiver; turns to Bensinger) Now hustle and write me a story from the point of view of the escaped man. (acting it out) He hides, cowering... Afraid of every light, of every sound... hears footsteps... his heart going like that... And all the time they're closing in... Get the sense of an animal at bay! BENSINGER Sort of a Jack London style? TRUCKING SHOT BURNS Exactly! Leads him hurriedly to the door. BENSINGER I got my rhyming dictionary in -- (indicating desk) BURNS (getting him to door) It doesn't have to rhyme! CLOSE SHOT - AT DOOR as Bensinger turns there. BENSINGER Gee, I'm terribly grateful, Mister Burns. Do you suppose there might be an opening some time as foreign correspondent? I parley a little French, you know. Burns shakes hands with him and opens the door with the other hand. BURNS I'll keep you in mind. BENSINGER (going) Au revoir, mon capitaine. BURNS (never at a loss in any language) Bon jour! Continuing his French, he gets the door closed and relocked and turns for the table, singing as he does so: BURNS Mademoiselle from Armontieres, parlay -- MED. SHOT Burns returns alertly to table, not noticing that Hildy has stopped typing, and sits staring moodily before her. BURNS (into phono) Duffy! Got this! CLOSEUP BURNS - AT PHONE BURNS A rat from the Tribune is coming over to get a job -- Bensinger, the guy I told you about. Handle him with kid gloves. Tell him to get busy writing poetry... No, we don't want him. Stall him along until the extra comes out. Then tell him his poetry stinks and kick him downstairs. He lays down receiver. WIDER ANGLE taking in Hildy. She looks up at him. HILDY (to Burns) Double-crossing swine! BURNS You said it! But this'll teach him a lesson. He won't quit his paper without giving notice after this. Hildy doesn't bother to reply. She rests her chin on her hands and stares moodily ahead. BURNS Tear into it, will you? Don't sit there like a frozen robin! HILDY I'm finished. BURNS Finished! He grabs the last sheet of paper out of her typewriter, kisses her and rushes over to the telephone. CLOSEUP BURNS at phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! All right -- here we go! And got it out as soon as you can. I want this paper out on the streets in half an hour! (reading Hildy's copy) "So once more the Morning Post --" EXT. CRIMINAL COURTS BLDG. - NIGHT MED. SHOT Diamond Louie, bearing evidence of a mishap, his hat crushed, his face bruised and his clothes torn, comes running down the sidewalk and up the steps into the buildings. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Hildy is up now, pacing. HILDY Bruce ought to be back by now. Walter, you're not trying anything again, are you? BURNS (coming over to her) Hildy, you think I could? After this story? (taking a flask from his pocket) Here! You're just nervous. Hildy takes the flask and takes a drink. There is a knock on the door. Burns takes the flask from her, restores it to his pocket and goes to the door. BURNS Who is it? LOUIE'S VOICE It's me, Boss -- Louie. BURNS (opening the door) It's Louie! Louie slips in and Burns relocks the door. BURNS (seeing Louie's disarray) What's the matter? Hildy crosses to Louie. HILDY (frantically) Where's Mrs. Baldwin? BURNS What did you do with her? HILDY (almost afraid to speak) What happened? CLOSE SHOT - THE THREE BURNS You been in a fight? LOUIE (still out of breath) Down Western Avenue. We were going sixty-five miles an hour. You know what I mean? BURNS Take that mush out of your mouth! HILDY Where's the old lady? LOUIE I'm telling you! CLOSEUP - LOUIE as he gets breath and blurts: LOUIE We run smack into a police patrol. You know what I mean? We broke it in half! BACK TO GROUP HILDY (moaning) Oh-h-h... was she hurt? BURNS Where is she? Tell me! HILDY Louie! LOUIE I'm telling you. Can you imagine bumping into a load of cops?! They come rollin' out like oranges! HILDY (seizing him) What did you do with her? LOUIE Search me! When I come to I was running down Thirty-fifth Street. HILDY -- You were with her. You were in the cab, weren't you? LOUIE (exposing his bruised scalp) Was I? The driver got knocked cold. BURNS Butter-fingers! I give you an old lady to take somewhere, and you hand her over to the cops! LOUIE What do you mean, I handed her? The patrol wagon was on the wrong side of the street. BURNS Now everything's fine. She's probably squawking her head off in some police station. CLOSEUP - LOUIE LOUIE I don't think she's talking much... You know what I mean? He winks reassuringly. BACK TO GROUP HILDY (paralyzed) Don't tell me -- was she killed? BURNS (hopefully) Was she? Did you notice? LOUIE Say, me with a gun on my hip and a kidnapped old lady on my hands, I should stick around asking questions from a lot of cops! You know what I mean? Hildy sinks into a chair. CLOSE SHOT HILDY IN THE CHAIR HILDY Dead... dead! That's the end! Burns comes into scene to her. BURNS It's Fate, Hildy. What will be, will be. HILDY (wildly) What am I going to say to Bruce? What'll I tell him? BURNS If he really loves you, you won't have to tell him anything. (whacking her on the shoulder) Snap out of it! Would you rather have had the old dame dragging the whole police force in here? HILDY I killed her. I'm responsible. Oh- h... what can I do now? How can I ever face him? Oh, I hope he never comes back! She buries her face in her hands. BURNS Look at me, Hildy -- HILDY (springing up) I'm looking at you -- you murderer! BURNS If it was my own mother, I'd carry on! You know I would. For the paper! HILDY (calling off to Louie) Louie, where'd it happen? I'm going out! MED. SHOT GROUP The Post phone rings. BURNS (grabbing Hildy) You stay here. I'll find out everything. LOUIE (to Hildy) Western an' Thirty-fourth. Hildy jumps for the outside phone on the desk. TWO SHOT INCLUDING BURNS AT PHONE AND HILDY AT PHONE BURNS (into phone) Hello -- hello... HILDY (into phone) Gimme Western four-five-five-seven. BURNS (guarded) Who? (wildly) Hello, Butch! Where are you? HILDY (into phone) Mission Hospital? Gimme the Receiving Room. BURNS (into phone) What are you doing there? Haven't you even started? HILDY (into phone) Hello -- Eddie? Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady brought in from an auto smashup? BURNS (into phone) Oh, for -- (yelling) H. Sebastian -- Butch! Listen, it's a matter of life and death! Listen! HILDY (into phone) Nobody? (jiggles hook) Morningside three-one-two-four. BURNS (into phone) I can't hear... You got who? Speak up! A what?... You can't stop for a dame now! HILDY (into phone) Is this the Community Hospital? BURNS (howling into phone) I don't care if you've been after her for six years! Butch, our whole lives are at stake! Are you going to let a woman come between us after all we've been through? HILDY (into phone) Hello, Max, Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady --? BURNS (into phone, drowning out Hildy) Butch! I'd put my arm in fire for you -- up to here! (indicates up to where) Now, you can't double-cross me!... She does? All right -- put her on. I'll talk to her... Hello! Oh, hello, Madam... Now listen, you ten-cent glamour girl, you can't keep Butch away from his duty... What's that? You say that again and I'll come over there and knock your eye out! Hello? (turning, as he hangs up) I'll kill 'em! I'll kill both of 'em! (into Post phone) Duffy! (to the universe) Mousing around with some big blonde Annie on my time! That's co-operation! (screaming into phone) Duffy!! HILDY Shut up, will you? (into phone) You sure? Nobody? BURNS (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) Well, where is Duffy? (throwing receiver to desk) Diabetes! I ought to know better than to hire anybody with a disease. (turning) Louie. MED. SHOT GROUP BURNS (to Louie) It's up to you. LOUIE (loyally) Anything you want, Boss. BURNS Beat it out and get hold of some guys. LOUIE Who do you want? BURNS (starting for the door, followed by Louie) Anybody with hair on his chest. Get 'em off the street -- anywhere. Offer them anything -- only get them. (confidentially) We've got to get this desk out of here. He unlocks the door. LOUIE You know me. The shirt off my back. BURNS You got plenty of money? LOUIE Sure, boss. BURNS I mean real money -- not counterfeit! LOUIE I always have both. He goes out. BURNS (calling after him) And don't bump into anything. He relocks the door. HILDY Lafayette two-one-hundred. BURNS (turning from door) That dumb immigrant'll flop on me. I know it. (bitterly) Can you imagine Butch doing this to me -- at a time like this? CLOSE SHOT HILDY AT PHONE, TAKING IN DESK Burns steps into scene. BURNS (confidentially) If Louie doesn't come back in five minutes we'll get it out alone. There's millions of ways. We can start a fire and get the firemen to carry it out in the confusion. He crosses to the desk and inspects it. HILDY (into phone) Ring that number, will you? BURNS (to Hildy, oblivious of her telephoning) Come here. See if we can move it. HILDY (into phone) Hello -- hello! Is this the Lying -- In Hospital? Did you have an auto accident in the last -- BURNS (interrupting) Will you come here? HILDY (into phone) Oh, I see. I beg your pardon. BURNS When I'm surrounded, with my back against the wall, you're not going to lay down on me, are you -- HILDY Yes. She jiggles the phone hook. BURNS (going to her) Hildy, you just can't leave me out on a limb now. It -- it wouldn't be cricket! HILDY I don't care what you say. I'm going to find Bruce's mother. (she jiggles the hook madly) Oh-h... (she hangs up) I'm going out and find her! Grabbing her hat and purse, she starts for the door. MED. SHOT OF HILDY, TAKING IN DOOR There is a loud knocking on the door. BURNS (coming into scene after Hildy) Don't open that! HILDY (at the door) Who says so? I'm going to the morgue -- to look -- She unlocks the door. CLOSE SHOT AT DOOR as Hildy flings the door open, only to find the Sheriff, accompanied by two deputies -- Carl and Frank -- and surrounded by McCue, Murphy, Schwartz, Wilson and Endicott. MURPHY There she is! MCCUE Say, Hildy... Hildy makes a decision and tries to push through them, but the Sheriff grabs her and pushes her back. HARTMAN Just a minute, Johnson! HILDY Let go o' me. What's the idea? MCCUE What's your hurry? MURPHY We want to see you. The deputies seize her. HILDY Take your paws off me! HARTMAN Hold her, boys! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (to Sheriff) Who do you think you are, breaking in here like this? HARTMAN You can't bluff me, Burns. I don't care who you are or what paper you're editor of. HILDY (struggling) Let me go! (hysterically) Fellows, something's happened to my mother-in-law. HARTMAN Hang onto her! Keep her in here! MED. SHOT as Hildy breaks loose and retreats back into the room before Hartman and the deputies. MCCUE We know what you're up to. ENDICOTT Probably goin' out to get Williams. SCHWARTZ The door was locked. WILSON She and Mollie were talking. HILDY I don't know anything, I tell you. There's been an accident. HARTMAN Johnson, there's something very peculiar going on. HILDY You can send somebody with me if you don't believe me! HARTMAN I wasn't born yesterday. Now the boys tell me you and this Mollie Malloy -- HILDY Nobody's trying to put anything over on you. I'm getting out of here and you can't stop me! MURPHY (comes into scene) You're not going anywhere. (to the Sheriff) She's got the story sewed up, Pete. (indicating Burns) That's why Burns is here. SCHWARTZ We're on to you, Hildy. Let us in on it. TWO SHOT - SHERIFF AND BURNS BURNS (purring) If you've any accusations to make, Hartman, make them in the proper manner. Otherwise, I'll have to ask you to get out. HARTMAN (pop-eyed; stammering) You'll ask me to what? BURNS Get out! HARTMAN (to deputies, off) Close that door. Don't let anybody in or out. MED. SHOT - THE GROUP MURPHY Come on, Pinky! Give 'em a little third degree. ENDICOTT Make them talk and you got Williams, Pinky! HARTMAN Johnson, I'm going to the bottom of this. What do you know about Williams? Are you going to talk or aren't you? HILDY What do I know about Williams? HARTMAN All right, boys. Take her along. I got ways of making her talk. The deputies seize Hildy. She struggles. HILDY Look out, you -- MCCUE (nervously) What's the use of fighting, Hildy? Hildy manages to get in a few resounding smacks on the deputies' faces. The reporters swarm around the struggling trio. There are shouts of: "I got her!" "No, you don't!" "Aw, Hildy...", etc. In the struggle, Hildy suddenly drops her purse. It lands with a clank and comes open. A gun is revealed on the floor. Hildy picks it up. DEPUTIES Hey, she's got a gun! Look out, she's got a gun! The deputies and reporters start to close in on her cautiously. HILDY (trying to face in all directions) No, you don't! Walter! BURNS What is it? Here! She tosses the gun to Walter, but one of the deputies intercepts the throw. HARTMAN Gimme that. He takes the gun from the deputy. CLOSER SHOT The Sheriff stands frozen, staring at the gun. HARTMAN (to Hildy) Where'd you get this? HILDY I've got a right to carry a gun if I want to. HARTMAN Not this gun! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (easily) I can explain that, Hartman. When Hildy told me she wanted to interview Earl Williams I thought it might be dangerous and I gave her a gun to defend herself. HARTMAN Oh, you did! Well, that's very, very interesting. This happens to be the gun that Earl Williams shot his way out with! REPORTERS AD LIB What? What's that? Etc... BURNS (advancing on Sheriff) Are you trying to make me out a liar? MURPHY (bitterly at Hildy) It's the last time I ever trust a woman, Hildy. SCHWARTZ Maybe Williams was gonna be her best man. WILSON That's pretty rotten, Hildy. Crossing your own pals. HARTMAN (shoving up to Hildy; trembling) Where is Earl Williams? Where you got him? BURNS (sympathetically) You're barking up the wrong tree, Hartman. HARTMAN I'll give you three minutes to tell me where he is. HILDY He went over to the hospital to call on Professor Egelhoffer. HARTMAN (outraged) What? HILDY With a bag of marshmallows. The Sheriff stands silent -- then hastily turns. MED. SHOT GROUP AROUND HILDY REPORTERS AD LIB Come on, Hildy. Where is he?... This is a sweet trick, Hildy... I thought we were friends... Etc. (to Sheriff) Look here, Pete! What about Mister Burns?... Ask the Master Mind! What's he doing over here? HARTMAN (grabbing Burns' arm) Speak up! What do you know about this. BURNS (gently but firmly disengaging his hand) My dear Hartman! He moves casually to a post before the desk and maintains it. MURPHY Can that! Where is he? BURNS (to Sheriff) The Morning Post is not obstructing justice or hiding criminals. You ought to know that. HARTMAN No? Well -- (turning to Hildy) Johnson, you're under arrest. (turning to Burns) You, too, Burns. BURNS (calmly) Who's under arrest? You pimple-headed, square-toed spy -- do you realize what you're doing? HARTMAN I'll show you what I'm doing. Burns, you're guilty of obstructing justice and so is the Morning Post. I'm going to see that the Post is fined ten thousand dollars for this. BURNS You'll see nothing of the kind, Sheriff. HARTMAN We'll just start by impounding the Post property. (pointing to Bensinger's desk, addressing Hildy) Is that your desk? HILDY (jumping) No! BURNS (almost simultaneously) Yes! What are you afraid of Hildy? I dare him to move that desk out of here. HARTMAN Oh, you do, eh? (to deputies) All right, boys. Confiscate that desk. Several of the deputies start toward the desk. BURNS (trying to intercept deputies) Hartman, if you take this desk out of this building, I'll put you behind bars. HARTMAN You will, eh? Well, we'll see about that. (to deputies) All right, boys. Take it. BURNS I'm warning you -- it'll be a Federal offense. (to deputy nearest him) And you'll be an accessory! HARTMAN We'll take a chance on that, Burns. (to deputies) Go ahead, boys. (the deputies continue toward the desk) INT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Flanked by two policemen, Mrs. Baldwin, dishevelled, with her hat over one ear, is marching toward the Press Room, bound for vengeance. Bruce, considerably upset, is with her. As they reach the door to the Press Room, Mrs. Baldwin stops. MRS. BALDWIN You wait outside, Bruce. BRUCE But, mother -- MRS. BALDWIN (firmly) No! You'll weaken when you see that little Jezebel! I'm going to tell her what I think of her! She plumps her hat down more firmly on her head and marches into the Press Room followed by the two policemen. Bruce remains outside the door. INT. PRESS ROOM Taking in door as it opens and Mrs. Baldwin, followed by the policemen, comes in. HILDY (leaping forward) Mother! MRS. BALDWIN (pointing out Burns to the officers) That man there! HILDY (hugging Mrs. Baldwin) Mother! Oh, I'm so glad to see you! Are you all right? Tell me. Mrs. Baldwin indignantly shakes her off. HARTMAN What's the idea here? POLICEMAN This lady claims she was kidnapped. HARTMAN What? MRS. BALDWIN They dragged me all the way down the stairs -- HARTMAN Just a minute. Did -- did -- (points to Burns) -- this man have anything to do with it? MRS. BALDWIN He was the one in charge of everything! He told them to kidnap me! BURNS (amazed) Are you referring to me, Madam? MRS. BALDWIN You know you did! HARTMAN What about this, Burns? Kidnapping, eh? BURNS (round-eyed) Oh, trying to frame me, eh! I never saw this woman before in my life! MRS. BALDWIN Oh, what a thing to say! I was standing right here - after the girl jumped out of the window. HARTMAN Did you get the Mayor? DEPUTY He's coming over. BURNS (to Mrs. Baldwin) Now, Madam -- be honest. If you were out joy-riding, drunk, and got into some scrape, why don't you admit it, instead of accusing innocent people? MRS. BALDWIN (beginning to doubt her senses) You ruffian! How dare you say a thing like that? HILDA Please, Mother, he's just crazy! MRS. BALDWIN (to Sheriff) I'll tell you something more. I'll tell you why they did it! BURNS (fidgeting) Come on, Sheriff. We've got to get bail. MRS. BALDWIN (continuing crescendo) I was in here -- and they had some kind of murderer in with them. They were hiding him! This is a bombshell. The room is electrified. HARTMAN Hiding him? In here? Murphy, followed by the reporters, comes into scene. MURPHY Hiding him where? HILDY Mother! REPORTERS Where was he?... Where'd they have him?... Etc. CLOSE SHOT BURNS at the desk. BURNS (with superb indignation) Madam, you're a cockeyed liar! And you know it! To emphasize his righteousness, he pounds on the desk three times, forgetting that that is his signal to Williams. Then, realizing what he has done, he gasps. MED. SHOT Burns advances from desk, the others retreating before him. BURNS (anxiously) Come on, Sheriff, we've got to get bail. Three answering knocks come from the desk. GROUP SHOT WITH DOORWAY IN B.G They jump around to face the desk. HARTMAN (whispering) What was that? REPORTERS AD LIB He's in the desk! -- For the love of -- He's in there! Etc. HARTMAN Aha! I thought so! Stand back, everybody! DEPUTY Look out, Sheriff. He may shoot! HARTMAN Get your guns out! The policemen and deputies get out their guns. HILDY He's harmless. HARTMAN Don't take any chances. Shoot through the desk. HILDY He can't hurt anybody. You've got his gun. MRS. BALDWIN (panic-stricken) Oh, dear! Oh, dear! BURNS You grey-haired old Judas! MRS. BALDWIN Let me out! Let me out of here! She streaks for the door, flings it open and goes. The reporters tear out of scene to their telephones. HARTMAN (to policeman) You stand there! MURPHY'S VOICE City Desk! Quick! SCHWARTZ' VOICE Gimme the Desk! HARTMAN (to another policeman) You there! ENDICOTT'S VOICE City Desk! Hurry! MCCUE'S VOICE Gimme Emil... HARTMAN (to a Deputy, pointing with his gun toward the window) You cover the window. MURPHY'S VOICE Look out where you're pointing that gun! The Sheriff draws his men in around the desk, their guns drawn on it. WILSON'S VOICE Lemme have the Desk! Quick! MURPHY'S VOICE Hold the wire! I've got a flash for you! BURNS (to Hildy) Call Duffy! HARTMAN No, you don't! BURNS (to Sheriff, furiously) Do you want to get us scooped? MCCUE'S VOICE Emil? Hang on for a second. HARTMAN Now then, everybody aim at the center. And when I say three -- HILDY That's murder! HARTMAN (changing his mind) All right! Carl! Frank! One of you get on each side of the desk. Take hold of the cover. They do. HARTMAN Now then! We got you covered, Williams. Don't try to move. Now! Everybody quiet and ready for an emergency. I'm going to count three. SCHWARTZ Hold it! Something coming up. HARTMAN One! ENDICOTT Hold the phone! MURPHY (into the phone) I'll have it in a minute. HARTMAN Two! WILSON (into phone) Right away now! HARTMAN (turning back to desk) Everybody ready? All right. Now then, up with it. Two deputies raise the cover. Williams is revealed, cowering in the desk, his hands over his face. The Sheriff rushes on him, jabbing his gun into him. CLOSE SHOT SHERIFF AND WILLIAMS HARTMAN Got you, Williams! WILLIAMS (a wail) Go on -- shoot me! MEDIUM SHOT as the police and deputies come in to assist the Sheriff. The reporters are telephoning in, the police shouting -- all the voices mixing in, in incredible confusion, as the Sheriff rushes Williams to the door and takes him out. MURPHY'S VOICE Earl Williams was just captured in the Press Room of the Criminal Courts Building, hiding in a desk. OFFICERS AD LIB (all talking at once) Grab him! That's him! Don't let him shoot! Stick 'em up! -- Etc. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) ...Williams in a rolltop -- CLOSEUP WILSON AT PHONE WILSON (into phone) -- nabbed Williams hiding -- ENDICOTT'S VOICE -- found Williams' hiding place. SCHWARTZ' VOICE He offered no resistance. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) Williams put up a desperate struggle but the police overpowered -- CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) -- tried to shoot it out with the cops but his gun wouldn't work, so -- WILSON'S VOICE -- trying to break through the cordon of police -- CLOSEUP ENDICOTT AT PHONE ENDICOTT (into phone) Williams was unconscious when they opened the desk -- CLOSEUP BURNS grabbing the Post phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Morning Post just turned Earl Williams over to the Sheriff. CLOSE SHOT THE SHERIFF coming in the door with two policemen and leaping to get the phone away from Burns. MED. SHOT BURNS AT PHONE, HILDY BESIDE HIM BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Sheriff and police come into scene. HARTMAN (indicating Burns and Hildy) Put the cuffs on those two! The police handcuff Hildy and Burns. ENDICOTT An anonymous note received by the Sheriff led to Williams' capture. More later. He hangs up. CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) An old sweetheart of Williams' doublecrossed him. Call you back. He hangs up. MED. SHOT TAKING IN DOOR REPORTERS Where's that old lady? Hey, Madam! Where'd she go? Where's the old dame? Etc., etc. They run out after Mrs. Baldwin, the Mayor entering just after they go. Burns and Hildy, handcuffed together, stand near the Sheriff. HARTMAN (into phone) Hello, girlie -- gimme Cooley. Quick! BURNS Hartwell, you're going to wish you'd never been born! The Mayor comes into scene. MAYOR Fine work, Pete! You certainly delivered the goods. I'm proud of you. HARTMAN (holding the phone) Look kind o' natural, don't they, Fred? MAYOR (happily) A sight for sore eyes! HARTMAN (rolling in catnip) Aiding an escaped criminal! And a little charge of kidnapping I'm looking into. (into phone; suddenly) But that's the jail! There must be somebody there! MAYOR Well! Looks like about ten years apiece for you birds! BURNS Does it? You forget the power that always watches over the Morning Post. MAYOR Your luck's not with you now! HARTMAN (into phone) Cooley?... I caught Williams single- handed -- we're going to proceed with the hanging per schedule! He wiggles the hook for another call. BURNS (to Mayor) You're going to be in office for exactly two days more and then we're pulling your nose out of the feed bag. HARTMAN (into phone) Give me the District Attorney's office. (to Burns) I'll tell you what you'll be doing -- making brooms in the State penitentiary. (into phone) Hello, D'Arrasty! This is Hartwell. Come over to my office, will you? I've just arrested a couple of important birds and I want to take their confessions. He hangs up. Burns makes a sudden lunge for the Morning Post phone and cries into it. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! Get Liebowitz! MAYOR All the lawyers in the world aren't going to help you! BURNS This is the Morning Post you're talking to! MAYOR (enjoying himself) The power of the press, huh! He laughs. Pinkus, the Governor's messenger, plentifully stewed, reels in the door. He approaches the Mayor and Sheriff who have their backs to him. BURNS (at the Mayor) Bigger men than you have found out what the power of the press is... President!... Yes -- and Kings! PINKUS (woozy; handing Sheriff the reprieve over his shoulder) Here's your reprieve. The Mayor and Sheriff spin around. MAYOR (in a panic) Get out of here! PINKUS You can't bribe me! BURNS What's this? HARTMAN Get out of here, you! PINKUS I

poem

How many times the word 'poem' appears in the text?

will you? MED. SHOT as Burns leaves Hildy and goes over to desk and picks up his phone again. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER Finding the door locked, he knocks. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY as another knock comes, they take it big. HILDY (calling) Who is it? EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER What's the idea of locking this? INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY HILDY That's Bensinger. That's his desk. BURNS (whispering) What's his name? The door knob is rattled violently. HILDY Bensinger -- of the Tribune. EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER Open this door! INT. PRESS ROOM CLOSE SHOT BURNS He starts for the door. BURNS I'll handle him. CAMERA TRUCKS WITH HIM to the door. BURNS The Tribune, eh? Watch me! He opens the door. AT DOOR BENSINGER (as he comes in) Ain't you got any more sense than to -- ? (sees Burns and is overcome) Oh, h-hello, Mr. Burns. Why, quite an honor having you come over here. BURNS (casually) Hello, Bensinger. BENSINGER Excuse me, I just want to -- He starts for the desk. Hildy's typing goes on, coming in over the scene. BURNS (starting for the desk, suddenly blocking his path) Quite a coincidence, my running into you tonight. Isn't it, Hildy? HILDY'S VOICE Yeh. BENSINGER How do you mean? CLOSEUP BURNS AND BENSINGER BURNS I was having a little chat about you just this afternoon -- with our Mister Duffy. BENSINGER (essaying a pleasantry) Nothing -- ah -- detrimental, I hope. BURNS I should say not! That was one swell story you had in the paper this morning. BENSINGER (deeply moved) Oh, did you -- care for the poem, Mr. Burns? BURNS (startled) The poem?... The poem was great! BENSINGER (blinking at these words) Remember the ending? (and he recites) " -- and all is well, outside his cell, But in his heart he hears the hangman Calling and the gallows falling And his white-haired mother's tears..." BURNS (overcome) Heartbreaking! How would you like to work for me? BENSINGER What? MEDIUM SHOT taking in table, Hildy typing there. BURNS (to Bensinger) We need somebody like you. All we've got now are a lot of low-brows. Like Johnson here. He starts shoving Bensinger away from the desk, toward the table. BENSINGER Seriously, Mr. Burns? Clinging to him, Burns takes him to the phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! I'm sending Bensinger over to see you. (looking up at Bensinger) Mervyn, isn't it? BENSINGER No. Roy. Roy V. BURNS (with a little laugh at his own forgetfulness) Of course! (into phone) Roy Bensinger, the poet. Of course you wouldn't know! You probably never heard of Shakespeare, either! Put Mr. Bensinger right on the staff. (to Bensinger) How much are you getting on the Tribune, Roy? BENSINGER Seventy-five. BURNS I'll give you a hundred and a by- line. ANOTHER ANGLE as Burns continues. BURNS (into phone) Let him have everything he wants. (puts down the receiver; turns to Bensinger) Now hustle and write me a story from the point of view of the escaped man. (acting it out) He hides, cowering... Afraid of every light, of every sound... hears footsteps... his heart going like that... And all the time they're closing in... Get the sense of an animal at bay! BENSINGER Sort of a Jack London style? TRUCKING SHOT BURNS Exactly! Leads him hurriedly to the door. BENSINGER I got my rhyming dictionary in -- (indicating desk) BURNS (getting him to door) It doesn't have to rhyme! CLOSE SHOT - AT DOOR as Bensinger turns there. BENSINGER Gee, I'm terribly grateful, Mister Burns. Do you suppose there might be an opening some time as foreign correspondent? I parley a little French, you know. Burns shakes hands with him and opens the door with the other hand. BURNS I'll keep you in mind. BENSINGER (going) Au revoir, mon capitaine. BURNS (never at a loss in any language) Bon jour! Continuing his French, he gets the door closed and relocked and turns for the table, singing as he does so: BURNS Mademoiselle from Armontieres, parlay -- MED. SHOT Burns returns alertly to table, not noticing that Hildy has stopped typing, and sits staring moodily before her. BURNS (into phono) Duffy! Got this! CLOSEUP BURNS - AT PHONE BURNS A rat from the Tribune is coming over to get a job -- Bensinger, the guy I told you about. Handle him with kid gloves. Tell him to get busy writing poetry... No, we don't want him. Stall him along until the extra comes out. Then tell him his poetry stinks and kick him downstairs. He lays down receiver. WIDER ANGLE taking in Hildy. She looks up at him. HILDY (to Burns) Double-crossing swine! BURNS You said it! But this'll teach him a lesson. He won't quit his paper without giving notice after this. Hildy doesn't bother to reply. She rests her chin on her hands and stares moodily ahead. BURNS Tear into it, will you? Don't sit there like a frozen robin! HILDY I'm finished. BURNS Finished! He grabs the last sheet of paper out of her typewriter, kisses her and rushes over to the telephone. CLOSEUP BURNS at phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! All right -- here we go! And got it out as soon as you can. I want this paper out on the streets in half an hour! (reading Hildy's copy) "So once more the Morning Post --" EXT. CRIMINAL COURTS BLDG. - NIGHT MED. SHOT Diamond Louie, bearing evidence of a mishap, his hat crushed, his face bruised and his clothes torn, comes running down the sidewalk and up the steps into the buildings. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Hildy is up now, pacing. HILDY Bruce ought to be back by now. Walter, you're not trying anything again, are you? BURNS (coming over to her) Hildy, you think I could? After this story? (taking a flask from his pocket) Here! You're just nervous. Hildy takes the flask and takes a drink. There is a knock on the door. Burns takes the flask from her, restores it to his pocket and goes to the door. BURNS Who is it? LOUIE'S VOICE It's me, Boss -- Louie. BURNS (opening the door) It's Louie! Louie slips in and Burns relocks the door. BURNS (seeing Louie's disarray) What's the matter? Hildy crosses to Louie. HILDY (frantically) Where's Mrs. Baldwin? BURNS What did you do with her? HILDY (almost afraid to speak) What happened? CLOSE SHOT - THE THREE BURNS You been in a fight? LOUIE (still out of breath) Down Western Avenue. We were going sixty-five miles an hour. You know what I mean? BURNS Take that mush out of your mouth! HILDY Where's the old lady? LOUIE I'm telling you! CLOSEUP - LOUIE as he gets breath and blurts: LOUIE We run smack into a police patrol. You know what I mean? We broke it in half! BACK TO GROUP HILDY (moaning) Oh-h-h... was she hurt? BURNS Where is she? Tell me! HILDY Louie! LOUIE I'm telling you. Can you imagine bumping into a load of cops?! They come rollin' out like oranges! HILDY (seizing him) What did you do with her? LOUIE Search me! When I come to I was running down Thirty-fifth Street. HILDY -- You were with her. You were in the cab, weren't you? LOUIE (exposing his bruised scalp) Was I? The driver got knocked cold. BURNS Butter-fingers! I give you an old lady to take somewhere, and you hand her over to the cops! LOUIE What do you mean, I handed her? The patrol wagon was on the wrong side of the street. BURNS Now everything's fine. She's probably squawking her head off in some police station. CLOSEUP - LOUIE LOUIE I don't think she's talking much... You know what I mean? He winks reassuringly. BACK TO GROUP HILDY (paralyzed) Don't tell me -- was she killed? BURNS (hopefully) Was she? Did you notice? LOUIE Say, me with a gun on my hip and a kidnapped old lady on my hands, I should stick around asking questions from a lot of cops! You know what I mean? Hildy sinks into a chair. CLOSE SHOT HILDY IN THE CHAIR HILDY Dead... dead! That's the end! Burns comes into scene to her. BURNS It's Fate, Hildy. What will be, will be. HILDY (wildly) What am I going to say to Bruce? What'll I tell him? BURNS If he really loves you, you won't have to tell him anything. (whacking her on the shoulder) Snap out of it! Would you rather have had the old dame dragging the whole police force in here? HILDY I killed her. I'm responsible. Oh- h... what can I do now? How can I ever face him? Oh, I hope he never comes back! She buries her face in her hands. BURNS Look at me, Hildy -- HILDY (springing up) I'm looking at you -- you murderer! BURNS If it was my own mother, I'd carry on! You know I would. For the paper! HILDY (calling off to Louie) Louie, where'd it happen? I'm going out! MED. SHOT GROUP The Post phone rings. BURNS (grabbing Hildy) You stay here. I'll find out everything. LOUIE (to Hildy) Western an' Thirty-fourth. Hildy jumps for the outside phone on the desk. TWO SHOT INCLUDING BURNS AT PHONE AND HILDY AT PHONE BURNS (into phone) Hello -- hello... HILDY (into phone) Gimme Western four-five-five-seven. BURNS (guarded) Who? (wildly) Hello, Butch! Where are you? HILDY (into phone) Mission Hospital? Gimme the Receiving Room. BURNS (into phone) What are you doing there? Haven't you even started? HILDY (into phone) Hello -- Eddie? Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady brought in from an auto smashup? BURNS (into phone) Oh, for -- (yelling) H. Sebastian -- Butch! Listen, it's a matter of life and death! Listen! HILDY (into phone) Nobody? (jiggles hook) Morningside three-one-two-four. BURNS (into phone) I can't hear... You got who? Speak up! A what?... You can't stop for a dame now! HILDY (into phone) Is this the Community Hospital? BURNS (howling into phone) I don't care if you've been after her for six years! Butch, our whole lives are at stake! Are you going to let a woman come between us after all we've been through? HILDY (into phone) Hello, Max, Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady --? BURNS (into phone, drowning out Hildy) Butch! I'd put my arm in fire for you -- up to here! (indicates up to where) Now, you can't double-cross me!... She does? All right -- put her on. I'll talk to her... Hello! Oh, hello, Madam... Now listen, you ten-cent glamour girl, you can't keep Butch away from his duty... What's that? You say that again and I'll come over there and knock your eye out! Hello? (turning, as he hangs up) I'll kill 'em! I'll kill both of 'em! (into Post phone) Duffy! (to the universe) Mousing around with some big blonde Annie on my time! That's co-operation! (screaming into phone) Duffy!! HILDY Shut up, will you? (into phone) You sure? Nobody? BURNS (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) Well, where is Duffy? (throwing receiver to desk) Diabetes! I ought to know better than to hire anybody with a disease. (turning) Louie. MED. SHOT GROUP BURNS (to Louie) It's up to you. LOUIE (loyally) Anything you want, Boss. BURNS Beat it out and get hold of some guys. LOUIE Who do you want? BURNS (starting for the door, followed by Louie) Anybody with hair on his chest. Get 'em off the street -- anywhere. Offer them anything -- only get them. (confidentially) We've got to get this desk out of here. He unlocks the door. LOUIE You know me. The shirt off my back. BURNS You got plenty of money? LOUIE Sure, boss. BURNS I mean real money -- not counterfeit! LOUIE I always have both. He goes out. BURNS (calling after him) And don't bump into anything. He relocks the door. HILDY Lafayette two-one-hundred. BURNS (turning from door) That dumb immigrant'll flop on me. I know it. (bitterly) Can you imagine Butch doing this to me -- at a time like this? CLOSE SHOT HILDY AT PHONE, TAKING IN DESK Burns steps into scene. BURNS (confidentially) If Louie doesn't come back in five minutes we'll get it out alone. There's millions of ways. We can start a fire and get the firemen to carry it out in the confusion. He crosses to the desk and inspects it. HILDY (into phone) Ring that number, will you? BURNS (to Hildy, oblivious of her telephoning) Come here. See if we can move it. HILDY (into phone) Hello -- hello! Is this the Lying -- In Hospital? Did you have an auto accident in the last -- BURNS (interrupting) Will you come here? HILDY (into phone) Oh, I see. I beg your pardon. BURNS When I'm surrounded, with my back against the wall, you're not going to lay down on me, are you -- HILDY Yes. She jiggles the phone hook. BURNS (going to her) Hildy, you just can't leave me out on a limb now. It -- it wouldn't be cricket! HILDY I don't care what you say. I'm going to find Bruce's mother. (she jiggles the hook madly) Oh-h... (she hangs up) I'm going out and find her! Grabbing her hat and purse, she starts for the door. MED. SHOT OF HILDY, TAKING IN DOOR There is a loud knocking on the door. BURNS (coming into scene after Hildy) Don't open that! HILDY (at the door) Who says so? I'm going to the morgue -- to look -- She unlocks the door. CLOSE SHOT AT DOOR as Hildy flings the door open, only to find the Sheriff, accompanied by two deputies -- Carl and Frank -- and surrounded by McCue, Murphy, Schwartz, Wilson and Endicott. MURPHY There she is! MCCUE Say, Hildy... Hildy makes a decision and tries to push through them, but the Sheriff grabs her and pushes her back. HARTMAN Just a minute, Johnson! HILDY Let go o' me. What's the idea? MCCUE What's your hurry? MURPHY We want to see you. The deputies seize her. HILDY Take your paws off me! HARTMAN Hold her, boys! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (to Sheriff) Who do you think you are, breaking in here like this? HARTMAN You can't bluff me, Burns. I don't care who you are or what paper you're editor of. HILDY (struggling) Let me go! (hysterically) Fellows, something's happened to my mother-in-law. HARTMAN Hang onto her! Keep her in here! MED. SHOT as Hildy breaks loose and retreats back into the room before Hartman and the deputies. MCCUE We know what you're up to. ENDICOTT Probably goin' out to get Williams. SCHWARTZ The door was locked. WILSON She and Mollie were talking. HILDY I don't know anything, I tell you. There's been an accident. HARTMAN Johnson, there's something very peculiar going on. HILDY You can send somebody with me if you don't believe me! HARTMAN I wasn't born yesterday. Now the boys tell me you and this Mollie Malloy -- HILDY Nobody's trying to put anything over on you. I'm getting out of here and you can't stop me! MURPHY (comes into scene) You're not going anywhere. (to the Sheriff) She's got the story sewed up, Pete. (indicating Burns) That's why Burns is here. SCHWARTZ We're on to you, Hildy. Let us in on it. TWO SHOT - SHERIFF AND BURNS BURNS (purring) If you've any accusations to make, Hartman, make them in the proper manner. Otherwise, I'll have to ask you to get out. HARTMAN (pop-eyed; stammering) You'll ask me to what? BURNS Get out! HARTMAN (to deputies, off) Close that door. Don't let anybody in or out. MED. SHOT - THE GROUP MURPHY Come on, Pinky! Give 'em a little third degree. ENDICOTT Make them talk and you got Williams, Pinky! HARTMAN Johnson, I'm going to the bottom of this. What do you know about Williams? Are you going to talk or aren't you? HILDY What do I know about Williams? HARTMAN All right, boys. Take her along. I got ways of making her talk. The deputies seize Hildy. She struggles. HILDY Look out, you -- MCCUE (nervously) What's the use of fighting, Hildy? Hildy manages to get in a few resounding smacks on the deputies' faces. The reporters swarm around the struggling trio. There are shouts of: "I got her!" "No, you don't!" "Aw, Hildy...", etc. In the struggle, Hildy suddenly drops her purse. It lands with a clank and comes open. A gun is revealed on the floor. Hildy picks it up. DEPUTIES Hey, she's got a gun! Look out, she's got a gun! The deputies and reporters start to close in on her cautiously. HILDY (trying to face in all directions) No, you don't! Walter! BURNS What is it? Here! She tosses the gun to Walter, but one of the deputies intercepts the throw. HARTMAN Gimme that. He takes the gun from the deputy. CLOSER SHOT The Sheriff stands frozen, staring at the gun. HARTMAN (to Hildy) Where'd you get this? HILDY I've got a right to carry a gun if I want to. HARTMAN Not this gun! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (easily) I can explain that, Hartman. When Hildy told me she wanted to interview Earl Williams I thought it might be dangerous and I gave her a gun to defend herself. HARTMAN Oh, you did! Well, that's very, very interesting. This happens to be the gun that Earl Williams shot his way out with! REPORTERS AD LIB What? What's that? Etc... BURNS (advancing on Sheriff) Are you trying to make me out a liar? MURPHY (bitterly at Hildy) It's the last time I ever trust a woman, Hildy. SCHWARTZ Maybe Williams was gonna be her best man. WILSON That's pretty rotten, Hildy. Crossing your own pals. HARTMAN (shoving up to Hildy; trembling) Where is Earl Williams? Where you got him? BURNS (sympathetically) You're barking up the wrong tree, Hartman. HARTMAN I'll give you three minutes to tell me where he is. HILDY He went over to the hospital to call on Professor Egelhoffer. HARTMAN (outraged) What? HILDY With a bag of marshmallows. The Sheriff stands silent -- then hastily turns. MED. SHOT GROUP AROUND HILDY REPORTERS AD LIB Come on, Hildy. Where is he?... This is a sweet trick, Hildy... I thought we were friends... Etc. (to Sheriff) Look here, Pete! What about Mister Burns?... Ask the Master Mind! What's he doing over here? HARTMAN (grabbing Burns' arm) Speak up! What do you know about this. BURNS (gently but firmly disengaging his hand) My dear Hartman! He moves casually to a post before the desk and maintains it. MURPHY Can that! Where is he? BURNS (to Sheriff) The Morning Post is not obstructing justice or hiding criminals. You ought to know that. HARTMAN No? Well -- (turning to Hildy) Johnson, you're under arrest. (turning to Burns) You, too, Burns. BURNS (calmly) Who's under arrest? You pimple-headed, square-toed spy -- do you realize what you're doing? HARTMAN I'll show you what I'm doing. Burns, you're guilty of obstructing justice and so is the Morning Post. I'm going to see that the Post is fined ten thousand dollars for this. BURNS You'll see nothing of the kind, Sheriff. HARTMAN We'll just start by impounding the Post property. (pointing to Bensinger's desk, addressing Hildy) Is that your desk? HILDY (jumping) No! BURNS (almost simultaneously) Yes! What are you afraid of Hildy? I dare him to move that desk out of here. HARTMAN Oh, you do, eh? (to deputies) All right, boys. Confiscate that desk. Several of the deputies start toward the desk. BURNS (trying to intercept deputies) Hartman, if you take this desk out of this building, I'll put you behind bars. HARTMAN You will, eh? Well, we'll see about that. (to deputies) All right, boys. Take it. BURNS I'm warning you -- it'll be a Federal offense. (to deputy nearest him) And you'll be an accessory! HARTMAN We'll take a chance on that, Burns. (to deputies) Go ahead, boys. (the deputies continue toward the desk) INT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Flanked by two policemen, Mrs. Baldwin, dishevelled, with her hat over one ear, is marching toward the Press Room, bound for vengeance. Bruce, considerably upset, is with her. As they reach the door to the Press Room, Mrs. Baldwin stops. MRS. BALDWIN You wait outside, Bruce. BRUCE But, mother -- MRS. BALDWIN (firmly) No! You'll weaken when you see that little Jezebel! I'm going to tell her what I think of her! She plumps her hat down more firmly on her head and marches into the Press Room followed by the two policemen. Bruce remains outside the door. INT. PRESS ROOM Taking in door as it opens and Mrs. Baldwin, followed by the policemen, comes in. HILDY (leaping forward) Mother! MRS. BALDWIN (pointing out Burns to the officers) That man there! HILDY (hugging Mrs. Baldwin) Mother! Oh, I'm so glad to see you! Are you all right? Tell me. Mrs. Baldwin indignantly shakes her off. HARTMAN What's the idea here? POLICEMAN This lady claims she was kidnapped. HARTMAN What? MRS. BALDWIN They dragged me all the way down the stairs -- HARTMAN Just a minute. Did -- did -- (points to Burns) -- this man have anything to do with it? MRS. BALDWIN He was the one in charge of everything! He told them to kidnap me! BURNS (amazed) Are you referring to me, Madam? MRS. BALDWIN You know you did! HARTMAN What about this, Burns? Kidnapping, eh? BURNS (round-eyed) Oh, trying to frame me, eh! I never saw this woman before in my life! MRS. BALDWIN Oh, what a thing to say! I was standing right here - after the girl jumped out of the window. HARTMAN Did you get the Mayor? DEPUTY He's coming over. BURNS (to Mrs. Baldwin) Now, Madam -- be honest. If you were out joy-riding, drunk, and got into some scrape, why don't you admit it, instead of accusing innocent people? MRS. BALDWIN (beginning to doubt her senses) You ruffian! How dare you say a thing like that? HILDA Please, Mother, he's just crazy! MRS. BALDWIN (to Sheriff) I'll tell you something more. I'll tell you why they did it! BURNS (fidgeting) Come on, Sheriff. We've got to get bail. MRS. BALDWIN (continuing crescendo) I was in here -- and they had some kind of murderer in with them. They were hiding him! This is a bombshell. The room is electrified. HARTMAN Hiding him? In here? Murphy, followed by the reporters, comes into scene. MURPHY Hiding him where? HILDY Mother! REPORTERS Where was he?... Where'd they have him?... Etc. CLOSE SHOT BURNS at the desk. BURNS (with superb indignation) Madam, you're a cockeyed liar! And you know it! To emphasize his righteousness, he pounds on the desk three times, forgetting that that is his signal to Williams. Then, realizing what he has done, he gasps. MED. SHOT Burns advances from desk, the others retreating before him. BURNS (anxiously) Come on, Sheriff, we've got to get bail. Three answering knocks come from the desk. GROUP SHOT WITH DOORWAY IN B.G They jump around to face the desk. HARTMAN (whispering) What was that? REPORTERS AD LIB He's in the desk! -- For the love of -- He's in there! Etc. HARTMAN Aha! I thought so! Stand back, everybody! DEPUTY Look out, Sheriff. He may shoot! HARTMAN Get your guns out! The policemen and deputies get out their guns. HILDY He's harmless. HARTMAN Don't take any chances. Shoot through the desk. HILDY He can't hurt anybody. You've got his gun. MRS. BALDWIN (panic-stricken) Oh, dear! Oh, dear! BURNS You grey-haired old Judas! MRS. BALDWIN Let me out! Let me out of here! She streaks for the door, flings it open and goes. The reporters tear out of scene to their telephones. HARTMAN (to policeman) You stand there! MURPHY'S VOICE City Desk! Quick! SCHWARTZ' VOICE Gimme the Desk! HARTMAN (to another policeman) You there! ENDICOTT'S VOICE City Desk! Hurry! MCCUE'S VOICE Gimme Emil... HARTMAN (to a Deputy, pointing with his gun toward the window) You cover the window. MURPHY'S VOICE Look out where you're pointing that gun! The Sheriff draws his men in around the desk, their guns drawn on it. WILSON'S VOICE Lemme have the Desk! Quick! MURPHY'S VOICE Hold the wire! I've got a flash for you! BURNS (to Hildy) Call Duffy! HARTMAN No, you don't! BURNS (to Sheriff, furiously) Do you want to get us scooped? MCCUE'S VOICE Emil? Hang on for a second. HARTMAN Now then, everybody aim at the center. And when I say three -- HILDY That's murder! HARTMAN (changing his mind) All right! Carl! Frank! One of you get on each side of the desk. Take hold of the cover. They do. HARTMAN Now then! We got you covered, Williams. Don't try to move. Now! Everybody quiet and ready for an emergency. I'm going to count three. SCHWARTZ Hold it! Something coming up. HARTMAN One! ENDICOTT Hold the phone! MURPHY (into the phone) I'll have it in a minute. HARTMAN Two! WILSON (into phone) Right away now! HARTMAN (turning back to desk) Everybody ready? All right. Now then, up with it. Two deputies raise the cover. Williams is revealed, cowering in the desk, his hands over his face. The Sheriff rushes on him, jabbing his gun into him. CLOSE SHOT SHERIFF AND WILLIAMS HARTMAN Got you, Williams! WILLIAMS (a wail) Go on -- shoot me! MEDIUM SHOT as the police and deputies come in to assist the Sheriff. The reporters are telephoning in, the police shouting -- all the voices mixing in, in incredible confusion, as the Sheriff rushes Williams to the door and takes him out. MURPHY'S VOICE Earl Williams was just captured in the Press Room of the Criminal Courts Building, hiding in a desk. OFFICERS AD LIB (all talking at once) Grab him! That's him! Don't let him shoot! Stick 'em up! -- Etc. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) ...Williams in a rolltop -- CLOSEUP WILSON AT PHONE WILSON (into phone) -- nabbed Williams hiding -- ENDICOTT'S VOICE -- found Williams' hiding place. SCHWARTZ' VOICE He offered no resistance. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) Williams put up a desperate struggle but the police overpowered -- CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) -- tried to shoot it out with the cops but his gun wouldn't work, so -- WILSON'S VOICE -- trying to break through the cordon of police -- CLOSEUP ENDICOTT AT PHONE ENDICOTT (into phone) Williams was unconscious when they opened the desk -- CLOSEUP BURNS grabbing the Post phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Morning Post just turned Earl Williams over to the Sheriff. CLOSE SHOT THE SHERIFF coming in the door with two policemen and leaping to get the phone away from Burns. MED. SHOT BURNS AT PHONE, HILDY BESIDE HIM BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Sheriff and police come into scene. HARTMAN (indicating Burns and Hildy) Put the cuffs on those two! The police handcuff Hildy and Burns. ENDICOTT An anonymous note received by the Sheriff led to Williams' capture. More later. He hangs up. CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) An old sweetheart of Williams' doublecrossed him. Call you back. He hangs up. MED. SHOT TAKING IN DOOR REPORTERS Where's that old lady? Hey, Madam! Where'd she go? Where's the old dame? Etc., etc. They run out after Mrs. Baldwin, the Mayor entering just after they go. Burns and Hildy, handcuffed together, stand near the Sheriff. HARTMAN (into phone) Hello, girlie -- gimme Cooley. Quick! BURNS Hartwell, you're going to wish you'd never been born! The Mayor comes into scene. MAYOR Fine work, Pete! You certainly delivered the goods. I'm proud of you. HARTMAN (holding the phone) Look kind o' natural, don't they, Fred? MAYOR (happily) A sight for sore eyes! HARTMAN (rolling in catnip) Aiding an escaped criminal! And a little charge of kidnapping I'm looking into. (into phone; suddenly) But that's the jail! There must be somebody there! MAYOR Well! Looks like about ten years apiece for you birds! BURNS Does it? You forget the power that always watches over the Morning Post. MAYOR Your luck's not with you now! HARTMAN (into phone) Cooley?... I caught Williams single- handed -- we're going to proceed with the hanging per schedule! He wiggles the hook for another call. BURNS (to Mayor) You're going to be in office for exactly two days more and then we're pulling your nose out of the feed bag. HARTMAN (into phone) Give me the District Attorney's office. (to Burns) I'll tell you what you'll be doing -- making brooms in the State penitentiary. (into phone) Hello, D'Arrasty! This is Hartwell. Come over to my office, will you? I've just arrested a couple of important birds and I want to take their confessions. He hangs up. Burns makes a sudden lunge for the Morning Post phone and cries into it. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! Get Liebowitz! MAYOR All the lawyers in the world aren't going to help you! BURNS This is the Morning Post you're talking to! MAYOR (enjoying himself) The power of the press, huh! He laughs. Pinkus, the Governor's messenger, plentifully stewed, reels in the door. He approaches the Mayor and Sheriff who have their backs to him. BURNS (at the Mayor) Bigger men than you have found out what the power of the press is... President!... Yes -- and Kings! PINKUS (woozy; handing Sheriff the reprieve over his shoulder) Here's your reprieve. The Mayor and Sheriff spin around. MAYOR (in a panic) Get out of here! PINKUS You can't bribe me! BURNS What's this? HARTMAN Get out of here, you! PINKUS I

ravine

How many times the word 'ravine' appears in the text?

will you? MED. SHOT as Burns leaves Hildy and goes over to desk and picks up his phone again. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER Finding the door locked, he knocks. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY as another knock comes, they take it big. HILDY (calling) Who is it? EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER What's the idea of locking this? INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY HILDY That's Bensinger. That's his desk. BURNS (whispering) What's his name? The door knob is rattled violently. HILDY Bensinger -- of the Tribune. EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER Open this door! INT. PRESS ROOM CLOSE SHOT BURNS He starts for the door. BURNS I'll handle him. CAMERA TRUCKS WITH HIM to the door. BURNS The Tribune, eh? Watch me! He opens the door. AT DOOR BENSINGER (as he comes in) Ain't you got any more sense than to -- ? (sees Burns and is overcome) Oh, h-hello, Mr. Burns. Why, quite an honor having you come over here. BURNS (casually) Hello, Bensinger. BENSINGER Excuse me, I just want to -- He starts for the desk. Hildy's typing goes on, coming in over the scene. BURNS (starting for the desk, suddenly blocking his path) Quite a coincidence, my running into you tonight. Isn't it, Hildy? HILDY'S VOICE Yeh. BENSINGER How do you mean? CLOSEUP BURNS AND BENSINGER BURNS I was having a little chat about you just this afternoon -- with our Mister Duffy. BENSINGER (essaying a pleasantry) Nothing -- ah -- detrimental, I hope. BURNS I should say not! That was one swell story you had in the paper this morning. BENSINGER (deeply moved) Oh, did you -- care for the poem, Mr. Burns? BURNS (startled) The poem?... The poem was great! BENSINGER (blinking at these words) Remember the ending? (and he recites) " -- and all is well, outside his cell, But in his heart he hears the hangman Calling and the gallows falling And his white-haired mother's tears..." BURNS (overcome) Heartbreaking! How would you like to work for me? BENSINGER What? MEDIUM SHOT taking in table, Hildy typing there. BURNS (to Bensinger) We need somebody like you. All we've got now are a lot of low-brows. Like Johnson here. He starts shoving Bensinger away from the desk, toward the table. BENSINGER Seriously, Mr. Burns? Clinging to him, Burns takes him to the phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! I'm sending Bensinger over to see you. (looking up at Bensinger) Mervyn, isn't it? BENSINGER No. Roy. Roy V. BURNS (with a little laugh at his own forgetfulness) Of course! (into phone) Roy Bensinger, the poet. Of course you wouldn't know! You probably never heard of Shakespeare, either! Put Mr. Bensinger right on the staff. (to Bensinger) How much are you getting on the Tribune, Roy? BENSINGER Seventy-five. BURNS I'll give you a hundred and a by- line. ANOTHER ANGLE as Burns continues. BURNS (into phone) Let him have everything he wants. (puts down the receiver; turns to Bensinger) Now hustle and write me a story from the point of view of the escaped man. (acting it out) He hides, cowering... Afraid of every light, of every sound... hears footsteps... his heart going like that... And all the time they're closing in... Get the sense of an animal at bay! BENSINGER Sort of a Jack London style? TRUCKING SHOT BURNS Exactly! Leads him hurriedly to the door. BENSINGER I got my rhyming dictionary in -- (indicating desk) BURNS (getting him to door) It doesn't have to rhyme! CLOSE SHOT - AT DOOR as Bensinger turns there. BENSINGER Gee, I'm terribly grateful, Mister Burns. Do you suppose there might be an opening some time as foreign correspondent? I parley a little French, you know. Burns shakes hands with him and opens the door with the other hand. BURNS I'll keep you in mind. BENSINGER (going) Au revoir, mon capitaine. BURNS (never at a loss in any language) Bon jour! Continuing his French, he gets the door closed and relocked and turns for the table, singing as he does so: BURNS Mademoiselle from Armontieres, parlay -- MED. SHOT Burns returns alertly to table, not noticing that Hildy has stopped typing, and sits staring moodily before her. BURNS (into phono) Duffy! Got this! CLOSEUP BURNS - AT PHONE BURNS A rat from the Tribune is coming over to get a job -- Bensinger, the guy I told you about. Handle him with kid gloves. Tell him to get busy writing poetry... No, we don't want him. Stall him along until the extra comes out. Then tell him his poetry stinks and kick him downstairs. He lays down receiver. WIDER ANGLE taking in Hildy. She looks up at him. HILDY (to Burns) Double-crossing swine! BURNS You said it! But this'll teach him a lesson. He won't quit his paper without giving notice after this. Hildy doesn't bother to reply. She rests her chin on her hands and stares moodily ahead. BURNS Tear into it, will you? Don't sit there like a frozen robin! HILDY I'm finished. BURNS Finished! He grabs the last sheet of paper out of her typewriter, kisses her and rushes over to the telephone. CLOSEUP BURNS at phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! All right -- here we go! And got it out as soon as you can. I want this paper out on the streets in half an hour! (reading Hildy's copy) "So once more the Morning Post --" EXT. CRIMINAL COURTS BLDG. - NIGHT MED. SHOT Diamond Louie, bearing evidence of a mishap, his hat crushed, his face bruised and his clothes torn, comes running down the sidewalk and up the steps into the buildings. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Hildy is up now, pacing. HILDY Bruce ought to be back by now. Walter, you're not trying anything again, are you? BURNS (coming over to her) Hildy, you think I could? After this story? (taking a flask from his pocket) Here! You're just nervous. Hildy takes the flask and takes a drink. There is a knock on the door. Burns takes the flask from her, restores it to his pocket and goes to the door. BURNS Who is it? LOUIE'S VOICE It's me, Boss -- Louie. BURNS (opening the door) It's Louie! Louie slips in and Burns relocks the door. BURNS (seeing Louie's disarray) What's the matter? Hildy crosses to Louie. HILDY (frantically) Where's Mrs. Baldwin? BURNS What did you do with her? HILDY (almost afraid to speak) What happened? CLOSE SHOT - THE THREE BURNS You been in a fight? LOUIE (still out of breath) Down Western Avenue. We were going sixty-five miles an hour. You know what I mean? BURNS Take that mush out of your mouth! HILDY Where's the old lady? LOUIE I'm telling you! CLOSEUP - LOUIE as he gets breath and blurts: LOUIE We run smack into a police patrol. You know what I mean? We broke it in half! BACK TO GROUP HILDY (moaning) Oh-h-h... was she hurt? BURNS Where is she? Tell me! HILDY Louie! LOUIE I'm telling you. Can you imagine bumping into a load of cops?! They come rollin' out like oranges! HILDY (seizing him) What did you do with her? LOUIE Search me! When I come to I was running down Thirty-fifth Street. HILDY -- You were with her. You were in the cab, weren't you? LOUIE (exposing his bruised scalp) Was I? The driver got knocked cold. BURNS Butter-fingers! I give you an old lady to take somewhere, and you hand her over to the cops! LOUIE What do you mean, I handed her? The patrol wagon was on the wrong side of the street. BURNS Now everything's fine. She's probably squawking her head off in some police station. CLOSEUP - LOUIE LOUIE I don't think she's talking much... You know what I mean? He winks reassuringly. BACK TO GROUP HILDY (paralyzed) Don't tell me -- was she killed? BURNS (hopefully) Was she? Did you notice? LOUIE Say, me with a gun on my hip and a kidnapped old lady on my hands, I should stick around asking questions from a lot of cops! You know what I mean? Hildy sinks into a chair. CLOSE SHOT HILDY IN THE CHAIR HILDY Dead... dead! That's the end! Burns comes into scene to her. BURNS It's Fate, Hildy. What will be, will be. HILDY (wildly) What am I going to say to Bruce? What'll I tell him? BURNS If he really loves you, you won't have to tell him anything. (whacking her on the shoulder) Snap out of it! Would you rather have had the old dame dragging the whole police force in here? HILDY I killed her. I'm responsible. Oh- h... what can I do now? How can I ever face him? Oh, I hope he never comes back! She buries her face in her hands. BURNS Look at me, Hildy -- HILDY (springing up) I'm looking at you -- you murderer! BURNS If it was my own mother, I'd carry on! You know I would. For the paper! HILDY (calling off to Louie) Louie, where'd it happen? I'm going out! MED. SHOT GROUP The Post phone rings. BURNS (grabbing Hildy) You stay here. I'll find out everything. LOUIE (to Hildy) Western an' Thirty-fourth. Hildy jumps for the outside phone on the desk. TWO SHOT INCLUDING BURNS AT PHONE AND HILDY AT PHONE BURNS (into phone) Hello -- hello... HILDY (into phone) Gimme Western four-five-five-seven. BURNS (guarded) Who? (wildly) Hello, Butch! Where are you? HILDY (into phone) Mission Hospital? Gimme the Receiving Room. BURNS (into phone) What are you doing there? Haven't you even started? HILDY (into phone) Hello -- Eddie? Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady brought in from an auto smashup? BURNS (into phone) Oh, for -- (yelling) H. Sebastian -- Butch! Listen, it's a matter of life and death! Listen! HILDY (into phone) Nobody? (jiggles hook) Morningside three-one-two-four. BURNS (into phone) I can't hear... You got who? Speak up! A what?... You can't stop for a dame now! HILDY (into phone) Is this the Community Hospital? BURNS (howling into phone) I don't care if you've been after her for six years! Butch, our whole lives are at stake! Are you going to let a woman come between us after all we've been through? HILDY (into phone) Hello, Max, Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady --? BURNS (into phone, drowning out Hildy) Butch! I'd put my arm in fire for you -- up to here! (indicates up to where) Now, you can't double-cross me!... She does? All right -- put her on. I'll talk to her... Hello! Oh, hello, Madam... Now listen, you ten-cent glamour girl, you can't keep Butch away from his duty... What's that? You say that again and I'll come over there and knock your eye out! Hello? (turning, as he hangs up) I'll kill 'em! I'll kill both of 'em! (into Post phone) Duffy! (to the universe) Mousing around with some big blonde Annie on my time! That's co-operation! (screaming into phone) Duffy!! HILDY Shut up, will you? (into phone) You sure? Nobody? BURNS (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) Well, where is Duffy? (throwing receiver to desk) Diabetes! I ought to know better than to hire anybody with a disease. (turning) Louie. MED. SHOT GROUP BURNS (to Louie) It's up to you. LOUIE (loyally) Anything you want, Boss. BURNS Beat it out and get hold of some guys. LOUIE Who do you want? BURNS (starting for the door, followed by Louie) Anybody with hair on his chest. Get 'em off the street -- anywhere. Offer them anything -- only get them. (confidentially) We've got to get this desk out of here. He unlocks the door. LOUIE You know me. The shirt off my back. BURNS You got plenty of money? LOUIE Sure, boss. BURNS I mean real money -- not counterfeit! LOUIE I always have both. He goes out. BURNS (calling after him) And don't bump into anything. He relocks the door. HILDY Lafayette two-one-hundred. BURNS (turning from door) That dumb immigrant'll flop on me. I know it. (bitterly) Can you imagine Butch doing this to me -- at a time like this? CLOSE SHOT HILDY AT PHONE, TAKING IN DESK Burns steps into scene. BURNS (confidentially) If Louie doesn't come back in five minutes we'll get it out alone. There's millions of ways. We can start a fire and get the firemen to carry it out in the confusion. He crosses to the desk and inspects it. HILDY (into phone) Ring that number, will you? BURNS (to Hildy, oblivious of her telephoning) Come here. See if we can move it. HILDY (into phone) Hello -- hello! Is this the Lying -- In Hospital? Did you have an auto accident in the last -- BURNS (interrupting) Will you come here? HILDY (into phone) Oh, I see. I beg your pardon. BURNS When I'm surrounded, with my back against the wall, you're not going to lay down on me, are you -- HILDY Yes. She jiggles the phone hook. BURNS (going to her) Hildy, you just can't leave me out on a limb now. It -- it wouldn't be cricket! HILDY I don't care what you say. I'm going to find Bruce's mother. (she jiggles the hook madly) Oh-h... (she hangs up) I'm going out and find her! Grabbing her hat and purse, she starts for the door. MED. SHOT OF HILDY, TAKING IN DOOR There is a loud knocking on the door. BURNS (coming into scene after Hildy) Don't open that! HILDY (at the door) Who says so? I'm going to the morgue -- to look -- She unlocks the door. CLOSE SHOT AT DOOR as Hildy flings the door open, only to find the Sheriff, accompanied by two deputies -- Carl and Frank -- and surrounded by McCue, Murphy, Schwartz, Wilson and Endicott. MURPHY There she is! MCCUE Say, Hildy... Hildy makes a decision and tries to push through them, but the Sheriff grabs her and pushes her back. HARTMAN Just a minute, Johnson! HILDY Let go o' me. What's the idea? MCCUE What's your hurry? MURPHY We want to see you. The deputies seize her. HILDY Take your paws off me! HARTMAN Hold her, boys! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (to Sheriff) Who do you think you are, breaking in here like this? HARTMAN You can't bluff me, Burns. I don't care who you are or what paper you're editor of. HILDY (struggling) Let me go! (hysterically) Fellows, something's happened to my mother-in-law. HARTMAN Hang onto her! Keep her in here! MED. SHOT as Hildy breaks loose and retreats back into the room before Hartman and the deputies. MCCUE We know what you're up to. ENDICOTT Probably goin' out to get Williams. SCHWARTZ The door was locked. WILSON She and Mollie were talking. HILDY I don't know anything, I tell you. There's been an accident. HARTMAN Johnson, there's something very peculiar going on. HILDY You can send somebody with me if you don't believe me! HARTMAN I wasn't born yesterday. Now the boys tell me you and this Mollie Malloy -- HILDY Nobody's trying to put anything over on you. I'm getting out of here and you can't stop me! MURPHY (comes into scene) You're not going anywhere. (to the Sheriff) She's got the story sewed up, Pete. (indicating Burns) That's why Burns is here. SCHWARTZ We're on to you, Hildy. Let us in on it. TWO SHOT - SHERIFF AND BURNS BURNS (purring) If you've any accusations to make, Hartman, make them in the proper manner. Otherwise, I'll have to ask you to get out. HARTMAN (pop-eyed; stammering) You'll ask me to what? BURNS Get out! HARTMAN (to deputies, off) Close that door. Don't let anybody in or out. MED. SHOT - THE GROUP MURPHY Come on, Pinky! Give 'em a little third degree. ENDICOTT Make them talk and you got Williams, Pinky! HARTMAN Johnson, I'm going to the bottom of this. What do you know about Williams? Are you going to talk or aren't you? HILDY What do I know about Williams? HARTMAN All right, boys. Take her along. I got ways of making her talk. The deputies seize Hildy. She struggles. HILDY Look out, you -- MCCUE (nervously) What's the use of fighting, Hildy? Hildy manages to get in a few resounding smacks on the deputies' faces. The reporters swarm around the struggling trio. There are shouts of: "I got her!" "No, you don't!" "Aw, Hildy...", etc. In the struggle, Hildy suddenly drops her purse. It lands with a clank and comes open. A gun is revealed on the floor. Hildy picks it up. DEPUTIES Hey, she's got a gun! Look out, she's got a gun! The deputies and reporters start to close in on her cautiously. HILDY (trying to face in all directions) No, you don't! Walter! BURNS What is it? Here! She tosses the gun to Walter, but one of the deputies intercepts the throw. HARTMAN Gimme that. He takes the gun from the deputy. CLOSER SHOT The Sheriff stands frozen, staring at the gun. HARTMAN (to Hildy) Where'd you get this? HILDY I've got a right to carry a gun if I want to. HARTMAN Not this gun! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (easily) I can explain that, Hartman. When Hildy told me she wanted to interview Earl Williams I thought it might be dangerous and I gave her a gun to defend herself. HARTMAN Oh, you did! Well, that's very, very interesting. This happens to be the gun that Earl Williams shot his way out with! REPORTERS AD LIB What? What's that? Etc... BURNS (advancing on Sheriff) Are you trying to make me out a liar? MURPHY (bitterly at Hildy) It's the last time I ever trust a woman, Hildy. SCHWARTZ Maybe Williams was gonna be her best man. WILSON That's pretty rotten, Hildy. Crossing your own pals. HARTMAN (shoving up to Hildy; trembling) Where is Earl Williams? Where you got him? BURNS (sympathetically) You're barking up the wrong tree, Hartman. HARTMAN I'll give you three minutes to tell me where he is. HILDY He went over to the hospital to call on Professor Egelhoffer. HARTMAN (outraged) What? HILDY With a bag of marshmallows. The Sheriff stands silent -- then hastily turns. MED. SHOT GROUP AROUND HILDY REPORTERS AD LIB Come on, Hildy. Where is he?... This is a sweet trick, Hildy... I thought we were friends... Etc. (to Sheriff) Look here, Pete! What about Mister Burns?... Ask the Master Mind! What's he doing over here? HARTMAN (grabbing Burns' arm) Speak up! What do you know about this. BURNS (gently but firmly disengaging his hand) My dear Hartman! He moves casually to a post before the desk and maintains it. MURPHY Can that! Where is he? BURNS (to Sheriff) The Morning Post is not obstructing justice or hiding criminals. You ought to know that. HARTMAN No? Well -- (turning to Hildy) Johnson, you're under arrest. (turning to Burns) You, too, Burns. BURNS (calmly) Who's under arrest? You pimple-headed, square-toed spy -- do you realize what you're doing? HARTMAN I'll show you what I'm doing. Burns, you're guilty of obstructing justice and so is the Morning Post. I'm going to see that the Post is fined ten thousand dollars for this. BURNS You'll see nothing of the kind, Sheriff. HARTMAN We'll just start by impounding the Post property. (pointing to Bensinger's desk, addressing Hildy) Is that your desk? HILDY (jumping) No! BURNS (almost simultaneously) Yes! What are you afraid of Hildy? I dare him to move that desk out of here. HARTMAN Oh, you do, eh? (to deputies) All right, boys. Confiscate that desk. Several of the deputies start toward the desk. BURNS (trying to intercept deputies) Hartman, if you take this desk out of this building, I'll put you behind bars. HARTMAN You will, eh? Well, we'll see about that. (to deputies) All right, boys. Take it. BURNS I'm warning you -- it'll be a Federal offense. (to deputy nearest him) And you'll be an accessory! HARTMAN We'll take a chance on that, Burns. (to deputies) Go ahead, boys. (the deputies continue toward the desk) INT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Flanked by two policemen, Mrs. Baldwin, dishevelled, with her hat over one ear, is marching toward the Press Room, bound for vengeance. Bruce, considerably upset, is with her. As they reach the door to the Press Room, Mrs. Baldwin stops. MRS. BALDWIN You wait outside, Bruce. BRUCE But, mother -- MRS. BALDWIN (firmly) No! You'll weaken when you see that little Jezebel! I'm going to tell her what I think of her! She plumps her hat down more firmly on her head and marches into the Press Room followed by the two policemen. Bruce remains outside the door. INT. PRESS ROOM Taking in door as it opens and Mrs. Baldwin, followed by the policemen, comes in. HILDY (leaping forward) Mother! MRS. BALDWIN (pointing out Burns to the officers) That man there! HILDY (hugging Mrs. Baldwin) Mother! Oh, I'm so glad to see you! Are you all right? Tell me. Mrs. Baldwin indignantly shakes her off. HARTMAN What's the idea here? POLICEMAN This lady claims she was kidnapped. HARTMAN What? MRS. BALDWIN They dragged me all the way down the stairs -- HARTMAN Just a minute. Did -- did -- (points to Burns) -- this man have anything to do with it? MRS. BALDWIN He was the one in charge of everything! He told them to kidnap me! BURNS (amazed) Are you referring to me, Madam? MRS. BALDWIN You know you did! HARTMAN What about this, Burns? Kidnapping, eh? BURNS (round-eyed) Oh, trying to frame me, eh! I never saw this woman before in my life! MRS. BALDWIN Oh, what a thing to say! I was standing right here - after the girl jumped out of the window. HARTMAN Did you get the Mayor? DEPUTY He's coming over. BURNS (to Mrs. Baldwin) Now, Madam -- be honest. If you were out joy-riding, drunk, and got into some scrape, why don't you admit it, instead of accusing innocent people? MRS. BALDWIN (beginning to doubt her senses) You ruffian! How dare you say a thing like that? HILDA Please, Mother, he's just crazy! MRS. BALDWIN (to Sheriff) I'll tell you something more. I'll tell you why they did it! BURNS (fidgeting) Come on, Sheriff. We've got to get bail. MRS. BALDWIN (continuing crescendo) I was in here -- and they had some kind of murderer in with them. They were hiding him! This is a bombshell. The room is electrified. HARTMAN Hiding him? In here? Murphy, followed by the reporters, comes into scene. MURPHY Hiding him where? HILDY Mother! REPORTERS Where was he?... Where'd they have him?... Etc. CLOSE SHOT BURNS at the desk. BURNS (with superb indignation) Madam, you're a cockeyed liar! And you know it! To emphasize his righteousness, he pounds on the desk three times, forgetting that that is his signal to Williams. Then, realizing what he has done, he gasps. MED. SHOT Burns advances from desk, the others retreating before him. BURNS (anxiously) Come on, Sheriff, we've got to get bail. Three answering knocks come from the desk. GROUP SHOT WITH DOORWAY IN B.G They jump around to face the desk. HARTMAN (whispering) What was that? REPORTERS AD LIB He's in the desk! -- For the love of -- He's in there! Etc. HARTMAN Aha! I thought so! Stand back, everybody! DEPUTY Look out, Sheriff. He may shoot! HARTMAN Get your guns out! The policemen and deputies get out their guns. HILDY He's harmless. HARTMAN Don't take any chances. Shoot through the desk. HILDY He can't hurt anybody. You've got his gun. MRS. BALDWIN (panic-stricken) Oh, dear! Oh, dear! BURNS You grey-haired old Judas! MRS. BALDWIN Let me out! Let me out of here! She streaks for the door, flings it open and goes. The reporters tear out of scene to their telephones. HARTMAN (to policeman) You stand there! MURPHY'S VOICE City Desk! Quick! SCHWARTZ' VOICE Gimme the Desk! HARTMAN (to another policeman) You there! ENDICOTT'S VOICE City Desk! Hurry! MCCUE'S VOICE Gimme Emil... HARTMAN (to a Deputy, pointing with his gun toward the window) You cover the window. MURPHY'S VOICE Look out where you're pointing that gun! The Sheriff draws his men in around the desk, their guns drawn on it. WILSON'S VOICE Lemme have the Desk! Quick! MURPHY'S VOICE Hold the wire! I've got a flash for you! BURNS (to Hildy) Call Duffy! HARTMAN No, you don't! BURNS (to Sheriff, furiously) Do you want to get us scooped? MCCUE'S VOICE Emil? Hang on for a second. HARTMAN Now then, everybody aim at the center. And when I say three -- HILDY That's murder! HARTMAN (changing his mind) All right! Carl! Frank! One of you get on each side of the desk. Take hold of the cover. They do. HARTMAN Now then! We got you covered, Williams. Don't try to move. Now! Everybody quiet and ready for an emergency. I'm going to count three. SCHWARTZ Hold it! Something coming up. HARTMAN One! ENDICOTT Hold the phone! MURPHY (into the phone) I'll have it in a minute. HARTMAN Two! WILSON (into phone) Right away now! HARTMAN (turning back to desk) Everybody ready? All right. Now then, up with it. Two deputies raise the cover. Williams is revealed, cowering in the desk, his hands over his face. The Sheriff rushes on him, jabbing his gun into him. CLOSE SHOT SHERIFF AND WILLIAMS HARTMAN Got you, Williams! WILLIAMS (a wail) Go on -- shoot me! MEDIUM SHOT as the police and deputies come in to assist the Sheriff. The reporters are telephoning in, the police shouting -- all the voices mixing in, in incredible confusion, as the Sheriff rushes Williams to the door and takes him out. MURPHY'S VOICE Earl Williams was just captured in the Press Room of the Criminal Courts Building, hiding in a desk. OFFICERS AD LIB (all talking at once) Grab him! That's him! Don't let him shoot! Stick 'em up! -- Etc. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) ...Williams in a rolltop -- CLOSEUP WILSON AT PHONE WILSON (into phone) -- nabbed Williams hiding -- ENDICOTT'S VOICE -- found Williams' hiding place. SCHWARTZ' VOICE He offered no resistance. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) Williams put up a desperate struggle but the police overpowered -- CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) -- tried to shoot it out with the cops but his gun wouldn't work, so -- WILSON'S VOICE -- trying to break through the cordon of police -- CLOSEUP ENDICOTT AT PHONE ENDICOTT (into phone) Williams was unconscious when they opened the desk -- CLOSEUP BURNS grabbing the Post phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Morning Post just turned Earl Williams over to the Sheriff. CLOSE SHOT THE SHERIFF coming in the door with two policemen and leaping to get the phone away from Burns. MED. SHOT BURNS AT PHONE, HILDY BESIDE HIM BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Sheriff and police come into scene. HARTMAN (indicating Burns and Hildy) Put the cuffs on those two! The police handcuff Hildy and Burns. ENDICOTT An anonymous note received by the Sheriff led to Williams' capture. More later. He hangs up. CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) An old sweetheart of Williams' doublecrossed him. Call you back. He hangs up. MED. SHOT TAKING IN DOOR REPORTERS Where's that old lady? Hey, Madam! Where'd she go? Where's the old dame? Etc., etc. They run out after Mrs. Baldwin, the Mayor entering just after they go. Burns and Hildy, handcuffed together, stand near the Sheriff. HARTMAN (into phone) Hello, girlie -- gimme Cooley. Quick! BURNS Hartwell, you're going to wish you'd never been born! The Mayor comes into scene. MAYOR Fine work, Pete! You certainly delivered the goods. I'm proud of you. HARTMAN (holding the phone) Look kind o' natural, don't they, Fred? MAYOR (happily) A sight for sore eyes! HARTMAN (rolling in catnip) Aiding an escaped criminal! And a little charge of kidnapping I'm looking into. (into phone; suddenly) But that's the jail! There must be somebody there! MAYOR Well! Looks like about ten years apiece for you birds! BURNS Does it? You forget the power that always watches over the Morning Post. MAYOR Your luck's not with you now! HARTMAN (into phone) Cooley?... I caught Williams single- handed -- we're going to proceed with the hanging per schedule! He wiggles the hook for another call. BURNS (to Mayor) You're going to be in office for exactly two days more and then we're pulling your nose out of the feed bag. HARTMAN (into phone) Give me the District Attorney's office. (to Burns) I'll tell you what you'll be doing -- making brooms in the State penitentiary. (into phone) Hello, D'Arrasty! This is Hartwell. Come over to my office, will you? I've just arrested a couple of important birds and I want to take their confessions. He hangs up. Burns makes a sudden lunge for the Morning Post phone and cries into it. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! Get Liebowitz! MAYOR All the lawyers in the world aren't going to help you! BURNS This is the Morning Post you're talking to! MAYOR (enjoying himself) The power of the press, huh! He laughs. Pinkus, the Governor's messenger, plentifully stewed, reels in the door. He approaches the Mayor and Sheriff who have their backs to him. BURNS (at the Mayor) Bigger men than you have found out what the power of the press is... President!... Yes -- and Kings! PINKUS (woozy; handing Sheriff the reprieve over his shoulder) Here's your reprieve. The Mayor and Sheriff spin around. MAYOR (in a panic) Get out of here! PINKUS You can't bribe me! BURNS What's this? HARTMAN Get out of here, you! PINKUS I

six

How many times the word 'six' appears in the text?

will you? MED. SHOT as Burns leaves Hildy and goes over to desk and picks up his phone again. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER Finding the door locked, he knocks. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY as another knock comes, they take it big. HILDY (calling) Who is it? EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER What's the idea of locking this? INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY HILDY That's Bensinger. That's his desk. BURNS (whispering) What's his name? The door knob is rattled violently. HILDY Bensinger -- of the Tribune. EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER Open this door! INT. PRESS ROOM CLOSE SHOT BURNS He starts for the door. BURNS I'll handle him. CAMERA TRUCKS WITH HIM to the door. BURNS The Tribune, eh? Watch me! He opens the door. AT DOOR BENSINGER (as he comes in) Ain't you got any more sense than to -- ? (sees Burns and is overcome) Oh, h-hello, Mr. Burns. Why, quite an honor having you come over here. BURNS (casually) Hello, Bensinger. BENSINGER Excuse me, I just want to -- He starts for the desk. Hildy's typing goes on, coming in over the scene. BURNS (starting for the desk, suddenly blocking his path) Quite a coincidence, my running into you tonight. Isn't it, Hildy? HILDY'S VOICE Yeh. BENSINGER How do you mean? CLOSEUP BURNS AND BENSINGER BURNS I was having a little chat about you just this afternoon -- with our Mister Duffy. BENSINGER (essaying a pleasantry) Nothing -- ah -- detrimental, I hope. BURNS I should say not! That was one swell story you had in the paper this morning. BENSINGER (deeply moved) Oh, did you -- care for the poem, Mr. Burns? BURNS (startled) The poem?... The poem was great! BENSINGER (blinking at these words) Remember the ending? (and he recites) " -- and all is well, outside his cell, But in his heart he hears the hangman Calling and the gallows falling And his white-haired mother's tears..." BURNS (overcome) Heartbreaking! How would you like to work for me? BENSINGER What? MEDIUM SHOT taking in table, Hildy typing there. BURNS (to Bensinger) We need somebody like you. All we've got now are a lot of low-brows. Like Johnson here. He starts shoving Bensinger away from the desk, toward the table. BENSINGER Seriously, Mr. Burns? Clinging to him, Burns takes him to the phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! I'm sending Bensinger over to see you. (looking up at Bensinger) Mervyn, isn't it? BENSINGER No. Roy. Roy V. BURNS (with a little laugh at his own forgetfulness) Of course! (into phone) Roy Bensinger, the poet. Of course you wouldn't know! You probably never heard of Shakespeare, either! Put Mr. Bensinger right on the staff. (to Bensinger) How much are you getting on the Tribune, Roy? BENSINGER Seventy-five. BURNS I'll give you a hundred and a by- line. ANOTHER ANGLE as Burns continues. BURNS (into phone) Let him have everything he wants. (puts down the receiver; turns to Bensinger) Now hustle and write me a story from the point of view of the escaped man. (acting it out) He hides, cowering... Afraid of every light, of every sound... hears footsteps... his heart going like that... And all the time they're closing in... Get the sense of an animal at bay! BENSINGER Sort of a Jack London style? TRUCKING SHOT BURNS Exactly! Leads him hurriedly to the door. BENSINGER I got my rhyming dictionary in -- (indicating desk) BURNS (getting him to door) It doesn't have to rhyme! CLOSE SHOT - AT DOOR as Bensinger turns there. BENSINGER Gee, I'm terribly grateful, Mister Burns. Do you suppose there might be an opening some time as foreign correspondent? I parley a little French, you know. Burns shakes hands with him and opens the door with the other hand. BURNS I'll keep you in mind. BENSINGER (going) Au revoir, mon capitaine. BURNS (never at a loss in any language) Bon jour! Continuing his French, he gets the door closed and relocked and turns for the table, singing as he does so: BURNS Mademoiselle from Armontieres, parlay -- MED. SHOT Burns returns alertly to table, not noticing that Hildy has stopped typing, and sits staring moodily before her. BURNS (into phono) Duffy! Got this! CLOSEUP BURNS - AT PHONE BURNS A rat from the Tribune is coming over to get a job -- Bensinger, the guy I told you about. Handle him with kid gloves. Tell him to get busy writing poetry... No, we don't want him. Stall him along until the extra comes out. Then tell him his poetry stinks and kick him downstairs. He lays down receiver. WIDER ANGLE taking in Hildy. She looks up at him. HILDY (to Burns) Double-crossing swine! BURNS You said it! But this'll teach him a lesson. He won't quit his paper without giving notice after this. Hildy doesn't bother to reply. She rests her chin on her hands and stares moodily ahead. BURNS Tear into it, will you? Don't sit there like a frozen robin! HILDY I'm finished. BURNS Finished! He grabs the last sheet of paper out of her typewriter, kisses her and rushes over to the telephone. CLOSEUP BURNS at phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! All right -- here we go! And got it out as soon as you can. I want this paper out on the streets in half an hour! (reading Hildy's copy) "So once more the Morning Post --" EXT. CRIMINAL COURTS BLDG. - NIGHT MED. SHOT Diamond Louie, bearing evidence of a mishap, his hat crushed, his face bruised and his clothes torn, comes running down the sidewalk and up the steps into the buildings. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Hildy is up now, pacing. HILDY Bruce ought to be back by now. Walter, you're not trying anything again, are you? BURNS (coming over to her) Hildy, you think I could? After this story? (taking a flask from his pocket) Here! You're just nervous. Hildy takes the flask and takes a drink. There is a knock on the door. Burns takes the flask from her, restores it to his pocket and goes to the door. BURNS Who is it? LOUIE'S VOICE It's me, Boss -- Louie. BURNS (opening the door) It's Louie! Louie slips in and Burns relocks the door. BURNS (seeing Louie's disarray) What's the matter? Hildy crosses to Louie. HILDY (frantically) Where's Mrs. Baldwin? BURNS What did you do with her? HILDY (almost afraid to speak) What happened? CLOSE SHOT - THE THREE BURNS You been in a fight? LOUIE (still out of breath) Down Western Avenue. We were going sixty-five miles an hour. You know what I mean? BURNS Take that mush out of your mouth! HILDY Where's the old lady? LOUIE I'm telling you! CLOSEUP - LOUIE as he gets breath and blurts: LOUIE We run smack into a police patrol. You know what I mean? We broke it in half! BACK TO GROUP HILDY (moaning) Oh-h-h... was she hurt? BURNS Where is she? Tell me! HILDY Louie! LOUIE I'm telling you. Can you imagine bumping into a load of cops?! They come rollin' out like oranges! HILDY (seizing him) What did you do with her? LOUIE Search me! When I come to I was running down Thirty-fifth Street. HILDY -- You were with her. You were in the cab, weren't you? LOUIE (exposing his bruised scalp) Was I? The driver got knocked cold. BURNS Butter-fingers! I give you an old lady to take somewhere, and you hand her over to the cops! LOUIE What do you mean, I handed her? The patrol wagon was on the wrong side of the street. BURNS Now everything's fine. She's probably squawking her head off in some police station. CLOSEUP - LOUIE LOUIE I don't think she's talking much... You know what I mean? He winks reassuringly. BACK TO GROUP HILDY (paralyzed) Don't tell me -- was she killed? BURNS (hopefully) Was she? Did you notice? LOUIE Say, me with a gun on my hip and a kidnapped old lady on my hands, I should stick around asking questions from a lot of cops! You know what I mean? Hildy sinks into a chair. CLOSE SHOT HILDY IN THE CHAIR HILDY Dead... dead! That's the end! Burns comes into scene to her. BURNS It's Fate, Hildy. What will be, will be. HILDY (wildly) What am I going to say to Bruce? What'll I tell him? BURNS If he really loves you, you won't have to tell him anything. (whacking her on the shoulder) Snap out of it! Would you rather have had the old dame dragging the whole police force in here? HILDY I killed her. I'm responsible. Oh- h... what can I do now? How can I ever face him? Oh, I hope he never comes back! She buries her face in her hands. BURNS Look at me, Hildy -- HILDY (springing up) I'm looking at you -- you murderer! BURNS If it was my own mother, I'd carry on! You know I would. For the paper! HILDY (calling off to Louie) Louie, where'd it happen? I'm going out! MED. SHOT GROUP The Post phone rings. BURNS (grabbing Hildy) You stay here. I'll find out everything. LOUIE (to Hildy) Western an' Thirty-fourth. Hildy jumps for the outside phone on the desk. TWO SHOT INCLUDING BURNS AT PHONE AND HILDY AT PHONE BURNS (into phone) Hello -- hello... HILDY (into phone) Gimme Western four-five-five-seven. BURNS (guarded) Who? (wildly) Hello, Butch! Where are you? HILDY (into phone) Mission Hospital? Gimme the Receiving Room. BURNS (into phone) What are you doing there? Haven't you even started? HILDY (into phone) Hello -- Eddie? Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady brought in from an auto smashup? BURNS (into phone) Oh, for -- (yelling) H. Sebastian -- Butch! Listen, it's a matter of life and death! Listen! HILDY (into phone) Nobody? (jiggles hook) Morningside three-one-two-four. BURNS (into phone) I can't hear... You got who? Speak up! A what?... You can't stop for a dame now! HILDY (into phone) Is this the Community Hospital? BURNS (howling into phone) I don't care if you've been after her for six years! Butch, our whole lives are at stake! Are you going to let a woman come between us after all we've been through? HILDY (into phone) Hello, Max, Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady --? BURNS (into phone, drowning out Hildy) Butch! I'd put my arm in fire for you -- up to here! (indicates up to where) Now, you can't double-cross me!... She does? All right -- put her on. I'll talk to her... Hello! Oh, hello, Madam... Now listen, you ten-cent glamour girl, you can't keep Butch away from his duty... What's that? You say that again and I'll come over there and knock your eye out! Hello? (turning, as he hangs up) I'll kill 'em! I'll kill both of 'em! (into Post phone) Duffy! (to the universe) Mousing around with some big blonde Annie on my time! That's co-operation! (screaming into phone) Duffy!! HILDY Shut up, will you? (into phone) You sure? Nobody? BURNS (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) Well, where is Duffy? (throwing receiver to desk) Diabetes! I ought to know better than to hire anybody with a disease. (turning) Louie. MED. SHOT GROUP BURNS (to Louie) It's up to you. LOUIE (loyally) Anything you want, Boss. BURNS Beat it out and get hold of some guys. LOUIE Who do you want? BURNS (starting for the door, followed by Louie) Anybody with hair on his chest. Get 'em off the street -- anywhere. Offer them anything -- only get them. (confidentially) We've got to get this desk out of here. He unlocks the door. LOUIE You know me. The shirt off my back. BURNS You got plenty of money? LOUIE Sure, boss. BURNS I mean real money -- not counterfeit! LOUIE I always have both. He goes out. BURNS (calling after him) And don't bump into anything. He relocks the door. HILDY Lafayette two-one-hundred. BURNS (turning from door) That dumb immigrant'll flop on me. I know it. (bitterly) Can you imagine Butch doing this to me -- at a time like this? CLOSE SHOT HILDY AT PHONE, TAKING IN DESK Burns steps into scene. BURNS (confidentially) If Louie doesn't come back in five minutes we'll get it out alone. There's millions of ways. We can start a fire and get the firemen to carry it out in the confusion. He crosses to the desk and inspects it. HILDY (into phone) Ring that number, will you? BURNS (to Hildy, oblivious of her telephoning) Come here. See if we can move it. HILDY (into phone) Hello -- hello! Is this the Lying -- In Hospital? Did you have an auto accident in the last -- BURNS (interrupting) Will you come here? HILDY (into phone) Oh, I see. I beg your pardon. BURNS When I'm surrounded, with my back against the wall, you're not going to lay down on me, are you -- HILDY Yes. She jiggles the phone hook. BURNS (going to her) Hildy, you just can't leave me out on a limb now. It -- it wouldn't be cricket! HILDY I don't care what you say. I'm going to find Bruce's mother. (she jiggles the hook madly) Oh-h... (she hangs up) I'm going out and find her! Grabbing her hat and purse, she starts for the door. MED. SHOT OF HILDY, TAKING IN DOOR There is a loud knocking on the door. BURNS (coming into scene after Hildy) Don't open that! HILDY (at the door) Who says so? I'm going to the morgue -- to look -- She unlocks the door. CLOSE SHOT AT DOOR as Hildy flings the door open, only to find the Sheriff, accompanied by two deputies -- Carl and Frank -- and surrounded by McCue, Murphy, Schwartz, Wilson and Endicott. MURPHY There she is! MCCUE Say, Hildy... Hildy makes a decision and tries to push through them, but the Sheriff grabs her and pushes her back. HARTMAN Just a minute, Johnson! HILDY Let go o' me. What's the idea? MCCUE What's your hurry? MURPHY We want to see you. The deputies seize her. HILDY Take your paws off me! HARTMAN Hold her, boys! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (to Sheriff) Who do you think you are, breaking in here like this? HARTMAN You can't bluff me, Burns. I don't care who you are or what paper you're editor of. HILDY (struggling) Let me go! (hysterically) Fellows, something's happened to my mother-in-law. HARTMAN Hang onto her! Keep her in here! MED. SHOT as Hildy breaks loose and retreats back into the room before Hartman and the deputies. MCCUE We know what you're up to. ENDICOTT Probably goin' out to get Williams. SCHWARTZ The door was locked. WILSON She and Mollie were talking. HILDY I don't know anything, I tell you. There's been an accident. HARTMAN Johnson, there's something very peculiar going on. HILDY You can send somebody with me if you don't believe me! HARTMAN I wasn't born yesterday. Now the boys tell me you and this Mollie Malloy -- HILDY Nobody's trying to put anything over on you. I'm getting out of here and you can't stop me! MURPHY (comes into scene) You're not going anywhere. (to the Sheriff) She's got the story sewed up, Pete. (indicating Burns) That's why Burns is here. SCHWARTZ We're on to you, Hildy. Let us in on it. TWO SHOT - SHERIFF AND BURNS BURNS (purring) If you've any accusations to make, Hartman, make them in the proper manner. Otherwise, I'll have to ask you to get out. HARTMAN (pop-eyed; stammering) You'll ask me to what? BURNS Get out! HARTMAN (to deputies, off) Close that door. Don't let anybody in or out. MED. SHOT - THE GROUP MURPHY Come on, Pinky! Give 'em a little third degree. ENDICOTT Make them talk and you got Williams, Pinky! HARTMAN Johnson, I'm going to the bottom of this. What do you know about Williams? Are you going to talk or aren't you? HILDY What do I know about Williams? HARTMAN All right, boys. Take her along. I got ways of making her talk. The deputies seize Hildy. She struggles. HILDY Look out, you -- MCCUE (nervously) What's the use of fighting, Hildy? Hildy manages to get in a few resounding smacks on the deputies' faces. The reporters swarm around the struggling trio. There are shouts of: "I got her!" "No, you don't!" "Aw, Hildy...", etc. In the struggle, Hildy suddenly drops her purse. It lands with a clank and comes open. A gun is revealed on the floor. Hildy picks it up. DEPUTIES Hey, she's got a gun! Look out, she's got a gun! The deputies and reporters start to close in on her cautiously. HILDY (trying to face in all directions) No, you don't! Walter! BURNS What is it? Here! She tosses the gun to Walter, but one of the deputies intercepts the throw. HARTMAN Gimme that. He takes the gun from the deputy. CLOSER SHOT The Sheriff stands frozen, staring at the gun. HARTMAN (to Hildy) Where'd you get this? HILDY I've got a right to carry a gun if I want to. HARTMAN Not this gun! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (easily) I can explain that, Hartman. When Hildy told me she wanted to interview Earl Williams I thought it might be dangerous and I gave her a gun to defend herself. HARTMAN Oh, you did! Well, that's very, very interesting. This happens to be the gun that Earl Williams shot his way out with! REPORTERS AD LIB What? What's that? Etc... BURNS (advancing on Sheriff) Are you trying to make me out a liar? MURPHY (bitterly at Hildy) It's the last time I ever trust a woman, Hildy. SCHWARTZ Maybe Williams was gonna be her best man. WILSON That's pretty rotten, Hildy. Crossing your own pals. HARTMAN (shoving up to Hildy; trembling) Where is Earl Williams? Where you got him? BURNS (sympathetically) You're barking up the wrong tree, Hartman. HARTMAN I'll give you three minutes to tell me where he is. HILDY He went over to the hospital to call on Professor Egelhoffer. HARTMAN (outraged) What? HILDY With a bag of marshmallows. The Sheriff stands silent -- then hastily turns. MED. SHOT GROUP AROUND HILDY REPORTERS AD LIB Come on, Hildy. Where is he?... This is a sweet trick, Hildy... I thought we were friends... Etc. (to Sheriff) Look here, Pete! What about Mister Burns?... Ask the Master Mind! What's he doing over here? HARTMAN (grabbing Burns' arm) Speak up! What do you know about this. BURNS (gently but firmly disengaging his hand) My dear Hartman! He moves casually to a post before the desk and maintains it. MURPHY Can that! Where is he? BURNS (to Sheriff) The Morning Post is not obstructing justice or hiding criminals. You ought to know that. HARTMAN No? Well -- (turning to Hildy) Johnson, you're under arrest. (turning to Burns) You, too, Burns. BURNS (calmly) Who's under arrest? You pimple-headed, square-toed spy -- do you realize what you're doing? HARTMAN I'll show you what I'm doing. Burns, you're guilty of obstructing justice and so is the Morning Post. I'm going to see that the Post is fined ten thousand dollars for this. BURNS You'll see nothing of the kind, Sheriff. HARTMAN We'll just start by impounding the Post property. (pointing to Bensinger's desk, addressing Hildy) Is that your desk? HILDY (jumping) No! BURNS (almost simultaneously) Yes! What are you afraid of Hildy? I dare him to move that desk out of here. HARTMAN Oh, you do, eh? (to deputies) All right, boys. Confiscate that desk. Several of the deputies start toward the desk. BURNS (trying to intercept deputies) Hartman, if you take this desk out of this building, I'll put you behind bars. HARTMAN You will, eh? Well, we'll see about that. (to deputies) All right, boys. Take it. BURNS I'm warning you -- it'll be a Federal offense. (to deputy nearest him) And you'll be an accessory! HARTMAN We'll take a chance on that, Burns. (to deputies) Go ahead, boys. (the deputies continue toward the desk) INT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Flanked by two policemen, Mrs. Baldwin, dishevelled, with her hat over one ear, is marching toward the Press Room, bound for vengeance. Bruce, considerably upset, is with her. As they reach the door to the Press Room, Mrs. Baldwin stops. MRS. BALDWIN You wait outside, Bruce. BRUCE But, mother -- MRS. BALDWIN (firmly) No! You'll weaken when you see that little Jezebel! I'm going to tell her what I think of her! She plumps her hat down more firmly on her head and marches into the Press Room followed by the two policemen. Bruce remains outside the door. INT. PRESS ROOM Taking in door as it opens and Mrs. Baldwin, followed by the policemen, comes in. HILDY (leaping forward) Mother! MRS. BALDWIN (pointing out Burns to the officers) That man there! HILDY (hugging Mrs. Baldwin) Mother! Oh, I'm so glad to see you! Are you all right? Tell me. Mrs. Baldwin indignantly shakes her off. HARTMAN What's the idea here? POLICEMAN This lady claims she was kidnapped. HARTMAN What? MRS. BALDWIN They dragged me all the way down the stairs -- HARTMAN Just a minute. Did -- did -- (points to Burns) -- this man have anything to do with it? MRS. BALDWIN He was the one in charge of everything! He told them to kidnap me! BURNS (amazed) Are you referring to me, Madam? MRS. BALDWIN You know you did! HARTMAN What about this, Burns? Kidnapping, eh? BURNS (round-eyed) Oh, trying to frame me, eh! I never saw this woman before in my life! MRS. BALDWIN Oh, what a thing to say! I was standing right here - after the girl jumped out of the window. HARTMAN Did you get the Mayor? DEPUTY He's coming over. BURNS (to Mrs. Baldwin) Now, Madam -- be honest. If you were out joy-riding, drunk, and got into some scrape, why don't you admit it, instead of accusing innocent people? MRS. BALDWIN (beginning to doubt her senses) You ruffian! How dare you say a thing like that? HILDA Please, Mother, he's just crazy! MRS. BALDWIN (to Sheriff) I'll tell you something more. I'll tell you why they did it! BURNS (fidgeting) Come on, Sheriff. We've got to get bail. MRS. BALDWIN (continuing crescendo) I was in here -- and they had some kind of murderer in with them. They were hiding him! This is a bombshell. The room is electrified. HARTMAN Hiding him? In here? Murphy, followed by the reporters, comes into scene. MURPHY Hiding him where? HILDY Mother! REPORTERS Where was he?... Where'd they have him?... Etc. CLOSE SHOT BURNS at the desk. BURNS (with superb indignation) Madam, you're a cockeyed liar! And you know it! To emphasize his righteousness, he pounds on the desk three times, forgetting that that is his signal to Williams. Then, realizing what he has done, he gasps. MED. SHOT Burns advances from desk, the others retreating before him. BURNS (anxiously) Come on, Sheriff, we've got to get bail. Three answering knocks come from the desk. GROUP SHOT WITH DOORWAY IN B.G They jump around to face the desk. HARTMAN (whispering) What was that? REPORTERS AD LIB He's in the desk! -- For the love of -- He's in there! Etc. HARTMAN Aha! I thought so! Stand back, everybody! DEPUTY Look out, Sheriff. He may shoot! HARTMAN Get your guns out! The policemen and deputies get out their guns. HILDY He's harmless. HARTMAN Don't take any chances. Shoot through the desk. HILDY He can't hurt anybody. You've got his gun. MRS. BALDWIN (panic-stricken) Oh, dear! Oh, dear! BURNS You grey-haired old Judas! MRS. BALDWIN Let me out! Let me out of here! She streaks for the door, flings it open and goes. The reporters tear out of scene to their telephones. HARTMAN (to policeman) You stand there! MURPHY'S VOICE City Desk! Quick! SCHWARTZ' VOICE Gimme the Desk! HARTMAN (to another policeman) You there! ENDICOTT'S VOICE City Desk! Hurry! MCCUE'S VOICE Gimme Emil... HARTMAN (to a Deputy, pointing with his gun toward the window) You cover the window. MURPHY'S VOICE Look out where you're pointing that gun! The Sheriff draws his men in around the desk, their guns drawn on it. WILSON'S VOICE Lemme have the Desk! Quick! MURPHY'S VOICE Hold the wire! I've got a flash for you! BURNS (to Hildy) Call Duffy! HARTMAN No, you don't! BURNS (to Sheriff, furiously) Do you want to get us scooped? MCCUE'S VOICE Emil? Hang on for a second. HARTMAN Now then, everybody aim at the center. And when I say three -- HILDY That's murder! HARTMAN (changing his mind) All right! Carl! Frank! One of you get on each side of the desk. Take hold of the cover. They do. HARTMAN Now then! We got you covered, Williams. Don't try to move. Now! Everybody quiet and ready for an emergency. I'm going to count three. SCHWARTZ Hold it! Something coming up. HARTMAN One! ENDICOTT Hold the phone! MURPHY (into the phone) I'll have it in a minute. HARTMAN Two! WILSON (into phone) Right away now! HARTMAN (turning back to desk) Everybody ready? All right. Now then, up with it. Two deputies raise the cover. Williams is revealed, cowering in the desk, his hands over his face. The Sheriff rushes on him, jabbing his gun into him. CLOSE SHOT SHERIFF AND WILLIAMS HARTMAN Got you, Williams! WILLIAMS (a wail) Go on -- shoot me! MEDIUM SHOT as the police and deputies come in to assist the Sheriff. The reporters are telephoning in, the police shouting -- all the voices mixing in, in incredible confusion, as the Sheriff rushes Williams to the door and takes him out. MURPHY'S VOICE Earl Williams was just captured in the Press Room of the Criminal Courts Building, hiding in a desk. OFFICERS AD LIB (all talking at once) Grab him! That's him! Don't let him shoot! Stick 'em up! -- Etc. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) ...Williams in a rolltop -- CLOSEUP WILSON AT PHONE WILSON (into phone) -- nabbed Williams hiding -- ENDICOTT'S VOICE -- found Williams' hiding place. SCHWARTZ' VOICE He offered no resistance. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) Williams put up a desperate struggle but the police overpowered -- CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) -- tried to shoot it out with the cops but his gun wouldn't work, so -- WILSON'S VOICE -- trying to break through the cordon of police -- CLOSEUP ENDICOTT AT PHONE ENDICOTT (into phone) Williams was unconscious when they opened the desk -- CLOSEUP BURNS grabbing the Post phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Morning Post just turned Earl Williams over to the Sheriff. CLOSE SHOT THE SHERIFF coming in the door with two policemen and leaping to get the phone away from Burns. MED. SHOT BURNS AT PHONE, HILDY BESIDE HIM BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Sheriff and police come into scene. HARTMAN (indicating Burns and Hildy) Put the cuffs on those two! The police handcuff Hildy and Burns. ENDICOTT An anonymous note received by the Sheriff led to Williams' capture. More later. He hangs up. CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) An old sweetheart of Williams' doublecrossed him. Call you back. He hangs up. MED. SHOT TAKING IN DOOR REPORTERS Where's that old lady? Hey, Madam! Where'd she go? Where's the old dame? Etc., etc. They run out after Mrs. Baldwin, the Mayor entering just after they go. Burns and Hildy, handcuffed together, stand near the Sheriff. HARTMAN (into phone) Hello, girlie -- gimme Cooley. Quick! BURNS Hartwell, you're going to wish you'd never been born! The Mayor comes into scene. MAYOR Fine work, Pete! You certainly delivered the goods. I'm proud of you. HARTMAN (holding the phone) Look kind o' natural, don't they, Fred? MAYOR (happily) A sight for sore eyes! HARTMAN (rolling in catnip) Aiding an escaped criminal! And a little charge of kidnapping I'm looking into. (into phone; suddenly) But that's the jail! There must be somebody there! MAYOR Well! Looks like about ten years apiece for you birds! BURNS Does it? You forget the power that always watches over the Morning Post. MAYOR Your luck's not with you now! HARTMAN (into phone) Cooley?... I caught Williams single- handed -- we're going to proceed with the hanging per schedule! He wiggles the hook for another call. BURNS (to Mayor) You're going to be in office for exactly two days more and then we're pulling your nose out of the feed bag. HARTMAN (into phone) Give me the District Attorney's office. (to Burns) I'll tell you what you'll be doing -- making brooms in the State penitentiary. (into phone) Hello, D'Arrasty! This is Hartwell. Come over to my office, will you? I've just arrested a couple of important birds and I want to take their confessions. He hangs up. Burns makes a sudden lunge for the Morning Post phone and cries into it. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! Get Liebowitz! MAYOR All the lawyers in the world aren't going to help you! BURNS This is the Morning Post you're talking to! MAYOR (enjoying himself) The power of the press, huh! He laughs. Pinkus, the Governor's messenger, plentifully stewed, reels in the door. He approaches the Mayor and Sheriff who have their backs to him. BURNS (at the Mayor) Bigger men than you have found out what the power of the press is... President!... Yes -- and Kings! PINKUS (woozy; handing Sheriff the reprieve over his shoulder) Here's your reprieve. The Mayor and Sheriff spin around. MAYOR (in a panic) Get out of here! PINKUS You can't bribe me! BURNS What's this? HARTMAN Get out of here, you! PINKUS I

showing

How many times the word 'showing' appears in the text?

will you? MED. SHOT as Burns leaves Hildy and goes over to desk and picks up his phone again. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER Finding the door locked, he knocks. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY as another knock comes, they take it big. HILDY (calling) Who is it? EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER What's the idea of locking this? INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY HILDY That's Bensinger. That's his desk. BURNS (whispering) What's his name? The door knob is rattled violently. HILDY Bensinger -- of the Tribune. EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER Open this door! INT. PRESS ROOM CLOSE SHOT BURNS He starts for the door. BURNS I'll handle him. CAMERA TRUCKS WITH HIM to the door. BURNS The Tribune, eh? Watch me! He opens the door. AT DOOR BENSINGER (as he comes in) Ain't you got any more sense than to -- ? (sees Burns and is overcome) Oh, h-hello, Mr. Burns. Why, quite an honor having you come over here. BURNS (casually) Hello, Bensinger. BENSINGER Excuse me, I just want to -- He starts for the desk. Hildy's typing goes on, coming in over the scene. BURNS (starting for the desk, suddenly blocking his path) Quite a coincidence, my running into you tonight. Isn't it, Hildy? HILDY'S VOICE Yeh. BENSINGER How do you mean? CLOSEUP BURNS AND BENSINGER BURNS I was having a little chat about you just this afternoon -- with our Mister Duffy. BENSINGER (essaying a pleasantry) Nothing -- ah -- detrimental, I hope. BURNS I should say not! That was one swell story you had in the paper this morning. BENSINGER (deeply moved) Oh, did you -- care for the poem, Mr. Burns? BURNS (startled) The poem?... The poem was great! BENSINGER (blinking at these words) Remember the ending? (and he recites) " -- and all is well, outside his cell, But in his heart he hears the hangman Calling and the gallows falling And his white-haired mother's tears..." BURNS (overcome) Heartbreaking! How would you like to work for me? BENSINGER What? MEDIUM SHOT taking in table, Hildy typing there. BURNS (to Bensinger) We need somebody like you. All we've got now are a lot of low-brows. Like Johnson here. He starts shoving Bensinger away from the desk, toward the table. BENSINGER Seriously, Mr. Burns? Clinging to him, Burns takes him to the phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! I'm sending Bensinger over to see you. (looking up at Bensinger) Mervyn, isn't it? BENSINGER No. Roy. Roy V. BURNS (with a little laugh at his own forgetfulness) Of course! (into phone) Roy Bensinger, the poet. Of course you wouldn't know! You probably never heard of Shakespeare, either! Put Mr. Bensinger right on the staff. (to Bensinger) How much are you getting on the Tribune, Roy? BENSINGER Seventy-five. BURNS I'll give you a hundred and a by- line. ANOTHER ANGLE as Burns continues. BURNS (into phone) Let him have everything he wants. (puts down the receiver; turns to Bensinger) Now hustle and write me a story from the point of view of the escaped man. (acting it out) He hides, cowering... Afraid of every light, of every sound... hears footsteps... his heart going like that... And all the time they're closing in... Get the sense of an animal at bay! BENSINGER Sort of a Jack London style? TRUCKING SHOT BURNS Exactly! Leads him hurriedly to the door. BENSINGER I got my rhyming dictionary in -- (indicating desk) BURNS (getting him to door) It doesn't have to rhyme! CLOSE SHOT - AT DOOR as Bensinger turns there. BENSINGER Gee, I'm terribly grateful, Mister Burns. Do you suppose there might be an opening some time as foreign correspondent? I parley a little French, you know. Burns shakes hands with him and opens the door with the other hand. BURNS I'll keep you in mind. BENSINGER (going) Au revoir, mon capitaine. BURNS (never at a loss in any language) Bon jour! Continuing his French, he gets the door closed and relocked and turns for the table, singing as he does so: BURNS Mademoiselle from Armontieres, parlay -- MED. SHOT Burns returns alertly to table, not noticing that Hildy has stopped typing, and sits staring moodily before her. BURNS (into phono) Duffy! Got this! CLOSEUP BURNS - AT PHONE BURNS A rat from the Tribune is coming over to get a job -- Bensinger, the guy I told you about. Handle him with kid gloves. Tell him to get busy writing poetry... No, we don't want him. Stall him along until the extra comes out. Then tell him his poetry stinks and kick him downstairs. He lays down receiver. WIDER ANGLE taking in Hildy. She looks up at him. HILDY (to Burns) Double-crossing swine! BURNS You said it! But this'll teach him a lesson. He won't quit his paper without giving notice after this. Hildy doesn't bother to reply. She rests her chin on her hands and stares moodily ahead. BURNS Tear into it, will you? Don't sit there like a frozen robin! HILDY I'm finished. BURNS Finished! He grabs the last sheet of paper out of her typewriter, kisses her and rushes over to the telephone. CLOSEUP BURNS at phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! All right -- here we go! And got it out as soon as you can. I want this paper out on the streets in half an hour! (reading Hildy's copy) "So once more the Morning Post --" EXT. CRIMINAL COURTS BLDG. - NIGHT MED. SHOT Diamond Louie, bearing evidence of a mishap, his hat crushed, his face bruised and his clothes torn, comes running down the sidewalk and up the steps into the buildings. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Hildy is up now, pacing. HILDY Bruce ought to be back by now. Walter, you're not trying anything again, are you? BURNS (coming over to her) Hildy, you think I could? After this story? (taking a flask from his pocket) Here! You're just nervous. Hildy takes the flask and takes a drink. There is a knock on the door. Burns takes the flask from her, restores it to his pocket and goes to the door. BURNS Who is it? LOUIE'S VOICE It's me, Boss -- Louie. BURNS (opening the door) It's Louie! Louie slips in and Burns relocks the door. BURNS (seeing Louie's disarray) What's the matter? Hildy crosses to Louie. HILDY (frantically) Where's Mrs. Baldwin? BURNS What did you do with her? HILDY (almost afraid to speak) What happened? CLOSE SHOT - THE THREE BURNS You been in a fight? LOUIE (still out of breath) Down Western Avenue. We were going sixty-five miles an hour. You know what I mean? BURNS Take that mush out of your mouth! HILDY Where's the old lady? LOUIE I'm telling you! CLOSEUP - LOUIE as he gets breath and blurts: LOUIE We run smack into a police patrol. You know what I mean? We broke it in half! BACK TO GROUP HILDY (moaning) Oh-h-h... was she hurt? BURNS Where is she? Tell me! HILDY Louie! LOUIE I'm telling you. Can you imagine bumping into a load of cops?! They come rollin' out like oranges! HILDY (seizing him) What did you do with her? LOUIE Search me! When I come to I was running down Thirty-fifth Street. HILDY -- You were with her. You were in the cab, weren't you? LOUIE (exposing his bruised scalp) Was I? The driver got knocked cold. BURNS Butter-fingers! I give you an old lady to take somewhere, and you hand her over to the cops! LOUIE What do you mean, I handed her? The patrol wagon was on the wrong side of the street. BURNS Now everything's fine. She's probably squawking her head off in some police station. CLOSEUP - LOUIE LOUIE I don't think she's talking much... You know what I mean? He winks reassuringly. BACK TO GROUP HILDY (paralyzed) Don't tell me -- was she killed? BURNS (hopefully) Was she? Did you notice? LOUIE Say, me with a gun on my hip and a kidnapped old lady on my hands, I should stick around asking questions from a lot of cops! You know what I mean? Hildy sinks into a chair. CLOSE SHOT HILDY IN THE CHAIR HILDY Dead... dead! That's the end! Burns comes into scene to her. BURNS It's Fate, Hildy. What will be, will be. HILDY (wildly) What am I going to say to Bruce? What'll I tell him? BURNS If he really loves you, you won't have to tell him anything. (whacking her on the shoulder) Snap out of it! Would you rather have had the old dame dragging the whole police force in here? HILDY I killed her. I'm responsible. Oh- h... what can I do now? How can I ever face him? Oh, I hope he never comes back! She buries her face in her hands. BURNS Look at me, Hildy -- HILDY (springing up) I'm looking at you -- you murderer! BURNS If it was my own mother, I'd carry on! You know I would. For the paper! HILDY (calling off to Louie) Louie, where'd it happen? I'm going out! MED. SHOT GROUP The Post phone rings. BURNS (grabbing Hildy) You stay here. I'll find out everything. LOUIE (to Hildy) Western an' Thirty-fourth. Hildy jumps for the outside phone on the desk. TWO SHOT INCLUDING BURNS AT PHONE AND HILDY AT PHONE BURNS (into phone) Hello -- hello... HILDY (into phone) Gimme Western four-five-five-seven. BURNS (guarded) Who? (wildly) Hello, Butch! Where are you? HILDY (into phone) Mission Hospital? Gimme the Receiving Room. BURNS (into phone) What are you doing there? Haven't you even started? HILDY (into phone) Hello -- Eddie? Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady brought in from an auto smashup? BURNS (into phone) Oh, for -- (yelling) H. Sebastian -- Butch! Listen, it's a matter of life and death! Listen! HILDY (into phone) Nobody? (jiggles hook) Morningside three-one-two-four. BURNS (into phone) I can't hear... You got who? Speak up! A what?... You can't stop for a dame now! HILDY (into phone) Is this the Community Hospital? BURNS (howling into phone) I don't care if you've been after her for six years! Butch, our whole lives are at stake! Are you going to let a woman come between us after all we've been through? HILDY (into phone) Hello, Max, Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady --? BURNS (into phone, drowning out Hildy) Butch! I'd put my arm in fire for you -- up to here! (indicates up to where) Now, you can't double-cross me!... She does? All right -- put her on. I'll talk to her... Hello! Oh, hello, Madam... Now listen, you ten-cent glamour girl, you can't keep Butch away from his duty... What's that? You say that again and I'll come over there and knock your eye out! Hello? (turning, as he hangs up) I'll kill 'em! I'll kill both of 'em! (into Post phone) Duffy! (to the universe) Mousing around with some big blonde Annie on my time! That's co-operation! (screaming into phone) Duffy!! HILDY Shut up, will you? (into phone) You sure? Nobody? BURNS (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) Well, where is Duffy? (throwing receiver to desk) Diabetes! I ought to know better than to hire anybody with a disease. (turning) Louie. MED. SHOT GROUP BURNS (to Louie) It's up to you. LOUIE (loyally) Anything you want, Boss. BURNS Beat it out and get hold of some guys. LOUIE Who do you want? BURNS (starting for the door, followed by Louie) Anybody with hair on his chest. Get 'em off the street -- anywhere. Offer them anything -- only get them. (confidentially) We've got to get this desk out of here. He unlocks the door. LOUIE You know me. The shirt off my back. BURNS You got plenty of money? LOUIE Sure, boss. BURNS I mean real money -- not counterfeit! LOUIE I always have both. He goes out. BURNS (calling after him) And don't bump into anything. He relocks the door. HILDY Lafayette two-one-hundred. BURNS (turning from door) That dumb immigrant'll flop on me. I know it. (bitterly) Can you imagine Butch doing this to me -- at a time like this? CLOSE SHOT HILDY AT PHONE, TAKING IN DESK Burns steps into scene. BURNS (confidentially) If Louie doesn't come back in five minutes we'll get it out alone. There's millions of ways. We can start a fire and get the firemen to carry it out in the confusion. He crosses to the desk and inspects it. HILDY (into phone) Ring that number, will you? BURNS (to Hildy, oblivious of her telephoning) Come here. See if we can move it. HILDY (into phone) Hello -- hello! Is this the Lying -- In Hospital? Did you have an auto accident in the last -- BURNS (interrupting) Will you come here? HILDY (into phone) Oh, I see. I beg your pardon. BURNS When I'm surrounded, with my back against the wall, you're not going to lay down on me, are you -- HILDY Yes. She jiggles the phone hook. BURNS (going to her) Hildy, you just can't leave me out on a limb now. It -- it wouldn't be cricket! HILDY I don't care what you say. I'm going to find Bruce's mother. (she jiggles the hook madly) Oh-h... (she hangs up) I'm going out and find her! Grabbing her hat and purse, she starts for the door. MED. SHOT OF HILDY, TAKING IN DOOR There is a loud knocking on the door. BURNS (coming into scene after Hildy) Don't open that! HILDY (at the door) Who says so? I'm going to the morgue -- to look -- She unlocks the door. CLOSE SHOT AT DOOR as Hildy flings the door open, only to find the Sheriff, accompanied by two deputies -- Carl and Frank -- and surrounded by McCue, Murphy, Schwartz, Wilson and Endicott. MURPHY There she is! MCCUE Say, Hildy... Hildy makes a decision and tries to push through them, but the Sheriff grabs her and pushes her back. HARTMAN Just a minute, Johnson! HILDY Let go o' me. What's the idea? MCCUE What's your hurry? MURPHY We want to see you. The deputies seize her. HILDY Take your paws off me! HARTMAN Hold her, boys! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (to Sheriff) Who do you think you are, breaking in here like this? HARTMAN You can't bluff me, Burns. I don't care who you are or what paper you're editor of. HILDY (struggling) Let me go! (hysterically) Fellows, something's happened to my mother-in-law. HARTMAN Hang onto her! Keep her in here! MED. SHOT as Hildy breaks loose and retreats back into the room before Hartman and the deputies. MCCUE We know what you're up to. ENDICOTT Probably goin' out to get Williams. SCHWARTZ The door was locked. WILSON She and Mollie were talking. HILDY I don't know anything, I tell you. There's been an accident. HARTMAN Johnson, there's something very peculiar going on. HILDY You can send somebody with me if you don't believe me! HARTMAN I wasn't born yesterday. Now the boys tell me you and this Mollie Malloy -- HILDY Nobody's trying to put anything over on you. I'm getting out of here and you can't stop me! MURPHY (comes into scene) You're not going anywhere. (to the Sheriff) She's got the story sewed up, Pete. (indicating Burns) That's why Burns is here. SCHWARTZ We're on to you, Hildy. Let us in on it. TWO SHOT - SHERIFF AND BURNS BURNS (purring) If you've any accusations to make, Hartman, make them in the proper manner. Otherwise, I'll have to ask you to get out. HARTMAN (pop-eyed; stammering) You'll ask me to what? BURNS Get out! HARTMAN (to deputies, off) Close that door. Don't let anybody in or out. MED. SHOT - THE GROUP MURPHY Come on, Pinky! Give 'em a little third degree. ENDICOTT Make them talk and you got Williams, Pinky! HARTMAN Johnson, I'm going to the bottom of this. What do you know about Williams? Are you going to talk or aren't you? HILDY What do I know about Williams? HARTMAN All right, boys. Take her along. I got ways of making her talk. The deputies seize Hildy. She struggles. HILDY Look out, you -- MCCUE (nervously) What's the use of fighting, Hildy? Hildy manages to get in a few resounding smacks on the deputies' faces. The reporters swarm around the struggling trio. There are shouts of: "I got her!" "No, you don't!" "Aw, Hildy...", etc. In the struggle, Hildy suddenly drops her purse. It lands with a clank and comes open. A gun is revealed on the floor. Hildy picks it up. DEPUTIES Hey, she's got a gun! Look out, she's got a gun! The deputies and reporters start to close in on her cautiously. HILDY (trying to face in all directions) No, you don't! Walter! BURNS What is it? Here! She tosses the gun to Walter, but one of the deputies intercepts the throw. HARTMAN Gimme that. He takes the gun from the deputy. CLOSER SHOT The Sheriff stands frozen, staring at the gun. HARTMAN (to Hildy) Where'd you get this? HILDY I've got a right to carry a gun if I want to. HARTMAN Not this gun! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (easily) I can explain that, Hartman. When Hildy told me she wanted to interview Earl Williams I thought it might be dangerous and I gave her a gun to defend herself. HARTMAN Oh, you did! Well, that's very, very interesting. This happens to be the gun that Earl Williams shot his way out with! REPORTERS AD LIB What? What's that? Etc... BURNS (advancing on Sheriff) Are you trying to make me out a liar? MURPHY (bitterly at Hildy) It's the last time I ever trust a woman, Hildy. SCHWARTZ Maybe Williams was gonna be her best man. WILSON That's pretty rotten, Hildy. Crossing your own pals. HARTMAN (shoving up to Hildy; trembling) Where is Earl Williams? Where you got him? BURNS (sympathetically) You're barking up the wrong tree, Hartman. HARTMAN I'll give you three minutes to tell me where he is. HILDY He went over to the hospital to call on Professor Egelhoffer. HARTMAN (outraged) What? HILDY With a bag of marshmallows. The Sheriff stands silent -- then hastily turns. MED. SHOT GROUP AROUND HILDY REPORTERS AD LIB Come on, Hildy. Where is he?... This is a sweet trick, Hildy... I thought we were friends... Etc. (to Sheriff) Look here, Pete! What about Mister Burns?... Ask the Master Mind! What's he doing over here? HARTMAN (grabbing Burns' arm) Speak up! What do you know about this. BURNS (gently but firmly disengaging his hand) My dear Hartman! He moves casually to a post before the desk and maintains it. MURPHY Can that! Where is he? BURNS (to Sheriff) The Morning Post is not obstructing justice or hiding criminals. You ought to know that. HARTMAN No? Well -- (turning to Hildy) Johnson, you're under arrest. (turning to Burns) You, too, Burns. BURNS (calmly) Who's under arrest? You pimple-headed, square-toed spy -- do you realize what you're doing? HARTMAN I'll show you what I'm doing. Burns, you're guilty of obstructing justice and so is the Morning Post. I'm going to see that the Post is fined ten thousand dollars for this. BURNS You'll see nothing of the kind, Sheriff. HARTMAN We'll just start by impounding the Post property. (pointing to Bensinger's desk, addressing Hildy) Is that your desk? HILDY (jumping) No! BURNS (almost simultaneously) Yes! What are you afraid of Hildy? I dare him to move that desk out of here. HARTMAN Oh, you do, eh? (to deputies) All right, boys. Confiscate that desk. Several of the deputies start toward the desk. BURNS (trying to intercept deputies) Hartman, if you take this desk out of this building, I'll put you behind bars. HARTMAN You will, eh? Well, we'll see about that. (to deputies) All right, boys. Take it. BURNS I'm warning you -- it'll be a Federal offense. (to deputy nearest him) And you'll be an accessory! HARTMAN We'll take a chance on that, Burns. (to deputies) Go ahead, boys. (the deputies continue toward the desk) INT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Flanked by two policemen, Mrs. Baldwin, dishevelled, with her hat over one ear, is marching toward the Press Room, bound for vengeance. Bruce, considerably upset, is with her. As they reach the door to the Press Room, Mrs. Baldwin stops. MRS. BALDWIN You wait outside, Bruce. BRUCE But, mother -- MRS. BALDWIN (firmly) No! You'll weaken when you see that little Jezebel! I'm going to tell her what I think of her! She plumps her hat down more firmly on her head and marches into the Press Room followed by the two policemen. Bruce remains outside the door. INT. PRESS ROOM Taking in door as it opens and Mrs. Baldwin, followed by the policemen, comes in. HILDY (leaping forward) Mother! MRS. BALDWIN (pointing out Burns to the officers) That man there! HILDY (hugging Mrs. Baldwin) Mother! Oh, I'm so glad to see you! Are you all right? Tell me. Mrs. Baldwin indignantly shakes her off. HARTMAN What's the idea here? POLICEMAN This lady claims she was kidnapped. HARTMAN What? MRS. BALDWIN They dragged me all the way down the stairs -- HARTMAN Just a minute. Did -- did -- (points to Burns) -- this man have anything to do with it? MRS. BALDWIN He was the one in charge of everything! He told them to kidnap me! BURNS (amazed) Are you referring to me, Madam? MRS. BALDWIN You know you did! HARTMAN What about this, Burns? Kidnapping, eh? BURNS (round-eyed) Oh, trying to frame me, eh! I never saw this woman before in my life! MRS. BALDWIN Oh, what a thing to say! I was standing right here - after the girl jumped out of the window. HARTMAN Did you get the Mayor? DEPUTY He's coming over. BURNS (to Mrs. Baldwin) Now, Madam -- be honest. If you were out joy-riding, drunk, and got into some scrape, why don't you admit it, instead of accusing innocent people? MRS. BALDWIN (beginning to doubt her senses) You ruffian! How dare you say a thing like that? HILDA Please, Mother, he's just crazy! MRS. BALDWIN (to Sheriff) I'll tell you something more. I'll tell you why they did it! BURNS (fidgeting) Come on, Sheriff. We've got to get bail. MRS. BALDWIN (continuing crescendo) I was in here -- and they had some kind of murderer in with them. They were hiding him! This is a bombshell. The room is electrified. HARTMAN Hiding him? In here? Murphy, followed by the reporters, comes into scene. MURPHY Hiding him where? HILDY Mother! REPORTERS Where was he?... Where'd they have him?... Etc. CLOSE SHOT BURNS at the desk. BURNS (with superb indignation) Madam, you're a cockeyed liar! And you know it! To emphasize his righteousness, he pounds on the desk three times, forgetting that that is his signal to Williams. Then, realizing what he has done, he gasps. MED. SHOT Burns advances from desk, the others retreating before him. BURNS (anxiously) Come on, Sheriff, we've got to get bail. Three answering knocks come from the desk. GROUP SHOT WITH DOORWAY IN B.G They jump around to face the desk. HARTMAN (whispering) What was that? REPORTERS AD LIB He's in the desk! -- For the love of -- He's in there! Etc. HARTMAN Aha! I thought so! Stand back, everybody! DEPUTY Look out, Sheriff. He may shoot! HARTMAN Get your guns out! The policemen and deputies get out their guns. HILDY He's harmless. HARTMAN Don't take any chances. Shoot through the desk. HILDY He can't hurt anybody. You've got his gun. MRS. BALDWIN (panic-stricken) Oh, dear! Oh, dear! BURNS You grey-haired old Judas! MRS. BALDWIN Let me out! Let me out of here! She streaks for the door, flings it open and goes. The reporters tear out of scene to their telephones. HARTMAN (to policeman) You stand there! MURPHY'S VOICE City Desk! Quick! SCHWARTZ' VOICE Gimme the Desk! HARTMAN (to another policeman) You there! ENDICOTT'S VOICE City Desk! Hurry! MCCUE'S VOICE Gimme Emil... HARTMAN (to a Deputy, pointing with his gun toward the window) You cover the window. MURPHY'S VOICE Look out where you're pointing that gun! The Sheriff draws his men in around the desk, their guns drawn on it. WILSON'S VOICE Lemme have the Desk! Quick! MURPHY'S VOICE Hold the wire! I've got a flash for you! BURNS (to Hildy) Call Duffy! HARTMAN No, you don't! BURNS (to Sheriff, furiously) Do you want to get us scooped? MCCUE'S VOICE Emil? Hang on for a second. HARTMAN Now then, everybody aim at the center. And when I say three -- HILDY That's murder! HARTMAN (changing his mind) All right! Carl! Frank! One of you get on each side of the desk. Take hold of the cover. They do. HARTMAN Now then! We got you covered, Williams. Don't try to move. Now! Everybody quiet and ready for an emergency. I'm going to count three. SCHWARTZ Hold it! Something coming up. HARTMAN One! ENDICOTT Hold the phone! MURPHY (into the phone) I'll have it in a minute. HARTMAN Two! WILSON (into phone) Right away now! HARTMAN (turning back to desk) Everybody ready? All right. Now then, up with it. Two deputies raise the cover. Williams is revealed, cowering in the desk, his hands over his face. The Sheriff rushes on him, jabbing his gun into him. CLOSE SHOT SHERIFF AND WILLIAMS HARTMAN Got you, Williams! WILLIAMS (a wail) Go on -- shoot me! MEDIUM SHOT as the police and deputies come in to assist the Sheriff. The reporters are telephoning in, the police shouting -- all the voices mixing in, in incredible confusion, as the Sheriff rushes Williams to the door and takes him out. MURPHY'S VOICE Earl Williams was just captured in the Press Room of the Criminal Courts Building, hiding in a desk. OFFICERS AD LIB (all talking at once) Grab him! That's him! Don't let him shoot! Stick 'em up! -- Etc. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) ...Williams in a rolltop -- CLOSEUP WILSON AT PHONE WILSON (into phone) -- nabbed Williams hiding -- ENDICOTT'S VOICE -- found Williams' hiding place. SCHWARTZ' VOICE He offered no resistance. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) Williams put up a desperate struggle but the police overpowered -- CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) -- tried to shoot it out with the cops but his gun wouldn't work, so -- WILSON'S VOICE -- trying to break through the cordon of police -- CLOSEUP ENDICOTT AT PHONE ENDICOTT (into phone) Williams was unconscious when they opened the desk -- CLOSEUP BURNS grabbing the Post phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Morning Post just turned Earl Williams over to the Sheriff. CLOSE SHOT THE SHERIFF coming in the door with two policemen and leaping to get the phone away from Burns. MED. SHOT BURNS AT PHONE, HILDY BESIDE HIM BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Sheriff and police come into scene. HARTMAN (indicating Burns and Hildy) Put the cuffs on those two! The police handcuff Hildy and Burns. ENDICOTT An anonymous note received by the Sheriff led to Williams' capture. More later. He hangs up. CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) An old sweetheart of Williams' doublecrossed him. Call you back. He hangs up. MED. SHOT TAKING IN DOOR REPORTERS Where's that old lady? Hey, Madam! Where'd she go? Where's the old dame? Etc., etc. They run out after Mrs. Baldwin, the Mayor entering just after they go. Burns and Hildy, handcuffed together, stand near the Sheriff. HARTMAN (into phone) Hello, girlie -- gimme Cooley. Quick! BURNS Hartwell, you're going to wish you'd never been born! The Mayor comes into scene. MAYOR Fine work, Pete! You certainly delivered the goods. I'm proud of you. HARTMAN (holding the phone) Look kind o' natural, don't they, Fred? MAYOR (happily) A sight for sore eyes! HARTMAN (rolling in catnip) Aiding an escaped criminal! And a little charge of kidnapping I'm looking into. (into phone; suddenly) But that's the jail! There must be somebody there! MAYOR Well! Looks like about ten years apiece for you birds! BURNS Does it? You forget the power that always watches over the Morning Post. MAYOR Your luck's not with you now! HARTMAN (into phone) Cooley?... I caught Williams single- handed -- we're going to proceed with the hanging per schedule! He wiggles the hook for another call. BURNS (to Mayor) You're going to be in office for exactly two days more and then we're pulling your nose out of the feed bag. HARTMAN (into phone) Give me the District Attorney's office. (to Burns) I'll tell you what you'll be doing -- making brooms in the State penitentiary. (into phone) Hello, D'Arrasty! This is Hartwell. Come over to my office, will you? I've just arrested a couple of important birds and I want to take their confessions. He hangs up. Burns makes a sudden lunge for the Morning Post phone and cries into it. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! Get Liebowitz! MAYOR All the lawyers in the world aren't going to help you! BURNS This is the Morning Post you're talking to! MAYOR (enjoying himself) The power of the press, huh! He laughs. Pinkus, the Governor's messenger, plentifully stewed, reels in the door. He approaches the Mayor and Sheriff who have their backs to him. BURNS (at the Mayor) Bigger men than you have found out what the power of the press is... President!... Yes -- and Kings! PINKUS (woozy; handing Sheriff the reprieve over his shoulder) Here's your reprieve. The Mayor and Sheriff spin around. MAYOR (in a panic) Get out of here! PINKUS You can't bribe me! BURNS What's this? HARTMAN Get out of here, you! PINKUS I

extra

How many times the word 'extra' appears in the text?

will you? MED. SHOT as Burns leaves Hildy and goes over to desk and picks up his phone again. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER Finding the door locked, he knocks. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY as another knock comes, they take it big. HILDY (calling) Who is it? EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER What's the idea of locking this? INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY HILDY That's Bensinger. That's his desk. BURNS (whispering) What's his name? The door knob is rattled violently. HILDY Bensinger -- of the Tribune. EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER Open this door! INT. PRESS ROOM CLOSE SHOT BURNS He starts for the door. BURNS I'll handle him. CAMERA TRUCKS WITH HIM to the door. BURNS The Tribune, eh? Watch me! He opens the door. AT DOOR BENSINGER (as he comes in) Ain't you got any more sense than to -- ? (sees Burns and is overcome) Oh, h-hello, Mr. Burns. Why, quite an honor having you come over here. BURNS (casually) Hello, Bensinger. BENSINGER Excuse me, I just want to -- He starts for the desk. Hildy's typing goes on, coming in over the scene. BURNS (starting for the desk, suddenly blocking his path) Quite a coincidence, my running into you tonight. Isn't it, Hildy? HILDY'S VOICE Yeh. BENSINGER How do you mean? CLOSEUP BURNS AND BENSINGER BURNS I was having a little chat about you just this afternoon -- with our Mister Duffy. BENSINGER (essaying a pleasantry) Nothing -- ah -- detrimental, I hope. BURNS I should say not! That was one swell story you had in the paper this morning. BENSINGER (deeply moved) Oh, did you -- care for the poem, Mr. Burns? BURNS (startled) The poem?... The poem was great! BENSINGER (blinking at these words) Remember the ending? (and he recites) " -- and all is well, outside his cell, But in his heart he hears the hangman Calling and the gallows falling And his white-haired mother's tears..." BURNS (overcome) Heartbreaking! How would you like to work for me? BENSINGER What? MEDIUM SHOT taking in table, Hildy typing there. BURNS (to Bensinger) We need somebody like you. All we've got now are a lot of low-brows. Like Johnson here. He starts shoving Bensinger away from the desk, toward the table. BENSINGER Seriously, Mr. Burns? Clinging to him, Burns takes him to the phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! I'm sending Bensinger over to see you. (looking up at Bensinger) Mervyn, isn't it? BENSINGER No. Roy. Roy V. BURNS (with a little laugh at his own forgetfulness) Of course! (into phone) Roy Bensinger, the poet. Of course you wouldn't know! You probably never heard of Shakespeare, either! Put Mr. Bensinger right on the staff. (to Bensinger) How much are you getting on the Tribune, Roy? BENSINGER Seventy-five. BURNS I'll give you a hundred and a by- line. ANOTHER ANGLE as Burns continues. BURNS (into phone) Let him have everything he wants. (puts down the receiver; turns to Bensinger) Now hustle and write me a story from the point of view of the escaped man. (acting it out) He hides, cowering... Afraid of every light, of every sound... hears footsteps... his heart going like that... And all the time they're closing in... Get the sense of an animal at bay! BENSINGER Sort of a Jack London style? TRUCKING SHOT BURNS Exactly! Leads him hurriedly to the door. BENSINGER I got my rhyming dictionary in -- (indicating desk) BURNS (getting him to door) It doesn't have to rhyme! CLOSE SHOT - AT DOOR as Bensinger turns there. BENSINGER Gee, I'm terribly grateful, Mister Burns. Do you suppose there might be an opening some time as foreign correspondent? I parley a little French, you know. Burns shakes hands with him and opens the door with the other hand. BURNS I'll keep you in mind. BENSINGER (going) Au revoir, mon capitaine. BURNS (never at a loss in any language) Bon jour! Continuing his French, he gets the door closed and relocked and turns for the table, singing as he does so: BURNS Mademoiselle from Armontieres, parlay -- MED. SHOT Burns returns alertly to table, not noticing that Hildy has stopped typing, and sits staring moodily before her. BURNS (into phono) Duffy! Got this! CLOSEUP BURNS - AT PHONE BURNS A rat from the Tribune is coming over to get a job -- Bensinger, the guy I told you about. Handle him with kid gloves. Tell him to get busy writing poetry... No, we don't want him. Stall him along until the extra comes out. Then tell him his poetry stinks and kick him downstairs. He lays down receiver. WIDER ANGLE taking in Hildy. She looks up at him. HILDY (to Burns) Double-crossing swine! BURNS You said it! But this'll teach him a lesson. He won't quit his paper without giving notice after this. Hildy doesn't bother to reply. She rests her chin on her hands and stares moodily ahead. BURNS Tear into it, will you? Don't sit there like a frozen robin! HILDY I'm finished. BURNS Finished! He grabs the last sheet of paper out of her typewriter, kisses her and rushes over to the telephone. CLOSEUP BURNS at phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! All right -- here we go! And got it out as soon as you can. I want this paper out on the streets in half an hour! (reading Hildy's copy) "So once more the Morning Post --" EXT. CRIMINAL COURTS BLDG. - NIGHT MED. SHOT Diamond Louie, bearing evidence of a mishap, his hat crushed, his face bruised and his clothes torn, comes running down the sidewalk and up the steps into the buildings. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Hildy is up now, pacing. HILDY Bruce ought to be back by now. Walter, you're not trying anything again, are you? BURNS (coming over to her) Hildy, you think I could? After this story? (taking a flask from his pocket) Here! You're just nervous. Hildy takes the flask and takes a drink. There is a knock on the door. Burns takes the flask from her, restores it to his pocket and goes to the door. BURNS Who is it? LOUIE'S VOICE It's me, Boss -- Louie. BURNS (opening the door) It's Louie! Louie slips in and Burns relocks the door. BURNS (seeing Louie's disarray) What's the matter? Hildy crosses to Louie. HILDY (frantically) Where's Mrs. Baldwin? BURNS What did you do with her? HILDY (almost afraid to speak) What happened? CLOSE SHOT - THE THREE BURNS You been in a fight? LOUIE (still out of breath) Down Western Avenue. We were going sixty-five miles an hour. You know what I mean? BURNS Take that mush out of your mouth! HILDY Where's the old lady? LOUIE I'm telling you! CLOSEUP - LOUIE as he gets breath and blurts: LOUIE We run smack into a police patrol. You know what I mean? We broke it in half! BACK TO GROUP HILDY (moaning) Oh-h-h... was she hurt? BURNS Where is she? Tell me! HILDY Louie! LOUIE I'm telling you. Can you imagine bumping into a load of cops?! They come rollin' out like oranges! HILDY (seizing him) What did you do with her? LOUIE Search me! When I come to I was running down Thirty-fifth Street. HILDY -- You were with her. You were in the cab, weren't you? LOUIE (exposing his bruised scalp) Was I? The driver got knocked cold. BURNS Butter-fingers! I give you an old lady to take somewhere, and you hand her over to the cops! LOUIE What do you mean, I handed her? The patrol wagon was on the wrong side of the street. BURNS Now everything's fine. She's probably squawking her head off in some police station. CLOSEUP - LOUIE LOUIE I don't think she's talking much... You know what I mean? He winks reassuringly. BACK TO GROUP HILDY (paralyzed) Don't tell me -- was she killed? BURNS (hopefully) Was she? Did you notice? LOUIE Say, me with a gun on my hip and a kidnapped old lady on my hands, I should stick around asking questions from a lot of cops! You know what I mean? Hildy sinks into a chair. CLOSE SHOT HILDY IN THE CHAIR HILDY Dead... dead! That's the end! Burns comes into scene to her. BURNS It's Fate, Hildy. What will be, will be. HILDY (wildly) What am I going to say to Bruce? What'll I tell him? BURNS If he really loves you, you won't have to tell him anything. (whacking her on the shoulder) Snap out of it! Would you rather have had the old dame dragging the whole police force in here? HILDY I killed her. I'm responsible. Oh- h... what can I do now? How can I ever face him? Oh, I hope he never comes back! She buries her face in her hands. BURNS Look at me, Hildy -- HILDY (springing up) I'm looking at you -- you murderer! BURNS If it was my own mother, I'd carry on! You know I would. For the paper! HILDY (calling off to Louie) Louie, where'd it happen? I'm going out! MED. SHOT GROUP The Post phone rings. BURNS (grabbing Hildy) You stay here. I'll find out everything. LOUIE (to Hildy) Western an' Thirty-fourth. Hildy jumps for the outside phone on the desk. TWO SHOT INCLUDING BURNS AT PHONE AND HILDY AT PHONE BURNS (into phone) Hello -- hello... HILDY (into phone) Gimme Western four-five-five-seven. BURNS (guarded) Who? (wildly) Hello, Butch! Where are you? HILDY (into phone) Mission Hospital? Gimme the Receiving Room. BURNS (into phone) What are you doing there? Haven't you even started? HILDY (into phone) Hello -- Eddie? Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady brought in from an auto smashup? BURNS (into phone) Oh, for -- (yelling) H. Sebastian -- Butch! Listen, it's a matter of life and death! Listen! HILDY (into phone) Nobody? (jiggles hook) Morningside three-one-two-four. BURNS (into phone) I can't hear... You got who? Speak up! A what?... You can't stop for a dame now! HILDY (into phone) Is this the Community Hospital? BURNS (howling into phone) I don't care if you've been after her for six years! Butch, our whole lives are at stake! Are you going to let a woman come between us after all we've been through? HILDY (into phone) Hello, Max, Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady --? BURNS (into phone, drowning out Hildy) Butch! I'd put my arm in fire for you -- up to here! (indicates up to where) Now, you can't double-cross me!... She does? All right -- put her on. I'll talk to her... Hello! Oh, hello, Madam... Now listen, you ten-cent glamour girl, you can't keep Butch away from his duty... What's that? You say that again and I'll come over there and knock your eye out! Hello? (turning, as he hangs up) I'll kill 'em! I'll kill both of 'em! (into Post phone) Duffy! (to the universe) Mousing around with some big blonde Annie on my time! That's co-operation! (screaming into phone) Duffy!! HILDY Shut up, will you? (into phone) You sure? Nobody? BURNS (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) Well, where is Duffy? (throwing receiver to desk) Diabetes! I ought to know better than to hire anybody with a disease. (turning) Louie. MED. SHOT GROUP BURNS (to Louie) It's up to you. LOUIE (loyally) Anything you want, Boss. BURNS Beat it out and get hold of some guys. LOUIE Who do you want? BURNS (starting for the door, followed by Louie) Anybody with hair on his chest. Get 'em off the street -- anywhere. Offer them anything -- only get them. (confidentially) We've got to get this desk out of here. He unlocks the door. LOUIE You know me. The shirt off my back. BURNS You got plenty of money? LOUIE Sure, boss. BURNS I mean real money -- not counterfeit! LOUIE I always have both. He goes out. BURNS (calling after him) And don't bump into anything. He relocks the door. HILDY Lafayette two-one-hundred. BURNS (turning from door) That dumb immigrant'll flop on me. I know it. (bitterly) Can you imagine Butch doing this to me -- at a time like this? CLOSE SHOT HILDY AT PHONE, TAKING IN DESK Burns steps into scene. BURNS (confidentially) If Louie doesn't come back in five minutes we'll get it out alone. There's millions of ways. We can start a fire and get the firemen to carry it out in the confusion. He crosses to the desk and inspects it. HILDY (into phone) Ring that number, will you? BURNS (to Hildy, oblivious of her telephoning) Come here. See if we can move it. HILDY (into phone) Hello -- hello! Is this the Lying -- In Hospital? Did you have an auto accident in the last -- BURNS (interrupting) Will you come here? HILDY (into phone) Oh, I see. I beg your pardon. BURNS When I'm surrounded, with my back against the wall, you're not going to lay down on me, are you -- HILDY Yes. She jiggles the phone hook. BURNS (going to her) Hildy, you just can't leave me out on a limb now. It -- it wouldn't be cricket! HILDY I don't care what you say. I'm going to find Bruce's mother. (she jiggles the hook madly) Oh-h... (she hangs up) I'm going out and find her! Grabbing her hat and purse, she starts for the door. MED. SHOT OF HILDY, TAKING IN DOOR There is a loud knocking on the door. BURNS (coming into scene after Hildy) Don't open that! HILDY (at the door) Who says so? I'm going to the morgue -- to look -- She unlocks the door. CLOSE SHOT AT DOOR as Hildy flings the door open, only to find the Sheriff, accompanied by two deputies -- Carl and Frank -- and surrounded by McCue, Murphy, Schwartz, Wilson and Endicott. MURPHY There she is! MCCUE Say, Hildy... Hildy makes a decision and tries to push through them, but the Sheriff grabs her and pushes her back. HARTMAN Just a minute, Johnson! HILDY Let go o' me. What's the idea? MCCUE What's your hurry? MURPHY We want to see you. The deputies seize her. HILDY Take your paws off me! HARTMAN Hold her, boys! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (to Sheriff) Who do you think you are, breaking in here like this? HARTMAN You can't bluff me, Burns. I don't care who you are or what paper you're editor of. HILDY (struggling) Let me go! (hysterically) Fellows, something's happened to my mother-in-law. HARTMAN Hang onto her! Keep her in here! MED. SHOT as Hildy breaks loose and retreats back into the room before Hartman and the deputies. MCCUE We know what you're up to. ENDICOTT Probably goin' out to get Williams. SCHWARTZ The door was locked. WILSON She and Mollie were talking. HILDY I don't know anything, I tell you. There's been an accident. HARTMAN Johnson, there's something very peculiar going on. HILDY You can send somebody with me if you don't believe me! HARTMAN I wasn't born yesterday. Now the boys tell me you and this Mollie Malloy -- HILDY Nobody's trying to put anything over on you. I'm getting out of here and you can't stop me! MURPHY (comes into scene) You're not going anywhere. (to the Sheriff) She's got the story sewed up, Pete. (indicating Burns) That's why Burns is here. SCHWARTZ We're on to you, Hildy. Let us in on it. TWO SHOT - SHERIFF AND BURNS BURNS (purring) If you've any accusations to make, Hartman, make them in the proper manner. Otherwise, I'll have to ask you to get out. HARTMAN (pop-eyed; stammering) You'll ask me to what? BURNS Get out! HARTMAN (to deputies, off) Close that door. Don't let anybody in or out. MED. SHOT - THE GROUP MURPHY Come on, Pinky! Give 'em a little third degree. ENDICOTT Make them talk and you got Williams, Pinky! HARTMAN Johnson, I'm going to the bottom of this. What do you know about Williams? Are you going to talk or aren't you? HILDY What do I know about Williams? HARTMAN All right, boys. Take her along. I got ways of making her talk. The deputies seize Hildy. She struggles. HILDY Look out, you -- MCCUE (nervously) What's the use of fighting, Hildy? Hildy manages to get in a few resounding smacks on the deputies' faces. The reporters swarm around the struggling trio. There are shouts of: "I got her!" "No, you don't!" "Aw, Hildy...", etc. In the struggle, Hildy suddenly drops her purse. It lands with a clank and comes open. A gun is revealed on the floor. Hildy picks it up. DEPUTIES Hey, she's got a gun! Look out, she's got a gun! The deputies and reporters start to close in on her cautiously. HILDY (trying to face in all directions) No, you don't! Walter! BURNS What is it? Here! She tosses the gun to Walter, but one of the deputies intercepts the throw. HARTMAN Gimme that. He takes the gun from the deputy. CLOSER SHOT The Sheriff stands frozen, staring at the gun. HARTMAN (to Hildy) Where'd you get this? HILDY I've got a right to carry a gun if I want to. HARTMAN Not this gun! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (easily) I can explain that, Hartman. When Hildy told me she wanted to interview Earl Williams I thought it might be dangerous and I gave her a gun to defend herself. HARTMAN Oh, you did! Well, that's very, very interesting. This happens to be the gun that Earl Williams shot his way out with! REPORTERS AD LIB What? What's that? Etc... BURNS (advancing on Sheriff) Are you trying to make me out a liar? MURPHY (bitterly at Hildy) It's the last time I ever trust a woman, Hildy. SCHWARTZ Maybe Williams was gonna be her best man. WILSON That's pretty rotten, Hildy. Crossing your own pals. HARTMAN (shoving up to Hildy; trembling) Where is Earl Williams? Where you got him? BURNS (sympathetically) You're barking up the wrong tree, Hartman. HARTMAN I'll give you three minutes to tell me where he is. HILDY He went over to the hospital to call on Professor Egelhoffer. HARTMAN (outraged) What? HILDY With a bag of marshmallows. The Sheriff stands silent -- then hastily turns. MED. SHOT GROUP AROUND HILDY REPORTERS AD LIB Come on, Hildy. Where is he?... This is a sweet trick, Hildy... I thought we were friends... Etc. (to Sheriff) Look here, Pete! What about Mister Burns?... Ask the Master Mind! What's he doing over here? HARTMAN (grabbing Burns' arm) Speak up! What do you know about this. BURNS (gently but firmly disengaging his hand) My dear Hartman! He moves casually to a post before the desk and maintains it. MURPHY Can that! Where is he? BURNS (to Sheriff) The Morning Post is not obstructing justice or hiding criminals. You ought to know that. HARTMAN No? Well -- (turning to Hildy) Johnson, you're under arrest. (turning to Burns) You, too, Burns. BURNS (calmly) Who's under arrest? You pimple-headed, square-toed spy -- do you realize what you're doing? HARTMAN I'll show you what I'm doing. Burns, you're guilty of obstructing justice and so is the Morning Post. I'm going to see that the Post is fined ten thousand dollars for this. BURNS You'll see nothing of the kind, Sheriff. HARTMAN We'll just start by impounding the Post property. (pointing to Bensinger's desk, addressing Hildy) Is that your desk? HILDY (jumping) No! BURNS (almost simultaneously) Yes! What are you afraid of Hildy? I dare him to move that desk out of here. HARTMAN Oh, you do, eh? (to deputies) All right, boys. Confiscate that desk. Several of the deputies start toward the desk. BURNS (trying to intercept deputies) Hartman, if you take this desk out of this building, I'll put you behind bars. HARTMAN You will, eh? Well, we'll see about that. (to deputies) All right, boys. Take it. BURNS I'm warning you -- it'll be a Federal offense. (to deputy nearest him) And you'll be an accessory! HARTMAN We'll take a chance on that, Burns. (to deputies) Go ahead, boys. (the deputies continue toward the desk) INT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Flanked by two policemen, Mrs. Baldwin, dishevelled, with her hat over one ear, is marching toward the Press Room, bound for vengeance. Bruce, considerably upset, is with her. As they reach the door to the Press Room, Mrs. Baldwin stops. MRS. BALDWIN You wait outside, Bruce. BRUCE But, mother -- MRS. BALDWIN (firmly) No! You'll weaken when you see that little Jezebel! I'm going to tell her what I think of her! She plumps her hat down more firmly on her head and marches into the Press Room followed by the two policemen. Bruce remains outside the door. INT. PRESS ROOM Taking in door as it opens and Mrs. Baldwin, followed by the policemen, comes in. HILDY (leaping forward) Mother! MRS. BALDWIN (pointing out Burns to the officers) That man there! HILDY (hugging Mrs. Baldwin) Mother! Oh, I'm so glad to see you! Are you all right? Tell me. Mrs. Baldwin indignantly shakes her off. HARTMAN What's the idea here? POLICEMAN This lady claims she was kidnapped. HARTMAN What? MRS. BALDWIN They dragged me all the way down the stairs -- HARTMAN Just a minute. Did -- did -- (points to Burns) -- this man have anything to do with it? MRS. BALDWIN He was the one in charge of everything! He told them to kidnap me! BURNS (amazed) Are you referring to me, Madam? MRS. BALDWIN You know you did! HARTMAN What about this, Burns? Kidnapping, eh? BURNS (round-eyed) Oh, trying to frame me, eh! I never saw this woman before in my life! MRS. BALDWIN Oh, what a thing to say! I was standing right here - after the girl jumped out of the window. HARTMAN Did you get the Mayor? DEPUTY He's coming over. BURNS (to Mrs. Baldwin) Now, Madam -- be honest. If you were out joy-riding, drunk, and got into some scrape, why don't you admit it, instead of accusing innocent people? MRS. BALDWIN (beginning to doubt her senses) You ruffian! How dare you say a thing like that? HILDA Please, Mother, he's just crazy! MRS. BALDWIN (to Sheriff) I'll tell you something more. I'll tell you why they did it! BURNS (fidgeting) Come on, Sheriff. We've got to get bail. MRS. BALDWIN (continuing crescendo) I was in here -- and they had some kind of murderer in with them. They were hiding him! This is a bombshell. The room is electrified. HARTMAN Hiding him? In here? Murphy, followed by the reporters, comes into scene. MURPHY Hiding him where? HILDY Mother! REPORTERS Where was he?... Where'd they have him?... Etc. CLOSE SHOT BURNS at the desk. BURNS (with superb indignation) Madam, you're a cockeyed liar! And you know it! To emphasize his righteousness, he pounds on the desk three times, forgetting that that is his signal to Williams. Then, realizing what he has done, he gasps. MED. SHOT Burns advances from desk, the others retreating before him. BURNS (anxiously) Come on, Sheriff, we've got to get bail. Three answering knocks come from the desk. GROUP SHOT WITH DOORWAY IN B.G They jump around to face the desk. HARTMAN (whispering) What was that? REPORTERS AD LIB He's in the desk! -- For the love of -- He's in there! Etc. HARTMAN Aha! I thought so! Stand back, everybody! DEPUTY Look out, Sheriff. He may shoot! HARTMAN Get your guns out! The policemen and deputies get out their guns. HILDY He's harmless. HARTMAN Don't take any chances. Shoot through the desk. HILDY He can't hurt anybody. You've got his gun. MRS. BALDWIN (panic-stricken) Oh, dear! Oh, dear! BURNS You grey-haired old Judas! MRS. BALDWIN Let me out! Let me out of here! She streaks for the door, flings it open and goes. The reporters tear out of scene to their telephones. HARTMAN (to policeman) You stand there! MURPHY'S VOICE City Desk! Quick! SCHWARTZ' VOICE Gimme the Desk! HARTMAN (to another policeman) You there! ENDICOTT'S VOICE City Desk! Hurry! MCCUE'S VOICE Gimme Emil... HARTMAN (to a Deputy, pointing with his gun toward the window) You cover the window. MURPHY'S VOICE Look out where you're pointing that gun! The Sheriff draws his men in around the desk, their guns drawn on it. WILSON'S VOICE Lemme have the Desk! Quick! MURPHY'S VOICE Hold the wire! I've got a flash for you! BURNS (to Hildy) Call Duffy! HARTMAN No, you don't! BURNS (to Sheriff, furiously) Do you want to get us scooped? MCCUE'S VOICE Emil? Hang on for a second. HARTMAN Now then, everybody aim at the center. And when I say three -- HILDY That's murder! HARTMAN (changing his mind) All right! Carl! Frank! One of you get on each side of the desk. Take hold of the cover. They do. HARTMAN Now then! We got you covered, Williams. Don't try to move. Now! Everybody quiet and ready for an emergency. I'm going to count three. SCHWARTZ Hold it! Something coming up. HARTMAN One! ENDICOTT Hold the phone! MURPHY (into the phone) I'll have it in a minute. HARTMAN Two! WILSON (into phone) Right away now! HARTMAN (turning back to desk) Everybody ready? All right. Now then, up with it. Two deputies raise the cover. Williams is revealed, cowering in the desk, his hands over his face. The Sheriff rushes on him, jabbing his gun into him. CLOSE SHOT SHERIFF AND WILLIAMS HARTMAN Got you, Williams! WILLIAMS (a wail) Go on -- shoot me! MEDIUM SHOT as the police and deputies come in to assist the Sheriff. The reporters are telephoning in, the police shouting -- all the voices mixing in, in incredible confusion, as the Sheriff rushes Williams to the door and takes him out. MURPHY'S VOICE Earl Williams was just captured in the Press Room of the Criminal Courts Building, hiding in a desk. OFFICERS AD LIB (all talking at once) Grab him! That's him! Don't let him shoot! Stick 'em up! -- Etc. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) ...Williams in a rolltop -- CLOSEUP WILSON AT PHONE WILSON (into phone) -- nabbed Williams hiding -- ENDICOTT'S VOICE -- found Williams' hiding place. SCHWARTZ' VOICE He offered no resistance. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) Williams put up a desperate struggle but the police overpowered -- CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) -- tried to shoot it out with the cops but his gun wouldn't work, so -- WILSON'S VOICE -- trying to break through the cordon of police -- CLOSEUP ENDICOTT AT PHONE ENDICOTT (into phone) Williams was unconscious when they opened the desk -- CLOSEUP BURNS grabbing the Post phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Morning Post just turned Earl Williams over to the Sheriff. CLOSE SHOT THE SHERIFF coming in the door with two policemen and leaping to get the phone away from Burns. MED. SHOT BURNS AT PHONE, HILDY BESIDE HIM BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Sheriff and police come into scene. HARTMAN (indicating Burns and Hildy) Put the cuffs on those two! The police handcuff Hildy and Burns. ENDICOTT An anonymous note received by the Sheriff led to Williams' capture. More later. He hangs up. CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) An old sweetheart of Williams' doublecrossed him. Call you back. He hangs up. MED. SHOT TAKING IN DOOR REPORTERS Where's that old lady? Hey, Madam! Where'd she go? Where's the old dame? Etc., etc. They run out after Mrs. Baldwin, the Mayor entering just after they go. Burns and Hildy, handcuffed together, stand near the Sheriff. HARTMAN (into phone) Hello, girlie -- gimme Cooley. Quick! BURNS Hartwell, you're going to wish you'd never been born! The Mayor comes into scene. MAYOR Fine work, Pete! You certainly delivered the goods. I'm proud of you. HARTMAN (holding the phone) Look kind o' natural, don't they, Fred? MAYOR (happily) A sight for sore eyes! HARTMAN (rolling in catnip) Aiding an escaped criminal! And a little charge of kidnapping I'm looking into. (into phone; suddenly) But that's the jail! There must be somebody there! MAYOR Well! Looks like about ten years apiece for you birds! BURNS Does it? You forget the power that always watches over the Morning Post. MAYOR Your luck's not with you now! HARTMAN (into phone) Cooley?... I caught Williams single- handed -- we're going to proceed with the hanging per schedule! He wiggles the hook for another call. BURNS (to Mayor) You're going to be in office for exactly two days more and then we're pulling your nose out of the feed bag. HARTMAN (into phone) Give me the District Attorney's office. (to Burns) I'll tell you what you'll be doing -- making brooms in the State penitentiary. (into phone) Hello, D'Arrasty! This is Hartwell. Come over to my office, will you? I've just arrested a couple of important birds and I want to take their confessions. He hangs up. Burns makes a sudden lunge for the Morning Post phone and cries into it. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! Get Liebowitz! MAYOR All the lawyers in the world aren't going to help you! BURNS This is the Morning Post you're talking to! MAYOR (enjoying himself) The power of the press, huh! He laughs. Pinkus, the Governor's messenger, plentifully stewed, reels in the door. He approaches the Mayor and Sheriff who have their backs to him. BURNS (at the Mayor) Bigger men than you have found out what the power of the press is... President!... Yes -- and Kings! PINKUS (woozy; handing Sheriff the reprieve over his shoulder) Here's your reprieve. The Mayor and Sheriff spin around. MAYOR (in a panic) Get out of here! PINKUS You can't bribe me! BURNS What's this? HARTMAN Get out of here, you! PINKUS I

pinky

How many times the word 'pinky' appears in the text?

will you? MED. SHOT as Burns leaves Hildy and goes over to desk and picks up his phone again. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER Finding the door locked, he knocks. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY as another knock comes, they take it big. HILDY (calling) Who is it? EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER What's the idea of locking this? INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY HILDY That's Bensinger. That's his desk. BURNS (whispering) What's his name? The door knob is rattled violently. HILDY Bensinger -- of the Tribune. EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER Open this door! INT. PRESS ROOM CLOSE SHOT BURNS He starts for the door. BURNS I'll handle him. CAMERA TRUCKS WITH HIM to the door. BURNS The Tribune, eh? Watch me! He opens the door. AT DOOR BENSINGER (as he comes in) Ain't you got any more sense than to -- ? (sees Burns and is overcome) Oh, h-hello, Mr. Burns. Why, quite an honor having you come over here. BURNS (casually) Hello, Bensinger. BENSINGER Excuse me, I just want to -- He starts for the desk. Hildy's typing goes on, coming in over the scene. BURNS (starting for the desk, suddenly blocking his path) Quite a coincidence, my running into you tonight. Isn't it, Hildy? HILDY'S VOICE Yeh. BENSINGER How do you mean? CLOSEUP BURNS AND BENSINGER BURNS I was having a little chat about you just this afternoon -- with our Mister Duffy. BENSINGER (essaying a pleasantry) Nothing -- ah -- detrimental, I hope. BURNS I should say not! That was one swell story you had in the paper this morning. BENSINGER (deeply moved) Oh, did you -- care for the poem, Mr. Burns? BURNS (startled) The poem?... The poem was great! BENSINGER (blinking at these words) Remember the ending? (and he recites) " -- and all is well, outside his cell, But in his heart he hears the hangman Calling and the gallows falling And his white-haired mother's tears..." BURNS (overcome) Heartbreaking! How would you like to work for me? BENSINGER What? MEDIUM SHOT taking in table, Hildy typing there. BURNS (to Bensinger) We need somebody like you. All we've got now are a lot of low-brows. Like Johnson here. He starts shoving Bensinger away from the desk, toward the table. BENSINGER Seriously, Mr. Burns? Clinging to him, Burns takes him to the phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! I'm sending Bensinger over to see you. (looking up at Bensinger) Mervyn, isn't it? BENSINGER No. Roy. Roy V. BURNS (with a little laugh at his own forgetfulness) Of course! (into phone) Roy Bensinger, the poet. Of course you wouldn't know! You probably never heard of Shakespeare, either! Put Mr. Bensinger right on the staff. (to Bensinger) How much are you getting on the Tribune, Roy? BENSINGER Seventy-five. BURNS I'll give you a hundred and a by- line. ANOTHER ANGLE as Burns continues. BURNS (into phone) Let him have everything he wants. (puts down the receiver; turns to Bensinger) Now hustle and write me a story from the point of view of the escaped man. (acting it out) He hides, cowering... Afraid of every light, of every sound... hears footsteps... his heart going like that... And all the time they're closing in... Get the sense of an animal at bay! BENSINGER Sort of a Jack London style? TRUCKING SHOT BURNS Exactly! Leads him hurriedly to the door. BENSINGER I got my rhyming dictionary in -- (indicating desk) BURNS (getting him to door) It doesn't have to rhyme! CLOSE SHOT - AT DOOR as Bensinger turns there. BENSINGER Gee, I'm terribly grateful, Mister Burns. Do you suppose there might be an opening some time as foreign correspondent? I parley a little French, you know. Burns shakes hands with him and opens the door with the other hand. BURNS I'll keep you in mind. BENSINGER (going) Au revoir, mon capitaine. BURNS (never at a loss in any language) Bon jour! Continuing his French, he gets the door closed and relocked and turns for the table, singing as he does so: BURNS Mademoiselle from Armontieres, parlay -- MED. SHOT Burns returns alertly to table, not noticing that Hildy has stopped typing, and sits staring moodily before her. BURNS (into phono) Duffy! Got this! CLOSEUP BURNS - AT PHONE BURNS A rat from the Tribune is coming over to get a job -- Bensinger, the guy I told you about. Handle him with kid gloves. Tell him to get busy writing poetry... No, we don't want him. Stall him along until the extra comes out. Then tell him his poetry stinks and kick him downstairs. He lays down receiver. WIDER ANGLE taking in Hildy. She looks up at him. HILDY (to Burns) Double-crossing swine! BURNS You said it! But this'll teach him a lesson. He won't quit his paper without giving notice after this. Hildy doesn't bother to reply. She rests her chin on her hands and stares moodily ahead. BURNS Tear into it, will you? Don't sit there like a frozen robin! HILDY I'm finished. BURNS Finished! He grabs the last sheet of paper out of her typewriter, kisses her and rushes over to the telephone. CLOSEUP BURNS at phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! All right -- here we go! And got it out as soon as you can. I want this paper out on the streets in half an hour! (reading Hildy's copy) "So once more the Morning Post --" EXT. CRIMINAL COURTS BLDG. - NIGHT MED. SHOT Diamond Louie, bearing evidence of a mishap, his hat crushed, his face bruised and his clothes torn, comes running down the sidewalk and up the steps into the buildings. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Hildy is up now, pacing. HILDY Bruce ought to be back by now. Walter, you're not trying anything again, are you? BURNS (coming over to her) Hildy, you think I could? After this story? (taking a flask from his pocket) Here! You're just nervous. Hildy takes the flask and takes a drink. There is a knock on the door. Burns takes the flask from her, restores it to his pocket and goes to the door. BURNS Who is it? LOUIE'S VOICE It's me, Boss -- Louie. BURNS (opening the door) It's Louie! Louie slips in and Burns relocks the door. BURNS (seeing Louie's disarray) What's the matter? Hildy crosses to Louie. HILDY (frantically) Where's Mrs. Baldwin? BURNS What did you do with her? HILDY (almost afraid to speak) What happened? CLOSE SHOT - THE THREE BURNS You been in a fight? LOUIE (still out of breath) Down Western Avenue. We were going sixty-five miles an hour. You know what I mean? BURNS Take that mush out of your mouth! HILDY Where's the old lady? LOUIE I'm telling you! CLOSEUP - LOUIE as he gets breath and blurts: LOUIE We run smack into a police patrol. You know what I mean? We broke it in half! BACK TO GROUP HILDY (moaning) Oh-h-h... was she hurt? BURNS Where is she? Tell me! HILDY Louie! LOUIE I'm telling you. Can you imagine bumping into a load of cops?! They come rollin' out like oranges! HILDY (seizing him) What did you do with her? LOUIE Search me! When I come to I was running down Thirty-fifth Street. HILDY -- You were with her. You were in the cab, weren't you? LOUIE (exposing his bruised scalp) Was I? The driver got knocked cold. BURNS Butter-fingers! I give you an old lady to take somewhere, and you hand her over to the cops! LOUIE What do you mean, I handed her? The patrol wagon was on the wrong side of the street. BURNS Now everything's fine. She's probably squawking her head off in some police station. CLOSEUP - LOUIE LOUIE I don't think she's talking much... You know what I mean? He winks reassuringly. BACK TO GROUP HILDY (paralyzed) Don't tell me -- was she killed? BURNS (hopefully) Was she? Did you notice? LOUIE Say, me with a gun on my hip and a kidnapped old lady on my hands, I should stick around asking questions from a lot of cops! You know what I mean? Hildy sinks into a chair. CLOSE SHOT HILDY IN THE CHAIR HILDY Dead... dead! That's the end! Burns comes into scene to her. BURNS It's Fate, Hildy. What will be, will be. HILDY (wildly) What am I going to say to Bruce? What'll I tell him? BURNS If he really loves you, you won't have to tell him anything. (whacking her on the shoulder) Snap out of it! Would you rather have had the old dame dragging the whole police force in here? HILDY I killed her. I'm responsible. Oh- h... what can I do now? How can I ever face him? Oh, I hope he never comes back! She buries her face in her hands. BURNS Look at me, Hildy -- HILDY (springing up) I'm looking at you -- you murderer! BURNS If it was my own mother, I'd carry on! You know I would. For the paper! HILDY (calling off to Louie) Louie, where'd it happen? I'm going out! MED. SHOT GROUP The Post phone rings. BURNS (grabbing Hildy) You stay here. I'll find out everything. LOUIE (to Hildy) Western an' Thirty-fourth. Hildy jumps for the outside phone on the desk. TWO SHOT INCLUDING BURNS AT PHONE AND HILDY AT PHONE BURNS (into phone) Hello -- hello... HILDY (into phone) Gimme Western four-five-five-seven. BURNS (guarded) Who? (wildly) Hello, Butch! Where are you? HILDY (into phone) Mission Hospital? Gimme the Receiving Room. BURNS (into phone) What are you doing there? Haven't you even started? HILDY (into phone) Hello -- Eddie? Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady brought in from an auto smashup? BURNS (into phone) Oh, for -- (yelling) H. Sebastian -- Butch! Listen, it's a matter of life and death! Listen! HILDY (into phone) Nobody? (jiggles hook) Morningside three-one-two-four. BURNS (into phone) I can't hear... You got who? Speak up! A what?... You can't stop for a dame now! HILDY (into phone) Is this the Community Hospital? BURNS (howling into phone) I don't care if you've been after her for six years! Butch, our whole lives are at stake! Are you going to let a woman come between us after all we've been through? HILDY (into phone) Hello, Max, Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady --? BURNS (into phone, drowning out Hildy) Butch! I'd put my arm in fire for you -- up to here! (indicates up to where) Now, you can't double-cross me!... She does? All right -- put her on. I'll talk to her... Hello! Oh, hello, Madam... Now listen, you ten-cent glamour girl, you can't keep Butch away from his duty... What's that? You say that again and I'll come over there and knock your eye out! Hello? (turning, as he hangs up) I'll kill 'em! I'll kill both of 'em! (into Post phone) Duffy! (to the universe) Mousing around with some big blonde Annie on my time! That's co-operation! (screaming into phone) Duffy!! HILDY Shut up, will you? (into phone) You sure? Nobody? BURNS (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) Well, where is Duffy? (throwing receiver to desk) Diabetes! I ought to know better than to hire anybody with a disease. (turning) Louie. MED. SHOT GROUP BURNS (to Louie) It's up to you. LOUIE (loyally) Anything you want, Boss. BURNS Beat it out and get hold of some guys. LOUIE Who do you want? BURNS (starting for the door, followed by Louie) Anybody with hair on his chest. Get 'em off the street -- anywhere. Offer them anything -- only get them. (confidentially) We've got to get this desk out of here. He unlocks the door. LOUIE You know me. The shirt off my back. BURNS You got plenty of money? LOUIE Sure, boss. BURNS I mean real money -- not counterfeit! LOUIE I always have both. He goes out. BURNS (calling after him) And don't bump into anything. He relocks the door. HILDY Lafayette two-one-hundred. BURNS (turning from door) That dumb immigrant'll flop on me. I know it. (bitterly) Can you imagine Butch doing this to me -- at a time like this? CLOSE SHOT HILDY AT PHONE, TAKING IN DESK Burns steps into scene. BURNS (confidentially) If Louie doesn't come back in five minutes we'll get it out alone. There's millions of ways. We can start a fire and get the firemen to carry it out in the confusion. He crosses to the desk and inspects it. HILDY (into phone) Ring that number, will you? BURNS (to Hildy, oblivious of her telephoning) Come here. See if we can move it. HILDY (into phone) Hello -- hello! Is this the Lying -- In Hospital? Did you have an auto accident in the last -- BURNS (interrupting) Will you come here? HILDY (into phone) Oh, I see. I beg your pardon. BURNS When I'm surrounded, with my back against the wall, you're not going to lay down on me, are you -- HILDY Yes. She jiggles the phone hook. BURNS (going to her) Hildy, you just can't leave me out on a limb now. It -- it wouldn't be cricket! HILDY I don't care what you say. I'm going to find Bruce's mother. (she jiggles the hook madly) Oh-h... (she hangs up) I'm going out and find her! Grabbing her hat and purse, she starts for the door. MED. SHOT OF HILDY, TAKING IN DOOR There is a loud knocking on the door. BURNS (coming into scene after Hildy) Don't open that! HILDY (at the door) Who says so? I'm going to the morgue -- to look -- She unlocks the door. CLOSE SHOT AT DOOR as Hildy flings the door open, only to find the Sheriff, accompanied by two deputies -- Carl and Frank -- and surrounded by McCue, Murphy, Schwartz, Wilson and Endicott. MURPHY There she is! MCCUE Say, Hildy... Hildy makes a decision and tries to push through them, but the Sheriff grabs her and pushes her back. HARTMAN Just a minute, Johnson! HILDY Let go o' me. What's the idea? MCCUE What's your hurry? MURPHY We want to see you. The deputies seize her. HILDY Take your paws off me! HARTMAN Hold her, boys! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (to Sheriff) Who do you think you are, breaking in here like this? HARTMAN You can't bluff me, Burns. I don't care who you are or what paper you're editor of. HILDY (struggling) Let me go! (hysterically) Fellows, something's happened to my mother-in-law. HARTMAN Hang onto her! Keep her in here! MED. SHOT as Hildy breaks loose and retreats back into the room before Hartman and the deputies. MCCUE We know what you're up to. ENDICOTT Probably goin' out to get Williams. SCHWARTZ The door was locked. WILSON She and Mollie were talking. HILDY I don't know anything, I tell you. There's been an accident. HARTMAN Johnson, there's something very peculiar going on. HILDY You can send somebody with me if you don't believe me! HARTMAN I wasn't born yesterday. Now the boys tell me you and this Mollie Malloy -- HILDY Nobody's trying to put anything over on you. I'm getting out of here and you can't stop me! MURPHY (comes into scene) You're not going anywhere. (to the Sheriff) She's got the story sewed up, Pete. (indicating Burns) That's why Burns is here. SCHWARTZ We're on to you, Hildy. Let us in on it. TWO SHOT - SHERIFF AND BURNS BURNS (purring) If you've any accusations to make, Hartman, make them in the proper manner. Otherwise, I'll have to ask you to get out. HARTMAN (pop-eyed; stammering) You'll ask me to what? BURNS Get out! HARTMAN (to deputies, off) Close that door. Don't let anybody in or out. MED. SHOT - THE GROUP MURPHY Come on, Pinky! Give 'em a little third degree. ENDICOTT Make them talk and you got Williams, Pinky! HARTMAN Johnson, I'm going to the bottom of this. What do you know about Williams? Are you going to talk or aren't you? HILDY What do I know about Williams? HARTMAN All right, boys. Take her along. I got ways of making her talk. The deputies seize Hildy. She struggles. HILDY Look out, you -- MCCUE (nervously) What's the use of fighting, Hildy? Hildy manages to get in a few resounding smacks on the deputies' faces. The reporters swarm around the struggling trio. There are shouts of: "I got her!" "No, you don't!" "Aw, Hildy...", etc. In the struggle, Hildy suddenly drops her purse. It lands with a clank and comes open. A gun is revealed on the floor. Hildy picks it up. DEPUTIES Hey, she's got a gun! Look out, she's got a gun! The deputies and reporters start to close in on her cautiously. HILDY (trying to face in all directions) No, you don't! Walter! BURNS What is it? Here! She tosses the gun to Walter, but one of the deputies intercepts the throw. HARTMAN Gimme that. He takes the gun from the deputy. CLOSER SHOT The Sheriff stands frozen, staring at the gun. HARTMAN (to Hildy) Where'd you get this? HILDY I've got a right to carry a gun if I want to. HARTMAN Not this gun! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (easily) I can explain that, Hartman. When Hildy told me she wanted to interview Earl Williams I thought it might be dangerous and I gave her a gun to defend herself. HARTMAN Oh, you did! Well, that's very, very interesting. This happens to be the gun that Earl Williams shot his way out with! REPORTERS AD LIB What? What's that? Etc... BURNS (advancing on Sheriff) Are you trying to make me out a liar? MURPHY (bitterly at Hildy) It's the last time I ever trust a woman, Hildy. SCHWARTZ Maybe Williams was gonna be her best man. WILSON That's pretty rotten, Hildy. Crossing your own pals. HARTMAN (shoving up to Hildy; trembling) Where is Earl Williams? Where you got him? BURNS (sympathetically) You're barking up the wrong tree, Hartman. HARTMAN I'll give you three minutes to tell me where he is. HILDY He went over to the hospital to call on Professor Egelhoffer. HARTMAN (outraged) What? HILDY With a bag of marshmallows. The Sheriff stands silent -- then hastily turns. MED. SHOT GROUP AROUND HILDY REPORTERS AD LIB Come on, Hildy. Where is he?... This is a sweet trick, Hildy... I thought we were friends... Etc. (to Sheriff) Look here, Pete! What about Mister Burns?... Ask the Master Mind! What's he doing over here? HARTMAN (grabbing Burns' arm) Speak up! What do you know about this. BURNS (gently but firmly disengaging his hand) My dear Hartman! He moves casually to a post before the desk and maintains it. MURPHY Can that! Where is he? BURNS (to Sheriff) The Morning Post is not obstructing justice or hiding criminals. You ought to know that. HARTMAN No? Well -- (turning to Hildy) Johnson, you're under arrest. (turning to Burns) You, too, Burns. BURNS (calmly) Who's under arrest? You pimple-headed, square-toed spy -- do you realize what you're doing? HARTMAN I'll show you what I'm doing. Burns, you're guilty of obstructing justice and so is the Morning Post. I'm going to see that the Post is fined ten thousand dollars for this. BURNS You'll see nothing of the kind, Sheriff. HARTMAN We'll just start by impounding the Post property. (pointing to Bensinger's desk, addressing Hildy) Is that your desk? HILDY (jumping) No! BURNS (almost simultaneously) Yes! What are you afraid of Hildy? I dare him to move that desk out of here. HARTMAN Oh, you do, eh? (to deputies) All right, boys. Confiscate that desk. Several of the deputies start toward the desk. BURNS (trying to intercept deputies) Hartman, if you take this desk out of this building, I'll put you behind bars. HARTMAN You will, eh? Well, we'll see about that. (to deputies) All right, boys. Take it. BURNS I'm warning you -- it'll be a Federal offense. (to deputy nearest him) And you'll be an accessory! HARTMAN We'll take a chance on that, Burns. (to deputies) Go ahead, boys. (the deputies continue toward the desk) INT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Flanked by two policemen, Mrs. Baldwin, dishevelled, with her hat over one ear, is marching toward the Press Room, bound for vengeance. Bruce, considerably upset, is with her. As they reach the door to the Press Room, Mrs. Baldwin stops. MRS. BALDWIN You wait outside, Bruce. BRUCE But, mother -- MRS. BALDWIN (firmly) No! You'll weaken when you see that little Jezebel! I'm going to tell her what I think of her! She plumps her hat down more firmly on her head and marches into the Press Room followed by the two policemen. Bruce remains outside the door. INT. PRESS ROOM Taking in door as it opens and Mrs. Baldwin, followed by the policemen, comes in. HILDY (leaping forward) Mother! MRS. BALDWIN (pointing out Burns to the officers) That man there! HILDY (hugging Mrs. Baldwin) Mother! Oh, I'm so glad to see you! Are you all right? Tell me. Mrs. Baldwin indignantly shakes her off. HARTMAN What's the idea here? POLICEMAN This lady claims she was kidnapped. HARTMAN What? MRS. BALDWIN They dragged me all the way down the stairs -- HARTMAN Just a minute. Did -- did -- (points to Burns) -- this man have anything to do with it? MRS. BALDWIN He was the one in charge of everything! He told them to kidnap me! BURNS (amazed) Are you referring to me, Madam? MRS. BALDWIN You know you did! HARTMAN What about this, Burns? Kidnapping, eh? BURNS (round-eyed) Oh, trying to frame me, eh! I never saw this woman before in my life! MRS. BALDWIN Oh, what a thing to say! I was standing right here - after the girl jumped out of the window. HARTMAN Did you get the Mayor? DEPUTY He's coming over. BURNS (to Mrs. Baldwin) Now, Madam -- be honest. If you were out joy-riding, drunk, and got into some scrape, why don't you admit it, instead of accusing innocent people? MRS. BALDWIN (beginning to doubt her senses) You ruffian! How dare you say a thing like that? HILDA Please, Mother, he's just crazy! MRS. BALDWIN (to Sheriff) I'll tell you something more. I'll tell you why they did it! BURNS (fidgeting) Come on, Sheriff. We've got to get bail. MRS. BALDWIN (continuing crescendo) I was in here -- and they had some kind of murderer in with them. They were hiding him! This is a bombshell. The room is electrified. HARTMAN Hiding him? In here? Murphy, followed by the reporters, comes into scene. MURPHY Hiding him where? HILDY Mother! REPORTERS Where was he?... Where'd they have him?... Etc. CLOSE SHOT BURNS at the desk. BURNS (with superb indignation) Madam, you're a cockeyed liar! And you know it! To emphasize his righteousness, he pounds on the desk three times, forgetting that that is his signal to Williams. Then, realizing what he has done, he gasps. MED. SHOT Burns advances from desk, the others retreating before him. BURNS (anxiously) Come on, Sheriff, we've got to get bail. Three answering knocks come from the desk. GROUP SHOT WITH DOORWAY IN B.G They jump around to face the desk. HARTMAN (whispering) What was that? REPORTERS AD LIB He's in the desk! -- For the love of -- He's in there! Etc. HARTMAN Aha! I thought so! Stand back, everybody! DEPUTY Look out, Sheriff. He may shoot! HARTMAN Get your guns out! The policemen and deputies get out their guns. HILDY He's harmless. HARTMAN Don't take any chances. Shoot through the desk. HILDY He can't hurt anybody. You've got his gun. MRS. BALDWIN (panic-stricken) Oh, dear! Oh, dear! BURNS You grey-haired old Judas! MRS. BALDWIN Let me out! Let me out of here! She streaks for the door, flings it open and goes. The reporters tear out of scene to their telephones. HARTMAN (to policeman) You stand there! MURPHY'S VOICE City Desk! Quick! SCHWARTZ' VOICE Gimme the Desk! HARTMAN (to another policeman) You there! ENDICOTT'S VOICE City Desk! Hurry! MCCUE'S VOICE Gimme Emil... HARTMAN (to a Deputy, pointing with his gun toward the window) You cover the window. MURPHY'S VOICE Look out where you're pointing that gun! The Sheriff draws his men in around the desk, their guns drawn on it. WILSON'S VOICE Lemme have the Desk! Quick! MURPHY'S VOICE Hold the wire! I've got a flash for you! BURNS (to Hildy) Call Duffy! HARTMAN No, you don't! BURNS (to Sheriff, furiously) Do you want to get us scooped? MCCUE'S VOICE Emil? Hang on for a second. HARTMAN Now then, everybody aim at the center. And when I say three -- HILDY That's murder! HARTMAN (changing his mind) All right! Carl! Frank! One of you get on each side of the desk. Take hold of the cover. They do. HARTMAN Now then! We got you covered, Williams. Don't try to move. Now! Everybody quiet and ready for an emergency. I'm going to count three. SCHWARTZ Hold it! Something coming up. HARTMAN One! ENDICOTT Hold the phone! MURPHY (into the phone) I'll have it in a minute. HARTMAN Two! WILSON (into phone) Right away now! HARTMAN (turning back to desk) Everybody ready? All right. Now then, up with it. Two deputies raise the cover. Williams is revealed, cowering in the desk, his hands over his face. The Sheriff rushes on him, jabbing his gun into him. CLOSE SHOT SHERIFF AND WILLIAMS HARTMAN Got you, Williams! WILLIAMS (a wail) Go on -- shoot me! MEDIUM SHOT as the police and deputies come in to assist the Sheriff. The reporters are telephoning in, the police shouting -- all the voices mixing in, in incredible confusion, as the Sheriff rushes Williams to the door and takes him out. MURPHY'S VOICE Earl Williams was just captured in the Press Room of the Criminal Courts Building, hiding in a desk. OFFICERS AD LIB (all talking at once) Grab him! That's him! Don't let him shoot! Stick 'em up! -- Etc. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) ...Williams in a rolltop -- CLOSEUP WILSON AT PHONE WILSON (into phone) -- nabbed Williams hiding -- ENDICOTT'S VOICE -- found Williams' hiding place. SCHWARTZ' VOICE He offered no resistance. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) Williams put up a desperate struggle but the police overpowered -- CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) -- tried to shoot it out with the cops but his gun wouldn't work, so -- WILSON'S VOICE -- trying to break through the cordon of police -- CLOSEUP ENDICOTT AT PHONE ENDICOTT (into phone) Williams was unconscious when they opened the desk -- CLOSEUP BURNS grabbing the Post phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Morning Post just turned Earl Williams over to the Sheriff. CLOSE SHOT THE SHERIFF coming in the door with two policemen and leaping to get the phone away from Burns. MED. SHOT BURNS AT PHONE, HILDY BESIDE HIM BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Sheriff and police come into scene. HARTMAN (indicating Burns and Hildy) Put the cuffs on those two! The police handcuff Hildy and Burns. ENDICOTT An anonymous note received by the Sheriff led to Williams' capture. More later. He hangs up. CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) An old sweetheart of Williams' doublecrossed him. Call you back. He hangs up. MED. SHOT TAKING IN DOOR REPORTERS Where's that old lady? Hey, Madam! Where'd she go? Where's the old dame? Etc., etc. They run out after Mrs. Baldwin, the Mayor entering just after they go. Burns and Hildy, handcuffed together, stand near the Sheriff. HARTMAN (into phone) Hello, girlie -- gimme Cooley. Quick! BURNS Hartwell, you're going to wish you'd never been born! The Mayor comes into scene. MAYOR Fine work, Pete! You certainly delivered the goods. I'm proud of you. HARTMAN (holding the phone) Look kind o' natural, don't they, Fred? MAYOR (happily) A sight for sore eyes! HARTMAN (rolling in catnip) Aiding an escaped criminal! And a little charge of kidnapping I'm looking into. (into phone; suddenly) But that's the jail! There must be somebody there! MAYOR Well! Looks like about ten years apiece for you birds! BURNS Does it? You forget the power that always watches over the Morning Post. MAYOR Your luck's not with you now! HARTMAN (into phone) Cooley?... I caught Williams single- handed -- we're going to proceed with the hanging per schedule! He wiggles the hook for another call. BURNS (to Mayor) You're going to be in office for exactly two days more and then we're pulling your nose out of the feed bag. HARTMAN (into phone) Give me the District Attorney's office. (to Burns) I'll tell you what you'll be doing -- making brooms in the State penitentiary. (into phone) Hello, D'Arrasty! This is Hartwell. Come over to my office, will you? I've just arrested a couple of important birds and I want to take their confessions. He hangs up. Burns makes a sudden lunge for the Morning Post phone and cries into it. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! Get Liebowitz! MAYOR All the lawyers in the world aren't going to help you! BURNS This is the Morning Post you're talking to! MAYOR (enjoying himself) The power of the press, huh! He laughs. Pinkus, the Governor's messenger, plentifully stewed, reels in the door. He approaches the Mayor and Sheriff who have their backs to him. BURNS (at the Mayor) Bigger men than you have found out what the power of the press is... President!... Yes -- and Kings! PINKUS (woozy; handing Sheriff the reprieve over his shoulder) Here's your reprieve. The Mayor and Sheriff spin around. MAYOR (in a panic) Get out of here! PINKUS You can't bribe me! BURNS What's this? HARTMAN Get out of here, you! PINKUS I

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How many times the word 'iron' appears in the text?

will you? MED. SHOT as Burns leaves Hildy and goes over to desk and picks up his phone again. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER Finding the door locked, he knocks. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY as another knock comes, they take it big. HILDY (calling) Who is it? EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER What's the idea of locking this? INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY HILDY That's Bensinger. That's his desk. BURNS (whispering) What's his name? The door knob is rattled violently. HILDY Bensinger -- of the Tribune. EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER Open this door! INT. PRESS ROOM CLOSE SHOT BURNS He starts for the door. BURNS I'll handle him. CAMERA TRUCKS WITH HIM to the door. BURNS The Tribune, eh? Watch me! He opens the door. AT DOOR BENSINGER (as he comes in) Ain't you got any more sense than to -- ? (sees Burns and is overcome) Oh, h-hello, Mr. Burns. Why, quite an honor having you come over here. BURNS (casually) Hello, Bensinger. BENSINGER Excuse me, I just want to -- He starts for the desk. Hildy's typing goes on, coming in over the scene. BURNS (starting for the desk, suddenly blocking his path) Quite a coincidence, my running into you tonight. Isn't it, Hildy? HILDY'S VOICE Yeh. BENSINGER How do you mean? CLOSEUP BURNS AND BENSINGER BURNS I was having a little chat about you just this afternoon -- with our Mister Duffy. BENSINGER (essaying a pleasantry) Nothing -- ah -- detrimental, I hope. BURNS I should say not! That was one swell story you had in the paper this morning. BENSINGER (deeply moved) Oh, did you -- care for the poem, Mr. Burns? BURNS (startled) The poem?... The poem was great! BENSINGER (blinking at these words) Remember the ending? (and he recites) " -- and all is well, outside his cell, But in his heart he hears the hangman Calling and the gallows falling And his white-haired mother's tears..." BURNS (overcome) Heartbreaking! How would you like to work for me? BENSINGER What? MEDIUM SHOT taking in table, Hildy typing there. BURNS (to Bensinger) We need somebody like you. All we've got now are a lot of low-brows. Like Johnson here. He starts shoving Bensinger away from the desk, toward the table. BENSINGER Seriously, Mr. Burns? Clinging to him, Burns takes him to the phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! I'm sending Bensinger over to see you. (looking up at Bensinger) Mervyn, isn't it? BENSINGER No. Roy. Roy V. BURNS (with a little laugh at his own forgetfulness) Of course! (into phone) Roy Bensinger, the poet. Of course you wouldn't know! You probably never heard of Shakespeare, either! Put Mr. Bensinger right on the staff. (to Bensinger) How much are you getting on the Tribune, Roy? BENSINGER Seventy-five. BURNS I'll give you a hundred and a by- line. ANOTHER ANGLE as Burns continues. BURNS (into phone) Let him have everything he wants. (puts down the receiver; turns to Bensinger) Now hustle and write me a story from the point of view of the escaped man. (acting it out) He hides, cowering... Afraid of every light, of every sound... hears footsteps... his heart going like that... And all the time they're closing in... Get the sense of an animal at bay! BENSINGER Sort of a Jack London style? TRUCKING SHOT BURNS Exactly! Leads him hurriedly to the door. BENSINGER I got my rhyming dictionary in -- (indicating desk) BURNS (getting him to door) It doesn't have to rhyme! CLOSE SHOT - AT DOOR as Bensinger turns there. BENSINGER Gee, I'm terribly grateful, Mister Burns. Do you suppose there might be an opening some time as foreign correspondent? I parley a little French, you know. Burns shakes hands with him and opens the door with the other hand. BURNS I'll keep you in mind. BENSINGER (going) Au revoir, mon capitaine. BURNS (never at a loss in any language) Bon jour! Continuing his French, he gets the door closed and relocked and turns for the table, singing as he does so: BURNS Mademoiselle from Armontieres, parlay -- MED. SHOT Burns returns alertly to table, not noticing that Hildy has stopped typing, and sits staring moodily before her. BURNS (into phono) Duffy! Got this! CLOSEUP BURNS - AT PHONE BURNS A rat from the Tribune is coming over to get a job -- Bensinger, the guy I told you about. Handle him with kid gloves. Tell him to get busy writing poetry... No, we don't want him. Stall him along until the extra comes out. Then tell him his poetry stinks and kick him downstairs. He lays down receiver. WIDER ANGLE taking in Hildy. She looks up at him. HILDY (to Burns) Double-crossing swine! BURNS You said it! But this'll teach him a lesson. He won't quit his paper without giving notice after this. Hildy doesn't bother to reply. She rests her chin on her hands and stares moodily ahead. BURNS Tear into it, will you? Don't sit there like a frozen robin! HILDY I'm finished. BURNS Finished! He grabs the last sheet of paper out of her typewriter, kisses her and rushes over to the telephone. CLOSEUP BURNS at phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! All right -- here we go! And got it out as soon as you can. I want this paper out on the streets in half an hour! (reading Hildy's copy) "So once more the Morning Post --" EXT. CRIMINAL COURTS BLDG. - NIGHT MED. SHOT Diamond Louie, bearing evidence of a mishap, his hat crushed, his face bruised and his clothes torn, comes running down the sidewalk and up the steps into the buildings. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Hildy is up now, pacing. HILDY Bruce ought to be back by now. Walter, you're not trying anything again, are you? BURNS (coming over to her) Hildy, you think I could? After this story? (taking a flask from his pocket) Here! You're just nervous. Hildy takes the flask and takes a drink. There is a knock on the door. Burns takes the flask from her, restores it to his pocket and goes to the door. BURNS Who is it? LOUIE'S VOICE It's me, Boss -- Louie. BURNS (opening the door) It's Louie! Louie slips in and Burns relocks the door. BURNS (seeing Louie's disarray) What's the matter? Hildy crosses to Louie. HILDY (frantically) Where's Mrs. Baldwin? BURNS What did you do with her? HILDY (almost afraid to speak) What happened? CLOSE SHOT - THE THREE BURNS You been in a fight? LOUIE (still out of breath) Down Western Avenue. We were going sixty-five miles an hour. You know what I mean? BURNS Take that mush out of your mouth! HILDY Where's the old lady? LOUIE I'm telling you! CLOSEUP - LOUIE as he gets breath and blurts: LOUIE We run smack into a police patrol. You know what I mean? We broke it in half! BACK TO GROUP HILDY (moaning) Oh-h-h... was she hurt? BURNS Where is she? Tell me! HILDY Louie! LOUIE I'm telling you. Can you imagine bumping into a load of cops?! They come rollin' out like oranges! HILDY (seizing him) What did you do with her? LOUIE Search me! When I come to I was running down Thirty-fifth Street. HILDY -- You were with her. You were in the cab, weren't you? LOUIE (exposing his bruised scalp) Was I? The driver got knocked cold. BURNS Butter-fingers! I give you an old lady to take somewhere, and you hand her over to the cops! LOUIE What do you mean, I handed her? The patrol wagon was on the wrong side of the street. BURNS Now everything's fine. She's probably squawking her head off in some police station. CLOSEUP - LOUIE LOUIE I don't think she's talking much... You know what I mean? He winks reassuringly. BACK TO GROUP HILDY (paralyzed) Don't tell me -- was she killed? BURNS (hopefully) Was she? Did you notice? LOUIE Say, me with a gun on my hip and a kidnapped old lady on my hands, I should stick around asking questions from a lot of cops! You know what I mean? Hildy sinks into a chair. CLOSE SHOT HILDY IN THE CHAIR HILDY Dead... dead! That's the end! Burns comes into scene to her. BURNS It's Fate, Hildy. What will be, will be. HILDY (wildly) What am I going to say to Bruce? What'll I tell him? BURNS If he really loves you, you won't have to tell him anything. (whacking her on the shoulder) Snap out of it! Would you rather have had the old dame dragging the whole police force in here? HILDY I killed her. I'm responsible. Oh- h... what can I do now? How can I ever face him? Oh, I hope he never comes back! She buries her face in her hands. BURNS Look at me, Hildy -- HILDY (springing up) I'm looking at you -- you murderer! BURNS If it was my own mother, I'd carry on! You know I would. For the paper! HILDY (calling off to Louie) Louie, where'd it happen? I'm going out! MED. SHOT GROUP The Post phone rings. BURNS (grabbing Hildy) You stay here. I'll find out everything. LOUIE (to Hildy) Western an' Thirty-fourth. Hildy jumps for the outside phone on the desk. TWO SHOT INCLUDING BURNS AT PHONE AND HILDY AT PHONE BURNS (into phone) Hello -- hello... HILDY (into phone) Gimme Western four-five-five-seven. BURNS (guarded) Who? (wildly) Hello, Butch! Where are you? HILDY (into phone) Mission Hospital? Gimme the Receiving Room. BURNS (into phone) What are you doing there? Haven't you even started? HILDY (into phone) Hello -- Eddie? Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady brought in from an auto smashup? BURNS (into phone) Oh, for -- (yelling) H. Sebastian -- Butch! Listen, it's a matter of life and death! Listen! HILDY (into phone) Nobody? (jiggles hook) Morningside three-one-two-four. BURNS (into phone) I can't hear... You got who? Speak up! A what?... You can't stop for a dame now! HILDY (into phone) Is this the Community Hospital? BURNS (howling into phone) I don't care if you've been after her for six years! Butch, our whole lives are at stake! Are you going to let a woman come between us after all we've been through? HILDY (into phone) Hello, Max, Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady --? BURNS (into phone, drowning out Hildy) Butch! I'd put my arm in fire for you -- up to here! (indicates up to where) Now, you can't double-cross me!... She does? All right -- put her on. I'll talk to her... Hello! Oh, hello, Madam... Now listen, you ten-cent glamour girl, you can't keep Butch away from his duty... What's that? You say that again and I'll come over there and knock your eye out! Hello? (turning, as he hangs up) I'll kill 'em! I'll kill both of 'em! (into Post phone) Duffy! (to the universe) Mousing around with some big blonde Annie on my time! That's co-operation! (screaming into phone) Duffy!! HILDY Shut up, will you? (into phone) You sure? Nobody? BURNS (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) Well, where is Duffy? (throwing receiver to desk) Diabetes! I ought to know better than to hire anybody with a disease. (turning) Louie. MED. SHOT GROUP BURNS (to Louie) It's up to you. LOUIE (loyally) Anything you want, Boss. BURNS Beat it out and get hold of some guys. LOUIE Who do you want? BURNS (starting for the door, followed by Louie) Anybody with hair on his chest. Get 'em off the street -- anywhere. Offer them anything -- only get them. (confidentially) We've got to get this desk out of here. He unlocks the door. LOUIE You know me. The shirt off my back. BURNS You got plenty of money? LOUIE Sure, boss. BURNS I mean real money -- not counterfeit! LOUIE I always have both. He goes out. BURNS (calling after him) And don't bump into anything. He relocks the door. HILDY Lafayette two-one-hundred. BURNS (turning from door) That dumb immigrant'll flop on me. I know it. (bitterly) Can you imagine Butch doing this to me -- at a time like this? CLOSE SHOT HILDY AT PHONE, TAKING IN DESK Burns steps into scene. BURNS (confidentially) If Louie doesn't come back in five minutes we'll get it out alone. There's millions of ways. We can start a fire and get the firemen to carry it out in the confusion. He crosses to the desk and inspects it. HILDY (into phone) Ring that number, will you? BURNS (to Hildy, oblivious of her telephoning) Come here. See if we can move it. HILDY (into phone) Hello -- hello! Is this the Lying -- In Hospital? Did you have an auto accident in the last -- BURNS (interrupting) Will you come here? HILDY (into phone) Oh, I see. I beg your pardon. BURNS When I'm surrounded, with my back against the wall, you're not going to lay down on me, are you -- HILDY Yes. She jiggles the phone hook. BURNS (going to her) Hildy, you just can't leave me out on a limb now. It -- it wouldn't be cricket! HILDY I don't care what you say. I'm going to find Bruce's mother. (she jiggles the hook madly) Oh-h... (she hangs up) I'm going out and find her! Grabbing her hat and purse, she starts for the door. MED. SHOT OF HILDY, TAKING IN DOOR There is a loud knocking on the door. BURNS (coming into scene after Hildy) Don't open that! HILDY (at the door) Who says so? I'm going to the morgue -- to look -- She unlocks the door. CLOSE SHOT AT DOOR as Hildy flings the door open, only to find the Sheriff, accompanied by two deputies -- Carl and Frank -- and surrounded by McCue, Murphy, Schwartz, Wilson and Endicott. MURPHY There she is! MCCUE Say, Hildy... Hildy makes a decision and tries to push through them, but the Sheriff grabs her and pushes her back. HARTMAN Just a minute, Johnson! HILDY Let go o' me. What's the idea? MCCUE What's your hurry? MURPHY We want to see you. The deputies seize her. HILDY Take your paws off me! HARTMAN Hold her, boys! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (to Sheriff) Who do you think you are, breaking in here like this? HARTMAN You can't bluff me, Burns. I don't care who you are or what paper you're editor of. HILDY (struggling) Let me go! (hysterically) Fellows, something's happened to my mother-in-law. HARTMAN Hang onto her! Keep her in here! MED. SHOT as Hildy breaks loose and retreats back into the room before Hartman and the deputies. MCCUE We know what you're up to. ENDICOTT Probably goin' out to get Williams. SCHWARTZ The door was locked. WILSON She and Mollie were talking. HILDY I don't know anything, I tell you. There's been an accident. HARTMAN Johnson, there's something very peculiar going on. HILDY You can send somebody with me if you don't believe me! HARTMAN I wasn't born yesterday. Now the boys tell me you and this Mollie Malloy -- HILDY Nobody's trying to put anything over on you. I'm getting out of here and you can't stop me! MURPHY (comes into scene) You're not going anywhere. (to the Sheriff) She's got the story sewed up, Pete. (indicating Burns) That's why Burns is here. SCHWARTZ We're on to you, Hildy. Let us in on it. TWO SHOT - SHERIFF AND BURNS BURNS (purring) If you've any accusations to make, Hartman, make them in the proper manner. Otherwise, I'll have to ask you to get out. HARTMAN (pop-eyed; stammering) You'll ask me to what? BURNS Get out! HARTMAN (to deputies, off) Close that door. Don't let anybody in or out. MED. SHOT - THE GROUP MURPHY Come on, Pinky! Give 'em a little third degree. ENDICOTT Make them talk and you got Williams, Pinky! HARTMAN Johnson, I'm going to the bottom of this. What do you know about Williams? Are you going to talk or aren't you? HILDY What do I know about Williams? HARTMAN All right, boys. Take her along. I got ways of making her talk. The deputies seize Hildy. She struggles. HILDY Look out, you -- MCCUE (nervously) What's the use of fighting, Hildy? Hildy manages to get in a few resounding smacks on the deputies' faces. The reporters swarm around the struggling trio. There are shouts of: "I got her!" "No, you don't!" "Aw, Hildy...", etc. In the struggle, Hildy suddenly drops her purse. It lands with a clank and comes open. A gun is revealed on the floor. Hildy picks it up. DEPUTIES Hey, she's got a gun! Look out, she's got a gun! The deputies and reporters start to close in on her cautiously. HILDY (trying to face in all directions) No, you don't! Walter! BURNS What is it? Here! She tosses the gun to Walter, but one of the deputies intercepts the throw. HARTMAN Gimme that. He takes the gun from the deputy. CLOSER SHOT The Sheriff stands frozen, staring at the gun. HARTMAN (to Hildy) Where'd you get this? HILDY I've got a right to carry a gun if I want to. HARTMAN Not this gun! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (easily) I can explain that, Hartman. When Hildy told me she wanted to interview Earl Williams I thought it might be dangerous and I gave her a gun to defend herself. HARTMAN Oh, you did! Well, that's very, very interesting. This happens to be the gun that Earl Williams shot his way out with! REPORTERS AD LIB What? What's that? Etc... BURNS (advancing on Sheriff) Are you trying to make me out a liar? MURPHY (bitterly at Hildy) It's the last time I ever trust a woman, Hildy. SCHWARTZ Maybe Williams was gonna be her best man. WILSON That's pretty rotten, Hildy. Crossing your own pals. HARTMAN (shoving up to Hildy; trembling) Where is Earl Williams? Where you got him? BURNS (sympathetically) You're barking up the wrong tree, Hartman. HARTMAN I'll give you three minutes to tell me where he is. HILDY He went over to the hospital to call on Professor Egelhoffer. HARTMAN (outraged) What? HILDY With a bag of marshmallows. The Sheriff stands silent -- then hastily turns. MED. SHOT GROUP AROUND HILDY REPORTERS AD LIB Come on, Hildy. Where is he?... This is a sweet trick, Hildy... I thought we were friends... Etc. (to Sheriff) Look here, Pete! What about Mister Burns?... Ask the Master Mind! What's he doing over here? HARTMAN (grabbing Burns' arm) Speak up! What do you know about this. BURNS (gently but firmly disengaging his hand) My dear Hartman! He moves casually to a post before the desk and maintains it. MURPHY Can that! Where is he? BURNS (to Sheriff) The Morning Post is not obstructing justice or hiding criminals. You ought to know that. HARTMAN No? Well -- (turning to Hildy) Johnson, you're under arrest. (turning to Burns) You, too, Burns. BURNS (calmly) Who's under arrest? You pimple-headed, square-toed spy -- do you realize what you're doing? HARTMAN I'll show you what I'm doing. Burns, you're guilty of obstructing justice and so is the Morning Post. I'm going to see that the Post is fined ten thousand dollars for this. BURNS You'll see nothing of the kind, Sheriff. HARTMAN We'll just start by impounding the Post property. (pointing to Bensinger's desk, addressing Hildy) Is that your desk? HILDY (jumping) No! BURNS (almost simultaneously) Yes! What are you afraid of Hildy? I dare him to move that desk out of here. HARTMAN Oh, you do, eh? (to deputies) All right, boys. Confiscate that desk. Several of the deputies start toward the desk. BURNS (trying to intercept deputies) Hartman, if you take this desk out of this building, I'll put you behind bars. HARTMAN You will, eh? Well, we'll see about that. (to deputies) All right, boys. Take it. BURNS I'm warning you -- it'll be a Federal offense. (to deputy nearest him) And you'll be an accessory! HARTMAN We'll take a chance on that, Burns. (to deputies) Go ahead, boys. (the deputies continue toward the desk) INT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Flanked by two policemen, Mrs. Baldwin, dishevelled, with her hat over one ear, is marching toward the Press Room, bound for vengeance. Bruce, considerably upset, is with her. As they reach the door to the Press Room, Mrs. Baldwin stops. MRS. BALDWIN You wait outside, Bruce. BRUCE But, mother -- MRS. BALDWIN (firmly) No! You'll weaken when you see that little Jezebel! I'm going to tell her what I think of her! She plumps her hat down more firmly on her head and marches into the Press Room followed by the two policemen. Bruce remains outside the door. INT. PRESS ROOM Taking in door as it opens and Mrs. Baldwin, followed by the policemen, comes in. HILDY (leaping forward) Mother! MRS. BALDWIN (pointing out Burns to the officers) That man there! HILDY (hugging Mrs. Baldwin) Mother! Oh, I'm so glad to see you! Are you all right? Tell me. Mrs. Baldwin indignantly shakes her off. HARTMAN What's the idea here? POLICEMAN This lady claims she was kidnapped. HARTMAN What? MRS. BALDWIN They dragged me all the way down the stairs -- HARTMAN Just a minute. Did -- did -- (points to Burns) -- this man have anything to do with it? MRS. BALDWIN He was the one in charge of everything! He told them to kidnap me! BURNS (amazed) Are you referring to me, Madam? MRS. BALDWIN You know you did! HARTMAN What about this, Burns? Kidnapping, eh? BURNS (round-eyed) Oh, trying to frame me, eh! I never saw this woman before in my life! MRS. BALDWIN Oh, what a thing to say! I was standing right here - after the girl jumped out of the window. HARTMAN Did you get the Mayor? DEPUTY He's coming over. BURNS (to Mrs. Baldwin) Now, Madam -- be honest. If you were out joy-riding, drunk, and got into some scrape, why don't you admit it, instead of accusing innocent people? MRS. BALDWIN (beginning to doubt her senses) You ruffian! How dare you say a thing like that? HILDA Please, Mother, he's just crazy! MRS. BALDWIN (to Sheriff) I'll tell you something more. I'll tell you why they did it! BURNS (fidgeting) Come on, Sheriff. We've got to get bail. MRS. BALDWIN (continuing crescendo) I was in here -- and they had some kind of murderer in with them. They were hiding him! This is a bombshell. The room is electrified. HARTMAN Hiding him? In here? Murphy, followed by the reporters, comes into scene. MURPHY Hiding him where? HILDY Mother! REPORTERS Where was he?... Where'd they have him?... Etc. CLOSE SHOT BURNS at the desk. BURNS (with superb indignation) Madam, you're a cockeyed liar! And you know it! To emphasize his righteousness, he pounds on the desk three times, forgetting that that is his signal to Williams. Then, realizing what he has done, he gasps. MED. SHOT Burns advances from desk, the others retreating before him. BURNS (anxiously) Come on, Sheriff, we've got to get bail. Three answering knocks come from the desk. GROUP SHOT WITH DOORWAY IN B.G They jump around to face the desk. HARTMAN (whispering) What was that? REPORTERS AD LIB He's in the desk! -- For the love of -- He's in there! Etc. HARTMAN Aha! I thought so! Stand back, everybody! DEPUTY Look out, Sheriff. He may shoot! HARTMAN Get your guns out! The policemen and deputies get out their guns. HILDY He's harmless. HARTMAN Don't take any chances. Shoot through the desk. HILDY He can't hurt anybody. You've got his gun. MRS. BALDWIN (panic-stricken) Oh, dear! Oh, dear! BURNS You grey-haired old Judas! MRS. BALDWIN Let me out! Let me out of here! She streaks for the door, flings it open and goes. The reporters tear out of scene to their telephones. HARTMAN (to policeman) You stand there! MURPHY'S VOICE City Desk! Quick! SCHWARTZ' VOICE Gimme the Desk! HARTMAN (to another policeman) You there! ENDICOTT'S VOICE City Desk! Hurry! MCCUE'S VOICE Gimme Emil... HARTMAN (to a Deputy, pointing with his gun toward the window) You cover the window. MURPHY'S VOICE Look out where you're pointing that gun! The Sheriff draws his men in around the desk, their guns drawn on it. WILSON'S VOICE Lemme have the Desk! Quick! MURPHY'S VOICE Hold the wire! I've got a flash for you! BURNS (to Hildy) Call Duffy! HARTMAN No, you don't! BURNS (to Sheriff, furiously) Do you want to get us scooped? MCCUE'S VOICE Emil? Hang on for a second. HARTMAN Now then, everybody aim at the center. And when I say three -- HILDY That's murder! HARTMAN (changing his mind) All right! Carl! Frank! One of you get on each side of the desk. Take hold of the cover. They do. HARTMAN Now then! We got you covered, Williams. Don't try to move. Now! Everybody quiet and ready for an emergency. I'm going to count three. SCHWARTZ Hold it! Something coming up. HARTMAN One! ENDICOTT Hold the phone! MURPHY (into the phone) I'll have it in a minute. HARTMAN Two! WILSON (into phone) Right away now! HARTMAN (turning back to desk) Everybody ready? All right. Now then, up with it. Two deputies raise the cover. Williams is revealed, cowering in the desk, his hands over his face. The Sheriff rushes on him, jabbing his gun into him. CLOSE SHOT SHERIFF AND WILLIAMS HARTMAN Got you, Williams! WILLIAMS (a wail) Go on -- shoot me! MEDIUM SHOT as the police and deputies come in to assist the Sheriff. The reporters are telephoning in, the police shouting -- all the voices mixing in, in incredible confusion, as the Sheriff rushes Williams to the door and takes him out. MURPHY'S VOICE Earl Williams was just captured in the Press Room of the Criminal Courts Building, hiding in a desk. OFFICERS AD LIB (all talking at once) Grab him! That's him! Don't let him shoot! Stick 'em up! -- Etc. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) ...Williams in a rolltop -- CLOSEUP WILSON AT PHONE WILSON (into phone) -- nabbed Williams hiding -- ENDICOTT'S VOICE -- found Williams' hiding place. SCHWARTZ' VOICE He offered no resistance. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) Williams put up a desperate struggle but the police overpowered -- CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) -- tried to shoot it out with the cops but his gun wouldn't work, so -- WILSON'S VOICE -- trying to break through the cordon of police -- CLOSEUP ENDICOTT AT PHONE ENDICOTT (into phone) Williams was unconscious when they opened the desk -- CLOSEUP BURNS grabbing the Post phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Morning Post just turned Earl Williams over to the Sheriff. CLOSE SHOT THE SHERIFF coming in the door with two policemen and leaping to get the phone away from Burns. MED. SHOT BURNS AT PHONE, HILDY BESIDE HIM BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Sheriff and police come into scene. HARTMAN (indicating Burns and Hildy) Put the cuffs on those two! The police handcuff Hildy and Burns. ENDICOTT An anonymous note received by the Sheriff led to Williams' capture. More later. He hangs up. CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) An old sweetheart of Williams' doublecrossed him. Call you back. He hangs up. MED. SHOT TAKING IN DOOR REPORTERS Where's that old lady? Hey, Madam! Where'd she go? Where's the old dame? Etc., etc. They run out after Mrs. Baldwin, the Mayor entering just after they go. Burns and Hildy, handcuffed together, stand near the Sheriff. HARTMAN (into phone) Hello, girlie -- gimme Cooley. Quick! BURNS Hartwell, you're going to wish you'd never been born! The Mayor comes into scene. MAYOR Fine work, Pete! You certainly delivered the goods. I'm proud of you. HARTMAN (holding the phone) Look kind o' natural, don't they, Fred? MAYOR (happily) A sight for sore eyes! HARTMAN (rolling in catnip) Aiding an escaped criminal! And a little charge of kidnapping I'm looking into. (into phone; suddenly) But that's the jail! There must be somebody there! MAYOR Well! Looks like about ten years apiece for you birds! BURNS Does it? You forget the power that always watches over the Morning Post. MAYOR Your luck's not with you now! HARTMAN (into phone) Cooley?... I caught Williams single- handed -- we're going to proceed with the hanging per schedule! He wiggles the hook for another call. BURNS (to Mayor) You're going to be in office for exactly two days more and then we're pulling your nose out of the feed bag. HARTMAN (into phone) Give me the District Attorney's office. (to Burns) I'll tell you what you'll be doing -- making brooms in the State penitentiary. (into phone) Hello, D'Arrasty! This is Hartwell. Come over to my office, will you? I've just arrested a couple of important birds and I want to take their confessions. He hangs up. Burns makes a sudden lunge for the Morning Post phone and cries into it. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! Get Liebowitz! MAYOR All the lawyers in the world aren't going to help you! BURNS This is the Morning Post you're talking to! MAYOR (enjoying himself) The power of the press, huh! He laughs. Pinkus, the Governor's messenger, plentifully stewed, reels in the door. He approaches the Mayor and Sheriff who have their backs to him. BURNS (at the Mayor) Bigger men than you have found out what the power of the press is... President!... Yes -- and Kings! PINKUS (woozy; handing Sheriff the reprieve over his shoulder) Here's your reprieve. The Mayor and Sheriff spin around. MAYOR (in a panic) Get out of here! PINKUS You can't bribe me! BURNS What's this? HARTMAN Get out of here, you! PINKUS I

matter

How many times the word 'matter' appears in the text?

will you? MED. SHOT as Burns leaves Hildy and goes over to desk and picks up his phone again. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER Finding the door locked, he knocks. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY as another knock comes, they take it big. HILDY (calling) Who is it? EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER What's the idea of locking this? INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY HILDY That's Bensinger. That's his desk. BURNS (whispering) What's his name? The door knob is rattled violently. HILDY Bensinger -- of the Tribune. EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER Open this door! INT. PRESS ROOM CLOSE SHOT BURNS He starts for the door. BURNS I'll handle him. CAMERA TRUCKS WITH HIM to the door. BURNS The Tribune, eh? Watch me! He opens the door. AT DOOR BENSINGER (as he comes in) Ain't you got any more sense than to -- ? (sees Burns and is overcome) Oh, h-hello, Mr. Burns. Why, quite an honor having you come over here. BURNS (casually) Hello, Bensinger. BENSINGER Excuse me, I just want to -- He starts for the desk. Hildy's typing goes on, coming in over the scene. BURNS (starting for the desk, suddenly blocking his path) Quite a coincidence, my running into you tonight. Isn't it, Hildy? HILDY'S VOICE Yeh. BENSINGER How do you mean? CLOSEUP BURNS AND BENSINGER BURNS I was having a little chat about you just this afternoon -- with our Mister Duffy. BENSINGER (essaying a pleasantry) Nothing -- ah -- detrimental, I hope. BURNS I should say not! That was one swell story you had in the paper this morning. BENSINGER (deeply moved) Oh, did you -- care for the poem, Mr. Burns? BURNS (startled) The poem?... The poem was great! BENSINGER (blinking at these words) Remember the ending? (and he recites) " -- and all is well, outside his cell, But in his heart he hears the hangman Calling and the gallows falling And his white-haired mother's tears..." BURNS (overcome) Heartbreaking! How would you like to work for me? BENSINGER What? MEDIUM SHOT taking in table, Hildy typing there. BURNS (to Bensinger) We need somebody like you. All we've got now are a lot of low-brows. Like Johnson here. He starts shoving Bensinger away from the desk, toward the table. BENSINGER Seriously, Mr. Burns? Clinging to him, Burns takes him to the phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! I'm sending Bensinger over to see you. (looking up at Bensinger) Mervyn, isn't it? BENSINGER No. Roy. Roy V. BURNS (with a little laugh at his own forgetfulness) Of course! (into phone) Roy Bensinger, the poet. Of course you wouldn't know! You probably never heard of Shakespeare, either! Put Mr. Bensinger right on the staff. (to Bensinger) How much are you getting on the Tribune, Roy? BENSINGER Seventy-five. BURNS I'll give you a hundred and a by- line. ANOTHER ANGLE as Burns continues. BURNS (into phone) Let him have everything he wants. (puts down the receiver; turns to Bensinger) Now hustle and write me a story from the point of view of the escaped man. (acting it out) He hides, cowering... Afraid of every light, of every sound... hears footsteps... his heart going like that... And all the time they're closing in... Get the sense of an animal at bay! BENSINGER Sort of a Jack London style? TRUCKING SHOT BURNS Exactly! Leads him hurriedly to the door. BENSINGER I got my rhyming dictionary in -- (indicating desk) BURNS (getting him to door) It doesn't have to rhyme! CLOSE SHOT - AT DOOR as Bensinger turns there. BENSINGER Gee, I'm terribly grateful, Mister Burns. Do you suppose there might be an opening some time as foreign correspondent? I parley a little French, you know. Burns shakes hands with him and opens the door with the other hand. BURNS I'll keep you in mind. BENSINGER (going) Au revoir, mon capitaine. BURNS (never at a loss in any language) Bon jour! Continuing his French, he gets the door closed and relocked and turns for the table, singing as he does so: BURNS Mademoiselle from Armontieres, parlay -- MED. SHOT Burns returns alertly to table, not noticing that Hildy has stopped typing, and sits staring moodily before her. BURNS (into phono) Duffy! Got this! CLOSEUP BURNS - AT PHONE BURNS A rat from the Tribune is coming over to get a job -- Bensinger, the guy I told you about. Handle him with kid gloves. Tell him to get busy writing poetry... No, we don't want him. Stall him along until the extra comes out. Then tell him his poetry stinks and kick him downstairs. He lays down receiver. WIDER ANGLE taking in Hildy. She looks up at him. HILDY (to Burns) Double-crossing swine! BURNS You said it! But this'll teach him a lesson. He won't quit his paper without giving notice after this. Hildy doesn't bother to reply. She rests her chin on her hands and stares moodily ahead. BURNS Tear into it, will you? Don't sit there like a frozen robin! HILDY I'm finished. BURNS Finished! He grabs the last sheet of paper out of her typewriter, kisses her and rushes over to the telephone. CLOSEUP BURNS at phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! All right -- here we go! And got it out as soon as you can. I want this paper out on the streets in half an hour! (reading Hildy's copy) "So once more the Morning Post --" EXT. CRIMINAL COURTS BLDG. - NIGHT MED. SHOT Diamond Louie, bearing evidence of a mishap, his hat crushed, his face bruised and his clothes torn, comes running down the sidewalk and up the steps into the buildings. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Hildy is up now, pacing. HILDY Bruce ought to be back by now. Walter, you're not trying anything again, are you? BURNS (coming over to her) Hildy, you think I could? After this story? (taking a flask from his pocket) Here! You're just nervous. Hildy takes the flask and takes a drink. There is a knock on the door. Burns takes the flask from her, restores it to his pocket and goes to the door. BURNS Who is it? LOUIE'S VOICE It's me, Boss -- Louie. BURNS (opening the door) It's Louie! Louie slips in and Burns relocks the door. BURNS (seeing Louie's disarray) What's the matter? Hildy crosses to Louie. HILDY (frantically) Where's Mrs. Baldwin? BURNS What did you do with her? HILDY (almost afraid to speak) What happened? CLOSE SHOT - THE THREE BURNS You been in a fight? LOUIE (still out of breath) Down Western Avenue. We were going sixty-five miles an hour. You know what I mean? BURNS Take that mush out of your mouth! HILDY Where's the old lady? LOUIE I'm telling you! CLOSEUP - LOUIE as he gets breath and blurts: LOUIE We run smack into a police patrol. You know what I mean? We broke it in half! BACK TO GROUP HILDY (moaning) Oh-h-h... was she hurt? BURNS Where is she? Tell me! HILDY Louie! LOUIE I'm telling you. Can you imagine bumping into a load of cops?! They come rollin' out like oranges! HILDY (seizing him) What did you do with her? LOUIE Search me! When I come to I was running down Thirty-fifth Street. HILDY -- You were with her. You were in the cab, weren't you? LOUIE (exposing his bruised scalp) Was I? The driver got knocked cold. BURNS Butter-fingers! I give you an old lady to take somewhere, and you hand her over to the cops! LOUIE What do you mean, I handed her? The patrol wagon was on the wrong side of the street. BURNS Now everything's fine. She's probably squawking her head off in some police station. CLOSEUP - LOUIE LOUIE I don't think she's talking much... You know what I mean? He winks reassuringly. BACK TO GROUP HILDY (paralyzed) Don't tell me -- was she killed? BURNS (hopefully) Was she? Did you notice? LOUIE Say, me with a gun on my hip and a kidnapped old lady on my hands, I should stick around asking questions from a lot of cops! You know what I mean? Hildy sinks into a chair. CLOSE SHOT HILDY IN THE CHAIR HILDY Dead... dead! That's the end! Burns comes into scene to her. BURNS It's Fate, Hildy. What will be, will be. HILDY (wildly) What am I going to say to Bruce? What'll I tell him? BURNS If he really loves you, you won't have to tell him anything. (whacking her on the shoulder) Snap out of it! Would you rather have had the old dame dragging the whole police force in here? HILDY I killed her. I'm responsible. Oh- h... what can I do now? How can I ever face him? Oh, I hope he never comes back! She buries her face in her hands. BURNS Look at me, Hildy -- HILDY (springing up) I'm looking at you -- you murderer! BURNS If it was my own mother, I'd carry on! You know I would. For the paper! HILDY (calling off to Louie) Louie, where'd it happen? I'm going out! MED. SHOT GROUP The Post phone rings. BURNS (grabbing Hildy) You stay here. I'll find out everything. LOUIE (to Hildy) Western an' Thirty-fourth. Hildy jumps for the outside phone on the desk. TWO SHOT INCLUDING BURNS AT PHONE AND HILDY AT PHONE BURNS (into phone) Hello -- hello... HILDY (into phone) Gimme Western four-five-five-seven. BURNS (guarded) Who? (wildly) Hello, Butch! Where are you? HILDY (into phone) Mission Hospital? Gimme the Receiving Room. BURNS (into phone) What are you doing there? Haven't you even started? HILDY (into phone) Hello -- Eddie? Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady brought in from an auto smashup? BURNS (into phone) Oh, for -- (yelling) H. Sebastian -- Butch! Listen, it's a matter of life and death! Listen! HILDY (into phone) Nobody? (jiggles hook) Morningside three-one-two-four. BURNS (into phone) I can't hear... You got who? Speak up! A what?... You can't stop for a dame now! HILDY (into phone) Is this the Community Hospital? BURNS (howling into phone) I don't care if you've been after her for six years! Butch, our whole lives are at stake! Are you going to let a woman come between us after all we've been through? HILDY (into phone) Hello, Max, Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady --? BURNS (into phone, drowning out Hildy) Butch! I'd put my arm in fire for you -- up to here! (indicates up to where) Now, you can't double-cross me!... She does? All right -- put her on. I'll talk to her... Hello! Oh, hello, Madam... Now listen, you ten-cent glamour girl, you can't keep Butch away from his duty... What's that? You say that again and I'll come over there and knock your eye out! Hello? (turning, as he hangs up) I'll kill 'em! I'll kill both of 'em! (into Post phone) Duffy! (to the universe) Mousing around with some big blonde Annie on my time! That's co-operation! (screaming into phone) Duffy!! HILDY Shut up, will you? (into phone) You sure? Nobody? BURNS (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) Well, where is Duffy? (throwing receiver to desk) Diabetes! I ought to know better than to hire anybody with a disease. (turning) Louie. MED. SHOT GROUP BURNS (to Louie) It's up to you. LOUIE (loyally) Anything you want, Boss. BURNS Beat it out and get hold of some guys. LOUIE Who do you want? BURNS (starting for the door, followed by Louie) Anybody with hair on his chest. Get 'em off the street -- anywhere. Offer them anything -- only get them. (confidentially) We've got to get this desk out of here. He unlocks the door. LOUIE You know me. The shirt off my back. BURNS You got plenty of money? LOUIE Sure, boss. BURNS I mean real money -- not counterfeit! LOUIE I always have both. He goes out. BURNS (calling after him) And don't bump into anything. He relocks the door. HILDY Lafayette two-one-hundred. BURNS (turning from door) That dumb immigrant'll flop on me. I know it. (bitterly) Can you imagine Butch doing this to me -- at a time like this? CLOSE SHOT HILDY AT PHONE, TAKING IN DESK Burns steps into scene. BURNS (confidentially) If Louie doesn't come back in five minutes we'll get it out alone. There's millions of ways. We can start a fire and get the firemen to carry it out in the confusion. He crosses to the desk and inspects it. HILDY (into phone) Ring that number, will you? BURNS (to Hildy, oblivious of her telephoning) Come here. See if we can move it. HILDY (into phone) Hello -- hello! Is this the Lying -- In Hospital? Did you have an auto accident in the last -- BURNS (interrupting) Will you come here? HILDY (into phone) Oh, I see. I beg your pardon. BURNS When I'm surrounded, with my back against the wall, you're not going to lay down on me, are you -- HILDY Yes. She jiggles the phone hook. BURNS (going to her) Hildy, you just can't leave me out on a limb now. It -- it wouldn't be cricket! HILDY I don't care what you say. I'm going to find Bruce's mother. (she jiggles the hook madly) Oh-h... (she hangs up) I'm going out and find her! Grabbing her hat and purse, she starts for the door. MED. SHOT OF HILDY, TAKING IN DOOR There is a loud knocking on the door. BURNS (coming into scene after Hildy) Don't open that! HILDY (at the door) Who says so? I'm going to the morgue -- to look -- She unlocks the door. CLOSE SHOT AT DOOR as Hildy flings the door open, only to find the Sheriff, accompanied by two deputies -- Carl and Frank -- and surrounded by McCue, Murphy, Schwartz, Wilson and Endicott. MURPHY There she is! MCCUE Say, Hildy... Hildy makes a decision and tries to push through them, but the Sheriff grabs her and pushes her back. HARTMAN Just a minute, Johnson! HILDY Let go o' me. What's the idea? MCCUE What's your hurry? MURPHY We want to see you. The deputies seize her. HILDY Take your paws off me! HARTMAN Hold her, boys! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (to Sheriff) Who do you think you are, breaking in here like this? HARTMAN You can't bluff me, Burns. I don't care who you are or what paper you're editor of. HILDY (struggling) Let me go! (hysterically) Fellows, something's happened to my mother-in-law. HARTMAN Hang onto her! Keep her in here! MED. SHOT as Hildy breaks loose and retreats back into the room before Hartman and the deputies. MCCUE We know what you're up to. ENDICOTT Probably goin' out to get Williams. SCHWARTZ The door was locked. WILSON She and Mollie were talking. HILDY I don't know anything, I tell you. There's been an accident. HARTMAN Johnson, there's something very peculiar going on. HILDY You can send somebody with me if you don't believe me! HARTMAN I wasn't born yesterday. Now the boys tell me you and this Mollie Malloy -- HILDY Nobody's trying to put anything over on you. I'm getting out of here and you can't stop me! MURPHY (comes into scene) You're not going anywhere. (to the Sheriff) She's got the story sewed up, Pete. (indicating Burns) That's why Burns is here. SCHWARTZ We're on to you, Hildy. Let us in on it. TWO SHOT - SHERIFF AND BURNS BURNS (purring) If you've any accusations to make, Hartman, make them in the proper manner. Otherwise, I'll have to ask you to get out. HARTMAN (pop-eyed; stammering) You'll ask me to what? BURNS Get out! HARTMAN (to deputies, off) Close that door. Don't let anybody in or out. MED. SHOT - THE GROUP MURPHY Come on, Pinky! Give 'em a little third degree. ENDICOTT Make them talk and you got Williams, Pinky! HARTMAN Johnson, I'm going to the bottom of this. What do you know about Williams? Are you going to talk or aren't you? HILDY What do I know about Williams? HARTMAN All right, boys. Take her along. I got ways of making her talk. The deputies seize Hildy. She struggles. HILDY Look out, you -- MCCUE (nervously) What's the use of fighting, Hildy? Hildy manages to get in a few resounding smacks on the deputies' faces. The reporters swarm around the struggling trio. There are shouts of: "I got her!" "No, you don't!" "Aw, Hildy...", etc. In the struggle, Hildy suddenly drops her purse. It lands with a clank and comes open. A gun is revealed on the floor. Hildy picks it up. DEPUTIES Hey, she's got a gun! Look out, she's got a gun! The deputies and reporters start to close in on her cautiously. HILDY (trying to face in all directions) No, you don't! Walter! BURNS What is it? Here! She tosses the gun to Walter, but one of the deputies intercepts the throw. HARTMAN Gimme that. He takes the gun from the deputy. CLOSER SHOT The Sheriff stands frozen, staring at the gun. HARTMAN (to Hildy) Where'd you get this? HILDY I've got a right to carry a gun if I want to. HARTMAN Not this gun! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (easily) I can explain that, Hartman. When Hildy told me she wanted to interview Earl Williams I thought it might be dangerous and I gave her a gun to defend herself. HARTMAN Oh, you did! Well, that's very, very interesting. This happens to be the gun that Earl Williams shot his way out with! REPORTERS AD LIB What? What's that? Etc... BURNS (advancing on Sheriff) Are you trying to make me out a liar? MURPHY (bitterly at Hildy) It's the last time I ever trust a woman, Hildy. SCHWARTZ Maybe Williams was gonna be her best man. WILSON That's pretty rotten, Hildy. Crossing your own pals. HARTMAN (shoving up to Hildy; trembling) Where is Earl Williams? Where you got him? BURNS (sympathetically) You're barking up the wrong tree, Hartman. HARTMAN I'll give you three minutes to tell me where he is. HILDY He went over to the hospital to call on Professor Egelhoffer. HARTMAN (outraged) What? HILDY With a bag of marshmallows. The Sheriff stands silent -- then hastily turns. MED. SHOT GROUP AROUND HILDY REPORTERS AD LIB Come on, Hildy. Where is he?... This is a sweet trick, Hildy... I thought we were friends... Etc. (to Sheriff) Look here, Pete! What about Mister Burns?... Ask the Master Mind! What's he doing over here? HARTMAN (grabbing Burns' arm) Speak up! What do you know about this. BURNS (gently but firmly disengaging his hand) My dear Hartman! He moves casually to a post before the desk and maintains it. MURPHY Can that! Where is he? BURNS (to Sheriff) The Morning Post is not obstructing justice or hiding criminals. You ought to know that. HARTMAN No? Well -- (turning to Hildy) Johnson, you're under arrest. (turning to Burns) You, too, Burns. BURNS (calmly) Who's under arrest? You pimple-headed, square-toed spy -- do you realize what you're doing? HARTMAN I'll show you what I'm doing. Burns, you're guilty of obstructing justice and so is the Morning Post. I'm going to see that the Post is fined ten thousand dollars for this. BURNS You'll see nothing of the kind, Sheriff. HARTMAN We'll just start by impounding the Post property. (pointing to Bensinger's desk, addressing Hildy) Is that your desk? HILDY (jumping) No! BURNS (almost simultaneously) Yes! What are you afraid of Hildy? I dare him to move that desk out of here. HARTMAN Oh, you do, eh? (to deputies) All right, boys. Confiscate that desk. Several of the deputies start toward the desk. BURNS (trying to intercept deputies) Hartman, if you take this desk out of this building, I'll put you behind bars. HARTMAN You will, eh? Well, we'll see about that. (to deputies) All right, boys. Take it. BURNS I'm warning you -- it'll be a Federal offense. (to deputy nearest him) And you'll be an accessory! HARTMAN We'll take a chance on that, Burns. (to deputies) Go ahead, boys. (the deputies continue toward the desk) INT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Flanked by two policemen, Mrs. Baldwin, dishevelled, with her hat over one ear, is marching toward the Press Room, bound for vengeance. Bruce, considerably upset, is with her. As they reach the door to the Press Room, Mrs. Baldwin stops. MRS. BALDWIN You wait outside, Bruce. BRUCE But, mother -- MRS. BALDWIN (firmly) No! You'll weaken when you see that little Jezebel! I'm going to tell her what I think of her! She plumps her hat down more firmly on her head and marches into the Press Room followed by the two policemen. Bruce remains outside the door. INT. PRESS ROOM Taking in door as it opens and Mrs. Baldwin, followed by the policemen, comes in. HILDY (leaping forward) Mother! MRS. BALDWIN (pointing out Burns to the officers) That man there! HILDY (hugging Mrs. Baldwin) Mother! Oh, I'm so glad to see you! Are you all right? Tell me. Mrs. Baldwin indignantly shakes her off. HARTMAN What's the idea here? POLICEMAN This lady claims she was kidnapped. HARTMAN What? MRS. BALDWIN They dragged me all the way down the stairs -- HARTMAN Just a minute. Did -- did -- (points to Burns) -- this man have anything to do with it? MRS. BALDWIN He was the one in charge of everything! He told them to kidnap me! BURNS (amazed) Are you referring to me, Madam? MRS. BALDWIN You know you did! HARTMAN What about this, Burns? Kidnapping, eh? BURNS (round-eyed) Oh, trying to frame me, eh! I never saw this woman before in my life! MRS. BALDWIN Oh, what a thing to say! I was standing right here - after the girl jumped out of the window. HARTMAN Did you get the Mayor? DEPUTY He's coming over. BURNS (to Mrs. Baldwin) Now, Madam -- be honest. If you were out joy-riding, drunk, and got into some scrape, why don't you admit it, instead of accusing innocent people? MRS. BALDWIN (beginning to doubt her senses) You ruffian! How dare you say a thing like that? HILDA Please, Mother, he's just crazy! MRS. BALDWIN (to Sheriff) I'll tell you something more. I'll tell you why they did it! BURNS (fidgeting) Come on, Sheriff. We've got to get bail. MRS. BALDWIN (continuing crescendo) I was in here -- and they had some kind of murderer in with them. They were hiding him! This is a bombshell. The room is electrified. HARTMAN Hiding him? In here? Murphy, followed by the reporters, comes into scene. MURPHY Hiding him where? HILDY Mother! REPORTERS Where was he?... Where'd they have him?... Etc. CLOSE SHOT BURNS at the desk. BURNS (with superb indignation) Madam, you're a cockeyed liar! And you know it! To emphasize his righteousness, he pounds on the desk three times, forgetting that that is his signal to Williams. Then, realizing what he has done, he gasps. MED. SHOT Burns advances from desk, the others retreating before him. BURNS (anxiously) Come on, Sheriff, we've got to get bail. Three answering knocks come from the desk. GROUP SHOT WITH DOORWAY IN B.G They jump around to face the desk. HARTMAN (whispering) What was that? REPORTERS AD LIB He's in the desk! -- For the love of -- He's in there! Etc. HARTMAN Aha! I thought so! Stand back, everybody! DEPUTY Look out, Sheriff. He may shoot! HARTMAN Get your guns out! The policemen and deputies get out their guns. HILDY He's harmless. HARTMAN Don't take any chances. Shoot through the desk. HILDY He can't hurt anybody. You've got his gun. MRS. BALDWIN (panic-stricken) Oh, dear! Oh, dear! BURNS You grey-haired old Judas! MRS. BALDWIN Let me out! Let me out of here! She streaks for the door, flings it open and goes. The reporters tear out of scene to their telephones. HARTMAN (to policeman) You stand there! MURPHY'S VOICE City Desk! Quick! SCHWARTZ' VOICE Gimme the Desk! HARTMAN (to another policeman) You there! ENDICOTT'S VOICE City Desk! Hurry! MCCUE'S VOICE Gimme Emil... HARTMAN (to a Deputy, pointing with his gun toward the window) You cover the window. MURPHY'S VOICE Look out where you're pointing that gun! The Sheriff draws his men in around the desk, their guns drawn on it. WILSON'S VOICE Lemme have the Desk! Quick! MURPHY'S VOICE Hold the wire! I've got a flash for you! BURNS (to Hildy) Call Duffy! HARTMAN No, you don't! BURNS (to Sheriff, furiously) Do you want to get us scooped? MCCUE'S VOICE Emil? Hang on for a second. HARTMAN Now then, everybody aim at the center. And when I say three -- HILDY That's murder! HARTMAN (changing his mind) All right! Carl! Frank! One of you get on each side of the desk. Take hold of the cover. They do. HARTMAN Now then! We got you covered, Williams. Don't try to move. Now! Everybody quiet and ready for an emergency. I'm going to count three. SCHWARTZ Hold it! Something coming up. HARTMAN One! ENDICOTT Hold the phone! MURPHY (into the phone) I'll have it in a minute. HARTMAN Two! WILSON (into phone) Right away now! HARTMAN (turning back to desk) Everybody ready? All right. Now then, up with it. Two deputies raise the cover. Williams is revealed, cowering in the desk, his hands over his face. The Sheriff rushes on him, jabbing his gun into him. CLOSE SHOT SHERIFF AND WILLIAMS HARTMAN Got you, Williams! WILLIAMS (a wail) Go on -- shoot me! MEDIUM SHOT as the police and deputies come in to assist the Sheriff. The reporters are telephoning in, the police shouting -- all the voices mixing in, in incredible confusion, as the Sheriff rushes Williams to the door and takes him out. MURPHY'S VOICE Earl Williams was just captured in the Press Room of the Criminal Courts Building, hiding in a desk. OFFICERS AD LIB (all talking at once) Grab him! That's him! Don't let him shoot! Stick 'em up! -- Etc. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) ...Williams in a rolltop -- CLOSEUP WILSON AT PHONE WILSON (into phone) -- nabbed Williams hiding -- ENDICOTT'S VOICE -- found Williams' hiding place. SCHWARTZ' VOICE He offered no resistance. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) Williams put up a desperate struggle but the police overpowered -- CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) -- tried to shoot it out with the cops but his gun wouldn't work, so -- WILSON'S VOICE -- trying to break through the cordon of police -- CLOSEUP ENDICOTT AT PHONE ENDICOTT (into phone) Williams was unconscious when they opened the desk -- CLOSEUP BURNS grabbing the Post phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Morning Post just turned Earl Williams over to the Sheriff. CLOSE SHOT THE SHERIFF coming in the door with two policemen and leaping to get the phone away from Burns. MED. SHOT BURNS AT PHONE, HILDY BESIDE HIM BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Sheriff and police come into scene. HARTMAN (indicating Burns and Hildy) Put the cuffs on those two! The police handcuff Hildy and Burns. ENDICOTT An anonymous note received by the Sheriff led to Williams' capture. More later. He hangs up. CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) An old sweetheart of Williams' doublecrossed him. Call you back. He hangs up. MED. SHOT TAKING IN DOOR REPORTERS Where's that old lady? Hey, Madam! Where'd she go? Where's the old dame? Etc., etc. They run out after Mrs. Baldwin, the Mayor entering just after they go. Burns and Hildy, handcuffed together, stand near the Sheriff. HARTMAN (into phone) Hello, girlie -- gimme Cooley. Quick! BURNS Hartwell, you're going to wish you'd never been born! The Mayor comes into scene. MAYOR Fine work, Pete! You certainly delivered the goods. I'm proud of you. HARTMAN (holding the phone) Look kind o' natural, don't they, Fred? MAYOR (happily) A sight for sore eyes! HARTMAN (rolling in catnip) Aiding an escaped criminal! And a little charge of kidnapping I'm looking into. (into phone; suddenly) But that's the jail! There must be somebody there! MAYOR Well! Looks like about ten years apiece for you birds! BURNS Does it? You forget the power that always watches over the Morning Post. MAYOR Your luck's not with you now! HARTMAN (into phone) Cooley?... I caught Williams single- handed -- we're going to proceed with the hanging per schedule! He wiggles the hook for another call. BURNS (to Mayor) You're going to be in office for exactly two days more and then we're pulling your nose out of the feed bag. HARTMAN (into phone) Give me the District Attorney's office. (to Burns) I'll tell you what you'll be doing -- making brooms in the State penitentiary. (into phone) Hello, D'Arrasty! This is Hartwell. Come over to my office, will you? I've just arrested a couple of important birds and I want to take their confessions. He hangs up. Burns makes a sudden lunge for the Morning Post phone and cries into it. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! Get Liebowitz! MAYOR All the lawyers in the world aren't going to help you! BURNS This is the Morning Post you're talking to! MAYOR (enjoying himself) The power of the press, huh! He laughs. Pinkus, the Governor's messenger, plentifully stewed, reels in the door. He approaches the Mayor and Sheriff who have their backs to him. BURNS (at the Mayor) Bigger men than you have found out what the power of the press is... President!... Yes -- and Kings! PINKUS (woozy; handing Sheriff the reprieve over his shoulder) Here's your reprieve. The Mayor and Sheriff spin around. MAYOR (in a panic) Get out of here! PINKUS You can't bribe me! BURNS What's this? HARTMAN Get out of here, you! PINKUS I

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will you? MED. SHOT as Burns leaves Hildy and goes over to desk and picks up his phone again. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER Finding the door locked, he knocks. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY as another knock comes, they take it big. HILDY (calling) Who is it? EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER What's the idea of locking this? INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY HILDY That's Bensinger. That's his desk. BURNS (whispering) What's his name? The door knob is rattled violently. HILDY Bensinger -- of the Tribune. EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER Open this door! INT. PRESS ROOM CLOSE SHOT BURNS He starts for the door. BURNS I'll handle him. CAMERA TRUCKS WITH HIM to the door. BURNS The Tribune, eh? Watch me! He opens the door. AT DOOR BENSINGER (as he comes in) Ain't you got any more sense than to -- ? (sees Burns and is overcome) Oh, h-hello, Mr. Burns. Why, quite an honor having you come over here. BURNS (casually) Hello, Bensinger. BENSINGER Excuse me, I just want to -- He starts for the desk. Hildy's typing goes on, coming in over the scene. BURNS (starting for the desk, suddenly blocking his path) Quite a coincidence, my running into you tonight. Isn't it, Hildy? HILDY'S VOICE Yeh. BENSINGER How do you mean? CLOSEUP BURNS AND BENSINGER BURNS I was having a little chat about you just this afternoon -- with our Mister Duffy. BENSINGER (essaying a pleasantry) Nothing -- ah -- detrimental, I hope. BURNS I should say not! That was one swell story you had in the paper this morning. BENSINGER (deeply moved) Oh, did you -- care for the poem, Mr. Burns? BURNS (startled) The poem?... The poem was great! BENSINGER (blinking at these words) Remember the ending? (and he recites) " -- and all is well, outside his cell, But in his heart he hears the hangman Calling and the gallows falling And his white-haired mother's tears..." BURNS (overcome) Heartbreaking! How would you like to work for me? BENSINGER What? MEDIUM SHOT taking in table, Hildy typing there. BURNS (to Bensinger) We need somebody like you. All we've got now are a lot of low-brows. Like Johnson here. He starts shoving Bensinger away from the desk, toward the table. BENSINGER Seriously, Mr. Burns? Clinging to him, Burns takes him to the phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! I'm sending Bensinger over to see you. (looking up at Bensinger) Mervyn, isn't it? BENSINGER No. Roy. Roy V. BURNS (with a little laugh at his own forgetfulness) Of course! (into phone) Roy Bensinger, the poet. Of course you wouldn't know! You probably never heard of Shakespeare, either! Put Mr. Bensinger right on the staff. (to Bensinger) How much are you getting on the Tribune, Roy? BENSINGER Seventy-five. BURNS I'll give you a hundred and a by- line. ANOTHER ANGLE as Burns continues. BURNS (into phone) Let him have everything he wants. (puts down the receiver; turns to Bensinger) Now hustle and write me a story from the point of view of the escaped man. (acting it out) He hides, cowering... Afraid of every light, of every sound... hears footsteps... his heart going like that... And all the time they're closing in... Get the sense of an animal at bay! BENSINGER Sort of a Jack London style? TRUCKING SHOT BURNS Exactly! Leads him hurriedly to the door. BENSINGER I got my rhyming dictionary in -- (indicating desk) BURNS (getting him to door) It doesn't have to rhyme! CLOSE SHOT - AT DOOR as Bensinger turns there. BENSINGER Gee, I'm terribly grateful, Mister Burns. Do you suppose there might be an opening some time as foreign correspondent? I parley a little French, you know. Burns shakes hands with him and opens the door with the other hand. BURNS I'll keep you in mind. BENSINGER (going) Au revoir, mon capitaine. BURNS (never at a loss in any language) Bon jour! Continuing his French, he gets the door closed and relocked and turns for the table, singing as he does so: BURNS Mademoiselle from Armontieres, parlay -- MED. SHOT Burns returns alertly to table, not noticing that Hildy has stopped typing, and sits staring moodily before her. BURNS (into phono) Duffy! Got this! CLOSEUP BURNS - AT PHONE BURNS A rat from the Tribune is coming over to get a job -- Bensinger, the guy I told you about. Handle him with kid gloves. Tell him to get busy writing poetry... No, we don't want him. Stall him along until the extra comes out. Then tell him his poetry stinks and kick him downstairs. He lays down receiver. WIDER ANGLE taking in Hildy. She looks up at him. HILDY (to Burns) Double-crossing swine! BURNS You said it! But this'll teach him a lesson. He won't quit his paper without giving notice after this. Hildy doesn't bother to reply. She rests her chin on her hands and stares moodily ahead. BURNS Tear into it, will you? Don't sit there like a frozen robin! HILDY I'm finished. BURNS Finished! He grabs the last sheet of paper out of her typewriter, kisses her and rushes over to the telephone. CLOSEUP BURNS at phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! All right -- here we go! And got it out as soon as you can. I want this paper out on the streets in half an hour! (reading Hildy's copy) "So once more the Morning Post --" EXT. CRIMINAL COURTS BLDG. - NIGHT MED. SHOT Diamond Louie, bearing evidence of a mishap, his hat crushed, his face bruised and his clothes torn, comes running down the sidewalk and up the steps into the buildings. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Hildy is up now, pacing. HILDY Bruce ought to be back by now. Walter, you're not trying anything again, are you? BURNS (coming over to her) Hildy, you think I could? After this story? (taking a flask from his pocket) Here! You're just nervous. Hildy takes the flask and takes a drink. There is a knock on the door. Burns takes the flask from her, restores it to his pocket and goes to the door. BURNS Who is it? LOUIE'S VOICE It's me, Boss -- Louie. BURNS (opening the door) It's Louie! Louie slips in and Burns relocks the door. BURNS (seeing Louie's disarray) What's the matter? Hildy crosses to Louie. HILDY (frantically) Where's Mrs. Baldwin? BURNS What did you do with her? HILDY (almost afraid to speak) What happened? CLOSE SHOT - THE THREE BURNS You been in a fight? LOUIE (still out of breath) Down Western Avenue. We were going sixty-five miles an hour. You know what I mean? BURNS Take that mush out of your mouth! HILDY Where's the old lady? LOUIE I'm telling you! CLOSEUP - LOUIE as he gets breath and blurts: LOUIE We run smack into a police patrol. You know what I mean? We broke it in half! BACK TO GROUP HILDY (moaning) Oh-h-h... was she hurt? BURNS Where is she? Tell me! HILDY Louie! LOUIE I'm telling you. Can you imagine bumping into a load of cops?! They come rollin' out like oranges! HILDY (seizing him) What did you do with her? LOUIE Search me! When I come to I was running down Thirty-fifth Street. HILDY -- You were with her. You were in the cab, weren't you? LOUIE (exposing his bruised scalp) Was I? The driver got knocked cold. BURNS Butter-fingers! I give you an old lady to take somewhere, and you hand her over to the cops! LOUIE What do you mean, I handed her? The patrol wagon was on the wrong side of the street. BURNS Now everything's fine. She's probably squawking her head off in some police station. CLOSEUP - LOUIE LOUIE I don't think she's talking much... You know what I mean? He winks reassuringly. BACK TO GROUP HILDY (paralyzed) Don't tell me -- was she killed? BURNS (hopefully) Was she? Did you notice? LOUIE Say, me with a gun on my hip and a kidnapped old lady on my hands, I should stick around asking questions from a lot of cops! You know what I mean? Hildy sinks into a chair. CLOSE SHOT HILDY IN THE CHAIR HILDY Dead... dead! That's the end! Burns comes into scene to her. BURNS It's Fate, Hildy. What will be, will be. HILDY (wildly) What am I going to say to Bruce? What'll I tell him? BURNS If he really loves you, you won't have to tell him anything. (whacking her on the shoulder) Snap out of it! Would you rather have had the old dame dragging the whole police force in here? HILDY I killed her. I'm responsible. Oh- h... what can I do now? How can I ever face him? Oh, I hope he never comes back! She buries her face in her hands. BURNS Look at me, Hildy -- HILDY (springing up) I'm looking at you -- you murderer! BURNS If it was my own mother, I'd carry on! You know I would. For the paper! HILDY (calling off to Louie) Louie, where'd it happen? I'm going out! MED. SHOT GROUP The Post phone rings. BURNS (grabbing Hildy) You stay here. I'll find out everything. LOUIE (to Hildy) Western an' Thirty-fourth. Hildy jumps for the outside phone on the desk. TWO SHOT INCLUDING BURNS AT PHONE AND HILDY AT PHONE BURNS (into phone) Hello -- hello... HILDY (into phone) Gimme Western four-five-five-seven. BURNS (guarded) Who? (wildly) Hello, Butch! Where are you? HILDY (into phone) Mission Hospital? Gimme the Receiving Room. BURNS (into phone) What are you doing there? Haven't you even started? HILDY (into phone) Hello -- Eddie? Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady brought in from an auto smashup? BURNS (into phone) Oh, for -- (yelling) H. Sebastian -- Butch! Listen, it's a matter of life and death! Listen! HILDY (into phone) Nobody? (jiggles hook) Morningside three-one-two-four. BURNS (into phone) I can't hear... You got who? Speak up! A what?... You can't stop for a dame now! HILDY (into phone) Is this the Community Hospital? BURNS (howling into phone) I don't care if you've been after her for six years! Butch, our whole lives are at stake! Are you going to let a woman come between us after all we've been through? HILDY (into phone) Hello, Max, Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady --? BURNS (into phone, drowning out Hildy) Butch! I'd put my arm in fire for you -- up to here! (indicates up to where) Now, you can't double-cross me!... She does? All right -- put her on. I'll talk to her... Hello! Oh, hello, Madam... Now listen, you ten-cent glamour girl, you can't keep Butch away from his duty... What's that? You say that again and I'll come over there and knock your eye out! Hello? (turning, as he hangs up) I'll kill 'em! I'll kill both of 'em! (into Post phone) Duffy! (to the universe) Mousing around with some big blonde Annie on my time! That's co-operation! (screaming into phone) Duffy!! HILDY Shut up, will you? (into phone) You sure? Nobody? BURNS (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) Well, where is Duffy? (throwing receiver to desk) Diabetes! I ought to know better than to hire anybody with a disease. (turning) Louie. MED. SHOT GROUP BURNS (to Louie) It's up to you. LOUIE (loyally) Anything you want, Boss. BURNS Beat it out and get hold of some guys. LOUIE Who do you want? BURNS (starting for the door, followed by Louie) Anybody with hair on his chest. Get 'em off the street -- anywhere. Offer them anything -- only get them. (confidentially) We've got to get this desk out of here. He unlocks the door. LOUIE You know me. The shirt off my back. BURNS You got plenty of money? LOUIE Sure, boss. BURNS I mean real money -- not counterfeit! LOUIE I always have both. He goes out. BURNS (calling after him) And don't bump into anything. He relocks the door. HILDY Lafayette two-one-hundred. BURNS (turning from door) That dumb immigrant'll flop on me. I know it. (bitterly) Can you imagine Butch doing this to me -- at a time like this? CLOSE SHOT HILDY AT PHONE, TAKING IN DESK Burns steps into scene. BURNS (confidentially) If Louie doesn't come back in five minutes we'll get it out alone. There's millions of ways. We can start a fire and get the firemen to carry it out in the confusion. He crosses to the desk and inspects it. HILDY (into phone) Ring that number, will you? BURNS (to Hildy, oblivious of her telephoning) Come here. See if we can move it. HILDY (into phone) Hello -- hello! Is this the Lying -- In Hospital? Did you have an auto accident in the last -- BURNS (interrupting) Will you come here? HILDY (into phone) Oh, I see. I beg your pardon. BURNS When I'm surrounded, with my back against the wall, you're not going to lay down on me, are you -- HILDY Yes. She jiggles the phone hook. BURNS (going to her) Hildy, you just can't leave me out on a limb now. It -- it wouldn't be cricket! HILDY I don't care what you say. I'm going to find Bruce's mother. (she jiggles the hook madly) Oh-h... (she hangs up) I'm going out and find her! Grabbing her hat and purse, she starts for the door. MED. SHOT OF HILDY, TAKING IN DOOR There is a loud knocking on the door. BURNS (coming into scene after Hildy) Don't open that! HILDY (at the door) Who says so? I'm going to the morgue -- to look -- She unlocks the door. CLOSE SHOT AT DOOR as Hildy flings the door open, only to find the Sheriff, accompanied by two deputies -- Carl and Frank -- and surrounded by McCue, Murphy, Schwartz, Wilson and Endicott. MURPHY There she is! MCCUE Say, Hildy... Hildy makes a decision and tries to push through them, but the Sheriff grabs her and pushes her back. HARTMAN Just a minute, Johnson! HILDY Let go o' me. What's the idea? MCCUE What's your hurry? MURPHY We want to see you. The deputies seize her. HILDY Take your paws off me! HARTMAN Hold her, boys! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (to Sheriff) Who do you think you are, breaking in here like this? HARTMAN You can't bluff me, Burns. I don't care who you are or what paper you're editor of. HILDY (struggling) Let me go! (hysterically) Fellows, something's happened to my mother-in-law. HARTMAN Hang onto her! Keep her in here! MED. SHOT as Hildy breaks loose and retreats back into the room before Hartman and the deputies. MCCUE We know what you're up to. ENDICOTT Probably goin' out to get Williams. SCHWARTZ The door was locked. WILSON She and Mollie were talking. HILDY I don't know anything, I tell you. There's been an accident. HARTMAN Johnson, there's something very peculiar going on. HILDY You can send somebody with me if you don't believe me! HARTMAN I wasn't born yesterday. Now the boys tell me you and this Mollie Malloy -- HILDY Nobody's trying to put anything over on you. I'm getting out of here and you can't stop me! MURPHY (comes into scene) You're not going anywhere. (to the Sheriff) She's got the story sewed up, Pete. (indicating Burns) That's why Burns is here. SCHWARTZ We're on to you, Hildy. Let us in on it. TWO SHOT - SHERIFF AND BURNS BURNS (purring) If you've any accusations to make, Hartman, make them in the proper manner. Otherwise, I'll have to ask you to get out. HARTMAN (pop-eyed; stammering) You'll ask me to what? BURNS Get out! HARTMAN (to deputies, off) Close that door. Don't let anybody in or out. MED. SHOT - THE GROUP MURPHY Come on, Pinky! Give 'em a little third degree. ENDICOTT Make them talk and you got Williams, Pinky! HARTMAN Johnson, I'm going to the bottom of this. What do you know about Williams? Are you going to talk or aren't you? HILDY What do I know about Williams? HARTMAN All right, boys. Take her along. I got ways of making her talk. The deputies seize Hildy. She struggles. HILDY Look out, you -- MCCUE (nervously) What's the use of fighting, Hildy? Hildy manages to get in a few resounding smacks on the deputies' faces. The reporters swarm around the struggling trio. There are shouts of: "I got her!" "No, you don't!" "Aw, Hildy...", etc. In the struggle, Hildy suddenly drops her purse. It lands with a clank and comes open. A gun is revealed on the floor. Hildy picks it up. DEPUTIES Hey, she's got a gun! Look out, she's got a gun! The deputies and reporters start to close in on her cautiously. HILDY (trying to face in all directions) No, you don't! Walter! BURNS What is it? Here! She tosses the gun to Walter, but one of the deputies intercepts the throw. HARTMAN Gimme that. He takes the gun from the deputy. CLOSER SHOT The Sheriff stands frozen, staring at the gun. HARTMAN (to Hildy) Where'd you get this? HILDY I've got a right to carry a gun if I want to. HARTMAN Not this gun! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (easily) I can explain that, Hartman. When Hildy told me she wanted to interview Earl Williams I thought it might be dangerous and I gave her a gun to defend herself. HARTMAN Oh, you did! Well, that's very, very interesting. This happens to be the gun that Earl Williams shot his way out with! REPORTERS AD LIB What? What's that? Etc... BURNS (advancing on Sheriff) Are you trying to make me out a liar? MURPHY (bitterly at Hildy) It's the last time I ever trust a woman, Hildy. SCHWARTZ Maybe Williams was gonna be her best man. WILSON That's pretty rotten, Hildy. Crossing your own pals. HARTMAN (shoving up to Hildy; trembling) Where is Earl Williams? Where you got him? BURNS (sympathetically) You're barking up the wrong tree, Hartman. HARTMAN I'll give you three minutes to tell me where he is. HILDY He went over to the hospital to call on Professor Egelhoffer. HARTMAN (outraged) What? HILDY With a bag of marshmallows. The Sheriff stands silent -- then hastily turns. MED. SHOT GROUP AROUND HILDY REPORTERS AD LIB Come on, Hildy. Where is he?... This is a sweet trick, Hildy... I thought we were friends... Etc. (to Sheriff) Look here, Pete! What about Mister Burns?... Ask the Master Mind! What's he doing over here? HARTMAN (grabbing Burns' arm) Speak up! What do you know about this. BURNS (gently but firmly disengaging his hand) My dear Hartman! He moves casually to a post before the desk and maintains it. MURPHY Can that! Where is he? BURNS (to Sheriff) The Morning Post is not obstructing justice or hiding criminals. You ought to know that. HARTMAN No? Well -- (turning to Hildy) Johnson, you're under arrest. (turning to Burns) You, too, Burns. BURNS (calmly) Who's under arrest? You pimple-headed, square-toed spy -- do you realize what you're doing? HARTMAN I'll show you what I'm doing. Burns, you're guilty of obstructing justice and so is the Morning Post. I'm going to see that the Post is fined ten thousand dollars for this. BURNS You'll see nothing of the kind, Sheriff. HARTMAN We'll just start by impounding the Post property. (pointing to Bensinger's desk, addressing Hildy) Is that your desk? HILDY (jumping) No! BURNS (almost simultaneously) Yes! What are you afraid of Hildy? I dare him to move that desk out of here. HARTMAN Oh, you do, eh? (to deputies) All right, boys. Confiscate that desk. Several of the deputies start toward the desk. BURNS (trying to intercept deputies) Hartman, if you take this desk out of this building, I'll put you behind bars. HARTMAN You will, eh? Well, we'll see about that. (to deputies) All right, boys. Take it. BURNS I'm warning you -- it'll be a Federal offense. (to deputy nearest him) And you'll be an accessory! HARTMAN We'll take a chance on that, Burns. (to deputies) Go ahead, boys. (the deputies continue toward the desk) INT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Flanked by two policemen, Mrs. Baldwin, dishevelled, with her hat over one ear, is marching toward the Press Room, bound for vengeance. Bruce, considerably upset, is with her. As they reach the door to the Press Room, Mrs. Baldwin stops. MRS. BALDWIN You wait outside, Bruce. BRUCE But, mother -- MRS. BALDWIN (firmly) No! You'll weaken when you see that little Jezebel! I'm going to tell her what I think of her! She plumps her hat down more firmly on her head and marches into the Press Room followed by the two policemen. Bruce remains outside the door. INT. PRESS ROOM Taking in door as it opens and Mrs. Baldwin, followed by the policemen, comes in. HILDY (leaping forward) Mother! MRS. BALDWIN (pointing out Burns to the officers) That man there! HILDY (hugging Mrs. Baldwin) Mother! Oh, I'm so glad to see you! Are you all right? Tell me. Mrs. Baldwin indignantly shakes her off. HARTMAN What's the idea here? POLICEMAN This lady claims she was kidnapped. HARTMAN What? MRS. BALDWIN They dragged me all the way down the stairs -- HARTMAN Just a minute. Did -- did -- (points to Burns) -- this man have anything to do with it? MRS. BALDWIN He was the one in charge of everything! He told them to kidnap me! BURNS (amazed) Are you referring to me, Madam? MRS. BALDWIN You know you did! HARTMAN What about this, Burns? Kidnapping, eh? BURNS (round-eyed) Oh, trying to frame me, eh! I never saw this woman before in my life! MRS. BALDWIN Oh, what a thing to say! I was standing right here - after the girl jumped out of the window. HARTMAN Did you get the Mayor? DEPUTY He's coming over. BURNS (to Mrs. Baldwin) Now, Madam -- be honest. If you were out joy-riding, drunk, and got into some scrape, why don't you admit it, instead of accusing innocent people? MRS. BALDWIN (beginning to doubt her senses) You ruffian! How dare you say a thing like that? HILDA Please, Mother, he's just crazy! MRS. BALDWIN (to Sheriff) I'll tell you something more. I'll tell you why they did it! BURNS (fidgeting) Come on, Sheriff. We've got to get bail. MRS. BALDWIN (continuing crescendo) I was in here -- and they had some kind of murderer in with them. They were hiding him! This is a bombshell. The room is electrified. HARTMAN Hiding him? In here? Murphy, followed by the reporters, comes into scene. MURPHY Hiding him where? HILDY Mother! REPORTERS Where was he?... Where'd they have him?... Etc. CLOSE SHOT BURNS at the desk. BURNS (with superb indignation) Madam, you're a cockeyed liar! And you know it! To emphasize his righteousness, he pounds on the desk three times, forgetting that that is his signal to Williams. Then, realizing what he has done, he gasps. MED. SHOT Burns advances from desk, the others retreating before him. BURNS (anxiously) Come on, Sheriff, we've got to get bail. Three answering knocks come from the desk. GROUP SHOT WITH DOORWAY IN B.G They jump around to face the desk. HARTMAN (whispering) What was that? REPORTERS AD LIB He's in the desk! -- For the love of -- He's in there! Etc. HARTMAN Aha! I thought so! Stand back, everybody! DEPUTY Look out, Sheriff. He may shoot! HARTMAN Get your guns out! The policemen and deputies get out their guns. HILDY He's harmless. HARTMAN Don't take any chances. Shoot through the desk. HILDY He can't hurt anybody. You've got his gun. MRS. BALDWIN (panic-stricken) Oh, dear! Oh, dear! BURNS You grey-haired old Judas! MRS. BALDWIN Let me out! Let me out of here! She streaks for the door, flings it open and goes. The reporters tear out of scene to their telephones. HARTMAN (to policeman) You stand there! MURPHY'S VOICE City Desk! Quick! SCHWARTZ' VOICE Gimme the Desk! HARTMAN (to another policeman) You there! ENDICOTT'S VOICE City Desk! Hurry! MCCUE'S VOICE Gimme Emil... HARTMAN (to a Deputy, pointing with his gun toward the window) You cover the window. MURPHY'S VOICE Look out where you're pointing that gun! The Sheriff draws his men in around the desk, their guns drawn on it. WILSON'S VOICE Lemme have the Desk! Quick! MURPHY'S VOICE Hold the wire! I've got a flash for you! BURNS (to Hildy) Call Duffy! HARTMAN No, you don't! BURNS (to Sheriff, furiously) Do you want to get us scooped? MCCUE'S VOICE Emil? Hang on for a second. HARTMAN Now then, everybody aim at the center. And when I say three -- HILDY That's murder! HARTMAN (changing his mind) All right! Carl! Frank! One of you get on each side of the desk. Take hold of the cover. They do. HARTMAN Now then! We got you covered, Williams. Don't try to move. Now! Everybody quiet and ready for an emergency. I'm going to count three. SCHWARTZ Hold it! Something coming up. HARTMAN One! ENDICOTT Hold the phone! MURPHY (into the phone) I'll have it in a minute. HARTMAN Two! WILSON (into phone) Right away now! HARTMAN (turning back to desk) Everybody ready? All right. Now then, up with it. Two deputies raise the cover. Williams is revealed, cowering in the desk, his hands over his face. The Sheriff rushes on him, jabbing his gun into him. CLOSE SHOT SHERIFF AND WILLIAMS HARTMAN Got you, Williams! WILLIAMS (a wail) Go on -- shoot me! MEDIUM SHOT as the police and deputies come in to assist the Sheriff. The reporters are telephoning in, the police shouting -- all the voices mixing in, in incredible confusion, as the Sheriff rushes Williams to the door and takes him out. MURPHY'S VOICE Earl Williams was just captured in the Press Room of the Criminal Courts Building, hiding in a desk. OFFICERS AD LIB (all talking at once) Grab him! That's him! Don't let him shoot! Stick 'em up! -- Etc. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) ...Williams in a rolltop -- CLOSEUP WILSON AT PHONE WILSON (into phone) -- nabbed Williams hiding -- ENDICOTT'S VOICE -- found Williams' hiding place. SCHWARTZ' VOICE He offered no resistance. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) Williams put up a desperate struggle but the police overpowered -- CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) -- tried to shoot it out with the cops but his gun wouldn't work, so -- WILSON'S VOICE -- trying to break through the cordon of police -- CLOSEUP ENDICOTT AT PHONE ENDICOTT (into phone) Williams was unconscious when they opened the desk -- CLOSEUP BURNS grabbing the Post phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Morning Post just turned Earl Williams over to the Sheriff. CLOSE SHOT THE SHERIFF coming in the door with two policemen and leaping to get the phone away from Burns. MED. SHOT BURNS AT PHONE, HILDY BESIDE HIM BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Sheriff and police come into scene. HARTMAN (indicating Burns and Hildy) Put the cuffs on those two! The police handcuff Hildy and Burns. ENDICOTT An anonymous note received by the Sheriff led to Williams' capture. More later. He hangs up. CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) An old sweetheart of Williams' doublecrossed him. Call you back. He hangs up. MED. SHOT TAKING IN DOOR REPORTERS Where's that old lady? Hey, Madam! Where'd she go? Where's the old dame? Etc., etc. They run out after Mrs. Baldwin, the Mayor entering just after they go. Burns and Hildy, handcuffed together, stand near the Sheriff. HARTMAN (into phone) Hello, girlie -- gimme Cooley. Quick! BURNS Hartwell, you're going to wish you'd never been born! The Mayor comes into scene. MAYOR Fine work, Pete! You certainly delivered the goods. I'm proud of you. HARTMAN (holding the phone) Look kind o' natural, don't they, Fred? MAYOR (happily) A sight for sore eyes! HARTMAN (rolling in catnip) Aiding an escaped criminal! And a little charge of kidnapping I'm looking into. (into phone; suddenly) But that's the jail! There must be somebody there! MAYOR Well! Looks like about ten years apiece for you birds! BURNS Does it? You forget the power that always watches over the Morning Post. MAYOR Your luck's not with you now! HARTMAN (into phone) Cooley?... I caught Williams single- handed -- we're going to proceed with the hanging per schedule! He wiggles the hook for another call. BURNS (to Mayor) You're going to be in office for exactly two days more and then we're pulling your nose out of the feed bag. HARTMAN (into phone) Give me the District Attorney's office. (to Burns) I'll tell you what you'll be doing -- making brooms in the State penitentiary. (into phone) Hello, D'Arrasty! This is Hartwell. Come over to my office, will you? I've just arrested a couple of important birds and I want to take their confessions. He hangs up. Burns makes a sudden lunge for the Morning Post phone and cries into it. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! Get Liebowitz! MAYOR All the lawyers in the world aren't going to help you! BURNS This is the Morning Post you're talking to! MAYOR (enjoying himself) The power of the press, huh! He laughs. Pinkus, the Governor's messenger, plentifully stewed, reels in the door. He approaches the Mayor and Sheriff who have their backs to him. BURNS (at the Mayor) Bigger men than you have found out what the power of the press is... President!... Yes -- and Kings! PINKUS (woozy; handing Sheriff the reprieve over his shoulder) Here's your reprieve. The Mayor and Sheriff spin around. MAYOR (in a panic) Get out of here! PINKUS You can't bribe me! BURNS What's this? HARTMAN Get out of here, you! PINKUS I

bon

How many times the word 'bon' appears in the text?

will you? MED. SHOT as Burns leaves Hildy and goes over to desk and picks up his phone again. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER Finding the door locked, he knocks. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY as another knock comes, they take it big. HILDY (calling) Who is it? EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER What's the idea of locking this? INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY HILDY That's Bensinger. That's his desk. BURNS (whispering) What's his name? The door knob is rattled violently. HILDY Bensinger -- of the Tribune. EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER Open this door! INT. PRESS ROOM CLOSE SHOT BURNS He starts for the door. BURNS I'll handle him. CAMERA TRUCKS WITH HIM to the door. BURNS The Tribune, eh? Watch me! He opens the door. AT DOOR BENSINGER (as he comes in) Ain't you got any more sense than to -- ? (sees Burns and is overcome) Oh, h-hello, Mr. Burns. Why, quite an honor having you come over here. BURNS (casually) Hello, Bensinger. BENSINGER Excuse me, I just want to -- He starts for the desk. Hildy's typing goes on, coming in over the scene. BURNS (starting for the desk, suddenly blocking his path) Quite a coincidence, my running into you tonight. Isn't it, Hildy? HILDY'S VOICE Yeh. BENSINGER How do you mean? CLOSEUP BURNS AND BENSINGER BURNS I was having a little chat about you just this afternoon -- with our Mister Duffy. BENSINGER (essaying a pleasantry) Nothing -- ah -- detrimental, I hope. BURNS I should say not! That was one swell story you had in the paper this morning. BENSINGER (deeply moved) Oh, did you -- care for the poem, Mr. Burns? BURNS (startled) The poem?... The poem was great! BENSINGER (blinking at these words) Remember the ending? (and he recites) " -- and all is well, outside his cell, But in his heart he hears the hangman Calling and the gallows falling And his white-haired mother's tears..." BURNS (overcome) Heartbreaking! How would you like to work for me? BENSINGER What? MEDIUM SHOT taking in table, Hildy typing there. BURNS (to Bensinger) We need somebody like you. All we've got now are a lot of low-brows. Like Johnson here. He starts shoving Bensinger away from the desk, toward the table. BENSINGER Seriously, Mr. Burns? Clinging to him, Burns takes him to the phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! I'm sending Bensinger over to see you. (looking up at Bensinger) Mervyn, isn't it? BENSINGER No. Roy. Roy V. BURNS (with a little laugh at his own forgetfulness) Of course! (into phone) Roy Bensinger, the poet. Of course you wouldn't know! You probably never heard of Shakespeare, either! Put Mr. Bensinger right on the staff. (to Bensinger) How much are you getting on the Tribune, Roy? BENSINGER Seventy-five. BURNS I'll give you a hundred and a by- line. ANOTHER ANGLE as Burns continues. BURNS (into phone) Let him have everything he wants. (puts down the receiver; turns to Bensinger) Now hustle and write me a story from the point of view of the escaped man. (acting it out) He hides, cowering... Afraid of every light, of every sound... hears footsteps... his heart going like that... And all the time they're closing in... Get the sense of an animal at bay! BENSINGER Sort of a Jack London style? TRUCKING SHOT BURNS Exactly! Leads him hurriedly to the door. BENSINGER I got my rhyming dictionary in -- (indicating desk) BURNS (getting him to door) It doesn't have to rhyme! CLOSE SHOT - AT DOOR as Bensinger turns there. BENSINGER Gee, I'm terribly grateful, Mister Burns. Do you suppose there might be an opening some time as foreign correspondent? I parley a little French, you know. Burns shakes hands with him and opens the door with the other hand. BURNS I'll keep you in mind. BENSINGER (going) Au revoir, mon capitaine. BURNS (never at a loss in any language) Bon jour! Continuing his French, he gets the door closed and relocked and turns for the table, singing as he does so: BURNS Mademoiselle from Armontieres, parlay -- MED. SHOT Burns returns alertly to table, not noticing that Hildy has stopped typing, and sits staring moodily before her. BURNS (into phono) Duffy! Got this! CLOSEUP BURNS - AT PHONE BURNS A rat from the Tribune is coming over to get a job -- Bensinger, the guy I told you about. Handle him with kid gloves. Tell him to get busy writing poetry... No, we don't want him. Stall him along until the extra comes out. Then tell him his poetry stinks and kick him downstairs. He lays down receiver. WIDER ANGLE taking in Hildy. She looks up at him. HILDY (to Burns) Double-crossing swine! BURNS You said it! But this'll teach him a lesson. He won't quit his paper without giving notice after this. Hildy doesn't bother to reply. She rests her chin on her hands and stares moodily ahead. BURNS Tear into it, will you? Don't sit there like a frozen robin! HILDY I'm finished. BURNS Finished! He grabs the last sheet of paper out of her typewriter, kisses her and rushes over to the telephone. CLOSEUP BURNS at phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! All right -- here we go! And got it out as soon as you can. I want this paper out on the streets in half an hour! (reading Hildy's copy) "So once more the Morning Post --" EXT. CRIMINAL COURTS BLDG. - NIGHT MED. SHOT Diamond Louie, bearing evidence of a mishap, his hat crushed, his face bruised and his clothes torn, comes running down the sidewalk and up the steps into the buildings. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Hildy is up now, pacing. HILDY Bruce ought to be back by now. Walter, you're not trying anything again, are you? BURNS (coming over to her) Hildy, you think I could? After this story? (taking a flask from his pocket) Here! You're just nervous. Hildy takes the flask and takes a drink. There is a knock on the door. Burns takes the flask from her, restores it to his pocket and goes to the door. BURNS Who is it? LOUIE'S VOICE It's me, Boss -- Louie. BURNS (opening the door) It's Louie! Louie slips in and Burns relocks the door. BURNS (seeing Louie's disarray) What's the matter? Hildy crosses to Louie. HILDY (frantically) Where's Mrs. Baldwin? BURNS What did you do with her? HILDY (almost afraid to speak) What happened? CLOSE SHOT - THE THREE BURNS You been in a fight? LOUIE (still out of breath) Down Western Avenue. We were going sixty-five miles an hour. You know what I mean? BURNS Take that mush out of your mouth! HILDY Where's the old lady? LOUIE I'm telling you! CLOSEUP - LOUIE as he gets breath and blurts: LOUIE We run smack into a police patrol. You know what I mean? We broke it in half! BACK TO GROUP HILDY (moaning) Oh-h-h... was she hurt? BURNS Where is she? Tell me! HILDY Louie! LOUIE I'm telling you. Can you imagine bumping into a load of cops?! They come rollin' out like oranges! HILDY (seizing him) What did you do with her? LOUIE Search me! When I come to I was running down Thirty-fifth Street. HILDY -- You were with her. You were in the cab, weren't you? LOUIE (exposing his bruised scalp) Was I? The driver got knocked cold. BURNS Butter-fingers! I give you an old lady to take somewhere, and you hand her over to the cops! LOUIE What do you mean, I handed her? The patrol wagon was on the wrong side of the street. BURNS Now everything's fine. She's probably squawking her head off in some police station. CLOSEUP - LOUIE LOUIE I don't think she's talking much... You know what I mean? He winks reassuringly. BACK TO GROUP HILDY (paralyzed) Don't tell me -- was she killed? BURNS (hopefully) Was she? Did you notice? LOUIE Say, me with a gun on my hip and a kidnapped old lady on my hands, I should stick around asking questions from a lot of cops! You know what I mean? Hildy sinks into a chair. CLOSE SHOT HILDY IN THE CHAIR HILDY Dead... dead! That's the end! Burns comes into scene to her. BURNS It's Fate, Hildy. What will be, will be. HILDY (wildly) What am I going to say to Bruce? What'll I tell him? BURNS If he really loves you, you won't have to tell him anything. (whacking her on the shoulder) Snap out of it! Would you rather have had the old dame dragging the whole police force in here? HILDY I killed her. I'm responsible. Oh- h... what can I do now? How can I ever face him? Oh, I hope he never comes back! She buries her face in her hands. BURNS Look at me, Hildy -- HILDY (springing up) I'm looking at you -- you murderer! BURNS If it was my own mother, I'd carry on! You know I would. For the paper! HILDY (calling off to Louie) Louie, where'd it happen? I'm going out! MED. SHOT GROUP The Post phone rings. BURNS (grabbing Hildy) You stay here. I'll find out everything. LOUIE (to Hildy) Western an' Thirty-fourth. Hildy jumps for the outside phone on the desk. TWO SHOT INCLUDING BURNS AT PHONE AND HILDY AT PHONE BURNS (into phone) Hello -- hello... HILDY (into phone) Gimme Western four-five-five-seven. BURNS (guarded) Who? (wildly) Hello, Butch! Where are you? HILDY (into phone) Mission Hospital? Gimme the Receiving Room. BURNS (into phone) What are you doing there? Haven't you even started? HILDY (into phone) Hello -- Eddie? Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady brought in from an auto smashup? BURNS (into phone) Oh, for -- (yelling) H. Sebastian -- Butch! Listen, it's a matter of life and death! Listen! HILDY (into phone) Nobody? (jiggles hook) Morningside three-one-two-four. BURNS (into phone) I can't hear... You got who? Speak up! A what?... You can't stop for a dame now! HILDY (into phone) Is this the Community Hospital? BURNS (howling into phone) I don't care if you've been after her for six years! Butch, our whole lives are at stake! Are you going to let a woman come between us after all we've been through? HILDY (into phone) Hello, Max, Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady --? BURNS (into phone, drowning out Hildy) Butch! I'd put my arm in fire for you -- up to here! (indicates up to where) Now, you can't double-cross me!... She does? All right -- put her on. I'll talk to her... Hello! Oh, hello, Madam... Now listen, you ten-cent glamour girl, you can't keep Butch away from his duty... What's that? You say that again and I'll come over there and knock your eye out! Hello? (turning, as he hangs up) I'll kill 'em! I'll kill both of 'em! (into Post phone) Duffy! (to the universe) Mousing around with some big blonde Annie on my time! That's co-operation! (screaming into phone) Duffy!! HILDY Shut up, will you? (into phone) You sure? Nobody? BURNS (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) Well, where is Duffy? (throwing receiver to desk) Diabetes! I ought to know better than to hire anybody with a disease. (turning) Louie. MED. SHOT GROUP BURNS (to Louie) It's up to you. LOUIE (loyally) Anything you want, Boss. BURNS Beat it out and get hold of some guys. LOUIE Who do you want? BURNS (starting for the door, followed by Louie) Anybody with hair on his chest. Get 'em off the street -- anywhere. Offer them anything -- only get them. (confidentially) We've got to get this desk out of here. He unlocks the door. LOUIE You know me. The shirt off my back. BURNS You got plenty of money? LOUIE Sure, boss. BURNS I mean real money -- not counterfeit! LOUIE I always have both. He goes out. BURNS (calling after him) And don't bump into anything. He relocks the door. HILDY Lafayette two-one-hundred. BURNS (turning from door) That dumb immigrant'll flop on me. I know it. (bitterly) Can you imagine Butch doing this to me -- at a time like this? CLOSE SHOT HILDY AT PHONE, TAKING IN DESK Burns steps into scene. BURNS (confidentially) If Louie doesn't come back in five minutes we'll get it out alone. There's millions of ways. We can start a fire and get the firemen to carry it out in the confusion. He crosses to the desk and inspects it. HILDY (into phone) Ring that number, will you? BURNS (to Hildy, oblivious of her telephoning) Come here. See if we can move it. HILDY (into phone) Hello -- hello! Is this the Lying -- In Hospital? Did you have an auto accident in the last -- BURNS (interrupting) Will you come here? HILDY (into phone) Oh, I see. I beg your pardon. BURNS When I'm surrounded, with my back against the wall, you're not going to lay down on me, are you -- HILDY Yes. She jiggles the phone hook. BURNS (going to her) Hildy, you just can't leave me out on a limb now. It -- it wouldn't be cricket! HILDY I don't care what you say. I'm going to find Bruce's mother. (she jiggles the hook madly) Oh-h... (she hangs up) I'm going out and find her! Grabbing her hat and purse, she starts for the door. MED. SHOT OF HILDY, TAKING IN DOOR There is a loud knocking on the door. BURNS (coming into scene after Hildy) Don't open that! HILDY (at the door) Who says so? I'm going to the morgue -- to look -- She unlocks the door. CLOSE SHOT AT DOOR as Hildy flings the door open, only to find the Sheriff, accompanied by two deputies -- Carl and Frank -- and surrounded by McCue, Murphy, Schwartz, Wilson and Endicott. MURPHY There she is! MCCUE Say, Hildy... Hildy makes a decision and tries to push through them, but the Sheriff grabs her and pushes her back. HARTMAN Just a minute, Johnson! HILDY Let go o' me. What's the idea? MCCUE What's your hurry? MURPHY We want to see you. The deputies seize her. HILDY Take your paws off me! HARTMAN Hold her, boys! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (to Sheriff) Who do you think you are, breaking in here like this? HARTMAN You can't bluff me, Burns. I don't care who you are or what paper you're editor of. HILDY (struggling) Let me go! (hysterically) Fellows, something's happened to my mother-in-law. HARTMAN Hang onto her! Keep her in here! MED. SHOT as Hildy breaks loose and retreats back into the room before Hartman and the deputies. MCCUE We know what you're up to. ENDICOTT Probably goin' out to get Williams. SCHWARTZ The door was locked. WILSON She and Mollie were talking. HILDY I don't know anything, I tell you. There's been an accident. HARTMAN Johnson, there's something very peculiar going on. HILDY You can send somebody with me if you don't believe me! HARTMAN I wasn't born yesterday. Now the boys tell me you and this Mollie Malloy -- HILDY Nobody's trying to put anything over on you. I'm getting out of here and you can't stop me! MURPHY (comes into scene) You're not going anywhere. (to the Sheriff) She's got the story sewed up, Pete. (indicating Burns) That's why Burns is here. SCHWARTZ We're on to you, Hildy. Let us in on it. TWO SHOT - SHERIFF AND BURNS BURNS (purring) If you've any accusations to make, Hartman, make them in the proper manner. Otherwise, I'll have to ask you to get out. HARTMAN (pop-eyed; stammering) You'll ask me to what? BURNS Get out! HARTMAN (to deputies, off) Close that door. Don't let anybody in or out. MED. SHOT - THE GROUP MURPHY Come on, Pinky! Give 'em a little third degree. ENDICOTT Make them talk and you got Williams, Pinky! HARTMAN Johnson, I'm going to the bottom of this. What do you know about Williams? Are you going to talk or aren't you? HILDY What do I know about Williams? HARTMAN All right, boys. Take her along. I got ways of making her talk. The deputies seize Hildy. She struggles. HILDY Look out, you -- MCCUE (nervously) What's the use of fighting, Hildy? Hildy manages to get in a few resounding smacks on the deputies' faces. The reporters swarm around the struggling trio. There are shouts of: "I got her!" "No, you don't!" "Aw, Hildy...", etc. In the struggle, Hildy suddenly drops her purse. It lands with a clank and comes open. A gun is revealed on the floor. Hildy picks it up. DEPUTIES Hey, she's got a gun! Look out, she's got a gun! The deputies and reporters start to close in on her cautiously. HILDY (trying to face in all directions) No, you don't! Walter! BURNS What is it? Here! She tosses the gun to Walter, but one of the deputies intercepts the throw. HARTMAN Gimme that. He takes the gun from the deputy. CLOSER SHOT The Sheriff stands frozen, staring at the gun. HARTMAN (to Hildy) Where'd you get this? HILDY I've got a right to carry a gun if I want to. HARTMAN Not this gun! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (easily) I can explain that, Hartman. When Hildy told me she wanted to interview Earl Williams I thought it might be dangerous and I gave her a gun to defend herself. HARTMAN Oh, you did! Well, that's very, very interesting. This happens to be the gun that Earl Williams shot his way out with! REPORTERS AD LIB What? What's that? Etc... BURNS (advancing on Sheriff) Are you trying to make me out a liar? MURPHY (bitterly at Hildy) It's the last time I ever trust a woman, Hildy. SCHWARTZ Maybe Williams was gonna be her best man. WILSON That's pretty rotten, Hildy. Crossing your own pals. HARTMAN (shoving up to Hildy; trembling) Where is Earl Williams? Where you got him? BURNS (sympathetically) You're barking up the wrong tree, Hartman. HARTMAN I'll give you three minutes to tell me where he is. HILDY He went over to the hospital to call on Professor Egelhoffer. HARTMAN (outraged) What? HILDY With a bag of marshmallows. The Sheriff stands silent -- then hastily turns. MED. SHOT GROUP AROUND HILDY REPORTERS AD LIB Come on, Hildy. Where is he?... This is a sweet trick, Hildy... I thought we were friends... Etc. (to Sheriff) Look here, Pete! What about Mister Burns?... Ask the Master Mind! What's he doing over here? HARTMAN (grabbing Burns' arm) Speak up! What do you know about this. BURNS (gently but firmly disengaging his hand) My dear Hartman! He moves casually to a post before the desk and maintains it. MURPHY Can that! Where is he? BURNS (to Sheriff) The Morning Post is not obstructing justice or hiding criminals. You ought to know that. HARTMAN No? Well -- (turning to Hildy) Johnson, you're under arrest. (turning to Burns) You, too, Burns. BURNS (calmly) Who's under arrest? You pimple-headed, square-toed spy -- do you realize what you're doing? HARTMAN I'll show you what I'm doing. Burns, you're guilty of obstructing justice and so is the Morning Post. I'm going to see that the Post is fined ten thousand dollars for this. BURNS You'll see nothing of the kind, Sheriff. HARTMAN We'll just start by impounding the Post property. (pointing to Bensinger's desk, addressing Hildy) Is that your desk? HILDY (jumping) No! BURNS (almost simultaneously) Yes! What are you afraid of Hildy? I dare him to move that desk out of here. HARTMAN Oh, you do, eh? (to deputies) All right, boys. Confiscate that desk. Several of the deputies start toward the desk. BURNS (trying to intercept deputies) Hartman, if you take this desk out of this building, I'll put you behind bars. HARTMAN You will, eh? Well, we'll see about that. (to deputies) All right, boys. Take it. BURNS I'm warning you -- it'll be a Federal offense. (to deputy nearest him) And you'll be an accessory! HARTMAN We'll take a chance on that, Burns. (to deputies) Go ahead, boys. (the deputies continue toward the desk) INT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Flanked by two policemen, Mrs. Baldwin, dishevelled, with her hat over one ear, is marching toward the Press Room, bound for vengeance. Bruce, considerably upset, is with her. As they reach the door to the Press Room, Mrs. Baldwin stops. MRS. BALDWIN You wait outside, Bruce. BRUCE But, mother -- MRS. BALDWIN (firmly) No! You'll weaken when you see that little Jezebel! I'm going to tell her what I think of her! She plumps her hat down more firmly on her head and marches into the Press Room followed by the two policemen. Bruce remains outside the door. INT. PRESS ROOM Taking in door as it opens and Mrs. Baldwin, followed by the policemen, comes in. HILDY (leaping forward) Mother! MRS. BALDWIN (pointing out Burns to the officers) That man there! HILDY (hugging Mrs. Baldwin) Mother! Oh, I'm so glad to see you! Are you all right? Tell me. Mrs. Baldwin indignantly shakes her off. HARTMAN What's the idea here? POLICEMAN This lady claims she was kidnapped. HARTMAN What? MRS. BALDWIN They dragged me all the way down the stairs -- HARTMAN Just a minute. Did -- did -- (points to Burns) -- this man have anything to do with it? MRS. BALDWIN He was the one in charge of everything! He told them to kidnap me! BURNS (amazed) Are you referring to me, Madam? MRS. BALDWIN You know you did! HARTMAN What about this, Burns? Kidnapping, eh? BURNS (round-eyed) Oh, trying to frame me, eh! I never saw this woman before in my life! MRS. BALDWIN Oh, what a thing to say! I was standing right here - after the girl jumped out of the window. HARTMAN Did you get the Mayor? DEPUTY He's coming over. BURNS (to Mrs. Baldwin) Now, Madam -- be honest. If you were out joy-riding, drunk, and got into some scrape, why don't you admit it, instead of accusing innocent people? MRS. BALDWIN (beginning to doubt her senses) You ruffian! How dare you say a thing like that? HILDA Please, Mother, he's just crazy! MRS. BALDWIN (to Sheriff) I'll tell you something more. I'll tell you why they did it! BURNS (fidgeting) Come on, Sheriff. We've got to get bail. MRS. BALDWIN (continuing crescendo) I was in here -- and they had some kind of murderer in with them. They were hiding him! This is a bombshell. The room is electrified. HARTMAN Hiding him? In here? Murphy, followed by the reporters, comes into scene. MURPHY Hiding him where? HILDY Mother! REPORTERS Where was he?... Where'd they have him?... Etc. CLOSE SHOT BURNS at the desk. BURNS (with superb indignation) Madam, you're a cockeyed liar! And you know it! To emphasize his righteousness, he pounds on the desk three times, forgetting that that is his signal to Williams. Then, realizing what he has done, he gasps. MED. SHOT Burns advances from desk, the others retreating before him. BURNS (anxiously) Come on, Sheriff, we've got to get bail. Three answering knocks come from the desk. GROUP SHOT WITH DOORWAY IN B.G They jump around to face the desk. HARTMAN (whispering) What was that? REPORTERS AD LIB He's in the desk! -- For the love of -- He's in there! Etc. HARTMAN Aha! I thought so! Stand back, everybody! DEPUTY Look out, Sheriff. He may shoot! HARTMAN Get your guns out! The policemen and deputies get out their guns. HILDY He's harmless. HARTMAN Don't take any chances. Shoot through the desk. HILDY He can't hurt anybody. You've got his gun. MRS. BALDWIN (panic-stricken) Oh, dear! Oh, dear! BURNS You grey-haired old Judas! MRS. BALDWIN Let me out! Let me out of here! She streaks for the door, flings it open and goes. The reporters tear out of scene to their telephones. HARTMAN (to policeman) You stand there! MURPHY'S VOICE City Desk! Quick! SCHWARTZ' VOICE Gimme the Desk! HARTMAN (to another policeman) You there! ENDICOTT'S VOICE City Desk! Hurry! MCCUE'S VOICE Gimme Emil... HARTMAN (to a Deputy, pointing with his gun toward the window) You cover the window. MURPHY'S VOICE Look out where you're pointing that gun! The Sheriff draws his men in around the desk, their guns drawn on it. WILSON'S VOICE Lemme have the Desk! Quick! MURPHY'S VOICE Hold the wire! I've got a flash for you! BURNS (to Hildy) Call Duffy! HARTMAN No, you don't! BURNS (to Sheriff, furiously) Do you want to get us scooped? MCCUE'S VOICE Emil? Hang on for a second. HARTMAN Now then, everybody aim at the center. And when I say three -- HILDY That's murder! HARTMAN (changing his mind) All right! Carl! Frank! One of you get on each side of the desk. Take hold of the cover. They do. HARTMAN Now then! We got you covered, Williams. Don't try to move. Now! Everybody quiet and ready for an emergency. I'm going to count three. SCHWARTZ Hold it! Something coming up. HARTMAN One! ENDICOTT Hold the phone! MURPHY (into the phone) I'll have it in a minute. HARTMAN Two! WILSON (into phone) Right away now! HARTMAN (turning back to desk) Everybody ready? All right. Now then, up with it. Two deputies raise the cover. Williams is revealed, cowering in the desk, his hands over his face. The Sheriff rushes on him, jabbing his gun into him. CLOSE SHOT SHERIFF AND WILLIAMS HARTMAN Got you, Williams! WILLIAMS (a wail) Go on -- shoot me! MEDIUM SHOT as the police and deputies come in to assist the Sheriff. The reporters are telephoning in, the police shouting -- all the voices mixing in, in incredible confusion, as the Sheriff rushes Williams to the door and takes him out. MURPHY'S VOICE Earl Williams was just captured in the Press Room of the Criminal Courts Building, hiding in a desk. OFFICERS AD LIB (all talking at once) Grab him! That's him! Don't let him shoot! Stick 'em up! -- Etc. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) ...Williams in a rolltop -- CLOSEUP WILSON AT PHONE WILSON (into phone) -- nabbed Williams hiding -- ENDICOTT'S VOICE -- found Williams' hiding place. SCHWARTZ' VOICE He offered no resistance. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) Williams put up a desperate struggle but the police overpowered -- CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) -- tried to shoot it out with the cops but his gun wouldn't work, so -- WILSON'S VOICE -- trying to break through the cordon of police -- CLOSEUP ENDICOTT AT PHONE ENDICOTT (into phone) Williams was unconscious when they opened the desk -- CLOSEUP BURNS grabbing the Post phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Morning Post just turned Earl Williams over to the Sheriff. CLOSE SHOT THE SHERIFF coming in the door with two policemen and leaping to get the phone away from Burns. MED. SHOT BURNS AT PHONE, HILDY BESIDE HIM BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Sheriff and police come into scene. HARTMAN (indicating Burns and Hildy) Put the cuffs on those two! The police handcuff Hildy and Burns. ENDICOTT An anonymous note received by the Sheriff led to Williams' capture. More later. He hangs up. CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) An old sweetheart of Williams' doublecrossed him. Call you back. He hangs up. MED. SHOT TAKING IN DOOR REPORTERS Where's that old lady? Hey, Madam! Where'd she go? Where's the old dame? Etc., etc. They run out after Mrs. Baldwin, the Mayor entering just after they go. Burns and Hildy, handcuffed together, stand near the Sheriff. HARTMAN (into phone) Hello, girlie -- gimme Cooley. Quick! BURNS Hartwell, you're going to wish you'd never been born! The Mayor comes into scene. MAYOR Fine work, Pete! You certainly delivered the goods. I'm proud of you. HARTMAN (holding the phone) Look kind o' natural, don't they, Fred? MAYOR (happily) A sight for sore eyes! HARTMAN (rolling in catnip) Aiding an escaped criminal! And a little charge of kidnapping I'm looking into. (into phone; suddenly) But that's the jail! There must be somebody there! MAYOR Well! Looks like about ten years apiece for you birds! BURNS Does it? You forget the power that always watches over the Morning Post. MAYOR Your luck's not with you now! HARTMAN (into phone) Cooley?... I caught Williams single- handed -- we're going to proceed with the hanging per schedule! He wiggles the hook for another call. BURNS (to Mayor) You're going to be in office for exactly two days more and then we're pulling your nose out of the feed bag. HARTMAN (into phone) Give me the District Attorney's office. (to Burns) I'll tell you what you'll be doing -- making brooms in the State penitentiary. (into phone) Hello, D'Arrasty! This is Hartwell. Come over to my office, will you? I've just arrested a couple of important birds and I want to take their confessions. He hangs up. Burns makes a sudden lunge for the Morning Post phone and cries into it. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! Get Liebowitz! MAYOR All the lawyers in the world aren't going to help you! BURNS This is the Morning Post you're talking to! MAYOR (enjoying himself) The power of the press, huh! He laughs. Pinkus, the Governor's messenger, plentifully stewed, reels in the door. He approaches the Mayor and Sheriff who have their backs to him. BURNS (at the Mayor) Bigger men than you have found out what the power of the press is... President!... Yes -- and Kings! PINKUS (woozy; handing Sheriff the reprieve over his shoulder) Here's your reprieve. The Mayor and Sheriff spin around. MAYOR (in a panic) Get out of here! PINKUS You can't bribe me! BURNS What's this? HARTMAN Get out of here, you! PINKUS I

mishandled

How many times the word 'mishandled' appears in the text?

will you? MED. SHOT as Burns leaves Hildy and goes over to desk and picks up his phone again. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER Finding the door locked, he knocks. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY as another knock comes, they take it big. HILDY (calling) Who is it? EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER What's the idea of locking this? INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BURNS AND HILDY HILDY That's Bensinger. That's his desk. BURNS (whispering) What's his name? The door knob is rattled violently. HILDY Bensinger -- of the Tribune. EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE DOOR - NIGHT CLOSE SHOT BENSINGER BENSINGER Open this door! INT. PRESS ROOM CLOSE SHOT BURNS He starts for the door. BURNS I'll handle him. CAMERA TRUCKS WITH HIM to the door. BURNS The Tribune, eh? Watch me! He opens the door. AT DOOR BENSINGER (as he comes in) Ain't you got any more sense than to -- ? (sees Burns and is overcome) Oh, h-hello, Mr. Burns. Why, quite an honor having you come over here. BURNS (casually) Hello, Bensinger. BENSINGER Excuse me, I just want to -- He starts for the desk. Hildy's typing goes on, coming in over the scene. BURNS (starting for the desk, suddenly blocking his path) Quite a coincidence, my running into you tonight. Isn't it, Hildy? HILDY'S VOICE Yeh. BENSINGER How do you mean? CLOSEUP BURNS AND BENSINGER BURNS I was having a little chat about you just this afternoon -- with our Mister Duffy. BENSINGER (essaying a pleasantry) Nothing -- ah -- detrimental, I hope. BURNS I should say not! That was one swell story you had in the paper this morning. BENSINGER (deeply moved) Oh, did you -- care for the poem, Mr. Burns? BURNS (startled) The poem?... The poem was great! BENSINGER (blinking at these words) Remember the ending? (and he recites) " -- and all is well, outside his cell, But in his heart he hears the hangman Calling and the gallows falling And his white-haired mother's tears..." BURNS (overcome) Heartbreaking! How would you like to work for me? BENSINGER What? MEDIUM SHOT taking in table, Hildy typing there. BURNS (to Bensinger) We need somebody like you. All we've got now are a lot of low-brows. Like Johnson here. He starts shoving Bensinger away from the desk, toward the table. BENSINGER Seriously, Mr. Burns? Clinging to him, Burns takes him to the phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! I'm sending Bensinger over to see you. (looking up at Bensinger) Mervyn, isn't it? BENSINGER No. Roy. Roy V. BURNS (with a little laugh at his own forgetfulness) Of course! (into phone) Roy Bensinger, the poet. Of course you wouldn't know! You probably never heard of Shakespeare, either! Put Mr. Bensinger right on the staff. (to Bensinger) How much are you getting on the Tribune, Roy? BENSINGER Seventy-five. BURNS I'll give you a hundred and a by- line. ANOTHER ANGLE as Burns continues. BURNS (into phone) Let him have everything he wants. (puts down the receiver; turns to Bensinger) Now hustle and write me a story from the point of view of the escaped man. (acting it out) He hides, cowering... Afraid of every light, of every sound... hears footsteps... his heart going like that... And all the time they're closing in... Get the sense of an animal at bay! BENSINGER Sort of a Jack London style? TRUCKING SHOT BURNS Exactly! Leads him hurriedly to the door. BENSINGER I got my rhyming dictionary in -- (indicating desk) BURNS (getting him to door) It doesn't have to rhyme! CLOSE SHOT - AT DOOR as Bensinger turns there. BENSINGER Gee, I'm terribly grateful, Mister Burns. Do you suppose there might be an opening some time as foreign correspondent? I parley a little French, you know. Burns shakes hands with him and opens the door with the other hand. BURNS I'll keep you in mind. BENSINGER (going) Au revoir, mon capitaine. BURNS (never at a loss in any language) Bon jour! Continuing his French, he gets the door closed and relocked and turns for the table, singing as he does so: BURNS Mademoiselle from Armontieres, parlay -- MED. SHOT Burns returns alertly to table, not noticing that Hildy has stopped typing, and sits staring moodily before her. BURNS (into phono) Duffy! Got this! CLOSEUP BURNS - AT PHONE BURNS A rat from the Tribune is coming over to get a job -- Bensinger, the guy I told you about. Handle him with kid gloves. Tell him to get busy writing poetry... No, we don't want him. Stall him along until the extra comes out. Then tell him his poetry stinks and kick him downstairs. He lays down receiver. WIDER ANGLE taking in Hildy. She looks up at him. HILDY (to Burns) Double-crossing swine! BURNS You said it! But this'll teach him a lesson. He won't quit his paper without giving notice after this. Hildy doesn't bother to reply. She rests her chin on her hands and stares moodily ahead. BURNS Tear into it, will you? Don't sit there like a frozen robin! HILDY I'm finished. BURNS Finished! He grabs the last sheet of paper out of her typewriter, kisses her and rushes over to the telephone. CLOSEUP BURNS at phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! All right -- here we go! And got it out as soon as you can. I want this paper out on the streets in half an hour! (reading Hildy's copy) "So once more the Morning Post --" EXT. CRIMINAL COURTS BLDG. - NIGHT MED. SHOT Diamond Louie, bearing evidence of a mishap, his hat crushed, his face bruised and his clothes torn, comes running down the sidewalk and up the steps into the buildings. INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Hildy is up now, pacing. HILDY Bruce ought to be back by now. Walter, you're not trying anything again, are you? BURNS (coming over to her) Hildy, you think I could? After this story? (taking a flask from his pocket) Here! You're just nervous. Hildy takes the flask and takes a drink. There is a knock on the door. Burns takes the flask from her, restores it to his pocket and goes to the door. BURNS Who is it? LOUIE'S VOICE It's me, Boss -- Louie. BURNS (opening the door) It's Louie! Louie slips in and Burns relocks the door. BURNS (seeing Louie's disarray) What's the matter? Hildy crosses to Louie. HILDY (frantically) Where's Mrs. Baldwin? BURNS What did you do with her? HILDY (almost afraid to speak) What happened? CLOSE SHOT - THE THREE BURNS You been in a fight? LOUIE (still out of breath) Down Western Avenue. We were going sixty-five miles an hour. You know what I mean? BURNS Take that mush out of your mouth! HILDY Where's the old lady? LOUIE I'm telling you! CLOSEUP - LOUIE as he gets breath and blurts: LOUIE We run smack into a police patrol. You know what I mean? We broke it in half! BACK TO GROUP HILDY (moaning) Oh-h-h... was she hurt? BURNS Where is she? Tell me! HILDY Louie! LOUIE I'm telling you. Can you imagine bumping into a load of cops?! They come rollin' out like oranges! HILDY (seizing him) What did you do with her? LOUIE Search me! When I come to I was running down Thirty-fifth Street. HILDY -- You were with her. You were in the cab, weren't you? LOUIE (exposing his bruised scalp) Was I? The driver got knocked cold. BURNS Butter-fingers! I give you an old lady to take somewhere, and you hand her over to the cops! LOUIE What do you mean, I handed her? The patrol wagon was on the wrong side of the street. BURNS Now everything's fine. She's probably squawking her head off in some police station. CLOSEUP - LOUIE LOUIE I don't think she's talking much... You know what I mean? He winks reassuringly. BACK TO GROUP HILDY (paralyzed) Don't tell me -- was she killed? BURNS (hopefully) Was she? Did you notice? LOUIE Say, me with a gun on my hip and a kidnapped old lady on my hands, I should stick around asking questions from a lot of cops! You know what I mean? Hildy sinks into a chair. CLOSE SHOT HILDY IN THE CHAIR HILDY Dead... dead! That's the end! Burns comes into scene to her. BURNS It's Fate, Hildy. What will be, will be. HILDY (wildly) What am I going to say to Bruce? What'll I tell him? BURNS If he really loves you, you won't have to tell him anything. (whacking her on the shoulder) Snap out of it! Would you rather have had the old dame dragging the whole police force in here? HILDY I killed her. I'm responsible. Oh- h... what can I do now? How can I ever face him? Oh, I hope he never comes back! She buries her face in her hands. BURNS Look at me, Hildy -- HILDY (springing up) I'm looking at you -- you murderer! BURNS If it was my own mother, I'd carry on! You know I would. For the paper! HILDY (calling off to Louie) Louie, where'd it happen? I'm going out! MED. SHOT GROUP The Post phone rings. BURNS (grabbing Hildy) You stay here. I'll find out everything. LOUIE (to Hildy) Western an' Thirty-fourth. Hildy jumps for the outside phone on the desk. TWO SHOT INCLUDING BURNS AT PHONE AND HILDY AT PHONE BURNS (into phone) Hello -- hello... HILDY (into phone) Gimme Western four-five-five-seven. BURNS (guarded) Who? (wildly) Hello, Butch! Where are you? HILDY (into phone) Mission Hospital? Gimme the Receiving Room. BURNS (into phone) What are you doing there? Haven't you even started? HILDY (into phone) Hello -- Eddie? Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady brought in from an auto smashup? BURNS (into phone) Oh, for -- (yelling) H. Sebastian -- Butch! Listen, it's a matter of life and death! Listen! HILDY (into phone) Nobody? (jiggles hook) Morningside three-one-two-four. BURNS (into phone) I can't hear... You got who? Speak up! A what?... You can't stop for a dame now! HILDY (into phone) Is this the Community Hospital? BURNS (howling into phone) I don't care if you've been after her for six years! Butch, our whole lives are at stake! Are you going to let a woman come between us after all we've been through? HILDY (into phone) Hello, Max, Hildy Johnson. Was there an old lady --? BURNS (into phone, drowning out Hildy) Butch! I'd put my arm in fire for you -- up to here! (indicates up to where) Now, you can't double-cross me!... She does? All right -- put her on. I'll talk to her... Hello! Oh, hello, Madam... Now listen, you ten-cent glamour girl, you can't keep Butch away from his duty... What's that? You say that again and I'll come over there and knock your eye out! Hello? (turning, as he hangs up) I'll kill 'em! I'll kill both of 'em! (into Post phone) Duffy! (to the universe) Mousing around with some big blonde Annie on my time! That's co-operation! (screaming into phone) Duffy!! HILDY Shut up, will you? (into phone) You sure? Nobody? BURNS (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) (into phone) Duffy!!!! (listening) Well, where is Duffy? (throwing receiver to desk) Diabetes! I ought to know better than to hire anybody with a disease. (turning) Louie. MED. SHOT GROUP BURNS (to Louie) It's up to you. LOUIE (loyally) Anything you want, Boss. BURNS Beat it out and get hold of some guys. LOUIE Who do you want? BURNS (starting for the door, followed by Louie) Anybody with hair on his chest. Get 'em off the street -- anywhere. Offer them anything -- only get them. (confidentially) We've got to get this desk out of here. He unlocks the door. LOUIE You know me. The shirt off my back. BURNS You got plenty of money? LOUIE Sure, boss. BURNS I mean real money -- not counterfeit! LOUIE I always have both. He goes out. BURNS (calling after him) And don't bump into anything. He relocks the door. HILDY Lafayette two-one-hundred. BURNS (turning from door) That dumb immigrant'll flop on me. I know it. (bitterly) Can you imagine Butch doing this to me -- at a time like this? CLOSE SHOT HILDY AT PHONE, TAKING IN DESK Burns steps into scene. BURNS (confidentially) If Louie doesn't come back in five minutes we'll get it out alone. There's millions of ways. We can start a fire and get the firemen to carry it out in the confusion. He crosses to the desk and inspects it. HILDY (into phone) Ring that number, will you? BURNS (to Hildy, oblivious of her telephoning) Come here. See if we can move it. HILDY (into phone) Hello -- hello! Is this the Lying -- In Hospital? Did you have an auto accident in the last -- BURNS (interrupting) Will you come here? HILDY (into phone) Oh, I see. I beg your pardon. BURNS When I'm surrounded, with my back against the wall, you're not going to lay down on me, are you -- HILDY Yes. She jiggles the phone hook. BURNS (going to her) Hildy, you just can't leave me out on a limb now. It -- it wouldn't be cricket! HILDY I don't care what you say. I'm going to find Bruce's mother. (she jiggles the hook madly) Oh-h... (she hangs up) I'm going out and find her! Grabbing her hat and purse, she starts for the door. MED. SHOT OF HILDY, TAKING IN DOOR There is a loud knocking on the door. BURNS (coming into scene after Hildy) Don't open that! HILDY (at the door) Who says so? I'm going to the morgue -- to look -- She unlocks the door. CLOSE SHOT AT DOOR as Hildy flings the door open, only to find the Sheriff, accompanied by two deputies -- Carl and Frank -- and surrounded by McCue, Murphy, Schwartz, Wilson and Endicott. MURPHY There she is! MCCUE Say, Hildy... Hildy makes a decision and tries to push through them, but the Sheriff grabs her and pushes her back. HARTMAN Just a minute, Johnson! HILDY Let go o' me. What's the idea? MCCUE What's your hurry? MURPHY We want to see you. The deputies seize her. HILDY Take your paws off me! HARTMAN Hold her, boys! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (to Sheriff) Who do you think you are, breaking in here like this? HARTMAN You can't bluff me, Burns. I don't care who you are or what paper you're editor of. HILDY (struggling) Let me go! (hysterically) Fellows, something's happened to my mother-in-law. HARTMAN Hang onto her! Keep her in here! MED. SHOT as Hildy breaks loose and retreats back into the room before Hartman and the deputies. MCCUE We know what you're up to. ENDICOTT Probably goin' out to get Williams. SCHWARTZ The door was locked. WILSON She and Mollie were talking. HILDY I don't know anything, I tell you. There's been an accident. HARTMAN Johnson, there's something very peculiar going on. HILDY You can send somebody with me if you don't believe me! HARTMAN I wasn't born yesterday. Now the boys tell me you and this Mollie Malloy -- HILDY Nobody's trying to put anything over on you. I'm getting out of here and you can't stop me! MURPHY (comes into scene) You're not going anywhere. (to the Sheriff) She's got the story sewed up, Pete. (indicating Burns) That's why Burns is here. SCHWARTZ We're on to you, Hildy. Let us in on it. TWO SHOT - SHERIFF AND BURNS BURNS (purring) If you've any accusations to make, Hartman, make them in the proper manner. Otherwise, I'll have to ask you to get out. HARTMAN (pop-eyed; stammering) You'll ask me to what? BURNS Get out! HARTMAN (to deputies, off) Close that door. Don't let anybody in or out. MED. SHOT - THE GROUP MURPHY Come on, Pinky! Give 'em a little third degree. ENDICOTT Make them talk and you got Williams, Pinky! HARTMAN Johnson, I'm going to the bottom of this. What do you know about Williams? Are you going to talk or aren't you? HILDY What do I know about Williams? HARTMAN All right, boys. Take her along. I got ways of making her talk. The deputies seize Hildy. She struggles. HILDY Look out, you -- MCCUE (nervously) What's the use of fighting, Hildy? Hildy manages to get in a few resounding smacks on the deputies' faces. The reporters swarm around the struggling trio. There are shouts of: "I got her!" "No, you don't!" "Aw, Hildy...", etc. In the struggle, Hildy suddenly drops her purse. It lands with a clank and comes open. A gun is revealed on the floor. Hildy picks it up. DEPUTIES Hey, she's got a gun! Look out, she's got a gun! The deputies and reporters start to close in on her cautiously. HILDY (trying to face in all directions) No, you don't! Walter! BURNS What is it? Here! She tosses the gun to Walter, but one of the deputies intercepts the throw. HARTMAN Gimme that. He takes the gun from the deputy. CLOSER SHOT The Sheriff stands frozen, staring at the gun. HARTMAN (to Hildy) Where'd you get this? HILDY I've got a right to carry a gun if I want to. HARTMAN Not this gun! Burns comes into scene. BURNS (easily) I can explain that, Hartman. When Hildy told me she wanted to interview Earl Williams I thought it might be dangerous and I gave her a gun to defend herself. HARTMAN Oh, you did! Well, that's very, very interesting. This happens to be the gun that Earl Williams shot his way out with! REPORTERS AD LIB What? What's that? Etc... BURNS (advancing on Sheriff) Are you trying to make me out a liar? MURPHY (bitterly at Hildy) It's the last time I ever trust a woman, Hildy. SCHWARTZ Maybe Williams was gonna be her best man. WILSON That's pretty rotten, Hildy. Crossing your own pals. HARTMAN (shoving up to Hildy; trembling) Where is Earl Williams? Where you got him? BURNS (sympathetically) You're barking up the wrong tree, Hartman. HARTMAN I'll give you three minutes to tell me where he is. HILDY He went over to the hospital to call on Professor Egelhoffer. HARTMAN (outraged) What? HILDY With a bag of marshmallows. The Sheriff stands silent -- then hastily turns. MED. SHOT GROUP AROUND HILDY REPORTERS AD LIB Come on, Hildy. Where is he?... This is a sweet trick, Hildy... I thought we were friends... Etc. (to Sheriff) Look here, Pete! What about Mister Burns?... Ask the Master Mind! What's he doing over here? HARTMAN (grabbing Burns' arm) Speak up! What do you know about this. BURNS (gently but firmly disengaging his hand) My dear Hartman! He moves casually to a post before the desk and maintains it. MURPHY Can that! Where is he? BURNS (to Sheriff) The Morning Post is not obstructing justice or hiding criminals. You ought to know that. HARTMAN No? Well -- (turning to Hildy) Johnson, you're under arrest. (turning to Burns) You, too, Burns. BURNS (calmly) Who's under arrest? You pimple-headed, square-toed spy -- do you realize what you're doing? HARTMAN I'll show you what I'm doing. Burns, you're guilty of obstructing justice and so is the Morning Post. I'm going to see that the Post is fined ten thousand dollars for this. BURNS You'll see nothing of the kind, Sheriff. HARTMAN We'll just start by impounding the Post property. (pointing to Bensinger's desk, addressing Hildy) Is that your desk? HILDY (jumping) No! BURNS (almost simultaneously) Yes! What are you afraid of Hildy? I dare him to move that desk out of here. HARTMAN Oh, you do, eh? (to deputies) All right, boys. Confiscate that desk. Several of the deputies start toward the desk. BURNS (trying to intercept deputies) Hartman, if you take this desk out of this building, I'll put you behind bars. HARTMAN You will, eh? Well, we'll see about that. (to deputies) All right, boys. Take it. BURNS I'm warning you -- it'll be a Federal offense. (to deputy nearest him) And you'll be an accessory! HARTMAN We'll take a chance on that, Burns. (to deputies) Go ahead, boys. (the deputies continue toward the desk) INT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT Flanked by two policemen, Mrs. Baldwin, dishevelled, with her hat over one ear, is marching toward the Press Room, bound for vengeance. Bruce, considerably upset, is with her. As they reach the door to the Press Room, Mrs. Baldwin stops. MRS. BALDWIN You wait outside, Bruce. BRUCE But, mother -- MRS. BALDWIN (firmly) No! You'll weaken when you see that little Jezebel! I'm going to tell her what I think of her! She plumps her hat down more firmly on her head and marches into the Press Room followed by the two policemen. Bruce remains outside the door. INT. PRESS ROOM Taking in door as it opens and Mrs. Baldwin, followed by the policemen, comes in. HILDY (leaping forward) Mother! MRS. BALDWIN (pointing out Burns to the officers) That man there! HILDY (hugging Mrs. Baldwin) Mother! Oh, I'm so glad to see you! Are you all right? Tell me. Mrs. Baldwin indignantly shakes her off. HARTMAN What's the idea here? POLICEMAN This lady claims she was kidnapped. HARTMAN What? MRS. BALDWIN They dragged me all the way down the stairs -- HARTMAN Just a minute. Did -- did -- (points to Burns) -- this man have anything to do with it? MRS. BALDWIN He was the one in charge of everything! He told them to kidnap me! BURNS (amazed) Are you referring to me, Madam? MRS. BALDWIN You know you did! HARTMAN What about this, Burns? Kidnapping, eh? BURNS (round-eyed) Oh, trying to frame me, eh! I never saw this woman before in my life! MRS. BALDWIN Oh, what a thing to say! I was standing right here - after the girl jumped out of the window. HARTMAN Did you get the Mayor? DEPUTY He's coming over. BURNS (to Mrs. Baldwin) Now, Madam -- be honest. If you were out joy-riding, drunk, and got into some scrape, why don't you admit it, instead of accusing innocent people? MRS. BALDWIN (beginning to doubt her senses) You ruffian! How dare you say a thing like that? HILDA Please, Mother, he's just crazy! MRS. BALDWIN (to Sheriff) I'll tell you something more. I'll tell you why they did it! BURNS (fidgeting) Come on, Sheriff. We've got to get bail. MRS. BALDWIN (continuing crescendo) I was in here -- and they had some kind of murderer in with them. They were hiding him! This is a bombshell. The room is electrified. HARTMAN Hiding him? In here? Murphy, followed by the reporters, comes into scene. MURPHY Hiding him where? HILDY Mother! REPORTERS Where was he?... Where'd they have him?... Etc. CLOSE SHOT BURNS at the desk. BURNS (with superb indignation) Madam, you're a cockeyed liar! And you know it! To emphasize his righteousness, he pounds on the desk three times, forgetting that that is his signal to Williams. Then, realizing what he has done, he gasps. MED. SHOT Burns advances from desk, the others retreating before him. BURNS (anxiously) Come on, Sheriff, we've got to get bail. Three answering knocks come from the desk. GROUP SHOT WITH DOORWAY IN B.G They jump around to face the desk. HARTMAN (whispering) What was that? REPORTERS AD LIB He's in the desk! -- For the love of -- He's in there! Etc. HARTMAN Aha! I thought so! Stand back, everybody! DEPUTY Look out, Sheriff. He may shoot! HARTMAN Get your guns out! The policemen and deputies get out their guns. HILDY He's harmless. HARTMAN Don't take any chances. Shoot through the desk. HILDY He can't hurt anybody. You've got his gun. MRS. BALDWIN (panic-stricken) Oh, dear! Oh, dear! BURNS You grey-haired old Judas! MRS. BALDWIN Let me out! Let me out of here! She streaks for the door, flings it open and goes. The reporters tear out of scene to their telephones. HARTMAN (to policeman) You stand there! MURPHY'S VOICE City Desk! Quick! SCHWARTZ' VOICE Gimme the Desk! HARTMAN (to another policeman) You there! ENDICOTT'S VOICE City Desk! Hurry! MCCUE'S VOICE Gimme Emil... HARTMAN (to a Deputy, pointing with his gun toward the window) You cover the window. MURPHY'S VOICE Look out where you're pointing that gun! The Sheriff draws his men in around the desk, their guns drawn on it. WILSON'S VOICE Lemme have the Desk! Quick! MURPHY'S VOICE Hold the wire! I've got a flash for you! BURNS (to Hildy) Call Duffy! HARTMAN No, you don't! BURNS (to Sheriff, furiously) Do you want to get us scooped? MCCUE'S VOICE Emil? Hang on for a second. HARTMAN Now then, everybody aim at the center. And when I say three -- HILDY That's murder! HARTMAN (changing his mind) All right! Carl! Frank! One of you get on each side of the desk. Take hold of the cover. They do. HARTMAN Now then! We got you covered, Williams. Don't try to move. Now! Everybody quiet and ready for an emergency. I'm going to count three. SCHWARTZ Hold it! Something coming up. HARTMAN One! ENDICOTT Hold the phone! MURPHY (into the phone) I'll have it in a minute. HARTMAN Two! WILSON (into phone) Right away now! HARTMAN (turning back to desk) Everybody ready? All right. Now then, up with it. Two deputies raise the cover. Williams is revealed, cowering in the desk, his hands over his face. The Sheriff rushes on him, jabbing his gun into him. CLOSE SHOT SHERIFF AND WILLIAMS HARTMAN Got you, Williams! WILLIAMS (a wail) Go on -- shoot me! MEDIUM SHOT as the police and deputies come in to assist the Sheriff. The reporters are telephoning in, the police shouting -- all the voices mixing in, in incredible confusion, as the Sheriff rushes Williams to the door and takes him out. MURPHY'S VOICE Earl Williams was just captured in the Press Room of the Criminal Courts Building, hiding in a desk. OFFICERS AD LIB (all talking at once) Grab him! That's him! Don't let him shoot! Stick 'em up! -- Etc. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) ...Williams in a rolltop -- CLOSEUP WILSON AT PHONE WILSON (into phone) -- nabbed Williams hiding -- ENDICOTT'S VOICE -- found Williams' hiding place. SCHWARTZ' VOICE He offered no resistance. CLOSEUP MCCUE AT PHONE MCCUE (into phone) Williams put up a desperate struggle but the police overpowered -- CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) -- tried to shoot it out with the cops but his gun wouldn't work, so -- WILSON'S VOICE -- trying to break through the cordon of police -- CLOSEUP ENDICOTT AT PHONE ENDICOTT (into phone) Williams was unconscious when they opened the desk -- CLOSEUP BURNS grabbing the Post phone. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Morning Post just turned Earl Williams over to the Sheriff. CLOSE SHOT THE SHERIFF coming in the door with two policemen and leaping to get the phone away from Burns. MED. SHOT BURNS AT PHONE, HILDY BESIDE HIM BURNS (into phone) Duffy! The Sheriff and police come into scene. HARTMAN (indicating Burns and Hildy) Put the cuffs on those two! The police handcuff Hildy and Burns. ENDICOTT An anonymous note received by the Sheriff led to Williams' capture. More later. He hangs up. CLOSEUP MURPHY AT PHONE MURPHY (into phone) An old sweetheart of Williams' doublecrossed him. Call you back. He hangs up. MED. SHOT TAKING IN DOOR REPORTERS Where's that old lady? Hey, Madam! Where'd she go? Where's the old dame? Etc., etc. They run out after Mrs. Baldwin, the Mayor entering just after they go. Burns and Hildy, handcuffed together, stand near the Sheriff. HARTMAN (into phone) Hello, girlie -- gimme Cooley. Quick! BURNS Hartwell, you're going to wish you'd never been born! The Mayor comes into scene. MAYOR Fine work, Pete! You certainly delivered the goods. I'm proud of you. HARTMAN (holding the phone) Look kind o' natural, don't they, Fred? MAYOR (happily) A sight for sore eyes! HARTMAN (rolling in catnip) Aiding an escaped criminal! And a little charge of kidnapping I'm looking into. (into phone; suddenly) But that's the jail! There must be somebody there! MAYOR Well! Looks like about ten years apiece for you birds! BURNS Does it? You forget the power that always watches over the Morning Post. MAYOR Your luck's not with you now! HARTMAN (into phone) Cooley?... I caught Williams single- handed -- we're going to proceed with the hanging per schedule! He wiggles the hook for another call. BURNS (to Mayor) You're going to be in office for exactly two days more and then we're pulling your nose out of the feed bag. HARTMAN (into phone) Give me the District Attorney's office. (to Burns) I'll tell you what you'll be doing -- making brooms in the State penitentiary. (into phone) Hello, D'Arrasty! This is Hartwell. Come over to my office, will you? I've just arrested a couple of important birds and I want to take their confessions. He hangs up. Burns makes a sudden lunge for the Morning Post phone and cries into it. BURNS (into phone) Duffy! Get Liebowitz! MAYOR All the lawyers in the world aren't going to help you! BURNS This is the Morning Post you're talking to! MAYOR (enjoying himself) The power of the press, huh! He laughs. Pinkus, the Governor's messenger, plentifully stewed, reels in the door. He approaches the Mayor and Sheriff who have their backs to him. BURNS (at the Mayor) Bigger men than you have found out what the power of the press is... President!... Yes -- and Kings! PINKUS (woozy; handing Sheriff the reprieve over his shoulder) Here's your reprieve. The Mayor and Sheriff spin around. MAYOR (in a panic) Get out of here! PINKUS You can't bribe me! BURNS What's this? HARTMAN Get out of here, you! PINKUS I

typing

How many times the word 'typing' appears in the text?

wire bows against his shin, and... Gordy ducks, covers the Man in the Yankees Cap, and... Nothing happens. The young man just stands there, frozen in position, his leg still bowing the line. (CONTINUED) 48. 117 CONTINUED: 117 Using the Zippo again to light his way, Gordy advances to the young man. He follows the trip wire to where a Coca- Cola can hangs from a nearby tree. On closer inspection, Gordy can see the can is sleeved around a grenade. There's no pin in the grenade. The can keeps the grenade's arming spoon in place. The trip wire's designed to yank the can off, allowing the grenade to explode at chest level... And the can's almost off. Gordy burns through the monofilament trip wire. Then carefully slides the Coke can back over the grenade. 118 MAN IN YANKEES CAP - MOMENTS LATER 118 When Gordy returns, the man's dead. OFF Gordy, looking down at the NY logo on the cap... 119 EXT./INT. ANOTHER CHIVA - DAY 119 Gordy sees a sign for a town as the chiva rumbles along. He pulls out his map. 120 INSERT - MAP 120 Gordy finds the town, which lies along a river. He traces a road from the town. The road runs south through the town of Mompos, and eventually reaches Caguan, the ELC capital. 121 BACK TO SCENE 121 A COLOMBIAN WOMAN is looking over Gordy's shoulder. COLOMBIAN WOMAN No autobusses para este lugar. Solamente el barco en el rio. She leans over, traces the river, which also runs to Caguan. COLOMBIAN WOMAN El rio. 122 EXT. FERRY DOCK - DAY 122 The FERRY'S WHISTLE TOOTS. Lines are cast off. (CONTINUED) 49. 122 CONTINUED: 122 Two plainclothes federales have been watching the ferry load and now relax their vigil. One man holds a Xerox of Gordy's passport photo. The other bites into an empanada, which breaks open and spills its contents down the front of his shirt. His partner finds it funny. He doesn't. And while their attention's occupied... Gordy hurries by, oblivious to the federales' presence, and just manages to hop onto the ferry as it pulls away. 123 EXT. FERRY - DAY 123 The ferry's the only means of travel south, and it's packed. Gordy picks his way through. The only other gringo on the boat is a geek in a plaid shirt and gimme hat that says "Deerborn." The geek, PHILIP ARMSTRONG, looks like a talker, and Gordy tries to avoid eye contact. He's too late. ARMSTRONG Hey, yo, dude, here's a seat, man! GORDY No, that's okay -- But Armstrong's already throwing a bag off the bench. ARMSTRONG I was hoping for someone I could communicate with. He sees Gordy hasn't moved. ARMSTRONG Only room's at the back near the bano, and I'd advise against it, unless you like poop. Beat. Gordy sits. Immediately -- ARMSTRONG Philip Armstrong. Assiniboia, Sasketchewan, Canada. (indicates his hat) Deerborn Heavy Equipment. GORDY ... Gordy Pitt. ARMSTRONG Hey, howya doing? I love Germany. (CONTINUED) 50. 123 CONTINUED: 123 GORDY Austria. American now. ARMSTRONG I love America. Never been to Austria. Where from in America would that be? GORDY New York City. ARMSTRONG I don't like New York City. Buildings're too big. What kinda work you in? GORDY (hesitates, then) Coffee. I buy beans. ARMSTRONG Can't drink caffeine. Makes my stomach do the rumba. I like that commercial guy with the sombrero and the mule, though. Headed upstream, eh? Where to? GORDY Caguan. ARMSTRONG ... You've never been to Caguan, eh? GORDY How do you know? ARMSTRONG 'Cause no one in their right mind would ever go back. Caguan's in the guerrilla zone run by the E.L.C. E.L.C. as in 'Extra Loathsome Communists.' They don't care, and they kill. I'm going there myself. But I have a 'get outta jail free' card. Armstrong doffs his cap, undoes a safety pin securing a card inside the crown. Shows it to Gordy. Sotto -- (CONTINUED) 51. 123 CONTINUED: (2) 123 ARMSTRONG E.L.C. travel pass. I can go anywhere I want. (by way of explanation) Everyone needs equipment fixed. Armstrong carefully returns the card to the hat. And now his voice takes on a noticeably more measured tone -- ARMSTRONG If you don't have one of these, you don't want to be up there, Gordy. Beat. Gordy's contemplating the warning, when his eyes go to a small, sleepy boy standing nearby on the cramped deck, leaning against his father. Gordy reaches over and taps the boy. The boy looks over. Shrinks away at the sight of the large gringo. The father notices and looks at Gordy, who stands, indicates his seat. GORDY Por favor. The father's also apprehensive, doesn't move. GORDY Con mucho gusto. Finally, the father accepts, sits down with the sleepy boy on his lap. Nods his thanks at Gordy, who then gazes down at the son. A kid about Matt's age. Armstrong recognizes the look of a caring dad. ARMSTRONG Got kids, eh? OFF Armstrong, as Gordy walks away... 124 EXT. JUNGLE - DAY 124 Two Colombian armed man wearing guerrilla uniforms bearing a distinctive ELC patch are walking a trail, when the man in front notices something odd. He stops. Leads the other man back a few steps. Looks into the foliage along the trail. Something doesn't seem right. He extends his AK-47. Prods a hump of greenery with the rifle butt, and in a flash... The greenery suddenly transforms into two men wearing face-paint and full-body military camouflage gear and pointing twin cocked-and-locked CAR-15 assault rifles at the heads of the startled guerrillas. 52. 125 EXT. CIA HACIENDA - DAY 125 Brandt stubs a butt as a Colombian SOG group does killer training nearby. Updegraf opens the door. To Brandt -- UPDEGRAF One of Rocha's infiltration teams just radioed in... We got our big break... 126 EXT. FERRY - DAY 126 Gordy stands along the rail looking out at the lush, beautiful countryside sliding past. Armstrong joins him. ARMSTRONG That little kid and I had a nice, long snooze... We're almost to Mompos. (gazing out) Beautiful country. GORDY It better be. A lotta people're dying for it. ARMSTRONG (looks overboard) Y'know, I haven't noticed one darn body floating downstream this whole trip, have you? Gordy doesn't respond. Beat. GORDY I was thinking... Maybe we could travel together into Caguan. You could show me around. ARMSTRONG (shakes his head) Pass is only good for one person, if that's your idea, which I think it is... Besides, I can't risk traveling around up there in the company of a big gringo with a dumb-ass cover story about coffee beans. Gordy looks over. Armstrong smiles back. Beat. (CONTINUED) 53. 126 CONTINUED: 126 GORDY I've got money. I'll buy the pass from you. ARMSTRONG I've worked too hard for it. And you don't have that kind of money on you. GORDY I'll be getting some life insurance money -- ARMSTRONG (shaking his head) It's all cash and carry down here, Gordy. The FERRY WHISTLE TOOTS. ARMSTRONG Mompos... You want to have some fun, we'll hook up later. I always schedule a stopover. To sample the local wares and such. (winks) Life can be what you make it here on the frontier. GORDY No, thanks. ARMSTRONG Gotta get off the boat anyway. Mompos is the last stop. From here into the guerrilla zone you can only travel by panga... If you change your mind, I'll be at the Tropicale later. It's a gringo bar. Just follow the cockroaches. 127 NEW ANGLE 127 They see the beginnings of Mompos. Two 4x4 trucks are parked on the riverbank. Lean, clean-cut men in jeans, tight shirts, cowboy boots and sunglasses lean on the truck and watch the ferry pass. ARMSTRONG Sicarios. Death squads. Avoid those dudes at all costs. 54. 128 SAME SCENE - FEW MOMENTS LATER 128 The ferry pulls up to the dock. The dock street is a culture clash of shanty bars and Amazon Indian traders, of big-wheel SUVs and mule carts. There's a definite air of menace. ARMSTRONG Federales are looking for someone. Gordy follows Armstrong's look to two plain-clothes federales, one fat and one thin, standing near the dock watching the boat pull up. When Gordy glances back, Armstrong is gone. 129 EXT. MOMPOS FERRY DOCK - DAY 129 Gordy disembarks amid the throng of passengers, when the FAT FEDERALE confronts him. FAT FEDERALE Senor Pitt? Gordy looks up in surprise at him and the thin federale backing him up. FAT FEDERALE You'll have to come with us. GORDY Why? FAT FEDERALE Come with us, please. He clamps a hand on Gordy's arm. Gordy shakes it off and starts running. Almost immediately, he's tackled to the ground by the thin federale. Two more federales join in. Gordy's not gonna go down easy, though. Even as only one against four, Gordy's a formidable challenge. He's strong, and he's committed all the way. He's not getting kicked out of this country again. It's not a clean or artful fight. There's no karate. It's four men trying to tackle a bull, and... The bull gets away. 130 EXT./INT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 130 Gordy sprints down streets with the federales in pursuit. 55. 131 GORDY 131 jukes into a local bar. 132 ANOTHER ANGLE 132 Gordy pounds out the back of the bar into a littered courtyard, where he's surrounded by ten-foot walls. 133 FEDERALES 133 blast through the bar. 134 GORDY 134 runs, jumps, launches off a beer keg, and... 135 TOP OF WALL 135 He reaches the top of the wall and pulls himself up. He's looking out across a block-long run of corrugated tin roofs. Takes off across the roofs, each step thundering, as... 136 FEDERALES 136 burst into the courtyard. Two men hastily build a stack of boxes, etc., against the wall. 137 GORDY 137 runs as fast as he can across the rooftops, when... A section of roof gives way beneath his feet, just as... 138 NEW ANGLE 138 One of the federales finally mounts the wall, looks across the rooftops... and Gordy's gone. 139 GORDY 139 lands inside a warehouse room amid sacks of rice, beans and coffee. The building is dark and dusty. He lies still and listens. FOOTSTEPS approach across the tin roof overhead. Gordy burrows into the bags of rice, pulls them over him. 56. 140 FEDERALE 140 on the roof peers down through the hole. Scans the warehouse room below with a mini-Mag-Lite. 141 GORDY 141 sees the flashlight beam move past. He holds his breath. Beat. Then the FOOTSTEPS pass on, RECEDE down the roof. And Gordy can breathe again. 142 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - NIGHT 142 Gordy makes his way along the main drag of the frontier town. A noisy, neon-lit strip of bars and brothels. Everyone's packing a gun. A new Dodge City, where death squad sicarios cruise past in 4x4's BLARING SALSA. 143 INT. TROPICALE - NIGHT 143 In here, the MUSIC'S LOUD ROCK 'N' ROLL. Gringo music for a gringo bar. The place is busy, with plenty of local "hostesses" for the men. Even Armstrong, standing half-crocked at the bar, is flanked by two scantily-clad women. He's got a spoon hanging off his nose. So does one of the girls. Armstrong's trying to hang a spoon on the other. Gordy slips into the bar. Spots Armstrong through the crowd. Sees Armstrong's not wearing his cap, when... The girl with the spoon on her nose turns slightly, revealing she's wearing the cap. It's on backwards, but now Gordy can see the "Deerborn" logo clearly. Gordy wants the guerrilla travel pass inside the cap. It's a desperate move, but he's got no choice. Starts toward the girl, when... Gordy sees the thin federale enter the front door. The thin federale sees him at the same time. Begins moving in on him. Gordy moves faster toward the girl. And... The girl unwittingly does him a favor by taking off the cap and setting it on the bar, where it's easier to grab, and then turns her attention to Armstrong's antics. The thin detective fights through the crowd after Gordy. Gordy's almost to the hat. (CONTINUED) 57. 143 CONTINUED: 143 Armstrong's still having trouble with the second girl's spoon. ARMSTRONG I never met a nose I couldn't hang a spoon on. Gordy reaches the bar, snags the cap. Glances back, sees the thin federale closing in, turns to run out the back, when... A strong hand stops him. The hand belongs to the Fat Federale. And now the thin federale's there, too, wielding a stun gun where Gordy can see it. People in the bar fall silent. Everyone but Armstrong, who's finally hung the spoon on the second girl's nose. ARMSTRONG Yahtzee! And now Armstong also realizes something's up. Turns and sees Gordy. Sees the cap in Gordy's hand as the Fat Federale addresses Gordy -- FAT FEDERALE Come along, Mr. Pitt. Whereupon Armstrong shouts drunkenly at Gordy -- ARMSTRONG Police catch you trying to steal my hat, you asshole?! He staggers toward Gordy. Grabs the hat. ARMSTRONG Fucking hat thief! Armstrong takes a drunken swing at Gordy, but... Instead of hitting Gordy, Armstrong accidentally-on- purpose clocks the fat detective. Then hisses into Gordy's ear, clearly not that drunk -- ARMSTRONG Get outta here -- But then Armstrong's legs won't work as the thin federale jams the stun gun against his neck, and 10,000 volts surprise the Armstrong neural network. Gordy moves against the thin federale in anger, when... The Fat Federale ZAPS him with another STUN GUN, just behind the ear... And Gordy gets to know the floor, too. 58. 144 EXT. MOMPOS JAIL - NIGHT 144 The building's ancient, constructed of wood and adobe. 145 INT. MOMPOS JAIL - CELL - NIGHT 145 The jail might be old, but the cells are secure enough. They're also unsanitary and thoroughly unpleasant. Gordy and Armstrong are led in by the federales. The Fat Federale has Armstrong's hat. He looks it over, wondering why Gordy wanted it. Then decides he could give a fuck and tosses it to Armstrong. Clangs the cell door shut and locks it. Leaves shaking his head. FAT FEDERALE Gringos... Armstrong's still unsteady on his feet and sits down on the metal bunk. ARMSTRONG That stun gun wasn't cool. Armstrong looks down at himself. ARMSTRONG Haven't peed my pants in a real long time. GORDY (beat) You shouldn't have helped me. ARMSTRONG Yeah, well, I guess all these assholes down here are just starting on my nerves. Gordy's silent. It's over. He's come up short. He's going home. ARMSTRONG So what the hell did you do to land us in here? And don't jerk me around, eh? Beat. Gordy sits. GORDY The Wolf killed my wife and son in New York. (CONTINUED) 59. 145 CONTINUED: 145 ARMSTRONG ... Oh, you're that guy, eh? I'm sorry, man... And what, you came down here to even things out? Gordy just looks at him. ARMSTRONG Did you even have a plan? GORDY Yeah. Go to Caguan, find The Wolf and kill him. Armstrong just shakes his head. Beat. 146 DOOR TO CELL AREA 146 BANGS open. Federales lead in two men -- the two guerrillas surprised earlier by the heavy-camouflaged infiltrators. The federales are armed with batons and stun guns, taking no chances. It's clear the rebels weren't brought here without a struggle, either -- both are cut and bruised. The tougher-looking of the two has taken a real beating. This beaten man is jammed face- first against the bars of Gordy's cell. He makes eye contact with Gordy while the other rebel is unbound and put into a cell. Then the beaten man is shoved into the cell. A solid, brick wall separates them from Gordy and Armstrong. Armstrong's seen the patches on their uniforms. To Gordy, sotto -- ARMSTRONG E.L.C. Beat. Armstrong sees the look on Gordy's face. By way of a warning -- ARMSTRONG If you can't kill them, don't even talk to them. The GUERRILLAS are MURMURING in the other cell. One of them LAUGHS. OFF Gordy, listening to the LAUGHING... 147 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL - NIGHT 147 Two or three A.M. Armstrong's dozing. Gordy's still listening to the MURMURING of the REBELS on the other side of the wall, when... (CONTINUED) 60. 147 CONTINUED: 147 There's a flurry of activity outside the cell area. The door opens. Soldiers enter with some federales. Gordy watches the soldiers move past his cell. Rocha is with them. And then... Brandt appears at the bars, looks in at Gordy. BRANDT Enjoy your trip? Gordy stands, approaches. BRANDT We asked you to leave it to us. GORDY And you guys still haven't got him. BRANDT It's not over yet... The guys next door are in The Wolf's elite bodyguard unit. Where he goes, they go. We're gonna ask questions. And we're gonna get answers... And you're staying right here till our bomber's dead. Brandt goes. Moments later, a TORTURED SCREAM is heard on the other side of the brick wall, waking Armstrong with a start. 148 EXT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - NIGHT 148 In a field near Mompos, a canopied truck backs into position. Men in guerrilla uniforms with ELC patches get out and pull back the canopy, revealing mortar tubes pointing skyward on a bed of sand. 149 ELC GUERRILLA 149 unit armed with AK-47s and Light Anti-Tank Weapons (LAWs) infiltrates the town. 150 ANOTHER TWO-MAN ELC GUERRILLA TEAM 150 sets up a single mortar position overlooking the town. One of the men checks his watch. Beat. He signals. The other man drops a MORTAR down the tube. WHUMP. 61. 151 TWO MORTARS 151 go in the tubes on the truck. WHUMP, WHUMP. 152 ANOTHER ANGLE 152 BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! A water tower, the Mompos fire station and the town's power supply are direct hits. WHUMP, WHUMP, WHUMP... 153 INT. JAIL - CELLS 153 People react to the sounds of the MORTAR ATTACK on the town. The lights go out. Brandt, Rocha and their men quickly lock the guerrillas in their cell and head out. 154 EXT. JAIL 154 As MORTARS CONTINUE to fall on the rest of the town, the unit of guerrilla infiltrators open up on the front of the jail with LAW ROCKETS. 155 EXT./INT. JAIL 155 KA-BOOM! The front door and wall of the jail disintegrate under the multiple LAW attack. 156 NEW ANGLE 156 Brandt, Rocha and the soldiers, approaching the front door inside, are hammered by the massive concussion of the BLAST and flung across the room, apparently dead. 157 ANOTHER ANGLE 157 The powerful, concussive shock-wave channels into the cell area. Gordy's slightly protected by a wall. Armstrong, standing at the bars, is thrown into the opposite wall and knocked unconscious. 158 GUERRILLAS 158 charge inside with AKs BLAZING. Surviving soldiers and federales SHOOT back. The blasts have caused fires in the building. Severed wires spark, creating more fire. Flames begin to spread through the tinder-dry structure. (CONTINUED) 62. 158 CONTINUED: 158 The guerrillas take out the soldiers and federales, with few casualties to themselves. They make their way toward the cell area. EXPLODING AMMO and stored FUEL CANS accelerate the fire. 159 NEW ANGLE 159 The guerrillas reach the cells. Two men see Gordy and draw down on him. The others move to the next cell. Guerrillas plant small explosive charges on the hinges of the cell containing their two captured comrades. Beat. The HINGES BLOW. The beaten man and the rebel with him are freed, and the guerrillas quickly retreat the way they came. Gordy sees flames spreading into the cell area. 160 GUERRILLAS 160 exit the fiery jail past Brandt. We see Brandt's not dead. 161 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - OUTSIDE JAIL 161 A truck pulls up. The guerrillas get in. The TRUCK SCREECHES OUT as... 162 4X4 162 full of sicarios SKIDS onto the street, far ahead of the truck. The sicario driving punches it, and... 163 TWO TRUCKS 163 ROAR toward each other. A game of chicken. With GUNS. Men in both vehicles OPEN UP -- the sicarios with magnums and Uzis, the guerrillas with AKs. SLUGS RIP through automotive steel. Casualties are taken. When... 164 SICARIO 164 driving the 4x4 receives a round in the forehead, cranks over the steering wheel, and... 63. 165 SPEEDING 4X4 165 does a Paris-to-Dakar road rally flip, twisting and somersaulting, and... 166 NEW ANGLE 166 The 4x4 catapults completely over the guerrillas' truck, disintegrating into spare parts and dead occupants, as... 167 GUERRILLAS 167 ROAR off. 168 EXT./INT. JAIL 168 A severely-dazed Brandt, bleeding from the nose and ears, slowly gets to his knees, crawls out of the burning building and collapses outside. 169 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL 169 There's fire and smoke everywhere. Gordy picks up the metal bunk and slams it against a wall. Slams it again. Breaks the metal apart. Then levers a long side rail in the cell door. He heaves. Heaves again. The fire's licking at him, but Gordy's undeterred. He heaves again, and... This time, the door gives. Gordy picks up Armstrong's cap, then picks up Armstrong, who's starting to come around. Puts Armstrong over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. GORDY Don't breathe. ARMSTRONG (weakly) You're not running through the fire, eh? GORDY Close your mouth. Because running through the fire is just what Gordy's gonna do. As he disappears into the flames... 170 EXT. JAIL - NIGHT 170 The town's in complete chaos. There are fires everywhere. (CONTINUED) 64. 170 CONTINUED: 170 Still stunned and bleeding, Brandt looks from where he lies on the ground as... Gordy bursts out of the inferno carrying Armstrong. They're singed and smoking, but they're alive. Gordy drops Armstrong, pats himself and Armstrong down, knocking out the burning embers on their clothes and hair, when... Gordy's eyes meet Brandt's. The two men hold the look for a moment. If Brandt could speak, he'd be yelling at Gordy to stop, not to go on. And Gordy knows it. But Gordy's not stopping. Picks up Armstrong again and moves off toward the waterfront. 171 EXT. MOMPOS WATERFRONT - NIGHT 171 There's less chaos here. The fires are in the distance. Gordy arrives carrying Armstrong. Sets him down. GORDY I'll find a boat to take us upriver. He starts to go. Armstrong stops him. ARMSTRONG No. I told you. The pass is only good for one person. And you're too dangerous to travel with. Beat. Gordy reaches over and takes Armstrong's cap. He looks inside. There's no pass. ARMSTRONG It hasn't been there since we landed. Gordy's at a loss. He tosses the cap back. Just looks at Armstrong. Beat. Armstrong sighs. ARMSTRONG Aw, hell... I was through with this place anyway... He takes off a boot. Shakes out some money and the pass. He hands the pass to Gordy. (CONTINUED) 65. 171 CONTINUED: 171 ARMSTRONG I'll call ahead and tell Felix I'm not coming, and you're my replacement. He'll meet you in Caguan and take you to the plantation... What do you know about diesel engines? GORDY All the fire trucks are diesels. ARMSTRONG You'll have to be Austrian, eh? They hate Americans. Name's gotta change, too, in case they're watching the news. (beat) It'll buy you a little time to look around Caguan. But you'll never find The Wolf. Beat. Gordy sticks out his hand. GORDY Heinrich Beckmann. ARMSTRONG Huh? GORDY My Austrian name. Armstrong shakes hands with Gordy. Armstrong doesn't let loose right away. Beat. ARMSTRONG Luck got you this far. But up there, luck doesn't make it. I hope you know you're gonna die. OFF Gordy, about to step over another line... 172 EXT. RIVER - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 172 As dawn breaks over the river, FIND Gordy sitting in a motored panga being steered by a local BOATMAN. Gordy reaches into a pocket and pulls out the photo of Anne and Matt. He looks at it for a few moments. Then pockets it again. 173 SAME SCENE - LATER 173 The panga passes a dead body floating downstream. 66. 174 SAME SCENE - LATER 174 The panga passes revolutionary banners and signs lining the riverbank. BOATMAN La zona guerrillera. 175 SAME SCENE - MOMENTS LATER 175 The panga rounds a bend, and... Two souped-up bass boats filled with heavily-armed ELC guerrillas move to intercept it. The Boatman slows, puts the panga in neutral and keeps his hands in sight. One boat of guerrillas pulls alongside. The other sheers off and stops a short distance away, ready to open fire. Gordy shows the guerrillas his travel pass. One of them takes it. Reads. Looks Gordy over. Then starts to rip the pass in half, when... He stops. Grins. It's a big joke. He hands back the pass, searches the boat quickly and waves the panga on. OFF Gordy's relief as the panga heads on... 176 EXT. CAGUAN TOWN DOCK - DAY 176 The panga arrives, and Gordy gets out. He's met by FELIX. Felix has a 9mm in a shoulder holster. Felix doesn't look the least bit happy. FELIX Beckmann. GORDY Yeah. FELIX Come with me. Felix leads him towards a Land Cruiser. FELIX Armstrong should have called sooner. We don't like changes here... If I didn't need the equipment fixed, I'd send you back. (CONTINUED) 67. 176 CONTINUED: 176 They reach the Land Cruiser. FELIX But now we have to see the E.L.C. Supervisor for Caguan. It's a prospect that seems to concern Felix almost as much as Gordy. Off which, as they get into the Toyota... 177 INT. ELC SUPERVISOR'S OFFICE - DAY 177 The ELC SUPERVISOR for Caguan may be a Marxist, but the clean, well-ordered office is nicely appointed, with a big-screen Sony and leather furniture. The TV's TUNED TO CNN. A photo on the wall depicts him as a younger man wearing guerrilla cammies bearing with an ELC patch and holding an AK-47. A brass nameplate reading "Supervisor" rests on a neat desk, behind which stands the man himself -- a hardened, former guerrilla fighter proud of his position. He's not in cammies now -- his uniform now consists of casual but nice tropical clothing and a fat Rolex. Felix is a subordinate here. He and Gordy stand across the desk as the Supervisor examines Gordy's travel pass. Gordy's nervous about what could appear on the TV in the b.g., but tries not to show it. ELC SUPERVISOR Your passport was stolen. GORDY In Mompos. ELC SUPERVISOR ... Mompos is a shithole. Not like Caguan... Why didn't Armstrong come? GORDY He was arrested in Ecuador. He got drunk and fooled around with a police officer's wife. The Supervisor just looks at him, assessing Gordy's face for signs he's lying. Gordy's expression stays the same. Felix respectfully interjects. It's almost a plea. FELIX (in Spanish) We need to fix the equipment. We have delivery deadlines to meet. (CONTINUED) 68. 177 CONTINUED: 177 A long beat. The ELC Supervisor hands the travel pass back to Gordy. In a hard tone to Felix -- ELC SUPERVISOR (in Spanish) He's your responsibility. Don't let him out of your sight. FELIX Si. Gracias. As Felix leads Gordy away... 178 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER (CAGUAN) - DAY 178 Gordy and Felix pull away from the Supervisor's H.Q. Felix resumes his former tone of command. FELIX The Supervisor made you my responsibility... You don't go anywhere without me, you understand? GORDY No problemo. Gordy peers out the window intently as they drive, looking for a lucky break, looking for The Wolf, searching the face of every man. He doesn't see The Wolf, but what he does see surprises him. The ELC Supervisor was right: Caguan's no Mompos. It's a third- world town, armed troops are visible, and there's a lot of bad shit behind Colombia's revolutionaries, but here the streets are calm and orderly. It's quiet, almost eerie, as people go about their business. OFF Gordy, seeing another side of the guerrillas... 179 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER/COUNTRY ROAD - DAY 179 Felix turns off at the entrance to a lane leading to the plantation. The entrance is guarded by a 4X4 "Rat Patrol" assault truck and four heavily armed ELC guerrillas. GORDY The E.L.C. guards your coffee beans? Felix thinks he's joking. Until he looks over and sees Gordy's actually being sincere. (CONTINUED) 69. 179 CONTINUED: 179 FELIX ... Coffee beans? Shit. Armstrong didn't tell you much... 180 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER - PLANTATION - DAY 180 They approach a hacienda and outbuildings. The accoutrements of agriculture are present -- tractors, sheds, cats, etc. -- but clearly, this is no family farm. There are lots of serious-looking men around. More ELC guerrillas stand guard. 181 FELIX 181 stops the car. He and Gordy get out. Felix begins leading Gordy toward two rows of long, open-walled sheds. FELIX The problem's with the diesel generators. The sons-of-bitches keep breaking down. 182 NEW ANGLE 182 They pass four very large pits, where green leaves steep in a thick, foul-smelling liquid. FELIX We're using portables to keep production going, but they don't supply enough power to the heat lamps, and we have to dry a lot of... 'coffee beans.' 183 ANOTHER ANGLE 183 They're now walking between the two rows of sheds, where portable gas GENERATORS THRUM, and... Gordy can see long, wide platforms inside. Above the platforms are multiple arrays of powerful heat lamps. Spread out and drying beneath them is a half-acre or two of converted cocaine. 184 IN ANOTHER SHED 184 workers pack and wrap one-kilo bricks of coke for shipment. 70. 185 GORDY AND FELIX 185 approach the two giant diesel generators. FELIX We can fix anything, but these keep dying on us... You'll start now. I'll have tools brought to you. (beat) Armstrong's a magician with them. Let's hope you have his skill. Felix walks over to a guerrilla with an AK-47 and speaks to him. Then goes. Whereupon the

structure

How many times the word 'structure' appears in the text?

wire bows against his shin, and... Gordy ducks, covers the Man in the Yankees Cap, and... Nothing happens. The young man just stands there, frozen in position, his leg still bowing the line. (CONTINUED) 48. 117 CONTINUED: 117 Using the Zippo again to light his way, Gordy advances to the young man. He follows the trip wire to where a Coca- Cola can hangs from a nearby tree. On closer inspection, Gordy can see the can is sleeved around a grenade. There's no pin in the grenade. The can keeps the grenade's arming spoon in place. The trip wire's designed to yank the can off, allowing the grenade to explode at chest level... And the can's almost off. Gordy burns through the monofilament trip wire. Then carefully slides the Coke can back over the grenade. 118 MAN IN YANKEES CAP - MOMENTS LATER 118 When Gordy returns, the man's dead. OFF Gordy, looking down at the NY logo on the cap... 119 EXT./INT. ANOTHER CHIVA - DAY 119 Gordy sees a sign for a town as the chiva rumbles along. He pulls out his map. 120 INSERT - MAP 120 Gordy finds the town, which lies along a river. He traces a road from the town. The road runs south through the town of Mompos, and eventually reaches Caguan, the ELC capital. 121 BACK TO SCENE 121 A COLOMBIAN WOMAN is looking over Gordy's shoulder. COLOMBIAN WOMAN No autobusses para este lugar. Solamente el barco en el rio. She leans over, traces the river, which also runs to Caguan. COLOMBIAN WOMAN El rio. 122 EXT. FERRY DOCK - DAY 122 The FERRY'S WHISTLE TOOTS. Lines are cast off. (CONTINUED) 49. 122 CONTINUED: 122 Two plainclothes federales have been watching the ferry load and now relax their vigil. One man holds a Xerox of Gordy's passport photo. The other bites into an empanada, which breaks open and spills its contents down the front of his shirt. His partner finds it funny. He doesn't. And while their attention's occupied... Gordy hurries by, oblivious to the federales' presence, and just manages to hop onto the ferry as it pulls away. 123 EXT. FERRY - DAY 123 The ferry's the only means of travel south, and it's packed. Gordy picks his way through. The only other gringo on the boat is a geek in a plaid shirt and gimme hat that says "Deerborn." The geek, PHILIP ARMSTRONG, looks like a talker, and Gordy tries to avoid eye contact. He's too late. ARMSTRONG Hey, yo, dude, here's a seat, man! GORDY No, that's okay -- But Armstrong's already throwing a bag off the bench. ARMSTRONG I was hoping for someone I could communicate with. He sees Gordy hasn't moved. ARMSTRONG Only room's at the back near the bano, and I'd advise against it, unless you like poop. Beat. Gordy sits. Immediately -- ARMSTRONG Philip Armstrong. Assiniboia, Sasketchewan, Canada. (indicates his hat) Deerborn Heavy Equipment. GORDY ... Gordy Pitt. ARMSTRONG Hey, howya doing? I love Germany. (CONTINUED) 50. 123 CONTINUED: 123 GORDY Austria. American now. ARMSTRONG I love America. Never been to Austria. Where from in America would that be? GORDY New York City. ARMSTRONG I don't like New York City. Buildings're too big. What kinda work you in? GORDY (hesitates, then) Coffee. I buy beans. ARMSTRONG Can't drink caffeine. Makes my stomach do the rumba. I like that commercial guy with the sombrero and the mule, though. Headed upstream, eh? Where to? GORDY Caguan. ARMSTRONG ... You've never been to Caguan, eh? GORDY How do you know? ARMSTRONG 'Cause no one in their right mind would ever go back. Caguan's in the guerrilla zone run by the E.L.C. E.L.C. as in 'Extra Loathsome Communists.' They don't care, and they kill. I'm going there myself. But I have a 'get outta jail free' card. Armstrong doffs his cap, undoes a safety pin securing a card inside the crown. Shows it to Gordy. Sotto -- (CONTINUED) 51. 123 CONTINUED: (2) 123 ARMSTRONG E.L.C. travel pass. I can go anywhere I want. (by way of explanation) Everyone needs equipment fixed. Armstrong carefully returns the card to the hat. And now his voice takes on a noticeably more measured tone -- ARMSTRONG If you don't have one of these, you don't want to be up there, Gordy. Beat. Gordy's contemplating the warning, when his eyes go to a small, sleepy boy standing nearby on the cramped deck, leaning against his father. Gordy reaches over and taps the boy. The boy looks over. Shrinks away at the sight of the large gringo. The father notices and looks at Gordy, who stands, indicates his seat. GORDY Por favor. The father's also apprehensive, doesn't move. GORDY Con mucho gusto. Finally, the father accepts, sits down with the sleepy boy on his lap. Nods his thanks at Gordy, who then gazes down at the son. A kid about Matt's age. Armstrong recognizes the look of a caring dad. ARMSTRONG Got kids, eh? OFF Armstrong, as Gordy walks away... 124 EXT. JUNGLE - DAY 124 Two Colombian armed man wearing guerrilla uniforms bearing a distinctive ELC patch are walking a trail, when the man in front notices something odd. He stops. Leads the other man back a few steps. Looks into the foliage along the trail. Something doesn't seem right. He extends his AK-47. Prods a hump of greenery with the rifle butt, and in a flash... The greenery suddenly transforms into two men wearing face-paint and full-body military camouflage gear and pointing twin cocked-and-locked CAR-15 assault rifles at the heads of the startled guerrillas. 52. 125 EXT. CIA HACIENDA - DAY 125 Brandt stubs a butt as a Colombian SOG group does killer training nearby. Updegraf opens the door. To Brandt -- UPDEGRAF One of Rocha's infiltration teams just radioed in... We got our big break... 126 EXT. FERRY - DAY 126 Gordy stands along the rail looking out at the lush, beautiful countryside sliding past. Armstrong joins him. ARMSTRONG That little kid and I had a nice, long snooze... We're almost to Mompos. (gazing out) Beautiful country. GORDY It better be. A lotta people're dying for it. ARMSTRONG (looks overboard) Y'know, I haven't noticed one darn body floating downstream this whole trip, have you? Gordy doesn't respond. Beat. GORDY I was thinking... Maybe we could travel together into Caguan. You could show me around. ARMSTRONG (shakes his head) Pass is only good for one person, if that's your idea, which I think it is... Besides, I can't risk traveling around up there in the company of a big gringo with a dumb-ass cover story about coffee beans. Gordy looks over. Armstrong smiles back. Beat. (CONTINUED) 53. 126 CONTINUED: 126 GORDY I've got money. I'll buy the pass from you. ARMSTRONG I've worked too hard for it. And you don't have that kind of money on you. GORDY I'll be getting some life insurance money -- ARMSTRONG (shaking his head) It's all cash and carry down here, Gordy. The FERRY WHISTLE TOOTS. ARMSTRONG Mompos... You want to have some fun, we'll hook up later. I always schedule a stopover. To sample the local wares and such. (winks) Life can be what you make it here on the frontier. GORDY No, thanks. ARMSTRONG Gotta get off the boat anyway. Mompos is the last stop. From here into the guerrilla zone you can only travel by panga... If you change your mind, I'll be at the Tropicale later. It's a gringo bar. Just follow the cockroaches. 127 NEW ANGLE 127 They see the beginnings of Mompos. Two 4x4 trucks are parked on the riverbank. Lean, clean-cut men in jeans, tight shirts, cowboy boots and sunglasses lean on the truck and watch the ferry pass. ARMSTRONG Sicarios. Death squads. Avoid those dudes at all costs. 54. 128 SAME SCENE - FEW MOMENTS LATER 128 The ferry pulls up to the dock. The dock street is a culture clash of shanty bars and Amazon Indian traders, of big-wheel SUVs and mule carts. There's a definite air of menace. ARMSTRONG Federales are looking for someone. Gordy follows Armstrong's look to two plain-clothes federales, one fat and one thin, standing near the dock watching the boat pull up. When Gordy glances back, Armstrong is gone. 129 EXT. MOMPOS FERRY DOCK - DAY 129 Gordy disembarks amid the throng of passengers, when the FAT FEDERALE confronts him. FAT FEDERALE Senor Pitt? Gordy looks up in surprise at him and the thin federale backing him up. FAT FEDERALE You'll have to come with us. GORDY Why? FAT FEDERALE Come with us, please. He clamps a hand on Gordy's arm. Gordy shakes it off and starts running. Almost immediately, he's tackled to the ground by the thin federale. Two more federales join in. Gordy's not gonna go down easy, though. Even as only one against four, Gordy's a formidable challenge. He's strong, and he's committed all the way. He's not getting kicked out of this country again. It's not a clean or artful fight. There's no karate. It's four men trying to tackle a bull, and... The bull gets away. 130 EXT./INT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 130 Gordy sprints down streets with the federales in pursuit. 55. 131 GORDY 131 jukes into a local bar. 132 ANOTHER ANGLE 132 Gordy pounds out the back of the bar into a littered courtyard, where he's surrounded by ten-foot walls. 133 FEDERALES 133 blast through the bar. 134 GORDY 134 runs, jumps, launches off a beer keg, and... 135 TOP OF WALL 135 He reaches the top of the wall and pulls himself up. He's looking out across a block-long run of corrugated tin roofs. Takes off across the roofs, each step thundering, as... 136 FEDERALES 136 burst into the courtyard. Two men hastily build a stack of boxes, etc., against the wall. 137 GORDY 137 runs as fast as he can across the rooftops, when... A section of roof gives way beneath his feet, just as... 138 NEW ANGLE 138 One of the federales finally mounts the wall, looks across the rooftops... and Gordy's gone. 139 GORDY 139 lands inside a warehouse room amid sacks of rice, beans and coffee. The building is dark and dusty. He lies still and listens. FOOTSTEPS approach across the tin roof overhead. Gordy burrows into the bags of rice, pulls them over him. 56. 140 FEDERALE 140 on the roof peers down through the hole. Scans the warehouse room below with a mini-Mag-Lite. 141 GORDY 141 sees the flashlight beam move past. He holds his breath. Beat. Then the FOOTSTEPS pass on, RECEDE down the roof. And Gordy can breathe again. 142 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - NIGHT 142 Gordy makes his way along the main drag of the frontier town. A noisy, neon-lit strip of bars and brothels. Everyone's packing a gun. A new Dodge City, where death squad sicarios cruise past in 4x4's BLARING SALSA. 143 INT. TROPICALE - NIGHT 143 In here, the MUSIC'S LOUD ROCK 'N' ROLL. Gringo music for a gringo bar. The place is busy, with plenty of local "hostesses" for the men. Even Armstrong, standing half-crocked at the bar, is flanked by two scantily-clad women. He's got a spoon hanging off his nose. So does one of the girls. Armstrong's trying to hang a spoon on the other. Gordy slips into the bar. Spots Armstrong through the crowd. Sees Armstrong's not wearing his cap, when... The girl with the spoon on her nose turns slightly, revealing she's wearing the cap. It's on backwards, but now Gordy can see the "Deerborn" logo clearly. Gordy wants the guerrilla travel pass inside the cap. It's a desperate move, but he's got no choice. Starts toward the girl, when... Gordy sees the thin federale enter the front door. The thin federale sees him at the same time. Begins moving in on him. Gordy moves faster toward the girl. And... The girl unwittingly does him a favor by taking off the cap and setting it on the bar, where it's easier to grab, and then turns her attention to Armstrong's antics. The thin detective fights through the crowd after Gordy. Gordy's almost to the hat. (CONTINUED) 57. 143 CONTINUED: 143 Armstrong's still having trouble with the second girl's spoon. ARMSTRONG I never met a nose I couldn't hang a spoon on. Gordy reaches the bar, snags the cap. Glances back, sees the thin federale closing in, turns to run out the back, when... A strong hand stops him. The hand belongs to the Fat Federale. And now the thin federale's there, too, wielding a stun gun where Gordy can see it. People in the bar fall silent. Everyone but Armstrong, who's finally hung the spoon on the second girl's nose. ARMSTRONG Yahtzee! And now Armstong also realizes something's up. Turns and sees Gordy. Sees the cap in Gordy's hand as the Fat Federale addresses Gordy -- FAT FEDERALE Come along, Mr. Pitt. Whereupon Armstrong shouts drunkenly at Gordy -- ARMSTRONG Police catch you trying to steal my hat, you asshole?! He staggers toward Gordy. Grabs the hat. ARMSTRONG Fucking hat thief! Armstrong takes a drunken swing at Gordy, but... Instead of hitting Gordy, Armstrong accidentally-on- purpose clocks the fat detective. Then hisses into Gordy's ear, clearly not that drunk -- ARMSTRONG Get outta here -- But then Armstrong's legs won't work as the thin federale jams the stun gun against his neck, and 10,000 volts surprise the Armstrong neural network. Gordy moves against the thin federale in anger, when... The Fat Federale ZAPS him with another STUN GUN, just behind the ear... And Gordy gets to know the floor, too. 58. 144 EXT. MOMPOS JAIL - NIGHT 144 The building's ancient, constructed of wood and adobe. 145 INT. MOMPOS JAIL - CELL - NIGHT 145 The jail might be old, but the cells are secure enough. They're also unsanitary and thoroughly unpleasant. Gordy and Armstrong are led in by the federales. The Fat Federale has Armstrong's hat. He looks it over, wondering why Gordy wanted it. Then decides he could give a fuck and tosses it to Armstrong. Clangs the cell door shut and locks it. Leaves shaking his head. FAT FEDERALE Gringos... Armstrong's still unsteady on his feet and sits down on the metal bunk. ARMSTRONG That stun gun wasn't cool. Armstrong looks down at himself. ARMSTRONG Haven't peed my pants in a real long time. GORDY (beat) You shouldn't have helped me. ARMSTRONG Yeah, well, I guess all these assholes down here are just starting on my nerves. Gordy's silent. It's over. He's come up short. He's going home. ARMSTRONG So what the hell did you do to land us in here? And don't jerk me around, eh? Beat. Gordy sits. GORDY The Wolf killed my wife and son in New York. (CONTINUED) 59. 145 CONTINUED: 145 ARMSTRONG ... Oh, you're that guy, eh? I'm sorry, man... And what, you came down here to even things out? Gordy just looks at him. ARMSTRONG Did you even have a plan? GORDY Yeah. Go to Caguan, find The Wolf and kill him. Armstrong just shakes his head. Beat. 146 DOOR TO CELL AREA 146 BANGS open. Federales lead in two men -- the two guerrillas surprised earlier by the heavy-camouflaged infiltrators. The federales are armed with batons and stun guns, taking no chances. It's clear the rebels weren't brought here without a struggle, either -- both are cut and bruised. The tougher-looking of the two has taken a real beating. This beaten man is jammed face- first against the bars of Gordy's cell. He makes eye contact with Gordy while the other rebel is unbound and put into a cell. Then the beaten man is shoved into the cell. A solid, brick wall separates them from Gordy and Armstrong. Armstrong's seen the patches on their uniforms. To Gordy, sotto -- ARMSTRONG E.L.C. Beat. Armstrong sees the look on Gordy's face. By way of a warning -- ARMSTRONG If you can't kill them, don't even talk to them. The GUERRILLAS are MURMURING in the other cell. One of them LAUGHS. OFF Gordy, listening to the LAUGHING... 147 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL - NIGHT 147 Two or three A.M. Armstrong's dozing. Gordy's still listening to the MURMURING of the REBELS on the other side of the wall, when... (CONTINUED) 60. 147 CONTINUED: 147 There's a flurry of activity outside the cell area. The door opens. Soldiers enter with some federales. Gordy watches the soldiers move past his cell. Rocha is with them. And then... Brandt appears at the bars, looks in at Gordy. BRANDT Enjoy your trip? Gordy stands, approaches. BRANDT We asked you to leave it to us. GORDY And you guys still haven't got him. BRANDT It's not over yet... The guys next door are in The Wolf's elite bodyguard unit. Where he goes, they go. We're gonna ask questions. And we're gonna get answers... And you're staying right here till our bomber's dead. Brandt goes. Moments later, a TORTURED SCREAM is heard on the other side of the brick wall, waking Armstrong with a start. 148 EXT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - NIGHT 148 In a field near Mompos, a canopied truck backs into position. Men in guerrilla uniforms with ELC patches get out and pull back the canopy, revealing mortar tubes pointing skyward on a bed of sand. 149 ELC GUERRILLA 149 unit armed with AK-47s and Light Anti-Tank Weapons (LAWs) infiltrates the town. 150 ANOTHER TWO-MAN ELC GUERRILLA TEAM 150 sets up a single mortar position overlooking the town. One of the men checks his watch. Beat. He signals. The other man drops a MORTAR down the tube. WHUMP. 61. 151 TWO MORTARS 151 go in the tubes on the truck. WHUMP, WHUMP. 152 ANOTHER ANGLE 152 BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! A water tower, the Mompos fire station and the town's power supply are direct hits. WHUMP, WHUMP, WHUMP... 153 INT. JAIL - CELLS 153 People react to the sounds of the MORTAR ATTACK on the town. The lights go out. Brandt, Rocha and their men quickly lock the guerrillas in their cell and head out. 154 EXT. JAIL 154 As MORTARS CONTINUE to fall on the rest of the town, the unit of guerrilla infiltrators open up on the front of the jail with LAW ROCKETS. 155 EXT./INT. JAIL 155 KA-BOOM! The front door and wall of the jail disintegrate under the multiple LAW attack. 156 NEW ANGLE 156 Brandt, Rocha and the soldiers, approaching the front door inside, are hammered by the massive concussion of the BLAST and flung across the room, apparently dead. 157 ANOTHER ANGLE 157 The powerful, concussive shock-wave channels into the cell area. Gordy's slightly protected by a wall. Armstrong, standing at the bars, is thrown into the opposite wall and knocked unconscious. 158 GUERRILLAS 158 charge inside with AKs BLAZING. Surviving soldiers and federales SHOOT back. The blasts have caused fires in the building. Severed wires spark, creating more fire. Flames begin to spread through the tinder-dry structure. (CONTINUED) 62. 158 CONTINUED: 158 The guerrillas take out the soldiers and federales, with few casualties to themselves. They make their way toward the cell area. EXPLODING AMMO and stored FUEL CANS accelerate the fire. 159 NEW ANGLE 159 The guerrillas reach the cells. Two men see Gordy and draw down on him. The others move to the next cell. Guerrillas plant small explosive charges on the hinges of the cell containing their two captured comrades. Beat. The HINGES BLOW. The beaten man and the rebel with him are freed, and the guerrillas quickly retreat the way they came. Gordy sees flames spreading into the cell area. 160 GUERRILLAS 160 exit the fiery jail past Brandt. We see Brandt's not dead. 161 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - OUTSIDE JAIL 161 A truck pulls up. The guerrillas get in. The TRUCK SCREECHES OUT as... 162 4X4 162 full of sicarios SKIDS onto the street, far ahead of the truck. The sicario driving punches it, and... 163 TWO TRUCKS 163 ROAR toward each other. A game of chicken. With GUNS. Men in both vehicles OPEN UP -- the sicarios with magnums and Uzis, the guerrillas with AKs. SLUGS RIP through automotive steel. Casualties are taken. When... 164 SICARIO 164 driving the 4x4 receives a round in the forehead, cranks over the steering wheel, and... 63. 165 SPEEDING 4X4 165 does a Paris-to-Dakar road rally flip, twisting and somersaulting, and... 166 NEW ANGLE 166 The 4x4 catapults completely over the guerrillas' truck, disintegrating into spare parts and dead occupants, as... 167 GUERRILLAS 167 ROAR off. 168 EXT./INT. JAIL 168 A severely-dazed Brandt, bleeding from the nose and ears, slowly gets to his knees, crawls out of the burning building and collapses outside. 169 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL 169 There's fire and smoke everywhere. Gordy picks up the metal bunk and slams it against a wall. Slams it again. Breaks the metal apart. Then levers a long side rail in the cell door. He heaves. Heaves again. The fire's licking at him, but Gordy's undeterred. He heaves again, and... This time, the door gives. Gordy picks up Armstrong's cap, then picks up Armstrong, who's starting to come around. Puts Armstrong over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. GORDY Don't breathe. ARMSTRONG (weakly) You're not running through the fire, eh? GORDY Close your mouth. Because running through the fire is just what Gordy's gonna do. As he disappears into the flames... 170 EXT. JAIL - NIGHT 170 The town's in complete chaos. There are fires everywhere. (CONTINUED) 64. 170 CONTINUED: 170 Still stunned and bleeding, Brandt looks from where he lies on the ground as... Gordy bursts out of the inferno carrying Armstrong. They're singed and smoking, but they're alive. Gordy drops Armstrong, pats himself and Armstrong down, knocking out the burning embers on their clothes and hair, when... Gordy's eyes meet Brandt's. The two men hold the look for a moment. If Brandt could speak, he'd be yelling at Gordy to stop, not to go on. And Gordy knows it. But Gordy's not stopping. Picks up Armstrong again and moves off toward the waterfront. 171 EXT. MOMPOS WATERFRONT - NIGHT 171 There's less chaos here. The fires are in the distance. Gordy arrives carrying Armstrong. Sets him down. GORDY I'll find a boat to take us upriver. He starts to go. Armstrong stops him. ARMSTRONG No. I told you. The pass is only good for one person. And you're too dangerous to travel with. Beat. Gordy reaches over and takes Armstrong's cap. He looks inside. There's no pass. ARMSTRONG It hasn't been there since we landed. Gordy's at a loss. He tosses the cap back. Just looks at Armstrong. Beat. Armstrong sighs. ARMSTRONG Aw, hell... I was through with this place anyway... He takes off a boot. Shakes out some money and the pass. He hands the pass to Gordy. (CONTINUED) 65. 171 CONTINUED: 171 ARMSTRONG I'll call ahead and tell Felix I'm not coming, and you're my replacement. He'll meet you in Caguan and take you to the plantation... What do you know about diesel engines? GORDY All the fire trucks are diesels. ARMSTRONG You'll have to be Austrian, eh? They hate Americans. Name's gotta change, too, in case they're watching the news. (beat) It'll buy you a little time to look around Caguan. But you'll never find The Wolf. Beat. Gordy sticks out his hand. GORDY Heinrich Beckmann. ARMSTRONG Huh? GORDY My Austrian name. Armstrong shakes hands with Gordy. Armstrong doesn't let loose right away. Beat. ARMSTRONG Luck got you this far. But up there, luck doesn't make it. I hope you know you're gonna die. OFF Gordy, about to step over another line... 172 EXT. RIVER - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 172 As dawn breaks over the river, FIND Gordy sitting in a motored panga being steered by a local BOATMAN. Gordy reaches into a pocket and pulls out the photo of Anne and Matt. He looks at it for a few moments. Then pockets it again. 173 SAME SCENE - LATER 173 The panga passes a dead body floating downstream. 66. 174 SAME SCENE - LATER 174 The panga passes revolutionary banners and signs lining the riverbank. BOATMAN La zona guerrillera. 175 SAME SCENE - MOMENTS LATER 175 The panga rounds a bend, and... Two souped-up bass boats filled with heavily-armed ELC guerrillas move to intercept it. The Boatman slows, puts the panga in neutral and keeps his hands in sight. One boat of guerrillas pulls alongside. The other sheers off and stops a short distance away, ready to open fire. Gordy shows the guerrillas his travel pass. One of them takes it. Reads. Looks Gordy over. Then starts to rip the pass in half, when... He stops. Grins. It's a big joke. He hands back the pass, searches the boat quickly and waves the panga on. OFF Gordy's relief as the panga heads on... 176 EXT. CAGUAN TOWN DOCK - DAY 176 The panga arrives, and Gordy gets out. He's met by FELIX. Felix has a 9mm in a shoulder holster. Felix doesn't look the least bit happy. FELIX Beckmann. GORDY Yeah. FELIX Come with me. Felix leads him towards a Land Cruiser. FELIX Armstrong should have called sooner. We don't like changes here... If I didn't need the equipment fixed, I'd send you back. (CONTINUED) 67. 176 CONTINUED: 176 They reach the Land Cruiser. FELIX But now we have to see the E.L.C. Supervisor for Caguan. It's a prospect that seems to concern Felix almost as much as Gordy. Off which, as they get into the Toyota... 177 INT. ELC SUPERVISOR'S OFFICE - DAY 177 The ELC SUPERVISOR for Caguan may be a Marxist, but the clean, well-ordered office is nicely appointed, with a big-screen Sony and leather furniture. The TV's TUNED TO CNN. A photo on the wall depicts him as a younger man wearing guerrilla cammies bearing with an ELC patch and holding an AK-47. A brass nameplate reading "Supervisor" rests on a neat desk, behind which stands the man himself -- a hardened, former guerrilla fighter proud of his position. He's not in cammies now -- his uniform now consists of casual but nice tropical clothing and a fat Rolex. Felix is a subordinate here. He and Gordy stand across the desk as the Supervisor examines Gordy's travel pass. Gordy's nervous about what could appear on the TV in the b.g., but tries not to show it. ELC SUPERVISOR Your passport was stolen. GORDY In Mompos. ELC SUPERVISOR ... Mompos is a shithole. Not like Caguan... Why didn't Armstrong come? GORDY He was arrested in Ecuador. He got drunk and fooled around with a police officer's wife. The Supervisor just looks at him, assessing Gordy's face for signs he's lying. Gordy's expression stays the same. Felix respectfully interjects. It's almost a plea. FELIX (in Spanish) We need to fix the equipment. We have delivery deadlines to meet. (CONTINUED) 68. 177 CONTINUED: 177 A long beat. The ELC Supervisor hands the travel pass back to Gordy. In a hard tone to Felix -- ELC SUPERVISOR (in Spanish) He's your responsibility. Don't let him out of your sight. FELIX Si. Gracias. As Felix leads Gordy away... 178 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER (CAGUAN) - DAY 178 Gordy and Felix pull away from the Supervisor's H.Q. Felix resumes his former tone of command. FELIX The Supervisor made you my responsibility... You don't go anywhere without me, you understand? GORDY No problemo. Gordy peers out the window intently as they drive, looking for a lucky break, looking for The Wolf, searching the face of every man. He doesn't see The Wolf, but what he does see surprises him. The ELC Supervisor was right: Caguan's no Mompos. It's a third- world town, armed troops are visible, and there's a lot of bad shit behind Colombia's revolutionaries, but here the streets are calm and orderly. It's quiet, almost eerie, as people go about their business. OFF Gordy, seeing another side of the guerrillas... 179 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER/COUNTRY ROAD - DAY 179 Felix turns off at the entrance to a lane leading to the plantation. The entrance is guarded by a 4X4 "Rat Patrol" assault truck and four heavily armed ELC guerrillas. GORDY The E.L.C. guards your coffee beans? Felix thinks he's joking. Until he looks over and sees Gordy's actually being sincere. (CONTINUED) 69. 179 CONTINUED: 179 FELIX ... Coffee beans? Shit. Armstrong didn't tell you much... 180 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER - PLANTATION - DAY 180 They approach a hacienda and outbuildings. The accoutrements of agriculture are present -- tractors, sheds, cats, etc. -- but clearly, this is no family farm. There are lots of serious-looking men around. More ELC guerrillas stand guard. 181 FELIX 181 stops the car. He and Gordy get out. Felix begins leading Gordy toward two rows of long, open-walled sheds. FELIX The problem's with the diesel generators. The sons-of-bitches keep breaking down. 182 NEW ANGLE 182 They pass four very large pits, where green leaves steep in a thick, foul-smelling liquid. FELIX We're using portables to keep production going, but they don't supply enough power to the heat lamps, and we have to dry a lot of... 'coffee beans.' 183 ANOTHER ANGLE 183 They're now walking between the two rows of sheds, where portable gas GENERATORS THRUM, and... Gordy can see long, wide platforms inside. Above the platforms are multiple arrays of powerful heat lamps. Spread out and drying beneath them is a half-acre or two of converted cocaine. 184 IN ANOTHER SHED 184 workers pack and wrap one-kilo bricks of coke for shipment. 70. 185 GORDY AND FELIX 185 approach the two giant diesel generators. FELIX We can fix anything, but these keep dying on us... You'll start now. I'll have tools brought to you. (beat) Armstrong's a magician with them. Let's hope you have his skill. Felix walks over to a guerrilla with an AK-47 and speaks to him. Then goes. Whereupon the

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How many times the word 'caffeine' appears in the text?

wire bows against his shin, and... Gordy ducks, covers the Man in the Yankees Cap, and... Nothing happens. The young man just stands there, frozen in position, his leg still bowing the line. (CONTINUED) 48. 117 CONTINUED: 117 Using the Zippo again to light his way, Gordy advances to the young man. He follows the trip wire to where a Coca- Cola can hangs from a nearby tree. On closer inspection, Gordy can see the can is sleeved around a grenade. There's no pin in the grenade. The can keeps the grenade's arming spoon in place. The trip wire's designed to yank the can off, allowing the grenade to explode at chest level... And the can's almost off. Gordy burns through the monofilament trip wire. Then carefully slides the Coke can back over the grenade. 118 MAN IN YANKEES CAP - MOMENTS LATER 118 When Gordy returns, the man's dead. OFF Gordy, looking down at the NY logo on the cap... 119 EXT./INT. ANOTHER CHIVA - DAY 119 Gordy sees a sign for a town as the chiva rumbles along. He pulls out his map. 120 INSERT - MAP 120 Gordy finds the town, which lies along a river. He traces a road from the town. The road runs south through the town of Mompos, and eventually reaches Caguan, the ELC capital. 121 BACK TO SCENE 121 A COLOMBIAN WOMAN is looking over Gordy's shoulder. COLOMBIAN WOMAN No autobusses para este lugar. Solamente el barco en el rio. She leans over, traces the river, which also runs to Caguan. COLOMBIAN WOMAN El rio. 122 EXT. FERRY DOCK - DAY 122 The FERRY'S WHISTLE TOOTS. Lines are cast off. (CONTINUED) 49. 122 CONTINUED: 122 Two plainclothes federales have been watching the ferry load and now relax their vigil. One man holds a Xerox of Gordy's passport photo. The other bites into an empanada, which breaks open and spills its contents down the front of his shirt. His partner finds it funny. He doesn't. And while their attention's occupied... Gordy hurries by, oblivious to the federales' presence, and just manages to hop onto the ferry as it pulls away. 123 EXT. FERRY - DAY 123 The ferry's the only means of travel south, and it's packed. Gordy picks his way through. The only other gringo on the boat is a geek in a plaid shirt and gimme hat that says "Deerborn." The geek, PHILIP ARMSTRONG, looks like a talker, and Gordy tries to avoid eye contact. He's too late. ARMSTRONG Hey, yo, dude, here's a seat, man! GORDY No, that's okay -- But Armstrong's already throwing a bag off the bench. ARMSTRONG I was hoping for someone I could communicate with. He sees Gordy hasn't moved. ARMSTRONG Only room's at the back near the bano, and I'd advise against it, unless you like poop. Beat. Gordy sits. Immediately -- ARMSTRONG Philip Armstrong. Assiniboia, Sasketchewan, Canada. (indicates his hat) Deerborn Heavy Equipment. GORDY ... Gordy Pitt. ARMSTRONG Hey, howya doing? I love Germany. (CONTINUED) 50. 123 CONTINUED: 123 GORDY Austria. American now. ARMSTRONG I love America. Never been to Austria. Where from in America would that be? GORDY New York City. ARMSTRONG I don't like New York City. Buildings're too big. What kinda work you in? GORDY (hesitates, then) Coffee. I buy beans. ARMSTRONG Can't drink caffeine. Makes my stomach do the rumba. I like that commercial guy with the sombrero and the mule, though. Headed upstream, eh? Where to? GORDY Caguan. ARMSTRONG ... You've never been to Caguan, eh? GORDY How do you know? ARMSTRONG 'Cause no one in their right mind would ever go back. Caguan's in the guerrilla zone run by the E.L.C. E.L.C. as in 'Extra Loathsome Communists.' They don't care, and they kill. I'm going there myself. But I have a 'get outta jail free' card. Armstrong doffs his cap, undoes a safety pin securing a card inside the crown. Shows it to Gordy. Sotto -- (CONTINUED) 51. 123 CONTINUED: (2) 123 ARMSTRONG E.L.C. travel pass. I can go anywhere I want. (by way of explanation) Everyone needs equipment fixed. Armstrong carefully returns the card to the hat. And now his voice takes on a noticeably more measured tone -- ARMSTRONG If you don't have one of these, you don't want to be up there, Gordy. Beat. Gordy's contemplating the warning, when his eyes go to a small, sleepy boy standing nearby on the cramped deck, leaning against his father. Gordy reaches over and taps the boy. The boy looks over. Shrinks away at the sight of the large gringo. The father notices and looks at Gordy, who stands, indicates his seat. GORDY Por favor. The father's also apprehensive, doesn't move. GORDY Con mucho gusto. Finally, the father accepts, sits down with the sleepy boy on his lap. Nods his thanks at Gordy, who then gazes down at the son. A kid about Matt's age. Armstrong recognizes the look of a caring dad. ARMSTRONG Got kids, eh? OFF Armstrong, as Gordy walks away... 124 EXT. JUNGLE - DAY 124 Two Colombian armed man wearing guerrilla uniforms bearing a distinctive ELC patch are walking a trail, when the man in front notices something odd. He stops. Leads the other man back a few steps. Looks into the foliage along the trail. Something doesn't seem right. He extends his AK-47. Prods a hump of greenery with the rifle butt, and in a flash... The greenery suddenly transforms into two men wearing face-paint and full-body military camouflage gear and pointing twin cocked-and-locked CAR-15 assault rifles at the heads of the startled guerrillas. 52. 125 EXT. CIA HACIENDA - DAY 125 Brandt stubs a butt as a Colombian SOG group does killer training nearby. Updegraf opens the door. To Brandt -- UPDEGRAF One of Rocha's infiltration teams just radioed in... We got our big break... 126 EXT. FERRY - DAY 126 Gordy stands along the rail looking out at the lush, beautiful countryside sliding past. Armstrong joins him. ARMSTRONG That little kid and I had a nice, long snooze... We're almost to Mompos. (gazing out) Beautiful country. GORDY It better be. A lotta people're dying for it. ARMSTRONG (looks overboard) Y'know, I haven't noticed one darn body floating downstream this whole trip, have you? Gordy doesn't respond. Beat. GORDY I was thinking... Maybe we could travel together into Caguan. You could show me around. ARMSTRONG (shakes his head) Pass is only good for one person, if that's your idea, which I think it is... Besides, I can't risk traveling around up there in the company of a big gringo with a dumb-ass cover story about coffee beans. Gordy looks over. Armstrong smiles back. Beat. (CONTINUED) 53. 126 CONTINUED: 126 GORDY I've got money. I'll buy the pass from you. ARMSTRONG I've worked too hard for it. And you don't have that kind of money on you. GORDY I'll be getting some life insurance money -- ARMSTRONG (shaking his head) It's all cash and carry down here, Gordy. The FERRY WHISTLE TOOTS. ARMSTRONG Mompos... You want to have some fun, we'll hook up later. I always schedule a stopover. To sample the local wares and such. (winks) Life can be what you make it here on the frontier. GORDY No, thanks. ARMSTRONG Gotta get off the boat anyway. Mompos is the last stop. From here into the guerrilla zone you can only travel by panga... If you change your mind, I'll be at the Tropicale later. It's a gringo bar. Just follow the cockroaches. 127 NEW ANGLE 127 They see the beginnings of Mompos. Two 4x4 trucks are parked on the riverbank. Lean, clean-cut men in jeans, tight shirts, cowboy boots and sunglasses lean on the truck and watch the ferry pass. ARMSTRONG Sicarios. Death squads. Avoid those dudes at all costs. 54. 128 SAME SCENE - FEW MOMENTS LATER 128 The ferry pulls up to the dock. The dock street is a culture clash of shanty bars and Amazon Indian traders, of big-wheel SUVs and mule carts. There's a definite air of menace. ARMSTRONG Federales are looking for someone. Gordy follows Armstrong's look to two plain-clothes federales, one fat and one thin, standing near the dock watching the boat pull up. When Gordy glances back, Armstrong is gone. 129 EXT. MOMPOS FERRY DOCK - DAY 129 Gordy disembarks amid the throng of passengers, when the FAT FEDERALE confronts him. FAT FEDERALE Senor Pitt? Gordy looks up in surprise at him and the thin federale backing him up. FAT FEDERALE You'll have to come with us. GORDY Why? FAT FEDERALE Come with us, please. He clamps a hand on Gordy's arm. Gordy shakes it off and starts running. Almost immediately, he's tackled to the ground by the thin federale. Two more federales join in. Gordy's not gonna go down easy, though. Even as only one against four, Gordy's a formidable challenge. He's strong, and he's committed all the way. He's not getting kicked out of this country again. It's not a clean or artful fight. There's no karate. It's four men trying to tackle a bull, and... The bull gets away. 130 EXT./INT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 130 Gordy sprints down streets with the federales in pursuit. 55. 131 GORDY 131 jukes into a local bar. 132 ANOTHER ANGLE 132 Gordy pounds out the back of the bar into a littered courtyard, where he's surrounded by ten-foot walls. 133 FEDERALES 133 blast through the bar. 134 GORDY 134 runs, jumps, launches off a beer keg, and... 135 TOP OF WALL 135 He reaches the top of the wall and pulls himself up. He's looking out across a block-long run of corrugated tin roofs. Takes off across the roofs, each step thundering, as... 136 FEDERALES 136 burst into the courtyard. Two men hastily build a stack of boxes, etc., against the wall. 137 GORDY 137 runs as fast as he can across the rooftops, when... A section of roof gives way beneath his feet, just as... 138 NEW ANGLE 138 One of the federales finally mounts the wall, looks across the rooftops... and Gordy's gone. 139 GORDY 139 lands inside a warehouse room amid sacks of rice, beans and coffee. The building is dark and dusty. He lies still and listens. FOOTSTEPS approach across the tin roof overhead. Gordy burrows into the bags of rice, pulls them over him. 56. 140 FEDERALE 140 on the roof peers down through the hole. Scans the warehouse room below with a mini-Mag-Lite. 141 GORDY 141 sees the flashlight beam move past. He holds his breath. Beat. Then the FOOTSTEPS pass on, RECEDE down the roof. And Gordy can breathe again. 142 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - NIGHT 142 Gordy makes his way along the main drag of the frontier town. A noisy, neon-lit strip of bars and brothels. Everyone's packing a gun. A new Dodge City, where death squad sicarios cruise past in 4x4's BLARING SALSA. 143 INT. TROPICALE - NIGHT 143 In here, the MUSIC'S LOUD ROCK 'N' ROLL. Gringo music for a gringo bar. The place is busy, with plenty of local "hostesses" for the men. Even Armstrong, standing half-crocked at the bar, is flanked by two scantily-clad women. He's got a spoon hanging off his nose. So does one of the girls. Armstrong's trying to hang a spoon on the other. Gordy slips into the bar. Spots Armstrong through the crowd. Sees Armstrong's not wearing his cap, when... The girl with the spoon on her nose turns slightly, revealing she's wearing the cap. It's on backwards, but now Gordy can see the "Deerborn" logo clearly. Gordy wants the guerrilla travel pass inside the cap. It's a desperate move, but he's got no choice. Starts toward the girl, when... Gordy sees the thin federale enter the front door. The thin federale sees him at the same time. Begins moving in on him. Gordy moves faster toward the girl. And... The girl unwittingly does him a favor by taking off the cap and setting it on the bar, where it's easier to grab, and then turns her attention to Armstrong's antics. The thin detective fights through the crowd after Gordy. Gordy's almost to the hat. (CONTINUED) 57. 143 CONTINUED: 143 Armstrong's still having trouble with the second girl's spoon. ARMSTRONG I never met a nose I couldn't hang a spoon on. Gordy reaches the bar, snags the cap. Glances back, sees the thin federale closing in, turns to run out the back, when... A strong hand stops him. The hand belongs to the Fat Federale. And now the thin federale's there, too, wielding a stun gun where Gordy can see it. People in the bar fall silent. Everyone but Armstrong, who's finally hung the spoon on the second girl's nose. ARMSTRONG Yahtzee! And now Armstong also realizes something's up. Turns and sees Gordy. Sees the cap in Gordy's hand as the Fat Federale addresses Gordy -- FAT FEDERALE Come along, Mr. Pitt. Whereupon Armstrong shouts drunkenly at Gordy -- ARMSTRONG Police catch you trying to steal my hat, you asshole?! He staggers toward Gordy. Grabs the hat. ARMSTRONG Fucking hat thief! Armstrong takes a drunken swing at Gordy, but... Instead of hitting Gordy, Armstrong accidentally-on- purpose clocks the fat detective. Then hisses into Gordy's ear, clearly not that drunk -- ARMSTRONG Get outta here -- But then Armstrong's legs won't work as the thin federale jams the stun gun against his neck, and 10,000 volts surprise the Armstrong neural network. Gordy moves against the thin federale in anger, when... The Fat Federale ZAPS him with another STUN GUN, just behind the ear... And Gordy gets to know the floor, too. 58. 144 EXT. MOMPOS JAIL - NIGHT 144 The building's ancient, constructed of wood and adobe. 145 INT. MOMPOS JAIL - CELL - NIGHT 145 The jail might be old, but the cells are secure enough. They're also unsanitary and thoroughly unpleasant. Gordy and Armstrong are led in by the federales. The Fat Federale has Armstrong's hat. He looks it over, wondering why Gordy wanted it. Then decides he could give a fuck and tosses it to Armstrong. Clangs the cell door shut and locks it. Leaves shaking his head. FAT FEDERALE Gringos... Armstrong's still unsteady on his feet and sits down on the metal bunk. ARMSTRONG That stun gun wasn't cool. Armstrong looks down at himself. ARMSTRONG Haven't peed my pants in a real long time. GORDY (beat) You shouldn't have helped me. ARMSTRONG Yeah, well, I guess all these assholes down here are just starting on my nerves. Gordy's silent. It's over. He's come up short. He's going home. ARMSTRONG So what the hell did you do to land us in here? And don't jerk me around, eh? Beat. Gordy sits. GORDY The Wolf killed my wife and son in New York. (CONTINUED) 59. 145 CONTINUED: 145 ARMSTRONG ... Oh, you're that guy, eh? I'm sorry, man... And what, you came down here to even things out? Gordy just looks at him. ARMSTRONG Did you even have a plan? GORDY Yeah. Go to Caguan, find The Wolf and kill him. Armstrong just shakes his head. Beat. 146 DOOR TO CELL AREA 146 BANGS open. Federales lead in two men -- the two guerrillas surprised earlier by the heavy-camouflaged infiltrators. The federales are armed with batons and stun guns, taking no chances. It's clear the rebels weren't brought here without a struggle, either -- both are cut and bruised. The tougher-looking of the two has taken a real beating. This beaten man is jammed face- first against the bars of Gordy's cell. He makes eye contact with Gordy while the other rebel is unbound and put into a cell. Then the beaten man is shoved into the cell. A solid, brick wall separates them from Gordy and Armstrong. Armstrong's seen the patches on their uniforms. To Gordy, sotto -- ARMSTRONG E.L.C. Beat. Armstrong sees the look on Gordy's face. By way of a warning -- ARMSTRONG If you can't kill them, don't even talk to them. The GUERRILLAS are MURMURING in the other cell. One of them LAUGHS. OFF Gordy, listening to the LAUGHING... 147 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL - NIGHT 147 Two or three A.M. Armstrong's dozing. Gordy's still listening to the MURMURING of the REBELS on the other side of the wall, when... (CONTINUED) 60. 147 CONTINUED: 147 There's a flurry of activity outside the cell area. The door opens. Soldiers enter with some federales. Gordy watches the soldiers move past his cell. Rocha is with them. And then... Brandt appears at the bars, looks in at Gordy. BRANDT Enjoy your trip? Gordy stands, approaches. BRANDT We asked you to leave it to us. GORDY And you guys still haven't got him. BRANDT It's not over yet... The guys next door are in The Wolf's elite bodyguard unit. Where he goes, they go. We're gonna ask questions. And we're gonna get answers... And you're staying right here till our bomber's dead. Brandt goes. Moments later, a TORTURED SCREAM is heard on the other side of the brick wall, waking Armstrong with a start. 148 EXT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - NIGHT 148 In a field near Mompos, a canopied truck backs into position. Men in guerrilla uniforms with ELC patches get out and pull back the canopy, revealing mortar tubes pointing skyward on a bed of sand. 149 ELC GUERRILLA 149 unit armed with AK-47s and Light Anti-Tank Weapons (LAWs) infiltrates the town. 150 ANOTHER TWO-MAN ELC GUERRILLA TEAM 150 sets up a single mortar position overlooking the town. One of the men checks his watch. Beat. He signals. The other man drops a MORTAR down the tube. WHUMP. 61. 151 TWO MORTARS 151 go in the tubes on the truck. WHUMP, WHUMP. 152 ANOTHER ANGLE 152 BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! A water tower, the Mompos fire station and the town's power supply are direct hits. WHUMP, WHUMP, WHUMP... 153 INT. JAIL - CELLS 153 People react to the sounds of the MORTAR ATTACK on the town. The lights go out. Brandt, Rocha and their men quickly lock the guerrillas in their cell and head out. 154 EXT. JAIL 154 As MORTARS CONTINUE to fall on the rest of the town, the unit of guerrilla infiltrators open up on the front of the jail with LAW ROCKETS. 155 EXT./INT. JAIL 155 KA-BOOM! The front door and wall of the jail disintegrate under the multiple LAW attack. 156 NEW ANGLE 156 Brandt, Rocha and the soldiers, approaching the front door inside, are hammered by the massive concussion of the BLAST and flung across the room, apparently dead. 157 ANOTHER ANGLE 157 The powerful, concussive shock-wave channels into the cell area. Gordy's slightly protected by a wall. Armstrong, standing at the bars, is thrown into the opposite wall and knocked unconscious. 158 GUERRILLAS 158 charge inside with AKs BLAZING. Surviving soldiers and federales SHOOT back. The blasts have caused fires in the building. Severed wires spark, creating more fire. Flames begin to spread through the tinder-dry structure. (CONTINUED) 62. 158 CONTINUED: 158 The guerrillas take out the soldiers and federales, with few casualties to themselves. They make their way toward the cell area. EXPLODING AMMO and stored FUEL CANS accelerate the fire. 159 NEW ANGLE 159 The guerrillas reach the cells. Two men see Gordy and draw down on him. The others move to the next cell. Guerrillas plant small explosive charges on the hinges of the cell containing their two captured comrades. Beat. The HINGES BLOW. The beaten man and the rebel with him are freed, and the guerrillas quickly retreat the way they came. Gordy sees flames spreading into the cell area. 160 GUERRILLAS 160 exit the fiery jail past Brandt. We see Brandt's not dead. 161 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - OUTSIDE JAIL 161 A truck pulls up. The guerrillas get in. The TRUCK SCREECHES OUT as... 162 4X4 162 full of sicarios SKIDS onto the street, far ahead of the truck. The sicario driving punches it, and... 163 TWO TRUCKS 163 ROAR toward each other. A game of chicken. With GUNS. Men in both vehicles OPEN UP -- the sicarios with magnums and Uzis, the guerrillas with AKs. SLUGS RIP through automotive steel. Casualties are taken. When... 164 SICARIO 164 driving the 4x4 receives a round in the forehead, cranks over the steering wheel, and... 63. 165 SPEEDING 4X4 165 does a Paris-to-Dakar road rally flip, twisting and somersaulting, and... 166 NEW ANGLE 166 The 4x4 catapults completely over the guerrillas' truck, disintegrating into spare parts and dead occupants, as... 167 GUERRILLAS 167 ROAR off. 168 EXT./INT. JAIL 168 A severely-dazed Brandt, bleeding from the nose and ears, slowly gets to his knees, crawls out of the burning building and collapses outside. 169 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL 169 There's fire and smoke everywhere. Gordy picks up the metal bunk and slams it against a wall. Slams it again. Breaks the metal apart. Then levers a long side rail in the cell door. He heaves. Heaves again. The fire's licking at him, but Gordy's undeterred. He heaves again, and... This time, the door gives. Gordy picks up Armstrong's cap, then picks up Armstrong, who's starting to come around. Puts Armstrong over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. GORDY Don't breathe. ARMSTRONG (weakly) You're not running through the fire, eh? GORDY Close your mouth. Because running through the fire is just what Gordy's gonna do. As he disappears into the flames... 170 EXT. JAIL - NIGHT 170 The town's in complete chaos. There are fires everywhere. (CONTINUED) 64. 170 CONTINUED: 170 Still stunned and bleeding, Brandt looks from where he lies on the ground as... Gordy bursts out of the inferno carrying Armstrong. They're singed and smoking, but they're alive. Gordy drops Armstrong, pats himself and Armstrong down, knocking out the burning embers on their clothes and hair, when... Gordy's eyes meet Brandt's. The two men hold the look for a moment. If Brandt could speak, he'd be yelling at Gordy to stop, not to go on. And Gordy knows it. But Gordy's not stopping. Picks up Armstrong again and moves off toward the waterfront. 171 EXT. MOMPOS WATERFRONT - NIGHT 171 There's less chaos here. The fires are in the distance. Gordy arrives carrying Armstrong. Sets him down. GORDY I'll find a boat to take us upriver. He starts to go. Armstrong stops him. ARMSTRONG No. I told you. The pass is only good for one person. And you're too dangerous to travel with. Beat. Gordy reaches over and takes Armstrong's cap. He looks inside. There's no pass. ARMSTRONG It hasn't been there since we landed. Gordy's at a loss. He tosses the cap back. Just looks at Armstrong. Beat. Armstrong sighs. ARMSTRONG Aw, hell... I was through with this place anyway... He takes off a boot. Shakes out some money and the pass. He hands the pass to Gordy. (CONTINUED) 65. 171 CONTINUED: 171 ARMSTRONG I'll call ahead and tell Felix I'm not coming, and you're my replacement. He'll meet you in Caguan and take you to the plantation... What do you know about diesel engines? GORDY All the fire trucks are diesels. ARMSTRONG You'll have to be Austrian, eh? They hate Americans. Name's gotta change, too, in case they're watching the news. (beat) It'll buy you a little time to look around Caguan. But you'll never find The Wolf. Beat. Gordy sticks out his hand. GORDY Heinrich Beckmann. ARMSTRONG Huh? GORDY My Austrian name. Armstrong shakes hands with Gordy. Armstrong doesn't let loose right away. Beat. ARMSTRONG Luck got you this far. But up there, luck doesn't make it. I hope you know you're gonna die. OFF Gordy, about to step over another line... 172 EXT. RIVER - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 172 As dawn breaks over the river, FIND Gordy sitting in a motored panga being steered by a local BOATMAN. Gordy reaches into a pocket and pulls out the photo of Anne and Matt. He looks at it for a few moments. Then pockets it again. 173 SAME SCENE - LATER 173 The panga passes a dead body floating downstream. 66. 174 SAME SCENE - LATER 174 The panga passes revolutionary banners and signs lining the riverbank. BOATMAN La zona guerrillera. 175 SAME SCENE - MOMENTS LATER 175 The panga rounds a bend, and... Two souped-up bass boats filled with heavily-armed ELC guerrillas move to intercept it. The Boatman slows, puts the panga in neutral and keeps his hands in sight. One boat of guerrillas pulls alongside. The other sheers off and stops a short distance away, ready to open fire. Gordy shows the guerrillas his travel pass. One of them takes it. Reads. Looks Gordy over. Then starts to rip the pass in half, when... He stops. Grins. It's a big joke. He hands back the pass, searches the boat quickly and waves the panga on. OFF Gordy's relief as the panga heads on... 176 EXT. CAGUAN TOWN DOCK - DAY 176 The panga arrives, and Gordy gets out. He's met by FELIX. Felix has a 9mm in a shoulder holster. Felix doesn't look the least bit happy. FELIX Beckmann. GORDY Yeah. FELIX Come with me. Felix leads him towards a Land Cruiser. FELIX Armstrong should have called sooner. We don't like changes here... If I didn't need the equipment fixed, I'd send you back. (CONTINUED) 67. 176 CONTINUED: 176 They reach the Land Cruiser. FELIX But now we have to see the E.L.C. Supervisor for Caguan. It's a prospect that seems to concern Felix almost as much as Gordy. Off which, as they get into the Toyota... 177 INT. ELC SUPERVISOR'S OFFICE - DAY 177 The ELC SUPERVISOR for Caguan may be a Marxist, but the clean, well-ordered office is nicely appointed, with a big-screen Sony and leather furniture. The TV's TUNED TO CNN. A photo on the wall depicts him as a younger man wearing guerrilla cammies bearing with an ELC patch and holding an AK-47. A brass nameplate reading "Supervisor" rests on a neat desk, behind which stands the man himself -- a hardened, former guerrilla fighter proud of his position. He's not in cammies now -- his uniform now consists of casual but nice tropical clothing and a fat Rolex. Felix is a subordinate here. He and Gordy stand across the desk as the Supervisor examines Gordy's travel pass. Gordy's nervous about what could appear on the TV in the b.g., but tries not to show it. ELC SUPERVISOR Your passport was stolen. GORDY In Mompos. ELC SUPERVISOR ... Mompos is a shithole. Not like Caguan... Why didn't Armstrong come? GORDY He was arrested in Ecuador. He got drunk and fooled around with a police officer's wife. The Supervisor just looks at him, assessing Gordy's face for signs he's lying. Gordy's expression stays the same. Felix respectfully interjects. It's almost a plea. FELIX (in Spanish) We need to fix the equipment. We have delivery deadlines to meet. (CONTINUED) 68. 177 CONTINUED: 177 A long beat. The ELC Supervisor hands the travel pass back to Gordy. In a hard tone to Felix -- ELC SUPERVISOR (in Spanish) He's your responsibility. Don't let him out of your sight. FELIX Si. Gracias. As Felix leads Gordy away... 178 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER (CAGUAN) - DAY 178 Gordy and Felix pull away from the Supervisor's H.Q. Felix resumes his former tone of command. FELIX The Supervisor made you my responsibility... You don't go anywhere without me, you understand? GORDY No problemo. Gordy peers out the window intently as they drive, looking for a lucky break, looking for The Wolf, searching the face of every man. He doesn't see The Wolf, but what he does see surprises him. The ELC Supervisor was right: Caguan's no Mompos. It's a third- world town, armed troops are visible, and there's a lot of bad shit behind Colombia's revolutionaries, but here the streets are calm and orderly. It's quiet, almost eerie, as people go about their business. OFF Gordy, seeing another side of the guerrillas... 179 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER/COUNTRY ROAD - DAY 179 Felix turns off at the entrance to a lane leading to the plantation. The entrance is guarded by a 4X4 "Rat Patrol" assault truck and four heavily armed ELC guerrillas. GORDY The E.L.C. guards your coffee beans? Felix thinks he's joking. Until he looks over and sees Gordy's actually being sincere. (CONTINUED) 69. 179 CONTINUED: 179 FELIX ... Coffee beans? Shit. Armstrong didn't tell you much... 180 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER - PLANTATION - DAY 180 They approach a hacienda and outbuildings. The accoutrements of agriculture are present -- tractors, sheds, cats, etc. -- but clearly, this is no family farm. There are lots of serious-looking men around. More ELC guerrillas stand guard. 181 FELIX 181 stops the car. He and Gordy get out. Felix begins leading Gordy toward two rows of long, open-walled sheds. FELIX The problem's with the diesel generators. The sons-of-bitches keep breaking down. 182 NEW ANGLE 182 They pass four very large pits, where green leaves steep in a thick, foul-smelling liquid. FELIX We're using portables to keep production going, but they don't supply enough power to the heat lamps, and we have to dry a lot of... 'coffee beans.' 183 ANOTHER ANGLE 183 They're now walking between the two rows of sheds, where portable gas GENERATORS THRUM, and... Gordy can see long, wide platforms inside. Above the platforms are multiple arrays of powerful heat lamps. Spread out and drying beneath them is a half-acre or two of converted cocaine. 184 IN ANOTHER SHED 184 workers pack and wrap one-kilo bricks of coke for shipment. 70. 185 GORDY AND FELIX 185 approach the two giant diesel generators. FELIX We can fix anything, but these keep dying on us... You'll start now. I'll have tools brought to you. (beat) Armstrong's a magician with them. Let's hope you have his skill. Felix walks over to a guerrilla with an AK-47 and speaks to him. Then goes. Whereupon the

no

How many times the word 'no' appears in the text?

wire bows against his shin, and... Gordy ducks, covers the Man in the Yankees Cap, and... Nothing happens. The young man just stands there, frozen in position, his leg still bowing the line. (CONTINUED) 48. 117 CONTINUED: 117 Using the Zippo again to light his way, Gordy advances to the young man. He follows the trip wire to where a Coca- Cola can hangs from a nearby tree. On closer inspection, Gordy can see the can is sleeved around a grenade. There's no pin in the grenade. The can keeps the grenade's arming spoon in place. The trip wire's designed to yank the can off, allowing the grenade to explode at chest level... And the can's almost off. Gordy burns through the monofilament trip wire. Then carefully slides the Coke can back over the grenade. 118 MAN IN YANKEES CAP - MOMENTS LATER 118 When Gordy returns, the man's dead. OFF Gordy, looking down at the NY logo on the cap... 119 EXT./INT. ANOTHER CHIVA - DAY 119 Gordy sees a sign for a town as the chiva rumbles along. He pulls out his map. 120 INSERT - MAP 120 Gordy finds the town, which lies along a river. He traces a road from the town. The road runs south through the town of Mompos, and eventually reaches Caguan, the ELC capital. 121 BACK TO SCENE 121 A COLOMBIAN WOMAN is looking over Gordy's shoulder. COLOMBIAN WOMAN No autobusses para este lugar. Solamente el barco en el rio. She leans over, traces the river, which also runs to Caguan. COLOMBIAN WOMAN El rio. 122 EXT. FERRY DOCK - DAY 122 The FERRY'S WHISTLE TOOTS. Lines are cast off. (CONTINUED) 49. 122 CONTINUED: 122 Two plainclothes federales have been watching the ferry load and now relax their vigil. One man holds a Xerox of Gordy's passport photo. The other bites into an empanada, which breaks open and spills its contents down the front of his shirt. His partner finds it funny. He doesn't. And while their attention's occupied... Gordy hurries by, oblivious to the federales' presence, and just manages to hop onto the ferry as it pulls away. 123 EXT. FERRY - DAY 123 The ferry's the only means of travel south, and it's packed. Gordy picks his way through. The only other gringo on the boat is a geek in a plaid shirt and gimme hat that says "Deerborn." The geek, PHILIP ARMSTRONG, looks like a talker, and Gordy tries to avoid eye contact. He's too late. ARMSTRONG Hey, yo, dude, here's a seat, man! GORDY No, that's okay -- But Armstrong's already throwing a bag off the bench. ARMSTRONG I was hoping for someone I could communicate with. He sees Gordy hasn't moved. ARMSTRONG Only room's at the back near the bano, and I'd advise against it, unless you like poop. Beat. Gordy sits. Immediately -- ARMSTRONG Philip Armstrong. Assiniboia, Sasketchewan, Canada. (indicates his hat) Deerborn Heavy Equipment. GORDY ... Gordy Pitt. ARMSTRONG Hey, howya doing? I love Germany. (CONTINUED) 50. 123 CONTINUED: 123 GORDY Austria. American now. ARMSTRONG I love America. Never been to Austria. Where from in America would that be? GORDY New York City. ARMSTRONG I don't like New York City. Buildings're too big. What kinda work you in? GORDY (hesitates, then) Coffee. I buy beans. ARMSTRONG Can't drink caffeine. Makes my stomach do the rumba. I like that commercial guy with the sombrero and the mule, though. Headed upstream, eh? Where to? GORDY Caguan. ARMSTRONG ... You've never been to Caguan, eh? GORDY How do you know? ARMSTRONG 'Cause no one in their right mind would ever go back. Caguan's in the guerrilla zone run by the E.L.C. E.L.C. as in 'Extra Loathsome Communists.' They don't care, and they kill. I'm going there myself. But I have a 'get outta jail free' card. Armstrong doffs his cap, undoes a safety pin securing a card inside the crown. Shows it to Gordy. Sotto -- (CONTINUED) 51. 123 CONTINUED: (2) 123 ARMSTRONG E.L.C. travel pass. I can go anywhere I want. (by way of explanation) Everyone needs equipment fixed. Armstrong carefully returns the card to the hat. And now his voice takes on a noticeably more measured tone -- ARMSTRONG If you don't have one of these, you don't want to be up there, Gordy. Beat. Gordy's contemplating the warning, when his eyes go to a small, sleepy boy standing nearby on the cramped deck, leaning against his father. Gordy reaches over and taps the boy. The boy looks over. Shrinks away at the sight of the large gringo. The father notices and looks at Gordy, who stands, indicates his seat. GORDY Por favor. The father's also apprehensive, doesn't move. GORDY Con mucho gusto. Finally, the father accepts, sits down with the sleepy boy on his lap. Nods his thanks at Gordy, who then gazes down at the son. A kid about Matt's age. Armstrong recognizes the look of a caring dad. ARMSTRONG Got kids, eh? OFF Armstrong, as Gordy walks away... 124 EXT. JUNGLE - DAY 124 Two Colombian armed man wearing guerrilla uniforms bearing a distinctive ELC patch are walking a trail, when the man in front notices something odd. He stops. Leads the other man back a few steps. Looks into the foliage along the trail. Something doesn't seem right. He extends his AK-47. Prods a hump of greenery with the rifle butt, and in a flash... The greenery suddenly transforms into two men wearing face-paint and full-body military camouflage gear and pointing twin cocked-and-locked CAR-15 assault rifles at the heads of the startled guerrillas. 52. 125 EXT. CIA HACIENDA - DAY 125 Brandt stubs a butt as a Colombian SOG group does killer training nearby. Updegraf opens the door. To Brandt -- UPDEGRAF One of Rocha's infiltration teams just radioed in... We got our big break... 126 EXT. FERRY - DAY 126 Gordy stands along the rail looking out at the lush, beautiful countryside sliding past. Armstrong joins him. ARMSTRONG That little kid and I had a nice, long snooze... We're almost to Mompos. (gazing out) Beautiful country. GORDY It better be. A lotta people're dying for it. ARMSTRONG (looks overboard) Y'know, I haven't noticed one darn body floating downstream this whole trip, have you? Gordy doesn't respond. Beat. GORDY I was thinking... Maybe we could travel together into Caguan. You could show me around. ARMSTRONG (shakes his head) Pass is only good for one person, if that's your idea, which I think it is... Besides, I can't risk traveling around up there in the company of a big gringo with a dumb-ass cover story about coffee beans. Gordy looks over. Armstrong smiles back. Beat. (CONTINUED) 53. 126 CONTINUED: 126 GORDY I've got money. I'll buy the pass from you. ARMSTRONG I've worked too hard for it. And you don't have that kind of money on you. GORDY I'll be getting some life insurance money -- ARMSTRONG (shaking his head) It's all cash and carry down here, Gordy. The FERRY WHISTLE TOOTS. ARMSTRONG Mompos... You want to have some fun, we'll hook up later. I always schedule a stopover. To sample the local wares and such. (winks) Life can be what you make it here on the frontier. GORDY No, thanks. ARMSTRONG Gotta get off the boat anyway. Mompos is the last stop. From here into the guerrilla zone you can only travel by panga... If you change your mind, I'll be at the Tropicale later. It's a gringo bar. Just follow the cockroaches. 127 NEW ANGLE 127 They see the beginnings of Mompos. Two 4x4 trucks are parked on the riverbank. Lean, clean-cut men in jeans, tight shirts, cowboy boots and sunglasses lean on the truck and watch the ferry pass. ARMSTRONG Sicarios. Death squads. Avoid those dudes at all costs. 54. 128 SAME SCENE - FEW MOMENTS LATER 128 The ferry pulls up to the dock. The dock street is a culture clash of shanty bars and Amazon Indian traders, of big-wheel SUVs and mule carts. There's a definite air of menace. ARMSTRONG Federales are looking for someone. Gordy follows Armstrong's look to two plain-clothes federales, one fat and one thin, standing near the dock watching the boat pull up. When Gordy glances back, Armstrong is gone. 129 EXT. MOMPOS FERRY DOCK - DAY 129 Gordy disembarks amid the throng of passengers, when the FAT FEDERALE confronts him. FAT FEDERALE Senor Pitt? Gordy looks up in surprise at him and the thin federale backing him up. FAT FEDERALE You'll have to come with us. GORDY Why? FAT FEDERALE Come with us, please. He clamps a hand on Gordy's arm. Gordy shakes it off and starts running. Almost immediately, he's tackled to the ground by the thin federale. Two more federales join in. Gordy's not gonna go down easy, though. Even as only one against four, Gordy's a formidable challenge. He's strong, and he's committed all the way. He's not getting kicked out of this country again. It's not a clean or artful fight. There's no karate. It's four men trying to tackle a bull, and... The bull gets away. 130 EXT./INT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 130 Gordy sprints down streets with the federales in pursuit. 55. 131 GORDY 131 jukes into a local bar. 132 ANOTHER ANGLE 132 Gordy pounds out the back of the bar into a littered courtyard, where he's surrounded by ten-foot walls. 133 FEDERALES 133 blast through the bar. 134 GORDY 134 runs, jumps, launches off a beer keg, and... 135 TOP OF WALL 135 He reaches the top of the wall and pulls himself up. He's looking out across a block-long run of corrugated tin roofs. Takes off across the roofs, each step thundering, as... 136 FEDERALES 136 burst into the courtyard. Two men hastily build a stack of boxes, etc., against the wall. 137 GORDY 137 runs as fast as he can across the rooftops, when... A section of roof gives way beneath his feet, just as... 138 NEW ANGLE 138 One of the federales finally mounts the wall, looks across the rooftops... and Gordy's gone. 139 GORDY 139 lands inside a warehouse room amid sacks of rice, beans and coffee. The building is dark and dusty. He lies still and listens. FOOTSTEPS approach across the tin roof overhead. Gordy burrows into the bags of rice, pulls them over him. 56. 140 FEDERALE 140 on the roof peers down through the hole. Scans the warehouse room below with a mini-Mag-Lite. 141 GORDY 141 sees the flashlight beam move past. He holds his breath. Beat. Then the FOOTSTEPS pass on, RECEDE down the roof. And Gordy can breathe again. 142 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - NIGHT 142 Gordy makes his way along the main drag of the frontier town. A noisy, neon-lit strip of bars and brothels. Everyone's packing a gun. A new Dodge City, where death squad sicarios cruise past in 4x4's BLARING SALSA. 143 INT. TROPICALE - NIGHT 143 In here, the MUSIC'S LOUD ROCK 'N' ROLL. Gringo music for a gringo bar. The place is busy, with plenty of local "hostesses" for the men. Even Armstrong, standing half-crocked at the bar, is flanked by two scantily-clad women. He's got a spoon hanging off his nose. So does one of the girls. Armstrong's trying to hang a spoon on the other. Gordy slips into the bar. Spots Armstrong through the crowd. Sees Armstrong's not wearing his cap, when... The girl with the spoon on her nose turns slightly, revealing she's wearing the cap. It's on backwards, but now Gordy can see the "Deerborn" logo clearly. Gordy wants the guerrilla travel pass inside the cap. It's a desperate move, but he's got no choice. Starts toward the girl, when... Gordy sees the thin federale enter the front door. The thin federale sees him at the same time. Begins moving in on him. Gordy moves faster toward the girl. And... The girl unwittingly does him a favor by taking off the cap and setting it on the bar, where it's easier to grab, and then turns her attention to Armstrong's antics. The thin detective fights through the crowd after Gordy. Gordy's almost to the hat. (CONTINUED) 57. 143 CONTINUED: 143 Armstrong's still having trouble with the second girl's spoon. ARMSTRONG I never met a nose I couldn't hang a spoon on. Gordy reaches the bar, snags the cap. Glances back, sees the thin federale closing in, turns to run out the back, when... A strong hand stops him. The hand belongs to the Fat Federale. And now the thin federale's there, too, wielding a stun gun where Gordy can see it. People in the bar fall silent. Everyone but Armstrong, who's finally hung the spoon on the second girl's nose. ARMSTRONG Yahtzee! And now Armstong also realizes something's up. Turns and sees Gordy. Sees the cap in Gordy's hand as the Fat Federale addresses Gordy -- FAT FEDERALE Come along, Mr. Pitt. Whereupon Armstrong shouts drunkenly at Gordy -- ARMSTRONG Police catch you trying to steal my hat, you asshole?! He staggers toward Gordy. Grabs the hat. ARMSTRONG Fucking hat thief! Armstrong takes a drunken swing at Gordy, but... Instead of hitting Gordy, Armstrong accidentally-on- purpose clocks the fat detective. Then hisses into Gordy's ear, clearly not that drunk -- ARMSTRONG Get outta here -- But then Armstrong's legs won't work as the thin federale jams the stun gun against his neck, and 10,000 volts surprise the Armstrong neural network. Gordy moves against the thin federale in anger, when... The Fat Federale ZAPS him with another STUN GUN, just behind the ear... And Gordy gets to know the floor, too. 58. 144 EXT. MOMPOS JAIL - NIGHT 144 The building's ancient, constructed of wood and adobe. 145 INT. MOMPOS JAIL - CELL - NIGHT 145 The jail might be old, but the cells are secure enough. They're also unsanitary and thoroughly unpleasant. Gordy and Armstrong are led in by the federales. The Fat Federale has Armstrong's hat. He looks it over, wondering why Gordy wanted it. Then decides he could give a fuck and tosses it to Armstrong. Clangs the cell door shut and locks it. Leaves shaking his head. FAT FEDERALE Gringos... Armstrong's still unsteady on his feet and sits down on the metal bunk. ARMSTRONG That stun gun wasn't cool. Armstrong looks down at himself. ARMSTRONG Haven't peed my pants in a real long time. GORDY (beat) You shouldn't have helped me. ARMSTRONG Yeah, well, I guess all these assholes down here are just starting on my nerves. Gordy's silent. It's over. He's come up short. He's going home. ARMSTRONG So what the hell did you do to land us in here? And don't jerk me around, eh? Beat. Gordy sits. GORDY The Wolf killed my wife and son in New York. (CONTINUED) 59. 145 CONTINUED: 145 ARMSTRONG ... Oh, you're that guy, eh? I'm sorry, man... And what, you came down here to even things out? Gordy just looks at him. ARMSTRONG Did you even have a plan? GORDY Yeah. Go to Caguan, find The Wolf and kill him. Armstrong just shakes his head. Beat. 146 DOOR TO CELL AREA 146 BANGS open. Federales lead in two men -- the two guerrillas surprised earlier by the heavy-camouflaged infiltrators. The federales are armed with batons and stun guns, taking no chances. It's clear the rebels weren't brought here without a struggle, either -- both are cut and bruised. The tougher-looking of the two has taken a real beating. This beaten man is jammed face- first against the bars of Gordy's cell. He makes eye contact with Gordy while the other rebel is unbound and put into a cell. Then the beaten man is shoved into the cell. A solid, brick wall separates them from Gordy and Armstrong. Armstrong's seen the patches on their uniforms. To Gordy, sotto -- ARMSTRONG E.L.C. Beat. Armstrong sees the look on Gordy's face. By way of a warning -- ARMSTRONG If you can't kill them, don't even talk to them. The GUERRILLAS are MURMURING in the other cell. One of them LAUGHS. OFF Gordy, listening to the LAUGHING... 147 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL - NIGHT 147 Two or three A.M. Armstrong's dozing. Gordy's still listening to the MURMURING of the REBELS on the other side of the wall, when... (CONTINUED) 60. 147 CONTINUED: 147 There's a flurry of activity outside the cell area. The door opens. Soldiers enter with some federales. Gordy watches the soldiers move past his cell. Rocha is with them. And then... Brandt appears at the bars, looks in at Gordy. BRANDT Enjoy your trip? Gordy stands, approaches. BRANDT We asked you to leave it to us. GORDY And you guys still haven't got him. BRANDT It's not over yet... The guys next door are in The Wolf's elite bodyguard unit. Where he goes, they go. We're gonna ask questions. And we're gonna get answers... And you're staying right here till our bomber's dead. Brandt goes. Moments later, a TORTURED SCREAM is heard on the other side of the brick wall, waking Armstrong with a start. 148 EXT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - NIGHT 148 In a field near Mompos, a canopied truck backs into position. Men in guerrilla uniforms with ELC patches get out and pull back the canopy, revealing mortar tubes pointing skyward on a bed of sand. 149 ELC GUERRILLA 149 unit armed with AK-47s and Light Anti-Tank Weapons (LAWs) infiltrates the town. 150 ANOTHER TWO-MAN ELC GUERRILLA TEAM 150 sets up a single mortar position overlooking the town. One of the men checks his watch. Beat. He signals. The other man drops a MORTAR down the tube. WHUMP. 61. 151 TWO MORTARS 151 go in the tubes on the truck. WHUMP, WHUMP. 152 ANOTHER ANGLE 152 BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! A water tower, the Mompos fire station and the town's power supply are direct hits. WHUMP, WHUMP, WHUMP... 153 INT. JAIL - CELLS 153 People react to the sounds of the MORTAR ATTACK on the town. The lights go out. Brandt, Rocha and their men quickly lock the guerrillas in their cell and head out. 154 EXT. JAIL 154 As MORTARS CONTINUE to fall on the rest of the town, the unit of guerrilla infiltrators open up on the front of the jail with LAW ROCKETS. 155 EXT./INT. JAIL 155 KA-BOOM! The front door and wall of the jail disintegrate under the multiple LAW attack. 156 NEW ANGLE 156 Brandt, Rocha and the soldiers, approaching the front door inside, are hammered by the massive concussion of the BLAST and flung across the room, apparently dead. 157 ANOTHER ANGLE 157 The powerful, concussive shock-wave channels into the cell area. Gordy's slightly protected by a wall. Armstrong, standing at the bars, is thrown into the opposite wall and knocked unconscious. 158 GUERRILLAS 158 charge inside with AKs BLAZING. Surviving soldiers and federales SHOOT back. The blasts have caused fires in the building. Severed wires spark, creating more fire. Flames begin to spread through the tinder-dry structure. (CONTINUED) 62. 158 CONTINUED: 158 The guerrillas take out the soldiers and federales, with few casualties to themselves. They make their way toward the cell area. EXPLODING AMMO and stored FUEL CANS accelerate the fire. 159 NEW ANGLE 159 The guerrillas reach the cells. Two men see Gordy and draw down on him. The others move to the next cell. Guerrillas plant small explosive charges on the hinges of the cell containing their two captured comrades. Beat. The HINGES BLOW. The beaten man and the rebel with him are freed, and the guerrillas quickly retreat the way they came. Gordy sees flames spreading into the cell area. 160 GUERRILLAS 160 exit the fiery jail past Brandt. We see Brandt's not dead. 161 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - OUTSIDE JAIL 161 A truck pulls up. The guerrillas get in. The TRUCK SCREECHES OUT as... 162 4X4 162 full of sicarios SKIDS onto the street, far ahead of the truck. The sicario driving punches it, and... 163 TWO TRUCKS 163 ROAR toward each other. A game of chicken. With GUNS. Men in both vehicles OPEN UP -- the sicarios with magnums and Uzis, the guerrillas with AKs. SLUGS RIP through automotive steel. Casualties are taken. When... 164 SICARIO 164 driving the 4x4 receives a round in the forehead, cranks over the steering wheel, and... 63. 165 SPEEDING 4X4 165 does a Paris-to-Dakar road rally flip, twisting and somersaulting, and... 166 NEW ANGLE 166 The 4x4 catapults completely over the guerrillas' truck, disintegrating into spare parts and dead occupants, as... 167 GUERRILLAS 167 ROAR off. 168 EXT./INT. JAIL 168 A severely-dazed Brandt, bleeding from the nose and ears, slowly gets to his knees, crawls out of the burning building and collapses outside. 169 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL 169 There's fire and smoke everywhere. Gordy picks up the metal bunk and slams it against a wall. Slams it again. Breaks the metal apart. Then levers a long side rail in the cell door. He heaves. Heaves again. The fire's licking at him, but Gordy's undeterred. He heaves again, and... This time, the door gives. Gordy picks up Armstrong's cap, then picks up Armstrong, who's starting to come around. Puts Armstrong over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. GORDY Don't breathe. ARMSTRONG (weakly) You're not running through the fire, eh? GORDY Close your mouth. Because running through the fire is just what Gordy's gonna do. As he disappears into the flames... 170 EXT. JAIL - NIGHT 170 The town's in complete chaos. There are fires everywhere. (CONTINUED) 64. 170 CONTINUED: 170 Still stunned and bleeding, Brandt looks from where he lies on the ground as... Gordy bursts out of the inferno carrying Armstrong. They're singed and smoking, but they're alive. Gordy drops Armstrong, pats himself and Armstrong down, knocking out the burning embers on their clothes and hair, when... Gordy's eyes meet Brandt's. The two men hold the look for a moment. If Brandt could speak, he'd be yelling at Gordy to stop, not to go on. And Gordy knows it. But Gordy's not stopping. Picks up Armstrong again and moves off toward the waterfront. 171 EXT. MOMPOS WATERFRONT - NIGHT 171 There's less chaos here. The fires are in the distance. Gordy arrives carrying Armstrong. Sets him down. GORDY I'll find a boat to take us upriver. He starts to go. Armstrong stops him. ARMSTRONG No. I told you. The pass is only good for one person. And you're too dangerous to travel with. Beat. Gordy reaches over and takes Armstrong's cap. He looks inside. There's no pass. ARMSTRONG It hasn't been there since we landed. Gordy's at a loss. He tosses the cap back. Just looks at Armstrong. Beat. Armstrong sighs. ARMSTRONG Aw, hell... I was through with this place anyway... He takes off a boot. Shakes out some money and the pass. He hands the pass to Gordy. (CONTINUED) 65. 171 CONTINUED: 171 ARMSTRONG I'll call ahead and tell Felix I'm not coming, and you're my replacement. He'll meet you in Caguan and take you to the plantation... What do you know about diesel engines? GORDY All the fire trucks are diesels. ARMSTRONG You'll have to be Austrian, eh? They hate Americans. Name's gotta change, too, in case they're watching the news. (beat) It'll buy you a little time to look around Caguan. But you'll never find The Wolf. Beat. Gordy sticks out his hand. GORDY Heinrich Beckmann. ARMSTRONG Huh? GORDY My Austrian name. Armstrong shakes hands with Gordy. Armstrong doesn't let loose right away. Beat. ARMSTRONG Luck got you this far. But up there, luck doesn't make it. I hope you know you're gonna die. OFF Gordy, about to step over another line... 172 EXT. RIVER - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 172 As dawn breaks over the river, FIND Gordy sitting in a motored panga being steered by a local BOATMAN. Gordy reaches into a pocket and pulls out the photo of Anne and Matt. He looks at it for a few moments. Then pockets it again. 173 SAME SCENE - LATER 173 The panga passes a dead body floating downstream. 66. 174 SAME SCENE - LATER 174 The panga passes revolutionary banners and signs lining the riverbank. BOATMAN La zona guerrillera. 175 SAME SCENE - MOMENTS LATER 175 The panga rounds a bend, and... Two souped-up bass boats filled with heavily-armed ELC guerrillas move to intercept it. The Boatman slows, puts the panga in neutral and keeps his hands in sight. One boat of guerrillas pulls alongside. The other sheers off and stops a short distance away, ready to open fire. Gordy shows the guerrillas his travel pass. One of them takes it. Reads. Looks Gordy over. Then starts to rip the pass in half, when... He stops. Grins. It's a big joke. He hands back the pass, searches the boat quickly and waves the panga on. OFF Gordy's relief as the panga heads on... 176 EXT. CAGUAN TOWN DOCK - DAY 176 The panga arrives, and Gordy gets out. He's met by FELIX. Felix has a 9mm in a shoulder holster. Felix doesn't look the least bit happy. FELIX Beckmann. GORDY Yeah. FELIX Come with me. Felix leads him towards a Land Cruiser. FELIX Armstrong should have called sooner. We don't like changes here... If I didn't need the equipment fixed, I'd send you back. (CONTINUED) 67. 176 CONTINUED: 176 They reach the Land Cruiser. FELIX But now we have to see the E.L.C. Supervisor for Caguan. It's a prospect that seems to concern Felix almost as much as Gordy. Off which, as they get into the Toyota... 177 INT. ELC SUPERVISOR'S OFFICE - DAY 177 The ELC SUPERVISOR for Caguan may be a Marxist, but the clean, well-ordered office is nicely appointed, with a big-screen Sony and leather furniture. The TV's TUNED TO CNN. A photo on the wall depicts him as a younger man wearing guerrilla cammies bearing with an ELC patch and holding an AK-47. A brass nameplate reading "Supervisor" rests on a neat desk, behind which stands the man himself -- a hardened, former guerrilla fighter proud of his position. He's not in cammies now -- his uniform now consists of casual but nice tropical clothing and a fat Rolex. Felix is a subordinate here. He and Gordy stand across the desk as the Supervisor examines Gordy's travel pass. Gordy's nervous about what could appear on the TV in the b.g., but tries not to show it. ELC SUPERVISOR Your passport was stolen. GORDY In Mompos. ELC SUPERVISOR ... Mompos is a shithole. Not like Caguan... Why didn't Armstrong come? GORDY He was arrested in Ecuador. He got drunk and fooled around with a police officer's wife. The Supervisor just looks at him, assessing Gordy's face for signs he's lying. Gordy's expression stays the same. Felix respectfully interjects. It's almost a plea. FELIX (in Spanish) We need to fix the equipment. We have delivery deadlines to meet. (CONTINUED) 68. 177 CONTINUED: 177 A long beat. The ELC Supervisor hands the travel pass back to Gordy. In a hard tone to Felix -- ELC SUPERVISOR (in Spanish) He's your responsibility. Don't let him out of your sight. FELIX Si. Gracias. As Felix leads Gordy away... 178 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER (CAGUAN) - DAY 178 Gordy and Felix pull away from the Supervisor's H.Q. Felix resumes his former tone of command. FELIX The Supervisor made you my responsibility... You don't go anywhere without me, you understand? GORDY No problemo. Gordy peers out the window intently as they drive, looking for a lucky break, looking for The Wolf, searching the face of every man. He doesn't see The Wolf, but what he does see surprises him. The ELC Supervisor was right: Caguan's no Mompos. It's a third- world town, armed troops are visible, and there's a lot of bad shit behind Colombia's revolutionaries, but here the streets are calm and orderly. It's quiet, almost eerie, as people go about their business. OFF Gordy, seeing another side of the guerrillas... 179 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER/COUNTRY ROAD - DAY 179 Felix turns off at the entrance to a lane leading to the plantation. The entrance is guarded by a 4X4 "Rat Patrol" assault truck and four heavily armed ELC guerrillas. GORDY The E.L.C. guards your coffee beans? Felix thinks he's joking. Until he looks over and sees Gordy's actually being sincere. (CONTINUED) 69. 179 CONTINUED: 179 FELIX ... Coffee beans? Shit. Armstrong didn't tell you much... 180 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER - PLANTATION - DAY 180 They approach a hacienda and outbuildings. The accoutrements of agriculture are present -- tractors, sheds, cats, etc. -- but clearly, this is no family farm. There are lots of serious-looking men around. More ELC guerrillas stand guard. 181 FELIX 181 stops the car. He and Gordy get out. Felix begins leading Gordy toward two rows of long, open-walled sheds. FELIX The problem's with the diesel generators. The sons-of-bitches keep breaking down. 182 NEW ANGLE 182 They pass four very large pits, where green leaves steep in a thick, foul-smelling liquid. FELIX We're using portables to keep production going, but they don't supply enough power to the heat lamps, and we have to dry a lot of... 'coffee beans.' 183 ANOTHER ANGLE 183 They're now walking between the two rows of sheds, where portable gas GENERATORS THRUM, and... Gordy can see long, wide platforms inside. Above the platforms are multiple arrays of powerful heat lamps. Spread out and drying beneath them is a half-acre or two of converted cocaine. 184 IN ANOTHER SHED 184 workers pack and wrap one-kilo bricks of coke for shipment. 70. 185 GORDY AND FELIX 185 approach the two giant diesel generators. FELIX We can fix anything, but these keep dying on us... You'll start now. I'll have tools brought to you. (beat) Armstrong's a magician with them. Let's hope you have his skill. Felix walks over to a guerrilla with an AK-47 and speaks to him. Then goes. Whereupon the

silk

How many times the word 'silk' appears in the text?

wire bows against his shin, and... Gordy ducks, covers the Man in the Yankees Cap, and... Nothing happens. The young man just stands there, frozen in position, his leg still bowing the line. (CONTINUED) 48. 117 CONTINUED: 117 Using the Zippo again to light his way, Gordy advances to the young man. He follows the trip wire to where a Coca- Cola can hangs from a nearby tree. On closer inspection, Gordy can see the can is sleeved around a grenade. There's no pin in the grenade. The can keeps the grenade's arming spoon in place. The trip wire's designed to yank the can off, allowing the grenade to explode at chest level... And the can's almost off. Gordy burns through the monofilament trip wire. Then carefully slides the Coke can back over the grenade. 118 MAN IN YANKEES CAP - MOMENTS LATER 118 When Gordy returns, the man's dead. OFF Gordy, looking down at the NY logo on the cap... 119 EXT./INT. ANOTHER CHIVA - DAY 119 Gordy sees a sign for a town as the chiva rumbles along. He pulls out his map. 120 INSERT - MAP 120 Gordy finds the town, which lies along a river. He traces a road from the town. The road runs south through the town of Mompos, and eventually reaches Caguan, the ELC capital. 121 BACK TO SCENE 121 A COLOMBIAN WOMAN is looking over Gordy's shoulder. COLOMBIAN WOMAN No autobusses para este lugar. Solamente el barco en el rio. She leans over, traces the river, which also runs to Caguan. COLOMBIAN WOMAN El rio. 122 EXT. FERRY DOCK - DAY 122 The FERRY'S WHISTLE TOOTS. Lines are cast off. (CONTINUED) 49. 122 CONTINUED: 122 Two plainclothes federales have been watching the ferry load and now relax their vigil. One man holds a Xerox of Gordy's passport photo. The other bites into an empanada, which breaks open and spills its contents down the front of his shirt. His partner finds it funny. He doesn't. And while their attention's occupied... Gordy hurries by, oblivious to the federales' presence, and just manages to hop onto the ferry as it pulls away. 123 EXT. FERRY - DAY 123 The ferry's the only means of travel south, and it's packed. Gordy picks his way through. The only other gringo on the boat is a geek in a plaid shirt and gimme hat that says "Deerborn." The geek, PHILIP ARMSTRONG, looks like a talker, and Gordy tries to avoid eye contact. He's too late. ARMSTRONG Hey, yo, dude, here's a seat, man! GORDY No, that's okay -- But Armstrong's already throwing a bag off the bench. ARMSTRONG I was hoping for someone I could communicate with. He sees Gordy hasn't moved. ARMSTRONG Only room's at the back near the bano, and I'd advise against it, unless you like poop. Beat. Gordy sits. Immediately -- ARMSTRONG Philip Armstrong. Assiniboia, Sasketchewan, Canada. (indicates his hat) Deerborn Heavy Equipment. GORDY ... Gordy Pitt. ARMSTRONG Hey, howya doing? I love Germany. (CONTINUED) 50. 123 CONTINUED: 123 GORDY Austria. American now. ARMSTRONG I love America. Never been to Austria. Where from in America would that be? GORDY New York City. ARMSTRONG I don't like New York City. Buildings're too big. What kinda work you in? GORDY (hesitates, then) Coffee. I buy beans. ARMSTRONG Can't drink caffeine. Makes my stomach do the rumba. I like that commercial guy with the sombrero and the mule, though. Headed upstream, eh? Where to? GORDY Caguan. ARMSTRONG ... You've never been to Caguan, eh? GORDY How do you know? ARMSTRONG 'Cause no one in their right mind would ever go back. Caguan's in the guerrilla zone run by the E.L.C. E.L.C. as in 'Extra Loathsome Communists.' They don't care, and they kill. I'm going there myself. But I have a 'get outta jail free' card. Armstrong doffs his cap, undoes a safety pin securing a card inside the crown. Shows it to Gordy. Sotto -- (CONTINUED) 51. 123 CONTINUED: (2) 123 ARMSTRONG E.L.C. travel pass. I can go anywhere I want. (by way of explanation) Everyone needs equipment fixed. Armstrong carefully returns the card to the hat. And now his voice takes on a noticeably more measured tone -- ARMSTRONG If you don't have one of these, you don't want to be up there, Gordy. Beat. Gordy's contemplating the warning, when his eyes go to a small, sleepy boy standing nearby on the cramped deck, leaning against his father. Gordy reaches over and taps the boy. The boy looks over. Shrinks away at the sight of the large gringo. The father notices and looks at Gordy, who stands, indicates his seat. GORDY Por favor. The father's also apprehensive, doesn't move. GORDY Con mucho gusto. Finally, the father accepts, sits down with the sleepy boy on his lap. Nods his thanks at Gordy, who then gazes down at the son. A kid about Matt's age. Armstrong recognizes the look of a caring dad. ARMSTRONG Got kids, eh? OFF Armstrong, as Gordy walks away... 124 EXT. JUNGLE - DAY 124 Two Colombian armed man wearing guerrilla uniforms bearing a distinctive ELC patch are walking a trail, when the man in front notices something odd. He stops. Leads the other man back a few steps. Looks into the foliage along the trail. Something doesn't seem right. He extends his AK-47. Prods a hump of greenery with the rifle butt, and in a flash... The greenery suddenly transforms into two men wearing face-paint and full-body military camouflage gear and pointing twin cocked-and-locked CAR-15 assault rifles at the heads of the startled guerrillas. 52. 125 EXT. CIA HACIENDA - DAY 125 Brandt stubs a butt as a Colombian SOG group does killer training nearby. Updegraf opens the door. To Brandt -- UPDEGRAF One of Rocha's infiltration teams just radioed in... We got our big break... 126 EXT. FERRY - DAY 126 Gordy stands along the rail looking out at the lush, beautiful countryside sliding past. Armstrong joins him. ARMSTRONG That little kid and I had a nice, long snooze... We're almost to Mompos. (gazing out) Beautiful country. GORDY It better be. A lotta people're dying for it. ARMSTRONG (looks overboard) Y'know, I haven't noticed one darn body floating downstream this whole trip, have you? Gordy doesn't respond. Beat. GORDY I was thinking... Maybe we could travel together into Caguan. You could show me around. ARMSTRONG (shakes his head) Pass is only good for one person, if that's your idea, which I think it is... Besides, I can't risk traveling around up there in the company of a big gringo with a dumb-ass cover story about coffee beans. Gordy looks over. Armstrong smiles back. Beat. (CONTINUED) 53. 126 CONTINUED: 126 GORDY I've got money. I'll buy the pass from you. ARMSTRONG I've worked too hard for it. And you don't have that kind of money on you. GORDY I'll be getting some life insurance money -- ARMSTRONG (shaking his head) It's all cash and carry down here, Gordy. The FERRY WHISTLE TOOTS. ARMSTRONG Mompos... You want to have some fun, we'll hook up later. I always schedule a stopover. To sample the local wares and such. (winks) Life can be what you make it here on the frontier. GORDY No, thanks. ARMSTRONG Gotta get off the boat anyway. Mompos is the last stop. From here into the guerrilla zone you can only travel by panga... If you change your mind, I'll be at the Tropicale later. It's a gringo bar. Just follow the cockroaches. 127 NEW ANGLE 127 They see the beginnings of Mompos. Two 4x4 trucks are parked on the riverbank. Lean, clean-cut men in jeans, tight shirts, cowboy boots and sunglasses lean on the truck and watch the ferry pass. ARMSTRONG Sicarios. Death squads. Avoid those dudes at all costs. 54. 128 SAME SCENE - FEW MOMENTS LATER 128 The ferry pulls up to the dock. The dock street is a culture clash of shanty bars and Amazon Indian traders, of big-wheel SUVs and mule carts. There's a definite air of menace. ARMSTRONG Federales are looking for someone. Gordy follows Armstrong's look to two plain-clothes federales, one fat and one thin, standing near the dock watching the boat pull up. When Gordy glances back, Armstrong is gone. 129 EXT. MOMPOS FERRY DOCK - DAY 129 Gordy disembarks amid the throng of passengers, when the FAT FEDERALE confronts him. FAT FEDERALE Senor Pitt? Gordy looks up in surprise at him and the thin federale backing him up. FAT FEDERALE You'll have to come with us. GORDY Why? FAT FEDERALE Come with us, please. He clamps a hand on Gordy's arm. Gordy shakes it off and starts running. Almost immediately, he's tackled to the ground by the thin federale. Two more federales join in. Gordy's not gonna go down easy, though. Even as only one against four, Gordy's a formidable challenge. He's strong, and he's committed all the way. He's not getting kicked out of this country again. It's not a clean or artful fight. There's no karate. It's four men trying to tackle a bull, and... The bull gets away. 130 EXT./INT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 130 Gordy sprints down streets with the federales in pursuit. 55. 131 GORDY 131 jukes into a local bar. 132 ANOTHER ANGLE 132 Gordy pounds out the back of the bar into a littered courtyard, where he's surrounded by ten-foot walls. 133 FEDERALES 133 blast through the bar. 134 GORDY 134 runs, jumps, launches off a beer keg, and... 135 TOP OF WALL 135 He reaches the top of the wall and pulls himself up. He's looking out across a block-long run of corrugated tin roofs. Takes off across the roofs, each step thundering, as... 136 FEDERALES 136 burst into the courtyard. Two men hastily build a stack of boxes, etc., against the wall. 137 GORDY 137 runs as fast as he can across the rooftops, when... A section of roof gives way beneath his feet, just as... 138 NEW ANGLE 138 One of the federales finally mounts the wall, looks across the rooftops... and Gordy's gone. 139 GORDY 139 lands inside a warehouse room amid sacks of rice, beans and coffee. The building is dark and dusty. He lies still and listens. FOOTSTEPS approach across the tin roof overhead. Gordy burrows into the bags of rice, pulls them over him. 56. 140 FEDERALE 140 on the roof peers down through the hole. Scans the warehouse room below with a mini-Mag-Lite. 141 GORDY 141 sees the flashlight beam move past. He holds his breath. Beat. Then the FOOTSTEPS pass on, RECEDE down the roof. And Gordy can breathe again. 142 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - NIGHT 142 Gordy makes his way along the main drag of the frontier town. A noisy, neon-lit strip of bars and brothels. Everyone's packing a gun. A new Dodge City, where death squad sicarios cruise past in 4x4's BLARING SALSA. 143 INT. TROPICALE - NIGHT 143 In here, the MUSIC'S LOUD ROCK 'N' ROLL. Gringo music for a gringo bar. The place is busy, with plenty of local "hostesses" for the men. Even Armstrong, standing half-crocked at the bar, is flanked by two scantily-clad women. He's got a spoon hanging off his nose. So does one of the girls. Armstrong's trying to hang a spoon on the other. Gordy slips into the bar. Spots Armstrong through the crowd. Sees Armstrong's not wearing his cap, when... The girl with the spoon on her nose turns slightly, revealing she's wearing the cap. It's on backwards, but now Gordy can see the "Deerborn" logo clearly. Gordy wants the guerrilla travel pass inside the cap. It's a desperate move, but he's got no choice. Starts toward the girl, when... Gordy sees the thin federale enter the front door. The thin federale sees him at the same time. Begins moving in on him. Gordy moves faster toward the girl. And... The girl unwittingly does him a favor by taking off the cap and setting it on the bar, where it's easier to grab, and then turns her attention to Armstrong's antics. The thin detective fights through the crowd after Gordy. Gordy's almost to the hat. (CONTINUED) 57. 143 CONTINUED: 143 Armstrong's still having trouble with the second girl's spoon. ARMSTRONG I never met a nose I couldn't hang a spoon on. Gordy reaches the bar, snags the cap. Glances back, sees the thin federale closing in, turns to run out the back, when... A strong hand stops him. The hand belongs to the Fat Federale. And now the thin federale's there, too, wielding a stun gun where Gordy can see it. People in the bar fall silent. Everyone but Armstrong, who's finally hung the spoon on the second girl's nose. ARMSTRONG Yahtzee! And now Armstong also realizes something's up. Turns and sees Gordy. Sees the cap in Gordy's hand as the Fat Federale addresses Gordy -- FAT FEDERALE Come along, Mr. Pitt. Whereupon Armstrong shouts drunkenly at Gordy -- ARMSTRONG Police catch you trying to steal my hat, you asshole?! He staggers toward Gordy. Grabs the hat. ARMSTRONG Fucking hat thief! Armstrong takes a drunken swing at Gordy, but... Instead of hitting Gordy, Armstrong accidentally-on- purpose clocks the fat detective. Then hisses into Gordy's ear, clearly not that drunk -- ARMSTRONG Get outta here -- But then Armstrong's legs won't work as the thin federale jams the stun gun against his neck, and 10,000 volts surprise the Armstrong neural network. Gordy moves against the thin federale in anger, when... The Fat Federale ZAPS him with another STUN GUN, just behind the ear... And Gordy gets to know the floor, too. 58. 144 EXT. MOMPOS JAIL - NIGHT 144 The building's ancient, constructed of wood and adobe. 145 INT. MOMPOS JAIL - CELL - NIGHT 145 The jail might be old, but the cells are secure enough. They're also unsanitary and thoroughly unpleasant. Gordy and Armstrong are led in by the federales. The Fat Federale has Armstrong's hat. He looks it over, wondering why Gordy wanted it. Then decides he could give a fuck and tosses it to Armstrong. Clangs the cell door shut and locks it. Leaves shaking his head. FAT FEDERALE Gringos... Armstrong's still unsteady on his feet and sits down on the metal bunk. ARMSTRONG That stun gun wasn't cool. Armstrong looks down at himself. ARMSTRONG Haven't peed my pants in a real long time. GORDY (beat) You shouldn't have helped me. ARMSTRONG Yeah, well, I guess all these assholes down here are just starting on my nerves. Gordy's silent. It's over. He's come up short. He's going home. ARMSTRONG So what the hell did you do to land us in here? And don't jerk me around, eh? Beat. Gordy sits. GORDY The Wolf killed my wife and son in New York. (CONTINUED) 59. 145 CONTINUED: 145 ARMSTRONG ... Oh, you're that guy, eh? I'm sorry, man... And what, you came down here to even things out? Gordy just looks at him. ARMSTRONG Did you even have a plan? GORDY Yeah. Go to Caguan, find The Wolf and kill him. Armstrong just shakes his head. Beat. 146 DOOR TO CELL AREA 146 BANGS open. Federales lead in two men -- the two guerrillas surprised earlier by the heavy-camouflaged infiltrators. The federales are armed with batons and stun guns, taking no chances. It's clear the rebels weren't brought here without a struggle, either -- both are cut and bruised. The tougher-looking of the two has taken a real beating. This beaten man is jammed face- first against the bars of Gordy's cell. He makes eye contact with Gordy while the other rebel is unbound and put into a cell. Then the beaten man is shoved into the cell. A solid, brick wall separates them from Gordy and Armstrong. Armstrong's seen the patches on their uniforms. To Gordy, sotto -- ARMSTRONG E.L.C. Beat. Armstrong sees the look on Gordy's face. By way of a warning -- ARMSTRONG If you can't kill them, don't even talk to them. The GUERRILLAS are MURMURING in the other cell. One of them LAUGHS. OFF Gordy, listening to the LAUGHING... 147 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL - NIGHT 147 Two or three A.M. Armstrong's dozing. Gordy's still listening to the MURMURING of the REBELS on the other side of the wall, when... (CONTINUED) 60. 147 CONTINUED: 147 There's a flurry of activity outside the cell area. The door opens. Soldiers enter with some federales. Gordy watches the soldiers move past his cell. Rocha is with them. And then... Brandt appears at the bars, looks in at Gordy. BRANDT Enjoy your trip? Gordy stands, approaches. BRANDT We asked you to leave it to us. GORDY And you guys still haven't got him. BRANDT It's not over yet... The guys next door are in The Wolf's elite bodyguard unit. Where he goes, they go. We're gonna ask questions. And we're gonna get answers... And you're staying right here till our bomber's dead. Brandt goes. Moments later, a TORTURED SCREAM is heard on the other side of the brick wall, waking Armstrong with a start. 148 EXT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - NIGHT 148 In a field near Mompos, a canopied truck backs into position. Men in guerrilla uniforms with ELC patches get out and pull back the canopy, revealing mortar tubes pointing skyward on a bed of sand. 149 ELC GUERRILLA 149 unit armed with AK-47s and Light Anti-Tank Weapons (LAWs) infiltrates the town. 150 ANOTHER TWO-MAN ELC GUERRILLA TEAM 150 sets up a single mortar position overlooking the town. One of the men checks his watch. Beat. He signals. The other man drops a MORTAR down the tube. WHUMP. 61. 151 TWO MORTARS 151 go in the tubes on the truck. WHUMP, WHUMP. 152 ANOTHER ANGLE 152 BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! A water tower, the Mompos fire station and the town's power supply are direct hits. WHUMP, WHUMP, WHUMP... 153 INT. JAIL - CELLS 153 People react to the sounds of the MORTAR ATTACK on the town. The lights go out. Brandt, Rocha and their men quickly lock the guerrillas in their cell and head out. 154 EXT. JAIL 154 As MORTARS CONTINUE to fall on the rest of the town, the unit of guerrilla infiltrators open up on the front of the jail with LAW ROCKETS. 155 EXT./INT. JAIL 155 KA-BOOM! The front door and wall of the jail disintegrate under the multiple LAW attack. 156 NEW ANGLE 156 Brandt, Rocha and the soldiers, approaching the front door inside, are hammered by the massive concussion of the BLAST and flung across the room, apparently dead. 157 ANOTHER ANGLE 157 The powerful, concussive shock-wave channels into the cell area. Gordy's slightly protected by a wall. Armstrong, standing at the bars, is thrown into the opposite wall and knocked unconscious. 158 GUERRILLAS 158 charge inside with AKs BLAZING. Surviving soldiers and federales SHOOT back. The blasts have caused fires in the building. Severed wires spark, creating more fire. Flames begin to spread through the tinder-dry structure. (CONTINUED) 62. 158 CONTINUED: 158 The guerrillas take out the soldiers and federales, with few casualties to themselves. They make their way toward the cell area. EXPLODING AMMO and stored FUEL CANS accelerate the fire. 159 NEW ANGLE 159 The guerrillas reach the cells. Two men see Gordy and draw down on him. The others move to the next cell. Guerrillas plant small explosive charges on the hinges of the cell containing their two captured comrades. Beat. The HINGES BLOW. The beaten man and the rebel with him are freed, and the guerrillas quickly retreat the way they came. Gordy sees flames spreading into the cell area. 160 GUERRILLAS 160 exit the fiery jail past Brandt. We see Brandt's not dead. 161 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - OUTSIDE JAIL 161 A truck pulls up. The guerrillas get in. The TRUCK SCREECHES OUT as... 162 4X4 162 full of sicarios SKIDS onto the street, far ahead of the truck. The sicario driving punches it, and... 163 TWO TRUCKS 163 ROAR toward each other. A game of chicken. With GUNS. Men in both vehicles OPEN UP -- the sicarios with magnums and Uzis, the guerrillas with AKs. SLUGS RIP through automotive steel. Casualties are taken. When... 164 SICARIO 164 driving the 4x4 receives a round in the forehead, cranks over the steering wheel, and... 63. 165 SPEEDING 4X4 165 does a Paris-to-Dakar road rally flip, twisting and somersaulting, and... 166 NEW ANGLE 166 The 4x4 catapults completely over the guerrillas' truck, disintegrating into spare parts and dead occupants, as... 167 GUERRILLAS 167 ROAR off. 168 EXT./INT. JAIL 168 A severely-dazed Brandt, bleeding from the nose and ears, slowly gets to his knees, crawls out of the burning building and collapses outside. 169 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL 169 There's fire and smoke everywhere. Gordy picks up the metal bunk and slams it against a wall. Slams it again. Breaks the metal apart. Then levers a long side rail in the cell door. He heaves. Heaves again. The fire's licking at him, but Gordy's undeterred. He heaves again, and... This time, the door gives. Gordy picks up Armstrong's cap, then picks up Armstrong, who's starting to come around. Puts Armstrong over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. GORDY Don't breathe. ARMSTRONG (weakly) You're not running through the fire, eh? GORDY Close your mouth. Because running through the fire is just what Gordy's gonna do. As he disappears into the flames... 170 EXT. JAIL - NIGHT 170 The town's in complete chaos. There are fires everywhere. (CONTINUED) 64. 170 CONTINUED: 170 Still stunned and bleeding, Brandt looks from where he lies on the ground as... Gordy bursts out of the inferno carrying Armstrong. They're singed and smoking, but they're alive. Gordy drops Armstrong, pats himself and Armstrong down, knocking out the burning embers on their clothes and hair, when... Gordy's eyes meet Brandt's. The two men hold the look for a moment. If Brandt could speak, he'd be yelling at Gordy to stop, not to go on. And Gordy knows it. But Gordy's not stopping. Picks up Armstrong again and moves off toward the waterfront. 171 EXT. MOMPOS WATERFRONT - NIGHT 171 There's less chaos here. The fires are in the distance. Gordy arrives carrying Armstrong. Sets him down. GORDY I'll find a boat to take us upriver. He starts to go. Armstrong stops him. ARMSTRONG No. I told you. The pass is only good for one person. And you're too dangerous to travel with. Beat. Gordy reaches over and takes Armstrong's cap. He looks inside. There's no pass. ARMSTRONG It hasn't been there since we landed. Gordy's at a loss. He tosses the cap back. Just looks at Armstrong. Beat. Armstrong sighs. ARMSTRONG Aw, hell... I was through with this place anyway... He takes off a boot. Shakes out some money and the pass. He hands the pass to Gordy. (CONTINUED) 65. 171 CONTINUED: 171 ARMSTRONG I'll call ahead and tell Felix I'm not coming, and you're my replacement. He'll meet you in Caguan and take you to the plantation... What do you know about diesel engines? GORDY All the fire trucks are diesels. ARMSTRONG You'll have to be Austrian, eh? They hate Americans. Name's gotta change, too, in case they're watching the news. (beat) It'll buy you a little time to look around Caguan. But you'll never find The Wolf. Beat. Gordy sticks out his hand. GORDY Heinrich Beckmann. ARMSTRONG Huh? GORDY My Austrian name. Armstrong shakes hands with Gordy. Armstrong doesn't let loose right away. Beat. ARMSTRONG Luck got you this far. But up there, luck doesn't make it. I hope you know you're gonna die. OFF Gordy, about to step over another line... 172 EXT. RIVER - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 172 As dawn breaks over the river, FIND Gordy sitting in a motored panga being steered by a local BOATMAN. Gordy reaches into a pocket and pulls out the photo of Anne and Matt. He looks at it for a few moments. Then pockets it again. 173 SAME SCENE - LATER 173 The panga passes a dead body floating downstream. 66. 174 SAME SCENE - LATER 174 The panga passes revolutionary banners and signs lining the riverbank. BOATMAN La zona guerrillera. 175 SAME SCENE - MOMENTS LATER 175 The panga rounds a bend, and... Two souped-up bass boats filled with heavily-armed ELC guerrillas move to intercept it. The Boatman slows, puts the panga in neutral and keeps his hands in sight. One boat of guerrillas pulls alongside. The other sheers off and stops a short distance away, ready to open fire. Gordy shows the guerrillas his travel pass. One of them takes it. Reads. Looks Gordy over. Then starts to rip the pass in half, when... He stops. Grins. It's a big joke. He hands back the pass, searches the boat quickly and waves the panga on. OFF Gordy's relief as the panga heads on... 176 EXT. CAGUAN TOWN DOCK - DAY 176 The panga arrives, and Gordy gets out. He's met by FELIX. Felix has a 9mm in a shoulder holster. Felix doesn't look the least bit happy. FELIX Beckmann. GORDY Yeah. FELIX Come with me. Felix leads him towards a Land Cruiser. FELIX Armstrong should have called sooner. We don't like changes here... If I didn't need the equipment fixed, I'd send you back. (CONTINUED) 67. 176 CONTINUED: 176 They reach the Land Cruiser. FELIX But now we have to see the E.L.C. Supervisor for Caguan. It's a prospect that seems to concern Felix almost as much as Gordy. Off which, as they get into the Toyota... 177 INT. ELC SUPERVISOR'S OFFICE - DAY 177 The ELC SUPERVISOR for Caguan may be a Marxist, but the clean, well-ordered office is nicely appointed, with a big-screen Sony and leather furniture. The TV's TUNED TO CNN. A photo on the wall depicts him as a younger man wearing guerrilla cammies bearing with an ELC patch and holding an AK-47. A brass nameplate reading "Supervisor" rests on a neat desk, behind which stands the man himself -- a hardened, former guerrilla fighter proud of his position. He's not in cammies now -- his uniform now consists of casual but nice tropical clothing and a fat Rolex. Felix is a subordinate here. He and Gordy stand across the desk as the Supervisor examines Gordy's travel pass. Gordy's nervous about what could appear on the TV in the b.g., but tries not to show it. ELC SUPERVISOR Your passport was stolen. GORDY In Mompos. ELC SUPERVISOR ... Mompos is a shithole. Not like Caguan... Why didn't Armstrong come? GORDY He was arrested in Ecuador. He got drunk and fooled around with a police officer's wife. The Supervisor just looks at him, assessing Gordy's face for signs he's lying. Gordy's expression stays the same. Felix respectfully interjects. It's almost a plea. FELIX (in Spanish) We need to fix the equipment. We have delivery deadlines to meet. (CONTINUED) 68. 177 CONTINUED: 177 A long beat. The ELC Supervisor hands the travel pass back to Gordy. In a hard tone to Felix -- ELC SUPERVISOR (in Spanish) He's your responsibility. Don't let him out of your sight. FELIX Si. Gracias. As Felix leads Gordy away... 178 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER (CAGUAN) - DAY 178 Gordy and Felix pull away from the Supervisor's H.Q. Felix resumes his former tone of command. FELIX The Supervisor made you my responsibility... You don't go anywhere without me, you understand? GORDY No problemo. Gordy peers out the window intently as they drive, looking for a lucky break, looking for The Wolf, searching the face of every man. He doesn't see The Wolf, but what he does see surprises him. The ELC Supervisor was right: Caguan's no Mompos. It's a third- world town, armed troops are visible, and there's a lot of bad shit behind Colombia's revolutionaries, but here the streets are calm and orderly. It's quiet, almost eerie, as people go about their business. OFF Gordy, seeing another side of the guerrillas... 179 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER/COUNTRY ROAD - DAY 179 Felix turns off at the entrance to a lane leading to the plantation. The entrance is guarded by a 4X4 "Rat Patrol" assault truck and four heavily armed ELC guerrillas. GORDY The E.L.C. guards your coffee beans? Felix thinks he's joking. Until he looks over and sees Gordy's actually being sincere. (CONTINUED) 69. 179 CONTINUED: 179 FELIX ... Coffee beans? Shit. Armstrong didn't tell you much... 180 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER - PLANTATION - DAY 180 They approach a hacienda and outbuildings. The accoutrements of agriculture are present -- tractors, sheds, cats, etc. -- but clearly, this is no family farm. There are lots of serious-looking men around. More ELC guerrillas stand guard. 181 FELIX 181 stops the car. He and Gordy get out. Felix begins leading Gordy toward two rows of long, open-walled sheds. FELIX The problem's with the diesel generators. The sons-of-bitches keep breaking down. 182 NEW ANGLE 182 They pass four very large pits, where green leaves steep in a thick, foul-smelling liquid. FELIX We're using portables to keep production going, but they don't supply enough power to the heat lamps, and we have to dry a lot of... 'coffee beans.' 183 ANOTHER ANGLE 183 They're now walking between the two rows of sheds, where portable gas GENERATORS THRUM, and... Gordy can see long, wide platforms inside. Above the platforms are multiple arrays of powerful heat lamps. Spread out and drying beneath them is a half-acre or two of converted cocaine. 184 IN ANOTHER SHED 184 workers pack and wrap one-kilo bricks of coke for shipment. 70. 185 GORDY AND FELIX 185 approach the two giant diesel generators. FELIX We can fix anything, but these keep dying on us... You'll start now. I'll have tools brought to you. (beat) Armstrong's a magician with them. Let's hope you have his skill. Felix walks over to a guerrilla with an AK-47 and speaks to him. Then goes. Whereupon the

them

How many times the word 'them' appears in the text?

wire bows against his shin, and... Gordy ducks, covers the Man in the Yankees Cap, and... Nothing happens. The young man just stands there, frozen in position, his leg still bowing the line. (CONTINUED) 48. 117 CONTINUED: 117 Using the Zippo again to light his way, Gordy advances to the young man. He follows the trip wire to where a Coca- Cola can hangs from a nearby tree. On closer inspection, Gordy can see the can is sleeved around a grenade. There's no pin in the grenade. The can keeps the grenade's arming spoon in place. The trip wire's designed to yank the can off, allowing the grenade to explode at chest level... And the can's almost off. Gordy burns through the monofilament trip wire. Then carefully slides the Coke can back over the grenade. 118 MAN IN YANKEES CAP - MOMENTS LATER 118 When Gordy returns, the man's dead. OFF Gordy, looking down at the NY logo on the cap... 119 EXT./INT. ANOTHER CHIVA - DAY 119 Gordy sees a sign for a town as the chiva rumbles along. He pulls out his map. 120 INSERT - MAP 120 Gordy finds the town, which lies along a river. He traces a road from the town. The road runs south through the town of Mompos, and eventually reaches Caguan, the ELC capital. 121 BACK TO SCENE 121 A COLOMBIAN WOMAN is looking over Gordy's shoulder. COLOMBIAN WOMAN No autobusses para este lugar. Solamente el barco en el rio. She leans over, traces the river, which also runs to Caguan. COLOMBIAN WOMAN El rio. 122 EXT. FERRY DOCK - DAY 122 The FERRY'S WHISTLE TOOTS. Lines are cast off. (CONTINUED) 49. 122 CONTINUED: 122 Two plainclothes federales have been watching the ferry load and now relax their vigil. One man holds a Xerox of Gordy's passport photo. The other bites into an empanada, which breaks open and spills its contents down the front of his shirt. His partner finds it funny. He doesn't. And while their attention's occupied... Gordy hurries by, oblivious to the federales' presence, and just manages to hop onto the ferry as it pulls away. 123 EXT. FERRY - DAY 123 The ferry's the only means of travel south, and it's packed. Gordy picks his way through. The only other gringo on the boat is a geek in a plaid shirt and gimme hat that says "Deerborn." The geek, PHILIP ARMSTRONG, looks like a talker, and Gordy tries to avoid eye contact. He's too late. ARMSTRONG Hey, yo, dude, here's a seat, man! GORDY No, that's okay -- But Armstrong's already throwing a bag off the bench. ARMSTRONG I was hoping for someone I could communicate with. He sees Gordy hasn't moved. ARMSTRONG Only room's at the back near the bano, and I'd advise against it, unless you like poop. Beat. Gordy sits. Immediately -- ARMSTRONG Philip Armstrong. Assiniboia, Sasketchewan, Canada. (indicates his hat) Deerborn Heavy Equipment. GORDY ... Gordy Pitt. ARMSTRONG Hey, howya doing? I love Germany. (CONTINUED) 50. 123 CONTINUED: 123 GORDY Austria. American now. ARMSTRONG I love America. Never been to Austria. Where from in America would that be? GORDY New York City. ARMSTRONG I don't like New York City. Buildings're too big. What kinda work you in? GORDY (hesitates, then) Coffee. I buy beans. ARMSTRONG Can't drink caffeine. Makes my stomach do the rumba. I like that commercial guy with the sombrero and the mule, though. Headed upstream, eh? Where to? GORDY Caguan. ARMSTRONG ... You've never been to Caguan, eh? GORDY How do you know? ARMSTRONG 'Cause no one in their right mind would ever go back. Caguan's in the guerrilla zone run by the E.L.C. E.L.C. as in 'Extra Loathsome Communists.' They don't care, and they kill. I'm going there myself. But I have a 'get outta jail free' card. Armstrong doffs his cap, undoes a safety pin securing a card inside the crown. Shows it to Gordy. Sotto -- (CONTINUED) 51. 123 CONTINUED: (2) 123 ARMSTRONG E.L.C. travel pass. I can go anywhere I want. (by way of explanation) Everyone needs equipment fixed. Armstrong carefully returns the card to the hat. And now his voice takes on a noticeably more measured tone -- ARMSTRONG If you don't have one of these, you don't want to be up there, Gordy. Beat. Gordy's contemplating the warning, when his eyes go to a small, sleepy boy standing nearby on the cramped deck, leaning against his father. Gordy reaches over and taps the boy. The boy looks over. Shrinks away at the sight of the large gringo. The father notices and looks at Gordy, who stands, indicates his seat. GORDY Por favor. The father's also apprehensive, doesn't move. GORDY Con mucho gusto. Finally, the father accepts, sits down with the sleepy boy on his lap. Nods his thanks at Gordy, who then gazes down at the son. A kid about Matt's age. Armstrong recognizes the look of a caring dad. ARMSTRONG Got kids, eh? OFF Armstrong, as Gordy walks away... 124 EXT. JUNGLE - DAY 124 Two Colombian armed man wearing guerrilla uniforms bearing a distinctive ELC patch are walking a trail, when the man in front notices something odd. He stops. Leads the other man back a few steps. Looks into the foliage along the trail. Something doesn't seem right. He extends his AK-47. Prods a hump of greenery with the rifle butt, and in a flash... The greenery suddenly transforms into two men wearing face-paint and full-body military camouflage gear and pointing twin cocked-and-locked CAR-15 assault rifles at the heads of the startled guerrillas. 52. 125 EXT. CIA HACIENDA - DAY 125 Brandt stubs a butt as a Colombian SOG group does killer training nearby. Updegraf opens the door. To Brandt -- UPDEGRAF One of Rocha's infiltration teams just radioed in... We got our big break... 126 EXT. FERRY - DAY 126 Gordy stands along the rail looking out at the lush, beautiful countryside sliding past. Armstrong joins him. ARMSTRONG That little kid and I had a nice, long snooze... We're almost to Mompos. (gazing out) Beautiful country. GORDY It better be. A lotta people're dying for it. ARMSTRONG (looks overboard) Y'know, I haven't noticed one darn body floating downstream this whole trip, have you? Gordy doesn't respond. Beat. GORDY I was thinking... Maybe we could travel together into Caguan. You could show me around. ARMSTRONG (shakes his head) Pass is only good for one person, if that's your idea, which I think it is... Besides, I can't risk traveling around up there in the company of a big gringo with a dumb-ass cover story about coffee beans. Gordy looks over. Armstrong smiles back. Beat. (CONTINUED) 53. 126 CONTINUED: 126 GORDY I've got money. I'll buy the pass from you. ARMSTRONG I've worked too hard for it. And you don't have that kind of money on you. GORDY I'll be getting some life insurance money -- ARMSTRONG (shaking his head) It's all cash and carry down here, Gordy. The FERRY WHISTLE TOOTS. ARMSTRONG Mompos... You want to have some fun, we'll hook up later. I always schedule a stopover. To sample the local wares and such. (winks) Life can be what you make it here on the frontier. GORDY No, thanks. ARMSTRONG Gotta get off the boat anyway. Mompos is the last stop. From here into the guerrilla zone you can only travel by panga... If you change your mind, I'll be at the Tropicale later. It's a gringo bar. Just follow the cockroaches. 127 NEW ANGLE 127 They see the beginnings of Mompos. Two 4x4 trucks are parked on the riverbank. Lean, clean-cut men in jeans, tight shirts, cowboy boots and sunglasses lean on the truck and watch the ferry pass. ARMSTRONG Sicarios. Death squads. Avoid those dudes at all costs. 54. 128 SAME SCENE - FEW MOMENTS LATER 128 The ferry pulls up to the dock. The dock street is a culture clash of shanty bars and Amazon Indian traders, of big-wheel SUVs and mule carts. There's a definite air of menace. ARMSTRONG Federales are looking for someone. Gordy follows Armstrong's look to two plain-clothes federales, one fat and one thin, standing near the dock watching the boat pull up. When Gordy glances back, Armstrong is gone. 129 EXT. MOMPOS FERRY DOCK - DAY 129 Gordy disembarks amid the throng of passengers, when the FAT FEDERALE confronts him. FAT FEDERALE Senor Pitt? Gordy looks up in surprise at him and the thin federale backing him up. FAT FEDERALE You'll have to come with us. GORDY Why? FAT FEDERALE Come with us, please. He clamps a hand on Gordy's arm. Gordy shakes it off and starts running. Almost immediately, he's tackled to the ground by the thin federale. Two more federales join in. Gordy's not gonna go down easy, though. Even as only one against four, Gordy's a formidable challenge. He's strong, and he's committed all the way. He's not getting kicked out of this country again. It's not a clean or artful fight. There's no karate. It's four men trying to tackle a bull, and... The bull gets away. 130 EXT./INT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 130 Gordy sprints down streets with the federales in pursuit. 55. 131 GORDY 131 jukes into a local bar. 132 ANOTHER ANGLE 132 Gordy pounds out the back of the bar into a littered courtyard, where he's surrounded by ten-foot walls. 133 FEDERALES 133 blast through the bar. 134 GORDY 134 runs, jumps, launches off a beer keg, and... 135 TOP OF WALL 135 He reaches the top of the wall and pulls himself up. He's looking out across a block-long run of corrugated tin roofs. Takes off across the roofs, each step thundering, as... 136 FEDERALES 136 burst into the courtyard. Two men hastily build a stack of boxes, etc., against the wall. 137 GORDY 137 runs as fast as he can across the rooftops, when... A section of roof gives way beneath his feet, just as... 138 NEW ANGLE 138 One of the federales finally mounts the wall, looks across the rooftops... and Gordy's gone. 139 GORDY 139 lands inside a warehouse room amid sacks of rice, beans and coffee. The building is dark and dusty. He lies still and listens. FOOTSTEPS approach across the tin roof overhead. Gordy burrows into the bags of rice, pulls them over him. 56. 140 FEDERALE 140 on the roof peers down through the hole. Scans the warehouse room below with a mini-Mag-Lite. 141 GORDY 141 sees the flashlight beam move past. He holds his breath. Beat. Then the FOOTSTEPS pass on, RECEDE down the roof. And Gordy can breathe again. 142 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - NIGHT 142 Gordy makes his way along the main drag of the frontier town. A noisy, neon-lit strip of bars and brothels. Everyone's packing a gun. A new Dodge City, where death squad sicarios cruise past in 4x4's BLARING SALSA. 143 INT. TROPICALE - NIGHT 143 In here, the MUSIC'S LOUD ROCK 'N' ROLL. Gringo music for a gringo bar. The place is busy, with plenty of local "hostesses" for the men. Even Armstrong, standing half-crocked at the bar, is flanked by two scantily-clad women. He's got a spoon hanging off his nose. So does one of the girls. Armstrong's trying to hang a spoon on the other. Gordy slips into the bar. Spots Armstrong through the crowd. Sees Armstrong's not wearing his cap, when... The girl with the spoon on her nose turns slightly, revealing she's wearing the cap. It's on backwards, but now Gordy can see the "Deerborn" logo clearly. Gordy wants the guerrilla travel pass inside the cap. It's a desperate move, but he's got no choice. Starts toward the girl, when... Gordy sees the thin federale enter the front door. The thin federale sees him at the same time. Begins moving in on him. Gordy moves faster toward the girl. And... The girl unwittingly does him a favor by taking off the cap and setting it on the bar, where it's easier to grab, and then turns her attention to Armstrong's antics. The thin detective fights through the crowd after Gordy. Gordy's almost to the hat. (CONTINUED) 57. 143 CONTINUED: 143 Armstrong's still having trouble with the second girl's spoon. ARMSTRONG I never met a nose I couldn't hang a spoon on. Gordy reaches the bar, snags the cap. Glances back, sees the thin federale closing in, turns to run out the back, when... A strong hand stops him. The hand belongs to the Fat Federale. And now the thin federale's there, too, wielding a stun gun where Gordy can see it. People in the bar fall silent. Everyone but Armstrong, who's finally hung the spoon on the second girl's nose. ARMSTRONG Yahtzee! And now Armstong also realizes something's up. Turns and sees Gordy. Sees the cap in Gordy's hand as the Fat Federale addresses Gordy -- FAT FEDERALE Come along, Mr. Pitt. Whereupon Armstrong shouts drunkenly at Gordy -- ARMSTRONG Police catch you trying to steal my hat, you asshole?! He staggers toward Gordy. Grabs the hat. ARMSTRONG Fucking hat thief! Armstrong takes a drunken swing at Gordy, but... Instead of hitting Gordy, Armstrong accidentally-on- purpose clocks the fat detective. Then hisses into Gordy's ear, clearly not that drunk -- ARMSTRONG Get outta here -- But then Armstrong's legs won't work as the thin federale jams the stun gun against his neck, and 10,000 volts surprise the Armstrong neural network. Gordy moves against the thin federale in anger, when... The Fat Federale ZAPS him with another STUN GUN, just behind the ear... And Gordy gets to know the floor, too. 58. 144 EXT. MOMPOS JAIL - NIGHT 144 The building's ancient, constructed of wood and adobe. 145 INT. MOMPOS JAIL - CELL - NIGHT 145 The jail might be old, but the cells are secure enough. They're also unsanitary and thoroughly unpleasant. Gordy and Armstrong are led in by the federales. The Fat Federale has Armstrong's hat. He looks it over, wondering why Gordy wanted it. Then decides he could give a fuck and tosses it to Armstrong. Clangs the cell door shut and locks it. Leaves shaking his head. FAT FEDERALE Gringos... Armstrong's still unsteady on his feet and sits down on the metal bunk. ARMSTRONG That stun gun wasn't cool. Armstrong looks down at himself. ARMSTRONG Haven't peed my pants in a real long time. GORDY (beat) You shouldn't have helped me. ARMSTRONG Yeah, well, I guess all these assholes down here are just starting on my nerves. Gordy's silent. It's over. He's come up short. He's going home. ARMSTRONG So what the hell did you do to land us in here? And don't jerk me around, eh? Beat. Gordy sits. GORDY The Wolf killed my wife and son in New York. (CONTINUED) 59. 145 CONTINUED: 145 ARMSTRONG ... Oh, you're that guy, eh? I'm sorry, man... And what, you came down here to even things out? Gordy just looks at him. ARMSTRONG Did you even have a plan? GORDY Yeah. Go to Caguan, find The Wolf and kill him. Armstrong just shakes his head. Beat. 146 DOOR TO CELL AREA 146 BANGS open. Federales lead in two men -- the two guerrillas surprised earlier by the heavy-camouflaged infiltrators. The federales are armed with batons and stun guns, taking no chances. It's clear the rebels weren't brought here without a struggle, either -- both are cut and bruised. The tougher-looking of the two has taken a real beating. This beaten man is jammed face- first against the bars of Gordy's cell. He makes eye contact with Gordy while the other rebel is unbound and put into a cell. Then the beaten man is shoved into the cell. A solid, brick wall separates them from Gordy and Armstrong. Armstrong's seen the patches on their uniforms. To Gordy, sotto -- ARMSTRONG E.L.C. Beat. Armstrong sees the look on Gordy's face. By way of a warning -- ARMSTRONG If you can't kill them, don't even talk to them. The GUERRILLAS are MURMURING in the other cell. One of them LAUGHS. OFF Gordy, listening to the LAUGHING... 147 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL - NIGHT 147 Two or three A.M. Armstrong's dozing. Gordy's still listening to the MURMURING of the REBELS on the other side of the wall, when... (CONTINUED) 60. 147 CONTINUED: 147 There's a flurry of activity outside the cell area. The door opens. Soldiers enter with some federales. Gordy watches the soldiers move past his cell. Rocha is with them. And then... Brandt appears at the bars, looks in at Gordy. BRANDT Enjoy your trip? Gordy stands, approaches. BRANDT We asked you to leave it to us. GORDY And you guys still haven't got him. BRANDT It's not over yet... The guys next door are in The Wolf's elite bodyguard unit. Where he goes, they go. We're gonna ask questions. And we're gonna get answers... And you're staying right here till our bomber's dead. Brandt goes. Moments later, a TORTURED SCREAM is heard on the other side of the brick wall, waking Armstrong with a start. 148 EXT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - NIGHT 148 In a field near Mompos, a canopied truck backs into position. Men in guerrilla uniforms with ELC patches get out and pull back the canopy, revealing mortar tubes pointing skyward on a bed of sand. 149 ELC GUERRILLA 149 unit armed with AK-47s and Light Anti-Tank Weapons (LAWs) infiltrates the town. 150 ANOTHER TWO-MAN ELC GUERRILLA TEAM 150 sets up a single mortar position overlooking the town. One of the men checks his watch. Beat. He signals. The other man drops a MORTAR down the tube. WHUMP. 61. 151 TWO MORTARS 151 go in the tubes on the truck. WHUMP, WHUMP. 152 ANOTHER ANGLE 152 BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! A water tower, the Mompos fire station and the town's power supply are direct hits. WHUMP, WHUMP, WHUMP... 153 INT. JAIL - CELLS 153 People react to the sounds of the MORTAR ATTACK on the town. The lights go out. Brandt, Rocha and their men quickly lock the guerrillas in their cell and head out. 154 EXT. JAIL 154 As MORTARS CONTINUE to fall on the rest of the town, the unit of guerrilla infiltrators open up on the front of the jail with LAW ROCKETS. 155 EXT./INT. JAIL 155 KA-BOOM! The front door and wall of the jail disintegrate under the multiple LAW attack. 156 NEW ANGLE 156 Brandt, Rocha and the soldiers, approaching the front door inside, are hammered by the massive concussion of the BLAST and flung across the room, apparently dead. 157 ANOTHER ANGLE 157 The powerful, concussive shock-wave channels into the cell area. Gordy's slightly protected by a wall. Armstrong, standing at the bars, is thrown into the opposite wall and knocked unconscious. 158 GUERRILLAS 158 charge inside with AKs BLAZING. Surviving soldiers and federales SHOOT back. The blasts have caused fires in the building. Severed wires spark, creating more fire. Flames begin to spread through the tinder-dry structure. (CONTINUED) 62. 158 CONTINUED: 158 The guerrillas take out the soldiers and federales, with few casualties to themselves. They make their way toward the cell area. EXPLODING AMMO and stored FUEL CANS accelerate the fire. 159 NEW ANGLE 159 The guerrillas reach the cells. Two men see Gordy and draw down on him. The others move to the next cell. Guerrillas plant small explosive charges on the hinges of the cell containing their two captured comrades. Beat. The HINGES BLOW. The beaten man and the rebel with him are freed, and the guerrillas quickly retreat the way they came. Gordy sees flames spreading into the cell area. 160 GUERRILLAS 160 exit the fiery jail past Brandt. We see Brandt's not dead. 161 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - OUTSIDE JAIL 161 A truck pulls up. The guerrillas get in. The TRUCK SCREECHES OUT as... 162 4X4 162 full of sicarios SKIDS onto the street, far ahead of the truck. The sicario driving punches it, and... 163 TWO TRUCKS 163 ROAR toward each other. A game of chicken. With GUNS. Men in both vehicles OPEN UP -- the sicarios with magnums and Uzis, the guerrillas with AKs. SLUGS RIP through automotive steel. Casualties are taken. When... 164 SICARIO 164 driving the 4x4 receives a round in the forehead, cranks over the steering wheel, and... 63. 165 SPEEDING 4X4 165 does a Paris-to-Dakar road rally flip, twisting and somersaulting, and... 166 NEW ANGLE 166 The 4x4 catapults completely over the guerrillas' truck, disintegrating into spare parts and dead occupants, as... 167 GUERRILLAS 167 ROAR off. 168 EXT./INT. JAIL 168 A severely-dazed Brandt, bleeding from the nose and ears, slowly gets to his knees, crawls out of the burning building and collapses outside. 169 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL 169 There's fire and smoke everywhere. Gordy picks up the metal bunk and slams it against a wall. Slams it again. Breaks the metal apart. Then levers a long side rail in the cell door. He heaves. Heaves again. The fire's licking at him, but Gordy's undeterred. He heaves again, and... This time, the door gives. Gordy picks up Armstrong's cap, then picks up Armstrong, who's starting to come around. Puts Armstrong over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. GORDY Don't breathe. ARMSTRONG (weakly) You're not running through the fire, eh? GORDY Close your mouth. Because running through the fire is just what Gordy's gonna do. As he disappears into the flames... 170 EXT. JAIL - NIGHT 170 The town's in complete chaos. There are fires everywhere. (CONTINUED) 64. 170 CONTINUED: 170 Still stunned and bleeding, Brandt looks from where he lies on the ground as... Gordy bursts out of the inferno carrying Armstrong. They're singed and smoking, but they're alive. Gordy drops Armstrong, pats himself and Armstrong down, knocking out the burning embers on their clothes and hair, when... Gordy's eyes meet Brandt's. The two men hold the look for a moment. If Brandt could speak, he'd be yelling at Gordy to stop, not to go on. And Gordy knows it. But Gordy's not stopping. Picks up Armstrong again and moves off toward the waterfront. 171 EXT. MOMPOS WATERFRONT - NIGHT 171 There's less chaos here. The fires are in the distance. Gordy arrives carrying Armstrong. Sets him down. GORDY I'll find a boat to take us upriver. He starts to go. Armstrong stops him. ARMSTRONG No. I told you. The pass is only good for one person. And you're too dangerous to travel with. Beat. Gordy reaches over and takes Armstrong's cap. He looks inside. There's no pass. ARMSTRONG It hasn't been there since we landed. Gordy's at a loss. He tosses the cap back. Just looks at Armstrong. Beat. Armstrong sighs. ARMSTRONG Aw, hell... I was through with this place anyway... He takes off a boot. Shakes out some money and the pass. He hands the pass to Gordy. (CONTINUED) 65. 171 CONTINUED: 171 ARMSTRONG I'll call ahead and tell Felix I'm not coming, and you're my replacement. He'll meet you in Caguan and take you to the plantation... What do you know about diesel engines? GORDY All the fire trucks are diesels. ARMSTRONG You'll have to be Austrian, eh? They hate Americans. Name's gotta change, too, in case they're watching the news. (beat) It'll buy you a little time to look around Caguan. But you'll never find The Wolf. Beat. Gordy sticks out his hand. GORDY Heinrich Beckmann. ARMSTRONG Huh? GORDY My Austrian name. Armstrong shakes hands with Gordy. Armstrong doesn't let loose right away. Beat. ARMSTRONG Luck got you this far. But up there, luck doesn't make it. I hope you know you're gonna die. OFF Gordy, about to step over another line... 172 EXT. RIVER - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 172 As dawn breaks over the river, FIND Gordy sitting in a motored panga being steered by a local BOATMAN. Gordy reaches into a pocket and pulls out the photo of Anne and Matt. He looks at it for a few moments. Then pockets it again. 173 SAME SCENE - LATER 173 The panga passes a dead body floating downstream. 66. 174 SAME SCENE - LATER 174 The panga passes revolutionary banners and signs lining the riverbank. BOATMAN La zona guerrillera. 175 SAME SCENE - MOMENTS LATER 175 The panga rounds a bend, and... Two souped-up bass boats filled with heavily-armed ELC guerrillas move to intercept it. The Boatman slows, puts the panga in neutral and keeps his hands in sight. One boat of guerrillas pulls alongside. The other sheers off and stops a short distance away, ready to open fire. Gordy shows the guerrillas his travel pass. One of them takes it. Reads. Looks Gordy over. Then starts to rip the pass in half, when... He stops. Grins. It's a big joke. He hands back the pass, searches the boat quickly and waves the panga on. OFF Gordy's relief as the panga heads on... 176 EXT. CAGUAN TOWN DOCK - DAY 176 The panga arrives, and Gordy gets out. He's met by FELIX. Felix has a 9mm in a shoulder holster. Felix doesn't look the least bit happy. FELIX Beckmann. GORDY Yeah. FELIX Come with me. Felix leads him towards a Land Cruiser. FELIX Armstrong should have called sooner. We don't like changes here... If I didn't need the equipment fixed, I'd send you back. (CONTINUED) 67. 176 CONTINUED: 176 They reach the Land Cruiser. FELIX But now we have to see the E.L.C. Supervisor for Caguan. It's a prospect that seems to concern Felix almost as much as Gordy. Off which, as they get into the Toyota... 177 INT. ELC SUPERVISOR'S OFFICE - DAY 177 The ELC SUPERVISOR for Caguan may be a Marxist, but the clean, well-ordered office is nicely appointed, with a big-screen Sony and leather furniture. The TV's TUNED TO CNN. A photo on the wall depicts him as a younger man wearing guerrilla cammies bearing with an ELC patch and holding an AK-47. A brass nameplate reading "Supervisor" rests on a neat desk, behind which stands the man himself -- a hardened, former guerrilla fighter proud of his position. He's not in cammies now -- his uniform now consists of casual but nice tropical clothing and a fat Rolex. Felix is a subordinate here. He and Gordy stand across the desk as the Supervisor examines Gordy's travel pass. Gordy's nervous about what could appear on the TV in the b.g., but tries not to show it. ELC SUPERVISOR Your passport was stolen. GORDY In Mompos. ELC SUPERVISOR ... Mompos is a shithole. Not like Caguan... Why didn't Armstrong come? GORDY He was arrested in Ecuador. He got drunk and fooled around with a police officer's wife. The Supervisor just looks at him, assessing Gordy's face for signs he's lying. Gordy's expression stays the same. Felix respectfully interjects. It's almost a plea. FELIX (in Spanish) We need to fix the equipment. We have delivery deadlines to meet. (CONTINUED) 68. 177 CONTINUED: 177 A long beat. The ELC Supervisor hands the travel pass back to Gordy. In a hard tone to Felix -- ELC SUPERVISOR (in Spanish) He's your responsibility. Don't let him out of your sight. FELIX Si. Gracias. As Felix leads Gordy away... 178 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER (CAGUAN) - DAY 178 Gordy and Felix pull away from the Supervisor's H.Q. Felix resumes his former tone of command. FELIX The Supervisor made you my responsibility... You don't go anywhere without me, you understand? GORDY No problemo. Gordy peers out the window intently as they drive, looking for a lucky break, looking for The Wolf, searching the face of every man. He doesn't see The Wolf, but what he does see surprises him. The ELC Supervisor was right: Caguan's no Mompos. It's a third- world town, armed troops are visible, and there's a lot of bad shit behind Colombia's revolutionaries, but here the streets are calm and orderly. It's quiet, almost eerie, as people go about their business. OFF Gordy, seeing another side of the guerrillas... 179 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER/COUNTRY ROAD - DAY 179 Felix turns off at the entrance to a lane leading to the plantation. The entrance is guarded by a 4X4 "Rat Patrol" assault truck and four heavily armed ELC guerrillas. GORDY The E.L.C. guards your coffee beans? Felix thinks he's joking. Until he looks over and sees Gordy's actually being sincere. (CONTINUED) 69. 179 CONTINUED: 179 FELIX ... Coffee beans? Shit. Armstrong didn't tell you much... 180 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER - PLANTATION - DAY 180 They approach a hacienda and outbuildings. The accoutrements of agriculture are present -- tractors, sheds, cats, etc. -- but clearly, this is no family farm. There are lots of serious-looking men around. More ELC guerrillas stand guard. 181 FELIX 181 stops the car. He and Gordy get out. Felix begins leading Gordy toward two rows of long, open-walled sheds. FELIX The problem's with the diesel generators. The sons-of-bitches keep breaking down. 182 NEW ANGLE 182 They pass four very large pits, where green leaves steep in a thick, foul-smelling liquid. FELIX We're using portables to keep production going, but they don't supply enough power to the heat lamps, and we have to dry a lot of... 'coffee beans.' 183 ANOTHER ANGLE 183 They're now walking between the two rows of sheds, where portable gas GENERATORS THRUM, and... Gordy can see long, wide platforms inside. Above the platforms are multiple arrays of powerful heat lamps. Spread out and drying beneath them is a half-acre or two of converted cocaine. 184 IN ANOTHER SHED 184 workers pack and wrap one-kilo bricks of coke for shipment. 70. 185 GORDY AND FELIX 185 approach the two giant diesel generators. FELIX We can fix anything, but these keep dying on us... You'll start now. I'll have tools brought to you. (beat) Armstrong's a magician with them. Let's hope you have his skill. Felix walks over to a guerrilla with an AK-47 and speaks to him. Then goes. Whereupon the

jumps

How many times the word 'jumps' appears in the text?

wire bows against his shin, and... Gordy ducks, covers the Man in the Yankees Cap, and... Nothing happens. The young man just stands there, frozen in position, his leg still bowing the line. (CONTINUED) 48. 117 CONTINUED: 117 Using the Zippo again to light his way, Gordy advances to the young man. He follows the trip wire to where a Coca- Cola can hangs from a nearby tree. On closer inspection, Gordy can see the can is sleeved around a grenade. There's no pin in the grenade. The can keeps the grenade's arming spoon in place. The trip wire's designed to yank the can off, allowing the grenade to explode at chest level... And the can's almost off. Gordy burns through the monofilament trip wire. Then carefully slides the Coke can back over the grenade. 118 MAN IN YANKEES CAP - MOMENTS LATER 118 When Gordy returns, the man's dead. OFF Gordy, looking down at the NY logo on the cap... 119 EXT./INT. ANOTHER CHIVA - DAY 119 Gordy sees a sign for a town as the chiva rumbles along. He pulls out his map. 120 INSERT - MAP 120 Gordy finds the town, which lies along a river. He traces a road from the town. The road runs south through the town of Mompos, and eventually reaches Caguan, the ELC capital. 121 BACK TO SCENE 121 A COLOMBIAN WOMAN is looking over Gordy's shoulder. COLOMBIAN WOMAN No autobusses para este lugar. Solamente el barco en el rio. She leans over, traces the river, which also runs to Caguan. COLOMBIAN WOMAN El rio. 122 EXT. FERRY DOCK - DAY 122 The FERRY'S WHISTLE TOOTS. Lines are cast off. (CONTINUED) 49. 122 CONTINUED: 122 Two plainclothes federales have been watching the ferry load and now relax their vigil. One man holds a Xerox of Gordy's passport photo. The other bites into an empanada, which breaks open and spills its contents down the front of his shirt. His partner finds it funny. He doesn't. And while their attention's occupied... Gordy hurries by, oblivious to the federales' presence, and just manages to hop onto the ferry as it pulls away. 123 EXT. FERRY - DAY 123 The ferry's the only means of travel south, and it's packed. Gordy picks his way through. The only other gringo on the boat is a geek in a plaid shirt and gimme hat that says "Deerborn." The geek, PHILIP ARMSTRONG, looks like a talker, and Gordy tries to avoid eye contact. He's too late. ARMSTRONG Hey, yo, dude, here's a seat, man! GORDY No, that's okay -- But Armstrong's already throwing a bag off the bench. ARMSTRONG I was hoping for someone I could communicate with. He sees Gordy hasn't moved. ARMSTRONG Only room's at the back near the bano, and I'd advise against it, unless you like poop. Beat. Gordy sits. Immediately -- ARMSTRONG Philip Armstrong. Assiniboia, Sasketchewan, Canada. (indicates his hat) Deerborn Heavy Equipment. GORDY ... Gordy Pitt. ARMSTRONG Hey, howya doing? I love Germany. (CONTINUED) 50. 123 CONTINUED: 123 GORDY Austria. American now. ARMSTRONG I love America. Never been to Austria. Where from in America would that be? GORDY New York City. ARMSTRONG I don't like New York City. Buildings're too big. What kinda work you in? GORDY (hesitates, then) Coffee. I buy beans. ARMSTRONG Can't drink caffeine. Makes my stomach do the rumba. I like that commercial guy with the sombrero and the mule, though. Headed upstream, eh? Where to? GORDY Caguan. ARMSTRONG ... You've never been to Caguan, eh? GORDY How do you know? ARMSTRONG 'Cause no one in their right mind would ever go back. Caguan's in the guerrilla zone run by the E.L.C. E.L.C. as in 'Extra Loathsome Communists.' They don't care, and they kill. I'm going there myself. But I have a 'get outta jail free' card. Armstrong doffs his cap, undoes a safety pin securing a card inside the crown. Shows it to Gordy. Sotto -- (CONTINUED) 51. 123 CONTINUED: (2) 123 ARMSTRONG E.L.C. travel pass. I can go anywhere I want. (by way of explanation) Everyone needs equipment fixed. Armstrong carefully returns the card to the hat. And now his voice takes on a noticeably more measured tone -- ARMSTRONG If you don't have one of these, you don't want to be up there, Gordy. Beat. Gordy's contemplating the warning, when his eyes go to a small, sleepy boy standing nearby on the cramped deck, leaning against his father. Gordy reaches over and taps the boy. The boy looks over. Shrinks away at the sight of the large gringo. The father notices and looks at Gordy, who stands, indicates his seat. GORDY Por favor. The father's also apprehensive, doesn't move. GORDY Con mucho gusto. Finally, the father accepts, sits down with the sleepy boy on his lap. Nods his thanks at Gordy, who then gazes down at the son. A kid about Matt's age. Armstrong recognizes the look of a caring dad. ARMSTRONG Got kids, eh? OFF Armstrong, as Gordy walks away... 124 EXT. JUNGLE - DAY 124 Two Colombian armed man wearing guerrilla uniforms bearing a distinctive ELC patch are walking a trail, when the man in front notices something odd. He stops. Leads the other man back a few steps. Looks into the foliage along the trail. Something doesn't seem right. He extends his AK-47. Prods a hump of greenery with the rifle butt, and in a flash... The greenery suddenly transforms into two men wearing face-paint and full-body military camouflage gear and pointing twin cocked-and-locked CAR-15 assault rifles at the heads of the startled guerrillas. 52. 125 EXT. CIA HACIENDA - DAY 125 Brandt stubs a butt as a Colombian SOG group does killer training nearby. Updegraf opens the door. To Brandt -- UPDEGRAF One of Rocha's infiltration teams just radioed in... We got our big break... 126 EXT. FERRY - DAY 126 Gordy stands along the rail looking out at the lush, beautiful countryside sliding past. Armstrong joins him. ARMSTRONG That little kid and I had a nice, long snooze... We're almost to Mompos. (gazing out) Beautiful country. GORDY It better be. A lotta people're dying for it. ARMSTRONG (looks overboard) Y'know, I haven't noticed one darn body floating downstream this whole trip, have you? Gordy doesn't respond. Beat. GORDY I was thinking... Maybe we could travel together into Caguan. You could show me around. ARMSTRONG (shakes his head) Pass is only good for one person, if that's your idea, which I think it is... Besides, I can't risk traveling around up there in the company of a big gringo with a dumb-ass cover story about coffee beans. Gordy looks over. Armstrong smiles back. Beat. (CONTINUED) 53. 126 CONTINUED: 126 GORDY I've got money. I'll buy the pass from you. ARMSTRONG I've worked too hard for it. And you don't have that kind of money on you. GORDY I'll be getting some life insurance money -- ARMSTRONG (shaking his head) It's all cash and carry down here, Gordy. The FERRY WHISTLE TOOTS. ARMSTRONG Mompos... You want to have some fun, we'll hook up later. I always schedule a stopover. To sample the local wares and such. (winks) Life can be what you make it here on the frontier. GORDY No, thanks. ARMSTRONG Gotta get off the boat anyway. Mompos is the last stop. From here into the guerrilla zone you can only travel by panga... If you change your mind, I'll be at the Tropicale later. It's a gringo bar. Just follow the cockroaches. 127 NEW ANGLE 127 They see the beginnings of Mompos. Two 4x4 trucks are parked on the riverbank. Lean, clean-cut men in jeans, tight shirts, cowboy boots and sunglasses lean on the truck and watch the ferry pass. ARMSTRONG Sicarios. Death squads. Avoid those dudes at all costs. 54. 128 SAME SCENE - FEW MOMENTS LATER 128 The ferry pulls up to the dock. The dock street is a culture clash of shanty bars and Amazon Indian traders, of big-wheel SUVs and mule carts. There's a definite air of menace. ARMSTRONG Federales are looking for someone. Gordy follows Armstrong's look to two plain-clothes federales, one fat and one thin, standing near the dock watching the boat pull up. When Gordy glances back, Armstrong is gone. 129 EXT. MOMPOS FERRY DOCK - DAY 129 Gordy disembarks amid the throng of passengers, when the FAT FEDERALE confronts him. FAT FEDERALE Senor Pitt? Gordy looks up in surprise at him and the thin federale backing him up. FAT FEDERALE You'll have to come with us. GORDY Why? FAT FEDERALE Come with us, please. He clamps a hand on Gordy's arm. Gordy shakes it off and starts running. Almost immediately, he's tackled to the ground by the thin federale. Two more federales join in. Gordy's not gonna go down easy, though. Even as only one against four, Gordy's a formidable challenge. He's strong, and he's committed all the way. He's not getting kicked out of this country again. It's not a clean or artful fight. There's no karate. It's four men trying to tackle a bull, and... The bull gets away. 130 EXT./INT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 130 Gordy sprints down streets with the federales in pursuit. 55. 131 GORDY 131 jukes into a local bar. 132 ANOTHER ANGLE 132 Gordy pounds out the back of the bar into a littered courtyard, where he's surrounded by ten-foot walls. 133 FEDERALES 133 blast through the bar. 134 GORDY 134 runs, jumps, launches off a beer keg, and... 135 TOP OF WALL 135 He reaches the top of the wall and pulls himself up. He's looking out across a block-long run of corrugated tin roofs. Takes off across the roofs, each step thundering, as... 136 FEDERALES 136 burst into the courtyard. Two men hastily build a stack of boxes, etc., against the wall. 137 GORDY 137 runs as fast as he can across the rooftops, when... A section of roof gives way beneath his feet, just as... 138 NEW ANGLE 138 One of the federales finally mounts the wall, looks across the rooftops... and Gordy's gone. 139 GORDY 139 lands inside a warehouse room amid sacks of rice, beans and coffee. The building is dark and dusty. He lies still and listens. FOOTSTEPS approach across the tin roof overhead. Gordy burrows into the bags of rice, pulls them over him. 56. 140 FEDERALE 140 on the roof peers down through the hole. Scans the warehouse room below with a mini-Mag-Lite. 141 GORDY 141 sees the flashlight beam move past. He holds his breath. Beat. Then the FOOTSTEPS pass on, RECEDE down the roof. And Gordy can breathe again. 142 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - NIGHT 142 Gordy makes his way along the main drag of the frontier town. A noisy, neon-lit strip of bars and brothels. Everyone's packing a gun. A new Dodge City, where death squad sicarios cruise past in 4x4's BLARING SALSA. 143 INT. TROPICALE - NIGHT 143 In here, the MUSIC'S LOUD ROCK 'N' ROLL. Gringo music for a gringo bar. The place is busy, with plenty of local "hostesses" for the men. Even Armstrong, standing half-crocked at the bar, is flanked by two scantily-clad women. He's got a spoon hanging off his nose. So does one of the girls. Armstrong's trying to hang a spoon on the other. Gordy slips into the bar. Spots Armstrong through the crowd. Sees Armstrong's not wearing his cap, when... The girl with the spoon on her nose turns slightly, revealing she's wearing the cap. It's on backwards, but now Gordy can see the "Deerborn" logo clearly. Gordy wants the guerrilla travel pass inside the cap. It's a desperate move, but he's got no choice. Starts toward the girl, when... Gordy sees the thin federale enter the front door. The thin federale sees him at the same time. Begins moving in on him. Gordy moves faster toward the girl. And... The girl unwittingly does him a favor by taking off the cap and setting it on the bar, where it's easier to grab, and then turns her attention to Armstrong's antics. The thin detective fights through the crowd after Gordy. Gordy's almost to the hat. (CONTINUED) 57. 143 CONTINUED: 143 Armstrong's still having trouble with the second girl's spoon. ARMSTRONG I never met a nose I couldn't hang a spoon on. Gordy reaches the bar, snags the cap. Glances back, sees the thin federale closing in, turns to run out the back, when... A strong hand stops him. The hand belongs to the Fat Federale. And now the thin federale's there, too, wielding a stun gun where Gordy can see it. People in the bar fall silent. Everyone but Armstrong, who's finally hung the spoon on the second girl's nose. ARMSTRONG Yahtzee! And now Armstong also realizes something's up. Turns and sees Gordy. Sees the cap in Gordy's hand as the Fat Federale addresses Gordy -- FAT FEDERALE Come along, Mr. Pitt. Whereupon Armstrong shouts drunkenly at Gordy -- ARMSTRONG Police catch you trying to steal my hat, you asshole?! He staggers toward Gordy. Grabs the hat. ARMSTRONG Fucking hat thief! Armstrong takes a drunken swing at Gordy, but... Instead of hitting Gordy, Armstrong accidentally-on- purpose clocks the fat detective. Then hisses into Gordy's ear, clearly not that drunk -- ARMSTRONG Get outta here -- But then Armstrong's legs won't work as the thin federale jams the stun gun against his neck, and 10,000 volts surprise the Armstrong neural network. Gordy moves against the thin federale in anger, when... The Fat Federale ZAPS him with another STUN GUN, just behind the ear... And Gordy gets to know the floor, too. 58. 144 EXT. MOMPOS JAIL - NIGHT 144 The building's ancient, constructed of wood and adobe. 145 INT. MOMPOS JAIL - CELL - NIGHT 145 The jail might be old, but the cells are secure enough. They're also unsanitary and thoroughly unpleasant. Gordy and Armstrong are led in by the federales. The Fat Federale has Armstrong's hat. He looks it over, wondering why Gordy wanted it. Then decides he could give a fuck and tosses it to Armstrong. Clangs the cell door shut and locks it. Leaves shaking his head. FAT FEDERALE Gringos... Armstrong's still unsteady on his feet and sits down on the metal bunk. ARMSTRONG That stun gun wasn't cool. Armstrong looks down at himself. ARMSTRONG Haven't peed my pants in a real long time. GORDY (beat) You shouldn't have helped me. ARMSTRONG Yeah, well, I guess all these assholes down here are just starting on my nerves. Gordy's silent. It's over. He's come up short. He's going home. ARMSTRONG So what the hell did you do to land us in here? And don't jerk me around, eh? Beat. Gordy sits. GORDY The Wolf killed my wife and son in New York. (CONTINUED) 59. 145 CONTINUED: 145 ARMSTRONG ... Oh, you're that guy, eh? I'm sorry, man... And what, you came down here to even things out? Gordy just looks at him. ARMSTRONG Did you even have a plan? GORDY Yeah. Go to Caguan, find The Wolf and kill him. Armstrong just shakes his head. Beat. 146 DOOR TO CELL AREA 146 BANGS open. Federales lead in two men -- the two guerrillas surprised earlier by the heavy-camouflaged infiltrators. The federales are armed with batons and stun guns, taking no chances. It's clear the rebels weren't brought here without a struggle, either -- both are cut and bruised. The tougher-looking of the two has taken a real beating. This beaten man is jammed face- first against the bars of Gordy's cell. He makes eye contact with Gordy while the other rebel is unbound and put into a cell. Then the beaten man is shoved into the cell. A solid, brick wall separates them from Gordy and Armstrong. Armstrong's seen the patches on their uniforms. To Gordy, sotto -- ARMSTRONG E.L.C. Beat. Armstrong sees the look on Gordy's face. By way of a warning -- ARMSTRONG If you can't kill them, don't even talk to them. The GUERRILLAS are MURMURING in the other cell. One of them LAUGHS. OFF Gordy, listening to the LAUGHING... 147 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL - NIGHT 147 Two or three A.M. Armstrong's dozing. Gordy's still listening to the MURMURING of the REBELS on the other side of the wall, when... (CONTINUED) 60. 147 CONTINUED: 147 There's a flurry of activity outside the cell area. The door opens. Soldiers enter with some federales. Gordy watches the soldiers move past his cell. Rocha is with them. And then... Brandt appears at the bars, looks in at Gordy. BRANDT Enjoy your trip? Gordy stands, approaches. BRANDT We asked you to leave it to us. GORDY And you guys still haven't got him. BRANDT It's not over yet... The guys next door are in The Wolf's elite bodyguard unit. Where he goes, they go. We're gonna ask questions. And we're gonna get answers... And you're staying right here till our bomber's dead. Brandt goes. Moments later, a TORTURED SCREAM is heard on the other side of the brick wall, waking Armstrong with a start. 148 EXT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - NIGHT 148 In a field near Mompos, a canopied truck backs into position. Men in guerrilla uniforms with ELC patches get out and pull back the canopy, revealing mortar tubes pointing skyward on a bed of sand. 149 ELC GUERRILLA 149 unit armed with AK-47s and Light Anti-Tank Weapons (LAWs) infiltrates the town. 150 ANOTHER TWO-MAN ELC GUERRILLA TEAM 150 sets up a single mortar position overlooking the town. One of the men checks his watch. Beat. He signals. The other man drops a MORTAR down the tube. WHUMP. 61. 151 TWO MORTARS 151 go in the tubes on the truck. WHUMP, WHUMP. 152 ANOTHER ANGLE 152 BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! A water tower, the Mompos fire station and the town's power supply are direct hits. WHUMP, WHUMP, WHUMP... 153 INT. JAIL - CELLS 153 People react to the sounds of the MORTAR ATTACK on the town. The lights go out. Brandt, Rocha and their men quickly lock the guerrillas in their cell and head out. 154 EXT. JAIL 154 As MORTARS CONTINUE to fall on the rest of the town, the unit of guerrilla infiltrators open up on the front of the jail with LAW ROCKETS. 155 EXT./INT. JAIL 155 KA-BOOM! The front door and wall of the jail disintegrate under the multiple LAW attack. 156 NEW ANGLE 156 Brandt, Rocha and the soldiers, approaching the front door inside, are hammered by the massive concussion of the BLAST and flung across the room, apparently dead. 157 ANOTHER ANGLE 157 The powerful, concussive shock-wave channels into the cell area. Gordy's slightly protected by a wall. Armstrong, standing at the bars, is thrown into the opposite wall and knocked unconscious. 158 GUERRILLAS 158 charge inside with AKs BLAZING. Surviving soldiers and federales SHOOT back. The blasts have caused fires in the building. Severed wires spark, creating more fire. Flames begin to spread through the tinder-dry structure. (CONTINUED) 62. 158 CONTINUED: 158 The guerrillas take out the soldiers and federales, with few casualties to themselves. They make their way toward the cell area. EXPLODING AMMO and stored FUEL CANS accelerate the fire. 159 NEW ANGLE 159 The guerrillas reach the cells. Two men see Gordy and draw down on him. The others move to the next cell. Guerrillas plant small explosive charges on the hinges of the cell containing their two captured comrades. Beat. The HINGES BLOW. The beaten man and the rebel with him are freed, and the guerrillas quickly retreat the way they came. Gordy sees flames spreading into the cell area. 160 GUERRILLAS 160 exit the fiery jail past Brandt. We see Brandt's not dead. 161 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - OUTSIDE JAIL 161 A truck pulls up. The guerrillas get in. The TRUCK SCREECHES OUT as... 162 4X4 162 full of sicarios SKIDS onto the street, far ahead of the truck. The sicario driving punches it, and... 163 TWO TRUCKS 163 ROAR toward each other. A game of chicken. With GUNS. Men in both vehicles OPEN UP -- the sicarios with magnums and Uzis, the guerrillas with AKs. SLUGS RIP through automotive steel. Casualties are taken. When... 164 SICARIO 164 driving the 4x4 receives a round in the forehead, cranks over the steering wheel, and... 63. 165 SPEEDING 4X4 165 does a Paris-to-Dakar road rally flip, twisting and somersaulting, and... 166 NEW ANGLE 166 The 4x4 catapults completely over the guerrillas' truck, disintegrating into spare parts and dead occupants, as... 167 GUERRILLAS 167 ROAR off. 168 EXT./INT. JAIL 168 A severely-dazed Brandt, bleeding from the nose and ears, slowly gets to his knees, crawls out of the burning building and collapses outside. 169 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL 169 There's fire and smoke everywhere. Gordy picks up the metal bunk and slams it against a wall. Slams it again. Breaks the metal apart. Then levers a long side rail in the cell door. He heaves. Heaves again. The fire's licking at him, but Gordy's undeterred. He heaves again, and... This time, the door gives. Gordy picks up Armstrong's cap, then picks up Armstrong, who's starting to come around. Puts Armstrong over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. GORDY Don't breathe. ARMSTRONG (weakly) You're not running through the fire, eh? GORDY Close your mouth. Because running through the fire is just what Gordy's gonna do. As he disappears into the flames... 170 EXT. JAIL - NIGHT 170 The town's in complete chaos. There are fires everywhere. (CONTINUED) 64. 170 CONTINUED: 170 Still stunned and bleeding, Brandt looks from where he lies on the ground as... Gordy bursts out of the inferno carrying Armstrong. They're singed and smoking, but they're alive. Gordy drops Armstrong, pats himself and Armstrong down, knocking out the burning embers on their clothes and hair, when... Gordy's eyes meet Brandt's. The two men hold the look for a moment. If Brandt could speak, he'd be yelling at Gordy to stop, not to go on. And Gordy knows it. But Gordy's not stopping. Picks up Armstrong again and moves off toward the waterfront. 171 EXT. MOMPOS WATERFRONT - NIGHT 171 There's less chaos here. The fires are in the distance. Gordy arrives carrying Armstrong. Sets him down. GORDY I'll find a boat to take us upriver. He starts to go. Armstrong stops him. ARMSTRONG No. I told you. The pass is only good for one person. And you're too dangerous to travel with. Beat. Gordy reaches over and takes Armstrong's cap. He looks inside. There's no pass. ARMSTRONG It hasn't been there since we landed. Gordy's at a loss. He tosses the cap back. Just looks at Armstrong. Beat. Armstrong sighs. ARMSTRONG Aw, hell... I was through with this place anyway... He takes off a boot. Shakes out some money and the pass. He hands the pass to Gordy. (CONTINUED) 65. 171 CONTINUED: 171 ARMSTRONG I'll call ahead and tell Felix I'm not coming, and you're my replacement. He'll meet you in Caguan and take you to the plantation... What do you know about diesel engines? GORDY All the fire trucks are diesels. ARMSTRONG You'll have to be Austrian, eh? They hate Americans. Name's gotta change, too, in case they're watching the news. (beat) It'll buy you a little time to look around Caguan. But you'll never find The Wolf. Beat. Gordy sticks out his hand. GORDY Heinrich Beckmann. ARMSTRONG Huh? GORDY My Austrian name. Armstrong shakes hands with Gordy. Armstrong doesn't let loose right away. Beat. ARMSTRONG Luck got you this far. But up there, luck doesn't make it. I hope you know you're gonna die. OFF Gordy, about to step over another line... 172 EXT. RIVER - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 172 As dawn breaks over the river, FIND Gordy sitting in a motored panga being steered by a local BOATMAN. Gordy reaches into a pocket and pulls out the photo of Anne and Matt. He looks at it for a few moments. Then pockets it again. 173 SAME SCENE - LATER 173 The panga passes a dead body floating downstream. 66. 174 SAME SCENE - LATER 174 The panga passes revolutionary banners and signs lining the riverbank. BOATMAN La zona guerrillera. 175 SAME SCENE - MOMENTS LATER 175 The panga rounds a bend, and... Two souped-up bass boats filled with heavily-armed ELC guerrillas move to intercept it. The Boatman slows, puts the panga in neutral and keeps his hands in sight. One boat of guerrillas pulls alongside. The other sheers off and stops a short distance away, ready to open fire. Gordy shows the guerrillas his travel pass. One of them takes it. Reads. Looks Gordy over. Then starts to rip the pass in half, when... He stops. Grins. It's a big joke. He hands back the pass, searches the boat quickly and waves the panga on. OFF Gordy's relief as the panga heads on... 176 EXT. CAGUAN TOWN DOCK - DAY 176 The panga arrives, and Gordy gets out. He's met by FELIX. Felix has a 9mm in a shoulder holster. Felix doesn't look the least bit happy. FELIX Beckmann. GORDY Yeah. FELIX Come with me. Felix leads him towards a Land Cruiser. FELIX Armstrong should have called sooner. We don't like changes here... If I didn't need the equipment fixed, I'd send you back. (CONTINUED) 67. 176 CONTINUED: 176 They reach the Land Cruiser. FELIX But now we have to see the E.L.C. Supervisor for Caguan. It's a prospect that seems to concern Felix almost as much as Gordy. Off which, as they get into the Toyota... 177 INT. ELC SUPERVISOR'S OFFICE - DAY 177 The ELC SUPERVISOR for Caguan may be a Marxist, but the clean, well-ordered office is nicely appointed, with a big-screen Sony and leather furniture. The TV's TUNED TO CNN. A photo on the wall depicts him as a younger man wearing guerrilla cammies bearing with an ELC patch and holding an AK-47. A brass nameplate reading "Supervisor" rests on a neat desk, behind which stands the man himself -- a hardened, former guerrilla fighter proud of his position. He's not in cammies now -- his uniform now consists of casual but nice tropical clothing and a fat Rolex. Felix is a subordinate here. He and Gordy stand across the desk as the Supervisor examines Gordy's travel pass. Gordy's nervous about what could appear on the TV in the b.g., but tries not to show it. ELC SUPERVISOR Your passport was stolen. GORDY In Mompos. ELC SUPERVISOR ... Mompos is a shithole. Not like Caguan... Why didn't Armstrong come? GORDY He was arrested in Ecuador. He got drunk and fooled around with a police officer's wife. The Supervisor just looks at him, assessing Gordy's face for signs he's lying. Gordy's expression stays the same. Felix respectfully interjects. It's almost a plea. FELIX (in Spanish) We need to fix the equipment. We have delivery deadlines to meet. (CONTINUED) 68. 177 CONTINUED: 177 A long beat. The ELC Supervisor hands the travel pass back to Gordy. In a hard tone to Felix -- ELC SUPERVISOR (in Spanish) He's your responsibility. Don't let him out of your sight. FELIX Si. Gracias. As Felix leads Gordy away... 178 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER (CAGUAN) - DAY 178 Gordy and Felix pull away from the Supervisor's H.Q. Felix resumes his former tone of command. FELIX The Supervisor made you my responsibility... You don't go anywhere without me, you understand? GORDY No problemo. Gordy peers out the window intently as they drive, looking for a lucky break, looking for The Wolf, searching the face of every man. He doesn't see The Wolf, but what he does see surprises him. The ELC Supervisor was right: Caguan's no Mompos. It's a third- world town, armed troops are visible, and there's a lot of bad shit behind Colombia's revolutionaries, but here the streets are calm and orderly. It's quiet, almost eerie, as people go about their business. OFF Gordy, seeing another side of the guerrillas... 179 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER/COUNTRY ROAD - DAY 179 Felix turns off at the entrance to a lane leading to the plantation. The entrance is guarded by a 4X4 "Rat Patrol" assault truck and four heavily armed ELC guerrillas. GORDY The E.L.C. guards your coffee beans? Felix thinks he's joking. Until he looks over and sees Gordy's actually being sincere. (CONTINUED) 69. 179 CONTINUED: 179 FELIX ... Coffee beans? Shit. Armstrong didn't tell you much... 180 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER - PLANTATION - DAY 180 They approach a hacienda and outbuildings. The accoutrements of agriculture are present -- tractors, sheds, cats, etc. -- but clearly, this is no family farm. There are lots of serious-looking men around. More ELC guerrillas stand guard. 181 FELIX 181 stops the car. He and Gordy get out. Felix begins leading Gordy toward two rows of long, open-walled sheds. FELIX The problem's with the diesel generators. The sons-of-bitches keep breaking down. 182 NEW ANGLE 182 They pass four very large pits, where green leaves steep in a thick, foul-smelling liquid. FELIX We're using portables to keep production going, but they don't supply enough power to the heat lamps, and we have to dry a lot of... 'coffee beans.' 183 ANOTHER ANGLE 183 They're now walking between the two rows of sheds, where portable gas GENERATORS THRUM, and... Gordy can see long, wide platforms inside. Above the platforms are multiple arrays of powerful heat lamps. Spread out and drying beneath them is a half-acre or two of converted cocaine. 184 IN ANOTHER SHED 184 workers pack and wrap one-kilo bricks of coke for shipment. 70. 185 GORDY AND FELIX 185 approach the two giant diesel generators. FELIX We can fix anything, but these keep dying on us... You'll start now. I'll have tools brought to you. (beat) Armstrong's a magician with them. Let's hope you have his skill. Felix walks over to a guerrilla with an AK-47 and speaks to him. Then goes. Whereupon the

contempt

How many times the word 'contempt' appears in the text?

wire bows against his shin, and... Gordy ducks, covers the Man in the Yankees Cap, and... Nothing happens. The young man just stands there, frozen in position, his leg still bowing the line. (CONTINUED) 48. 117 CONTINUED: 117 Using the Zippo again to light his way, Gordy advances to the young man. He follows the trip wire to where a Coca- Cola can hangs from a nearby tree. On closer inspection, Gordy can see the can is sleeved around a grenade. There's no pin in the grenade. The can keeps the grenade's arming spoon in place. The trip wire's designed to yank the can off, allowing the grenade to explode at chest level... And the can's almost off. Gordy burns through the monofilament trip wire. Then carefully slides the Coke can back over the grenade. 118 MAN IN YANKEES CAP - MOMENTS LATER 118 When Gordy returns, the man's dead. OFF Gordy, looking down at the NY logo on the cap... 119 EXT./INT. ANOTHER CHIVA - DAY 119 Gordy sees a sign for a town as the chiva rumbles along. He pulls out his map. 120 INSERT - MAP 120 Gordy finds the town, which lies along a river. He traces a road from the town. The road runs south through the town of Mompos, and eventually reaches Caguan, the ELC capital. 121 BACK TO SCENE 121 A COLOMBIAN WOMAN is looking over Gordy's shoulder. COLOMBIAN WOMAN No autobusses para este lugar. Solamente el barco en el rio. She leans over, traces the river, which also runs to Caguan. COLOMBIAN WOMAN El rio. 122 EXT. FERRY DOCK - DAY 122 The FERRY'S WHISTLE TOOTS. Lines are cast off. (CONTINUED) 49. 122 CONTINUED: 122 Two plainclothes federales have been watching the ferry load and now relax their vigil. One man holds a Xerox of Gordy's passport photo. The other bites into an empanada, which breaks open and spills its contents down the front of his shirt. His partner finds it funny. He doesn't. And while their attention's occupied... Gordy hurries by, oblivious to the federales' presence, and just manages to hop onto the ferry as it pulls away. 123 EXT. FERRY - DAY 123 The ferry's the only means of travel south, and it's packed. Gordy picks his way through. The only other gringo on the boat is a geek in a plaid shirt and gimme hat that says "Deerborn." The geek, PHILIP ARMSTRONG, looks like a talker, and Gordy tries to avoid eye contact. He's too late. ARMSTRONG Hey, yo, dude, here's a seat, man! GORDY No, that's okay -- But Armstrong's already throwing a bag off the bench. ARMSTRONG I was hoping for someone I could communicate with. He sees Gordy hasn't moved. ARMSTRONG Only room's at the back near the bano, and I'd advise against it, unless you like poop. Beat. Gordy sits. Immediately -- ARMSTRONG Philip Armstrong. Assiniboia, Sasketchewan, Canada. (indicates his hat) Deerborn Heavy Equipment. GORDY ... Gordy Pitt. ARMSTRONG Hey, howya doing? I love Germany. (CONTINUED) 50. 123 CONTINUED: 123 GORDY Austria. American now. ARMSTRONG I love America. Never been to Austria. Where from in America would that be? GORDY New York City. ARMSTRONG I don't like New York City. Buildings're too big. What kinda work you in? GORDY (hesitates, then) Coffee. I buy beans. ARMSTRONG Can't drink caffeine. Makes my stomach do the rumba. I like that commercial guy with the sombrero and the mule, though. Headed upstream, eh? Where to? GORDY Caguan. ARMSTRONG ... You've never been to Caguan, eh? GORDY How do you know? ARMSTRONG 'Cause no one in their right mind would ever go back. Caguan's in the guerrilla zone run by the E.L.C. E.L.C. as in 'Extra Loathsome Communists.' They don't care, and they kill. I'm going there myself. But I have a 'get outta jail free' card. Armstrong doffs his cap, undoes a safety pin securing a card inside the crown. Shows it to Gordy. Sotto -- (CONTINUED) 51. 123 CONTINUED: (2) 123 ARMSTRONG E.L.C. travel pass. I can go anywhere I want. (by way of explanation) Everyone needs equipment fixed. Armstrong carefully returns the card to the hat. And now his voice takes on a noticeably more measured tone -- ARMSTRONG If you don't have one of these, you don't want to be up there, Gordy. Beat. Gordy's contemplating the warning, when his eyes go to a small, sleepy boy standing nearby on the cramped deck, leaning against his father. Gordy reaches over and taps the boy. The boy looks over. Shrinks away at the sight of the large gringo. The father notices and looks at Gordy, who stands, indicates his seat. GORDY Por favor. The father's also apprehensive, doesn't move. GORDY Con mucho gusto. Finally, the father accepts, sits down with the sleepy boy on his lap. Nods his thanks at Gordy, who then gazes down at the son. A kid about Matt's age. Armstrong recognizes the look of a caring dad. ARMSTRONG Got kids, eh? OFF Armstrong, as Gordy walks away... 124 EXT. JUNGLE - DAY 124 Two Colombian armed man wearing guerrilla uniforms bearing a distinctive ELC patch are walking a trail, when the man in front notices something odd. He stops. Leads the other man back a few steps. Looks into the foliage along the trail. Something doesn't seem right. He extends his AK-47. Prods a hump of greenery with the rifle butt, and in a flash... The greenery suddenly transforms into two men wearing face-paint and full-body military camouflage gear and pointing twin cocked-and-locked CAR-15 assault rifles at the heads of the startled guerrillas. 52. 125 EXT. CIA HACIENDA - DAY 125 Brandt stubs a butt as a Colombian SOG group does killer training nearby. Updegraf opens the door. To Brandt -- UPDEGRAF One of Rocha's infiltration teams just radioed in... We got our big break... 126 EXT. FERRY - DAY 126 Gordy stands along the rail looking out at the lush, beautiful countryside sliding past. Armstrong joins him. ARMSTRONG That little kid and I had a nice, long snooze... We're almost to Mompos. (gazing out) Beautiful country. GORDY It better be. A lotta people're dying for it. ARMSTRONG (looks overboard) Y'know, I haven't noticed one darn body floating downstream this whole trip, have you? Gordy doesn't respond. Beat. GORDY I was thinking... Maybe we could travel together into Caguan. You could show me around. ARMSTRONG (shakes his head) Pass is only good for one person, if that's your idea, which I think it is... Besides, I can't risk traveling around up there in the company of a big gringo with a dumb-ass cover story about coffee beans. Gordy looks over. Armstrong smiles back. Beat. (CONTINUED) 53. 126 CONTINUED: 126 GORDY I've got money. I'll buy the pass from you. ARMSTRONG I've worked too hard for it. And you don't have that kind of money on you. GORDY I'll be getting some life insurance money -- ARMSTRONG (shaking his head) It's all cash and carry down here, Gordy. The FERRY WHISTLE TOOTS. ARMSTRONG Mompos... You want to have some fun, we'll hook up later. I always schedule a stopover. To sample the local wares and such. (winks) Life can be what you make it here on the frontier. GORDY No, thanks. ARMSTRONG Gotta get off the boat anyway. Mompos is the last stop. From here into the guerrilla zone you can only travel by panga... If you change your mind, I'll be at the Tropicale later. It's a gringo bar. Just follow the cockroaches. 127 NEW ANGLE 127 They see the beginnings of Mompos. Two 4x4 trucks are parked on the riverbank. Lean, clean-cut men in jeans, tight shirts, cowboy boots and sunglasses lean on the truck and watch the ferry pass. ARMSTRONG Sicarios. Death squads. Avoid those dudes at all costs. 54. 128 SAME SCENE - FEW MOMENTS LATER 128 The ferry pulls up to the dock. The dock street is a culture clash of shanty bars and Amazon Indian traders, of big-wheel SUVs and mule carts. There's a definite air of menace. ARMSTRONG Federales are looking for someone. Gordy follows Armstrong's look to two plain-clothes federales, one fat and one thin, standing near the dock watching the boat pull up. When Gordy glances back, Armstrong is gone. 129 EXT. MOMPOS FERRY DOCK - DAY 129 Gordy disembarks amid the throng of passengers, when the FAT FEDERALE confronts him. FAT FEDERALE Senor Pitt? Gordy looks up in surprise at him and the thin federale backing him up. FAT FEDERALE You'll have to come with us. GORDY Why? FAT FEDERALE Come with us, please. He clamps a hand on Gordy's arm. Gordy shakes it off and starts running. Almost immediately, he's tackled to the ground by the thin federale. Two more federales join in. Gordy's not gonna go down easy, though. Even as only one against four, Gordy's a formidable challenge. He's strong, and he's committed all the way. He's not getting kicked out of this country again. It's not a clean or artful fight. There's no karate. It's four men trying to tackle a bull, and... The bull gets away. 130 EXT./INT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 130 Gordy sprints down streets with the federales in pursuit. 55. 131 GORDY 131 jukes into a local bar. 132 ANOTHER ANGLE 132 Gordy pounds out the back of the bar into a littered courtyard, where he's surrounded by ten-foot walls. 133 FEDERALES 133 blast through the bar. 134 GORDY 134 runs, jumps, launches off a beer keg, and... 135 TOP OF WALL 135 He reaches the top of the wall and pulls himself up. He's looking out across a block-long run of corrugated tin roofs. Takes off across the roofs, each step thundering, as... 136 FEDERALES 136 burst into the courtyard. Two men hastily build a stack of boxes, etc., against the wall. 137 GORDY 137 runs as fast as he can across the rooftops, when... A section of roof gives way beneath his feet, just as... 138 NEW ANGLE 138 One of the federales finally mounts the wall, looks across the rooftops... and Gordy's gone. 139 GORDY 139 lands inside a warehouse room amid sacks of rice, beans and coffee. The building is dark and dusty. He lies still and listens. FOOTSTEPS approach across the tin roof overhead. Gordy burrows into the bags of rice, pulls them over him. 56. 140 FEDERALE 140 on the roof peers down through the hole. Scans the warehouse room below with a mini-Mag-Lite. 141 GORDY 141 sees the flashlight beam move past. He holds his breath. Beat. Then the FOOTSTEPS pass on, RECEDE down the roof. And Gordy can breathe again. 142 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - NIGHT 142 Gordy makes his way along the main drag of the frontier town. A noisy, neon-lit strip of bars and brothels. Everyone's packing a gun. A new Dodge City, where death squad sicarios cruise past in 4x4's BLARING SALSA. 143 INT. TROPICALE - NIGHT 143 In here, the MUSIC'S LOUD ROCK 'N' ROLL. Gringo music for a gringo bar. The place is busy, with plenty of local "hostesses" for the men. Even Armstrong, standing half-crocked at the bar, is flanked by two scantily-clad women. He's got a spoon hanging off his nose. So does one of the girls. Armstrong's trying to hang a spoon on the other. Gordy slips into the bar. Spots Armstrong through the crowd. Sees Armstrong's not wearing his cap, when... The girl with the spoon on her nose turns slightly, revealing she's wearing the cap. It's on backwards, but now Gordy can see the "Deerborn" logo clearly. Gordy wants the guerrilla travel pass inside the cap. It's a desperate move, but he's got no choice. Starts toward the girl, when... Gordy sees the thin federale enter the front door. The thin federale sees him at the same time. Begins moving in on him. Gordy moves faster toward the girl. And... The girl unwittingly does him a favor by taking off the cap and setting it on the bar, where it's easier to grab, and then turns her attention to Armstrong's antics. The thin detective fights through the crowd after Gordy. Gordy's almost to the hat. (CONTINUED) 57. 143 CONTINUED: 143 Armstrong's still having trouble with the second girl's spoon. ARMSTRONG I never met a nose I couldn't hang a spoon on. Gordy reaches the bar, snags the cap. Glances back, sees the thin federale closing in, turns to run out the back, when... A strong hand stops him. The hand belongs to the Fat Federale. And now the thin federale's there, too, wielding a stun gun where Gordy can see it. People in the bar fall silent. Everyone but Armstrong, who's finally hung the spoon on the second girl's nose. ARMSTRONG Yahtzee! And now Armstong also realizes something's up. Turns and sees Gordy. Sees the cap in Gordy's hand as the Fat Federale addresses Gordy -- FAT FEDERALE Come along, Mr. Pitt. Whereupon Armstrong shouts drunkenly at Gordy -- ARMSTRONG Police catch you trying to steal my hat, you asshole?! He staggers toward Gordy. Grabs the hat. ARMSTRONG Fucking hat thief! Armstrong takes a drunken swing at Gordy, but... Instead of hitting Gordy, Armstrong accidentally-on- purpose clocks the fat detective. Then hisses into Gordy's ear, clearly not that drunk -- ARMSTRONG Get outta here -- But then Armstrong's legs won't work as the thin federale jams the stun gun against his neck, and 10,000 volts surprise the Armstrong neural network. Gordy moves against the thin federale in anger, when... The Fat Federale ZAPS him with another STUN GUN, just behind the ear... And Gordy gets to know the floor, too. 58. 144 EXT. MOMPOS JAIL - NIGHT 144 The building's ancient, constructed of wood and adobe. 145 INT. MOMPOS JAIL - CELL - NIGHT 145 The jail might be old, but the cells are secure enough. They're also unsanitary and thoroughly unpleasant. Gordy and Armstrong are led in by the federales. The Fat Federale has Armstrong's hat. He looks it over, wondering why Gordy wanted it. Then decides he could give a fuck and tosses it to Armstrong. Clangs the cell door shut and locks it. Leaves shaking his head. FAT FEDERALE Gringos... Armstrong's still unsteady on his feet and sits down on the metal bunk. ARMSTRONG That stun gun wasn't cool. Armstrong looks down at himself. ARMSTRONG Haven't peed my pants in a real long time. GORDY (beat) You shouldn't have helped me. ARMSTRONG Yeah, well, I guess all these assholes down here are just starting on my nerves. Gordy's silent. It's over. He's come up short. He's going home. ARMSTRONG So what the hell did you do to land us in here? And don't jerk me around, eh? Beat. Gordy sits. GORDY The Wolf killed my wife and son in New York. (CONTINUED) 59. 145 CONTINUED: 145 ARMSTRONG ... Oh, you're that guy, eh? I'm sorry, man... And what, you came down here to even things out? Gordy just looks at him. ARMSTRONG Did you even have a plan? GORDY Yeah. Go to Caguan, find The Wolf and kill him. Armstrong just shakes his head. Beat. 146 DOOR TO CELL AREA 146 BANGS open. Federales lead in two men -- the two guerrillas surprised earlier by the heavy-camouflaged infiltrators. The federales are armed with batons and stun guns, taking no chances. It's clear the rebels weren't brought here without a struggle, either -- both are cut and bruised. The tougher-looking of the two has taken a real beating. This beaten man is jammed face- first against the bars of Gordy's cell. He makes eye contact with Gordy while the other rebel is unbound and put into a cell. Then the beaten man is shoved into the cell. A solid, brick wall separates them from Gordy and Armstrong. Armstrong's seen the patches on their uniforms. To Gordy, sotto -- ARMSTRONG E.L.C. Beat. Armstrong sees the look on Gordy's face. By way of a warning -- ARMSTRONG If you can't kill them, don't even talk to them. The GUERRILLAS are MURMURING in the other cell. One of them LAUGHS. OFF Gordy, listening to the LAUGHING... 147 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL - NIGHT 147 Two or three A.M. Armstrong's dozing. Gordy's still listening to the MURMURING of the REBELS on the other side of the wall, when... (CONTINUED) 60. 147 CONTINUED: 147 There's a flurry of activity outside the cell area. The door opens. Soldiers enter with some federales. Gordy watches the soldiers move past his cell. Rocha is with them. And then... Brandt appears at the bars, looks in at Gordy. BRANDT Enjoy your trip? Gordy stands, approaches. BRANDT We asked you to leave it to us. GORDY And you guys still haven't got him. BRANDT It's not over yet... The guys next door are in The Wolf's elite bodyguard unit. Where he goes, they go. We're gonna ask questions. And we're gonna get answers... And you're staying right here till our bomber's dead. Brandt goes. Moments later, a TORTURED SCREAM is heard on the other side of the brick wall, waking Armstrong with a start. 148 EXT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - NIGHT 148 In a field near Mompos, a canopied truck backs into position. Men in guerrilla uniforms with ELC patches get out and pull back the canopy, revealing mortar tubes pointing skyward on a bed of sand. 149 ELC GUERRILLA 149 unit armed with AK-47s and Light Anti-Tank Weapons (LAWs) infiltrates the town. 150 ANOTHER TWO-MAN ELC GUERRILLA TEAM 150 sets up a single mortar position overlooking the town. One of the men checks his watch. Beat. He signals. The other man drops a MORTAR down the tube. WHUMP. 61. 151 TWO MORTARS 151 go in the tubes on the truck. WHUMP, WHUMP. 152 ANOTHER ANGLE 152 BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! A water tower, the Mompos fire station and the town's power supply are direct hits. WHUMP, WHUMP, WHUMP... 153 INT. JAIL - CELLS 153 People react to the sounds of the MORTAR ATTACK on the town. The lights go out. Brandt, Rocha and their men quickly lock the guerrillas in their cell and head out. 154 EXT. JAIL 154 As MORTARS CONTINUE to fall on the rest of the town, the unit of guerrilla infiltrators open up on the front of the jail with LAW ROCKETS. 155 EXT./INT. JAIL 155 KA-BOOM! The front door and wall of the jail disintegrate under the multiple LAW attack. 156 NEW ANGLE 156 Brandt, Rocha and the soldiers, approaching the front door inside, are hammered by the massive concussion of the BLAST and flung across the room, apparently dead. 157 ANOTHER ANGLE 157 The powerful, concussive shock-wave channels into the cell area. Gordy's slightly protected by a wall. Armstrong, standing at the bars, is thrown into the opposite wall and knocked unconscious. 158 GUERRILLAS 158 charge inside with AKs BLAZING. Surviving soldiers and federales SHOOT back. The blasts have caused fires in the building. Severed wires spark, creating more fire. Flames begin to spread through the tinder-dry structure. (CONTINUED) 62. 158 CONTINUED: 158 The guerrillas take out the soldiers and federales, with few casualties to themselves. They make their way toward the cell area. EXPLODING AMMO and stored FUEL CANS accelerate the fire. 159 NEW ANGLE 159 The guerrillas reach the cells. Two men see Gordy and draw down on him. The others move to the next cell. Guerrillas plant small explosive charges on the hinges of the cell containing their two captured comrades. Beat. The HINGES BLOW. The beaten man and the rebel with him are freed, and the guerrillas quickly retreat the way they came. Gordy sees flames spreading into the cell area. 160 GUERRILLAS 160 exit the fiery jail past Brandt. We see Brandt's not dead. 161 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - OUTSIDE JAIL 161 A truck pulls up. The guerrillas get in. The TRUCK SCREECHES OUT as... 162 4X4 162 full of sicarios SKIDS onto the street, far ahead of the truck. The sicario driving punches it, and... 163 TWO TRUCKS 163 ROAR toward each other. A game of chicken. With GUNS. Men in both vehicles OPEN UP -- the sicarios with magnums and Uzis, the guerrillas with AKs. SLUGS RIP through automotive steel. Casualties are taken. When... 164 SICARIO 164 driving the 4x4 receives a round in the forehead, cranks over the steering wheel, and... 63. 165 SPEEDING 4X4 165 does a Paris-to-Dakar road rally flip, twisting and somersaulting, and... 166 NEW ANGLE 166 The 4x4 catapults completely over the guerrillas' truck, disintegrating into spare parts and dead occupants, as... 167 GUERRILLAS 167 ROAR off. 168 EXT./INT. JAIL 168 A severely-dazed Brandt, bleeding from the nose and ears, slowly gets to his knees, crawls out of the burning building and collapses outside. 169 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL 169 There's fire and smoke everywhere. Gordy picks up the metal bunk and slams it against a wall. Slams it again. Breaks the metal apart. Then levers a long side rail in the cell door. He heaves. Heaves again. The fire's licking at him, but Gordy's undeterred. He heaves again, and... This time, the door gives. Gordy picks up Armstrong's cap, then picks up Armstrong, who's starting to come around. Puts Armstrong over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. GORDY Don't breathe. ARMSTRONG (weakly) You're not running through the fire, eh? GORDY Close your mouth. Because running through the fire is just what Gordy's gonna do. As he disappears into the flames... 170 EXT. JAIL - NIGHT 170 The town's in complete chaos. There are fires everywhere. (CONTINUED) 64. 170 CONTINUED: 170 Still stunned and bleeding, Brandt looks from where he lies on the ground as... Gordy bursts out of the inferno carrying Armstrong. They're singed and smoking, but they're alive. Gordy drops Armstrong, pats himself and Armstrong down, knocking out the burning embers on their clothes and hair, when... Gordy's eyes meet Brandt's. The two men hold the look for a moment. If Brandt could speak, he'd be yelling at Gordy to stop, not to go on. And Gordy knows it. But Gordy's not stopping. Picks up Armstrong again and moves off toward the waterfront. 171 EXT. MOMPOS WATERFRONT - NIGHT 171 There's less chaos here. The fires are in the distance. Gordy arrives carrying Armstrong. Sets him down. GORDY I'll find a boat to take us upriver. He starts to go. Armstrong stops him. ARMSTRONG No. I told you. The pass is only good for one person. And you're too dangerous to travel with. Beat. Gordy reaches over and takes Armstrong's cap. He looks inside. There's no pass. ARMSTRONG It hasn't been there since we landed. Gordy's at a loss. He tosses the cap back. Just looks at Armstrong. Beat. Armstrong sighs. ARMSTRONG Aw, hell... I was through with this place anyway... He takes off a boot. Shakes out some money and the pass. He hands the pass to Gordy. (CONTINUED) 65. 171 CONTINUED: 171 ARMSTRONG I'll call ahead and tell Felix I'm not coming, and you're my replacement. He'll meet you in Caguan and take you to the plantation... What do you know about diesel engines? GORDY All the fire trucks are diesels. ARMSTRONG You'll have to be Austrian, eh? They hate Americans. Name's gotta change, too, in case they're watching the news. (beat) It'll buy you a little time to look around Caguan. But you'll never find The Wolf. Beat. Gordy sticks out his hand. GORDY Heinrich Beckmann. ARMSTRONG Huh? GORDY My Austrian name. Armstrong shakes hands with Gordy. Armstrong doesn't let loose right away. Beat. ARMSTRONG Luck got you this far. But up there, luck doesn't make it. I hope you know you're gonna die. OFF Gordy, about to step over another line... 172 EXT. RIVER - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 172 As dawn breaks over the river, FIND Gordy sitting in a motored panga being steered by a local BOATMAN. Gordy reaches into a pocket and pulls out the photo of Anne and Matt. He looks at it for a few moments. Then pockets it again. 173 SAME SCENE - LATER 173 The panga passes a dead body floating downstream. 66. 174 SAME SCENE - LATER 174 The panga passes revolutionary banners and signs lining the riverbank. BOATMAN La zona guerrillera. 175 SAME SCENE - MOMENTS LATER 175 The panga rounds a bend, and... Two souped-up bass boats filled with heavily-armed ELC guerrillas move to intercept it. The Boatman slows, puts the panga in neutral and keeps his hands in sight. One boat of guerrillas pulls alongside. The other sheers off and stops a short distance away, ready to open fire. Gordy shows the guerrillas his travel pass. One of them takes it. Reads. Looks Gordy over. Then starts to rip the pass in half, when... He stops. Grins. It's a big joke. He hands back the pass, searches the boat quickly and waves the panga on. OFF Gordy's relief as the panga heads on... 176 EXT. CAGUAN TOWN DOCK - DAY 176 The panga arrives, and Gordy gets out. He's met by FELIX. Felix has a 9mm in a shoulder holster. Felix doesn't look the least bit happy. FELIX Beckmann. GORDY Yeah. FELIX Come with me. Felix leads him towards a Land Cruiser. FELIX Armstrong should have called sooner. We don't like changes here... If I didn't need the equipment fixed, I'd send you back. (CONTINUED) 67. 176 CONTINUED: 176 They reach the Land Cruiser. FELIX But now we have to see the E.L.C. Supervisor for Caguan. It's a prospect that seems to concern Felix almost as much as Gordy. Off which, as they get into the Toyota... 177 INT. ELC SUPERVISOR'S OFFICE - DAY 177 The ELC SUPERVISOR for Caguan may be a Marxist, but the clean, well-ordered office is nicely appointed, with a big-screen Sony and leather furniture. The TV's TUNED TO CNN. A photo on the wall depicts him as a younger man wearing guerrilla cammies bearing with an ELC patch and holding an AK-47. A brass nameplate reading "Supervisor" rests on a neat desk, behind which stands the man himself -- a hardened, former guerrilla fighter proud of his position. He's not in cammies now -- his uniform now consists of casual but nice tropical clothing and a fat Rolex. Felix is a subordinate here. He and Gordy stand across the desk as the Supervisor examines Gordy's travel pass. Gordy's nervous about what could appear on the TV in the b.g., but tries not to show it. ELC SUPERVISOR Your passport was stolen. GORDY In Mompos. ELC SUPERVISOR ... Mompos is a shithole. Not like Caguan... Why didn't Armstrong come? GORDY He was arrested in Ecuador. He got drunk and fooled around with a police officer's wife. The Supervisor just looks at him, assessing Gordy's face for signs he's lying. Gordy's expression stays the same. Felix respectfully interjects. It's almost a plea. FELIX (in Spanish) We need to fix the equipment. We have delivery deadlines to meet. (CONTINUED) 68. 177 CONTINUED: 177 A long beat. The ELC Supervisor hands the travel pass back to Gordy. In a hard tone to Felix -- ELC SUPERVISOR (in Spanish) He's your responsibility. Don't let him out of your sight. FELIX Si. Gracias. As Felix leads Gordy away... 178 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER (CAGUAN) - DAY 178 Gordy and Felix pull away from the Supervisor's H.Q. Felix resumes his former tone of command. FELIX The Supervisor made you my responsibility... You don't go anywhere without me, you understand? GORDY No problemo. Gordy peers out the window intently as they drive, looking for a lucky break, looking for The Wolf, searching the face of every man. He doesn't see The Wolf, but what he does see surprises him. The ELC Supervisor was right: Caguan's no Mompos. It's a third- world town, armed troops are visible, and there's a lot of bad shit behind Colombia's revolutionaries, but here the streets are calm and orderly. It's quiet, almost eerie, as people go about their business. OFF Gordy, seeing another side of the guerrillas... 179 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER/COUNTRY ROAD - DAY 179 Felix turns off at the entrance to a lane leading to the plantation. The entrance is guarded by a 4X4 "Rat Patrol" assault truck and four heavily armed ELC guerrillas. GORDY The E.L.C. guards your coffee beans? Felix thinks he's joking. Until he looks over and sees Gordy's actually being sincere. (CONTINUED) 69. 179 CONTINUED: 179 FELIX ... Coffee beans? Shit. Armstrong didn't tell you much... 180 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER - PLANTATION - DAY 180 They approach a hacienda and outbuildings. The accoutrements of agriculture are present -- tractors, sheds, cats, etc. -- but clearly, this is no family farm. There are lots of serious-looking men around. More ELC guerrillas stand guard. 181 FELIX 181 stops the car. He and Gordy get out. Felix begins leading Gordy toward two rows of long, open-walled sheds. FELIX The problem's with the diesel generators. The sons-of-bitches keep breaking down. 182 NEW ANGLE 182 They pass four very large pits, where green leaves steep in a thick, foul-smelling liquid. FELIX We're using portables to keep production going, but they don't supply enough power to the heat lamps, and we have to dry a lot of... 'coffee beans.' 183 ANOTHER ANGLE 183 They're now walking between the two rows of sheds, where portable gas GENERATORS THRUM, and... Gordy can see long, wide platforms inside. Above the platforms are multiple arrays of powerful heat lamps. Spread out and drying beneath them is a half-acre or two of converted cocaine. 184 IN ANOTHER SHED 184 workers pack and wrap one-kilo bricks of coke for shipment. 70. 185 GORDY AND FELIX 185 approach the two giant diesel generators. FELIX We can fix anything, but these keep dying on us... You'll start now. I'll have tools brought to you. (beat) Armstrong's a magician with them. Let's hope you have his skill. Felix walks over to a guerrilla with an AK-47 and speaks to him. Then goes. Whereupon the

could

How many times the word 'could' appears in the text?

wire bows against his shin, and... Gordy ducks, covers the Man in the Yankees Cap, and... Nothing happens. The young man just stands there, frozen in position, his leg still bowing the line. (CONTINUED) 48. 117 CONTINUED: 117 Using the Zippo again to light his way, Gordy advances to the young man. He follows the trip wire to where a Coca- Cola can hangs from a nearby tree. On closer inspection, Gordy can see the can is sleeved around a grenade. There's no pin in the grenade. The can keeps the grenade's arming spoon in place. The trip wire's designed to yank the can off, allowing the grenade to explode at chest level... And the can's almost off. Gordy burns through the monofilament trip wire. Then carefully slides the Coke can back over the grenade. 118 MAN IN YANKEES CAP - MOMENTS LATER 118 When Gordy returns, the man's dead. OFF Gordy, looking down at the NY logo on the cap... 119 EXT./INT. ANOTHER CHIVA - DAY 119 Gordy sees a sign for a town as the chiva rumbles along. He pulls out his map. 120 INSERT - MAP 120 Gordy finds the town, which lies along a river. He traces a road from the town. The road runs south through the town of Mompos, and eventually reaches Caguan, the ELC capital. 121 BACK TO SCENE 121 A COLOMBIAN WOMAN is looking over Gordy's shoulder. COLOMBIAN WOMAN No autobusses para este lugar. Solamente el barco en el rio. She leans over, traces the river, which also runs to Caguan. COLOMBIAN WOMAN El rio. 122 EXT. FERRY DOCK - DAY 122 The FERRY'S WHISTLE TOOTS. Lines are cast off. (CONTINUED) 49. 122 CONTINUED: 122 Two plainclothes federales have been watching the ferry load and now relax their vigil. One man holds a Xerox of Gordy's passport photo. The other bites into an empanada, which breaks open and spills its contents down the front of his shirt. His partner finds it funny. He doesn't. And while their attention's occupied... Gordy hurries by, oblivious to the federales' presence, and just manages to hop onto the ferry as it pulls away. 123 EXT. FERRY - DAY 123 The ferry's the only means of travel south, and it's packed. Gordy picks his way through. The only other gringo on the boat is a geek in a plaid shirt and gimme hat that says "Deerborn." The geek, PHILIP ARMSTRONG, looks like a talker, and Gordy tries to avoid eye contact. He's too late. ARMSTRONG Hey, yo, dude, here's a seat, man! GORDY No, that's okay -- But Armstrong's already throwing a bag off the bench. ARMSTRONG I was hoping for someone I could communicate with. He sees Gordy hasn't moved. ARMSTRONG Only room's at the back near the bano, and I'd advise against it, unless you like poop. Beat. Gordy sits. Immediately -- ARMSTRONG Philip Armstrong. Assiniboia, Sasketchewan, Canada. (indicates his hat) Deerborn Heavy Equipment. GORDY ... Gordy Pitt. ARMSTRONG Hey, howya doing? I love Germany. (CONTINUED) 50. 123 CONTINUED: 123 GORDY Austria. American now. ARMSTRONG I love America. Never been to Austria. Where from in America would that be? GORDY New York City. ARMSTRONG I don't like New York City. Buildings're too big. What kinda work you in? GORDY (hesitates, then) Coffee. I buy beans. ARMSTRONG Can't drink caffeine. Makes my stomach do the rumba. I like that commercial guy with the sombrero and the mule, though. Headed upstream, eh? Where to? GORDY Caguan. ARMSTRONG ... You've never been to Caguan, eh? GORDY How do you know? ARMSTRONG 'Cause no one in their right mind would ever go back. Caguan's in the guerrilla zone run by the E.L.C. E.L.C. as in 'Extra Loathsome Communists.' They don't care, and they kill. I'm going there myself. But I have a 'get outta jail free' card. Armstrong doffs his cap, undoes a safety pin securing a card inside the crown. Shows it to Gordy. Sotto -- (CONTINUED) 51. 123 CONTINUED: (2) 123 ARMSTRONG E.L.C. travel pass. I can go anywhere I want. (by way of explanation) Everyone needs equipment fixed. Armstrong carefully returns the card to the hat. And now his voice takes on a noticeably more measured tone -- ARMSTRONG If you don't have one of these, you don't want to be up there, Gordy. Beat. Gordy's contemplating the warning, when his eyes go to a small, sleepy boy standing nearby on the cramped deck, leaning against his father. Gordy reaches over and taps the boy. The boy looks over. Shrinks away at the sight of the large gringo. The father notices and looks at Gordy, who stands, indicates his seat. GORDY Por favor. The father's also apprehensive, doesn't move. GORDY Con mucho gusto. Finally, the father accepts, sits down with the sleepy boy on his lap. Nods his thanks at Gordy, who then gazes down at the son. A kid about Matt's age. Armstrong recognizes the look of a caring dad. ARMSTRONG Got kids, eh? OFF Armstrong, as Gordy walks away... 124 EXT. JUNGLE - DAY 124 Two Colombian armed man wearing guerrilla uniforms bearing a distinctive ELC patch are walking a trail, when the man in front notices something odd. He stops. Leads the other man back a few steps. Looks into the foliage along the trail. Something doesn't seem right. He extends his AK-47. Prods a hump of greenery with the rifle butt, and in a flash... The greenery suddenly transforms into two men wearing face-paint and full-body military camouflage gear and pointing twin cocked-and-locked CAR-15 assault rifles at the heads of the startled guerrillas. 52. 125 EXT. CIA HACIENDA - DAY 125 Brandt stubs a butt as a Colombian SOG group does killer training nearby. Updegraf opens the door. To Brandt -- UPDEGRAF One of Rocha's infiltration teams just radioed in... We got our big break... 126 EXT. FERRY - DAY 126 Gordy stands along the rail looking out at the lush, beautiful countryside sliding past. Armstrong joins him. ARMSTRONG That little kid and I had a nice, long snooze... We're almost to Mompos. (gazing out) Beautiful country. GORDY It better be. A lotta people're dying for it. ARMSTRONG (looks overboard) Y'know, I haven't noticed one darn body floating downstream this whole trip, have you? Gordy doesn't respond. Beat. GORDY I was thinking... Maybe we could travel together into Caguan. You could show me around. ARMSTRONG (shakes his head) Pass is only good for one person, if that's your idea, which I think it is... Besides, I can't risk traveling around up there in the company of a big gringo with a dumb-ass cover story about coffee beans. Gordy looks over. Armstrong smiles back. Beat. (CONTINUED) 53. 126 CONTINUED: 126 GORDY I've got money. I'll buy the pass from you. ARMSTRONG I've worked too hard for it. And you don't have that kind of money on you. GORDY I'll be getting some life insurance money -- ARMSTRONG (shaking his head) It's all cash and carry down here, Gordy. The FERRY WHISTLE TOOTS. ARMSTRONG Mompos... You want to have some fun, we'll hook up later. I always schedule a stopover. To sample the local wares and such. (winks) Life can be what you make it here on the frontier. GORDY No, thanks. ARMSTRONG Gotta get off the boat anyway. Mompos is the last stop. From here into the guerrilla zone you can only travel by panga... If you change your mind, I'll be at the Tropicale later. It's a gringo bar. Just follow the cockroaches. 127 NEW ANGLE 127 They see the beginnings of Mompos. Two 4x4 trucks are parked on the riverbank. Lean, clean-cut men in jeans, tight shirts, cowboy boots and sunglasses lean on the truck and watch the ferry pass. ARMSTRONG Sicarios. Death squads. Avoid those dudes at all costs. 54. 128 SAME SCENE - FEW MOMENTS LATER 128 The ferry pulls up to the dock. The dock street is a culture clash of shanty bars and Amazon Indian traders, of big-wheel SUVs and mule carts. There's a definite air of menace. ARMSTRONG Federales are looking for someone. Gordy follows Armstrong's look to two plain-clothes federales, one fat and one thin, standing near the dock watching the boat pull up. When Gordy glances back, Armstrong is gone. 129 EXT. MOMPOS FERRY DOCK - DAY 129 Gordy disembarks amid the throng of passengers, when the FAT FEDERALE confronts him. FAT FEDERALE Senor Pitt? Gordy looks up in surprise at him and the thin federale backing him up. FAT FEDERALE You'll have to come with us. GORDY Why? FAT FEDERALE Come with us, please. He clamps a hand on Gordy's arm. Gordy shakes it off and starts running. Almost immediately, he's tackled to the ground by the thin federale. Two more federales join in. Gordy's not gonna go down easy, though. Even as only one against four, Gordy's a formidable challenge. He's strong, and he's committed all the way. He's not getting kicked out of this country again. It's not a clean or artful fight. There's no karate. It's four men trying to tackle a bull, and... The bull gets away. 130 EXT./INT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 130 Gordy sprints down streets with the federales in pursuit. 55. 131 GORDY 131 jukes into a local bar. 132 ANOTHER ANGLE 132 Gordy pounds out the back of the bar into a littered courtyard, where he's surrounded by ten-foot walls. 133 FEDERALES 133 blast through the bar. 134 GORDY 134 runs, jumps, launches off a beer keg, and... 135 TOP OF WALL 135 He reaches the top of the wall and pulls himself up. He's looking out across a block-long run of corrugated tin roofs. Takes off across the roofs, each step thundering, as... 136 FEDERALES 136 burst into the courtyard. Two men hastily build a stack of boxes, etc., against the wall. 137 GORDY 137 runs as fast as he can across the rooftops, when... A section of roof gives way beneath his feet, just as... 138 NEW ANGLE 138 One of the federales finally mounts the wall, looks across the rooftops... and Gordy's gone. 139 GORDY 139 lands inside a warehouse room amid sacks of rice, beans and coffee. The building is dark and dusty. He lies still and listens. FOOTSTEPS approach across the tin roof overhead. Gordy burrows into the bags of rice, pulls them over him. 56. 140 FEDERALE 140 on the roof peers down through the hole. Scans the warehouse room below with a mini-Mag-Lite. 141 GORDY 141 sees the flashlight beam move past. He holds his breath. Beat. Then the FOOTSTEPS pass on, RECEDE down the roof. And Gordy can breathe again. 142 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - NIGHT 142 Gordy makes his way along the main drag of the frontier town. A noisy, neon-lit strip of bars and brothels. Everyone's packing a gun. A new Dodge City, where death squad sicarios cruise past in 4x4's BLARING SALSA. 143 INT. TROPICALE - NIGHT 143 In here, the MUSIC'S LOUD ROCK 'N' ROLL. Gringo music for a gringo bar. The place is busy, with plenty of local "hostesses" for the men. Even Armstrong, standing half-crocked at the bar, is flanked by two scantily-clad women. He's got a spoon hanging off his nose. So does one of the girls. Armstrong's trying to hang a spoon on the other. Gordy slips into the bar. Spots Armstrong through the crowd. Sees Armstrong's not wearing his cap, when... The girl with the spoon on her nose turns slightly, revealing she's wearing the cap. It's on backwards, but now Gordy can see the "Deerborn" logo clearly. Gordy wants the guerrilla travel pass inside the cap. It's a desperate move, but he's got no choice. Starts toward the girl, when... Gordy sees the thin federale enter the front door. The thin federale sees him at the same time. Begins moving in on him. Gordy moves faster toward the girl. And... The girl unwittingly does him a favor by taking off the cap and setting it on the bar, where it's easier to grab, and then turns her attention to Armstrong's antics. The thin detective fights through the crowd after Gordy. Gordy's almost to the hat. (CONTINUED) 57. 143 CONTINUED: 143 Armstrong's still having trouble with the second girl's spoon. ARMSTRONG I never met a nose I couldn't hang a spoon on. Gordy reaches the bar, snags the cap. Glances back, sees the thin federale closing in, turns to run out the back, when... A strong hand stops him. The hand belongs to the Fat Federale. And now the thin federale's there, too, wielding a stun gun where Gordy can see it. People in the bar fall silent. Everyone but Armstrong, who's finally hung the spoon on the second girl's nose. ARMSTRONG Yahtzee! And now Armstong also realizes something's up. Turns and sees Gordy. Sees the cap in Gordy's hand as the Fat Federale addresses Gordy -- FAT FEDERALE Come along, Mr. Pitt. Whereupon Armstrong shouts drunkenly at Gordy -- ARMSTRONG Police catch you trying to steal my hat, you asshole?! He staggers toward Gordy. Grabs the hat. ARMSTRONG Fucking hat thief! Armstrong takes a drunken swing at Gordy, but... Instead of hitting Gordy, Armstrong accidentally-on- purpose clocks the fat detective. Then hisses into Gordy's ear, clearly not that drunk -- ARMSTRONG Get outta here -- But then Armstrong's legs won't work as the thin federale jams the stun gun against his neck, and 10,000 volts surprise the Armstrong neural network. Gordy moves against the thin federale in anger, when... The Fat Federale ZAPS him with another STUN GUN, just behind the ear... And Gordy gets to know the floor, too. 58. 144 EXT. MOMPOS JAIL - NIGHT 144 The building's ancient, constructed of wood and adobe. 145 INT. MOMPOS JAIL - CELL - NIGHT 145 The jail might be old, but the cells are secure enough. They're also unsanitary and thoroughly unpleasant. Gordy and Armstrong are led in by the federales. The Fat Federale has Armstrong's hat. He looks it over, wondering why Gordy wanted it. Then decides he could give a fuck and tosses it to Armstrong. Clangs the cell door shut and locks it. Leaves shaking his head. FAT FEDERALE Gringos... Armstrong's still unsteady on his feet and sits down on the metal bunk. ARMSTRONG That stun gun wasn't cool. Armstrong looks down at himself. ARMSTRONG Haven't peed my pants in a real long time. GORDY (beat) You shouldn't have helped me. ARMSTRONG Yeah, well, I guess all these assholes down here are just starting on my nerves. Gordy's silent. It's over. He's come up short. He's going home. ARMSTRONG So what the hell did you do to land us in here? And don't jerk me around, eh? Beat. Gordy sits. GORDY The Wolf killed my wife and son in New York. (CONTINUED) 59. 145 CONTINUED: 145 ARMSTRONG ... Oh, you're that guy, eh? I'm sorry, man... And what, you came down here to even things out? Gordy just looks at him. ARMSTRONG Did you even have a plan? GORDY Yeah. Go to Caguan, find The Wolf and kill him. Armstrong just shakes his head. Beat. 146 DOOR TO CELL AREA 146 BANGS open. Federales lead in two men -- the two guerrillas surprised earlier by the heavy-camouflaged infiltrators. The federales are armed with batons and stun guns, taking no chances. It's clear the rebels weren't brought here without a struggle, either -- both are cut and bruised. The tougher-looking of the two has taken a real beating. This beaten man is jammed face- first against the bars of Gordy's cell. He makes eye contact with Gordy while the other rebel is unbound and put into a cell. Then the beaten man is shoved into the cell. A solid, brick wall separates them from Gordy and Armstrong. Armstrong's seen the patches on their uniforms. To Gordy, sotto -- ARMSTRONG E.L.C. Beat. Armstrong sees the look on Gordy's face. By way of a warning -- ARMSTRONG If you can't kill them, don't even talk to them. The GUERRILLAS are MURMURING in the other cell. One of them LAUGHS. OFF Gordy, listening to the LAUGHING... 147 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL - NIGHT 147 Two or three A.M. Armstrong's dozing. Gordy's still listening to the MURMURING of the REBELS on the other side of the wall, when... (CONTINUED) 60. 147 CONTINUED: 147 There's a flurry of activity outside the cell area. The door opens. Soldiers enter with some federales. Gordy watches the soldiers move past his cell. Rocha is with them. And then... Brandt appears at the bars, looks in at Gordy. BRANDT Enjoy your trip? Gordy stands, approaches. BRANDT We asked you to leave it to us. GORDY And you guys still haven't got him. BRANDT It's not over yet... The guys next door are in The Wolf's elite bodyguard unit. Where he goes, they go. We're gonna ask questions. And we're gonna get answers... And you're staying right here till our bomber's dead. Brandt goes. Moments later, a TORTURED SCREAM is heard on the other side of the brick wall, waking Armstrong with a start. 148 EXT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - NIGHT 148 In a field near Mompos, a canopied truck backs into position. Men in guerrilla uniforms with ELC patches get out and pull back the canopy, revealing mortar tubes pointing skyward on a bed of sand. 149 ELC GUERRILLA 149 unit armed with AK-47s and Light Anti-Tank Weapons (LAWs) infiltrates the town. 150 ANOTHER TWO-MAN ELC GUERRILLA TEAM 150 sets up a single mortar position overlooking the town. One of the men checks his watch. Beat. He signals. The other man drops a MORTAR down the tube. WHUMP. 61. 151 TWO MORTARS 151 go in the tubes on the truck. WHUMP, WHUMP. 152 ANOTHER ANGLE 152 BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! A water tower, the Mompos fire station and the town's power supply are direct hits. WHUMP, WHUMP, WHUMP... 153 INT. JAIL - CELLS 153 People react to the sounds of the MORTAR ATTACK on the town. The lights go out. Brandt, Rocha and their men quickly lock the guerrillas in their cell and head out. 154 EXT. JAIL 154 As MORTARS CONTINUE to fall on the rest of the town, the unit of guerrilla infiltrators open up on the front of the jail with LAW ROCKETS. 155 EXT./INT. JAIL 155 KA-BOOM! The front door and wall of the jail disintegrate under the multiple LAW attack. 156 NEW ANGLE 156 Brandt, Rocha and the soldiers, approaching the front door inside, are hammered by the massive concussion of the BLAST and flung across the room, apparently dead. 157 ANOTHER ANGLE 157 The powerful, concussive shock-wave channels into the cell area. Gordy's slightly protected by a wall. Armstrong, standing at the bars, is thrown into the opposite wall and knocked unconscious. 158 GUERRILLAS 158 charge inside with AKs BLAZING. Surviving soldiers and federales SHOOT back. The blasts have caused fires in the building. Severed wires spark, creating more fire. Flames begin to spread through the tinder-dry structure. (CONTINUED) 62. 158 CONTINUED: 158 The guerrillas take out the soldiers and federales, with few casualties to themselves. They make their way toward the cell area. EXPLODING AMMO and stored FUEL CANS accelerate the fire. 159 NEW ANGLE 159 The guerrillas reach the cells. Two men see Gordy and draw down on him. The others move to the next cell. Guerrillas plant small explosive charges on the hinges of the cell containing their two captured comrades. Beat. The HINGES BLOW. The beaten man and the rebel with him are freed, and the guerrillas quickly retreat the way they came. Gordy sees flames spreading into the cell area. 160 GUERRILLAS 160 exit the fiery jail past Brandt. We see Brandt's not dead. 161 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - OUTSIDE JAIL 161 A truck pulls up. The guerrillas get in. The TRUCK SCREECHES OUT as... 162 4X4 162 full of sicarios SKIDS onto the street, far ahead of the truck. The sicario driving punches it, and... 163 TWO TRUCKS 163 ROAR toward each other. A game of chicken. With GUNS. Men in both vehicles OPEN UP -- the sicarios with magnums and Uzis, the guerrillas with AKs. SLUGS RIP through automotive steel. Casualties are taken. When... 164 SICARIO 164 driving the 4x4 receives a round in the forehead, cranks over the steering wheel, and... 63. 165 SPEEDING 4X4 165 does a Paris-to-Dakar road rally flip, twisting and somersaulting, and... 166 NEW ANGLE 166 The 4x4 catapults completely over the guerrillas' truck, disintegrating into spare parts and dead occupants, as... 167 GUERRILLAS 167 ROAR off. 168 EXT./INT. JAIL 168 A severely-dazed Brandt, bleeding from the nose and ears, slowly gets to his knees, crawls out of the burning building and collapses outside. 169 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL 169 There's fire and smoke everywhere. Gordy picks up the metal bunk and slams it against a wall. Slams it again. Breaks the metal apart. Then levers a long side rail in the cell door. He heaves. Heaves again. The fire's licking at him, but Gordy's undeterred. He heaves again, and... This time, the door gives. Gordy picks up Armstrong's cap, then picks up Armstrong, who's starting to come around. Puts Armstrong over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. GORDY Don't breathe. ARMSTRONG (weakly) You're not running through the fire, eh? GORDY Close your mouth. Because running through the fire is just what Gordy's gonna do. As he disappears into the flames... 170 EXT. JAIL - NIGHT 170 The town's in complete chaos. There are fires everywhere. (CONTINUED) 64. 170 CONTINUED: 170 Still stunned and bleeding, Brandt looks from where he lies on the ground as... Gordy bursts out of the inferno carrying Armstrong. They're singed and smoking, but they're alive. Gordy drops Armstrong, pats himself and Armstrong down, knocking out the burning embers on their clothes and hair, when... Gordy's eyes meet Brandt's. The two men hold the look for a moment. If Brandt could speak, he'd be yelling at Gordy to stop, not to go on. And Gordy knows it. But Gordy's not stopping. Picks up Armstrong again and moves off toward the waterfront. 171 EXT. MOMPOS WATERFRONT - NIGHT 171 There's less chaos here. The fires are in the distance. Gordy arrives carrying Armstrong. Sets him down. GORDY I'll find a boat to take us upriver. He starts to go. Armstrong stops him. ARMSTRONG No. I told you. The pass is only good for one person. And you're too dangerous to travel with. Beat. Gordy reaches over and takes Armstrong's cap. He looks inside. There's no pass. ARMSTRONG It hasn't been there since we landed. Gordy's at a loss. He tosses the cap back. Just looks at Armstrong. Beat. Armstrong sighs. ARMSTRONG Aw, hell... I was through with this place anyway... He takes off a boot. Shakes out some money and the pass. He hands the pass to Gordy. (CONTINUED) 65. 171 CONTINUED: 171 ARMSTRONG I'll call ahead and tell Felix I'm not coming, and you're my replacement. He'll meet you in Caguan and take you to the plantation... What do you know about diesel engines? GORDY All the fire trucks are diesels. ARMSTRONG You'll have to be Austrian, eh? They hate Americans. Name's gotta change, too, in case they're watching the news. (beat) It'll buy you a little time to look around Caguan. But you'll never find The Wolf. Beat. Gordy sticks out his hand. GORDY Heinrich Beckmann. ARMSTRONG Huh? GORDY My Austrian name. Armstrong shakes hands with Gordy. Armstrong doesn't let loose right away. Beat. ARMSTRONG Luck got you this far. But up there, luck doesn't make it. I hope you know you're gonna die. OFF Gordy, about to step over another line... 172 EXT. RIVER - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 172 As dawn breaks over the river, FIND Gordy sitting in a motored panga being steered by a local BOATMAN. Gordy reaches into a pocket and pulls out the photo of Anne and Matt. He looks at it for a few moments. Then pockets it again. 173 SAME SCENE - LATER 173 The panga passes a dead body floating downstream. 66. 174 SAME SCENE - LATER 174 The panga passes revolutionary banners and signs lining the riverbank. BOATMAN La zona guerrillera. 175 SAME SCENE - MOMENTS LATER 175 The panga rounds a bend, and... Two souped-up bass boats filled with heavily-armed ELC guerrillas move to intercept it. The Boatman slows, puts the panga in neutral and keeps his hands in sight. One boat of guerrillas pulls alongside. The other sheers off and stops a short distance away, ready to open fire. Gordy shows the guerrillas his travel pass. One of them takes it. Reads. Looks Gordy over. Then starts to rip the pass in half, when... He stops. Grins. It's a big joke. He hands back the pass, searches the boat quickly and waves the panga on. OFF Gordy's relief as the panga heads on... 176 EXT. CAGUAN TOWN DOCK - DAY 176 The panga arrives, and Gordy gets out. He's met by FELIX. Felix has a 9mm in a shoulder holster. Felix doesn't look the least bit happy. FELIX Beckmann. GORDY Yeah. FELIX Come with me. Felix leads him towards a Land Cruiser. FELIX Armstrong should have called sooner. We don't like changes here... If I didn't need the equipment fixed, I'd send you back. (CONTINUED) 67. 176 CONTINUED: 176 They reach the Land Cruiser. FELIX But now we have to see the E.L.C. Supervisor for Caguan. It's a prospect that seems to concern Felix almost as much as Gordy. Off which, as they get into the Toyota... 177 INT. ELC SUPERVISOR'S OFFICE - DAY 177 The ELC SUPERVISOR for Caguan may be a Marxist, but the clean, well-ordered office is nicely appointed, with a big-screen Sony and leather furniture. The TV's TUNED TO CNN. A photo on the wall depicts him as a younger man wearing guerrilla cammies bearing with an ELC patch and holding an AK-47. A brass nameplate reading "Supervisor" rests on a neat desk, behind which stands the man himself -- a hardened, former guerrilla fighter proud of his position. He's not in cammies now -- his uniform now consists of casual but nice tropical clothing and a fat Rolex. Felix is a subordinate here. He and Gordy stand across the desk as the Supervisor examines Gordy's travel pass. Gordy's nervous about what could appear on the TV in the b.g., but tries not to show it. ELC SUPERVISOR Your passport was stolen. GORDY In Mompos. ELC SUPERVISOR ... Mompos is a shithole. Not like Caguan... Why didn't Armstrong come? GORDY He was arrested in Ecuador. He got drunk and fooled around with a police officer's wife. The Supervisor just looks at him, assessing Gordy's face for signs he's lying. Gordy's expression stays the same. Felix respectfully interjects. It's almost a plea. FELIX (in Spanish) We need to fix the equipment. We have delivery deadlines to meet. (CONTINUED) 68. 177 CONTINUED: 177 A long beat. The ELC Supervisor hands the travel pass back to Gordy. In a hard tone to Felix -- ELC SUPERVISOR (in Spanish) He's your responsibility. Don't let him out of your sight. FELIX Si. Gracias. As Felix leads Gordy away... 178 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER (CAGUAN) - DAY 178 Gordy and Felix pull away from the Supervisor's H.Q. Felix resumes his former tone of command. FELIX The Supervisor made you my responsibility... You don't go anywhere without me, you understand? GORDY No problemo. Gordy peers out the window intently as they drive, looking for a lucky break, looking for The Wolf, searching the face of every man. He doesn't see The Wolf, but what he does see surprises him. The ELC Supervisor was right: Caguan's no Mompos. It's a third- world town, armed troops are visible, and there's a lot of bad shit behind Colombia's revolutionaries, but here the streets are calm and orderly. It's quiet, almost eerie, as people go about their business. OFF Gordy, seeing another side of the guerrillas... 179 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER/COUNTRY ROAD - DAY 179 Felix turns off at the entrance to a lane leading to the plantation. The entrance is guarded by a 4X4 "Rat Patrol" assault truck and four heavily armed ELC guerrillas. GORDY The E.L.C. guards your coffee beans? Felix thinks he's joking. Until he looks over and sees Gordy's actually being sincere. (CONTINUED) 69. 179 CONTINUED: 179 FELIX ... Coffee beans? Shit. Armstrong didn't tell you much... 180 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER - PLANTATION - DAY 180 They approach a hacienda and outbuildings. The accoutrements of agriculture are present -- tractors, sheds, cats, etc. -- but clearly, this is no family farm. There are lots of serious-looking men around. More ELC guerrillas stand guard. 181 FELIX 181 stops the car. He and Gordy get out. Felix begins leading Gordy toward two rows of long, open-walled sheds. FELIX The problem's with the diesel generators. The sons-of-bitches keep breaking down. 182 NEW ANGLE 182 They pass four very large pits, where green leaves steep in a thick, foul-smelling liquid. FELIX We're using portables to keep production going, but they don't supply enough power to the heat lamps, and we have to dry a lot of... 'coffee beans.' 183 ANOTHER ANGLE 183 They're now walking between the two rows of sheds, where portable gas GENERATORS THRUM, and... Gordy can see long, wide platforms inside. Above the platforms are multiple arrays of powerful heat lamps. Spread out and drying beneath them is a half-acre or two of converted cocaine. 184 IN ANOTHER SHED 184 workers pack and wrap one-kilo bricks of coke for shipment. 70. 185 GORDY AND FELIX 185 approach the two giant diesel generators. FELIX We can fix anything, but these keep dying on us... You'll start now. I'll have tools brought to you. (beat) Armstrong's a magician with them. Let's hope you have his skill. Felix walks over to a guerrilla with an AK-47 and speaks to him. Then goes. Whereupon the

stroll

How many times the word 'stroll' appears in the text?

wire bows against his shin, and... Gordy ducks, covers the Man in the Yankees Cap, and... Nothing happens. The young man just stands there, frozen in position, his leg still bowing the line. (CONTINUED) 48. 117 CONTINUED: 117 Using the Zippo again to light his way, Gordy advances to the young man. He follows the trip wire to where a Coca- Cola can hangs from a nearby tree. On closer inspection, Gordy can see the can is sleeved around a grenade. There's no pin in the grenade. The can keeps the grenade's arming spoon in place. The trip wire's designed to yank the can off, allowing the grenade to explode at chest level... And the can's almost off. Gordy burns through the monofilament trip wire. Then carefully slides the Coke can back over the grenade. 118 MAN IN YANKEES CAP - MOMENTS LATER 118 When Gordy returns, the man's dead. OFF Gordy, looking down at the NY logo on the cap... 119 EXT./INT. ANOTHER CHIVA - DAY 119 Gordy sees a sign for a town as the chiva rumbles along. He pulls out his map. 120 INSERT - MAP 120 Gordy finds the town, which lies along a river. He traces a road from the town. The road runs south through the town of Mompos, and eventually reaches Caguan, the ELC capital. 121 BACK TO SCENE 121 A COLOMBIAN WOMAN is looking over Gordy's shoulder. COLOMBIAN WOMAN No autobusses para este lugar. Solamente el barco en el rio. She leans over, traces the river, which also runs to Caguan. COLOMBIAN WOMAN El rio. 122 EXT. FERRY DOCK - DAY 122 The FERRY'S WHISTLE TOOTS. Lines are cast off. (CONTINUED) 49. 122 CONTINUED: 122 Two plainclothes federales have been watching the ferry load and now relax their vigil. One man holds a Xerox of Gordy's passport photo. The other bites into an empanada, which breaks open and spills its contents down the front of his shirt. His partner finds it funny. He doesn't. And while their attention's occupied... Gordy hurries by, oblivious to the federales' presence, and just manages to hop onto the ferry as it pulls away. 123 EXT. FERRY - DAY 123 The ferry's the only means of travel south, and it's packed. Gordy picks his way through. The only other gringo on the boat is a geek in a plaid shirt and gimme hat that says "Deerborn." The geek, PHILIP ARMSTRONG, looks like a talker, and Gordy tries to avoid eye contact. He's too late. ARMSTRONG Hey, yo, dude, here's a seat, man! GORDY No, that's okay -- But Armstrong's already throwing a bag off the bench. ARMSTRONG I was hoping for someone I could communicate with. He sees Gordy hasn't moved. ARMSTRONG Only room's at the back near the bano, and I'd advise against it, unless you like poop. Beat. Gordy sits. Immediately -- ARMSTRONG Philip Armstrong. Assiniboia, Sasketchewan, Canada. (indicates his hat) Deerborn Heavy Equipment. GORDY ... Gordy Pitt. ARMSTRONG Hey, howya doing? I love Germany. (CONTINUED) 50. 123 CONTINUED: 123 GORDY Austria. American now. ARMSTRONG I love America. Never been to Austria. Where from in America would that be? GORDY New York City. ARMSTRONG I don't like New York City. Buildings're too big. What kinda work you in? GORDY (hesitates, then) Coffee. I buy beans. ARMSTRONG Can't drink caffeine. Makes my stomach do the rumba. I like that commercial guy with the sombrero and the mule, though. Headed upstream, eh? Where to? GORDY Caguan. ARMSTRONG ... You've never been to Caguan, eh? GORDY How do you know? ARMSTRONG 'Cause no one in their right mind would ever go back. Caguan's in the guerrilla zone run by the E.L.C. E.L.C. as in 'Extra Loathsome Communists.' They don't care, and they kill. I'm going there myself. But I have a 'get outta jail free' card. Armstrong doffs his cap, undoes a safety pin securing a card inside the crown. Shows it to Gordy. Sotto -- (CONTINUED) 51. 123 CONTINUED: (2) 123 ARMSTRONG E.L.C. travel pass. I can go anywhere I want. (by way of explanation) Everyone needs equipment fixed. Armstrong carefully returns the card to the hat. And now his voice takes on a noticeably more measured tone -- ARMSTRONG If you don't have one of these, you don't want to be up there, Gordy. Beat. Gordy's contemplating the warning, when his eyes go to a small, sleepy boy standing nearby on the cramped deck, leaning against his father. Gordy reaches over and taps the boy. The boy looks over. Shrinks away at the sight of the large gringo. The father notices and looks at Gordy, who stands, indicates his seat. GORDY Por favor. The father's also apprehensive, doesn't move. GORDY Con mucho gusto. Finally, the father accepts, sits down with the sleepy boy on his lap. Nods his thanks at Gordy, who then gazes down at the son. A kid about Matt's age. Armstrong recognizes the look of a caring dad. ARMSTRONG Got kids, eh? OFF Armstrong, as Gordy walks away... 124 EXT. JUNGLE - DAY 124 Two Colombian armed man wearing guerrilla uniforms bearing a distinctive ELC patch are walking a trail, when the man in front notices something odd. He stops. Leads the other man back a few steps. Looks into the foliage along the trail. Something doesn't seem right. He extends his AK-47. Prods a hump of greenery with the rifle butt, and in a flash... The greenery suddenly transforms into two men wearing face-paint and full-body military camouflage gear and pointing twin cocked-and-locked CAR-15 assault rifles at the heads of the startled guerrillas. 52. 125 EXT. CIA HACIENDA - DAY 125 Brandt stubs a butt as a Colombian SOG group does killer training nearby. Updegraf opens the door. To Brandt -- UPDEGRAF One of Rocha's infiltration teams just radioed in... We got our big break... 126 EXT. FERRY - DAY 126 Gordy stands along the rail looking out at the lush, beautiful countryside sliding past. Armstrong joins him. ARMSTRONG That little kid and I had a nice, long snooze... We're almost to Mompos. (gazing out) Beautiful country. GORDY It better be. A lotta people're dying for it. ARMSTRONG (looks overboard) Y'know, I haven't noticed one darn body floating downstream this whole trip, have you? Gordy doesn't respond. Beat. GORDY I was thinking... Maybe we could travel together into Caguan. You could show me around. ARMSTRONG (shakes his head) Pass is only good for one person, if that's your idea, which I think it is... Besides, I can't risk traveling around up there in the company of a big gringo with a dumb-ass cover story about coffee beans. Gordy looks over. Armstrong smiles back. Beat. (CONTINUED) 53. 126 CONTINUED: 126 GORDY I've got money. I'll buy the pass from you. ARMSTRONG I've worked too hard for it. And you don't have that kind of money on you. GORDY I'll be getting some life insurance money -- ARMSTRONG (shaking his head) It's all cash and carry down here, Gordy. The FERRY WHISTLE TOOTS. ARMSTRONG Mompos... You want to have some fun, we'll hook up later. I always schedule a stopover. To sample the local wares and such. (winks) Life can be what you make it here on the frontier. GORDY No, thanks. ARMSTRONG Gotta get off the boat anyway. Mompos is the last stop. From here into the guerrilla zone you can only travel by panga... If you change your mind, I'll be at the Tropicale later. It's a gringo bar. Just follow the cockroaches. 127 NEW ANGLE 127 They see the beginnings of Mompos. Two 4x4 trucks are parked on the riverbank. Lean, clean-cut men in jeans, tight shirts, cowboy boots and sunglasses lean on the truck and watch the ferry pass. ARMSTRONG Sicarios. Death squads. Avoid those dudes at all costs. 54. 128 SAME SCENE - FEW MOMENTS LATER 128 The ferry pulls up to the dock. The dock street is a culture clash of shanty bars and Amazon Indian traders, of big-wheel SUVs and mule carts. There's a definite air of menace. ARMSTRONG Federales are looking for someone. Gordy follows Armstrong's look to two plain-clothes federales, one fat and one thin, standing near the dock watching the boat pull up. When Gordy glances back, Armstrong is gone. 129 EXT. MOMPOS FERRY DOCK - DAY 129 Gordy disembarks amid the throng of passengers, when the FAT FEDERALE confronts him. FAT FEDERALE Senor Pitt? Gordy looks up in surprise at him and the thin federale backing him up. FAT FEDERALE You'll have to come with us. GORDY Why? FAT FEDERALE Come with us, please. He clamps a hand on Gordy's arm. Gordy shakes it off and starts running. Almost immediately, he's tackled to the ground by the thin federale. Two more federales join in. Gordy's not gonna go down easy, though. Even as only one against four, Gordy's a formidable challenge. He's strong, and he's committed all the way. He's not getting kicked out of this country again. It's not a clean or artful fight. There's no karate. It's four men trying to tackle a bull, and... The bull gets away. 130 EXT./INT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 130 Gordy sprints down streets with the federales in pursuit. 55. 131 GORDY 131 jukes into a local bar. 132 ANOTHER ANGLE 132 Gordy pounds out the back of the bar into a littered courtyard, where he's surrounded by ten-foot walls. 133 FEDERALES 133 blast through the bar. 134 GORDY 134 runs, jumps, launches off a beer keg, and... 135 TOP OF WALL 135 He reaches the top of the wall and pulls himself up. He's looking out across a block-long run of corrugated tin roofs. Takes off across the roofs, each step thundering, as... 136 FEDERALES 136 burst into the courtyard. Two men hastily build a stack of boxes, etc., against the wall. 137 GORDY 137 runs as fast as he can across the rooftops, when... A section of roof gives way beneath his feet, just as... 138 NEW ANGLE 138 One of the federales finally mounts the wall, looks across the rooftops... and Gordy's gone. 139 GORDY 139 lands inside a warehouse room amid sacks of rice, beans and coffee. The building is dark and dusty. He lies still and listens. FOOTSTEPS approach across the tin roof overhead. Gordy burrows into the bags of rice, pulls them over him. 56. 140 FEDERALE 140 on the roof peers down through the hole. Scans the warehouse room below with a mini-Mag-Lite. 141 GORDY 141 sees the flashlight beam move past. He holds his breath. Beat. Then the FOOTSTEPS pass on, RECEDE down the roof. And Gordy can breathe again. 142 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - NIGHT 142 Gordy makes his way along the main drag of the frontier town. A noisy, neon-lit strip of bars and brothels. Everyone's packing a gun. A new Dodge City, where death squad sicarios cruise past in 4x4's BLARING SALSA. 143 INT. TROPICALE - NIGHT 143 In here, the MUSIC'S LOUD ROCK 'N' ROLL. Gringo music for a gringo bar. The place is busy, with plenty of local "hostesses" for the men. Even Armstrong, standing half-crocked at the bar, is flanked by two scantily-clad women. He's got a spoon hanging off his nose. So does one of the girls. Armstrong's trying to hang a spoon on the other. Gordy slips into the bar. Spots Armstrong through the crowd. Sees Armstrong's not wearing his cap, when... The girl with the spoon on her nose turns slightly, revealing she's wearing the cap. It's on backwards, but now Gordy can see the "Deerborn" logo clearly. Gordy wants the guerrilla travel pass inside the cap. It's a desperate move, but he's got no choice. Starts toward the girl, when... Gordy sees the thin federale enter the front door. The thin federale sees him at the same time. Begins moving in on him. Gordy moves faster toward the girl. And... The girl unwittingly does him a favor by taking off the cap and setting it on the bar, where it's easier to grab, and then turns her attention to Armstrong's antics. The thin detective fights through the crowd after Gordy. Gordy's almost to the hat. (CONTINUED) 57. 143 CONTINUED: 143 Armstrong's still having trouble with the second girl's spoon. ARMSTRONG I never met a nose I couldn't hang a spoon on. Gordy reaches the bar, snags the cap. Glances back, sees the thin federale closing in, turns to run out the back, when... A strong hand stops him. The hand belongs to the Fat Federale. And now the thin federale's there, too, wielding a stun gun where Gordy can see it. People in the bar fall silent. Everyone but Armstrong, who's finally hung the spoon on the second girl's nose. ARMSTRONG Yahtzee! And now Armstong also realizes something's up. Turns and sees Gordy. Sees the cap in Gordy's hand as the Fat Federale addresses Gordy -- FAT FEDERALE Come along, Mr. Pitt. Whereupon Armstrong shouts drunkenly at Gordy -- ARMSTRONG Police catch you trying to steal my hat, you asshole?! He staggers toward Gordy. Grabs the hat. ARMSTRONG Fucking hat thief! Armstrong takes a drunken swing at Gordy, but... Instead of hitting Gordy, Armstrong accidentally-on- purpose clocks the fat detective. Then hisses into Gordy's ear, clearly not that drunk -- ARMSTRONG Get outta here -- But then Armstrong's legs won't work as the thin federale jams the stun gun against his neck, and 10,000 volts surprise the Armstrong neural network. Gordy moves against the thin federale in anger, when... The Fat Federale ZAPS him with another STUN GUN, just behind the ear... And Gordy gets to know the floor, too. 58. 144 EXT. MOMPOS JAIL - NIGHT 144 The building's ancient, constructed of wood and adobe. 145 INT. MOMPOS JAIL - CELL - NIGHT 145 The jail might be old, but the cells are secure enough. They're also unsanitary and thoroughly unpleasant. Gordy and Armstrong are led in by the federales. The Fat Federale has Armstrong's hat. He looks it over, wondering why Gordy wanted it. Then decides he could give a fuck and tosses it to Armstrong. Clangs the cell door shut and locks it. Leaves shaking his head. FAT FEDERALE Gringos... Armstrong's still unsteady on his feet and sits down on the metal bunk. ARMSTRONG That stun gun wasn't cool. Armstrong looks down at himself. ARMSTRONG Haven't peed my pants in a real long time. GORDY (beat) You shouldn't have helped me. ARMSTRONG Yeah, well, I guess all these assholes down here are just starting on my nerves. Gordy's silent. It's over. He's come up short. He's going home. ARMSTRONG So what the hell did you do to land us in here? And don't jerk me around, eh? Beat. Gordy sits. GORDY The Wolf killed my wife and son in New York. (CONTINUED) 59. 145 CONTINUED: 145 ARMSTRONG ... Oh, you're that guy, eh? I'm sorry, man... And what, you came down here to even things out? Gordy just looks at him. ARMSTRONG Did you even have a plan? GORDY Yeah. Go to Caguan, find The Wolf and kill him. Armstrong just shakes his head. Beat. 146 DOOR TO CELL AREA 146 BANGS open. Federales lead in two men -- the two guerrillas surprised earlier by the heavy-camouflaged infiltrators. The federales are armed with batons and stun guns, taking no chances. It's clear the rebels weren't brought here without a struggle, either -- both are cut and bruised. The tougher-looking of the two has taken a real beating. This beaten man is jammed face- first against the bars of Gordy's cell. He makes eye contact with Gordy while the other rebel is unbound and put into a cell. Then the beaten man is shoved into the cell. A solid, brick wall separates them from Gordy and Armstrong. Armstrong's seen the patches on their uniforms. To Gordy, sotto -- ARMSTRONG E.L.C. Beat. Armstrong sees the look on Gordy's face. By way of a warning -- ARMSTRONG If you can't kill them, don't even talk to them. The GUERRILLAS are MURMURING in the other cell. One of them LAUGHS. OFF Gordy, listening to the LAUGHING... 147 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL - NIGHT 147 Two or three A.M. Armstrong's dozing. Gordy's still listening to the MURMURING of the REBELS on the other side of the wall, when... (CONTINUED) 60. 147 CONTINUED: 147 There's a flurry of activity outside the cell area. The door opens. Soldiers enter with some federales. Gordy watches the soldiers move past his cell. Rocha is with them. And then... Brandt appears at the bars, looks in at Gordy. BRANDT Enjoy your trip? Gordy stands, approaches. BRANDT We asked you to leave it to us. GORDY And you guys still haven't got him. BRANDT It's not over yet... The guys next door are in The Wolf's elite bodyguard unit. Where he goes, they go. We're gonna ask questions. And we're gonna get answers... And you're staying right here till our bomber's dead. Brandt goes. Moments later, a TORTURED SCREAM is heard on the other side of the brick wall, waking Armstrong with a start. 148 EXT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - NIGHT 148 In a field near Mompos, a canopied truck backs into position. Men in guerrilla uniforms with ELC patches get out and pull back the canopy, revealing mortar tubes pointing skyward on a bed of sand. 149 ELC GUERRILLA 149 unit armed with AK-47s and Light Anti-Tank Weapons (LAWs) infiltrates the town. 150 ANOTHER TWO-MAN ELC GUERRILLA TEAM 150 sets up a single mortar position overlooking the town. One of the men checks his watch. Beat. He signals. The other man drops a MORTAR down the tube. WHUMP. 61. 151 TWO MORTARS 151 go in the tubes on the truck. WHUMP, WHUMP. 152 ANOTHER ANGLE 152 BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! A water tower, the Mompos fire station and the town's power supply are direct hits. WHUMP, WHUMP, WHUMP... 153 INT. JAIL - CELLS 153 People react to the sounds of the MORTAR ATTACK on the town. The lights go out. Brandt, Rocha and their men quickly lock the guerrillas in their cell and head out. 154 EXT. JAIL 154 As MORTARS CONTINUE to fall on the rest of the town, the unit of guerrilla infiltrators open up on the front of the jail with LAW ROCKETS. 155 EXT./INT. JAIL 155 KA-BOOM! The front door and wall of the jail disintegrate under the multiple LAW attack. 156 NEW ANGLE 156 Brandt, Rocha and the soldiers, approaching the front door inside, are hammered by the massive concussion of the BLAST and flung across the room, apparently dead. 157 ANOTHER ANGLE 157 The powerful, concussive shock-wave channels into the cell area. Gordy's slightly protected by a wall. Armstrong, standing at the bars, is thrown into the opposite wall and knocked unconscious. 158 GUERRILLAS 158 charge inside with AKs BLAZING. Surviving soldiers and federales SHOOT back. The blasts have caused fires in the building. Severed wires spark, creating more fire. Flames begin to spread through the tinder-dry structure. (CONTINUED) 62. 158 CONTINUED: 158 The guerrillas take out the soldiers and federales, with few casualties to themselves. They make their way toward the cell area. EXPLODING AMMO and stored FUEL CANS accelerate the fire. 159 NEW ANGLE 159 The guerrillas reach the cells. Two men see Gordy and draw down on him. The others move to the next cell. Guerrillas plant small explosive charges on the hinges of the cell containing their two captured comrades. Beat. The HINGES BLOW. The beaten man and the rebel with him are freed, and the guerrillas quickly retreat the way they came. Gordy sees flames spreading into the cell area. 160 GUERRILLAS 160 exit the fiery jail past Brandt. We see Brandt's not dead. 161 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - OUTSIDE JAIL 161 A truck pulls up. The guerrillas get in. The TRUCK SCREECHES OUT as... 162 4X4 162 full of sicarios SKIDS onto the street, far ahead of the truck. The sicario driving punches it, and... 163 TWO TRUCKS 163 ROAR toward each other. A game of chicken. With GUNS. Men in both vehicles OPEN UP -- the sicarios with magnums and Uzis, the guerrillas with AKs. SLUGS RIP through automotive steel. Casualties are taken. When... 164 SICARIO 164 driving the 4x4 receives a round in the forehead, cranks over the steering wheel, and... 63. 165 SPEEDING 4X4 165 does a Paris-to-Dakar road rally flip, twisting and somersaulting, and... 166 NEW ANGLE 166 The 4x4 catapults completely over the guerrillas' truck, disintegrating into spare parts and dead occupants, as... 167 GUERRILLAS 167 ROAR off. 168 EXT./INT. JAIL 168 A severely-dazed Brandt, bleeding from the nose and ears, slowly gets to his knees, crawls out of the burning building and collapses outside. 169 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL 169 There's fire and smoke everywhere. Gordy picks up the metal bunk and slams it against a wall. Slams it again. Breaks the metal apart. Then levers a long side rail in the cell door. He heaves. Heaves again. The fire's licking at him, but Gordy's undeterred. He heaves again, and... This time, the door gives. Gordy picks up Armstrong's cap, then picks up Armstrong, who's starting to come around. Puts Armstrong over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. GORDY Don't breathe. ARMSTRONG (weakly) You're not running through the fire, eh? GORDY Close your mouth. Because running through the fire is just what Gordy's gonna do. As he disappears into the flames... 170 EXT. JAIL - NIGHT 170 The town's in complete chaos. There are fires everywhere. (CONTINUED) 64. 170 CONTINUED: 170 Still stunned and bleeding, Brandt looks from where he lies on the ground as... Gordy bursts out of the inferno carrying Armstrong. They're singed and smoking, but they're alive. Gordy drops Armstrong, pats himself and Armstrong down, knocking out the burning embers on their clothes and hair, when... Gordy's eyes meet Brandt's. The two men hold the look for a moment. If Brandt could speak, he'd be yelling at Gordy to stop, not to go on. And Gordy knows it. But Gordy's not stopping. Picks up Armstrong again and moves off toward the waterfront. 171 EXT. MOMPOS WATERFRONT - NIGHT 171 There's less chaos here. The fires are in the distance. Gordy arrives carrying Armstrong. Sets him down. GORDY I'll find a boat to take us upriver. He starts to go. Armstrong stops him. ARMSTRONG No. I told you. The pass is only good for one person. And you're too dangerous to travel with. Beat. Gordy reaches over and takes Armstrong's cap. He looks inside. There's no pass. ARMSTRONG It hasn't been there since we landed. Gordy's at a loss. He tosses the cap back. Just looks at Armstrong. Beat. Armstrong sighs. ARMSTRONG Aw, hell... I was through with this place anyway... He takes off a boot. Shakes out some money and the pass. He hands the pass to Gordy. (CONTINUED) 65. 171 CONTINUED: 171 ARMSTRONG I'll call ahead and tell Felix I'm not coming, and you're my replacement. He'll meet you in Caguan and take you to the plantation... What do you know about diesel engines? GORDY All the fire trucks are diesels. ARMSTRONG You'll have to be Austrian, eh? They hate Americans. Name's gotta change, too, in case they're watching the news. (beat) It'll buy you a little time to look around Caguan. But you'll never find The Wolf. Beat. Gordy sticks out his hand. GORDY Heinrich Beckmann. ARMSTRONG Huh? GORDY My Austrian name. Armstrong shakes hands with Gordy. Armstrong doesn't let loose right away. Beat. ARMSTRONG Luck got you this far. But up there, luck doesn't make it. I hope you know you're gonna die. OFF Gordy, about to step over another line... 172 EXT. RIVER - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 172 As dawn breaks over the river, FIND Gordy sitting in a motored panga being steered by a local BOATMAN. Gordy reaches into a pocket and pulls out the photo of Anne and Matt. He looks at it for a few moments. Then pockets it again. 173 SAME SCENE - LATER 173 The panga passes a dead body floating downstream. 66. 174 SAME SCENE - LATER 174 The panga passes revolutionary banners and signs lining the riverbank. BOATMAN La zona guerrillera. 175 SAME SCENE - MOMENTS LATER 175 The panga rounds a bend, and... Two souped-up bass boats filled with heavily-armed ELC guerrillas move to intercept it. The Boatman slows, puts the panga in neutral and keeps his hands in sight. One boat of guerrillas pulls alongside. The other sheers off and stops a short distance away, ready to open fire. Gordy shows the guerrillas his travel pass. One of them takes it. Reads. Looks Gordy over. Then starts to rip the pass in half, when... He stops. Grins. It's a big joke. He hands back the pass, searches the boat quickly and waves the panga on. OFF Gordy's relief as the panga heads on... 176 EXT. CAGUAN TOWN DOCK - DAY 176 The panga arrives, and Gordy gets out. He's met by FELIX. Felix has a 9mm in a shoulder holster. Felix doesn't look the least bit happy. FELIX Beckmann. GORDY Yeah. FELIX Come with me. Felix leads him towards a Land Cruiser. FELIX Armstrong should have called sooner. We don't like changes here... If I didn't need the equipment fixed, I'd send you back. (CONTINUED) 67. 176 CONTINUED: 176 They reach the Land Cruiser. FELIX But now we have to see the E.L.C. Supervisor for Caguan. It's a prospect that seems to concern Felix almost as much as Gordy. Off which, as they get into the Toyota... 177 INT. ELC SUPERVISOR'S OFFICE - DAY 177 The ELC SUPERVISOR for Caguan may be a Marxist, but the clean, well-ordered office is nicely appointed, with a big-screen Sony and leather furniture. The TV's TUNED TO CNN. A photo on the wall depicts him as a younger man wearing guerrilla cammies bearing with an ELC patch and holding an AK-47. A brass nameplate reading "Supervisor" rests on a neat desk, behind which stands the man himself -- a hardened, former guerrilla fighter proud of his position. He's not in cammies now -- his uniform now consists of casual but nice tropical clothing and a fat Rolex. Felix is a subordinate here. He and Gordy stand across the desk as the Supervisor examines Gordy's travel pass. Gordy's nervous about what could appear on the TV in the b.g., but tries not to show it. ELC SUPERVISOR Your passport was stolen. GORDY In Mompos. ELC SUPERVISOR ... Mompos is a shithole. Not like Caguan... Why didn't Armstrong come? GORDY He was arrested in Ecuador. He got drunk and fooled around with a police officer's wife. The Supervisor just looks at him, assessing Gordy's face for signs he's lying. Gordy's expression stays the same. Felix respectfully interjects. It's almost a plea. FELIX (in Spanish) We need to fix the equipment. We have delivery deadlines to meet. (CONTINUED) 68. 177 CONTINUED: 177 A long beat. The ELC Supervisor hands the travel pass back to Gordy. In a hard tone to Felix -- ELC SUPERVISOR (in Spanish) He's your responsibility. Don't let him out of your sight. FELIX Si. Gracias. As Felix leads Gordy away... 178 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER (CAGUAN) - DAY 178 Gordy and Felix pull away from the Supervisor's H.Q. Felix resumes his former tone of command. FELIX The Supervisor made you my responsibility... You don't go anywhere without me, you understand? GORDY No problemo. Gordy peers out the window intently as they drive, looking for a lucky break, looking for The Wolf, searching the face of every man. He doesn't see The Wolf, but what he does see surprises him. The ELC Supervisor was right: Caguan's no Mompos. It's a third- world town, armed troops are visible, and there's a lot of bad shit behind Colombia's revolutionaries, but here the streets are calm and orderly. It's quiet, almost eerie, as people go about their business. OFF Gordy, seeing another side of the guerrillas... 179 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER/COUNTRY ROAD - DAY 179 Felix turns off at the entrance to a lane leading to the plantation. The entrance is guarded by a 4X4 "Rat Patrol" assault truck and four heavily armed ELC guerrillas. GORDY The E.L.C. guards your coffee beans? Felix thinks he's joking. Until he looks over and sees Gordy's actually being sincere. (CONTINUED) 69. 179 CONTINUED: 179 FELIX ... Coffee beans? Shit. Armstrong didn't tell you much... 180 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER - PLANTATION - DAY 180 They approach a hacienda and outbuildings. The accoutrements of agriculture are present -- tractors, sheds, cats, etc. -- but clearly, this is no family farm. There are lots of serious-looking men around. More ELC guerrillas stand guard. 181 FELIX 181 stops the car. He and Gordy get out. Felix begins leading Gordy toward two rows of long, open-walled sheds. FELIX The problem's with the diesel generators. The sons-of-bitches keep breaking down. 182 NEW ANGLE 182 They pass four very large pits, where green leaves steep in a thick, foul-smelling liquid. FELIX We're using portables to keep production going, but they don't supply enough power to the heat lamps, and we have to dry a lot of... 'coffee beans.' 183 ANOTHER ANGLE 183 They're now walking between the two rows of sheds, where portable gas GENERATORS THRUM, and... Gordy can see long, wide platforms inside. Above the platforms are multiple arrays of powerful heat lamps. Spread out and drying beneath them is a half-acre or two of converted cocaine. 184 IN ANOTHER SHED 184 workers pack and wrap one-kilo bricks of coke for shipment. 70. 185 GORDY AND FELIX 185 approach the two giant diesel generators. FELIX We can fix anything, but these keep dying on us... You'll start now. I'll have tools brought to you. (beat) Armstrong's a magician with them. Let's hope you have his skill. Felix walks over to a guerrilla with an AK-47 and speaks to him. Then goes. Whereupon the

isolated

How many times the word 'isolated' appears in the text?

wire bows against his shin, and... Gordy ducks, covers the Man in the Yankees Cap, and... Nothing happens. The young man just stands there, frozen in position, his leg still bowing the line. (CONTINUED) 48. 117 CONTINUED: 117 Using the Zippo again to light his way, Gordy advances to the young man. He follows the trip wire to where a Coca- Cola can hangs from a nearby tree. On closer inspection, Gordy can see the can is sleeved around a grenade. There's no pin in the grenade. The can keeps the grenade's arming spoon in place. The trip wire's designed to yank the can off, allowing the grenade to explode at chest level... And the can's almost off. Gordy burns through the monofilament trip wire. Then carefully slides the Coke can back over the grenade. 118 MAN IN YANKEES CAP - MOMENTS LATER 118 When Gordy returns, the man's dead. OFF Gordy, looking down at the NY logo on the cap... 119 EXT./INT. ANOTHER CHIVA - DAY 119 Gordy sees a sign for a town as the chiva rumbles along. He pulls out his map. 120 INSERT - MAP 120 Gordy finds the town, which lies along a river. He traces a road from the town. The road runs south through the town of Mompos, and eventually reaches Caguan, the ELC capital. 121 BACK TO SCENE 121 A COLOMBIAN WOMAN is looking over Gordy's shoulder. COLOMBIAN WOMAN No autobusses para este lugar. Solamente el barco en el rio. She leans over, traces the river, which also runs to Caguan. COLOMBIAN WOMAN El rio. 122 EXT. FERRY DOCK - DAY 122 The FERRY'S WHISTLE TOOTS. Lines are cast off. (CONTINUED) 49. 122 CONTINUED: 122 Two plainclothes federales have been watching the ferry load and now relax their vigil. One man holds a Xerox of Gordy's passport photo. The other bites into an empanada, which breaks open and spills its contents down the front of his shirt. His partner finds it funny. He doesn't. And while their attention's occupied... Gordy hurries by, oblivious to the federales' presence, and just manages to hop onto the ferry as it pulls away. 123 EXT. FERRY - DAY 123 The ferry's the only means of travel south, and it's packed. Gordy picks his way through. The only other gringo on the boat is a geek in a plaid shirt and gimme hat that says "Deerborn." The geek, PHILIP ARMSTRONG, looks like a talker, and Gordy tries to avoid eye contact. He's too late. ARMSTRONG Hey, yo, dude, here's a seat, man! GORDY No, that's okay -- But Armstrong's already throwing a bag off the bench. ARMSTRONG I was hoping for someone I could communicate with. He sees Gordy hasn't moved. ARMSTRONG Only room's at the back near the bano, and I'd advise against it, unless you like poop. Beat. Gordy sits. Immediately -- ARMSTRONG Philip Armstrong. Assiniboia, Sasketchewan, Canada. (indicates his hat) Deerborn Heavy Equipment. GORDY ... Gordy Pitt. ARMSTRONG Hey, howya doing? I love Germany. (CONTINUED) 50. 123 CONTINUED: 123 GORDY Austria. American now. ARMSTRONG I love America. Never been to Austria. Where from in America would that be? GORDY New York City. ARMSTRONG I don't like New York City. Buildings're too big. What kinda work you in? GORDY (hesitates, then) Coffee. I buy beans. ARMSTRONG Can't drink caffeine. Makes my stomach do the rumba. I like that commercial guy with the sombrero and the mule, though. Headed upstream, eh? Where to? GORDY Caguan. ARMSTRONG ... You've never been to Caguan, eh? GORDY How do you know? ARMSTRONG 'Cause no one in their right mind would ever go back. Caguan's in the guerrilla zone run by the E.L.C. E.L.C. as in 'Extra Loathsome Communists.' They don't care, and they kill. I'm going there myself. But I have a 'get outta jail free' card. Armstrong doffs his cap, undoes a safety pin securing a card inside the crown. Shows it to Gordy. Sotto -- (CONTINUED) 51. 123 CONTINUED: (2) 123 ARMSTRONG E.L.C. travel pass. I can go anywhere I want. (by way of explanation) Everyone needs equipment fixed. Armstrong carefully returns the card to the hat. And now his voice takes on a noticeably more measured tone -- ARMSTRONG If you don't have one of these, you don't want to be up there, Gordy. Beat. Gordy's contemplating the warning, when his eyes go to a small, sleepy boy standing nearby on the cramped deck, leaning against his father. Gordy reaches over and taps the boy. The boy looks over. Shrinks away at the sight of the large gringo. The father notices and looks at Gordy, who stands, indicates his seat. GORDY Por favor. The father's also apprehensive, doesn't move. GORDY Con mucho gusto. Finally, the father accepts, sits down with the sleepy boy on his lap. Nods his thanks at Gordy, who then gazes down at the son. A kid about Matt's age. Armstrong recognizes the look of a caring dad. ARMSTRONG Got kids, eh? OFF Armstrong, as Gordy walks away... 124 EXT. JUNGLE - DAY 124 Two Colombian armed man wearing guerrilla uniforms bearing a distinctive ELC patch are walking a trail, when the man in front notices something odd. He stops. Leads the other man back a few steps. Looks into the foliage along the trail. Something doesn't seem right. He extends his AK-47. Prods a hump of greenery with the rifle butt, and in a flash... The greenery suddenly transforms into two men wearing face-paint and full-body military camouflage gear and pointing twin cocked-and-locked CAR-15 assault rifles at the heads of the startled guerrillas. 52. 125 EXT. CIA HACIENDA - DAY 125 Brandt stubs a butt as a Colombian SOG group does killer training nearby. Updegraf opens the door. To Brandt -- UPDEGRAF One of Rocha's infiltration teams just radioed in... We got our big break... 126 EXT. FERRY - DAY 126 Gordy stands along the rail looking out at the lush, beautiful countryside sliding past. Armstrong joins him. ARMSTRONG That little kid and I had a nice, long snooze... We're almost to Mompos. (gazing out) Beautiful country. GORDY It better be. A lotta people're dying for it. ARMSTRONG (looks overboard) Y'know, I haven't noticed one darn body floating downstream this whole trip, have you? Gordy doesn't respond. Beat. GORDY I was thinking... Maybe we could travel together into Caguan. You could show me around. ARMSTRONG (shakes his head) Pass is only good for one person, if that's your idea, which I think it is... Besides, I can't risk traveling around up there in the company of a big gringo with a dumb-ass cover story about coffee beans. Gordy looks over. Armstrong smiles back. Beat. (CONTINUED) 53. 126 CONTINUED: 126 GORDY I've got money. I'll buy the pass from you. ARMSTRONG I've worked too hard for it. And you don't have that kind of money on you. GORDY I'll be getting some life insurance money -- ARMSTRONG (shaking his head) It's all cash and carry down here, Gordy. The FERRY WHISTLE TOOTS. ARMSTRONG Mompos... You want to have some fun, we'll hook up later. I always schedule a stopover. To sample the local wares and such. (winks) Life can be what you make it here on the frontier. GORDY No, thanks. ARMSTRONG Gotta get off the boat anyway. Mompos is the last stop. From here into the guerrilla zone you can only travel by panga... If you change your mind, I'll be at the Tropicale later. It's a gringo bar. Just follow the cockroaches. 127 NEW ANGLE 127 They see the beginnings of Mompos. Two 4x4 trucks are parked on the riverbank. Lean, clean-cut men in jeans, tight shirts, cowboy boots and sunglasses lean on the truck and watch the ferry pass. ARMSTRONG Sicarios. Death squads. Avoid those dudes at all costs. 54. 128 SAME SCENE - FEW MOMENTS LATER 128 The ferry pulls up to the dock. The dock street is a culture clash of shanty bars and Amazon Indian traders, of big-wheel SUVs and mule carts. There's a definite air of menace. ARMSTRONG Federales are looking for someone. Gordy follows Armstrong's look to two plain-clothes federales, one fat and one thin, standing near the dock watching the boat pull up. When Gordy glances back, Armstrong is gone. 129 EXT. MOMPOS FERRY DOCK - DAY 129 Gordy disembarks amid the throng of passengers, when the FAT FEDERALE confronts him. FAT FEDERALE Senor Pitt? Gordy looks up in surprise at him and the thin federale backing him up. FAT FEDERALE You'll have to come with us. GORDY Why? FAT FEDERALE Come with us, please. He clamps a hand on Gordy's arm. Gordy shakes it off and starts running. Almost immediately, he's tackled to the ground by the thin federale. Two more federales join in. Gordy's not gonna go down easy, though. Even as only one against four, Gordy's a formidable challenge. He's strong, and he's committed all the way. He's not getting kicked out of this country again. It's not a clean or artful fight. There's no karate. It's four men trying to tackle a bull, and... The bull gets away. 130 EXT./INT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 130 Gordy sprints down streets with the federales in pursuit. 55. 131 GORDY 131 jukes into a local bar. 132 ANOTHER ANGLE 132 Gordy pounds out the back of the bar into a littered courtyard, where he's surrounded by ten-foot walls. 133 FEDERALES 133 blast through the bar. 134 GORDY 134 runs, jumps, launches off a beer keg, and... 135 TOP OF WALL 135 He reaches the top of the wall and pulls himself up. He's looking out across a block-long run of corrugated tin roofs. Takes off across the roofs, each step thundering, as... 136 FEDERALES 136 burst into the courtyard. Two men hastily build a stack of boxes, etc., against the wall. 137 GORDY 137 runs as fast as he can across the rooftops, when... A section of roof gives way beneath his feet, just as... 138 NEW ANGLE 138 One of the federales finally mounts the wall, looks across the rooftops... and Gordy's gone. 139 GORDY 139 lands inside a warehouse room amid sacks of rice, beans and coffee. The building is dark and dusty. He lies still and listens. FOOTSTEPS approach across the tin roof overhead. Gordy burrows into the bags of rice, pulls them over him. 56. 140 FEDERALE 140 on the roof peers down through the hole. Scans the warehouse room below with a mini-Mag-Lite. 141 GORDY 141 sees the flashlight beam move past. He holds his breath. Beat. Then the FOOTSTEPS pass on, RECEDE down the roof. And Gordy can breathe again. 142 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - NIGHT 142 Gordy makes his way along the main drag of the frontier town. A noisy, neon-lit strip of bars and brothels. Everyone's packing a gun. A new Dodge City, where death squad sicarios cruise past in 4x4's BLARING SALSA. 143 INT. TROPICALE - NIGHT 143 In here, the MUSIC'S LOUD ROCK 'N' ROLL. Gringo music for a gringo bar. The place is busy, with plenty of local "hostesses" for the men. Even Armstrong, standing half-crocked at the bar, is flanked by two scantily-clad women. He's got a spoon hanging off his nose. So does one of the girls. Armstrong's trying to hang a spoon on the other. Gordy slips into the bar. Spots Armstrong through the crowd. Sees Armstrong's not wearing his cap, when... The girl with the spoon on her nose turns slightly, revealing she's wearing the cap. It's on backwards, but now Gordy can see the "Deerborn" logo clearly. Gordy wants the guerrilla travel pass inside the cap. It's a desperate move, but he's got no choice. Starts toward the girl, when... Gordy sees the thin federale enter the front door. The thin federale sees him at the same time. Begins moving in on him. Gordy moves faster toward the girl. And... The girl unwittingly does him a favor by taking off the cap and setting it on the bar, where it's easier to grab, and then turns her attention to Armstrong's antics. The thin detective fights through the crowd after Gordy. Gordy's almost to the hat. (CONTINUED) 57. 143 CONTINUED: 143 Armstrong's still having trouble with the second girl's spoon. ARMSTRONG I never met a nose I couldn't hang a spoon on. Gordy reaches the bar, snags the cap. Glances back, sees the thin federale closing in, turns to run out the back, when... A strong hand stops him. The hand belongs to the Fat Federale. And now the thin federale's there, too, wielding a stun gun where Gordy can see it. People in the bar fall silent. Everyone but Armstrong, who's finally hung the spoon on the second girl's nose. ARMSTRONG Yahtzee! And now Armstong also realizes something's up. Turns and sees Gordy. Sees the cap in Gordy's hand as the Fat Federale addresses Gordy -- FAT FEDERALE Come along, Mr. Pitt. Whereupon Armstrong shouts drunkenly at Gordy -- ARMSTRONG Police catch you trying to steal my hat, you asshole?! He staggers toward Gordy. Grabs the hat. ARMSTRONG Fucking hat thief! Armstrong takes a drunken swing at Gordy, but... Instead of hitting Gordy, Armstrong accidentally-on- purpose clocks the fat detective. Then hisses into Gordy's ear, clearly not that drunk -- ARMSTRONG Get outta here -- But then Armstrong's legs won't work as the thin federale jams the stun gun against his neck, and 10,000 volts surprise the Armstrong neural network. Gordy moves against the thin federale in anger, when... The Fat Federale ZAPS him with another STUN GUN, just behind the ear... And Gordy gets to know the floor, too. 58. 144 EXT. MOMPOS JAIL - NIGHT 144 The building's ancient, constructed of wood and adobe. 145 INT. MOMPOS JAIL - CELL - NIGHT 145 The jail might be old, but the cells are secure enough. They're also unsanitary and thoroughly unpleasant. Gordy and Armstrong are led in by the federales. The Fat Federale has Armstrong's hat. He looks it over, wondering why Gordy wanted it. Then decides he could give a fuck and tosses it to Armstrong. Clangs the cell door shut and locks it. Leaves shaking his head. FAT FEDERALE Gringos... Armstrong's still unsteady on his feet and sits down on the metal bunk. ARMSTRONG That stun gun wasn't cool. Armstrong looks down at himself. ARMSTRONG Haven't peed my pants in a real long time. GORDY (beat) You shouldn't have helped me. ARMSTRONG Yeah, well, I guess all these assholes down here are just starting on my nerves. Gordy's silent. It's over. He's come up short. He's going home. ARMSTRONG So what the hell did you do to land us in here? And don't jerk me around, eh? Beat. Gordy sits. GORDY The Wolf killed my wife and son in New York. (CONTINUED) 59. 145 CONTINUED: 145 ARMSTRONG ... Oh, you're that guy, eh? I'm sorry, man... And what, you came down here to even things out? Gordy just looks at him. ARMSTRONG Did you even have a plan? GORDY Yeah. Go to Caguan, find The Wolf and kill him. Armstrong just shakes his head. Beat. 146 DOOR TO CELL AREA 146 BANGS open. Federales lead in two men -- the two guerrillas surprised earlier by the heavy-camouflaged infiltrators. The federales are armed with batons and stun guns, taking no chances. It's clear the rebels weren't brought here without a struggle, either -- both are cut and bruised. The tougher-looking of the two has taken a real beating. This beaten man is jammed face- first against the bars of Gordy's cell. He makes eye contact with Gordy while the other rebel is unbound and put into a cell. Then the beaten man is shoved into the cell. A solid, brick wall separates them from Gordy and Armstrong. Armstrong's seen the patches on their uniforms. To Gordy, sotto -- ARMSTRONG E.L.C. Beat. Armstrong sees the look on Gordy's face. By way of a warning -- ARMSTRONG If you can't kill them, don't even talk to them. The GUERRILLAS are MURMURING in the other cell. One of them LAUGHS. OFF Gordy, listening to the LAUGHING... 147 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL - NIGHT 147 Two or three A.M. Armstrong's dozing. Gordy's still listening to the MURMURING of the REBELS on the other side of the wall, when... (CONTINUED) 60. 147 CONTINUED: 147 There's a flurry of activity outside the cell area. The door opens. Soldiers enter with some federales. Gordy watches the soldiers move past his cell. Rocha is with them. And then... Brandt appears at the bars, looks in at Gordy. BRANDT Enjoy your trip? Gordy stands, approaches. BRANDT We asked you to leave it to us. GORDY And you guys still haven't got him. BRANDT It's not over yet... The guys next door are in The Wolf's elite bodyguard unit. Where he goes, they go. We're gonna ask questions. And we're gonna get answers... And you're staying right here till our bomber's dead. Brandt goes. Moments later, a TORTURED SCREAM is heard on the other side of the brick wall, waking Armstrong with a start. 148 EXT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - NIGHT 148 In a field near Mompos, a canopied truck backs into position. Men in guerrilla uniforms with ELC patches get out and pull back the canopy, revealing mortar tubes pointing skyward on a bed of sand. 149 ELC GUERRILLA 149 unit armed with AK-47s and Light Anti-Tank Weapons (LAWs) infiltrates the town. 150 ANOTHER TWO-MAN ELC GUERRILLA TEAM 150 sets up a single mortar position overlooking the town. One of the men checks his watch. Beat. He signals. The other man drops a MORTAR down the tube. WHUMP. 61. 151 TWO MORTARS 151 go in the tubes on the truck. WHUMP, WHUMP. 152 ANOTHER ANGLE 152 BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! A water tower, the Mompos fire station and the town's power supply are direct hits. WHUMP, WHUMP, WHUMP... 153 INT. JAIL - CELLS 153 People react to the sounds of the MORTAR ATTACK on the town. The lights go out. Brandt, Rocha and their men quickly lock the guerrillas in their cell and head out. 154 EXT. JAIL 154 As MORTARS CONTINUE to fall on the rest of the town, the unit of guerrilla infiltrators open up on the front of the jail with LAW ROCKETS. 155 EXT./INT. JAIL 155 KA-BOOM! The front door and wall of the jail disintegrate under the multiple LAW attack. 156 NEW ANGLE 156 Brandt, Rocha and the soldiers, approaching the front door inside, are hammered by the massive concussion of the BLAST and flung across the room, apparently dead. 157 ANOTHER ANGLE 157 The powerful, concussive shock-wave channels into the cell area. Gordy's slightly protected by a wall. Armstrong, standing at the bars, is thrown into the opposite wall and knocked unconscious. 158 GUERRILLAS 158 charge inside with AKs BLAZING. Surviving soldiers and federales SHOOT back. The blasts have caused fires in the building. Severed wires spark, creating more fire. Flames begin to spread through the tinder-dry structure. (CONTINUED) 62. 158 CONTINUED: 158 The guerrillas take out the soldiers and federales, with few casualties to themselves. They make their way toward the cell area. EXPLODING AMMO and stored FUEL CANS accelerate the fire. 159 NEW ANGLE 159 The guerrillas reach the cells. Two men see Gordy and draw down on him. The others move to the next cell. Guerrillas plant small explosive charges on the hinges of the cell containing their two captured comrades. Beat. The HINGES BLOW. The beaten man and the rebel with him are freed, and the guerrillas quickly retreat the way they came. Gordy sees flames spreading into the cell area. 160 GUERRILLAS 160 exit the fiery jail past Brandt. We see Brandt's not dead. 161 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - OUTSIDE JAIL 161 A truck pulls up. The guerrillas get in. The TRUCK SCREECHES OUT as... 162 4X4 162 full of sicarios SKIDS onto the street, far ahead of the truck. The sicario driving punches it, and... 163 TWO TRUCKS 163 ROAR toward each other. A game of chicken. With GUNS. Men in both vehicles OPEN UP -- the sicarios with magnums and Uzis, the guerrillas with AKs. SLUGS RIP through automotive steel. Casualties are taken. When... 164 SICARIO 164 driving the 4x4 receives a round in the forehead, cranks over the steering wheel, and... 63. 165 SPEEDING 4X4 165 does a Paris-to-Dakar road rally flip, twisting and somersaulting, and... 166 NEW ANGLE 166 The 4x4 catapults completely over the guerrillas' truck, disintegrating into spare parts and dead occupants, as... 167 GUERRILLAS 167 ROAR off. 168 EXT./INT. JAIL 168 A severely-dazed Brandt, bleeding from the nose and ears, slowly gets to his knees, crawls out of the burning building and collapses outside. 169 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL 169 There's fire and smoke everywhere. Gordy picks up the metal bunk and slams it against a wall. Slams it again. Breaks the metal apart. Then levers a long side rail in the cell door. He heaves. Heaves again. The fire's licking at him, but Gordy's undeterred. He heaves again, and... This time, the door gives. Gordy picks up Armstrong's cap, then picks up Armstrong, who's starting to come around. Puts Armstrong over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. GORDY Don't breathe. ARMSTRONG (weakly) You're not running through the fire, eh? GORDY Close your mouth. Because running through the fire is just what Gordy's gonna do. As he disappears into the flames... 170 EXT. JAIL - NIGHT 170 The town's in complete chaos. There are fires everywhere. (CONTINUED) 64. 170 CONTINUED: 170 Still stunned and bleeding, Brandt looks from where he lies on the ground as... Gordy bursts out of the inferno carrying Armstrong. They're singed and smoking, but they're alive. Gordy drops Armstrong, pats himself and Armstrong down, knocking out the burning embers on their clothes and hair, when... Gordy's eyes meet Brandt's. The two men hold the look for a moment. If Brandt could speak, he'd be yelling at Gordy to stop, not to go on. And Gordy knows it. But Gordy's not stopping. Picks up Armstrong again and moves off toward the waterfront. 171 EXT. MOMPOS WATERFRONT - NIGHT 171 There's less chaos here. The fires are in the distance. Gordy arrives carrying Armstrong. Sets him down. GORDY I'll find a boat to take us upriver. He starts to go. Armstrong stops him. ARMSTRONG No. I told you. The pass is only good for one person. And you're too dangerous to travel with. Beat. Gordy reaches over and takes Armstrong's cap. He looks inside. There's no pass. ARMSTRONG It hasn't been there since we landed. Gordy's at a loss. He tosses the cap back. Just looks at Armstrong. Beat. Armstrong sighs. ARMSTRONG Aw, hell... I was through with this place anyway... He takes off a boot. Shakes out some money and the pass. He hands the pass to Gordy. (CONTINUED) 65. 171 CONTINUED: 171 ARMSTRONG I'll call ahead and tell Felix I'm not coming, and you're my replacement. He'll meet you in Caguan and take you to the plantation... What do you know about diesel engines? GORDY All the fire trucks are diesels. ARMSTRONG You'll have to be Austrian, eh? They hate Americans. Name's gotta change, too, in case they're watching the news. (beat) It'll buy you a little time to look around Caguan. But you'll never find The Wolf. Beat. Gordy sticks out his hand. GORDY Heinrich Beckmann. ARMSTRONG Huh? GORDY My Austrian name. Armstrong shakes hands with Gordy. Armstrong doesn't let loose right away. Beat. ARMSTRONG Luck got you this far. But up there, luck doesn't make it. I hope you know you're gonna die. OFF Gordy, about to step over another line... 172 EXT. RIVER - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 172 As dawn breaks over the river, FIND Gordy sitting in a motored panga being steered by a local BOATMAN. Gordy reaches into a pocket and pulls out the photo of Anne and Matt. He looks at it for a few moments. Then pockets it again. 173 SAME SCENE - LATER 173 The panga passes a dead body floating downstream. 66. 174 SAME SCENE - LATER 174 The panga passes revolutionary banners and signs lining the riverbank. BOATMAN La zona guerrillera. 175 SAME SCENE - MOMENTS LATER 175 The panga rounds a bend, and... Two souped-up bass boats filled with heavily-armed ELC guerrillas move to intercept it. The Boatman slows, puts the panga in neutral and keeps his hands in sight. One boat of guerrillas pulls alongside. The other sheers off and stops a short distance away, ready to open fire. Gordy shows the guerrillas his travel pass. One of them takes it. Reads. Looks Gordy over. Then starts to rip the pass in half, when... He stops. Grins. It's a big joke. He hands back the pass, searches the boat quickly and waves the panga on. OFF Gordy's relief as the panga heads on... 176 EXT. CAGUAN TOWN DOCK - DAY 176 The panga arrives, and Gordy gets out. He's met by FELIX. Felix has a 9mm in a shoulder holster. Felix doesn't look the least bit happy. FELIX Beckmann. GORDY Yeah. FELIX Come with me. Felix leads him towards a Land Cruiser. FELIX Armstrong should have called sooner. We don't like changes here... If I didn't need the equipment fixed, I'd send you back. (CONTINUED) 67. 176 CONTINUED: 176 They reach the Land Cruiser. FELIX But now we have to see the E.L.C. Supervisor for Caguan. It's a prospect that seems to concern Felix almost as much as Gordy. Off which, as they get into the Toyota... 177 INT. ELC SUPERVISOR'S OFFICE - DAY 177 The ELC SUPERVISOR for Caguan may be a Marxist, but the clean, well-ordered office is nicely appointed, with a big-screen Sony and leather furniture. The TV's TUNED TO CNN. A photo on the wall depicts him as a younger man wearing guerrilla cammies bearing with an ELC patch and holding an AK-47. A brass nameplate reading "Supervisor" rests on a neat desk, behind which stands the man himself -- a hardened, former guerrilla fighter proud of his position. He's not in cammies now -- his uniform now consists of casual but nice tropical clothing and a fat Rolex. Felix is a subordinate here. He and Gordy stand across the desk as the Supervisor examines Gordy's travel pass. Gordy's nervous about what could appear on the TV in the b.g., but tries not to show it. ELC SUPERVISOR Your passport was stolen. GORDY In Mompos. ELC SUPERVISOR ... Mompos is a shithole. Not like Caguan... Why didn't Armstrong come? GORDY He was arrested in Ecuador. He got drunk and fooled around with a police officer's wife. The Supervisor just looks at him, assessing Gordy's face for signs he's lying. Gordy's expression stays the same. Felix respectfully interjects. It's almost a plea. FELIX (in Spanish) We need to fix the equipment. We have delivery deadlines to meet. (CONTINUED) 68. 177 CONTINUED: 177 A long beat. The ELC Supervisor hands the travel pass back to Gordy. In a hard tone to Felix -- ELC SUPERVISOR (in Spanish) He's your responsibility. Don't let him out of your sight. FELIX Si. Gracias. As Felix leads Gordy away... 178 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER (CAGUAN) - DAY 178 Gordy and Felix pull away from the Supervisor's H.Q. Felix resumes his former tone of command. FELIX The Supervisor made you my responsibility... You don't go anywhere without me, you understand? GORDY No problemo. Gordy peers out the window intently as they drive, looking for a lucky break, looking for The Wolf, searching the face of every man. He doesn't see The Wolf, but what he does see surprises him. The ELC Supervisor was right: Caguan's no Mompos. It's a third- world town, armed troops are visible, and there's a lot of bad shit behind Colombia's revolutionaries, but here the streets are calm and orderly. It's quiet, almost eerie, as people go about their business. OFF Gordy, seeing another side of the guerrillas... 179 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER/COUNTRY ROAD - DAY 179 Felix turns off at the entrance to a lane leading to the plantation. The entrance is guarded by a 4X4 "Rat Patrol" assault truck and four heavily armed ELC guerrillas. GORDY The E.L.C. guards your coffee beans? Felix thinks he's joking. Until he looks over and sees Gordy's actually being sincere. (CONTINUED) 69. 179 CONTINUED: 179 FELIX ... Coffee beans? Shit. Armstrong didn't tell you much... 180 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER - PLANTATION - DAY 180 They approach a hacienda and outbuildings. The accoutrements of agriculture are present -- tractors, sheds, cats, etc. -- but clearly, this is no family farm. There are lots of serious-looking men around. More ELC guerrillas stand guard. 181 FELIX 181 stops the car. He and Gordy get out. Felix begins leading Gordy toward two rows of long, open-walled sheds. FELIX The problem's with the diesel generators. The sons-of-bitches keep breaking down. 182 NEW ANGLE 182 They pass four very large pits, where green leaves steep in a thick, foul-smelling liquid. FELIX We're using portables to keep production going, but they don't supply enough power to the heat lamps, and we have to dry a lot of... 'coffee beans.' 183 ANOTHER ANGLE 183 They're now walking between the two rows of sheds, where portable gas GENERATORS THRUM, and... Gordy can see long, wide platforms inside. Above the platforms are multiple arrays of powerful heat lamps. Spread out and drying beneath them is a half-acre or two of converted cocaine. 184 IN ANOTHER SHED 184 workers pack and wrap one-kilo bricks of coke for shipment. 70. 185 GORDY AND FELIX 185 approach the two giant diesel generators. FELIX We can fix anything, but these keep dying on us... You'll start now. I'll have tools brought to you. (beat) Armstrong's a magician with them. Let's hope you have his skill. Felix walks over to a guerrilla with an AK-47 and speaks to him. Then goes. Whereupon the

frontier

How many times the word 'frontier' appears in the text?

wire bows against his shin, and... Gordy ducks, covers the Man in the Yankees Cap, and... Nothing happens. The young man just stands there, frozen in position, his leg still bowing the line. (CONTINUED) 48. 117 CONTINUED: 117 Using the Zippo again to light his way, Gordy advances to the young man. He follows the trip wire to where a Coca- Cola can hangs from a nearby tree. On closer inspection, Gordy can see the can is sleeved around a grenade. There's no pin in the grenade. The can keeps the grenade's arming spoon in place. The trip wire's designed to yank the can off, allowing the grenade to explode at chest level... And the can's almost off. Gordy burns through the monofilament trip wire. Then carefully slides the Coke can back over the grenade. 118 MAN IN YANKEES CAP - MOMENTS LATER 118 When Gordy returns, the man's dead. OFF Gordy, looking down at the NY logo on the cap... 119 EXT./INT. ANOTHER CHIVA - DAY 119 Gordy sees a sign for a town as the chiva rumbles along. He pulls out his map. 120 INSERT - MAP 120 Gordy finds the town, which lies along a river. He traces a road from the town. The road runs south through the town of Mompos, and eventually reaches Caguan, the ELC capital. 121 BACK TO SCENE 121 A COLOMBIAN WOMAN is looking over Gordy's shoulder. COLOMBIAN WOMAN No autobusses para este lugar. Solamente el barco en el rio. She leans over, traces the river, which also runs to Caguan. COLOMBIAN WOMAN El rio. 122 EXT. FERRY DOCK - DAY 122 The FERRY'S WHISTLE TOOTS. Lines are cast off. (CONTINUED) 49. 122 CONTINUED: 122 Two plainclothes federales have been watching the ferry load and now relax their vigil. One man holds a Xerox of Gordy's passport photo. The other bites into an empanada, which breaks open and spills its contents down the front of his shirt. His partner finds it funny. He doesn't. And while their attention's occupied... Gordy hurries by, oblivious to the federales' presence, and just manages to hop onto the ferry as it pulls away. 123 EXT. FERRY - DAY 123 The ferry's the only means of travel south, and it's packed. Gordy picks his way through. The only other gringo on the boat is a geek in a plaid shirt and gimme hat that says "Deerborn." The geek, PHILIP ARMSTRONG, looks like a talker, and Gordy tries to avoid eye contact. He's too late. ARMSTRONG Hey, yo, dude, here's a seat, man! GORDY No, that's okay -- But Armstrong's already throwing a bag off the bench. ARMSTRONG I was hoping for someone I could communicate with. He sees Gordy hasn't moved. ARMSTRONG Only room's at the back near the bano, and I'd advise against it, unless you like poop. Beat. Gordy sits. Immediately -- ARMSTRONG Philip Armstrong. Assiniboia, Sasketchewan, Canada. (indicates his hat) Deerborn Heavy Equipment. GORDY ... Gordy Pitt. ARMSTRONG Hey, howya doing? I love Germany. (CONTINUED) 50. 123 CONTINUED: 123 GORDY Austria. American now. ARMSTRONG I love America. Never been to Austria. Where from in America would that be? GORDY New York City. ARMSTRONG I don't like New York City. Buildings're too big. What kinda work you in? GORDY (hesitates, then) Coffee. I buy beans. ARMSTRONG Can't drink caffeine. Makes my stomach do the rumba. I like that commercial guy with the sombrero and the mule, though. Headed upstream, eh? Where to? GORDY Caguan. ARMSTRONG ... You've never been to Caguan, eh? GORDY How do you know? ARMSTRONG 'Cause no one in their right mind would ever go back. Caguan's in the guerrilla zone run by the E.L.C. E.L.C. as in 'Extra Loathsome Communists.' They don't care, and they kill. I'm going there myself. But I have a 'get outta jail free' card. Armstrong doffs his cap, undoes a safety pin securing a card inside the crown. Shows it to Gordy. Sotto -- (CONTINUED) 51. 123 CONTINUED: (2) 123 ARMSTRONG E.L.C. travel pass. I can go anywhere I want. (by way of explanation) Everyone needs equipment fixed. Armstrong carefully returns the card to the hat. And now his voice takes on a noticeably more measured tone -- ARMSTRONG If you don't have one of these, you don't want to be up there, Gordy. Beat. Gordy's contemplating the warning, when his eyes go to a small, sleepy boy standing nearby on the cramped deck, leaning against his father. Gordy reaches over and taps the boy. The boy looks over. Shrinks away at the sight of the large gringo. The father notices and looks at Gordy, who stands, indicates his seat. GORDY Por favor. The father's also apprehensive, doesn't move. GORDY Con mucho gusto. Finally, the father accepts, sits down with the sleepy boy on his lap. Nods his thanks at Gordy, who then gazes down at the son. A kid about Matt's age. Armstrong recognizes the look of a caring dad. ARMSTRONG Got kids, eh? OFF Armstrong, as Gordy walks away... 124 EXT. JUNGLE - DAY 124 Two Colombian armed man wearing guerrilla uniforms bearing a distinctive ELC patch are walking a trail, when the man in front notices something odd. He stops. Leads the other man back a few steps. Looks into the foliage along the trail. Something doesn't seem right. He extends his AK-47. Prods a hump of greenery with the rifle butt, and in a flash... The greenery suddenly transforms into two men wearing face-paint and full-body military camouflage gear and pointing twin cocked-and-locked CAR-15 assault rifles at the heads of the startled guerrillas. 52. 125 EXT. CIA HACIENDA - DAY 125 Brandt stubs a butt as a Colombian SOG group does killer training nearby. Updegraf opens the door. To Brandt -- UPDEGRAF One of Rocha's infiltration teams just radioed in... We got our big break... 126 EXT. FERRY - DAY 126 Gordy stands along the rail looking out at the lush, beautiful countryside sliding past. Armstrong joins him. ARMSTRONG That little kid and I had a nice, long snooze... We're almost to Mompos. (gazing out) Beautiful country. GORDY It better be. A lotta people're dying for it. ARMSTRONG (looks overboard) Y'know, I haven't noticed one darn body floating downstream this whole trip, have you? Gordy doesn't respond. Beat. GORDY I was thinking... Maybe we could travel together into Caguan. You could show me around. ARMSTRONG (shakes his head) Pass is only good for one person, if that's your idea, which I think it is... Besides, I can't risk traveling around up there in the company of a big gringo with a dumb-ass cover story about coffee beans. Gordy looks over. Armstrong smiles back. Beat. (CONTINUED) 53. 126 CONTINUED: 126 GORDY I've got money. I'll buy the pass from you. ARMSTRONG I've worked too hard for it. And you don't have that kind of money on you. GORDY I'll be getting some life insurance money -- ARMSTRONG (shaking his head) It's all cash and carry down here, Gordy. The FERRY WHISTLE TOOTS. ARMSTRONG Mompos... You want to have some fun, we'll hook up later. I always schedule a stopover. To sample the local wares and such. (winks) Life can be what you make it here on the frontier. GORDY No, thanks. ARMSTRONG Gotta get off the boat anyway. Mompos is the last stop. From here into the guerrilla zone you can only travel by panga... If you change your mind, I'll be at the Tropicale later. It's a gringo bar. Just follow the cockroaches. 127 NEW ANGLE 127 They see the beginnings of Mompos. Two 4x4 trucks are parked on the riverbank. Lean, clean-cut men in jeans, tight shirts, cowboy boots and sunglasses lean on the truck and watch the ferry pass. ARMSTRONG Sicarios. Death squads. Avoid those dudes at all costs. 54. 128 SAME SCENE - FEW MOMENTS LATER 128 The ferry pulls up to the dock. The dock street is a culture clash of shanty bars and Amazon Indian traders, of big-wheel SUVs and mule carts. There's a definite air of menace. ARMSTRONG Federales are looking for someone. Gordy follows Armstrong's look to two plain-clothes federales, one fat and one thin, standing near the dock watching the boat pull up. When Gordy glances back, Armstrong is gone. 129 EXT. MOMPOS FERRY DOCK - DAY 129 Gordy disembarks amid the throng of passengers, when the FAT FEDERALE confronts him. FAT FEDERALE Senor Pitt? Gordy looks up in surprise at him and the thin federale backing him up. FAT FEDERALE You'll have to come with us. GORDY Why? FAT FEDERALE Come with us, please. He clamps a hand on Gordy's arm. Gordy shakes it off and starts running. Almost immediately, he's tackled to the ground by the thin federale. Two more federales join in. Gordy's not gonna go down easy, though. Even as only one against four, Gordy's a formidable challenge. He's strong, and he's committed all the way. He's not getting kicked out of this country again. It's not a clean or artful fight. There's no karate. It's four men trying to tackle a bull, and... The bull gets away. 130 EXT./INT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 130 Gordy sprints down streets with the federales in pursuit. 55. 131 GORDY 131 jukes into a local bar. 132 ANOTHER ANGLE 132 Gordy pounds out the back of the bar into a littered courtyard, where he's surrounded by ten-foot walls. 133 FEDERALES 133 blast through the bar. 134 GORDY 134 runs, jumps, launches off a beer keg, and... 135 TOP OF WALL 135 He reaches the top of the wall and pulls himself up. He's looking out across a block-long run of corrugated tin roofs. Takes off across the roofs, each step thundering, as... 136 FEDERALES 136 burst into the courtyard. Two men hastily build a stack of boxes, etc., against the wall. 137 GORDY 137 runs as fast as he can across the rooftops, when... A section of roof gives way beneath his feet, just as... 138 NEW ANGLE 138 One of the federales finally mounts the wall, looks across the rooftops... and Gordy's gone. 139 GORDY 139 lands inside a warehouse room amid sacks of rice, beans and coffee. The building is dark and dusty. He lies still and listens. FOOTSTEPS approach across the tin roof overhead. Gordy burrows into the bags of rice, pulls them over him. 56. 140 FEDERALE 140 on the roof peers down through the hole. Scans the warehouse room below with a mini-Mag-Lite. 141 GORDY 141 sees the flashlight beam move past. He holds his breath. Beat. Then the FOOTSTEPS pass on, RECEDE down the roof. And Gordy can breathe again. 142 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - NIGHT 142 Gordy makes his way along the main drag of the frontier town. A noisy, neon-lit strip of bars and brothels. Everyone's packing a gun. A new Dodge City, where death squad sicarios cruise past in 4x4's BLARING SALSA. 143 INT. TROPICALE - NIGHT 143 In here, the MUSIC'S LOUD ROCK 'N' ROLL. Gringo music for a gringo bar. The place is busy, with plenty of local "hostesses" for the men. Even Armstrong, standing half-crocked at the bar, is flanked by two scantily-clad women. He's got a spoon hanging off his nose. So does one of the girls. Armstrong's trying to hang a spoon on the other. Gordy slips into the bar. Spots Armstrong through the crowd. Sees Armstrong's not wearing his cap, when... The girl with the spoon on her nose turns slightly, revealing she's wearing the cap. It's on backwards, but now Gordy can see the "Deerborn" logo clearly. Gordy wants the guerrilla travel pass inside the cap. It's a desperate move, but he's got no choice. Starts toward the girl, when... Gordy sees the thin federale enter the front door. The thin federale sees him at the same time. Begins moving in on him. Gordy moves faster toward the girl. And... The girl unwittingly does him a favor by taking off the cap and setting it on the bar, where it's easier to grab, and then turns her attention to Armstrong's antics. The thin detective fights through the crowd after Gordy. Gordy's almost to the hat. (CONTINUED) 57. 143 CONTINUED: 143 Armstrong's still having trouble with the second girl's spoon. ARMSTRONG I never met a nose I couldn't hang a spoon on. Gordy reaches the bar, snags the cap. Glances back, sees the thin federale closing in, turns to run out the back, when... A strong hand stops him. The hand belongs to the Fat Federale. And now the thin federale's there, too, wielding a stun gun where Gordy can see it. People in the bar fall silent. Everyone but Armstrong, who's finally hung the spoon on the second girl's nose. ARMSTRONG Yahtzee! And now Armstong also realizes something's up. Turns and sees Gordy. Sees the cap in Gordy's hand as the Fat Federale addresses Gordy -- FAT FEDERALE Come along, Mr. Pitt. Whereupon Armstrong shouts drunkenly at Gordy -- ARMSTRONG Police catch you trying to steal my hat, you asshole?! He staggers toward Gordy. Grabs the hat. ARMSTRONG Fucking hat thief! Armstrong takes a drunken swing at Gordy, but... Instead of hitting Gordy, Armstrong accidentally-on- purpose clocks the fat detective. Then hisses into Gordy's ear, clearly not that drunk -- ARMSTRONG Get outta here -- But then Armstrong's legs won't work as the thin federale jams the stun gun against his neck, and 10,000 volts surprise the Armstrong neural network. Gordy moves against the thin federale in anger, when... The Fat Federale ZAPS him with another STUN GUN, just behind the ear... And Gordy gets to know the floor, too. 58. 144 EXT. MOMPOS JAIL - NIGHT 144 The building's ancient, constructed of wood and adobe. 145 INT. MOMPOS JAIL - CELL - NIGHT 145 The jail might be old, but the cells are secure enough. They're also unsanitary and thoroughly unpleasant. Gordy and Armstrong are led in by the federales. The Fat Federale has Armstrong's hat. He looks it over, wondering why Gordy wanted it. Then decides he could give a fuck and tosses it to Armstrong. Clangs the cell door shut and locks it. Leaves shaking his head. FAT FEDERALE Gringos... Armstrong's still unsteady on his feet and sits down on the metal bunk. ARMSTRONG That stun gun wasn't cool. Armstrong looks down at himself. ARMSTRONG Haven't peed my pants in a real long time. GORDY (beat) You shouldn't have helped me. ARMSTRONG Yeah, well, I guess all these assholes down here are just starting on my nerves. Gordy's silent. It's over. He's come up short. He's going home. ARMSTRONG So what the hell did you do to land us in here? And don't jerk me around, eh? Beat. Gordy sits. GORDY The Wolf killed my wife and son in New York. (CONTINUED) 59. 145 CONTINUED: 145 ARMSTRONG ... Oh, you're that guy, eh? I'm sorry, man... And what, you came down here to even things out? Gordy just looks at him. ARMSTRONG Did you even have a plan? GORDY Yeah. Go to Caguan, find The Wolf and kill him. Armstrong just shakes his head. Beat. 146 DOOR TO CELL AREA 146 BANGS open. Federales lead in two men -- the two guerrillas surprised earlier by the heavy-camouflaged infiltrators. The federales are armed with batons and stun guns, taking no chances. It's clear the rebels weren't brought here without a struggle, either -- both are cut and bruised. The tougher-looking of the two has taken a real beating. This beaten man is jammed face- first against the bars of Gordy's cell. He makes eye contact with Gordy while the other rebel is unbound and put into a cell. Then the beaten man is shoved into the cell. A solid, brick wall separates them from Gordy and Armstrong. Armstrong's seen the patches on their uniforms. To Gordy, sotto -- ARMSTRONG E.L.C. Beat. Armstrong sees the look on Gordy's face. By way of a warning -- ARMSTRONG If you can't kill them, don't even talk to them. The GUERRILLAS are MURMURING in the other cell. One of them LAUGHS. OFF Gordy, listening to the LAUGHING... 147 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL - NIGHT 147 Two or three A.M. Armstrong's dozing. Gordy's still listening to the MURMURING of the REBELS on the other side of the wall, when... (CONTINUED) 60. 147 CONTINUED: 147 There's a flurry of activity outside the cell area. The door opens. Soldiers enter with some federales. Gordy watches the soldiers move past his cell. Rocha is with them. And then... Brandt appears at the bars, looks in at Gordy. BRANDT Enjoy your trip? Gordy stands, approaches. BRANDT We asked you to leave it to us. GORDY And you guys still haven't got him. BRANDT It's not over yet... The guys next door are in The Wolf's elite bodyguard unit. Where he goes, they go. We're gonna ask questions. And we're gonna get answers... And you're staying right here till our bomber's dead. Brandt goes. Moments later, a TORTURED SCREAM is heard on the other side of the brick wall, waking Armstrong with a start. 148 EXT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - NIGHT 148 In a field near Mompos, a canopied truck backs into position. Men in guerrilla uniforms with ELC patches get out and pull back the canopy, revealing mortar tubes pointing skyward on a bed of sand. 149 ELC GUERRILLA 149 unit armed with AK-47s and Light Anti-Tank Weapons (LAWs) infiltrates the town. 150 ANOTHER TWO-MAN ELC GUERRILLA TEAM 150 sets up a single mortar position overlooking the town. One of the men checks his watch. Beat. He signals. The other man drops a MORTAR down the tube. WHUMP. 61. 151 TWO MORTARS 151 go in the tubes on the truck. WHUMP, WHUMP. 152 ANOTHER ANGLE 152 BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! A water tower, the Mompos fire station and the town's power supply are direct hits. WHUMP, WHUMP, WHUMP... 153 INT. JAIL - CELLS 153 People react to the sounds of the MORTAR ATTACK on the town. The lights go out. Brandt, Rocha and their men quickly lock the guerrillas in their cell and head out. 154 EXT. JAIL 154 As MORTARS CONTINUE to fall on the rest of the town, the unit of guerrilla infiltrators open up on the front of the jail with LAW ROCKETS. 155 EXT./INT. JAIL 155 KA-BOOM! The front door and wall of the jail disintegrate under the multiple LAW attack. 156 NEW ANGLE 156 Brandt, Rocha and the soldiers, approaching the front door inside, are hammered by the massive concussion of the BLAST and flung across the room, apparently dead. 157 ANOTHER ANGLE 157 The powerful, concussive shock-wave channels into the cell area. Gordy's slightly protected by a wall. Armstrong, standing at the bars, is thrown into the opposite wall and knocked unconscious. 158 GUERRILLAS 158 charge inside with AKs BLAZING. Surviving soldiers and federales SHOOT back. The blasts have caused fires in the building. Severed wires spark, creating more fire. Flames begin to spread through the tinder-dry structure. (CONTINUED) 62. 158 CONTINUED: 158 The guerrillas take out the soldiers and federales, with few casualties to themselves. They make their way toward the cell area. EXPLODING AMMO and stored FUEL CANS accelerate the fire. 159 NEW ANGLE 159 The guerrillas reach the cells. Two men see Gordy and draw down on him. The others move to the next cell. Guerrillas plant small explosive charges on the hinges of the cell containing their two captured comrades. Beat. The HINGES BLOW. The beaten man and the rebel with him are freed, and the guerrillas quickly retreat the way they came. Gordy sees flames spreading into the cell area. 160 GUERRILLAS 160 exit the fiery jail past Brandt. We see Brandt's not dead. 161 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - OUTSIDE JAIL 161 A truck pulls up. The guerrillas get in. The TRUCK SCREECHES OUT as... 162 4X4 162 full of sicarios SKIDS onto the street, far ahead of the truck. The sicario driving punches it, and... 163 TWO TRUCKS 163 ROAR toward each other. A game of chicken. With GUNS. Men in both vehicles OPEN UP -- the sicarios with magnums and Uzis, the guerrillas with AKs. SLUGS RIP through automotive steel. Casualties are taken. When... 164 SICARIO 164 driving the 4x4 receives a round in the forehead, cranks over the steering wheel, and... 63. 165 SPEEDING 4X4 165 does a Paris-to-Dakar road rally flip, twisting and somersaulting, and... 166 NEW ANGLE 166 The 4x4 catapults completely over the guerrillas' truck, disintegrating into spare parts and dead occupants, as... 167 GUERRILLAS 167 ROAR off. 168 EXT./INT. JAIL 168 A severely-dazed Brandt, bleeding from the nose and ears, slowly gets to his knees, crawls out of the burning building and collapses outside. 169 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL 169 There's fire and smoke everywhere. Gordy picks up the metal bunk and slams it against a wall. Slams it again. Breaks the metal apart. Then levers a long side rail in the cell door. He heaves. Heaves again. The fire's licking at him, but Gordy's undeterred. He heaves again, and... This time, the door gives. Gordy picks up Armstrong's cap, then picks up Armstrong, who's starting to come around. Puts Armstrong over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. GORDY Don't breathe. ARMSTRONG (weakly) You're not running through the fire, eh? GORDY Close your mouth. Because running through the fire is just what Gordy's gonna do. As he disappears into the flames... 170 EXT. JAIL - NIGHT 170 The town's in complete chaos. There are fires everywhere. (CONTINUED) 64. 170 CONTINUED: 170 Still stunned and bleeding, Brandt looks from where he lies on the ground as... Gordy bursts out of the inferno carrying Armstrong. They're singed and smoking, but they're alive. Gordy drops Armstrong, pats himself and Armstrong down, knocking out the burning embers on their clothes and hair, when... Gordy's eyes meet Brandt's. The two men hold the look for a moment. If Brandt could speak, he'd be yelling at Gordy to stop, not to go on. And Gordy knows it. But Gordy's not stopping. Picks up Armstrong again and moves off toward the waterfront. 171 EXT. MOMPOS WATERFRONT - NIGHT 171 There's less chaos here. The fires are in the distance. Gordy arrives carrying Armstrong. Sets him down. GORDY I'll find a boat to take us upriver. He starts to go. Armstrong stops him. ARMSTRONG No. I told you. The pass is only good for one person. And you're too dangerous to travel with. Beat. Gordy reaches over and takes Armstrong's cap. He looks inside. There's no pass. ARMSTRONG It hasn't been there since we landed. Gordy's at a loss. He tosses the cap back. Just looks at Armstrong. Beat. Armstrong sighs. ARMSTRONG Aw, hell... I was through with this place anyway... He takes off a boot. Shakes out some money and the pass. He hands the pass to Gordy. (CONTINUED) 65. 171 CONTINUED: 171 ARMSTRONG I'll call ahead and tell Felix I'm not coming, and you're my replacement. He'll meet you in Caguan and take you to the plantation... What do you know about diesel engines? GORDY All the fire trucks are diesels. ARMSTRONG You'll have to be Austrian, eh? They hate Americans. Name's gotta change, too, in case they're watching the news. (beat) It'll buy you a little time to look around Caguan. But you'll never find The Wolf. Beat. Gordy sticks out his hand. GORDY Heinrich Beckmann. ARMSTRONG Huh? GORDY My Austrian name. Armstrong shakes hands with Gordy. Armstrong doesn't let loose right away. Beat. ARMSTRONG Luck got you this far. But up there, luck doesn't make it. I hope you know you're gonna die. OFF Gordy, about to step over another line... 172 EXT. RIVER - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 172 As dawn breaks over the river, FIND Gordy sitting in a motored panga being steered by a local BOATMAN. Gordy reaches into a pocket and pulls out the photo of Anne and Matt. He looks at it for a few moments. Then pockets it again. 173 SAME SCENE - LATER 173 The panga passes a dead body floating downstream. 66. 174 SAME SCENE - LATER 174 The panga passes revolutionary banners and signs lining the riverbank. BOATMAN La zona guerrillera. 175 SAME SCENE - MOMENTS LATER 175 The panga rounds a bend, and... Two souped-up bass boats filled with heavily-armed ELC guerrillas move to intercept it. The Boatman slows, puts the panga in neutral and keeps his hands in sight. One boat of guerrillas pulls alongside. The other sheers off and stops a short distance away, ready to open fire. Gordy shows the guerrillas his travel pass. One of them takes it. Reads. Looks Gordy over. Then starts to rip the pass in half, when... He stops. Grins. It's a big joke. He hands back the pass, searches the boat quickly and waves the panga on. OFF Gordy's relief as the panga heads on... 176 EXT. CAGUAN TOWN DOCK - DAY 176 The panga arrives, and Gordy gets out. He's met by FELIX. Felix has a 9mm in a shoulder holster. Felix doesn't look the least bit happy. FELIX Beckmann. GORDY Yeah. FELIX Come with me. Felix leads him towards a Land Cruiser. FELIX Armstrong should have called sooner. We don't like changes here... If I didn't need the equipment fixed, I'd send you back. (CONTINUED) 67. 176 CONTINUED: 176 They reach the Land Cruiser. FELIX But now we have to see the E.L.C. Supervisor for Caguan. It's a prospect that seems to concern Felix almost as much as Gordy. Off which, as they get into the Toyota... 177 INT. ELC SUPERVISOR'S OFFICE - DAY 177 The ELC SUPERVISOR for Caguan may be a Marxist, but the clean, well-ordered office is nicely appointed, with a big-screen Sony and leather furniture. The TV's TUNED TO CNN. A photo on the wall depicts him as a younger man wearing guerrilla cammies bearing with an ELC patch and holding an AK-47. A brass nameplate reading "Supervisor" rests on a neat desk, behind which stands the man himself -- a hardened, former guerrilla fighter proud of his position. He's not in cammies now -- his uniform now consists of casual but nice tropical clothing and a fat Rolex. Felix is a subordinate here. He and Gordy stand across the desk as the Supervisor examines Gordy's travel pass. Gordy's nervous about what could appear on the TV in the b.g., but tries not to show it. ELC SUPERVISOR Your passport was stolen. GORDY In Mompos. ELC SUPERVISOR ... Mompos is a shithole. Not like Caguan... Why didn't Armstrong come? GORDY He was arrested in Ecuador. He got drunk and fooled around with a police officer's wife. The Supervisor just looks at him, assessing Gordy's face for signs he's lying. Gordy's expression stays the same. Felix respectfully interjects. It's almost a plea. FELIX (in Spanish) We need to fix the equipment. We have delivery deadlines to meet. (CONTINUED) 68. 177 CONTINUED: 177 A long beat. The ELC Supervisor hands the travel pass back to Gordy. In a hard tone to Felix -- ELC SUPERVISOR (in Spanish) He's your responsibility. Don't let him out of your sight. FELIX Si. Gracias. As Felix leads Gordy away... 178 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER (CAGUAN) - DAY 178 Gordy and Felix pull away from the Supervisor's H.Q. Felix resumes his former tone of command. FELIX The Supervisor made you my responsibility... You don't go anywhere without me, you understand? GORDY No problemo. Gordy peers out the window intently as they drive, looking for a lucky break, looking for The Wolf, searching the face of every man. He doesn't see The Wolf, but what he does see surprises him. The ELC Supervisor was right: Caguan's no Mompos. It's a third- world town, armed troops are visible, and there's a lot of bad shit behind Colombia's revolutionaries, but here the streets are calm and orderly. It's quiet, almost eerie, as people go about their business. OFF Gordy, seeing another side of the guerrillas... 179 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER/COUNTRY ROAD - DAY 179 Felix turns off at the entrance to a lane leading to the plantation. The entrance is guarded by a 4X4 "Rat Patrol" assault truck and four heavily armed ELC guerrillas. GORDY The E.L.C. guards your coffee beans? Felix thinks he's joking. Until he looks over and sees Gordy's actually being sincere. (CONTINUED) 69. 179 CONTINUED: 179 FELIX ... Coffee beans? Shit. Armstrong didn't tell you much... 180 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER - PLANTATION - DAY 180 They approach a hacienda and outbuildings. The accoutrements of agriculture are present -- tractors, sheds, cats, etc. -- but clearly, this is no family farm. There are lots of serious-looking men around. More ELC guerrillas stand guard. 181 FELIX 181 stops the car. He and Gordy get out. Felix begins leading Gordy toward two rows of long, open-walled sheds. FELIX The problem's with the diesel generators. The sons-of-bitches keep breaking down. 182 NEW ANGLE 182 They pass four very large pits, where green leaves steep in a thick, foul-smelling liquid. FELIX We're using portables to keep production going, but they don't supply enough power to the heat lamps, and we have to dry a lot of... 'coffee beans.' 183 ANOTHER ANGLE 183 They're now walking between the two rows of sheds, where portable gas GENERATORS THRUM, and... Gordy can see long, wide platforms inside. Above the platforms are multiple arrays of powerful heat lamps. Spread out and drying beneath them is a half-acre or two of converted cocaine. 184 IN ANOTHER SHED 184 workers pack and wrap one-kilo bricks of coke for shipment. 70. 185 GORDY AND FELIX 185 approach the two giant diesel generators. FELIX We can fix anything, but these keep dying on us... You'll start now. I'll have tools brought to you. (beat) Armstrong's a magician with them. Let's hope you have his skill. Felix walks over to a guerrilla with an AK-47 and speaks to him. Then goes. Whereupon the

winks

How many times the word 'winks' appears in the text?

wire bows against his shin, and... Gordy ducks, covers the Man in the Yankees Cap, and... Nothing happens. The young man just stands there, frozen in position, his leg still bowing the line. (CONTINUED) 48. 117 CONTINUED: 117 Using the Zippo again to light his way, Gordy advances to the young man. He follows the trip wire to where a Coca- Cola can hangs from a nearby tree. On closer inspection, Gordy can see the can is sleeved around a grenade. There's no pin in the grenade. The can keeps the grenade's arming spoon in place. The trip wire's designed to yank the can off, allowing the grenade to explode at chest level... And the can's almost off. Gordy burns through the monofilament trip wire. Then carefully slides the Coke can back over the grenade. 118 MAN IN YANKEES CAP - MOMENTS LATER 118 When Gordy returns, the man's dead. OFF Gordy, looking down at the NY logo on the cap... 119 EXT./INT. ANOTHER CHIVA - DAY 119 Gordy sees a sign for a town as the chiva rumbles along. He pulls out his map. 120 INSERT - MAP 120 Gordy finds the town, which lies along a river. He traces a road from the town. The road runs south through the town of Mompos, and eventually reaches Caguan, the ELC capital. 121 BACK TO SCENE 121 A COLOMBIAN WOMAN is looking over Gordy's shoulder. COLOMBIAN WOMAN No autobusses para este lugar. Solamente el barco en el rio. She leans over, traces the river, which also runs to Caguan. COLOMBIAN WOMAN El rio. 122 EXT. FERRY DOCK - DAY 122 The FERRY'S WHISTLE TOOTS. Lines are cast off. (CONTINUED) 49. 122 CONTINUED: 122 Two plainclothes federales have been watching the ferry load and now relax their vigil. One man holds a Xerox of Gordy's passport photo. The other bites into an empanada, which breaks open and spills its contents down the front of his shirt. His partner finds it funny. He doesn't. And while their attention's occupied... Gordy hurries by, oblivious to the federales' presence, and just manages to hop onto the ferry as it pulls away. 123 EXT. FERRY - DAY 123 The ferry's the only means of travel south, and it's packed. Gordy picks his way through. The only other gringo on the boat is a geek in a plaid shirt and gimme hat that says "Deerborn." The geek, PHILIP ARMSTRONG, looks like a talker, and Gordy tries to avoid eye contact. He's too late. ARMSTRONG Hey, yo, dude, here's a seat, man! GORDY No, that's okay -- But Armstrong's already throwing a bag off the bench. ARMSTRONG I was hoping for someone I could communicate with. He sees Gordy hasn't moved. ARMSTRONG Only room's at the back near the bano, and I'd advise against it, unless you like poop. Beat. Gordy sits. Immediately -- ARMSTRONG Philip Armstrong. Assiniboia, Sasketchewan, Canada. (indicates his hat) Deerborn Heavy Equipment. GORDY ... Gordy Pitt. ARMSTRONG Hey, howya doing? I love Germany. (CONTINUED) 50. 123 CONTINUED: 123 GORDY Austria. American now. ARMSTRONG I love America. Never been to Austria. Where from in America would that be? GORDY New York City. ARMSTRONG I don't like New York City. Buildings're too big. What kinda work you in? GORDY (hesitates, then) Coffee. I buy beans. ARMSTRONG Can't drink caffeine. Makes my stomach do the rumba. I like that commercial guy with the sombrero and the mule, though. Headed upstream, eh? Where to? GORDY Caguan. ARMSTRONG ... You've never been to Caguan, eh? GORDY How do you know? ARMSTRONG 'Cause no one in their right mind would ever go back. Caguan's in the guerrilla zone run by the E.L.C. E.L.C. as in 'Extra Loathsome Communists.' They don't care, and they kill. I'm going there myself. But I have a 'get outta jail free' card. Armstrong doffs his cap, undoes a safety pin securing a card inside the crown. Shows it to Gordy. Sotto -- (CONTINUED) 51. 123 CONTINUED: (2) 123 ARMSTRONG E.L.C. travel pass. I can go anywhere I want. (by way of explanation) Everyone needs equipment fixed. Armstrong carefully returns the card to the hat. And now his voice takes on a noticeably more measured tone -- ARMSTRONG If you don't have one of these, you don't want to be up there, Gordy. Beat. Gordy's contemplating the warning, when his eyes go to a small, sleepy boy standing nearby on the cramped deck, leaning against his father. Gordy reaches over and taps the boy. The boy looks over. Shrinks away at the sight of the large gringo. The father notices and looks at Gordy, who stands, indicates his seat. GORDY Por favor. The father's also apprehensive, doesn't move. GORDY Con mucho gusto. Finally, the father accepts, sits down with the sleepy boy on his lap. Nods his thanks at Gordy, who then gazes down at the son. A kid about Matt's age. Armstrong recognizes the look of a caring dad. ARMSTRONG Got kids, eh? OFF Armstrong, as Gordy walks away... 124 EXT. JUNGLE - DAY 124 Two Colombian armed man wearing guerrilla uniforms bearing a distinctive ELC patch are walking a trail, when the man in front notices something odd. He stops. Leads the other man back a few steps. Looks into the foliage along the trail. Something doesn't seem right. He extends his AK-47. Prods a hump of greenery with the rifle butt, and in a flash... The greenery suddenly transforms into two men wearing face-paint and full-body military camouflage gear and pointing twin cocked-and-locked CAR-15 assault rifles at the heads of the startled guerrillas. 52. 125 EXT. CIA HACIENDA - DAY 125 Brandt stubs a butt as a Colombian SOG group does killer training nearby. Updegraf opens the door. To Brandt -- UPDEGRAF One of Rocha's infiltration teams just radioed in... We got our big break... 126 EXT. FERRY - DAY 126 Gordy stands along the rail looking out at the lush, beautiful countryside sliding past. Armstrong joins him. ARMSTRONG That little kid and I had a nice, long snooze... We're almost to Mompos. (gazing out) Beautiful country. GORDY It better be. A lotta people're dying for it. ARMSTRONG (looks overboard) Y'know, I haven't noticed one darn body floating downstream this whole trip, have you? Gordy doesn't respond. Beat. GORDY I was thinking... Maybe we could travel together into Caguan. You could show me around. ARMSTRONG (shakes his head) Pass is only good for one person, if that's your idea, which I think it is... Besides, I can't risk traveling around up there in the company of a big gringo with a dumb-ass cover story about coffee beans. Gordy looks over. Armstrong smiles back. Beat. (CONTINUED) 53. 126 CONTINUED: 126 GORDY I've got money. I'll buy the pass from you. ARMSTRONG I've worked too hard for it. And you don't have that kind of money on you. GORDY I'll be getting some life insurance money -- ARMSTRONG (shaking his head) It's all cash and carry down here, Gordy. The FERRY WHISTLE TOOTS. ARMSTRONG Mompos... You want to have some fun, we'll hook up later. I always schedule a stopover. To sample the local wares and such. (winks) Life can be what you make it here on the frontier. GORDY No, thanks. ARMSTRONG Gotta get off the boat anyway. Mompos is the last stop. From here into the guerrilla zone you can only travel by panga... If you change your mind, I'll be at the Tropicale later. It's a gringo bar. Just follow the cockroaches. 127 NEW ANGLE 127 They see the beginnings of Mompos. Two 4x4 trucks are parked on the riverbank. Lean, clean-cut men in jeans, tight shirts, cowboy boots and sunglasses lean on the truck and watch the ferry pass. ARMSTRONG Sicarios. Death squads. Avoid those dudes at all costs. 54. 128 SAME SCENE - FEW MOMENTS LATER 128 The ferry pulls up to the dock. The dock street is a culture clash of shanty bars and Amazon Indian traders, of big-wheel SUVs and mule carts. There's a definite air of menace. ARMSTRONG Federales are looking for someone. Gordy follows Armstrong's look to two plain-clothes federales, one fat and one thin, standing near the dock watching the boat pull up. When Gordy glances back, Armstrong is gone. 129 EXT. MOMPOS FERRY DOCK - DAY 129 Gordy disembarks amid the throng of passengers, when the FAT FEDERALE confronts him. FAT FEDERALE Senor Pitt? Gordy looks up in surprise at him and the thin federale backing him up. FAT FEDERALE You'll have to come with us. GORDY Why? FAT FEDERALE Come with us, please. He clamps a hand on Gordy's arm. Gordy shakes it off and starts running. Almost immediately, he's tackled to the ground by the thin federale. Two more federales join in. Gordy's not gonna go down easy, though. Even as only one against four, Gordy's a formidable challenge. He's strong, and he's committed all the way. He's not getting kicked out of this country again. It's not a clean or artful fight. There's no karate. It's four men trying to tackle a bull, and... The bull gets away. 130 EXT./INT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 130 Gordy sprints down streets with the federales in pursuit. 55. 131 GORDY 131 jukes into a local bar. 132 ANOTHER ANGLE 132 Gordy pounds out the back of the bar into a littered courtyard, where he's surrounded by ten-foot walls. 133 FEDERALES 133 blast through the bar. 134 GORDY 134 runs, jumps, launches off a beer keg, and... 135 TOP OF WALL 135 He reaches the top of the wall and pulls himself up. He's looking out across a block-long run of corrugated tin roofs. Takes off across the roofs, each step thundering, as... 136 FEDERALES 136 burst into the courtyard. Two men hastily build a stack of boxes, etc., against the wall. 137 GORDY 137 runs as fast as he can across the rooftops, when... A section of roof gives way beneath his feet, just as... 138 NEW ANGLE 138 One of the federales finally mounts the wall, looks across the rooftops... and Gordy's gone. 139 GORDY 139 lands inside a warehouse room amid sacks of rice, beans and coffee. The building is dark and dusty. He lies still and listens. FOOTSTEPS approach across the tin roof overhead. Gordy burrows into the bags of rice, pulls them over him. 56. 140 FEDERALE 140 on the roof peers down through the hole. Scans the warehouse room below with a mini-Mag-Lite. 141 GORDY 141 sees the flashlight beam move past. He holds his breath. Beat. Then the FOOTSTEPS pass on, RECEDE down the roof. And Gordy can breathe again. 142 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - NIGHT 142 Gordy makes his way along the main drag of the frontier town. A noisy, neon-lit strip of bars and brothels. Everyone's packing a gun. A new Dodge City, where death squad sicarios cruise past in 4x4's BLARING SALSA. 143 INT. TROPICALE - NIGHT 143 In here, the MUSIC'S LOUD ROCK 'N' ROLL. Gringo music for a gringo bar. The place is busy, with plenty of local "hostesses" for the men. Even Armstrong, standing half-crocked at the bar, is flanked by two scantily-clad women. He's got a spoon hanging off his nose. So does one of the girls. Armstrong's trying to hang a spoon on the other. Gordy slips into the bar. Spots Armstrong through the crowd. Sees Armstrong's not wearing his cap, when... The girl with the spoon on her nose turns slightly, revealing she's wearing the cap. It's on backwards, but now Gordy can see the "Deerborn" logo clearly. Gordy wants the guerrilla travel pass inside the cap. It's a desperate move, but he's got no choice. Starts toward the girl, when... Gordy sees the thin federale enter the front door. The thin federale sees him at the same time. Begins moving in on him. Gordy moves faster toward the girl. And... The girl unwittingly does him a favor by taking off the cap and setting it on the bar, where it's easier to grab, and then turns her attention to Armstrong's antics. The thin detective fights through the crowd after Gordy. Gordy's almost to the hat. (CONTINUED) 57. 143 CONTINUED: 143 Armstrong's still having trouble with the second girl's spoon. ARMSTRONG I never met a nose I couldn't hang a spoon on. Gordy reaches the bar, snags the cap. Glances back, sees the thin federale closing in, turns to run out the back, when... A strong hand stops him. The hand belongs to the Fat Federale. And now the thin federale's there, too, wielding a stun gun where Gordy can see it. People in the bar fall silent. Everyone but Armstrong, who's finally hung the spoon on the second girl's nose. ARMSTRONG Yahtzee! And now Armstong also realizes something's up. Turns and sees Gordy. Sees the cap in Gordy's hand as the Fat Federale addresses Gordy -- FAT FEDERALE Come along, Mr. Pitt. Whereupon Armstrong shouts drunkenly at Gordy -- ARMSTRONG Police catch you trying to steal my hat, you asshole?! He staggers toward Gordy. Grabs the hat. ARMSTRONG Fucking hat thief! Armstrong takes a drunken swing at Gordy, but... Instead of hitting Gordy, Armstrong accidentally-on- purpose clocks the fat detective. Then hisses into Gordy's ear, clearly not that drunk -- ARMSTRONG Get outta here -- But then Armstrong's legs won't work as the thin federale jams the stun gun against his neck, and 10,000 volts surprise the Armstrong neural network. Gordy moves against the thin federale in anger, when... The Fat Federale ZAPS him with another STUN GUN, just behind the ear... And Gordy gets to know the floor, too. 58. 144 EXT. MOMPOS JAIL - NIGHT 144 The building's ancient, constructed of wood and adobe. 145 INT. MOMPOS JAIL - CELL - NIGHT 145 The jail might be old, but the cells are secure enough. They're also unsanitary and thoroughly unpleasant. Gordy and Armstrong are led in by the federales. The Fat Federale has Armstrong's hat. He looks it over, wondering why Gordy wanted it. Then decides he could give a fuck and tosses it to Armstrong. Clangs the cell door shut and locks it. Leaves shaking his head. FAT FEDERALE Gringos... Armstrong's still unsteady on his feet and sits down on the metal bunk. ARMSTRONG That stun gun wasn't cool. Armstrong looks down at himself. ARMSTRONG Haven't peed my pants in a real long time. GORDY (beat) You shouldn't have helped me. ARMSTRONG Yeah, well, I guess all these assholes down here are just starting on my nerves. Gordy's silent. It's over. He's come up short. He's going home. ARMSTRONG So what the hell did you do to land us in here? And don't jerk me around, eh? Beat. Gordy sits. GORDY The Wolf killed my wife and son in New York. (CONTINUED) 59. 145 CONTINUED: 145 ARMSTRONG ... Oh, you're that guy, eh? I'm sorry, man... And what, you came down here to even things out? Gordy just looks at him. ARMSTRONG Did you even have a plan? GORDY Yeah. Go to Caguan, find The Wolf and kill him. Armstrong just shakes his head. Beat. 146 DOOR TO CELL AREA 146 BANGS open. Federales lead in two men -- the two guerrillas surprised earlier by the heavy-camouflaged infiltrators. The federales are armed with batons and stun guns, taking no chances. It's clear the rebels weren't brought here without a struggle, either -- both are cut and bruised. The tougher-looking of the two has taken a real beating. This beaten man is jammed face- first against the bars of Gordy's cell. He makes eye contact with Gordy while the other rebel is unbound and put into a cell. Then the beaten man is shoved into the cell. A solid, brick wall separates them from Gordy and Armstrong. Armstrong's seen the patches on their uniforms. To Gordy, sotto -- ARMSTRONG E.L.C. Beat. Armstrong sees the look on Gordy's face. By way of a warning -- ARMSTRONG If you can't kill them, don't even talk to them. The GUERRILLAS are MURMURING in the other cell. One of them LAUGHS. OFF Gordy, listening to the LAUGHING... 147 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL - NIGHT 147 Two or three A.M. Armstrong's dozing. Gordy's still listening to the MURMURING of the REBELS on the other side of the wall, when... (CONTINUED) 60. 147 CONTINUED: 147 There's a flurry of activity outside the cell area. The door opens. Soldiers enter with some federales. Gordy watches the soldiers move past his cell. Rocha is with them. And then... Brandt appears at the bars, looks in at Gordy. BRANDT Enjoy your trip? Gordy stands, approaches. BRANDT We asked you to leave it to us. GORDY And you guys still haven't got him. BRANDT It's not over yet... The guys next door are in The Wolf's elite bodyguard unit. Where he goes, they go. We're gonna ask questions. And we're gonna get answers... And you're staying right here till our bomber's dead. Brandt goes. Moments later, a TORTURED SCREAM is heard on the other side of the brick wall, waking Armstrong with a start. 148 EXT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - NIGHT 148 In a field near Mompos, a canopied truck backs into position. Men in guerrilla uniforms with ELC patches get out and pull back the canopy, revealing mortar tubes pointing skyward on a bed of sand. 149 ELC GUERRILLA 149 unit armed with AK-47s and Light Anti-Tank Weapons (LAWs) infiltrates the town. 150 ANOTHER TWO-MAN ELC GUERRILLA TEAM 150 sets up a single mortar position overlooking the town. One of the men checks his watch. Beat. He signals. The other man drops a MORTAR down the tube. WHUMP. 61. 151 TWO MORTARS 151 go in the tubes on the truck. WHUMP, WHUMP. 152 ANOTHER ANGLE 152 BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! A water tower, the Mompos fire station and the town's power supply are direct hits. WHUMP, WHUMP, WHUMP... 153 INT. JAIL - CELLS 153 People react to the sounds of the MORTAR ATTACK on the town. The lights go out. Brandt, Rocha and their men quickly lock the guerrillas in their cell and head out. 154 EXT. JAIL 154 As MORTARS CONTINUE to fall on the rest of the town, the unit of guerrilla infiltrators open up on the front of the jail with LAW ROCKETS. 155 EXT./INT. JAIL 155 KA-BOOM! The front door and wall of the jail disintegrate under the multiple LAW attack. 156 NEW ANGLE 156 Brandt, Rocha and the soldiers, approaching the front door inside, are hammered by the massive concussion of the BLAST and flung across the room, apparently dead. 157 ANOTHER ANGLE 157 The powerful, concussive shock-wave channels into the cell area. Gordy's slightly protected by a wall. Armstrong, standing at the bars, is thrown into the opposite wall and knocked unconscious. 158 GUERRILLAS 158 charge inside with AKs BLAZING. Surviving soldiers and federales SHOOT back. The blasts have caused fires in the building. Severed wires spark, creating more fire. Flames begin to spread through the tinder-dry structure. (CONTINUED) 62. 158 CONTINUED: 158 The guerrillas take out the soldiers and federales, with few casualties to themselves. They make their way toward the cell area. EXPLODING AMMO and stored FUEL CANS accelerate the fire. 159 NEW ANGLE 159 The guerrillas reach the cells. Two men see Gordy and draw down on him. The others move to the next cell. Guerrillas plant small explosive charges on the hinges of the cell containing their two captured comrades. Beat. The HINGES BLOW. The beaten man and the rebel with him are freed, and the guerrillas quickly retreat the way they came. Gordy sees flames spreading into the cell area. 160 GUERRILLAS 160 exit the fiery jail past Brandt. We see Brandt's not dead. 161 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - OUTSIDE JAIL 161 A truck pulls up. The guerrillas get in. The TRUCK SCREECHES OUT as... 162 4X4 162 full of sicarios SKIDS onto the street, far ahead of the truck. The sicario driving punches it, and... 163 TWO TRUCKS 163 ROAR toward each other. A game of chicken. With GUNS. Men in both vehicles OPEN UP -- the sicarios with magnums and Uzis, the guerrillas with AKs. SLUGS RIP through automotive steel. Casualties are taken. When... 164 SICARIO 164 driving the 4x4 receives a round in the forehead, cranks over the steering wheel, and... 63. 165 SPEEDING 4X4 165 does a Paris-to-Dakar road rally flip, twisting and somersaulting, and... 166 NEW ANGLE 166 The 4x4 catapults completely over the guerrillas' truck, disintegrating into spare parts and dead occupants, as... 167 GUERRILLAS 167 ROAR off. 168 EXT./INT. JAIL 168 A severely-dazed Brandt, bleeding from the nose and ears, slowly gets to his knees, crawls out of the burning building and collapses outside. 169 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL 169 There's fire and smoke everywhere. Gordy picks up the metal bunk and slams it against a wall. Slams it again. Breaks the metal apart. Then levers a long side rail in the cell door. He heaves. Heaves again. The fire's licking at him, but Gordy's undeterred. He heaves again, and... This time, the door gives. Gordy picks up Armstrong's cap, then picks up Armstrong, who's starting to come around. Puts Armstrong over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. GORDY Don't breathe. ARMSTRONG (weakly) You're not running through the fire, eh? GORDY Close your mouth. Because running through the fire is just what Gordy's gonna do. As he disappears into the flames... 170 EXT. JAIL - NIGHT 170 The town's in complete chaos. There are fires everywhere. (CONTINUED) 64. 170 CONTINUED: 170 Still stunned and bleeding, Brandt looks from where he lies on the ground as... Gordy bursts out of the inferno carrying Armstrong. They're singed and smoking, but they're alive. Gordy drops Armstrong, pats himself and Armstrong down, knocking out the burning embers on their clothes and hair, when... Gordy's eyes meet Brandt's. The two men hold the look for a moment. If Brandt could speak, he'd be yelling at Gordy to stop, not to go on. And Gordy knows it. But Gordy's not stopping. Picks up Armstrong again and moves off toward the waterfront. 171 EXT. MOMPOS WATERFRONT - NIGHT 171 There's less chaos here. The fires are in the distance. Gordy arrives carrying Armstrong. Sets him down. GORDY I'll find a boat to take us upriver. He starts to go. Armstrong stops him. ARMSTRONG No. I told you. The pass is only good for one person. And you're too dangerous to travel with. Beat. Gordy reaches over and takes Armstrong's cap. He looks inside. There's no pass. ARMSTRONG It hasn't been there since we landed. Gordy's at a loss. He tosses the cap back. Just looks at Armstrong. Beat. Armstrong sighs. ARMSTRONG Aw, hell... I was through with this place anyway... He takes off a boot. Shakes out some money and the pass. He hands the pass to Gordy. (CONTINUED) 65. 171 CONTINUED: 171 ARMSTRONG I'll call ahead and tell Felix I'm not coming, and you're my replacement. He'll meet you in Caguan and take you to the plantation... What do you know about diesel engines? GORDY All the fire trucks are diesels. ARMSTRONG You'll have to be Austrian, eh? They hate Americans. Name's gotta change, too, in case they're watching the news. (beat) It'll buy you a little time to look around Caguan. But you'll never find The Wolf. Beat. Gordy sticks out his hand. GORDY Heinrich Beckmann. ARMSTRONG Huh? GORDY My Austrian name. Armstrong shakes hands with Gordy. Armstrong doesn't let loose right away. Beat. ARMSTRONG Luck got you this far. But up there, luck doesn't make it. I hope you know you're gonna die. OFF Gordy, about to step over another line... 172 EXT. RIVER - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 172 As dawn breaks over the river, FIND Gordy sitting in a motored panga being steered by a local BOATMAN. Gordy reaches into a pocket and pulls out the photo of Anne and Matt. He looks at it for a few moments. Then pockets it again. 173 SAME SCENE - LATER 173 The panga passes a dead body floating downstream. 66. 174 SAME SCENE - LATER 174 The panga passes revolutionary banners and signs lining the riverbank. BOATMAN La zona guerrillera. 175 SAME SCENE - MOMENTS LATER 175 The panga rounds a bend, and... Two souped-up bass boats filled with heavily-armed ELC guerrillas move to intercept it. The Boatman slows, puts the panga in neutral and keeps his hands in sight. One boat of guerrillas pulls alongside. The other sheers off and stops a short distance away, ready to open fire. Gordy shows the guerrillas his travel pass. One of them takes it. Reads. Looks Gordy over. Then starts to rip the pass in half, when... He stops. Grins. It's a big joke. He hands back the pass, searches the boat quickly and waves the panga on. OFF Gordy's relief as the panga heads on... 176 EXT. CAGUAN TOWN DOCK - DAY 176 The panga arrives, and Gordy gets out. He's met by FELIX. Felix has a 9mm in a shoulder holster. Felix doesn't look the least bit happy. FELIX Beckmann. GORDY Yeah. FELIX Come with me. Felix leads him towards a Land Cruiser. FELIX Armstrong should have called sooner. We don't like changes here... If I didn't need the equipment fixed, I'd send you back. (CONTINUED) 67. 176 CONTINUED: 176 They reach the Land Cruiser. FELIX But now we have to see the E.L.C. Supervisor for Caguan. It's a prospect that seems to concern Felix almost as much as Gordy. Off which, as they get into the Toyota... 177 INT. ELC SUPERVISOR'S OFFICE - DAY 177 The ELC SUPERVISOR for Caguan may be a Marxist, but the clean, well-ordered office is nicely appointed, with a big-screen Sony and leather furniture. The TV's TUNED TO CNN. A photo on the wall depicts him as a younger man wearing guerrilla cammies bearing with an ELC patch and holding an AK-47. A brass nameplate reading "Supervisor" rests on a neat desk, behind which stands the man himself -- a hardened, former guerrilla fighter proud of his position. He's not in cammies now -- his uniform now consists of casual but nice tropical clothing and a fat Rolex. Felix is a subordinate here. He and Gordy stand across the desk as the Supervisor examines Gordy's travel pass. Gordy's nervous about what could appear on the TV in the b.g., but tries not to show it. ELC SUPERVISOR Your passport was stolen. GORDY In Mompos. ELC SUPERVISOR ... Mompos is a shithole. Not like Caguan... Why didn't Armstrong come? GORDY He was arrested in Ecuador. He got drunk and fooled around with a police officer's wife. The Supervisor just looks at him, assessing Gordy's face for signs he's lying. Gordy's expression stays the same. Felix respectfully interjects. It's almost a plea. FELIX (in Spanish) We need to fix the equipment. We have delivery deadlines to meet. (CONTINUED) 68. 177 CONTINUED: 177 A long beat. The ELC Supervisor hands the travel pass back to Gordy. In a hard tone to Felix -- ELC SUPERVISOR (in Spanish) He's your responsibility. Don't let him out of your sight. FELIX Si. Gracias. As Felix leads Gordy away... 178 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER (CAGUAN) - DAY 178 Gordy and Felix pull away from the Supervisor's H.Q. Felix resumes his former tone of command. FELIX The Supervisor made you my responsibility... You don't go anywhere without me, you understand? GORDY No problemo. Gordy peers out the window intently as they drive, looking for a lucky break, looking for The Wolf, searching the face of every man. He doesn't see The Wolf, but what he does see surprises him. The ELC Supervisor was right: Caguan's no Mompos. It's a third- world town, armed troops are visible, and there's a lot of bad shit behind Colombia's revolutionaries, but here the streets are calm and orderly. It's quiet, almost eerie, as people go about their business. OFF Gordy, seeing another side of the guerrillas... 179 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER/COUNTRY ROAD - DAY 179 Felix turns off at the entrance to a lane leading to the plantation. The entrance is guarded by a 4X4 "Rat Patrol" assault truck and four heavily armed ELC guerrillas. GORDY The E.L.C. guards your coffee beans? Felix thinks he's joking. Until he looks over and sees Gordy's actually being sincere. (CONTINUED) 69. 179 CONTINUED: 179 FELIX ... Coffee beans? Shit. Armstrong didn't tell you much... 180 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER - PLANTATION - DAY 180 They approach a hacienda and outbuildings. The accoutrements of agriculture are present -- tractors, sheds, cats, etc. -- but clearly, this is no family farm. There are lots of serious-looking men around. More ELC guerrillas stand guard. 181 FELIX 181 stops the car. He and Gordy get out. Felix begins leading Gordy toward two rows of long, open-walled sheds. FELIX The problem's with the diesel generators. The sons-of-bitches keep breaking down. 182 NEW ANGLE 182 They pass four very large pits, where green leaves steep in a thick, foul-smelling liquid. FELIX We're using portables to keep production going, but they don't supply enough power to the heat lamps, and we have to dry a lot of... 'coffee beans.' 183 ANOTHER ANGLE 183 They're now walking between the two rows of sheds, where portable gas GENERATORS THRUM, and... Gordy can see long, wide platforms inside. Above the platforms are multiple arrays of powerful heat lamps. Spread out and drying beneath them is a half-acre or two of converted cocaine. 184 IN ANOTHER SHED 184 workers pack and wrap one-kilo bricks of coke for shipment. 70. 185 GORDY AND FELIX 185 approach the two giant diesel generators. FELIX We can fix anything, but these keep dying on us... You'll start now. I'll have tools brought to you. (beat) Armstrong's a magician with them. Let's hope you have his skill. Felix walks over to a guerrilla with an AK-47 and speaks to him. Then goes. Whereupon the

mule

How many times the word 'mule' appears in the text?

wire bows against his shin, and... Gordy ducks, covers the Man in the Yankees Cap, and... Nothing happens. The young man just stands there, frozen in position, his leg still bowing the line. (CONTINUED) 48. 117 CONTINUED: 117 Using the Zippo again to light his way, Gordy advances to the young man. He follows the trip wire to where a Coca- Cola can hangs from a nearby tree. On closer inspection, Gordy can see the can is sleeved around a grenade. There's no pin in the grenade. The can keeps the grenade's arming spoon in place. The trip wire's designed to yank the can off, allowing the grenade to explode at chest level... And the can's almost off. Gordy burns through the monofilament trip wire. Then carefully slides the Coke can back over the grenade. 118 MAN IN YANKEES CAP - MOMENTS LATER 118 When Gordy returns, the man's dead. OFF Gordy, looking down at the NY logo on the cap... 119 EXT./INT. ANOTHER CHIVA - DAY 119 Gordy sees a sign for a town as the chiva rumbles along. He pulls out his map. 120 INSERT - MAP 120 Gordy finds the town, which lies along a river. He traces a road from the town. The road runs south through the town of Mompos, and eventually reaches Caguan, the ELC capital. 121 BACK TO SCENE 121 A COLOMBIAN WOMAN is looking over Gordy's shoulder. COLOMBIAN WOMAN No autobusses para este lugar. Solamente el barco en el rio. She leans over, traces the river, which also runs to Caguan. COLOMBIAN WOMAN El rio. 122 EXT. FERRY DOCK - DAY 122 The FERRY'S WHISTLE TOOTS. Lines are cast off. (CONTINUED) 49. 122 CONTINUED: 122 Two plainclothes federales have been watching the ferry load and now relax their vigil. One man holds a Xerox of Gordy's passport photo. The other bites into an empanada, which breaks open and spills its contents down the front of his shirt. His partner finds it funny. He doesn't. And while their attention's occupied... Gordy hurries by, oblivious to the federales' presence, and just manages to hop onto the ferry as it pulls away. 123 EXT. FERRY - DAY 123 The ferry's the only means of travel south, and it's packed. Gordy picks his way through. The only other gringo on the boat is a geek in a plaid shirt and gimme hat that says "Deerborn." The geek, PHILIP ARMSTRONG, looks like a talker, and Gordy tries to avoid eye contact. He's too late. ARMSTRONG Hey, yo, dude, here's a seat, man! GORDY No, that's okay -- But Armstrong's already throwing a bag off the bench. ARMSTRONG I was hoping for someone I could communicate with. He sees Gordy hasn't moved. ARMSTRONG Only room's at the back near the bano, and I'd advise against it, unless you like poop. Beat. Gordy sits. Immediately -- ARMSTRONG Philip Armstrong. Assiniboia, Sasketchewan, Canada. (indicates his hat) Deerborn Heavy Equipment. GORDY ... Gordy Pitt. ARMSTRONG Hey, howya doing? I love Germany. (CONTINUED) 50. 123 CONTINUED: 123 GORDY Austria. American now. ARMSTRONG I love America. Never been to Austria. Where from in America would that be? GORDY New York City. ARMSTRONG I don't like New York City. Buildings're too big. What kinda work you in? GORDY (hesitates, then) Coffee. I buy beans. ARMSTRONG Can't drink caffeine. Makes my stomach do the rumba. I like that commercial guy with the sombrero and the mule, though. Headed upstream, eh? Where to? GORDY Caguan. ARMSTRONG ... You've never been to Caguan, eh? GORDY How do you know? ARMSTRONG 'Cause no one in their right mind would ever go back. Caguan's in the guerrilla zone run by the E.L.C. E.L.C. as in 'Extra Loathsome Communists.' They don't care, and they kill. I'm going there myself. But I have a 'get outta jail free' card. Armstrong doffs his cap, undoes a safety pin securing a card inside the crown. Shows it to Gordy. Sotto -- (CONTINUED) 51. 123 CONTINUED: (2) 123 ARMSTRONG E.L.C. travel pass. I can go anywhere I want. (by way of explanation) Everyone needs equipment fixed. Armstrong carefully returns the card to the hat. And now his voice takes on a noticeably more measured tone -- ARMSTRONG If you don't have one of these, you don't want to be up there, Gordy. Beat. Gordy's contemplating the warning, when his eyes go to a small, sleepy boy standing nearby on the cramped deck, leaning against his father. Gordy reaches over and taps the boy. The boy looks over. Shrinks away at the sight of the large gringo. The father notices and looks at Gordy, who stands, indicates his seat. GORDY Por favor. The father's also apprehensive, doesn't move. GORDY Con mucho gusto. Finally, the father accepts, sits down with the sleepy boy on his lap. Nods his thanks at Gordy, who then gazes down at the son. A kid about Matt's age. Armstrong recognizes the look of a caring dad. ARMSTRONG Got kids, eh? OFF Armstrong, as Gordy walks away... 124 EXT. JUNGLE - DAY 124 Two Colombian armed man wearing guerrilla uniforms bearing a distinctive ELC patch are walking a trail, when the man in front notices something odd. He stops. Leads the other man back a few steps. Looks into the foliage along the trail. Something doesn't seem right. He extends his AK-47. Prods a hump of greenery with the rifle butt, and in a flash... The greenery suddenly transforms into two men wearing face-paint and full-body military camouflage gear and pointing twin cocked-and-locked CAR-15 assault rifles at the heads of the startled guerrillas. 52. 125 EXT. CIA HACIENDA - DAY 125 Brandt stubs a butt as a Colombian SOG group does killer training nearby. Updegraf opens the door. To Brandt -- UPDEGRAF One of Rocha's infiltration teams just radioed in... We got our big break... 126 EXT. FERRY - DAY 126 Gordy stands along the rail looking out at the lush, beautiful countryside sliding past. Armstrong joins him. ARMSTRONG That little kid and I had a nice, long snooze... We're almost to Mompos. (gazing out) Beautiful country. GORDY It better be. A lotta people're dying for it. ARMSTRONG (looks overboard) Y'know, I haven't noticed one darn body floating downstream this whole trip, have you? Gordy doesn't respond. Beat. GORDY I was thinking... Maybe we could travel together into Caguan. You could show me around. ARMSTRONG (shakes his head) Pass is only good for one person, if that's your idea, which I think it is... Besides, I can't risk traveling around up there in the company of a big gringo with a dumb-ass cover story about coffee beans. Gordy looks over. Armstrong smiles back. Beat. (CONTINUED) 53. 126 CONTINUED: 126 GORDY I've got money. I'll buy the pass from you. ARMSTRONG I've worked too hard for it. And you don't have that kind of money on you. GORDY I'll be getting some life insurance money -- ARMSTRONG (shaking his head) It's all cash and carry down here, Gordy. The FERRY WHISTLE TOOTS. ARMSTRONG Mompos... You want to have some fun, we'll hook up later. I always schedule a stopover. To sample the local wares and such. (winks) Life can be what you make it here on the frontier. GORDY No, thanks. ARMSTRONG Gotta get off the boat anyway. Mompos is the last stop. From here into the guerrilla zone you can only travel by panga... If you change your mind, I'll be at the Tropicale later. It's a gringo bar. Just follow the cockroaches. 127 NEW ANGLE 127 They see the beginnings of Mompos. Two 4x4 trucks are parked on the riverbank. Lean, clean-cut men in jeans, tight shirts, cowboy boots and sunglasses lean on the truck and watch the ferry pass. ARMSTRONG Sicarios. Death squads. Avoid those dudes at all costs. 54. 128 SAME SCENE - FEW MOMENTS LATER 128 The ferry pulls up to the dock. The dock street is a culture clash of shanty bars and Amazon Indian traders, of big-wheel SUVs and mule carts. There's a definite air of menace. ARMSTRONG Federales are looking for someone. Gordy follows Armstrong's look to two plain-clothes federales, one fat and one thin, standing near the dock watching the boat pull up. When Gordy glances back, Armstrong is gone. 129 EXT. MOMPOS FERRY DOCK - DAY 129 Gordy disembarks amid the throng of passengers, when the FAT FEDERALE confronts him. FAT FEDERALE Senor Pitt? Gordy looks up in surprise at him and the thin federale backing him up. FAT FEDERALE You'll have to come with us. GORDY Why? FAT FEDERALE Come with us, please. He clamps a hand on Gordy's arm. Gordy shakes it off and starts running. Almost immediately, he's tackled to the ground by the thin federale. Two more federales join in. Gordy's not gonna go down easy, though. Even as only one against four, Gordy's a formidable challenge. He's strong, and he's committed all the way. He's not getting kicked out of this country again. It's not a clean or artful fight. There's no karate. It's four men trying to tackle a bull, and... The bull gets away. 130 EXT./INT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 130 Gordy sprints down streets with the federales in pursuit. 55. 131 GORDY 131 jukes into a local bar. 132 ANOTHER ANGLE 132 Gordy pounds out the back of the bar into a littered courtyard, where he's surrounded by ten-foot walls. 133 FEDERALES 133 blast through the bar. 134 GORDY 134 runs, jumps, launches off a beer keg, and... 135 TOP OF WALL 135 He reaches the top of the wall and pulls himself up. He's looking out across a block-long run of corrugated tin roofs. Takes off across the roofs, each step thundering, as... 136 FEDERALES 136 burst into the courtyard. Two men hastily build a stack of boxes, etc., against the wall. 137 GORDY 137 runs as fast as he can across the rooftops, when... A section of roof gives way beneath his feet, just as... 138 NEW ANGLE 138 One of the federales finally mounts the wall, looks across the rooftops... and Gordy's gone. 139 GORDY 139 lands inside a warehouse room amid sacks of rice, beans and coffee. The building is dark and dusty. He lies still and listens. FOOTSTEPS approach across the tin roof overhead. Gordy burrows into the bags of rice, pulls them over him. 56. 140 FEDERALE 140 on the roof peers down through the hole. Scans the warehouse room below with a mini-Mag-Lite. 141 GORDY 141 sees the flashlight beam move past. He holds his breath. Beat. Then the FOOTSTEPS pass on, RECEDE down the roof. And Gordy can breathe again. 142 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - NIGHT 142 Gordy makes his way along the main drag of the frontier town. A noisy, neon-lit strip of bars and brothels. Everyone's packing a gun. A new Dodge City, where death squad sicarios cruise past in 4x4's BLARING SALSA. 143 INT. TROPICALE - NIGHT 143 In here, the MUSIC'S LOUD ROCK 'N' ROLL. Gringo music for a gringo bar. The place is busy, with plenty of local "hostesses" for the men. Even Armstrong, standing half-crocked at the bar, is flanked by two scantily-clad women. He's got a spoon hanging off his nose. So does one of the girls. Armstrong's trying to hang a spoon on the other. Gordy slips into the bar. Spots Armstrong through the crowd. Sees Armstrong's not wearing his cap, when... The girl with the spoon on her nose turns slightly, revealing she's wearing the cap. It's on backwards, but now Gordy can see the "Deerborn" logo clearly. Gordy wants the guerrilla travel pass inside the cap. It's a desperate move, but he's got no choice. Starts toward the girl, when... Gordy sees the thin federale enter the front door. The thin federale sees him at the same time. Begins moving in on him. Gordy moves faster toward the girl. And... The girl unwittingly does him a favor by taking off the cap and setting it on the bar, where it's easier to grab, and then turns her attention to Armstrong's antics. The thin detective fights through the crowd after Gordy. Gordy's almost to the hat. (CONTINUED) 57. 143 CONTINUED: 143 Armstrong's still having trouble with the second girl's spoon. ARMSTRONG I never met a nose I couldn't hang a spoon on. Gordy reaches the bar, snags the cap. Glances back, sees the thin federale closing in, turns to run out the back, when... A strong hand stops him. The hand belongs to the Fat Federale. And now the thin federale's there, too, wielding a stun gun where Gordy can see it. People in the bar fall silent. Everyone but Armstrong, who's finally hung the spoon on the second girl's nose. ARMSTRONG Yahtzee! And now Armstong also realizes something's up. Turns and sees Gordy. Sees the cap in Gordy's hand as the Fat Federale addresses Gordy -- FAT FEDERALE Come along, Mr. Pitt. Whereupon Armstrong shouts drunkenly at Gordy -- ARMSTRONG Police catch you trying to steal my hat, you asshole?! He staggers toward Gordy. Grabs the hat. ARMSTRONG Fucking hat thief! Armstrong takes a drunken swing at Gordy, but... Instead of hitting Gordy, Armstrong accidentally-on- purpose clocks the fat detective. Then hisses into Gordy's ear, clearly not that drunk -- ARMSTRONG Get outta here -- But then Armstrong's legs won't work as the thin federale jams the stun gun against his neck, and 10,000 volts surprise the Armstrong neural network. Gordy moves against the thin federale in anger, when... The Fat Federale ZAPS him with another STUN GUN, just behind the ear... And Gordy gets to know the floor, too. 58. 144 EXT. MOMPOS JAIL - NIGHT 144 The building's ancient, constructed of wood and adobe. 145 INT. MOMPOS JAIL - CELL - NIGHT 145 The jail might be old, but the cells are secure enough. They're also unsanitary and thoroughly unpleasant. Gordy and Armstrong are led in by the federales. The Fat Federale has Armstrong's hat. He looks it over, wondering why Gordy wanted it. Then decides he could give a fuck and tosses it to Armstrong. Clangs the cell door shut and locks it. Leaves shaking his head. FAT FEDERALE Gringos... Armstrong's still unsteady on his feet and sits down on the metal bunk. ARMSTRONG That stun gun wasn't cool. Armstrong looks down at himself. ARMSTRONG Haven't peed my pants in a real long time. GORDY (beat) You shouldn't have helped me. ARMSTRONG Yeah, well, I guess all these assholes down here are just starting on my nerves. Gordy's silent. It's over. He's come up short. He's going home. ARMSTRONG So what the hell did you do to land us in here? And don't jerk me around, eh? Beat. Gordy sits. GORDY The Wolf killed my wife and son in New York. (CONTINUED) 59. 145 CONTINUED: 145 ARMSTRONG ... Oh, you're that guy, eh? I'm sorry, man... And what, you came down here to even things out? Gordy just looks at him. ARMSTRONG Did you even have a plan? GORDY Yeah. Go to Caguan, find The Wolf and kill him. Armstrong just shakes his head. Beat. 146 DOOR TO CELL AREA 146 BANGS open. Federales lead in two men -- the two guerrillas surprised earlier by the heavy-camouflaged infiltrators. The federales are armed with batons and stun guns, taking no chances. It's clear the rebels weren't brought here without a struggle, either -- both are cut and bruised. The tougher-looking of the two has taken a real beating. This beaten man is jammed face- first against the bars of Gordy's cell. He makes eye contact with Gordy while the other rebel is unbound and put into a cell. Then the beaten man is shoved into the cell. A solid, brick wall separates them from Gordy and Armstrong. Armstrong's seen the patches on their uniforms. To Gordy, sotto -- ARMSTRONG E.L.C. Beat. Armstrong sees the look on Gordy's face. By way of a warning -- ARMSTRONG If you can't kill them, don't even talk to them. The GUERRILLAS are MURMURING in the other cell. One of them LAUGHS. OFF Gordy, listening to the LAUGHING... 147 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL - NIGHT 147 Two or three A.M. Armstrong's dozing. Gordy's still listening to the MURMURING of the REBELS on the other side of the wall, when... (CONTINUED) 60. 147 CONTINUED: 147 There's a flurry of activity outside the cell area. The door opens. Soldiers enter with some federales. Gordy watches the soldiers move past his cell. Rocha is with them. And then... Brandt appears at the bars, looks in at Gordy. BRANDT Enjoy your trip? Gordy stands, approaches. BRANDT We asked you to leave it to us. GORDY And you guys still haven't got him. BRANDT It's not over yet... The guys next door are in The Wolf's elite bodyguard unit. Where he goes, they go. We're gonna ask questions. And we're gonna get answers... And you're staying right here till our bomber's dead. Brandt goes. Moments later, a TORTURED SCREAM is heard on the other side of the brick wall, waking Armstrong with a start. 148 EXT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - NIGHT 148 In a field near Mompos, a canopied truck backs into position. Men in guerrilla uniforms with ELC patches get out and pull back the canopy, revealing mortar tubes pointing skyward on a bed of sand. 149 ELC GUERRILLA 149 unit armed with AK-47s and Light Anti-Tank Weapons (LAWs) infiltrates the town. 150 ANOTHER TWO-MAN ELC GUERRILLA TEAM 150 sets up a single mortar position overlooking the town. One of the men checks his watch. Beat. He signals. The other man drops a MORTAR down the tube. WHUMP. 61. 151 TWO MORTARS 151 go in the tubes on the truck. WHUMP, WHUMP. 152 ANOTHER ANGLE 152 BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! A water tower, the Mompos fire station and the town's power supply are direct hits. WHUMP, WHUMP, WHUMP... 153 INT. JAIL - CELLS 153 People react to the sounds of the MORTAR ATTACK on the town. The lights go out. Brandt, Rocha and their men quickly lock the guerrillas in their cell and head out. 154 EXT. JAIL 154 As MORTARS CONTINUE to fall on the rest of the town, the unit of guerrilla infiltrators open up on the front of the jail with LAW ROCKETS. 155 EXT./INT. JAIL 155 KA-BOOM! The front door and wall of the jail disintegrate under the multiple LAW attack. 156 NEW ANGLE 156 Brandt, Rocha and the soldiers, approaching the front door inside, are hammered by the massive concussion of the BLAST and flung across the room, apparently dead. 157 ANOTHER ANGLE 157 The powerful, concussive shock-wave channels into the cell area. Gordy's slightly protected by a wall. Armstrong, standing at the bars, is thrown into the opposite wall and knocked unconscious. 158 GUERRILLAS 158 charge inside with AKs BLAZING. Surviving soldiers and federales SHOOT back. The blasts have caused fires in the building. Severed wires spark, creating more fire. Flames begin to spread through the tinder-dry structure. (CONTINUED) 62. 158 CONTINUED: 158 The guerrillas take out the soldiers and federales, with few casualties to themselves. They make their way toward the cell area. EXPLODING AMMO and stored FUEL CANS accelerate the fire. 159 NEW ANGLE 159 The guerrillas reach the cells. Two men see Gordy and draw down on him. The others move to the next cell. Guerrillas plant small explosive charges on the hinges of the cell containing their two captured comrades. Beat. The HINGES BLOW. The beaten man and the rebel with him are freed, and the guerrillas quickly retreat the way they came. Gordy sees flames spreading into the cell area. 160 GUERRILLAS 160 exit the fiery jail past Brandt. We see Brandt's not dead. 161 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - OUTSIDE JAIL 161 A truck pulls up. The guerrillas get in. The TRUCK SCREECHES OUT as... 162 4X4 162 full of sicarios SKIDS onto the street, far ahead of the truck. The sicario driving punches it, and... 163 TWO TRUCKS 163 ROAR toward each other. A game of chicken. With GUNS. Men in both vehicles OPEN UP -- the sicarios with magnums and Uzis, the guerrillas with AKs. SLUGS RIP through automotive steel. Casualties are taken. When... 164 SICARIO 164 driving the 4x4 receives a round in the forehead, cranks over the steering wheel, and... 63. 165 SPEEDING 4X4 165 does a Paris-to-Dakar road rally flip, twisting and somersaulting, and... 166 NEW ANGLE 166 The 4x4 catapults completely over the guerrillas' truck, disintegrating into spare parts and dead occupants, as... 167 GUERRILLAS 167 ROAR off. 168 EXT./INT. JAIL 168 A severely-dazed Brandt, bleeding from the nose and ears, slowly gets to his knees, crawls out of the burning building and collapses outside. 169 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL 169 There's fire and smoke everywhere. Gordy picks up the metal bunk and slams it against a wall. Slams it again. Breaks the metal apart. Then levers a long side rail in the cell door. He heaves. Heaves again. The fire's licking at him, but Gordy's undeterred. He heaves again, and... This time, the door gives. Gordy picks up Armstrong's cap, then picks up Armstrong, who's starting to come around. Puts Armstrong over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. GORDY Don't breathe. ARMSTRONG (weakly) You're not running through the fire, eh? GORDY Close your mouth. Because running through the fire is just what Gordy's gonna do. As he disappears into the flames... 170 EXT. JAIL - NIGHT 170 The town's in complete chaos. There are fires everywhere. (CONTINUED) 64. 170 CONTINUED: 170 Still stunned and bleeding, Brandt looks from where he lies on the ground as... Gordy bursts out of the inferno carrying Armstrong. They're singed and smoking, but they're alive. Gordy drops Armstrong, pats himself and Armstrong down, knocking out the burning embers on their clothes and hair, when... Gordy's eyes meet Brandt's. The two men hold the look for a moment. If Brandt could speak, he'd be yelling at Gordy to stop, not to go on. And Gordy knows it. But Gordy's not stopping. Picks up Armstrong again and moves off toward the waterfront. 171 EXT. MOMPOS WATERFRONT - NIGHT 171 There's less chaos here. The fires are in the distance. Gordy arrives carrying Armstrong. Sets him down. GORDY I'll find a boat to take us upriver. He starts to go. Armstrong stops him. ARMSTRONG No. I told you. The pass is only good for one person. And you're too dangerous to travel with. Beat. Gordy reaches over and takes Armstrong's cap. He looks inside. There's no pass. ARMSTRONG It hasn't been there since we landed. Gordy's at a loss. He tosses the cap back. Just looks at Armstrong. Beat. Armstrong sighs. ARMSTRONG Aw, hell... I was through with this place anyway... He takes off a boot. Shakes out some money and the pass. He hands the pass to Gordy. (CONTINUED) 65. 171 CONTINUED: 171 ARMSTRONG I'll call ahead and tell Felix I'm not coming, and you're my replacement. He'll meet you in Caguan and take you to the plantation... What do you know about diesel engines? GORDY All the fire trucks are diesels. ARMSTRONG You'll have to be Austrian, eh? They hate Americans. Name's gotta change, too, in case they're watching the news. (beat) It'll buy you a little time to look around Caguan. But you'll never find The Wolf. Beat. Gordy sticks out his hand. GORDY Heinrich Beckmann. ARMSTRONG Huh? GORDY My Austrian name. Armstrong shakes hands with Gordy. Armstrong doesn't let loose right away. Beat. ARMSTRONG Luck got you this far. But up there, luck doesn't make it. I hope you know you're gonna die. OFF Gordy, about to step over another line... 172 EXT. RIVER - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 172 As dawn breaks over the river, FIND Gordy sitting in a motored panga being steered by a local BOATMAN. Gordy reaches into a pocket and pulls out the photo of Anne and Matt. He looks at it for a few moments. Then pockets it again. 173 SAME SCENE - LATER 173 The panga passes a dead body floating downstream. 66. 174 SAME SCENE - LATER 174 The panga passes revolutionary banners and signs lining the riverbank. BOATMAN La zona guerrillera. 175 SAME SCENE - MOMENTS LATER 175 The panga rounds a bend, and... Two souped-up bass boats filled with heavily-armed ELC guerrillas move to intercept it. The Boatman slows, puts the panga in neutral and keeps his hands in sight. One boat of guerrillas pulls alongside. The other sheers off and stops a short distance away, ready to open fire. Gordy shows the guerrillas his travel pass. One of them takes it. Reads. Looks Gordy over. Then starts to rip the pass in half, when... He stops. Grins. It's a big joke. He hands back the pass, searches the boat quickly and waves the panga on. OFF Gordy's relief as the panga heads on... 176 EXT. CAGUAN TOWN DOCK - DAY 176 The panga arrives, and Gordy gets out. He's met by FELIX. Felix has a 9mm in a shoulder holster. Felix doesn't look the least bit happy. FELIX Beckmann. GORDY Yeah. FELIX Come with me. Felix leads him towards a Land Cruiser. FELIX Armstrong should have called sooner. We don't like changes here... If I didn't need the equipment fixed, I'd send you back. (CONTINUED) 67. 176 CONTINUED: 176 They reach the Land Cruiser. FELIX But now we have to see the E.L.C. Supervisor for Caguan. It's a prospect that seems to concern Felix almost as much as Gordy. Off which, as they get into the Toyota... 177 INT. ELC SUPERVISOR'S OFFICE - DAY 177 The ELC SUPERVISOR for Caguan may be a Marxist, but the clean, well-ordered office is nicely appointed, with a big-screen Sony and leather furniture. The TV's TUNED TO CNN. A photo on the wall depicts him as a younger man wearing guerrilla cammies bearing with an ELC patch and holding an AK-47. A brass nameplate reading "Supervisor" rests on a neat desk, behind which stands the man himself -- a hardened, former guerrilla fighter proud of his position. He's not in cammies now -- his uniform now consists of casual but nice tropical clothing and a fat Rolex. Felix is a subordinate here. He and Gordy stand across the desk as the Supervisor examines Gordy's travel pass. Gordy's nervous about what could appear on the TV in the b.g., but tries not to show it. ELC SUPERVISOR Your passport was stolen. GORDY In Mompos. ELC SUPERVISOR ... Mompos is a shithole. Not like Caguan... Why didn't Armstrong come? GORDY He was arrested in Ecuador. He got drunk and fooled around with a police officer's wife. The Supervisor just looks at him, assessing Gordy's face for signs he's lying. Gordy's expression stays the same. Felix respectfully interjects. It's almost a plea. FELIX (in Spanish) We need to fix the equipment. We have delivery deadlines to meet. (CONTINUED) 68. 177 CONTINUED: 177 A long beat. The ELC Supervisor hands the travel pass back to Gordy. In a hard tone to Felix -- ELC SUPERVISOR (in Spanish) He's your responsibility. Don't let him out of your sight. FELIX Si. Gracias. As Felix leads Gordy away... 178 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER (CAGUAN) - DAY 178 Gordy and Felix pull away from the Supervisor's H.Q. Felix resumes his former tone of command. FELIX The Supervisor made you my responsibility... You don't go anywhere without me, you understand? GORDY No problemo. Gordy peers out the window intently as they drive, looking for a lucky break, looking for The Wolf, searching the face of every man. He doesn't see The Wolf, but what he does see surprises him. The ELC Supervisor was right: Caguan's no Mompos. It's a third- world town, armed troops are visible, and there's a lot of bad shit behind Colombia's revolutionaries, but here the streets are calm and orderly. It's quiet, almost eerie, as people go about their business. OFF Gordy, seeing another side of the guerrillas... 179 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER/COUNTRY ROAD - DAY 179 Felix turns off at the entrance to a lane leading to the plantation. The entrance is guarded by a 4X4 "Rat Patrol" assault truck and four heavily armed ELC guerrillas. GORDY The E.L.C. guards your coffee beans? Felix thinks he's joking. Until he looks over and sees Gordy's actually being sincere. (CONTINUED) 69. 179 CONTINUED: 179 FELIX ... Coffee beans? Shit. Armstrong didn't tell you much... 180 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER - PLANTATION - DAY 180 They approach a hacienda and outbuildings. The accoutrements of agriculture are present -- tractors, sheds, cats, etc. -- but clearly, this is no family farm. There are lots of serious-looking men around. More ELC guerrillas stand guard. 181 FELIX 181 stops the car. He and Gordy get out. Felix begins leading Gordy toward two rows of long, open-walled sheds. FELIX The problem's with the diesel generators. The sons-of-bitches keep breaking down. 182 NEW ANGLE 182 They pass four very large pits, where green leaves steep in a thick, foul-smelling liquid. FELIX We're using portables to keep production going, but they don't supply enough power to the heat lamps, and we have to dry a lot of... 'coffee beans.' 183 ANOTHER ANGLE 183 They're now walking between the two rows of sheds, where portable gas GENERATORS THRUM, and... Gordy can see long, wide platforms inside. Above the platforms are multiple arrays of powerful heat lamps. Spread out and drying beneath them is a half-acre or two of converted cocaine. 184 IN ANOTHER SHED 184 workers pack and wrap one-kilo bricks of coke for shipment. 70. 185 GORDY AND FELIX 185 approach the two giant diesel generators. FELIX We can fix anything, but these keep dying on us... You'll start now. I'll have tools brought to you. (beat) Armstrong's a magician with them. Let's hope you have his skill. Felix walks over to a guerrilla with an AK-47 and speaks to him. Then goes. Whereupon the

uzis

How many times the word 'uzis' appears in the text?

wire bows against his shin, and... Gordy ducks, covers the Man in the Yankees Cap, and... Nothing happens. The young man just stands there, frozen in position, his leg still bowing the line. (CONTINUED) 48. 117 CONTINUED: 117 Using the Zippo again to light his way, Gordy advances to the young man. He follows the trip wire to where a Coca- Cola can hangs from a nearby tree. On closer inspection, Gordy can see the can is sleeved around a grenade. There's no pin in the grenade. The can keeps the grenade's arming spoon in place. The trip wire's designed to yank the can off, allowing the grenade to explode at chest level... And the can's almost off. Gordy burns through the monofilament trip wire. Then carefully slides the Coke can back over the grenade. 118 MAN IN YANKEES CAP - MOMENTS LATER 118 When Gordy returns, the man's dead. OFF Gordy, looking down at the NY logo on the cap... 119 EXT./INT. ANOTHER CHIVA - DAY 119 Gordy sees a sign for a town as the chiva rumbles along. He pulls out his map. 120 INSERT - MAP 120 Gordy finds the town, which lies along a river. He traces a road from the town. The road runs south through the town of Mompos, and eventually reaches Caguan, the ELC capital. 121 BACK TO SCENE 121 A COLOMBIAN WOMAN is looking over Gordy's shoulder. COLOMBIAN WOMAN No autobusses para este lugar. Solamente el barco en el rio. She leans over, traces the river, which also runs to Caguan. COLOMBIAN WOMAN El rio. 122 EXT. FERRY DOCK - DAY 122 The FERRY'S WHISTLE TOOTS. Lines are cast off. (CONTINUED) 49. 122 CONTINUED: 122 Two plainclothes federales have been watching the ferry load and now relax their vigil. One man holds a Xerox of Gordy's passport photo. The other bites into an empanada, which breaks open and spills its contents down the front of his shirt. His partner finds it funny. He doesn't. And while their attention's occupied... Gordy hurries by, oblivious to the federales' presence, and just manages to hop onto the ferry as it pulls away. 123 EXT. FERRY - DAY 123 The ferry's the only means of travel south, and it's packed. Gordy picks his way through. The only other gringo on the boat is a geek in a plaid shirt and gimme hat that says "Deerborn." The geek, PHILIP ARMSTRONG, looks like a talker, and Gordy tries to avoid eye contact. He's too late. ARMSTRONG Hey, yo, dude, here's a seat, man! GORDY No, that's okay -- But Armstrong's already throwing a bag off the bench. ARMSTRONG I was hoping for someone I could communicate with. He sees Gordy hasn't moved. ARMSTRONG Only room's at the back near the bano, and I'd advise against it, unless you like poop. Beat. Gordy sits. Immediately -- ARMSTRONG Philip Armstrong. Assiniboia, Sasketchewan, Canada. (indicates his hat) Deerborn Heavy Equipment. GORDY ... Gordy Pitt. ARMSTRONG Hey, howya doing? I love Germany. (CONTINUED) 50. 123 CONTINUED: 123 GORDY Austria. American now. ARMSTRONG I love America. Never been to Austria. Where from in America would that be? GORDY New York City. ARMSTRONG I don't like New York City. Buildings're too big. What kinda work you in? GORDY (hesitates, then) Coffee. I buy beans. ARMSTRONG Can't drink caffeine. Makes my stomach do the rumba. I like that commercial guy with the sombrero and the mule, though. Headed upstream, eh? Where to? GORDY Caguan. ARMSTRONG ... You've never been to Caguan, eh? GORDY How do you know? ARMSTRONG 'Cause no one in their right mind would ever go back. Caguan's in the guerrilla zone run by the E.L.C. E.L.C. as in 'Extra Loathsome Communists.' They don't care, and they kill. I'm going there myself. But I have a 'get outta jail free' card. Armstrong doffs his cap, undoes a safety pin securing a card inside the crown. Shows it to Gordy. Sotto -- (CONTINUED) 51. 123 CONTINUED: (2) 123 ARMSTRONG E.L.C. travel pass. I can go anywhere I want. (by way of explanation) Everyone needs equipment fixed. Armstrong carefully returns the card to the hat. And now his voice takes on a noticeably more measured tone -- ARMSTRONG If you don't have one of these, you don't want to be up there, Gordy. Beat. Gordy's contemplating the warning, when his eyes go to a small, sleepy boy standing nearby on the cramped deck, leaning against his father. Gordy reaches over and taps the boy. The boy looks over. Shrinks away at the sight of the large gringo. The father notices and looks at Gordy, who stands, indicates his seat. GORDY Por favor. The father's also apprehensive, doesn't move. GORDY Con mucho gusto. Finally, the father accepts, sits down with the sleepy boy on his lap. Nods his thanks at Gordy, who then gazes down at the son. A kid about Matt's age. Armstrong recognizes the look of a caring dad. ARMSTRONG Got kids, eh? OFF Armstrong, as Gordy walks away... 124 EXT. JUNGLE - DAY 124 Two Colombian armed man wearing guerrilla uniforms bearing a distinctive ELC patch are walking a trail, when the man in front notices something odd. He stops. Leads the other man back a few steps. Looks into the foliage along the trail. Something doesn't seem right. He extends his AK-47. Prods a hump of greenery with the rifle butt, and in a flash... The greenery suddenly transforms into two men wearing face-paint and full-body military camouflage gear and pointing twin cocked-and-locked CAR-15 assault rifles at the heads of the startled guerrillas. 52. 125 EXT. CIA HACIENDA - DAY 125 Brandt stubs a butt as a Colombian SOG group does killer training nearby. Updegraf opens the door. To Brandt -- UPDEGRAF One of Rocha's infiltration teams just radioed in... We got our big break... 126 EXT. FERRY - DAY 126 Gordy stands along the rail looking out at the lush, beautiful countryside sliding past. Armstrong joins him. ARMSTRONG That little kid and I had a nice, long snooze... We're almost to Mompos. (gazing out) Beautiful country. GORDY It better be. A lotta people're dying for it. ARMSTRONG (looks overboard) Y'know, I haven't noticed one darn body floating downstream this whole trip, have you? Gordy doesn't respond. Beat. GORDY I was thinking... Maybe we could travel together into Caguan. You could show me around. ARMSTRONG (shakes his head) Pass is only good for one person, if that's your idea, which I think it is... Besides, I can't risk traveling around up there in the company of a big gringo with a dumb-ass cover story about coffee beans. Gordy looks over. Armstrong smiles back. Beat. (CONTINUED) 53. 126 CONTINUED: 126 GORDY I've got money. I'll buy the pass from you. ARMSTRONG I've worked too hard for it. And you don't have that kind of money on you. GORDY I'll be getting some life insurance money -- ARMSTRONG (shaking his head) It's all cash and carry down here, Gordy. The FERRY WHISTLE TOOTS. ARMSTRONG Mompos... You want to have some fun, we'll hook up later. I always schedule a stopover. To sample the local wares and such. (winks) Life can be what you make it here on the frontier. GORDY No, thanks. ARMSTRONG Gotta get off the boat anyway. Mompos is the last stop. From here into the guerrilla zone you can only travel by panga... If you change your mind, I'll be at the Tropicale later. It's a gringo bar. Just follow the cockroaches. 127 NEW ANGLE 127 They see the beginnings of Mompos. Two 4x4 trucks are parked on the riverbank. Lean, clean-cut men in jeans, tight shirts, cowboy boots and sunglasses lean on the truck and watch the ferry pass. ARMSTRONG Sicarios. Death squads. Avoid those dudes at all costs. 54. 128 SAME SCENE - FEW MOMENTS LATER 128 The ferry pulls up to the dock. The dock street is a culture clash of shanty bars and Amazon Indian traders, of big-wheel SUVs and mule carts. There's a definite air of menace. ARMSTRONG Federales are looking for someone. Gordy follows Armstrong's look to two plain-clothes federales, one fat and one thin, standing near the dock watching the boat pull up. When Gordy glances back, Armstrong is gone. 129 EXT. MOMPOS FERRY DOCK - DAY 129 Gordy disembarks amid the throng of passengers, when the FAT FEDERALE confronts him. FAT FEDERALE Senor Pitt? Gordy looks up in surprise at him and the thin federale backing him up. FAT FEDERALE You'll have to come with us. GORDY Why? FAT FEDERALE Come with us, please. He clamps a hand on Gordy's arm. Gordy shakes it off and starts running. Almost immediately, he's tackled to the ground by the thin federale. Two more federales join in. Gordy's not gonna go down easy, though. Even as only one against four, Gordy's a formidable challenge. He's strong, and he's committed all the way. He's not getting kicked out of this country again. It's not a clean or artful fight. There's no karate. It's four men trying to tackle a bull, and... The bull gets away. 130 EXT./INT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 130 Gordy sprints down streets with the federales in pursuit. 55. 131 GORDY 131 jukes into a local bar. 132 ANOTHER ANGLE 132 Gordy pounds out the back of the bar into a littered courtyard, where he's surrounded by ten-foot walls. 133 FEDERALES 133 blast through the bar. 134 GORDY 134 runs, jumps, launches off a beer keg, and... 135 TOP OF WALL 135 He reaches the top of the wall and pulls himself up. He's looking out across a block-long run of corrugated tin roofs. Takes off across the roofs, each step thundering, as... 136 FEDERALES 136 burst into the courtyard. Two men hastily build a stack of boxes, etc., against the wall. 137 GORDY 137 runs as fast as he can across the rooftops, when... A section of roof gives way beneath his feet, just as... 138 NEW ANGLE 138 One of the federales finally mounts the wall, looks across the rooftops... and Gordy's gone. 139 GORDY 139 lands inside a warehouse room amid sacks of rice, beans and coffee. The building is dark and dusty. He lies still and listens. FOOTSTEPS approach across the tin roof overhead. Gordy burrows into the bags of rice, pulls them over him. 56. 140 FEDERALE 140 on the roof peers down through the hole. Scans the warehouse room below with a mini-Mag-Lite. 141 GORDY 141 sees the flashlight beam move past. He holds his breath. Beat. Then the FOOTSTEPS pass on, RECEDE down the roof. And Gordy can breathe again. 142 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - NIGHT 142 Gordy makes his way along the main drag of the frontier town. A noisy, neon-lit strip of bars and brothels. Everyone's packing a gun. A new Dodge City, where death squad sicarios cruise past in 4x4's BLARING SALSA. 143 INT. TROPICALE - NIGHT 143 In here, the MUSIC'S LOUD ROCK 'N' ROLL. Gringo music for a gringo bar. The place is busy, with plenty of local "hostesses" for the men. Even Armstrong, standing half-crocked at the bar, is flanked by two scantily-clad women. He's got a spoon hanging off his nose. So does one of the girls. Armstrong's trying to hang a spoon on the other. Gordy slips into the bar. Spots Armstrong through the crowd. Sees Armstrong's not wearing his cap, when... The girl with the spoon on her nose turns slightly, revealing she's wearing the cap. It's on backwards, but now Gordy can see the "Deerborn" logo clearly. Gordy wants the guerrilla travel pass inside the cap. It's a desperate move, but he's got no choice. Starts toward the girl, when... Gordy sees the thin federale enter the front door. The thin federale sees him at the same time. Begins moving in on him. Gordy moves faster toward the girl. And... The girl unwittingly does him a favor by taking off the cap and setting it on the bar, where it's easier to grab, and then turns her attention to Armstrong's antics. The thin detective fights through the crowd after Gordy. Gordy's almost to the hat. (CONTINUED) 57. 143 CONTINUED: 143 Armstrong's still having trouble with the second girl's spoon. ARMSTRONG I never met a nose I couldn't hang a spoon on. Gordy reaches the bar, snags the cap. Glances back, sees the thin federale closing in, turns to run out the back, when... A strong hand stops him. The hand belongs to the Fat Federale. And now the thin federale's there, too, wielding a stun gun where Gordy can see it. People in the bar fall silent. Everyone but Armstrong, who's finally hung the spoon on the second girl's nose. ARMSTRONG Yahtzee! And now Armstong also realizes something's up. Turns and sees Gordy. Sees the cap in Gordy's hand as the Fat Federale addresses Gordy -- FAT FEDERALE Come along, Mr. Pitt. Whereupon Armstrong shouts drunkenly at Gordy -- ARMSTRONG Police catch you trying to steal my hat, you asshole?! He staggers toward Gordy. Grabs the hat. ARMSTRONG Fucking hat thief! Armstrong takes a drunken swing at Gordy, but... Instead of hitting Gordy, Armstrong accidentally-on- purpose clocks the fat detective. Then hisses into Gordy's ear, clearly not that drunk -- ARMSTRONG Get outta here -- But then Armstrong's legs won't work as the thin federale jams the stun gun against his neck, and 10,000 volts surprise the Armstrong neural network. Gordy moves against the thin federale in anger, when... The Fat Federale ZAPS him with another STUN GUN, just behind the ear... And Gordy gets to know the floor, too. 58. 144 EXT. MOMPOS JAIL - NIGHT 144 The building's ancient, constructed of wood and adobe. 145 INT. MOMPOS JAIL - CELL - NIGHT 145 The jail might be old, but the cells are secure enough. They're also unsanitary and thoroughly unpleasant. Gordy and Armstrong are led in by the federales. The Fat Federale has Armstrong's hat. He looks it over, wondering why Gordy wanted it. Then decides he could give a fuck and tosses it to Armstrong. Clangs the cell door shut and locks it. Leaves shaking his head. FAT FEDERALE Gringos... Armstrong's still unsteady on his feet and sits down on the metal bunk. ARMSTRONG That stun gun wasn't cool. Armstrong looks down at himself. ARMSTRONG Haven't peed my pants in a real long time. GORDY (beat) You shouldn't have helped me. ARMSTRONG Yeah, well, I guess all these assholes down here are just starting on my nerves. Gordy's silent. It's over. He's come up short. He's going home. ARMSTRONG So what the hell did you do to land us in here? And don't jerk me around, eh? Beat. Gordy sits. GORDY The Wolf killed my wife and son in New York. (CONTINUED) 59. 145 CONTINUED: 145 ARMSTRONG ... Oh, you're that guy, eh? I'm sorry, man... And what, you came down here to even things out? Gordy just looks at him. ARMSTRONG Did you even have a plan? GORDY Yeah. Go to Caguan, find The Wolf and kill him. Armstrong just shakes his head. Beat. 146 DOOR TO CELL AREA 146 BANGS open. Federales lead in two men -- the two guerrillas surprised earlier by the heavy-camouflaged infiltrators. The federales are armed with batons and stun guns, taking no chances. It's clear the rebels weren't brought here without a struggle, either -- both are cut and bruised. The tougher-looking of the two has taken a real beating. This beaten man is jammed face- first against the bars of Gordy's cell. He makes eye contact with Gordy while the other rebel is unbound and put into a cell. Then the beaten man is shoved into the cell. A solid, brick wall separates them from Gordy and Armstrong. Armstrong's seen the patches on their uniforms. To Gordy, sotto -- ARMSTRONG E.L.C. Beat. Armstrong sees the look on Gordy's face. By way of a warning -- ARMSTRONG If you can't kill them, don't even talk to them. The GUERRILLAS are MURMURING in the other cell. One of them LAUGHS. OFF Gordy, listening to the LAUGHING... 147 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL - NIGHT 147 Two or three A.M. Armstrong's dozing. Gordy's still listening to the MURMURING of the REBELS on the other side of the wall, when... (CONTINUED) 60. 147 CONTINUED: 147 There's a flurry of activity outside the cell area. The door opens. Soldiers enter with some federales. Gordy watches the soldiers move past his cell. Rocha is with them. And then... Brandt appears at the bars, looks in at Gordy. BRANDT Enjoy your trip? Gordy stands, approaches. BRANDT We asked you to leave it to us. GORDY And you guys still haven't got him. BRANDT It's not over yet... The guys next door are in The Wolf's elite bodyguard unit. Where he goes, they go. We're gonna ask questions. And we're gonna get answers... And you're staying right here till our bomber's dead. Brandt goes. Moments later, a TORTURED SCREAM is heard on the other side of the brick wall, waking Armstrong with a start. 148 EXT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - NIGHT 148 In a field near Mompos, a canopied truck backs into position. Men in guerrilla uniforms with ELC patches get out and pull back the canopy, revealing mortar tubes pointing skyward on a bed of sand. 149 ELC GUERRILLA 149 unit armed with AK-47s and Light Anti-Tank Weapons (LAWs) infiltrates the town. 150 ANOTHER TWO-MAN ELC GUERRILLA TEAM 150 sets up a single mortar position overlooking the town. One of the men checks his watch. Beat. He signals. The other man drops a MORTAR down the tube. WHUMP. 61. 151 TWO MORTARS 151 go in the tubes on the truck. WHUMP, WHUMP. 152 ANOTHER ANGLE 152 BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! A water tower, the Mompos fire station and the town's power supply are direct hits. WHUMP, WHUMP, WHUMP... 153 INT. JAIL - CELLS 153 People react to the sounds of the MORTAR ATTACK on the town. The lights go out. Brandt, Rocha and their men quickly lock the guerrillas in their cell and head out. 154 EXT. JAIL 154 As MORTARS CONTINUE to fall on the rest of the town, the unit of guerrilla infiltrators open up on the front of the jail with LAW ROCKETS. 155 EXT./INT. JAIL 155 KA-BOOM! The front door and wall of the jail disintegrate under the multiple LAW attack. 156 NEW ANGLE 156 Brandt, Rocha and the soldiers, approaching the front door inside, are hammered by the massive concussion of the BLAST and flung across the room, apparently dead. 157 ANOTHER ANGLE 157 The powerful, concussive shock-wave channels into the cell area. Gordy's slightly protected by a wall. Armstrong, standing at the bars, is thrown into the opposite wall and knocked unconscious. 158 GUERRILLAS 158 charge inside with AKs BLAZING. Surviving soldiers and federales SHOOT back. The blasts have caused fires in the building. Severed wires spark, creating more fire. Flames begin to spread through the tinder-dry structure. (CONTINUED) 62. 158 CONTINUED: 158 The guerrillas take out the soldiers and federales, with few casualties to themselves. They make their way toward the cell area. EXPLODING AMMO and stored FUEL CANS accelerate the fire. 159 NEW ANGLE 159 The guerrillas reach the cells. Two men see Gordy and draw down on him. The others move to the next cell. Guerrillas plant small explosive charges on the hinges of the cell containing their two captured comrades. Beat. The HINGES BLOW. The beaten man and the rebel with him are freed, and the guerrillas quickly retreat the way they came. Gordy sees flames spreading into the cell area. 160 GUERRILLAS 160 exit the fiery jail past Brandt. We see Brandt's not dead. 161 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - OUTSIDE JAIL 161 A truck pulls up. The guerrillas get in. The TRUCK SCREECHES OUT as... 162 4X4 162 full of sicarios SKIDS onto the street, far ahead of the truck. The sicario driving punches it, and... 163 TWO TRUCKS 163 ROAR toward each other. A game of chicken. With GUNS. Men in both vehicles OPEN UP -- the sicarios with magnums and Uzis, the guerrillas with AKs. SLUGS RIP through automotive steel. Casualties are taken. When... 164 SICARIO 164 driving the 4x4 receives a round in the forehead, cranks over the steering wheel, and... 63. 165 SPEEDING 4X4 165 does a Paris-to-Dakar road rally flip, twisting and somersaulting, and... 166 NEW ANGLE 166 The 4x4 catapults completely over the guerrillas' truck, disintegrating into spare parts and dead occupants, as... 167 GUERRILLAS 167 ROAR off. 168 EXT./INT. JAIL 168 A severely-dazed Brandt, bleeding from the nose and ears, slowly gets to his knees, crawls out of the burning building and collapses outside. 169 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL 169 There's fire and smoke everywhere. Gordy picks up the metal bunk and slams it against a wall. Slams it again. Breaks the metal apart. Then levers a long side rail in the cell door. He heaves. Heaves again. The fire's licking at him, but Gordy's undeterred. He heaves again, and... This time, the door gives. Gordy picks up Armstrong's cap, then picks up Armstrong, who's starting to come around. Puts Armstrong over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. GORDY Don't breathe. ARMSTRONG (weakly) You're not running through the fire, eh? GORDY Close your mouth. Because running through the fire is just what Gordy's gonna do. As he disappears into the flames... 170 EXT. JAIL - NIGHT 170 The town's in complete chaos. There are fires everywhere. (CONTINUED) 64. 170 CONTINUED: 170 Still stunned and bleeding, Brandt looks from where he lies on the ground as... Gordy bursts out of the inferno carrying Armstrong. They're singed and smoking, but they're alive. Gordy drops Armstrong, pats himself and Armstrong down, knocking out the burning embers on their clothes and hair, when... Gordy's eyes meet Brandt's. The two men hold the look for a moment. If Brandt could speak, he'd be yelling at Gordy to stop, not to go on. And Gordy knows it. But Gordy's not stopping. Picks up Armstrong again and moves off toward the waterfront. 171 EXT. MOMPOS WATERFRONT - NIGHT 171 There's less chaos here. The fires are in the distance. Gordy arrives carrying Armstrong. Sets him down. GORDY I'll find a boat to take us upriver. He starts to go. Armstrong stops him. ARMSTRONG No. I told you. The pass is only good for one person. And you're too dangerous to travel with. Beat. Gordy reaches over and takes Armstrong's cap. He looks inside. There's no pass. ARMSTRONG It hasn't been there since we landed. Gordy's at a loss. He tosses the cap back. Just looks at Armstrong. Beat. Armstrong sighs. ARMSTRONG Aw, hell... I was through with this place anyway... He takes off a boot. Shakes out some money and the pass. He hands the pass to Gordy. (CONTINUED) 65. 171 CONTINUED: 171 ARMSTRONG I'll call ahead and tell Felix I'm not coming, and you're my replacement. He'll meet you in Caguan and take you to the plantation... What do you know about diesel engines? GORDY All the fire trucks are diesels. ARMSTRONG You'll have to be Austrian, eh? They hate Americans. Name's gotta change, too, in case they're watching the news. (beat) It'll buy you a little time to look around Caguan. But you'll never find The Wolf. Beat. Gordy sticks out his hand. GORDY Heinrich Beckmann. ARMSTRONG Huh? GORDY My Austrian name. Armstrong shakes hands with Gordy. Armstrong doesn't let loose right away. Beat. ARMSTRONG Luck got you this far. But up there, luck doesn't make it. I hope you know you're gonna die. OFF Gordy, about to step over another line... 172 EXT. RIVER - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 172 As dawn breaks over the river, FIND Gordy sitting in a motored panga being steered by a local BOATMAN. Gordy reaches into a pocket and pulls out the photo of Anne and Matt. He looks at it for a few moments. Then pockets it again. 173 SAME SCENE - LATER 173 The panga passes a dead body floating downstream. 66. 174 SAME SCENE - LATER 174 The panga passes revolutionary banners and signs lining the riverbank. BOATMAN La zona guerrillera. 175 SAME SCENE - MOMENTS LATER 175 The panga rounds a bend, and... Two souped-up bass boats filled with heavily-armed ELC guerrillas move to intercept it. The Boatman slows, puts the panga in neutral and keeps his hands in sight. One boat of guerrillas pulls alongside. The other sheers off and stops a short distance away, ready to open fire. Gordy shows the guerrillas his travel pass. One of them takes it. Reads. Looks Gordy over. Then starts to rip the pass in half, when... He stops. Grins. It's a big joke. He hands back the pass, searches the boat quickly and waves the panga on. OFF Gordy's relief as the panga heads on... 176 EXT. CAGUAN TOWN DOCK - DAY 176 The panga arrives, and Gordy gets out. He's met by FELIX. Felix has a 9mm in a shoulder holster. Felix doesn't look the least bit happy. FELIX Beckmann. GORDY Yeah. FELIX Come with me. Felix leads him towards a Land Cruiser. FELIX Armstrong should have called sooner. We don't like changes here... If I didn't need the equipment fixed, I'd send you back. (CONTINUED) 67. 176 CONTINUED: 176 They reach the Land Cruiser. FELIX But now we have to see the E.L.C. Supervisor for Caguan. It's a prospect that seems to concern Felix almost as much as Gordy. Off which, as they get into the Toyota... 177 INT. ELC SUPERVISOR'S OFFICE - DAY 177 The ELC SUPERVISOR for Caguan may be a Marxist, but the clean, well-ordered office is nicely appointed, with a big-screen Sony and leather furniture. The TV's TUNED TO CNN. A photo on the wall depicts him as a younger man wearing guerrilla cammies bearing with an ELC patch and holding an AK-47. A brass nameplate reading "Supervisor" rests on a neat desk, behind which stands the man himself -- a hardened, former guerrilla fighter proud of his position. He's not in cammies now -- his uniform now consists of casual but nice tropical clothing and a fat Rolex. Felix is a subordinate here. He and Gordy stand across the desk as the Supervisor examines Gordy's travel pass. Gordy's nervous about what could appear on the TV in the b.g., but tries not to show it. ELC SUPERVISOR Your passport was stolen. GORDY In Mompos. ELC SUPERVISOR ... Mompos is a shithole. Not like Caguan... Why didn't Armstrong come? GORDY He was arrested in Ecuador. He got drunk and fooled around with a police officer's wife. The Supervisor just looks at him, assessing Gordy's face for signs he's lying. Gordy's expression stays the same. Felix respectfully interjects. It's almost a plea. FELIX (in Spanish) We need to fix the equipment. We have delivery deadlines to meet. (CONTINUED) 68. 177 CONTINUED: 177 A long beat. The ELC Supervisor hands the travel pass back to Gordy. In a hard tone to Felix -- ELC SUPERVISOR (in Spanish) He's your responsibility. Don't let him out of your sight. FELIX Si. Gracias. As Felix leads Gordy away... 178 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER (CAGUAN) - DAY 178 Gordy and Felix pull away from the Supervisor's H.Q. Felix resumes his former tone of command. FELIX The Supervisor made you my responsibility... You don't go anywhere without me, you understand? GORDY No problemo. Gordy peers out the window intently as they drive, looking for a lucky break, looking for The Wolf, searching the face of every man. He doesn't see The Wolf, but what he does see surprises him. The ELC Supervisor was right: Caguan's no Mompos. It's a third- world town, armed troops are visible, and there's a lot of bad shit behind Colombia's revolutionaries, but here the streets are calm and orderly. It's quiet, almost eerie, as people go about their business. OFF Gordy, seeing another side of the guerrillas... 179 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER/COUNTRY ROAD - DAY 179 Felix turns off at the entrance to a lane leading to the plantation. The entrance is guarded by a 4X4 "Rat Patrol" assault truck and four heavily armed ELC guerrillas. GORDY The E.L.C. guards your coffee beans? Felix thinks he's joking. Until he looks over and sees Gordy's actually being sincere. (CONTINUED) 69. 179 CONTINUED: 179 FELIX ... Coffee beans? Shit. Armstrong didn't tell you much... 180 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER - PLANTATION - DAY 180 They approach a hacienda and outbuildings. The accoutrements of agriculture are present -- tractors, sheds, cats, etc. -- but clearly, this is no family farm. There are lots of serious-looking men around. More ELC guerrillas stand guard. 181 FELIX 181 stops the car. He and Gordy get out. Felix begins leading Gordy toward two rows of long, open-walled sheds. FELIX The problem's with the diesel generators. The sons-of-bitches keep breaking down. 182 NEW ANGLE 182 They pass four very large pits, where green leaves steep in a thick, foul-smelling liquid. FELIX We're using portables to keep production going, but they don't supply enough power to the heat lamps, and we have to dry a lot of... 'coffee beans.' 183 ANOTHER ANGLE 183 They're now walking between the two rows of sheds, where portable gas GENERATORS THRUM, and... Gordy can see long, wide platforms inside. Above the platforms are multiple arrays of powerful heat lamps. Spread out and drying beneath them is a half-acre or two of converted cocaine. 184 IN ANOTHER SHED 184 workers pack and wrap one-kilo bricks of coke for shipment. 70. 185 GORDY AND FELIX 185 approach the two giant diesel generators. FELIX We can fix anything, but these keep dying on us... You'll start now. I'll have tools brought to you. (beat) Armstrong's a magician with them. Let's hope you have his skill. Felix walks over to a guerrilla with an AK-47 and speaks to him. Then goes. Whereupon the

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How many times the word 'toots' appears in the text?

wire bows against his shin, and... Gordy ducks, covers the Man in the Yankees Cap, and... Nothing happens. The young man just stands there, frozen in position, his leg still bowing the line. (CONTINUED) 48. 117 CONTINUED: 117 Using the Zippo again to light his way, Gordy advances to the young man. He follows the trip wire to where a Coca- Cola can hangs from a nearby tree. On closer inspection, Gordy can see the can is sleeved around a grenade. There's no pin in the grenade. The can keeps the grenade's arming spoon in place. The trip wire's designed to yank the can off, allowing the grenade to explode at chest level... And the can's almost off. Gordy burns through the monofilament trip wire. Then carefully slides the Coke can back over the grenade. 118 MAN IN YANKEES CAP - MOMENTS LATER 118 When Gordy returns, the man's dead. OFF Gordy, looking down at the NY logo on the cap... 119 EXT./INT. ANOTHER CHIVA - DAY 119 Gordy sees a sign for a town as the chiva rumbles along. He pulls out his map. 120 INSERT - MAP 120 Gordy finds the town, which lies along a river. He traces a road from the town. The road runs south through the town of Mompos, and eventually reaches Caguan, the ELC capital. 121 BACK TO SCENE 121 A COLOMBIAN WOMAN is looking over Gordy's shoulder. COLOMBIAN WOMAN No autobusses para este lugar. Solamente el barco en el rio. She leans over, traces the river, which also runs to Caguan. COLOMBIAN WOMAN El rio. 122 EXT. FERRY DOCK - DAY 122 The FERRY'S WHISTLE TOOTS. Lines are cast off. (CONTINUED) 49. 122 CONTINUED: 122 Two plainclothes federales have been watching the ferry load and now relax their vigil. One man holds a Xerox of Gordy's passport photo. The other bites into an empanada, which breaks open and spills its contents down the front of his shirt. His partner finds it funny. He doesn't. And while their attention's occupied... Gordy hurries by, oblivious to the federales' presence, and just manages to hop onto the ferry as it pulls away. 123 EXT. FERRY - DAY 123 The ferry's the only means of travel south, and it's packed. Gordy picks his way through. The only other gringo on the boat is a geek in a plaid shirt and gimme hat that says "Deerborn." The geek, PHILIP ARMSTRONG, looks like a talker, and Gordy tries to avoid eye contact. He's too late. ARMSTRONG Hey, yo, dude, here's a seat, man! GORDY No, that's okay -- But Armstrong's already throwing a bag off the bench. ARMSTRONG I was hoping for someone I could communicate with. He sees Gordy hasn't moved. ARMSTRONG Only room's at the back near the bano, and I'd advise against it, unless you like poop. Beat. Gordy sits. Immediately -- ARMSTRONG Philip Armstrong. Assiniboia, Sasketchewan, Canada. (indicates his hat) Deerborn Heavy Equipment. GORDY ... Gordy Pitt. ARMSTRONG Hey, howya doing? I love Germany. (CONTINUED) 50. 123 CONTINUED: 123 GORDY Austria. American now. ARMSTRONG I love America. Never been to Austria. Where from in America would that be? GORDY New York City. ARMSTRONG I don't like New York City. Buildings're too big. What kinda work you in? GORDY (hesitates, then) Coffee. I buy beans. ARMSTRONG Can't drink caffeine. Makes my stomach do the rumba. I like that commercial guy with the sombrero and the mule, though. Headed upstream, eh? Where to? GORDY Caguan. ARMSTRONG ... You've never been to Caguan, eh? GORDY How do you know? ARMSTRONG 'Cause no one in their right mind would ever go back. Caguan's in the guerrilla zone run by the E.L.C. E.L.C. as in 'Extra Loathsome Communists.' They don't care, and they kill. I'm going there myself. But I have a 'get outta jail free' card. Armstrong doffs his cap, undoes a safety pin securing a card inside the crown. Shows it to Gordy. Sotto -- (CONTINUED) 51. 123 CONTINUED: (2) 123 ARMSTRONG E.L.C. travel pass. I can go anywhere I want. (by way of explanation) Everyone needs equipment fixed. Armstrong carefully returns the card to the hat. And now his voice takes on a noticeably more measured tone -- ARMSTRONG If you don't have one of these, you don't want to be up there, Gordy. Beat. Gordy's contemplating the warning, when his eyes go to a small, sleepy boy standing nearby on the cramped deck, leaning against his father. Gordy reaches over and taps the boy. The boy looks over. Shrinks away at the sight of the large gringo. The father notices and looks at Gordy, who stands, indicates his seat. GORDY Por favor. The father's also apprehensive, doesn't move. GORDY Con mucho gusto. Finally, the father accepts, sits down with the sleepy boy on his lap. Nods his thanks at Gordy, who then gazes down at the son. A kid about Matt's age. Armstrong recognizes the look of a caring dad. ARMSTRONG Got kids, eh? OFF Armstrong, as Gordy walks away... 124 EXT. JUNGLE - DAY 124 Two Colombian armed man wearing guerrilla uniforms bearing a distinctive ELC patch are walking a trail, when the man in front notices something odd. He stops. Leads the other man back a few steps. Looks into the foliage along the trail. Something doesn't seem right. He extends his AK-47. Prods a hump of greenery with the rifle butt, and in a flash... The greenery suddenly transforms into two men wearing face-paint and full-body military camouflage gear and pointing twin cocked-and-locked CAR-15 assault rifles at the heads of the startled guerrillas. 52. 125 EXT. CIA HACIENDA - DAY 125 Brandt stubs a butt as a Colombian SOG group does killer training nearby. Updegraf opens the door. To Brandt -- UPDEGRAF One of Rocha's infiltration teams just radioed in... We got our big break... 126 EXT. FERRY - DAY 126 Gordy stands along the rail looking out at the lush, beautiful countryside sliding past. Armstrong joins him. ARMSTRONG That little kid and I had a nice, long snooze... We're almost to Mompos. (gazing out) Beautiful country. GORDY It better be. A lotta people're dying for it. ARMSTRONG (looks overboard) Y'know, I haven't noticed one darn body floating downstream this whole trip, have you? Gordy doesn't respond. Beat. GORDY I was thinking... Maybe we could travel together into Caguan. You could show me around. ARMSTRONG (shakes his head) Pass is only good for one person, if that's your idea, which I think it is... Besides, I can't risk traveling around up there in the company of a big gringo with a dumb-ass cover story about coffee beans. Gordy looks over. Armstrong smiles back. Beat. (CONTINUED) 53. 126 CONTINUED: 126 GORDY I've got money. I'll buy the pass from you. ARMSTRONG I've worked too hard for it. And you don't have that kind of money on you. GORDY I'll be getting some life insurance money -- ARMSTRONG (shaking his head) It's all cash and carry down here, Gordy. The FERRY WHISTLE TOOTS. ARMSTRONG Mompos... You want to have some fun, we'll hook up later. I always schedule a stopover. To sample the local wares and such. (winks) Life can be what you make it here on the frontier. GORDY No, thanks. ARMSTRONG Gotta get off the boat anyway. Mompos is the last stop. From here into the guerrilla zone you can only travel by panga... If you change your mind, I'll be at the Tropicale later. It's a gringo bar. Just follow the cockroaches. 127 NEW ANGLE 127 They see the beginnings of Mompos. Two 4x4 trucks are parked on the riverbank. Lean, clean-cut men in jeans, tight shirts, cowboy boots and sunglasses lean on the truck and watch the ferry pass. ARMSTRONG Sicarios. Death squads. Avoid those dudes at all costs. 54. 128 SAME SCENE - FEW MOMENTS LATER 128 The ferry pulls up to the dock. The dock street is a culture clash of shanty bars and Amazon Indian traders, of big-wheel SUVs and mule carts. There's a definite air of menace. ARMSTRONG Federales are looking for someone. Gordy follows Armstrong's look to two plain-clothes federales, one fat and one thin, standing near the dock watching the boat pull up. When Gordy glances back, Armstrong is gone. 129 EXT. MOMPOS FERRY DOCK - DAY 129 Gordy disembarks amid the throng of passengers, when the FAT FEDERALE confronts him. FAT FEDERALE Senor Pitt? Gordy looks up in surprise at him and the thin federale backing him up. FAT FEDERALE You'll have to come with us. GORDY Why? FAT FEDERALE Come with us, please. He clamps a hand on Gordy's arm. Gordy shakes it off and starts running. Almost immediately, he's tackled to the ground by the thin federale. Two more federales join in. Gordy's not gonna go down easy, though. Even as only one against four, Gordy's a formidable challenge. He's strong, and he's committed all the way. He's not getting kicked out of this country again. It's not a clean or artful fight. There's no karate. It's four men trying to tackle a bull, and... The bull gets away. 130 EXT./INT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 130 Gordy sprints down streets with the federales in pursuit. 55. 131 GORDY 131 jukes into a local bar. 132 ANOTHER ANGLE 132 Gordy pounds out the back of the bar into a littered courtyard, where he's surrounded by ten-foot walls. 133 FEDERALES 133 blast through the bar. 134 GORDY 134 runs, jumps, launches off a beer keg, and... 135 TOP OF WALL 135 He reaches the top of the wall and pulls himself up. He's looking out across a block-long run of corrugated tin roofs. Takes off across the roofs, each step thundering, as... 136 FEDERALES 136 burst into the courtyard. Two men hastily build a stack of boxes, etc., against the wall. 137 GORDY 137 runs as fast as he can across the rooftops, when... A section of roof gives way beneath his feet, just as... 138 NEW ANGLE 138 One of the federales finally mounts the wall, looks across the rooftops... and Gordy's gone. 139 GORDY 139 lands inside a warehouse room amid sacks of rice, beans and coffee. The building is dark and dusty. He lies still and listens. FOOTSTEPS approach across the tin roof overhead. Gordy burrows into the bags of rice, pulls them over him. 56. 140 FEDERALE 140 on the roof peers down through the hole. Scans the warehouse room below with a mini-Mag-Lite. 141 GORDY 141 sees the flashlight beam move past. He holds his breath. Beat. Then the FOOTSTEPS pass on, RECEDE down the roof. And Gordy can breathe again. 142 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - NIGHT 142 Gordy makes his way along the main drag of the frontier town. A noisy, neon-lit strip of bars and brothels. Everyone's packing a gun. A new Dodge City, where death squad sicarios cruise past in 4x4's BLARING SALSA. 143 INT. TROPICALE - NIGHT 143 In here, the MUSIC'S LOUD ROCK 'N' ROLL. Gringo music for a gringo bar. The place is busy, with plenty of local "hostesses" for the men. Even Armstrong, standing half-crocked at the bar, is flanked by two scantily-clad women. He's got a spoon hanging off his nose. So does one of the girls. Armstrong's trying to hang a spoon on the other. Gordy slips into the bar. Spots Armstrong through the crowd. Sees Armstrong's not wearing his cap, when... The girl with the spoon on her nose turns slightly, revealing she's wearing the cap. It's on backwards, but now Gordy can see the "Deerborn" logo clearly. Gordy wants the guerrilla travel pass inside the cap. It's a desperate move, but he's got no choice. Starts toward the girl, when... Gordy sees the thin federale enter the front door. The thin federale sees him at the same time. Begins moving in on him. Gordy moves faster toward the girl. And... The girl unwittingly does him a favor by taking off the cap and setting it on the bar, where it's easier to grab, and then turns her attention to Armstrong's antics. The thin detective fights through the crowd after Gordy. Gordy's almost to the hat. (CONTINUED) 57. 143 CONTINUED: 143 Armstrong's still having trouble with the second girl's spoon. ARMSTRONG I never met a nose I couldn't hang a spoon on. Gordy reaches the bar, snags the cap. Glances back, sees the thin federale closing in, turns to run out the back, when... A strong hand stops him. The hand belongs to the Fat Federale. And now the thin federale's there, too, wielding a stun gun where Gordy can see it. People in the bar fall silent. Everyone but Armstrong, who's finally hung the spoon on the second girl's nose. ARMSTRONG Yahtzee! And now Armstong also realizes something's up. Turns and sees Gordy. Sees the cap in Gordy's hand as the Fat Federale addresses Gordy -- FAT FEDERALE Come along, Mr. Pitt. Whereupon Armstrong shouts drunkenly at Gordy -- ARMSTRONG Police catch you trying to steal my hat, you asshole?! He staggers toward Gordy. Grabs the hat. ARMSTRONG Fucking hat thief! Armstrong takes a drunken swing at Gordy, but... Instead of hitting Gordy, Armstrong accidentally-on- purpose clocks the fat detective. Then hisses into Gordy's ear, clearly not that drunk -- ARMSTRONG Get outta here -- But then Armstrong's legs won't work as the thin federale jams the stun gun against his neck, and 10,000 volts surprise the Armstrong neural network. Gordy moves against the thin federale in anger, when... The Fat Federale ZAPS him with another STUN GUN, just behind the ear... And Gordy gets to know the floor, too. 58. 144 EXT. MOMPOS JAIL - NIGHT 144 The building's ancient, constructed of wood and adobe. 145 INT. MOMPOS JAIL - CELL - NIGHT 145 The jail might be old, but the cells are secure enough. They're also unsanitary and thoroughly unpleasant. Gordy and Armstrong are led in by the federales. The Fat Federale has Armstrong's hat. He looks it over, wondering why Gordy wanted it. Then decides he could give a fuck and tosses it to Armstrong. Clangs the cell door shut and locks it. Leaves shaking his head. FAT FEDERALE Gringos... Armstrong's still unsteady on his feet and sits down on the metal bunk. ARMSTRONG That stun gun wasn't cool. Armstrong looks down at himself. ARMSTRONG Haven't peed my pants in a real long time. GORDY (beat) You shouldn't have helped me. ARMSTRONG Yeah, well, I guess all these assholes down here are just starting on my nerves. Gordy's silent. It's over. He's come up short. He's going home. ARMSTRONG So what the hell did you do to land us in here? And don't jerk me around, eh? Beat. Gordy sits. GORDY The Wolf killed my wife and son in New York. (CONTINUED) 59. 145 CONTINUED: 145 ARMSTRONG ... Oh, you're that guy, eh? I'm sorry, man... And what, you came down here to even things out? Gordy just looks at him. ARMSTRONG Did you even have a plan? GORDY Yeah. Go to Caguan, find The Wolf and kill him. Armstrong just shakes his head. Beat. 146 DOOR TO CELL AREA 146 BANGS open. Federales lead in two men -- the two guerrillas surprised earlier by the heavy-camouflaged infiltrators. The federales are armed with batons and stun guns, taking no chances. It's clear the rebels weren't brought here without a struggle, either -- both are cut and bruised. The tougher-looking of the two has taken a real beating. This beaten man is jammed face- first against the bars of Gordy's cell. He makes eye contact with Gordy while the other rebel is unbound and put into a cell. Then the beaten man is shoved into the cell. A solid, brick wall separates them from Gordy and Armstrong. Armstrong's seen the patches on their uniforms. To Gordy, sotto -- ARMSTRONG E.L.C. Beat. Armstrong sees the look on Gordy's face. By way of a warning -- ARMSTRONG If you can't kill them, don't even talk to them. The GUERRILLAS are MURMURING in the other cell. One of them LAUGHS. OFF Gordy, listening to the LAUGHING... 147 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL - NIGHT 147 Two or three A.M. Armstrong's dozing. Gordy's still listening to the MURMURING of the REBELS on the other side of the wall, when... (CONTINUED) 60. 147 CONTINUED: 147 There's a flurry of activity outside the cell area. The door opens. Soldiers enter with some federales. Gordy watches the soldiers move past his cell. Rocha is with them. And then... Brandt appears at the bars, looks in at Gordy. BRANDT Enjoy your trip? Gordy stands, approaches. BRANDT We asked you to leave it to us. GORDY And you guys still haven't got him. BRANDT It's not over yet... The guys next door are in The Wolf's elite bodyguard unit. Where he goes, they go. We're gonna ask questions. And we're gonna get answers... And you're staying right here till our bomber's dead. Brandt goes. Moments later, a TORTURED SCREAM is heard on the other side of the brick wall, waking Armstrong with a start. 148 EXT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - NIGHT 148 In a field near Mompos, a canopied truck backs into position. Men in guerrilla uniforms with ELC patches get out and pull back the canopy, revealing mortar tubes pointing skyward on a bed of sand. 149 ELC GUERRILLA 149 unit armed with AK-47s and Light Anti-Tank Weapons (LAWs) infiltrates the town. 150 ANOTHER TWO-MAN ELC GUERRILLA TEAM 150 sets up a single mortar position overlooking the town. One of the men checks his watch. Beat. He signals. The other man drops a MORTAR down the tube. WHUMP. 61. 151 TWO MORTARS 151 go in the tubes on the truck. WHUMP, WHUMP. 152 ANOTHER ANGLE 152 BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! A water tower, the Mompos fire station and the town's power supply are direct hits. WHUMP, WHUMP, WHUMP... 153 INT. JAIL - CELLS 153 People react to the sounds of the MORTAR ATTACK on the town. The lights go out. Brandt, Rocha and their men quickly lock the guerrillas in their cell and head out. 154 EXT. JAIL 154 As MORTARS CONTINUE to fall on the rest of the town, the unit of guerrilla infiltrators open up on the front of the jail with LAW ROCKETS. 155 EXT./INT. JAIL 155 KA-BOOM! The front door and wall of the jail disintegrate under the multiple LAW attack. 156 NEW ANGLE 156 Brandt, Rocha and the soldiers, approaching the front door inside, are hammered by the massive concussion of the BLAST and flung across the room, apparently dead. 157 ANOTHER ANGLE 157 The powerful, concussive shock-wave channels into the cell area. Gordy's slightly protected by a wall. Armstrong, standing at the bars, is thrown into the opposite wall and knocked unconscious. 158 GUERRILLAS 158 charge inside with AKs BLAZING. Surviving soldiers and federales SHOOT back. The blasts have caused fires in the building. Severed wires spark, creating more fire. Flames begin to spread through the tinder-dry structure. (CONTINUED) 62. 158 CONTINUED: 158 The guerrillas take out the soldiers and federales, with few casualties to themselves. They make their way toward the cell area. EXPLODING AMMO and stored FUEL CANS accelerate the fire. 159 NEW ANGLE 159 The guerrillas reach the cells. Two men see Gordy and draw down on him. The others move to the next cell. Guerrillas plant small explosive charges on the hinges of the cell containing their two captured comrades. Beat. The HINGES BLOW. The beaten man and the rebel with him are freed, and the guerrillas quickly retreat the way they came. Gordy sees flames spreading into the cell area. 160 GUERRILLAS 160 exit the fiery jail past Brandt. We see Brandt's not dead. 161 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - OUTSIDE JAIL 161 A truck pulls up. The guerrillas get in. The TRUCK SCREECHES OUT as... 162 4X4 162 full of sicarios SKIDS onto the street, far ahead of the truck. The sicario driving punches it, and... 163 TWO TRUCKS 163 ROAR toward each other. A game of chicken. With GUNS. Men in both vehicles OPEN UP -- the sicarios with magnums and Uzis, the guerrillas with AKs. SLUGS RIP through automotive steel. Casualties are taken. When... 164 SICARIO 164 driving the 4x4 receives a round in the forehead, cranks over the steering wheel, and... 63. 165 SPEEDING 4X4 165 does a Paris-to-Dakar road rally flip, twisting and somersaulting, and... 166 NEW ANGLE 166 The 4x4 catapults completely over the guerrillas' truck, disintegrating into spare parts and dead occupants, as... 167 GUERRILLAS 167 ROAR off. 168 EXT./INT. JAIL 168 A severely-dazed Brandt, bleeding from the nose and ears, slowly gets to his knees, crawls out of the burning building and collapses outside. 169 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL 169 There's fire and smoke everywhere. Gordy picks up the metal bunk and slams it against a wall. Slams it again. Breaks the metal apart. Then levers a long side rail in the cell door. He heaves. Heaves again. The fire's licking at him, but Gordy's undeterred. He heaves again, and... This time, the door gives. Gordy picks up Armstrong's cap, then picks up Armstrong, who's starting to come around. Puts Armstrong over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. GORDY Don't breathe. ARMSTRONG (weakly) You're not running through the fire, eh? GORDY Close your mouth. Because running through the fire is just what Gordy's gonna do. As he disappears into the flames... 170 EXT. JAIL - NIGHT 170 The town's in complete chaos. There are fires everywhere. (CONTINUED) 64. 170 CONTINUED: 170 Still stunned and bleeding, Brandt looks from where he lies on the ground as... Gordy bursts out of the inferno carrying Armstrong. They're singed and smoking, but they're alive. Gordy drops Armstrong, pats himself and Armstrong down, knocking out the burning embers on their clothes and hair, when... Gordy's eyes meet Brandt's. The two men hold the look for a moment. If Brandt could speak, he'd be yelling at Gordy to stop, not to go on. And Gordy knows it. But Gordy's not stopping. Picks up Armstrong again and moves off toward the waterfront. 171 EXT. MOMPOS WATERFRONT - NIGHT 171 There's less chaos here. The fires are in the distance. Gordy arrives carrying Armstrong. Sets him down. GORDY I'll find a boat to take us upriver. He starts to go. Armstrong stops him. ARMSTRONG No. I told you. The pass is only good for one person. And you're too dangerous to travel with. Beat. Gordy reaches over and takes Armstrong's cap. He looks inside. There's no pass. ARMSTRONG It hasn't been there since we landed. Gordy's at a loss. He tosses the cap back. Just looks at Armstrong. Beat. Armstrong sighs. ARMSTRONG Aw, hell... I was through with this place anyway... He takes off a boot. Shakes out some money and the pass. He hands the pass to Gordy. (CONTINUED) 65. 171 CONTINUED: 171 ARMSTRONG I'll call ahead and tell Felix I'm not coming, and you're my replacement. He'll meet you in Caguan and take you to the plantation... What do you know about diesel engines? GORDY All the fire trucks are diesels. ARMSTRONG You'll have to be Austrian, eh? They hate Americans. Name's gotta change, too, in case they're watching the news. (beat) It'll buy you a little time to look around Caguan. But you'll never find The Wolf. Beat. Gordy sticks out his hand. GORDY Heinrich Beckmann. ARMSTRONG Huh? GORDY My Austrian name. Armstrong shakes hands with Gordy. Armstrong doesn't let loose right away. Beat. ARMSTRONG Luck got you this far. But up there, luck doesn't make it. I hope you know you're gonna die. OFF Gordy, about to step over another line... 172 EXT. RIVER - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 172 As dawn breaks over the river, FIND Gordy sitting in a motored panga being steered by a local BOATMAN. Gordy reaches into a pocket and pulls out the photo of Anne and Matt. He looks at it for a few moments. Then pockets it again. 173 SAME SCENE - LATER 173 The panga passes a dead body floating downstream. 66. 174 SAME SCENE - LATER 174 The panga passes revolutionary banners and signs lining the riverbank. BOATMAN La zona guerrillera. 175 SAME SCENE - MOMENTS LATER 175 The panga rounds a bend, and... Two souped-up bass boats filled with heavily-armed ELC guerrillas move to intercept it. The Boatman slows, puts the panga in neutral and keeps his hands in sight. One boat of guerrillas pulls alongside. The other sheers off and stops a short distance away, ready to open fire. Gordy shows the guerrillas his travel pass. One of them takes it. Reads. Looks Gordy over. Then starts to rip the pass in half, when... He stops. Grins. It's a big joke. He hands back the pass, searches the boat quickly and waves the panga on. OFF Gordy's relief as the panga heads on... 176 EXT. CAGUAN TOWN DOCK - DAY 176 The panga arrives, and Gordy gets out. He's met by FELIX. Felix has a 9mm in a shoulder holster. Felix doesn't look the least bit happy. FELIX Beckmann. GORDY Yeah. FELIX Come with me. Felix leads him towards a Land Cruiser. FELIX Armstrong should have called sooner. We don't like changes here... If I didn't need the equipment fixed, I'd send you back. (CONTINUED) 67. 176 CONTINUED: 176 They reach the Land Cruiser. FELIX But now we have to see the E.L.C. Supervisor for Caguan. It's a prospect that seems to concern Felix almost as much as Gordy. Off which, as they get into the Toyota... 177 INT. ELC SUPERVISOR'S OFFICE - DAY 177 The ELC SUPERVISOR for Caguan may be a Marxist, but the clean, well-ordered office is nicely appointed, with a big-screen Sony and leather furniture. The TV's TUNED TO CNN. A photo on the wall depicts him as a younger man wearing guerrilla cammies bearing with an ELC patch and holding an AK-47. A brass nameplate reading "Supervisor" rests on a neat desk, behind which stands the man himself -- a hardened, former guerrilla fighter proud of his position. He's not in cammies now -- his uniform now consists of casual but nice tropical clothing and a fat Rolex. Felix is a subordinate here. He and Gordy stand across the desk as the Supervisor examines Gordy's travel pass. Gordy's nervous about what could appear on the TV in the b.g., but tries not to show it. ELC SUPERVISOR Your passport was stolen. GORDY In Mompos. ELC SUPERVISOR ... Mompos is a shithole. Not like Caguan... Why didn't Armstrong come? GORDY He was arrested in Ecuador. He got drunk and fooled around with a police officer's wife. The Supervisor just looks at him, assessing Gordy's face for signs he's lying. Gordy's expression stays the same. Felix respectfully interjects. It's almost a plea. FELIX (in Spanish) We need to fix the equipment. We have delivery deadlines to meet. (CONTINUED) 68. 177 CONTINUED: 177 A long beat. The ELC Supervisor hands the travel pass back to Gordy. In a hard tone to Felix -- ELC SUPERVISOR (in Spanish) He's your responsibility. Don't let him out of your sight. FELIX Si. Gracias. As Felix leads Gordy away... 178 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER (CAGUAN) - DAY 178 Gordy and Felix pull away from the Supervisor's H.Q. Felix resumes his former tone of command. FELIX The Supervisor made you my responsibility... You don't go anywhere without me, you understand? GORDY No problemo. Gordy peers out the window intently as they drive, looking for a lucky break, looking for The Wolf, searching the face of every man. He doesn't see The Wolf, but what he does see surprises him. The ELC Supervisor was right: Caguan's no Mompos. It's a third- world town, armed troops are visible, and there's a lot of bad shit behind Colombia's revolutionaries, but here the streets are calm and orderly. It's quiet, almost eerie, as people go about their business. OFF Gordy, seeing another side of the guerrillas... 179 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER/COUNTRY ROAD - DAY 179 Felix turns off at the entrance to a lane leading to the plantation. The entrance is guarded by a 4X4 "Rat Patrol" assault truck and four heavily armed ELC guerrillas. GORDY The E.L.C. guards your coffee beans? Felix thinks he's joking. Until he looks over and sees Gordy's actually being sincere. (CONTINUED) 69. 179 CONTINUED: 179 FELIX ... Coffee beans? Shit. Armstrong didn't tell you much... 180 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER - PLANTATION - DAY 180 They approach a hacienda and outbuildings. The accoutrements of agriculture are present -- tractors, sheds, cats, etc. -- but clearly, this is no family farm. There are lots of serious-looking men around. More ELC guerrillas stand guard. 181 FELIX 181 stops the car. He and Gordy get out. Felix begins leading Gordy toward two rows of long, open-walled sheds. FELIX The problem's with the diesel generators. The sons-of-bitches keep breaking down. 182 NEW ANGLE 182 They pass four very large pits, where green leaves steep in a thick, foul-smelling liquid. FELIX We're using portables to keep production going, but they don't supply enough power to the heat lamps, and we have to dry a lot of... 'coffee beans.' 183 ANOTHER ANGLE 183 They're now walking between the two rows of sheds, where portable gas GENERATORS THRUM, and... Gordy can see long, wide platforms inside. Above the platforms are multiple arrays of powerful heat lamps. Spread out and drying beneath them is a half-acre or two of converted cocaine. 184 IN ANOTHER SHED 184 workers pack and wrap one-kilo bricks of coke for shipment. 70. 185 GORDY AND FELIX 185 approach the two giant diesel generators. FELIX We can fix anything, but these keep dying on us... You'll start now. I'll have tools brought to you. (beat) Armstrong's a magician with them. Let's hope you have his skill. Felix walks over to a guerrilla with an AK-47 and speaks to him. Then goes. Whereupon the

noticed

How many times the word 'noticed' appears in the text?

wire bows against his shin, and... Gordy ducks, covers the Man in the Yankees Cap, and... Nothing happens. The young man just stands there, frozen in position, his leg still bowing the line. (CONTINUED) 48. 117 CONTINUED: 117 Using the Zippo again to light his way, Gordy advances to the young man. He follows the trip wire to where a Coca- Cola can hangs from a nearby tree. On closer inspection, Gordy can see the can is sleeved around a grenade. There's no pin in the grenade. The can keeps the grenade's arming spoon in place. The trip wire's designed to yank the can off, allowing the grenade to explode at chest level... And the can's almost off. Gordy burns through the monofilament trip wire. Then carefully slides the Coke can back over the grenade. 118 MAN IN YANKEES CAP - MOMENTS LATER 118 When Gordy returns, the man's dead. OFF Gordy, looking down at the NY logo on the cap... 119 EXT./INT. ANOTHER CHIVA - DAY 119 Gordy sees a sign for a town as the chiva rumbles along. He pulls out his map. 120 INSERT - MAP 120 Gordy finds the town, which lies along a river. He traces a road from the town. The road runs south through the town of Mompos, and eventually reaches Caguan, the ELC capital. 121 BACK TO SCENE 121 A COLOMBIAN WOMAN is looking over Gordy's shoulder. COLOMBIAN WOMAN No autobusses para este lugar. Solamente el barco en el rio. She leans over, traces the river, which also runs to Caguan. COLOMBIAN WOMAN El rio. 122 EXT. FERRY DOCK - DAY 122 The FERRY'S WHISTLE TOOTS. Lines are cast off. (CONTINUED) 49. 122 CONTINUED: 122 Two plainclothes federales have been watching the ferry load and now relax their vigil. One man holds a Xerox of Gordy's passport photo. The other bites into an empanada, which breaks open and spills its contents down the front of his shirt. His partner finds it funny. He doesn't. And while their attention's occupied... Gordy hurries by, oblivious to the federales' presence, and just manages to hop onto the ferry as it pulls away. 123 EXT. FERRY - DAY 123 The ferry's the only means of travel south, and it's packed. Gordy picks his way through. The only other gringo on the boat is a geek in a plaid shirt and gimme hat that says "Deerborn." The geek, PHILIP ARMSTRONG, looks like a talker, and Gordy tries to avoid eye contact. He's too late. ARMSTRONG Hey, yo, dude, here's a seat, man! GORDY No, that's okay -- But Armstrong's already throwing a bag off the bench. ARMSTRONG I was hoping for someone I could communicate with. He sees Gordy hasn't moved. ARMSTRONG Only room's at the back near the bano, and I'd advise against it, unless you like poop. Beat. Gordy sits. Immediately -- ARMSTRONG Philip Armstrong. Assiniboia, Sasketchewan, Canada. (indicates his hat) Deerborn Heavy Equipment. GORDY ... Gordy Pitt. ARMSTRONG Hey, howya doing? I love Germany. (CONTINUED) 50. 123 CONTINUED: 123 GORDY Austria. American now. ARMSTRONG I love America. Never been to Austria. Where from in America would that be? GORDY New York City. ARMSTRONG I don't like New York City. Buildings're too big. What kinda work you in? GORDY (hesitates, then) Coffee. I buy beans. ARMSTRONG Can't drink caffeine. Makes my stomach do the rumba. I like that commercial guy with the sombrero and the mule, though. Headed upstream, eh? Where to? GORDY Caguan. ARMSTRONG ... You've never been to Caguan, eh? GORDY How do you know? ARMSTRONG 'Cause no one in their right mind would ever go back. Caguan's in the guerrilla zone run by the E.L.C. E.L.C. as in 'Extra Loathsome Communists.' They don't care, and they kill. I'm going there myself. But I have a 'get outta jail free' card. Armstrong doffs his cap, undoes a safety pin securing a card inside the crown. Shows it to Gordy. Sotto -- (CONTINUED) 51. 123 CONTINUED: (2) 123 ARMSTRONG E.L.C. travel pass. I can go anywhere I want. (by way of explanation) Everyone needs equipment fixed. Armstrong carefully returns the card to the hat. And now his voice takes on a noticeably more measured tone -- ARMSTRONG If you don't have one of these, you don't want to be up there, Gordy. Beat. Gordy's contemplating the warning, when his eyes go to a small, sleepy boy standing nearby on the cramped deck, leaning against his father. Gordy reaches over and taps the boy. The boy looks over. Shrinks away at the sight of the large gringo. The father notices and looks at Gordy, who stands, indicates his seat. GORDY Por favor. The father's also apprehensive, doesn't move. GORDY Con mucho gusto. Finally, the father accepts, sits down with the sleepy boy on his lap. Nods his thanks at Gordy, who then gazes down at the son. A kid about Matt's age. Armstrong recognizes the look of a caring dad. ARMSTRONG Got kids, eh? OFF Armstrong, as Gordy walks away... 124 EXT. JUNGLE - DAY 124 Two Colombian armed man wearing guerrilla uniforms bearing a distinctive ELC patch are walking a trail, when the man in front notices something odd. He stops. Leads the other man back a few steps. Looks into the foliage along the trail. Something doesn't seem right. He extends his AK-47. Prods a hump of greenery with the rifle butt, and in a flash... The greenery suddenly transforms into two men wearing face-paint and full-body military camouflage gear and pointing twin cocked-and-locked CAR-15 assault rifles at the heads of the startled guerrillas. 52. 125 EXT. CIA HACIENDA - DAY 125 Brandt stubs a butt as a Colombian SOG group does killer training nearby. Updegraf opens the door. To Brandt -- UPDEGRAF One of Rocha's infiltration teams just radioed in... We got our big break... 126 EXT. FERRY - DAY 126 Gordy stands along the rail looking out at the lush, beautiful countryside sliding past. Armstrong joins him. ARMSTRONG That little kid and I had a nice, long snooze... We're almost to Mompos. (gazing out) Beautiful country. GORDY It better be. A lotta people're dying for it. ARMSTRONG (looks overboard) Y'know, I haven't noticed one darn body floating downstream this whole trip, have you? Gordy doesn't respond. Beat. GORDY I was thinking... Maybe we could travel together into Caguan. You could show me around. ARMSTRONG (shakes his head) Pass is only good for one person, if that's your idea, which I think it is... Besides, I can't risk traveling around up there in the company of a big gringo with a dumb-ass cover story about coffee beans. Gordy looks over. Armstrong smiles back. Beat. (CONTINUED) 53. 126 CONTINUED: 126 GORDY I've got money. I'll buy the pass from you. ARMSTRONG I've worked too hard for it. And you don't have that kind of money on you. GORDY I'll be getting some life insurance money -- ARMSTRONG (shaking his head) It's all cash and carry down here, Gordy. The FERRY WHISTLE TOOTS. ARMSTRONG Mompos... You want to have some fun, we'll hook up later. I always schedule a stopover. To sample the local wares and such. (winks) Life can be what you make it here on the frontier. GORDY No, thanks. ARMSTRONG Gotta get off the boat anyway. Mompos is the last stop. From here into the guerrilla zone you can only travel by panga... If you change your mind, I'll be at the Tropicale later. It's a gringo bar. Just follow the cockroaches. 127 NEW ANGLE 127 They see the beginnings of Mompos. Two 4x4 trucks are parked on the riverbank. Lean, clean-cut men in jeans, tight shirts, cowboy boots and sunglasses lean on the truck and watch the ferry pass. ARMSTRONG Sicarios. Death squads. Avoid those dudes at all costs. 54. 128 SAME SCENE - FEW MOMENTS LATER 128 The ferry pulls up to the dock. The dock street is a culture clash of shanty bars and Amazon Indian traders, of big-wheel SUVs and mule carts. There's a definite air of menace. ARMSTRONG Federales are looking for someone. Gordy follows Armstrong's look to two plain-clothes federales, one fat and one thin, standing near the dock watching the boat pull up. When Gordy glances back, Armstrong is gone. 129 EXT. MOMPOS FERRY DOCK - DAY 129 Gordy disembarks amid the throng of passengers, when the FAT FEDERALE confronts him. FAT FEDERALE Senor Pitt? Gordy looks up in surprise at him and the thin federale backing him up. FAT FEDERALE You'll have to come with us. GORDY Why? FAT FEDERALE Come with us, please. He clamps a hand on Gordy's arm. Gordy shakes it off and starts running. Almost immediately, he's tackled to the ground by the thin federale. Two more federales join in. Gordy's not gonna go down easy, though. Even as only one against four, Gordy's a formidable challenge. He's strong, and he's committed all the way. He's not getting kicked out of this country again. It's not a clean or artful fight. There's no karate. It's four men trying to tackle a bull, and... The bull gets away. 130 EXT./INT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 130 Gordy sprints down streets with the federales in pursuit. 55. 131 GORDY 131 jukes into a local bar. 132 ANOTHER ANGLE 132 Gordy pounds out the back of the bar into a littered courtyard, where he's surrounded by ten-foot walls. 133 FEDERALES 133 blast through the bar. 134 GORDY 134 runs, jumps, launches off a beer keg, and... 135 TOP OF WALL 135 He reaches the top of the wall and pulls himself up. He's looking out across a block-long run of corrugated tin roofs. Takes off across the roofs, each step thundering, as... 136 FEDERALES 136 burst into the courtyard. Two men hastily build a stack of boxes, etc., against the wall. 137 GORDY 137 runs as fast as he can across the rooftops, when... A section of roof gives way beneath his feet, just as... 138 NEW ANGLE 138 One of the federales finally mounts the wall, looks across the rooftops... and Gordy's gone. 139 GORDY 139 lands inside a warehouse room amid sacks of rice, beans and coffee. The building is dark and dusty. He lies still and listens. FOOTSTEPS approach across the tin roof overhead. Gordy burrows into the bags of rice, pulls them over him. 56. 140 FEDERALE 140 on the roof peers down through the hole. Scans the warehouse room below with a mini-Mag-Lite. 141 GORDY 141 sees the flashlight beam move past. He holds his breath. Beat. Then the FOOTSTEPS pass on, RECEDE down the roof. And Gordy can breathe again. 142 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - NIGHT 142 Gordy makes his way along the main drag of the frontier town. A noisy, neon-lit strip of bars and brothels. Everyone's packing a gun. A new Dodge City, where death squad sicarios cruise past in 4x4's BLARING SALSA. 143 INT. TROPICALE - NIGHT 143 In here, the MUSIC'S LOUD ROCK 'N' ROLL. Gringo music for a gringo bar. The place is busy, with plenty of local "hostesses" for the men. Even Armstrong, standing half-crocked at the bar, is flanked by two scantily-clad women. He's got a spoon hanging off his nose. So does one of the girls. Armstrong's trying to hang a spoon on the other. Gordy slips into the bar. Spots Armstrong through the crowd. Sees Armstrong's not wearing his cap, when... The girl with the spoon on her nose turns slightly, revealing she's wearing the cap. It's on backwards, but now Gordy can see the "Deerborn" logo clearly. Gordy wants the guerrilla travel pass inside the cap. It's a desperate move, but he's got no choice. Starts toward the girl, when... Gordy sees the thin federale enter the front door. The thin federale sees him at the same time. Begins moving in on him. Gordy moves faster toward the girl. And... The girl unwittingly does him a favor by taking off the cap and setting it on the bar, where it's easier to grab, and then turns her attention to Armstrong's antics. The thin detective fights through the crowd after Gordy. Gordy's almost to the hat. (CONTINUED) 57. 143 CONTINUED: 143 Armstrong's still having trouble with the second girl's spoon. ARMSTRONG I never met a nose I couldn't hang a spoon on. Gordy reaches the bar, snags the cap. Glances back, sees the thin federale closing in, turns to run out the back, when... A strong hand stops him. The hand belongs to the Fat Federale. And now the thin federale's there, too, wielding a stun gun where Gordy can see it. People in the bar fall silent. Everyone but Armstrong, who's finally hung the spoon on the second girl's nose. ARMSTRONG Yahtzee! And now Armstong also realizes something's up. Turns and sees Gordy. Sees the cap in Gordy's hand as the Fat Federale addresses Gordy -- FAT FEDERALE Come along, Mr. Pitt. Whereupon Armstrong shouts drunkenly at Gordy -- ARMSTRONG Police catch you trying to steal my hat, you asshole?! He staggers toward Gordy. Grabs the hat. ARMSTRONG Fucking hat thief! Armstrong takes a drunken swing at Gordy, but... Instead of hitting Gordy, Armstrong accidentally-on- purpose clocks the fat detective. Then hisses into Gordy's ear, clearly not that drunk -- ARMSTRONG Get outta here -- But then Armstrong's legs won't work as the thin federale jams the stun gun against his neck, and 10,000 volts surprise the Armstrong neural network. Gordy moves against the thin federale in anger, when... The Fat Federale ZAPS him with another STUN GUN, just behind the ear... And Gordy gets to know the floor, too. 58. 144 EXT. MOMPOS JAIL - NIGHT 144 The building's ancient, constructed of wood and adobe. 145 INT. MOMPOS JAIL - CELL - NIGHT 145 The jail might be old, but the cells are secure enough. They're also unsanitary and thoroughly unpleasant. Gordy and Armstrong are led in by the federales. The Fat Federale has Armstrong's hat. He looks it over, wondering why Gordy wanted it. Then decides he could give a fuck and tosses it to Armstrong. Clangs the cell door shut and locks it. Leaves shaking his head. FAT FEDERALE Gringos... Armstrong's still unsteady on his feet and sits down on the metal bunk. ARMSTRONG That stun gun wasn't cool. Armstrong looks down at himself. ARMSTRONG Haven't peed my pants in a real long time. GORDY (beat) You shouldn't have helped me. ARMSTRONG Yeah, well, I guess all these assholes down here are just starting on my nerves. Gordy's silent. It's over. He's come up short. He's going home. ARMSTRONG So what the hell did you do to land us in here? And don't jerk me around, eh? Beat. Gordy sits. GORDY The Wolf killed my wife and son in New York. (CONTINUED) 59. 145 CONTINUED: 145 ARMSTRONG ... Oh, you're that guy, eh? I'm sorry, man... And what, you came down here to even things out? Gordy just looks at him. ARMSTRONG Did you even have a plan? GORDY Yeah. Go to Caguan, find The Wolf and kill him. Armstrong just shakes his head. Beat. 146 DOOR TO CELL AREA 146 BANGS open. Federales lead in two men -- the two guerrillas surprised earlier by the heavy-camouflaged infiltrators. The federales are armed with batons and stun guns, taking no chances. It's clear the rebels weren't brought here without a struggle, either -- both are cut and bruised. The tougher-looking of the two has taken a real beating. This beaten man is jammed face- first against the bars of Gordy's cell. He makes eye contact with Gordy while the other rebel is unbound and put into a cell. Then the beaten man is shoved into the cell. A solid, brick wall separates them from Gordy and Armstrong. Armstrong's seen the patches on their uniforms. To Gordy, sotto -- ARMSTRONG E.L.C. Beat. Armstrong sees the look on Gordy's face. By way of a warning -- ARMSTRONG If you can't kill them, don't even talk to them. The GUERRILLAS are MURMURING in the other cell. One of them LAUGHS. OFF Gordy, listening to the LAUGHING... 147 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL - NIGHT 147 Two or three A.M. Armstrong's dozing. Gordy's still listening to the MURMURING of the REBELS on the other side of the wall, when... (CONTINUED) 60. 147 CONTINUED: 147 There's a flurry of activity outside the cell area. The door opens. Soldiers enter with some federales. Gordy watches the soldiers move past his cell. Rocha is with them. And then... Brandt appears at the bars, looks in at Gordy. BRANDT Enjoy your trip? Gordy stands, approaches. BRANDT We asked you to leave it to us. GORDY And you guys still haven't got him. BRANDT It's not over yet... The guys next door are in The Wolf's elite bodyguard unit. Where he goes, they go. We're gonna ask questions. And we're gonna get answers... And you're staying right here till our bomber's dead. Brandt goes. Moments later, a TORTURED SCREAM is heard on the other side of the brick wall, waking Armstrong with a start. 148 EXT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - NIGHT 148 In a field near Mompos, a canopied truck backs into position. Men in guerrilla uniforms with ELC patches get out and pull back the canopy, revealing mortar tubes pointing skyward on a bed of sand. 149 ELC GUERRILLA 149 unit armed with AK-47s and Light Anti-Tank Weapons (LAWs) infiltrates the town. 150 ANOTHER TWO-MAN ELC GUERRILLA TEAM 150 sets up a single mortar position overlooking the town. One of the men checks his watch. Beat. He signals. The other man drops a MORTAR down the tube. WHUMP. 61. 151 TWO MORTARS 151 go in the tubes on the truck. WHUMP, WHUMP. 152 ANOTHER ANGLE 152 BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! A water tower, the Mompos fire station and the town's power supply are direct hits. WHUMP, WHUMP, WHUMP... 153 INT. JAIL - CELLS 153 People react to the sounds of the MORTAR ATTACK on the town. The lights go out. Brandt, Rocha and their men quickly lock the guerrillas in their cell and head out. 154 EXT. JAIL 154 As MORTARS CONTINUE to fall on the rest of the town, the unit of guerrilla infiltrators open up on the front of the jail with LAW ROCKETS. 155 EXT./INT. JAIL 155 KA-BOOM! The front door and wall of the jail disintegrate under the multiple LAW attack. 156 NEW ANGLE 156 Brandt, Rocha and the soldiers, approaching the front door inside, are hammered by the massive concussion of the BLAST and flung across the room, apparently dead. 157 ANOTHER ANGLE 157 The powerful, concussive shock-wave channels into the cell area. Gordy's slightly protected by a wall. Armstrong, standing at the bars, is thrown into the opposite wall and knocked unconscious. 158 GUERRILLAS 158 charge inside with AKs BLAZING. Surviving soldiers and federales SHOOT back. The blasts have caused fires in the building. Severed wires spark, creating more fire. Flames begin to spread through the tinder-dry structure. (CONTINUED) 62. 158 CONTINUED: 158 The guerrillas take out the soldiers and federales, with few casualties to themselves. They make their way toward the cell area. EXPLODING AMMO and stored FUEL CANS accelerate the fire. 159 NEW ANGLE 159 The guerrillas reach the cells. Two men see Gordy and draw down on him. The others move to the next cell. Guerrillas plant small explosive charges on the hinges of the cell containing their two captured comrades. Beat. The HINGES BLOW. The beaten man and the rebel with him are freed, and the guerrillas quickly retreat the way they came. Gordy sees flames spreading into the cell area. 160 GUERRILLAS 160 exit the fiery jail past Brandt. We see Brandt's not dead. 161 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - OUTSIDE JAIL 161 A truck pulls up. The guerrillas get in. The TRUCK SCREECHES OUT as... 162 4X4 162 full of sicarios SKIDS onto the street, far ahead of the truck. The sicario driving punches it, and... 163 TWO TRUCKS 163 ROAR toward each other. A game of chicken. With GUNS. Men in both vehicles OPEN UP -- the sicarios with magnums and Uzis, the guerrillas with AKs. SLUGS RIP through automotive steel. Casualties are taken. When... 164 SICARIO 164 driving the 4x4 receives a round in the forehead, cranks over the steering wheel, and... 63. 165 SPEEDING 4X4 165 does a Paris-to-Dakar road rally flip, twisting and somersaulting, and... 166 NEW ANGLE 166 The 4x4 catapults completely over the guerrillas' truck, disintegrating into spare parts and dead occupants, as... 167 GUERRILLAS 167 ROAR off. 168 EXT./INT. JAIL 168 A severely-dazed Brandt, bleeding from the nose and ears, slowly gets to his knees, crawls out of the burning building and collapses outside. 169 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL 169 There's fire and smoke everywhere. Gordy picks up the metal bunk and slams it against a wall. Slams it again. Breaks the metal apart. Then levers a long side rail in the cell door. He heaves. Heaves again. The fire's licking at him, but Gordy's undeterred. He heaves again, and... This time, the door gives. Gordy picks up Armstrong's cap, then picks up Armstrong, who's starting to come around. Puts Armstrong over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. GORDY Don't breathe. ARMSTRONG (weakly) You're not running through the fire, eh? GORDY Close your mouth. Because running through the fire is just what Gordy's gonna do. As he disappears into the flames... 170 EXT. JAIL - NIGHT 170 The town's in complete chaos. There are fires everywhere. (CONTINUED) 64. 170 CONTINUED: 170 Still stunned and bleeding, Brandt looks from where he lies on the ground as... Gordy bursts out of the inferno carrying Armstrong. They're singed and smoking, but they're alive. Gordy drops Armstrong, pats himself and Armstrong down, knocking out the burning embers on their clothes and hair, when... Gordy's eyes meet Brandt's. The two men hold the look for a moment. If Brandt could speak, he'd be yelling at Gordy to stop, not to go on. And Gordy knows it. But Gordy's not stopping. Picks up Armstrong again and moves off toward the waterfront. 171 EXT. MOMPOS WATERFRONT - NIGHT 171 There's less chaos here. The fires are in the distance. Gordy arrives carrying Armstrong. Sets him down. GORDY I'll find a boat to take us upriver. He starts to go. Armstrong stops him. ARMSTRONG No. I told you. The pass is only good for one person. And you're too dangerous to travel with. Beat. Gordy reaches over and takes Armstrong's cap. He looks inside. There's no pass. ARMSTRONG It hasn't been there since we landed. Gordy's at a loss. He tosses the cap back. Just looks at Armstrong. Beat. Armstrong sighs. ARMSTRONG Aw, hell... I was through with this place anyway... He takes off a boot. Shakes out some money and the pass. He hands the pass to Gordy. (CONTINUED) 65. 171 CONTINUED: 171 ARMSTRONG I'll call ahead and tell Felix I'm not coming, and you're my replacement. He'll meet you in Caguan and take you to the plantation... What do you know about diesel engines? GORDY All the fire trucks are diesels. ARMSTRONG You'll have to be Austrian, eh? They hate Americans. Name's gotta change, too, in case they're watching the news. (beat) It'll buy you a little time to look around Caguan. But you'll never find The Wolf. Beat. Gordy sticks out his hand. GORDY Heinrich Beckmann. ARMSTRONG Huh? GORDY My Austrian name. Armstrong shakes hands with Gordy. Armstrong doesn't let loose right away. Beat. ARMSTRONG Luck got you this far. But up there, luck doesn't make it. I hope you know you're gonna die. OFF Gordy, about to step over another line... 172 EXT. RIVER - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 172 As dawn breaks over the river, FIND Gordy sitting in a motored panga being steered by a local BOATMAN. Gordy reaches into a pocket and pulls out the photo of Anne and Matt. He looks at it for a few moments. Then pockets it again. 173 SAME SCENE - LATER 173 The panga passes a dead body floating downstream. 66. 174 SAME SCENE - LATER 174 The panga passes revolutionary banners and signs lining the riverbank. BOATMAN La zona guerrillera. 175 SAME SCENE - MOMENTS LATER 175 The panga rounds a bend, and... Two souped-up bass boats filled with heavily-armed ELC guerrillas move to intercept it. The Boatman slows, puts the panga in neutral and keeps his hands in sight. One boat of guerrillas pulls alongside. The other sheers off and stops a short distance away, ready to open fire. Gordy shows the guerrillas his travel pass. One of them takes it. Reads. Looks Gordy over. Then starts to rip the pass in half, when... He stops. Grins. It's a big joke. He hands back the pass, searches the boat quickly and waves the panga on. OFF Gordy's relief as the panga heads on... 176 EXT. CAGUAN TOWN DOCK - DAY 176 The panga arrives, and Gordy gets out. He's met by FELIX. Felix has a 9mm in a shoulder holster. Felix doesn't look the least bit happy. FELIX Beckmann. GORDY Yeah. FELIX Come with me. Felix leads him towards a Land Cruiser. FELIX Armstrong should have called sooner. We don't like changes here... If I didn't need the equipment fixed, I'd send you back. (CONTINUED) 67. 176 CONTINUED: 176 They reach the Land Cruiser. FELIX But now we have to see the E.L.C. Supervisor for Caguan. It's a prospect that seems to concern Felix almost as much as Gordy. Off which, as they get into the Toyota... 177 INT. ELC SUPERVISOR'S OFFICE - DAY 177 The ELC SUPERVISOR for Caguan may be a Marxist, but the clean, well-ordered office is nicely appointed, with a big-screen Sony and leather furniture. The TV's TUNED TO CNN. A photo on the wall depicts him as a younger man wearing guerrilla cammies bearing with an ELC patch and holding an AK-47. A brass nameplate reading "Supervisor" rests on a neat desk, behind which stands the man himself -- a hardened, former guerrilla fighter proud of his position. He's not in cammies now -- his uniform now consists of casual but nice tropical clothing and a fat Rolex. Felix is a subordinate here. He and Gordy stand across the desk as the Supervisor examines Gordy's travel pass. Gordy's nervous about what could appear on the TV in the b.g., but tries not to show it. ELC SUPERVISOR Your passport was stolen. GORDY In Mompos. ELC SUPERVISOR ... Mompos is a shithole. Not like Caguan... Why didn't Armstrong come? GORDY He was arrested in Ecuador. He got drunk and fooled around with a police officer's wife. The Supervisor just looks at him, assessing Gordy's face for signs he's lying. Gordy's expression stays the same. Felix respectfully interjects. It's almost a plea. FELIX (in Spanish) We need to fix the equipment. We have delivery deadlines to meet. (CONTINUED) 68. 177 CONTINUED: 177 A long beat. The ELC Supervisor hands the travel pass back to Gordy. In a hard tone to Felix -- ELC SUPERVISOR (in Spanish) He's your responsibility. Don't let him out of your sight. FELIX Si. Gracias. As Felix leads Gordy away... 178 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER (CAGUAN) - DAY 178 Gordy and Felix pull away from the Supervisor's H.Q. Felix resumes his former tone of command. FELIX The Supervisor made you my responsibility... You don't go anywhere without me, you understand? GORDY No problemo. Gordy peers out the window intently as they drive, looking for a lucky break, looking for The Wolf, searching the face of every man. He doesn't see The Wolf, but what he does see surprises him. The ELC Supervisor was right: Caguan's no Mompos. It's a third- world town, armed troops are visible, and there's a lot of bad shit behind Colombia's revolutionaries, but here the streets are calm and orderly. It's quiet, almost eerie, as people go about their business. OFF Gordy, seeing another side of the guerrillas... 179 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER/COUNTRY ROAD - DAY 179 Felix turns off at the entrance to a lane leading to the plantation. The entrance is guarded by a 4X4 "Rat Patrol" assault truck and four heavily armed ELC guerrillas. GORDY The E.L.C. guards your coffee beans? Felix thinks he's joking. Until he looks over and sees Gordy's actually being sincere. (CONTINUED) 69. 179 CONTINUED: 179 FELIX ... Coffee beans? Shit. Armstrong didn't tell you much... 180 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER - PLANTATION - DAY 180 They approach a hacienda and outbuildings. The accoutrements of agriculture are present -- tractors, sheds, cats, etc. -- but clearly, this is no family farm. There are lots of serious-looking men around. More ELC guerrillas stand guard. 181 FELIX 181 stops the car. He and Gordy get out. Felix begins leading Gordy toward two rows of long, open-walled sheds. FELIX The problem's with the diesel generators. The sons-of-bitches keep breaking down. 182 NEW ANGLE 182 They pass four very large pits, where green leaves steep in a thick, foul-smelling liquid. FELIX We're using portables to keep production going, but they don't supply enough power to the heat lamps, and we have to dry a lot of... 'coffee beans.' 183 ANOTHER ANGLE 183 They're now walking between the two rows of sheds, where portable gas GENERATORS THRUM, and... Gordy can see long, wide platforms inside. Above the platforms are multiple arrays of powerful heat lamps. Spread out and drying beneath them is a half-acre or two of converted cocaine. 184 IN ANOTHER SHED 184 workers pack and wrap one-kilo bricks of coke for shipment. 70. 185 GORDY AND FELIX 185 approach the two giant diesel generators. FELIX We can fix anything, but these keep dying on us... You'll start now. I'll have tools brought to you. (beat) Armstrong's a magician with them. Let's hope you have his skill. Felix walks over to a guerrilla with an AK-47 and speaks to him. Then goes. Whereupon the

hastily

How many times the word 'hastily' appears in the text?

wire bows against his shin, and... Gordy ducks, covers the Man in the Yankees Cap, and... Nothing happens. The young man just stands there, frozen in position, his leg still bowing the line. (CONTINUED) 48. 117 CONTINUED: 117 Using the Zippo again to light his way, Gordy advances to the young man. He follows the trip wire to where a Coca- Cola can hangs from a nearby tree. On closer inspection, Gordy can see the can is sleeved around a grenade. There's no pin in the grenade. The can keeps the grenade's arming spoon in place. The trip wire's designed to yank the can off, allowing the grenade to explode at chest level... And the can's almost off. Gordy burns through the monofilament trip wire. Then carefully slides the Coke can back over the grenade. 118 MAN IN YANKEES CAP - MOMENTS LATER 118 When Gordy returns, the man's dead. OFF Gordy, looking down at the NY logo on the cap... 119 EXT./INT. ANOTHER CHIVA - DAY 119 Gordy sees a sign for a town as the chiva rumbles along. He pulls out his map. 120 INSERT - MAP 120 Gordy finds the town, which lies along a river. He traces a road from the town. The road runs south through the town of Mompos, and eventually reaches Caguan, the ELC capital. 121 BACK TO SCENE 121 A COLOMBIAN WOMAN is looking over Gordy's shoulder. COLOMBIAN WOMAN No autobusses para este lugar. Solamente el barco en el rio. She leans over, traces the river, which also runs to Caguan. COLOMBIAN WOMAN El rio. 122 EXT. FERRY DOCK - DAY 122 The FERRY'S WHISTLE TOOTS. Lines are cast off. (CONTINUED) 49. 122 CONTINUED: 122 Two plainclothes federales have been watching the ferry load and now relax their vigil. One man holds a Xerox of Gordy's passport photo. The other bites into an empanada, which breaks open and spills its contents down the front of his shirt. His partner finds it funny. He doesn't. And while their attention's occupied... Gordy hurries by, oblivious to the federales' presence, and just manages to hop onto the ferry as it pulls away. 123 EXT. FERRY - DAY 123 The ferry's the only means of travel south, and it's packed. Gordy picks his way through. The only other gringo on the boat is a geek in a plaid shirt and gimme hat that says "Deerborn." The geek, PHILIP ARMSTRONG, looks like a talker, and Gordy tries to avoid eye contact. He's too late. ARMSTRONG Hey, yo, dude, here's a seat, man! GORDY No, that's okay -- But Armstrong's already throwing a bag off the bench. ARMSTRONG I was hoping for someone I could communicate with. He sees Gordy hasn't moved. ARMSTRONG Only room's at the back near the bano, and I'd advise against it, unless you like poop. Beat. Gordy sits. Immediately -- ARMSTRONG Philip Armstrong. Assiniboia, Sasketchewan, Canada. (indicates his hat) Deerborn Heavy Equipment. GORDY ... Gordy Pitt. ARMSTRONG Hey, howya doing? I love Germany. (CONTINUED) 50. 123 CONTINUED: 123 GORDY Austria. American now. ARMSTRONG I love America. Never been to Austria. Where from in America would that be? GORDY New York City. ARMSTRONG I don't like New York City. Buildings're too big. What kinda work you in? GORDY (hesitates, then) Coffee. I buy beans. ARMSTRONG Can't drink caffeine. Makes my stomach do the rumba. I like that commercial guy with the sombrero and the mule, though. Headed upstream, eh? Where to? GORDY Caguan. ARMSTRONG ... You've never been to Caguan, eh? GORDY How do you know? ARMSTRONG 'Cause no one in their right mind would ever go back. Caguan's in the guerrilla zone run by the E.L.C. E.L.C. as in 'Extra Loathsome Communists.' They don't care, and they kill. I'm going there myself. But I have a 'get outta jail free' card. Armstrong doffs his cap, undoes a safety pin securing a card inside the crown. Shows it to Gordy. Sotto -- (CONTINUED) 51. 123 CONTINUED: (2) 123 ARMSTRONG E.L.C. travel pass. I can go anywhere I want. (by way of explanation) Everyone needs equipment fixed. Armstrong carefully returns the card to the hat. And now his voice takes on a noticeably more measured tone -- ARMSTRONG If you don't have one of these, you don't want to be up there, Gordy. Beat. Gordy's contemplating the warning, when his eyes go to a small, sleepy boy standing nearby on the cramped deck, leaning against his father. Gordy reaches over and taps the boy. The boy looks over. Shrinks away at the sight of the large gringo. The father notices and looks at Gordy, who stands, indicates his seat. GORDY Por favor. The father's also apprehensive, doesn't move. GORDY Con mucho gusto. Finally, the father accepts, sits down with the sleepy boy on his lap. Nods his thanks at Gordy, who then gazes down at the son. A kid about Matt's age. Armstrong recognizes the look of a caring dad. ARMSTRONG Got kids, eh? OFF Armstrong, as Gordy walks away... 124 EXT. JUNGLE - DAY 124 Two Colombian armed man wearing guerrilla uniforms bearing a distinctive ELC patch are walking a trail, when the man in front notices something odd. He stops. Leads the other man back a few steps. Looks into the foliage along the trail. Something doesn't seem right. He extends his AK-47. Prods a hump of greenery with the rifle butt, and in a flash... The greenery suddenly transforms into two men wearing face-paint and full-body military camouflage gear and pointing twin cocked-and-locked CAR-15 assault rifles at the heads of the startled guerrillas. 52. 125 EXT. CIA HACIENDA - DAY 125 Brandt stubs a butt as a Colombian SOG group does killer training nearby. Updegraf opens the door. To Brandt -- UPDEGRAF One of Rocha's infiltration teams just radioed in... We got our big break... 126 EXT. FERRY - DAY 126 Gordy stands along the rail looking out at the lush, beautiful countryside sliding past. Armstrong joins him. ARMSTRONG That little kid and I had a nice, long snooze... We're almost to Mompos. (gazing out) Beautiful country. GORDY It better be. A lotta people're dying for it. ARMSTRONG (looks overboard) Y'know, I haven't noticed one darn body floating downstream this whole trip, have you? Gordy doesn't respond. Beat. GORDY I was thinking... Maybe we could travel together into Caguan. You could show me around. ARMSTRONG (shakes his head) Pass is only good for one person, if that's your idea, which I think it is... Besides, I can't risk traveling around up there in the company of a big gringo with a dumb-ass cover story about coffee beans. Gordy looks over. Armstrong smiles back. Beat. (CONTINUED) 53. 126 CONTINUED: 126 GORDY I've got money. I'll buy the pass from you. ARMSTRONG I've worked too hard for it. And you don't have that kind of money on you. GORDY I'll be getting some life insurance money -- ARMSTRONG (shaking his head) It's all cash and carry down here, Gordy. The FERRY WHISTLE TOOTS. ARMSTRONG Mompos... You want to have some fun, we'll hook up later. I always schedule a stopover. To sample the local wares and such. (winks) Life can be what you make it here on the frontier. GORDY No, thanks. ARMSTRONG Gotta get off the boat anyway. Mompos is the last stop. From here into the guerrilla zone you can only travel by panga... If you change your mind, I'll be at the Tropicale later. It's a gringo bar. Just follow the cockroaches. 127 NEW ANGLE 127 They see the beginnings of Mompos. Two 4x4 trucks are parked on the riverbank. Lean, clean-cut men in jeans, tight shirts, cowboy boots and sunglasses lean on the truck and watch the ferry pass. ARMSTRONG Sicarios. Death squads. Avoid those dudes at all costs. 54. 128 SAME SCENE - FEW MOMENTS LATER 128 The ferry pulls up to the dock. The dock street is a culture clash of shanty bars and Amazon Indian traders, of big-wheel SUVs and mule carts. There's a definite air of menace. ARMSTRONG Federales are looking for someone. Gordy follows Armstrong's look to two plain-clothes federales, one fat and one thin, standing near the dock watching the boat pull up. When Gordy glances back, Armstrong is gone. 129 EXT. MOMPOS FERRY DOCK - DAY 129 Gordy disembarks amid the throng of passengers, when the FAT FEDERALE confronts him. FAT FEDERALE Senor Pitt? Gordy looks up in surprise at him and the thin federale backing him up. FAT FEDERALE You'll have to come with us. GORDY Why? FAT FEDERALE Come with us, please. He clamps a hand on Gordy's arm. Gordy shakes it off and starts running. Almost immediately, he's tackled to the ground by the thin federale. Two more federales join in. Gordy's not gonna go down easy, though. Even as only one against four, Gordy's a formidable challenge. He's strong, and he's committed all the way. He's not getting kicked out of this country again. It's not a clean or artful fight. There's no karate. It's four men trying to tackle a bull, and... The bull gets away. 130 EXT./INT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 130 Gordy sprints down streets with the federales in pursuit. 55. 131 GORDY 131 jukes into a local bar. 132 ANOTHER ANGLE 132 Gordy pounds out the back of the bar into a littered courtyard, where he's surrounded by ten-foot walls. 133 FEDERALES 133 blast through the bar. 134 GORDY 134 runs, jumps, launches off a beer keg, and... 135 TOP OF WALL 135 He reaches the top of the wall and pulls himself up. He's looking out across a block-long run of corrugated tin roofs. Takes off across the roofs, each step thundering, as... 136 FEDERALES 136 burst into the courtyard. Two men hastily build a stack of boxes, etc., against the wall. 137 GORDY 137 runs as fast as he can across the rooftops, when... A section of roof gives way beneath his feet, just as... 138 NEW ANGLE 138 One of the federales finally mounts the wall, looks across the rooftops... and Gordy's gone. 139 GORDY 139 lands inside a warehouse room amid sacks of rice, beans and coffee. The building is dark and dusty. He lies still and listens. FOOTSTEPS approach across the tin roof overhead. Gordy burrows into the bags of rice, pulls them over him. 56. 140 FEDERALE 140 on the roof peers down through the hole. Scans the warehouse room below with a mini-Mag-Lite. 141 GORDY 141 sees the flashlight beam move past. He holds his breath. Beat. Then the FOOTSTEPS pass on, RECEDE down the roof. And Gordy can breathe again. 142 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - NIGHT 142 Gordy makes his way along the main drag of the frontier town. A noisy, neon-lit strip of bars and brothels. Everyone's packing a gun. A new Dodge City, where death squad sicarios cruise past in 4x4's BLARING SALSA. 143 INT. TROPICALE - NIGHT 143 In here, the MUSIC'S LOUD ROCK 'N' ROLL. Gringo music for a gringo bar. The place is busy, with plenty of local "hostesses" for the men. Even Armstrong, standing half-crocked at the bar, is flanked by two scantily-clad women. He's got a spoon hanging off his nose. So does one of the girls. Armstrong's trying to hang a spoon on the other. Gordy slips into the bar. Spots Armstrong through the crowd. Sees Armstrong's not wearing his cap, when... The girl with the spoon on her nose turns slightly, revealing she's wearing the cap. It's on backwards, but now Gordy can see the "Deerborn" logo clearly. Gordy wants the guerrilla travel pass inside the cap. It's a desperate move, but he's got no choice. Starts toward the girl, when... Gordy sees the thin federale enter the front door. The thin federale sees him at the same time. Begins moving in on him. Gordy moves faster toward the girl. And... The girl unwittingly does him a favor by taking off the cap and setting it on the bar, where it's easier to grab, and then turns her attention to Armstrong's antics. The thin detective fights through the crowd after Gordy. Gordy's almost to the hat. (CONTINUED) 57. 143 CONTINUED: 143 Armstrong's still having trouble with the second girl's spoon. ARMSTRONG I never met a nose I couldn't hang a spoon on. Gordy reaches the bar, snags the cap. Glances back, sees the thin federale closing in, turns to run out the back, when... A strong hand stops him. The hand belongs to the Fat Federale. And now the thin federale's there, too, wielding a stun gun where Gordy can see it. People in the bar fall silent. Everyone but Armstrong, who's finally hung the spoon on the second girl's nose. ARMSTRONG Yahtzee! And now Armstong also realizes something's up. Turns and sees Gordy. Sees the cap in Gordy's hand as the Fat Federale addresses Gordy -- FAT FEDERALE Come along, Mr. Pitt. Whereupon Armstrong shouts drunkenly at Gordy -- ARMSTRONG Police catch you trying to steal my hat, you asshole?! He staggers toward Gordy. Grabs the hat. ARMSTRONG Fucking hat thief! Armstrong takes a drunken swing at Gordy, but... Instead of hitting Gordy, Armstrong accidentally-on- purpose clocks the fat detective. Then hisses into Gordy's ear, clearly not that drunk -- ARMSTRONG Get outta here -- But then Armstrong's legs won't work as the thin federale jams the stun gun against his neck, and 10,000 volts surprise the Armstrong neural network. Gordy moves against the thin federale in anger, when... The Fat Federale ZAPS him with another STUN GUN, just behind the ear... And Gordy gets to know the floor, too. 58. 144 EXT. MOMPOS JAIL - NIGHT 144 The building's ancient, constructed of wood and adobe. 145 INT. MOMPOS JAIL - CELL - NIGHT 145 The jail might be old, but the cells are secure enough. They're also unsanitary and thoroughly unpleasant. Gordy and Armstrong are led in by the federales. The Fat Federale has Armstrong's hat. He looks it over, wondering why Gordy wanted it. Then decides he could give a fuck and tosses it to Armstrong. Clangs the cell door shut and locks it. Leaves shaking his head. FAT FEDERALE Gringos... Armstrong's still unsteady on his feet and sits down on the metal bunk. ARMSTRONG That stun gun wasn't cool. Armstrong looks down at himself. ARMSTRONG Haven't peed my pants in a real long time. GORDY (beat) You shouldn't have helped me. ARMSTRONG Yeah, well, I guess all these assholes down here are just starting on my nerves. Gordy's silent. It's over. He's come up short. He's going home. ARMSTRONG So what the hell did you do to land us in here? And don't jerk me around, eh? Beat. Gordy sits. GORDY The Wolf killed my wife and son in New York. (CONTINUED) 59. 145 CONTINUED: 145 ARMSTRONG ... Oh, you're that guy, eh? I'm sorry, man... And what, you came down here to even things out? Gordy just looks at him. ARMSTRONG Did you even have a plan? GORDY Yeah. Go to Caguan, find The Wolf and kill him. Armstrong just shakes his head. Beat. 146 DOOR TO CELL AREA 146 BANGS open. Federales lead in two men -- the two guerrillas surprised earlier by the heavy-camouflaged infiltrators. The federales are armed with batons and stun guns, taking no chances. It's clear the rebels weren't brought here without a struggle, either -- both are cut and bruised. The tougher-looking of the two has taken a real beating. This beaten man is jammed face- first against the bars of Gordy's cell. He makes eye contact with Gordy while the other rebel is unbound and put into a cell. Then the beaten man is shoved into the cell. A solid, brick wall separates them from Gordy and Armstrong. Armstrong's seen the patches on their uniforms. To Gordy, sotto -- ARMSTRONG E.L.C. Beat. Armstrong sees the look on Gordy's face. By way of a warning -- ARMSTRONG If you can't kill them, don't even talk to them. The GUERRILLAS are MURMURING in the other cell. One of them LAUGHS. OFF Gordy, listening to the LAUGHING... 147 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL - NIGHT 147 Two or three A.M. Armstrong's dozing. Gordy's still listening to the MURMURING of the REBELS on the other side of the wall, when... (CONTINUED) 60. 147 CONTINUED: 147 There's a flurry of activity outside the cell area. The door opens. Soldiers enter with some federales. Gordy watches the soldiers move past his cell. Rocha is with them. And then... Brandt appears at the bars, looks in at Gordy. BRANDT Enjoy your trip? Gordy stands, approaches. BRANDT We asked you to leave it to us. GORDY And you guys still haven't got him. BRANDT It's not over yet... The guys next door are in The Wolf's elite bodyguard unit. Where he goes, they go. We're gonna ask questions. And we're gonna get answers... And you're staying right here till our bomber's dead. Brandt goes. Moments later, a TORTURED SCREAM is heard on the other side of the brick wall, waking Armstrong with a start. 148 EXT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - NIGHT 148 In a field near Mompos, a canopied truck backs into position. Men in guerrilla uniforms with ELC patches get out and pull back the canopy, revealing mortar tubes pointing skyward on a bed of sand. 149 ELC GUERRILLA 149 unit armed with AK-47s and Light Anti-Tank Weapons (LAWs) infiltrates the town. 150 ANOTHER TWO-MAN ELC GUERRILLA TEAM 150 sets up a single mortar position overlooking the town. One of the men checks his watch. Beat. He signals. The other man drops a MORTAR down the tube. WHUMP. 61. 151 TWO MORTARS 151 go in the tubes on the truck. WHUMP, WHUMP. 152 ANOTHER ANGLE 152 BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! A water tower, the Mompos fire station and the town's power supply are direct hits. WHUMP, WHUMP, WHUMP... 153 INT. JAIL - CELLS 153 People react to the sounds of the MORTAR ATTACK on the town. The lights go out. Brandt, Rocha and their men quickly lock the guerrillas in their cell and head out. 154 EXT. JAIL 154 As MORTARS CONTINUE to fall on the rest of the town, the unit of guerrilla infiltrators open up on the front of the jail with LAW ROCKETS. 155 EXT./INT. JAIL 155 KA-BOOM! The front door and wall of the jail disintegrate under the multiple LAW attack. 156 NEW ANGLE 156 Brandt, Rocha and the soldiers, approaching the front door inside, are hammered by the massive concussion of the BLAST and flung across the room, apparently dead. 157 ANOTHER ANGLE 157 The powerful, concussive shock-wave channels into the cell area. Gordy's slightly protected by a wall. Armstrong, standing at the bars, is thrown into the opposite wall and knocked unconscious. 158 GUERRILLAS 158 charge inside with AKs BLAZING. Surviving soldiers and federales SHOOT back. The blasts have caused fires in the building. Severed wires spark, creating more fire. Flames begin to spread through the tinder-dry structure. (CONTINUED) 62. 158 CONTINUED: 158 The guerrillas take out the soldiers and federales, with few casualties to themselves. They make their way toward the cell area. EXPLODING AMMO and stored FUEL CANS accelerate the fire. 159 NEW ANGLE 159 The guerrillas reach the cells. Two men see Gordy and draw down on him. The others move to the next cell. Guerrillas plant small explosive charges on the hinges of the cell containing their two captured comrades. Beat. The HINGES BLOW. The beaten man and the rebel with him are freed, and the guerrillas quickly retreat the way they came. Gordy sees flames spreading into the cell area. 160 GUERRILLAS 160 exit the fiery jail past Brandt. We see Brandt's not dead. 161 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - OUTSIDE JAIL 161 A truck pulls up. The guerrillas get in. The TRUCK SCREECHES OUT as... 162 4X4 162 full of sicarios SKIDS onto the street, far ahead of the truck. The sicario driving punches it, and... 163 TWO TRUCKS 163 ROAR toward each other. A game of chicken. With GUNS. Men in both vehicles OPEN UP -- the sicarios with magnums and Uzis, the guerrillas with AKs. SLUGS RIP through automotive steel. Casualties are taken. When... 164 SICARIO 164 driving the 4x4 receives a round in the forehead, cranks over the steering wheel, and... 63. 165 SPEEDING 4X4 165 does a Paris-to-Dakar road rally flip, twisting and somersaulting, and... 166 NEW ANGLE 166 The 4x4 catapults completely over the guerrillas' truck, disintegrating into spare parts and dead occupants, as... 167 GUERRILLAS 167 ROAR off. 168 EXT./INT. JAIL 168 A severely-dazed Brandt, bleeding from the nose and ears, slowly gets to his knees, crawls out of the burning building and collapses outside. 169 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL 169 There's fire and smoke everywhere. Gordy picks up the metal bunk and slams it against a wall. Slams it again. Breaks the metal apart. Then levers a long side rail in the cell door. He heaves. Heaves again. The fire's licking at him, but Gordy's undeterred. He heaves again, and... This time, the door gives. Gordy picks up Armstrong's cap, then picks up Armstrong, who's starting to come around. Puts Armstrong over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. GORDY Don't breathe. ARMSTRONG (weakly) You're not running through the fire, eh? GORDY Close your mouth. Because running through the fire is just what Gordy's gonna do. As he disappears into the flames... 170 EXT. JAIL - NIGHT 170 The town's in complete chaos. There are fires everywhere. (CONTINUED) 64. 170 CONTINUED: 170 Still stunned and bleeding, Brandt looks from where he lies on the ground as... Gordy bursts out of the inferno carrying Armstrong. They're singed and smoking, but they're alive. Gordy drops Armstrong, pats himself and Armstrong down, knocking out the burning embers on their clothes and hair, when... Gordy's eyes meet Brandt's. The two men hold the look for a moment. If Brandt could speak, he'd be yelling at Gordy to stop, not to go on. And Gordy knows it. But Gordy's not stopping. Picks up Armstrong again and moves off toward the waterfront. 171 EXT. MOMPOS WATERFRONT - NIGHT 171 There's less chaos here. The fires are in the distance. Gordy arrives carrying Armstrong. Sets him down. GORDY I'll find a boat to take us upriver. He starts to go. Armstrong stops him. ARMSTRONG No. I told you. The pass is only good for one person. And you're too dangerous to travel with. Beat. Gordy reaches over and takes Armstrong's cap. He looks inside. There's no pass. ARMSTRONG It hasn't been there since we landed. Gordy's at a loss. He tosses the cap back. Just looks at Armstrong. Beat. Armstrong sighs. ARMSTRONG Aw, hell... I was through with this place anyway... He takes off a boot. Shakes out some money and the pass. He hands the pass to Gordy. (CONTINUED) 65. 171 CONTINUED: 171 ARMSTRONG I'll call ahead and tell Felix I'm not coming, and you're my replacement. He'll meet you in Caguan and take you to the plantation... What do you know about diesel engines? GORDY All the fire trucks are diesels. ARMSTRONG You'll have to be Austrian, eh? They hate Americans. Name's gotta change, too, in case they're watching the news. (beat) It'll buy you a little time to look around Caguan. But you'll never find The Wolf. Beat. Gordy sticks out his hand. GORDY Heinrich Beckmann. ARMSTRONG Huh? GORDY My Austrian name. Armstrong shakes hands with Gordy. Armstrong doesn't let loose right away. Beat. ARMSTRONG Luck got you this far. But up there, luck doesn't make it. I hope you know you're gonna die. OFF Gordy, about to step over another line... 172 EXT. RIVER - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 172 As dawn breaks over the river, FIND Gordy sitting in a motored panga being steered by a local BOATMAN. Gordy reaches into a pocket and pulls out the photo of Anne and Matt. He looks at it for a few moments. Then pockets it again. 173 SAME SCENE - LATER 173 The panga passes a dead body floating downstream. 66. 174 SAME SCENE - LATER 174 The panga passes revolutionary banners and signs lining the riverbank. BOATMAN La zona guerrillera. 175 SAME SCENE - MOMENTS LATER 175 The panga rounds a bend, and... Two souped-up bass boats filled with heavily-armed ELC guerrillas move to intercept it. The Boatman slows, puts the panga in neutral and keeps his hands in sight. One boat of guerrillas pulls alongside. The other sheers off and stops a short distance away, ready to open fire. Gordy shows the guerrillas his travel pass. One of them takes it. Reads. Looks Gordy over. Then starts to rip the pass in half, when... He stops. Grins. It's a big joke. He hands back the pass, searches the boat quickly and waves the panga on. OFF Gordy's relief as the panga heads on... 176 EXT. CAGUAN TOWN DOCK - DAY 176 The panga arrives, and Gordy gets out. He's met by FELIX. Felix has a 9mm in a shoulder holster. Felix doesn't look the least bit happy. FELIX Beckmann. GORDY Yeah. FELIX Come with me. Felix leads him towards a Land Cruiser. FELIX Armstrong should have called sooner. We don't like changes here... If I didn't need the equipment fixed, I'd send you back. (CONTINUED) 67. 176 CONTINUED: 176 They reach the Land Cruiser. FELIX But now we have to see the E.L.C. Supervisor for Caguan. It's a prospect that seems to concern Felix almost as much as Gordy. Off which, as they get into the Toyota... 177 INT. ELC SUPERVISOR'S OFFICE - DAY 177 The ELC SUPERVISOR for Caguan may be a Marxist, but the clean, well-ordered office is nicely appointed, with a big-screen Sony and leather furniture. The TV's TUNED TO CNN. A photo on the wall depicts him as a younger man wearing guerrilla cammies bearing with an ELC patch and holding an AK-47. A brass nameplate reading "Supervisor" rests on a neat desk, behind which stands the man himself -- a hardened, former guerrilla fighter proud of his position. He's not in cammies now -- his uniform now consists of casual but nice tropical clothing and a fat Rolex. Felix is a subordinate here. He and Gordy stand across the desk as the Supervisor examines Gordy's travel pass. Gordy's nervous about what could appear on the TV in the b.g., but tries not to show it. ELC SUPERVISOR Your passport was stolen. GORDY In Mompos. ELC SUPERVISOR ... Mompos is a shithole. Not like Caguan... Why didn't Armstrong come? GORDY He was arrested in Ecuador. He got drunk and fooled around with a police officer's wife. The Supervisor just looks at him, assessing Gordy's face for signs he's lying. Gordy's expression stays the same. Felix respectfully interjects. It's almost a plea. FELIX (in Spanish) We need to fix the equipment. We have delivery deadlines to meet. (CONTINUED) 68. 177 CONTINUED: 177 A long beat. The ELC Supervisor hands the travel pass back to Gordy. In a hard tone to Felix -- ELC SUPERVISOR (in Spanish) He's your responsibility. Don't let him out of your sight. FELIX Si. Gracias. As Felix leads Gordy away... 178 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER (CAGUAN) - DAY 178 Gordy and Felix pull away from the Supervisor's H.Q. Felix resumes his former tone of command. FELIX The Supervisor made you my responsibility... You don't go anywhere without me, you understand? GORDY No problemo. Gordy peers out the window intently as they drive, looking for a lucky break, looking for The Wolf, searching the face of every man. He doesn't see The Wolf, but what he does see surprises him. The ELC Supervisor was right: Caguan's no Mompos. It's a third- world town, armed troops are visible, and there's a lot of bad shit behind Colombia's revolutionaries, but here the streets are calm and orderly. It's quiet, almost eerie, as people go about their business. OFF Gordy, seeing another side of the guerrillas... 179 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER/COUNTRY ROAD - DAY 179 Felix turns off at the entrance to a lane leading to the plantation. The entrance is guarded by a 4X4 "Rat Patrol" assault truck and four heavily armed ELC guerrillas. GORDY The E.L.C. guards your coffee beans? Felix thinks he's joking. Until he looks over and sees Gordy's actually being sincere. (CONTINUED) 69. 179 CONTINUED: 179 FELIX ... Coffee beans? Shit. Armstrong didn't tell you much... 180 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER - PLANTATION - DAY 180 They approach a hacienda and outbuildings. The accoutrements of agriculture are present -- tractors, sheds, cats, etc. -- but clearly, this is no family farm. There are lots of serious-looking men around. More ELC guerrillas stand guard. 181 FELIX 181 stops the car. He and Gordy get out. Felix begins leading Gordy toward two rows of long, open-walled sheds. FELIX The problem's with the diesel generators. The sons-of-bitches keep breaking down. 182 NEW ANGLE 182 They pass four very large pits, where green leaves steep in a thick, foul-smelling liquid. FELIX We're using portables to keep production going, but they don't supply enough power to the heat lamps, and we have to dry a lot of... 'coffee beans.' 183 ANOTHER ANGLE 183 They're now walking between the two rows of sheds, where portable gas GENERATORS THRUM, and... Gordy can see long, wide platforms inside. Above the platforms are multiple arrays of powerful heat lamps. Spread out and drying beneath them is a half-acre or two of converted cocaine. 184 IN ANOTHER SHED 184 workers pack and wrap one-kilo bricks of coke for shipment. 70. 185 GORDY AND FELIX 185 approach the two giant diesel generators. FELIX We can fix anything, but these keep dying on us... You'll start now. I'll have tools brought to you. (beat) Armstrong's a magician with them. Let's hope you have his skill. Felix walks over to a guerrilla with an AK-47 and speaks to him. Then goes. Whereupon the

justification

How many times the word 'justification' appears in the text?

wire bows against his shin, and... Gordy ducks, covers the Man in the Yankees Cap, and... Nothing happens. The young man just stands there, frozen in position, his leg still bowing the line. (CONTINUED) 48. 117 CONTINUED: 117 Using the Zippo again to light his way, Gordy advances to the young man. He follows the trip wire to where a Coca- Cola can hangs from a nearby tree. On closer inspection, Gordy can see the can is sleeved around a grenade. There's no pin in the grenade. The can keeps the grenade's arming spoon in place. The trip wire's designed to yank the can off, allowing the grenade to explode at chest level... And the can's almost off. Gordy burns through the monofilament trip wire. Then carefully slides the Coke can back over the grenade. 118 MAN IN YANKEES CAP - MOMENTS LATER 118 When Gordy returns, the man's dead. OFF Gordy, looking down at the NY logo on the cap... 119 EXT./INT. ANOTHER CHIVA - DAY 119 Gordy sees a sign for a town as the chiva rumbles along. He pulls out his map. 120 INSERT - MAP 120 Gordy finds the town, which lies along a river. He traces a road from the town. The road runs south through the town of Mompos, and eventually reaches Caguan, the ELC capital. 121 BACK TO SCENE 121 A COLOMBIAN WOMAN is looking over Gordy's shoulder. COLOMBIAN WOMAN No autobusses para este lugar. Solamente el barco en el rio. She leans over, traces the river, which also runs to Caguan. COLOMBIAN WOMAN El rio. 122 EXT. FERRY DOCK - DAY 122 The FERRY'S WHISTLE TOOTS. Lines are cast off. (CONTINUED) 49. 122 CONTINUED: 122 Two plainclothes federales have been watching the ferry load and now relax their vigil. One man holds a Xerox of Gordy's passport photo. The other bites into an empanada, which breaks open and spills its contents down the front of his shirt. His partner finds it funny. He doesn't. And while their attention's occupied... Gordy hurries by, oblivious to the federales' presence, and just manages to hop onto the ferry as it pulls away. 123 EXT. FERRY - DAY 123 The ferry's the only means of travel south, and it's packed. Gordy picks his way through. The only other gringo on the boat is a geek in a plaid shirt and gimme hat that says "Deerborn." The geek, PHILIP ARMSTRONG, looks like a talker, and Gordy tries to avoid eye contact. He's too late. ARMSTRONG Hey, yo, dude, here's a seat, man! GORDY No, that's okay -- But Armstrong's already throwing a bag off the bench. ARMSTRONG I was hoping for someone I could communicate with. He sees Gordy hasn't moved. ARMSTRONG Only room's at the back near the bano, and I'd advise against it, unless you like poop. Beat. Gordy sits. Immediately -- ARMSTRONG Philip Armstrong. Assiniboia, Sasketchewan, Canada. (indicates his hat) Deerborn Heavy Equipment. GORDY ... Gordy Pitt. ARMSTRONG Hey, howya doing? I love Germany. (CONTINUED) 50. 123 CONTINUED: 123 GORDY Austria. American now. ARMSTRONG I love America. Never been to Austria. Where from in America would that be? GORDY New York City. ARMSTRONG I don't like New York City. Buildings're too big. What kinda work you in? GORDY (hesitates, then) Coffee. I buy beans. ARMSTRONG Can't drink caffeine. Makes my stomach do the rumba. I like that commercial guy with the sombrero and the mule, though. Headed upstream, eh? Where to? GORDY Caguan. ARMSTRONG ... You've never been to Caguan, eh? GORDY How do you know? ARMSTRONG 'Cause no one in their right mind would ever go back. Caguan's in the guerrilla zone run by the E.L.C. E.L.C. as in 'Extra Loathsome Communists.' They don't care, and they kill. I'm going there myself. But I have a 'get outta jail free' card. Armstrong doffs his cap, undoes a safety pin securing a card inside the crown. Shows it to Gordy. Sotto -- (CONTINUED) 51. 123 CONTINUED: (2) 123 ARMSTRONG E.L.C. travel pass. I can go anywhere I want. (by way of explanation) Everyone needs equipment fixed. Armstrong carefully returns the card to the hat. And now his voice takes on a noticeably more measured tone -- ARMSTRONG If you don't have one of these, you don't want to be up there, Gordy. Beat. Gordy's contemplating the warning, when his eyes go to a small, sleepy boy standing nearby on the cramped deck, leaning against his father. Gordy reaches over and taps the boy. The boy looks over. Shrinks away at the sight of the large gringo. The father notices and looks at Gordy, who stands, indicates his seat. GORDY Por favor. The father's also apprehensive, doesn't move. GORDY Con mucho gusto. Finally, the father accepts, sits down with the sleepy boy on his lap. Nods his thanks at Gordy, who then gazes down at the son. A kid about Matt's age. Armstrong recognizes the look of a caring dad. ARMSTRONG Got kids, eh? OFF Armstrong, as Gordy walks away... 124 EXT. JUNGLE - DAY 124 Two Colombian armed man wearing guerrilla uniforms bearing a distinctive ELC patch are walking a trail, when the man in front notices something odd. He stops. Leads the other man back a few steps. Looks into the foliage along the trail. Something doesn't seem right. He extends his AK-47. Prods a hump of greenery with the rifle butt, and in a flash... The greenery suddenly transforms into two men wearing face-paint and full-body military camouflage gear and pointing twin cocked-and-locked CAR-15 assault rifles at the heads of the startled guerrillas. 52. 125 EXT. CIA HACIENDA - DAY 125 Brandt stubs a butt as a Colombian SOG group does killer training nearby. Updegraf opens the door. To Brandt -- UPDEGRAF One of Rocha's infiltration teams just radioed in... We got our big break... 126 EXT. FERRY - DAY 126 Gordy stands along the rail looking out at the lush, beautiful countryside sliding past. Armstrong joins him. ARMSTRONG That little kid and I had a nice, long snooze... We're almost to Mompos. (gazing out) Beautiful country. GORDY It better be. A lotta people're dying for it. ARMSTRONG (looks overboard) Y'know, I haven't noticed one darn body floating downstream this whole trip, have you? Gordy doesn't respond. Beat. GORDY I was thinking... Maybe we could travel together into Caguan. You could show me around. ARMSTRONG (shakes his head) Pass is only good for one person, if that's your idea, which I think it is... Besides, I can't risk traveling around up there in the company of a big gringo with a dumb-ass cover story about coffee beans. Gordy looks over. Armstrong smiles back. Beat. (CONTINUED) 53. 126 CONTINUED: 126 GORDY I've got money. I'll buy the pass from you. ARMSTRONG I've worked too hard for it. And you don't have that kind of money on you. GORDY I'll be getting some life insurance money -- ARMSTRONG (shaking his head) It's all cash and carry down here, Gordy. The FERRY WHISTLE TOOTS. ARMSTRONG Mompos... You want to have some fun, we'll hook up later. I always schedule a stopover. To sample the local wares and such. (winks) Life can be what you make it here on the frontier. GORDY No, thanks. ARMSTRONG Gotta get off the boat anyway. Mompos is the last stop. From here into the guerrilla zone you can only travel by panga... If you change your mind, I'll be at the Tropicale later. It's a gringo bar. Just follow the cockroaches. 127 NEW ANGLE 127 They see the beginnings of Mompos. Two 4x4 trucks are parked on the riverbank. Lean, clean-cut men in jeans, tight shirts, cowboy boots and sunglasses lean on the truck and watch the ferry pass. ARMSTRONG Sicarios. Death squads. Avoid those dudes at all costs. 54. 128 SAME SCENE - FEW MOMENTS LATER 128 The ferry pulls up to the dock. The dock street is a culture clash of shanty bars and Amazon Indian traders, of big-wheel SUVs and mule carts. There's a definite air of menace. ARMSTRONG Federales are looking for someone. Gordy follows Armstrong's look to two plain-clothes federales, one fat and one thin, standing near the dock watching the boat pull up. When Gordy glances back, Armstrong is gone. 129 EXT. MOMPOS FERRY DOCK - DAY 129 Gordy disembarks amid the throng of passengers, when the FAT FEDERALE confronts him. FAT FEDERALE Senor Pitt? Gordy looks up in surprise at him and the thin federale backing him up. FAT FEDERALE You'll have to come with us. GORDY Why? FAT FEDERALE Come with us, please. He clamps a hand on Gordy's arm. Gordy shakes it off and starts running. Almost immediately, he's tackled to the ground by the thin federale. Two more federales join in. Gordy's not gonna go down easy, though. Even as only one against four, Gordy's a formidable challenge. He's strong, and he's committed all the way. He's not getting kicked out of this country again. It's not a clean or artful fight. There's no karate. It's four men trying to tackle a bull, and... The bull gets away. 130 EXT./INT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 130 Gordy sprints down streets with the federales in pursuit. 55. 131 GORDY 131 jukes into a local bar. 132 ANOTHER ANGLE 132 Gordy pounds out the back of the bar into a littered courtyard, where he's surrounded by ten-foot walls. 133 FEDERALES 133 blast through the bar. 134 GORDY 134 runs, jumps, launches off a beer keg, and... 135 TOP OF WALL 135 He reaches the top of the wall and pulls himself up. He's looking out across a block-long run of corrugated tin roofs. Takes off across the roofs, each step thundering, as... 136 FEDERALES 136 burst into the courtyard. Two men hastily build a stack of boxes, etc., against the wall. 137 GORDY 137 runs as fast as he can across the rooftops, when... A section of roof gives way beneath his feet, just as... 138 NEW ANGLE 138 One of the federales finally mounts the wall, looks across the rooftops... and Gordy's gone. 139 GORDY 139 lands inside a warehouse room amid sacks of rice, beans and coffee. The building is dark and dusty. He lies still and listens. FOOTSTEPS approach across the tin roof overhead. Gordy burrows into the bags of rice, pulls them over him. 56. 140 FEDERALE 140 on the roof peers down through the hole. Scans the warehouse room below with a mini-Mag-Lite. 141 GORDY 141 sees the flashlight beam move past. He holds his breath. Beat. Then the FOOTSTEPS pass on, RECEDE down the roof. And Gordy can breathe again. 142 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - NIGHT 142 Gordy makes his way along the main drag of the frontier town. A noisy, neon-lit strip of bars and brothels. Everyone's packing a gun. A new Dodge City, where death squad sicarios cruise past in 4x4's BLARING SALSA. 143 INT. TROPICALE - NIGHT 143 In here, the MUSIC'S LOUD ROCK 'N' ROLL. Gringo music for a gringo bar. The place is busy, with plenty of local "hostesses" for the men. Even Armstrong, standing half-crocked at the bar, is flanked by two scantily-clad women. He's got a spoon hanging off his nose. So does one of the girls. Armstrong's trying to hang a spoon on the other. Gordy slips into the bar. Spots Armstrong through the crowd. Sees Armstrong's not wearing his cap, when... The girl with the spoon on her nose turns slightly, revealing she's wearing the cap. It's on backwards, but now Gordy can see the "Deerborn" logo clearly. Gordy wants the guerrilla travel pass inside the cap. It's a desperate move, but he's got no choice. Starts toward the girl, when... Gordy sees the thin federale enter the front door. The thin federale sees him at the same time. Begins moving in on him. Gordy moves faster toward the girl. And... The girl unwittingly does him a favor by taking off the cap and setting it on the bar, where it's easier to grab, and then turns her attention to Armstrong's antics. The thin detective fights through the crowd after Gordy. Gordy's almost to the hat. (CONTINUED) 57. 143 CONTINUED: 143 Armstrong's still having trouble with the second girl's spoon. ARMSTRONG I never met a nose I couldn't hang a spoon on. Gordy reaches the bar, snags the cap. Glances back, sees the thin federale closing in, turns to run out the back, when... A strong hand stops him. The hand belongs to the Fat Federale. And now the thin federale's there, too, wielding a stun gun where Gordy can see it. People in the bar fall silent. Everyone but Armstrong, who's finally hung the spoon on the second girl's nose. ARMSTRONG Yahtzee! And now Armstong also realizes something's up. Turns and sees Gordy. Sees the cap in Gordy's hand as the Fat Federale addresses Gordy -- FAT FEDERALE Come along, Mr. Pitt. Whereupon Armstrong shouts drunkenly at Gordy -- ARMSTRONG Police catch you trying to steal my hat, you asshole?! He staggers toward Gordy. Grabs the hat. ARMSTRONG Fucking hat thief! Armstrong takes a drunken swing at Gordy, but... Instead of hitting Gordy, Armstrong accidentally-on- purpose clocks the fat detective. Then hisses into Gordy's ear, clearly not that drunk -- ARMSTRONG Get outta here -- But then Armstrong's legs won't work as the thin federale jams the stun gun against his neck, and 10,000 volts surprise the Armstrong neural network. Gordy moves against the thin federale in anger, when... The Fat Federale ZAPS him with another STUN GUN, just behind the ear... And Gordy gets to know the floor, too. 58. 144 EXT. MOMPOS JAIL - NIGHT 144 The building's ancient, constructed of wood and adobe. 145 INT. MOMPOS JAIL - CELL - NIGHT 145 The jail might be old, but the cells are secure enough. They're also unsanitary and thoroughly unpleasant. Gordy and Armstrong are led in by the federales. The Fat Federale has Armstrong's hat. He looks it over, wondering why Gordy wanted it. Then decides he could give a fuck and tosses it to Armstrong. Clangs the cell door shut and locks it. Leaves shaking his head. FAT FEDERALE Gringos... Armstrong's still unsteady on his feet and sits down on the metal bunk. ARMSTRONG That stun gun wasn't cool. Armstrong looks down at himself. ARMSTRONG Haven't peed my pants in a real long time. GORDY (beat) You shouldn't have helped me. ARMSTRONG Yeah, well, I guess all these assholes down here are just starting on my nerves. Gordy's silent. It's over. He's come up short. He's going home. ARMSTRONG So what the hell did you do to land us in here? And don't jerk me around, eh? Beat. Gordy sits. GORDY The Wolf killed my wife and son in New York. (CONTINUED) 59. 145 CONTINUED: 145 ARMSTRONG ... Oh, you're that guy, eh? I'm sorry, man... And what, you came down here to even things out? Gordy just looks at him. ARMSTRONG Did you even have a plan? GORDY Yeah. Go to Caguan, find The Wolf and kill him. Armstrong just shakes his head. Beat. 146 DOOR TO CELL AREA 146 BANGS open. Federales lead in two men -- the two guerrillas surprised earlier by the heavy-camouflaged infiltrators. The federales are armed with batons and stun guns, taking no chances. It's clear the rebels weren't brought here without a struggle, either -- both are cut and bruised. The tougher-looking of the two has taken a real beating. This beaten man is jammed face- first against the bars of Gordy's cell. He makes eye contact with Gordy while the other rebel is unbound and put into a cell. Then the beaten man is shoved into the cell. A solid, brick wall separates them from Gordy and Armstrong. Armstrong's seen the patches on their uniforms. To Gordy, sotto -- ARMSTRONG E.L.C. Beat. Armstrong sees the look on Gordy's face. By way of a warning -- ARMSTRONG If you can't kill them, don't even talk to them. The GUERRILLAS are MURMURING in the other cell. One of them LAUGHS. OFF Gordy, listening to the LAUGHING... 147 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL - NIGHT 147 Two or three A.M. Armstrong's dozing. Gordy's still listening to the MURMURING of the REBELS on the other side of the wall, when... (CONTINUED) 60. 147 CONTINUED: 147 There's a flurry of activity outside the cell area. The door opens. Soldiers enter with some federales. Gordy watches the soldiers move past his cell. Rocha is with them. And then... Brandt appears at the bars, looks in at Gordy. BRANDT Enjoy your trip? Gordy stands, approaches. BRANDT We asked you to leave it to us. GORDY And you guys still haven't got him. BRANDT It's not over yet... The guys next door are in The Wolf's elite bodyguard unit. Where he goes, they go. We're gonna ask questions. And we're gonna get answers... And you're staying right here till our bomber's dead. Brandt goes. Moments later, a TORTURED SCREAM is heard on the other side of the brick wall, waking Armstrong with a start. 148 EXT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - NIGHT 148 In a field near Mompos, a canopied truck backs into position. Men in guerrilla uniforms with ELC patches get out and pull back the canopy, revealing mortar tubes pointing skyward on a bed of sand. 149 ELC GUERRILLA 149 unit armed with AK-47s and Light Anti-Tank Weapons (LAWs) infiltrates the town. 150 ANOTHER TWO-MAN ELC GUERRILLA TEAM 150 sets up a single mortar position overlooking the town. One of the men checks his watch. Beat. He signals. The other man drops a MORTAR down the tube. WHUMP. 61. 151 TWO MORTARS 151 go in the tubes on the truck. WHUMP, WHUMP. 152 ANOTHER ANGLE 152 BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! A water tower, the Mompos fire station and the town's power supply are direct hits. WHUMP, WHUMP, WHUMP... 153 INT. JAIL - CELLS 153 People react to the sounds of the MORTAR ATTACK on the town. The lights go out. Brandt, Rocha and their men quickly lock the guerrillas in their cell and head out. 154 EXT. JAIL 154 As MORTARS CONTINUE to fall on the rest of the town, the unit of guerrilla infiltrators open up on the front of the jail with LAW ROCKETS. 155 EXT./INT. JAIL 155 KA-BOOM! The front door and wall of the jail disintegrate under the multiple LAW attack. 156 NEW ANGLE 156 Brandt, Rocha and the soldiers, approaching the front door inside, are hammered by the massive concussion of the BLAST and flung across the room, apparently dead. 157 ANOTHER ANGLE 157 The powerful, concussive shock-wave channels into the cell area. Gordy's slightly protected by a wall. Armstrong, standing at the bars, is thrown into the opposite wall and knocked unconscious. 158 GUERRILLAS 158 charge inside with AKs BLAZING. Surviving soldiers and federales SHOOT back. The blasts have caused fires in the building. Severed wires spark, creating more fire. Flames begin to spread through the tinder-dry structure. (CONTINUED) 62. 158 CONTINUED: 158 The guerrillas take out the soldiers and federales, with few casualties to themselves. They make their way toward the cell area. EXPLODING AMMO and stored FUEL CANS accelerate the fire. 159 NEW ANGLE 159 The guerrillas reach the cells. Two men see Gordy and draw down on him. The others move to the next cell. Guerrillas plant small explosive charges on the hinges of the cell containing their two captured comrades. Beat. The HINGES BLOW. The beaten man and the rebel with him are freed, and the guerrillas quickly retreat the way they came. Gordy sees flames spreading into the cell area. 160 GUERRILLAS 160 exit the fiery jail past Brandt. We see Brandt's not dead. 161 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - OUTSIDE JAIL 161 A truck pulls up. The guerrillas get in. The TRUCK SCREECHES OUT as... 162 4X4 162 full of sicarios SKIDS onto the street, far ahead of the truck. The sicario driving punches it, and... 163 TWO TRUCKS 163 ROAR toward each other. A game of chicken. With GUNS. Men in both vehicles OPEN UP -- the sicarios with magnums and Uzis, the guerrillas with AKs. SLUGS RIP through automotive steel. Casualties are taken. When... 164 SICARIO 164 driving the 4x4 receives a round in the forehead, cranks over the steering wheel, and... 63. 165 SPEEDING 4X4 165 does a Paris-to-Dakar road rally flip, twisting and somersaulting, and... 166 NEW ANGLE 166 The 4x4 catapults completely over the guerrillas' truck, disintegrating into spare parts and dead occupants, as... 167 GUERRILLAS 167 ROAR off. 168 EXT./INT. JAIL 168 A severely-dazed Brandt, bleeding from the nose and ears, slowly gets to his knees, crawls out of the burning building and collapses outside. 169 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL 169 There's fire and smoke everywhere. Gordy picks up the metal bunk and slams it against a wall. Slams it again. Breaks the metal apart. Then levers a long side rail in the cell door. He heaves. Heaves again. The fire's licking at him, but Gordy's undeterred. He heaves again, and... This time, the door gives. Gordy picks up Armstrong's cap, then picks up Armstrong, who's starting to come around. Puts Armstrong over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. GORDY Don't breathe. ARMSTRONG (weakly) You're not running through the fire, eh? GORDY Close your mouth. Because running through the fire is just what Gordy's gonna do. As he disappears into the flames... 170 EXT. JAIL - NIGHT 170 The town's in complete chaos. There are fires everywhere. (CONTINUED) 64. 170 CONTINUED: 170 Still stunned and bleeding, Brandt looks from where he lies on the ground as... Gordy bursts out of the inferno carrying Armstrong. They're singed and smoking, but they're alive. Gordy drops Armstrong, pats himself and Armstrong down, knocking out the burning embers on their clothes and hair, when... Gordy's eyes meet Brandt's. The two men hold the look for a moment. If Brandt could speak, he'd be yelling at Gordy to stop, not to go on. And Gordy knows it. But Gordy's not stopping. Picks up Armstrong again and moves off toward the waterfront. 171 EXT. MOMPOS WATERFRONT - NIGHT 171 There's less chaos here. The fires are in the distance. Gordy arrives carrying Armstrong. Sets him down. GORDY I'll find a boat to take us upriver. He starts to go. Armstrong stops him. ARMSTRONG No. I told you. The pass is only good for one person. And you're too dangerous to travel with. Beat. Gordy reaches over and takes Armstrong's cap. He looks inside. There's no pass. ARMSTRONG It hasn't been there since we landed. Gordy's at a loss. He tosses the cap back. Just looks at Armstrong. Beat. Armstrong sighs. ARMSTRONG Aw, hell... I was through with this place anyway... He takes off a boot. Shakes out some money and the pass. He hands the pass to Gordy. (CONTINUED) 65. 171 CONTINUED: 171 ARMSTRONG I'll call ahead and tell Felix I'm not coming, and you're my replacement. He'll meet you in Caguan and take you to the plantation... What do you know about diesel engines? GORDY All the fire trucks are diesels. ARMSTRONG You'll have to be Austrian, eh? They hate Americans. Name's gotta change, too, in case they're watching the news. (beat) It'll buy you a little time to look around Caguan. But you'll never find The Wolf. Beat. Gordy sticks out his hand. GORDY Heinrich Beckmann. ARMSTRONG Huh? GORDY My Austrian name. Armstrong shakes hands with Gordy. Armstrong doesn't let loose right away. Beat. ARMSTRONG Luck got you this far. But up there, luck doesn't make it. I hope you know you're gonna die. OFF Gordy, about to step over another line... 172 EXT. RIVER - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 172 As dawn breaks over the river, FIND Gordy sitting in a motored panga being steered by a local BOATMAN. Gordy reaches into a pocket and pulls out the photo of Anne and Matt. He looks at it for a few moments. Then pockets it again. 173 SAME SCENE - LATER 173 The panga passes a dead body floating downstream. 66. 174 SAME SCENE - LATER 174 The panga passes revolutionary banners and signs lining the riverbank. BOATMAN La zona guerrillera. 175 SAME SCENE - MOMENTS LATER 175 The panga rounds a bend, and... Two souped-up bass boats filled with heavily-armed ELC guerrillas move to intercept it. The Boatman slows, puts the panga in neutral and keeps his hands in sight. One boat of guerrillas pulls alongside. The other sheers off and stops a short distance away, ready to open fire. Gordy shows the guerrillas his travel pass. One of them takes it. Reads. Looks Gordy over. Then starts to rip the pass in half, when... He stops. Grins. It's a big joke. He hands back the pass, searches the boat quickly and waves the panga on. OFF Gordy's relief as the panga heads on... 176 EXT. CAGUAN TOWN DOCK - DAY 176 The panga arrives, and Gordy gets out. He's met by FELIX. Felix has a 9mm in a shoulder holster. Felix doesn't look the least bit happy. FELIX Beckmann. GORDY Yeah. FELIX Come with me. Felix leads him towards a Land Cruiser. FELIX Armstrong should have called sooner. We don't like changes here... If I didn't need the equipment fixed, I'd send you back. (CONTINUED) 67. 176 CONTINUED: 176 They reach the Land Cruiser. FELIX But now we have to see the E.L.C. Supervisor for Caguan. It's a prospect that seems to concern Felix almost as much as Gordy. Off which, as they get into the Toyota... 177 INT. ELC SUPERVISOR'S OFFICE - DAY 177 The ELC SUPERVISOR for Caguan may be a Marxist, but the clean, well-ordered office is nicely appointed, with a big-screen Sony and leather furniture. The TV's TUNED TO CNN. A photo on the wall depicts him as a younger man wearing guerrilla cammies bearing with an ELC patch and holding an AK-47. A brass nameplate reading "Supervisor" rests on a neat desk, behind which stands the man himself -- a hardened, former guerrilla fighter proud of his position. He's not in cammies now -- his uniform now consists of casual but nice tropical clothing and a fat Rolex. Felix is a subordinate here. He and Gordy stand across the desk as the Supervisor examines Gordy's travel pass. Gordy's nervous about what could appear on the TV in the b.g., but tries not to show it. ELC SUPERVISOR Your passport was stolen. GORDY In Mompos. ELC SUPERVISOR ... Mompos is a shithole. Not like Caguan... Why didn't Armstrong come? GORDY He was arrested in Ecuador. He got drunk and fooled around with a police officer's wife. The Supervisor just looks at him, assessing Gordy's face for signs he's lying. Gordy's expression stays the same. Felix respectfully interjects. It's almost a plea. FELIX (in Spanish) We need to fix the equipment. We have delivery deadlines to meet. (CONTINUED) 68. 177 CONTINUED: 177 A long beat. The ELC Supervisor hands the travel pass back to Gordy. In a hard tone to Felix -- ELC SUPERVISOR (in Spanish) He's your responsibility. Don't let him out of your sight. FELIX Si. Gracias. As Felix leads Gordy away... 178 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER (CAGUAN) - DAY 178 Gordy and Felix pull away from the Supervisor's H.Q. Felix resumes his former tone of command. FELIX The Supervisor made you my responsibility... You don't go anywhere without me, you understand? GORDY No problemo. Gordy peers out the window intently as they drive, looking for a lucky break, looking for The Wolf, searching the face of every man. He doesn't see The Wolf, but what he does see surprises him. The ELC Supervisor was right: Caguan's no Mompos. It's a third- world town, armed troops are visible, and there's a lot of bad shit behind Colombia's revolutionaries, but here the streets are calm and orderly. It's quiet, almost eerie, as people go about their business. OFF Gordy, seeing another side of the guerrillas... 179 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER/COUNTRY ROAD - DAY 179 Felix turns off at the entrance to a lane leading to the plantation. The entrance is guarded by a 4X4 "Rat Patrol" assault truck and four heavily armed ELC guerrillas. GORDY The E.L.C. guards your coffee beans? Felix thinks he's joking. Until he looks over and sees Gordy's actually being sincere. (CONTINUED) 69. 179 CONTINUED: 179 FELIX ... Coffee beans? Shit. Armstrong didn't tell you much... 180 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER - PLANTATION - DAY 180 They approach a hacienda and outbuildings. The accoutrements of agriculture are present -- tractors, sheds, cats, etc. -- but clearly, this is no family farm. There are lots of serious-looking men around. More ELC guerrillas stand guard. 181 FELIX 181 stops the car. He and Gordy get out. Felix begins leading Gordy toward two rows of long, open-walled sheds. FELIX The problem's with the diesel generators. The sons-of-bitches keep breaking down. 182 NEW ANGLE 182 They pass four very large pits, where green leaves steep in a thick, foul-smelling liquid. FELIX We're using portables to keep production going, but they don't supply enough power to the heat lamps, and we have to dry a lot of... 'coffee beans.' 183 ANOTHER ANGLE 183 They're now walking between the two rows of sheds, where portable gas GENERATORS THRUM, and... Gordy can see long, wide platforms inside. Above the platforms are multiple arrays of powerful heat lamps. Spread out and drying beneath them is a half-acre or two of converted cocaine. 184 IN ANOTHER SHED 184 workers pack and wrap one-kilo bricks of coke for shipment. 70. 185 GORDY AND FELIX 185 approach the two giant diesel generators. FELIX We can fix anything, but these keep dying on us... You'll start now. I'll have tools brought to you. (beat) Armstrong's a magician with them. Let's hope you have his skill. Felix walks over to a guerrilla with an AK-47 and speaks to him. Then goes. Whereupon the

accidentally

How many times the word 'accidentally' appears in the text?

wire bows against his shin, and... Gordy ducks, covers the Man in the Yankees Cap, and... Nothing happens. The young man just stands there, frozen in position, his leg still bowing the line. (CONTINUED) 48. 117 CONTINUED: 117 Using the Zippo again to light his way, Gordy advances to the young man. He follows the trip wire to where a Coca- Cola can hangs from a nearby tree. On closer inspection, Gordy can see the can is sleeved around a grenade. There's no pin in the grenade. The can keeps the grenade's arming spoon in place. The trip wire's designed to yank the can off, allowing the grenade to explode at chest level... And the can's almost off. Gordy burns through the monofilament trip wire. Then carefully slides the Coke can back over the grenade. 118 MAN IN YANKEES CAP - MOMENTS LATER 118 When Gordy returns, the man's dead. OFF Gordy, looking down at the NY logo on the cap... 119 EXT./INT. ANOTHER CHIVA - DAY 119 Gordy sees a sign for a town as the chiva rumbles along. He pulls out his map. 120 INSERT - MAP 120 Gordy finds the town, which lies along a river. He traces a road from the town. The road runs south through the town of Mompos, and eventually reaches Caguan, the ELC capital. 121 BACK TO SCENE 121 A COLOMBIAN WOMAN is looking over Gordy's shoulder. COLOMBIAN WOMAN No autobusses para este lugar. Solamente el barco en el rio. She leans over, traces the river, which also runs to Caguan. COLOMBIAN WOMAN El rio. 122 EXT. FERRY DOCK - DAY 122 The FERRY'S WHISTLE TOOTS. Lines are cast off. (CONTINUED) 49. 122 CONTINUED: 122 Two plainclothes federales have been watching the ferry load and now relax their vigil. One man holds a Xerox of Gordy's passport photo. The other bites into an empanada, which breaks open and spills its contents down the front of his shirt. His partner finds it funny. He doesn't. And while their attention's occupied... Gordy hurries by, oblivious to the federales' presence, and just manages to hop onto the ferry as it pulls away. 123 EXT. FERRY - DAY 123 The ferry's the only means of travel south, and it's packed. Gordy picks his way through. The only other gringo on the boat is a geek in a plaid shirt and gimme hat that says "Deerborn." The geek, PHILIP ARMSTRONG, looks like a talker, and Gordy tries to avoid eye contact. He's too late. ARMSTRONG Hey, yo, dude, here's a seat, man! GORDY No, that's okay -- But Armstrong's already throwing a bag off the bench. ARMSTRONG I was hoping for someone I could communicate with. He sees Gordy hasn't moved. ARMSTRONG Only room's at the back near the bano, and I'd advise against it, unless you like poop. Beat. Gordy sits. Immediately -- ARMSTRONG Philip Armstrong. Assiniboia, Sasketchewan, Canada. (indicates his hat) Deerborn Heavy Equipment. GORDY ... Gordy Pitt. ARMSTRONG Hey, howya doing? I love Germany. (CONTINUED) 50. 123 CONTINUED: 123 GORDY Austria. American now. ARMSTRONG I love America. Never been to Austria. Where from in America would that be? GORDY New York City. ARMSTRONG I don't like New York City. Buildings're too big. What kinda work you in? GORDY (hesitates, then) Coffee. I buy beans. ARMSTRONG Can't drink caffeine. Makes my stomach do the rumba. I like that commercial guy with the sombrero and the mule, though. Headed upstream, eh? Where to? GORDY Caguan. ARMSTRONG ... You've never been to Caguan, eh? GORDY How do you know? ARMSTRONG 'Cause no one in their right mind would ever go back. Caguan's in the guerrilla zone run by the E.L.C. E.L.C. as in 'Extra Loathsome Communists.' They don't care, and they kill. I'm going there myself. But I have a 'get outta jail free' card. Armstrong doffs his cap, undoes a safety pin securing a card inside the crown. Shows it to Gordy. Sotto -- (CONTINUED) 51. 123 CONTINUED: (2) 123 ARMSTRONG E.L.C. travel pass. I can go anywhere I want. (by way of explanation) Everyone needs equipment fixed. Armstrong carefully returns the card to the hat. And now his voice takes on a noticeably more measured tone -- ARMSTRONG If you don't have one of these, you don't want to be up there, Gordy. Beat. Gordy's contemplating the warning, when his eyes go to a small, sleepy boy standing nearby on the cramped deck, leaning against his father. Gordy reaches over and taps the boy. The boy looks over. Shrinks away at the sight of the large gringo. The father notices and looks at Gordy, who stands, indicates his seat. GORDY Por favor. The father's also apprehensive, doesn't move. GORDY Con mucho gusto. Finally, the father accepts, sits down with the sleepy boy on his lap. Nods his thanks at Gordy, who then gazes down at the son. A kid about Matt's age. Armstrong recognizes the look of a caring dad. ARMSTRONG Got kids, eh? OFF Armstrong, as Gordy walks away... 124 EXT. JUNGLE - DAY 124 Two Colombian armed man wearing guerrilla uniforms bearing a distinctive ELC patch are walking a trail, when the man in front notices something odd. He stops. Leads the other man back a few steps. Looks into the foliage along the trail. Something doesn't seem right. He extends his AK-47. Prods a hump of greenery with the rifle butt, and in a flash... The greenery suddenly transforms into two men wearing face-paint and full-body military camouflage gear and pointing twin cocked-and-locked CAR-15 assault rifles at the heads of the startled guerrillas. 52. 125 EXT. CIA HACIENDA - DAY 125 Brandt stubs a butt as a Colombian SOG group does killer training nearby. Updegraf opens the door. To Brandt -- UPDEGRAF One of Rocha's infiltration teams just radioed in... We got our big break... 126 EXT. FERRY - DAY 126 Gordy stands along the rail looking out at the lush, beautiful countryside sliding past. Armstrong joins him. ARMSTRONG That little kid and I had a nice, long snooze... We're almost to Mompos. (gazing out) Beautiful country. GORDY It better be. A lotta people're dying for it. ARMSTRONG (looks overboard) Y'know, I haven't noticed one darn body floating downstream this whole trip, have you? Gordy doesn't respond. Beat. GORDY I was thinking... Maybe we could travel together into Caguan. You could show me around. ARMSTRONG (shakes his head) Pass is only good for one person, if that's your idea, which I think it is... Besides, I can't risk traveling around up there in the company of a big gringo with a dumb-ass cover story about coffee beans. Gordy looks over. Armstrong smiles back. Beat. (CONTINUED) 53. 126 CONTINUED: 126 GORDY I've got money. I'll buy the pass from you. ARMSTRONG I've worked too hard for it. And you don't have that kind of money on you. GORDY I'll be getting some life insurance money -- ARMSTRONG (shaking his head) It's all cash and carry down here, Gordy. The FERRY WHISTLE TOOTS. ARMSTRONG Mompos... You want to have some fun, we'll hook up later. I always schedule a stopover. To sample the local wares and such. (winks) Life can be what you make it here on the frontier. GORDY No, thanks. ARMSTRONG Gotta get off the boat anyway. Mompos is the last stop. From here into the guerrilla zone you can only travel by panga... If you change your mind, I'll be at the Tropicale later. It's a gringo bar. Just follow the cockroaches. 127 NEW ANGLE 127 They see the beginnings of Mompos. Two 4x4 trucks are parked on the riverbank. Lean, clean-cut men in jeans, tight shirts, cowboy boots and sunglasses lean on the truck and watch the ferry pass. ARMSTRONG Sicarios. Death squads. Avoid those dudes at all costs. 54. 128 SAME SCENE - FEW MOMENTS LATER 128 The ferry pulls up to the dock. The dock street is a culture clash of shanty bars and Amazon Indian traders, of big-wheel SUVs and mule carts. There's a definite air of menace. ARMSTRONG Federales are looking for someone. Gordy follows Armstrong's look to two plain-clothes federales, one fat and one thin, standing near the dock watching the boat pull up. When Gordy glances back, Armstrong is gone. 129 EXT. MOMPOS FERRY DOCK - DAY 129 Gordy disembarks amid the throng of passengers, when the FAT FEDERALE confronts him. FAT FEDERALE Senor Pitt? Gordy looks up in surprise at him and the thin federale backing him up. FAT FEDERALE You'll have to come with us. GORDY Why? FAT FEDERALE Come with us, please. He clamps a hand on Gordy's arm. Gordy shakes it off and starts running. Almost immediately, he's tackled to the ground by the thin federale. Two more federales join in. Gordy's not gonna go down easy, though. Even as only one against four, Gordy's a formidable challenge. He's strong, and he's committed all the way. He's not getting kicked out of this country again. It's not a clean or artful fight. There's no karate. It's four men trying to tackle a bull, and... The bull gets away. 130 EXT./INT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 130 Gordy sprints down streets with the federales in pursuit. 55. 131 GORDY 131 jukes into a local bar. 132 ANOTHER ANGLE 132 Gordy pounds out the back of the bar into a littered courtyard, where he's surrounded by ten-foot walls. 133 FEDERALES 133 blast through the bar. 134 GORDY 134 runs, jumps, launches off a beer keg, and... 135 TOP OF WALL 135 He reaches the top of the wall and pulls himself up. He's looking out across a block-long run of corrugated tin roofs. Takes off across the roofs, each step thundering, as... 136 FEDERALES 136 burst into the courtyard. Two men hastily build a stack of boxes, etc., against the wall. 137 GORDY 137 runs as fast as he can across the rooftops, when... A section of roof gives way beneath his feet, just as... 138 NEW ANGLE 138 One of the federales finally mounts the wall, looks across the rooftops... and Gordy's gone. 139 GORDY 139 lands inside a warehouse room amid sacks of rice, beans and coffee. The building is dark and dusty. He lies still and listens. FOOTSTEPS approach across the tin roof overhead. Gordy burrows into the bags of rice, pulls them over him. 56. 140 FEDERALE 140 on the roof peers down through the hole. Scans the warehouse room below with a mini-Mag-Lite. 141 GORDY 141 sees the flashlight beam move past. He holds his breath. Beat. Then the FOOTSTEPS pass on, RECEDE down the roof. And Gordy can breathe again. 142 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - NIGHT 142 Gordy makes his way along the main drag of the frontier town. A noisy, neon-lit strip of bars and brothels. Everyone's packing a gun. A new Dodge City, where death squad sicarios cruise past in 4x4's BLARING SALSA. 143 INT. TROPICALE - NIGHT 143 In here, the MUSIC'S LOUD ROCK 'N' ROLL. Gringo music for a gringo bar. The place is busy, with plenty of local "hostesses" for the men. Even Armstrong, standing half-crocked at the bar, is flanked by two scantily-clad women. He's got a spoon hanging off his nose. So does one of the girls. Armstrong's trying to hang a spoon on the other. Gordy slips into the bar. Spots Armstrong through the crowd. Sees Armstrong's not wearing his cap, when... The girl with the spoon on her nose turns slightly, revealing she's wearing the cap. It's on backwards, but now Gordy can see the "Deerborn" logo clearly. Gordy wants the guerrilla travel pass inside the cap. It's a desperate move, but he's got no choice. Starts toward the girl, when... Gordy sees the thin federale enter the front door. The thin federale sees him at the same time. Begins moving in on him. Gordy moves faster toward the girl. And... The girl unwittingly does him a favor by taking off the cap and setting it on the bar, where it's easier to grab, and then turns her attention to Armstrong's antics. The thin detective fights through the crowd after Gordy. Gordy's almost to the hat. (CONTINUED) 57. 143 CONTINUED: 143 Armstrong's still having trouble with the second girl's spoon. ARMSTRONG I never met a nose I couldn't hang a spoon on. Gordy reaches the bar, snags the cap. Glances back, sees the thin federale closing in, turns to run out the back, when... A strong hand stops him. The hand belongs to the Fat Federale. And now the thin federale's there, too, wielding a stun gun where Gordy can see it. People in the bar fall silent. Everyone but Armstrong, who's finally hung the spoon on the second girl's nose. ARMSTRONG Yahtzee! And now Armstong also realizes something's up. Turns and sees Gordy. Sees the cap in Gordy's hand as the Fat Federale addresses Gordy -- FAT FEDERALE Come along, Mr. Pitt. Whereupon Armstrong shouts drunkenly at Gordy -- ARMSTRONG Police catch you trying to steal my hat, you asshole?! He staggers toward Gordy. Grabs the hat. ARMSTRONG Fucking hat thief! Armstrong takes a drunken swing at Gordy, but... Instead of hitting Gordy, Armstrong accidentally-on- purpose clocks the fat detective. Then hisses into Gordy's ear, clearly not that drunk -- ARMSTRONG Get outta here -- But then Armstrong's legs won't work as the thin federale jams the stun gun against his neck, and 10,000 volts surprise the Armstrong neural network. Gordy moves against the thin federale in anger, when... The Fat Federale ZAPS him with another STUN GUN, just behind the ear... And Gordy gets to know the floor, too. 58. 144 EXT. MOMPOS JAIL - NIGHT 144 The building's ancient, constructed of wood and adobe. 145 INT. MOMPOS JAIL - CELL - NIGHT 145 The jail might be old, but the cells are secure enough. They're also unsanitary and thoroughly unpleasant. Gordy and Armstrong are led in by the federales. The Fat Federale has Armstrong's hat. He looks it over, wondering why Gordy wanted it. Then decides he could give a fuck and tosses it to Armstrong. Clangs the cell door shut and locks it. Leaves shaking his head. FAT FEDERALE Gringos... Armstrong's still unsteady on his feet and sits down on the metal bunk. ARMSTRONG That stun gun wasn't cool. Armstrong looks down at himself. ARMSTRONG Haven't peed my pants in a real long time. GORDY (beat) You shouldn't have helped me. ARMSTRONG Yeah, well, I guess all these assholes down here are just starting on my nerves. Gordy's silent. It's over. He's come up short. He's going home. ARMSTRONG So what the hell did you do to land us in here? And don't jerk me around, eh? Beat. Gordy sits. GORDY The Wolf killed my wife and son in New York. (CONTINUED) 59. 145 CONTINUED: 145 ARMSTRONG ... Oh, you're that guy, eh? I'm sorry, man... And what, you came down here to even things out? Gordy just looks at him. ARMSTRONG Did you even have a plan? GORDY Yeah. Go to Caguan, find The Wolf and kill him. Armstrong just shakes his head. Beat. 146 DOOR TO CELL AREA 146 BANGS open. Federales lead in two men -- the two guerrillas surprised earlier by the heavy-camouflaged infiltrators. The federales are armed with batons and stun guns, taking no chances. It's clear the rebels weren't brought here without a struggle, either -- both are cut and bruised. The tougher-looking of the two has taken a real beating. This beaten man is jammed face- first against the bars of Gordy's cell. He makes eye contact with Gordy while the other rebel is unbound and put into a cell. Then the beaten man is shoved into the cell. A solid, brick wall separates them from Gordy and Armstrong. Armstrong's seen the patches on their uniforms. To Gordy, sotto -- ARMSTRONG E.L.C. Beat. Armstrong sees the look on Gordy's face. By way of a warning -- ARMSTRONG If you can't kill them, don't even talk to them. The GUERRILLAS are MURMURING in the other cell. One of them LAUGHS. OFF Gordy, listening to the LAUGHING... 147 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL - NIGHT 147 Two or three A.M. Armstrong's dozing. Gordy's still listening to the MURMURING of the REBELS on the other side of the wall, when... (CONTINUED) 60. 147 CONTINUED: 147 There's a flurry of activity outside the cell area. The door opens. Soldiers enter with some federales. Gordy watches the soldiers move past his cell. Rocha is with them. And then... Brandt appears at the bars, looks in at Gordy. BRANDT Enjoy your trip? Gordy stands, approaches. BRANDT We asked you to leave it to us. GORDY And you guys still haven't got him. BRANDT It's not over yet... The guys next door are in The Wolf's elite bodyguard unit. Where he goes, they go. We're gonna ask questions. And we're gonna get answers... And you're staying right here till our bomber's dead. Brandt goes. Moments later, a TORTURED SCREAM is heard on the other side of the brick wall, waking Armstrong with a start. 148 EXT. MOMPOS - VARIOUS SHOTS - NIGHT 148 In a field near Mompos, a canopied truck backs into position. Men in guerrilla uniforms with ELC patches get out and pull back the canopy, revealing mortar tubes pointing skyward on a bed of sand. 149 ELC GUERRILLA 149 unit armed with AK-47s and Light Anti-Tank Weapons (LAWs) infiltrates the town. 150 ANOTHER TWO-MAN ELC GUERRILLA TEAM 150 sets up a single mortar position overlooking the town. One of the men checks his watch. Beat. He signals. The other man drops a MORTAR down the tube. WHUMP. 61. 151 TWO MORTARS 151 go in the tubes on the truck. WHUMP, WHUMP. 152 ANOTHER ANGLE 152 BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! A water tower, the Mompos fire station and the town's power supply are direct hits. WHUMP, WHUMP, WHUMP... 153 INT. JAIL - CELLS 153 People react to the sounds of the MORTAR ATTACK on the town. The lights go out. Brandt, Rocha and their men quickly lock the guerrillas in their cell and head out. 154 EXT. JAIL 154 As MORTARS CONTINUE to fall on the rest of the town, the unit of guerrilla infiltrators open up on the front of the jail with LAW ROCKETS. 155 EXT./INT. JAIL 155 KA-BOOM! The front door and wall of the jail disintegrate under the multiple LAW attack. 156 NEW ANGLE 156 Brandt, Rocha and the soldiers, approaching the front door inside, are hammered by the massive concussion of the BLAST and flung across the room, apparently dead. 157 ANOTHER ANGLE 157 The powerful, concussive shock-wave channels into the cell area. Gordy's slightly protected by a wall. Armstrong, standing at the bars, is thrown into the opposite wall and knocked unconscious. 158 GUERRILLAS 158 charge inside with AKs BLAZING. Surviving soldiers and federales SHOOT back. The blasts have caused fires in the building. Severed wires spark, creating more fire. Flames begin to spread through the tinder-dry structure. (CONTINUED) 62. 158 CONTINUED: 158 The guerrillas take out the soldiers and federales, with few casualties to themselves. They make their way toward the cell area. EXPLODING AMMO and stored FUEL CANS accelerate the fire. 159 NEW ANGLE 159 The guerrillas reach the cells. Two men see Gordy and draw down on him. The others move to the next cell. Guerrillas plant small explosive charges on the hinges of the cell containing their two captured comrades. Beat. The HINGES BLOW. The beaten man and the rebel with him are freed, and the guerrillas quickly retreat the way they came. Gordy sees flames spreading into the cell area. 160 GUERRILLAS 160 exit the fiery jail past Brandt. We see Brandt's not dead. 161 EXT. MOMPOS STREET - OUTSIDE JAIL 161 A truck pulls up. The guerrillas get in. The TRUCK SCREECHES OUT as... 162 4X4 162 full of sicarios SKIDS onto the street, far ahead of the truck. The sicario driving punches it, and... 163 TWO TRUCKS 163 ROAR toward each other. A game of chicken. With GUNS. Men in both vehicles OPEN UP -- the sicarios with magnums and Uzis, the guerrillas with AKs. SLUGS RIP through automotive steel. Casualties are taken. When... 164 SICARIO 164 driving the 4x4 receives a round in the forehead, cranks over the steering wheel, and... 63. 165 SPEEDING 4X4 165 does a Paris-to-Dakar road rally flip, twisting and somersaulting, and... 166 NEW ANGLE 166 The 4x4 catapults completely over the guerrillas' truck, disintegrating into spare parts and dead occupants, as... 167 GUERRILLAS 167 ROAR off. 168 EXT./INT. JAIL 168 A severely-dazed Brandt, bleeding from the nose and ears, slowly gets to his knees, crawls out of the burning building and collapses outside. 169 INT. GORDY AND ARMSTRONG'S CELL 169 There's fire and smoke everywhere. Gordy picks up the metal bunk and slams it against a wall. Slams it again. Breaks the metal apart. Then levers a long side rail in the cell door. He heaves. Heaves again. The fire's licking at him, but Gordy's undeterred. He heaves again, and... This time, the door gives. Gordy picks up Armstrong's cap, then picks up Armstrong, who's starting to come around. Puts Armstrong over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. GORDY Don't breathe. ARMSTRONG (weakly) You're not running through the fire, eh? GORDY Close your mouth. Because running through the fire is just what Gordy's gonna do. As he disappears into the flames... 170 EXT. JAIL - NIGHT 170 The town's in complete chaos. There are fires everywhere. (CONTINUED) 64. 170 CONTINUED: 170 Still stunned and bleeding, Brandt looks from where he lies on the ground as... Gordy bursts out of the inferno carrying Armstrong. They're singed and smoking, but they're alive. Gordy drops Armstrong, pats himself and Armstrong down, knocking out the burning embers on their clothes and hair, when... Gordy's eyes meet Brandt's. The two men hold the look for a moment. If Brandt could speak, he'd be yelling at Gordy to stop, not to go on. And Gordy knows it. But Gordy's not stopping. Picks up Armstrong again and moves off toward the waterfront. 171 EXT. MOMPOS WATERFRONT - NIGHT 171 There's less chaos here. The fires are in the distance. Gordy arrives carrying Armstrong. Sets him down. GORDY I'll find a boat to take us upriver. He starts to go. Armstrong stops him. ARMSTRONG No. I told you. The pass is only good for one person. And you're too dangerous to travel with. Beat. Gordy reaches over and takes Armstrong's cap. He looks inside. There's no pass. ARMSTRONG It hasn't been there since we landed. Gordy's at a loss. He tosses the cap back. Just looks at Armstrong. Beat. Armstrong sighs. ARMSTRONG Aw, hell... I was through with this place anyway... He takes off a boot. Shakes out some money and the pass. He hands the pass to Gordy. (CONTINUED) 65. 171 CONTINUED: 171 ARMSTRONG I'll call ahead and tell Felix I'm not coming, and you're my replacement. He'll meet you in Caguan and take you to the plantation... What do you know about diesel engines? GORDY All the fire trucks are diesels. ARMSTRONG You'll have to be Austrian, eh? They hate Americans. Name's gotta change, too, in case they're watching the news. (beat) It'll buy you a little time to look around Caguan. But you'll never find The Wolf. Beat. Gordy sticks out his hand. GORDY Heinrich Beckmann. ARMSTRONG Huh? GORDY My Austrian name. Armstrong shakes hands with Gordy. Armstrong doesn't let loose right away. Beat. ARMSTRONG Luck got you this far. But up there, luck doesn't make it. I hope you know you're gonna die. OFF Gordy, about to step over another line... 172 EXT. RIVER - VARIOUS SHOTS - DAY 172 As dawn breaks over the river, FIND Gordy sitting in a motored panga being steered by a local BOATMAN. Gordy reaches into a pocket and pulls out the photo of Anne and Matt. He looks at it for a few moments. Then pockets it again. 173 SAME SCENE - LATER 173 The panga passes a dead body floating downstream. 66. 174 SAME SCENE - LATER 174 The panga passes revolutionary banners and signs lining the riverbank. BOATMAN La zona guerrillera. 175 SAME SCENE - MOMENTS LATER 175 The panga rounds a bend, and... Two souped-up bass boats filled with heavily-armed ELC guerrillas move to intercept it. The Boatman slows, puts the panga in neutral and keeps his hands in sight. One boat of guerrillas pulls alongside. The other sheers off and stops a short distance away, ready to open fire. Gordy shows the guerrillas his travel pass. One of them takes it. Reads. Looks Gordy over. Then starts to rip the pass in half, when... He stops. Grins. It's a big joke. He hands back the pass, searches the boat quickly and waves the panga on. OFF Gordy's relief as the panga heads on... 176 EXT. CAGUAN TOWN DOCK - DAY 176 The panga arrives, and Gordy gets out. He's met by FELIX. Felix has a 9mm in a shoulder holster. Felix doesn't look the least bit happy. FELIX Beckmann. GORDY Yeah. FELIX Come with me. Felix leads him towards a Land Cruiser. FELIX Armstrong should have called sooner. We don't like changes here... If I didn't need the equipment fixed, I'd send you back. (CONTINUED) 67. 176 CONTINUED: 176 They reach the Land Cruiser. FELIX But now we have to see the E.L.C. Supervisor for Caguan. It's a prospect that seems to concern Felix almost as much as Gordy. Off which, as they get into the Toyota... 177 INT. ELC SUPERVISOR'S OFFICE - DAY 177 The ELC SUPERVISOR for Caguan may be a Marxist, but the clean, well-ordered office is nicely appointed, with a big-screen Sony and leather furniture. The TV's TUNED TO CNN. A photo on the wall depicts him as a younger man wearing guerrilla cammies bearing with an ELC patch and holding an AK-47. A brass nameplate reading "Supervisor" rests on a neat desk, behind which stands the man himself -- a hardened, former guerrilla fighter proud of his position. He's not in cammies now -- his uniform now consists of casual but nice tropical clothing and a fat Rolex. Felix is a subordinate here. He and Gordy stand across the desk as the Supervisor examines Gordy's travel pass. Gordy's nervous about what could appear on the TV in the b.g., but tries not to show it. ELC SUPERVISOR Your passport was stolen. GORDY In Mompos. ELC SUPERVISOR ... Mompos is a shithole. Not like Caguan... Why didn't Armstrong come? GORDY He was arrested in Ecuador. He got drunk and fooled around with a police officer's wife. The Supervisor just looks at him, assessing Gordy's face for signs he's lying. Gordy's expression stays the same. Felix respectfully interjects. It's almost a plea. FELIX (in Spanish) We need to fix the equipment. We have delivery deadlines to meet. (CONTINUED) 68. 177 CONTINUED: 177 A long beat. The ELC Supervisor hands the travel pass back to Gordy. In a hard tone to Felix -- ELC SUPERVISOR (in Spanish) He's your responsibility. Don't let him out of your sight. FELIX Si. Gracias. As Felix leads Gordy away... 178 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER (CAGUAN) - DAY 178 Gordy and Felix pull away from the Supervisor's H.Q. Felix resumes his former tone of command. FELIX The Supervisor made you my responsibility... You don't go anywhere without me, you understand? GORDY No problemo. Gordy peers out the window intently as they drive, looking for a lucky break, looking for The Wolf, searching the face of every man. He doesn't see The Wolf, but what he does see surprises him. The ELC Supervisor was right: Caguan's no Mompos. It's a third- world town, armed troops are visible, and there's a lot of bad shit behind Colombia's revolutionaries, but here the streets are calm and orderly. It's quiet, almost eerie, as people go about their business. OFF Gordy, seeing another side of the guerrillas... 179 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER/COUNTRY ROAD - DAY 179 Felix turns off at the entrance to a lane leading to the plantation. The entrance is guarded by a 4X4 "Rat Patrol" assault truck and four heavily armed ELC guerrillas. GORDY The E.L.C. guards your coffee beans? Felix thinks he's joking. Until he looks over and sees Gordy's actually being sincere. (CONTINUED) 69. 179 CONTINUED: 179 FELIX ... Coffee beans? Shit. Armstrong didn't tell you much... 180 INT./EXT. LAND CRUISER - PLANTATION - DAY 180 They approach a hacienda and outbuildings. The accoutrements of agriculture are present -- tractors, sheds, cats, etc. -- but clearly, this is no family farm. There are lots of serious-looking men around. More ELC guerrillas stand guard. 181 FELIX 181 stops the car. He and Gordy get out. Felix begins leading Gordy toward two rows of long, open-walled sheds. FELIX The problem's with the diesel generators. The sons-of-bitches keep breaking down. 182 NEW ANGLE 182 They pass four very large pits, where green leaves steep in a thick, foul-smelling liquid. FELIX We're using portables to keep production going, but they don't supply enough power to the heat lamps, and we have to dry a lot of... 'coffee beans.' 183 ANOTHER ANGLE 183 They're now walking between the two rows of sheds, where portable gas GENERATORS THRUM, and... Gordy can see long, wide platforms inside. Above the platforms are multiple arrays of powerful heat lamps. Spread out and drying beneath them is a half-acre or two of converted cocaine. 184 IN ANOTHER SHED 184 workers pack and wrap one-kilo bricks of coke for shipment. 70. 185 GORDY AND FELIX 185 approach the two giant diesel generators. FELIX We can fix anything, but these keep dying on us... You'll start now. I'll have tools brought to you. (beat) Armstrong's a magician with them. Let's hope you have his skill. Felix walks over to a guerrilla with an AK-47 and speaks to him. Then goes. Whereupon the

rio

How many times the word 'rio' appears in the text?

wished for riches, and here I am in despair at having lost the humble roof of bracken under shelter of which I could sleep in peace without anxiety as to the morrow, without troubling myself about the rain or the wind beating against the branches of the giant oaks. I wished for position, and here I am, stoned and hunted down by the lowest peasants, whom formerly I despised. I asked for love, and the only woman who loved me and whom I loved became the wife of another, and she is at this moment cursing me as she lies dying, while I, notwithstanding all the power you have given me, can do nothing to help her! Leave off loving anybody but yourself, Thibault. Oh! yes, laugh at me, do! I am not laughing at you. But did you not cast envious eyes on other people s property before you had set eyes on me? Yes, for a wretched buck, of which there are hundreds just as good browsing in the forest! You thought your wishes were going to stop at the buck, Thibault; but wishes lead on to one another, as the night to the day, and the day to night. When you wished for the buck, you also wished for the silver dish on which it would be served; the silver dish led you on to wish for the servant who carries it and for the carver who cuts up its contents. Ambition is like the vault of heaven; it appears to be bounded by the horizon, but it covers the whole earth. You disdained Agnelette s innocence, and went after Madame Poulet s mill; if you had gained the mill, you would immediately have wanted the house of the Bailiff Magloire; and his house would have had no further attraction for you when once you had seen the Castle of Mont-Gobert. You are one in your envious disposition with the fallen Angel, your master and mine; only, as you were not clever enough to reap the benefit that might have accrued to you from your power of inflicting evil, it would perhaps have been more to your interest to continue to lead an honest life. Yes, indeed, replied the shoe-maker, I feel the truth of the proverb, Evil to him who evil wishes But, he continued, can I not become an honest man again? The wolf gave a mocking chuckle. My good fellow, the devil can drag a man to hell, he said, by a single hair. Have you ever counted how many of yours now belong to him? No. I cannot tell you that exactly either, but I know how many you have which are still your own. You have one left! You see it is long past the time for repentance. But if a man is lost when but one of his hairs belongs to the devil, said Thibault, why cannot God likewise save a man in virtue of a single hair? Well, try if that is so! And, besides, when I concluded that unhappy bargain with you, I did not understand that it was to be a compact of this kind. Oh, yes! I know all about the bad faith of you men! Was it no compact then to consent to give me your hairs, you stupid fool? Since men invented baptism, we do not know how to get hold of them, and so, in return for any concessions we make them, we are bound to insist on their relinquishing to us some part of their body on which we can lay hands. You gave us the hairs of your head; they are firmly rooted, as you have proved yourself and will not come away in our grasp.... No, no, Thibault, you have belonged to us ever since, standing on the threshold of the door that was once there, you cherished within you thoughts of deceit and violence. And so, cried Thibault passionately, rising and stamping his foot, and so I am lost as regards the next world without having enjoyed the pleasures of this! You can yet enjoy these. And how, I pray. By boldly following the path that you have struck by chance, and resolutely determining on a course of conduct which you have adopted as yet only in a halfhearted way; in short, by frankly owning yourself to be one of us. And how am I to do this? Take my place. And what then? You will then acquire my power, and you will have nothing left to wish for. If your power is so great, if it can give you all the riches that I long for, why do you give it up? Do not trouble yourself about me. The master for whom I shall have won a retainer will liberally reward me. And if I take your place, shall I also have to take your form? Yes, in the night-time; by day you will be a man again. The nights are long, dark, full of snares; I may be brought down by a bullet from a keeper, or be caught in a trap, and then good-bye riches, good-bye position and pleasure. Not so; for this skin that covers me is impenetrable by iron, lead or steel. As long as it protects your body, you will be not only invulnerable, but immortal; once a year, like all were-wolves, you will become a wolf again for four and twenty hours, and during that interval, you will be in danger of death like any other animal. I had just reached that dangerous time a year ago to-day, when we first met. Ah! said Thibault, that explains why you feared my Lord Baron s dogs. When we have dealings with men, we are forbidden to speak anything but the truth, and the whole truth; it is for them to accept or refuse. You have boasted to me of the power that I should acquire; tell me, now, in what that power will consist? It will be such that even the most powerful king will not be able to withstand it, since his power is limited by the human and the possible. Shall I be rich? So rich, that you will come in time to despise riches, since, by the mere force of your will, you will obtain not only what men can only acquire with gold and silver, but also all that superior beings get by their conjurations. Shall I be able to revenge myself on my enemies? You will have unlimited power over everything which is connected with evil. If I love a woman, will there again be a possibility of my losing her? As you will have dominion over all your fellow creatures, you will be able to do with them what you like. There will be no power to enable them to escape from the trammels of my will? Nothing, except death, which is stronger than all. And I shall only run the risk of death myself on one day out of the three hundred and sixty-five? On one day only; during the remaining days nothing can harm you, neither iron, lead, nor steel, neither water, nor fire. And there is no deceit, no trap to catch me, in your words? None, on my honour as a wolf! Good, said Thibault, then let it be so; a wolf for four and twenty hours, for the rest of the time the monarch of creation! What am I to do? I am ready. Pick a holly-leaf, tear it in three pieces with your teeth, and throw it away from you, as far as you can. Thibault did as he was commanded. Having torn the leaf in three pieces, he scattered them on the air, and although the night till then had been a peaceful one, there was immediately heard a loud peal of thunder, while a tempestuous whirlwind arose, which caught up the fragments and carried them whirling away with it. And now, brother Thibault, said the wolf, take my place, and good luck be with you! As was my case just a year ago, so you will have to become a wolf for four and twenty hours; you must endeavour to come out of the ordeal as happily as I did, thanks to you, and then you will see realised all that I have promised you. Meanwhile, I will pray the lord of the cloven hoof that he will protect you from the teeth of the Baron s hounds, for, by the devil himself, I take a genuine interest in you, friend Thibault. And then it seemed to Thibault that he saw the black wolf grow larger and taller, that it stood up on its hind legs and finally walked away in the form of a man, who made a sign to him with his hand as he disappeared. We say _it seemed to him_, for Thibault s ideas, for a second or two, became very indistinct. A feeling of torpor passed over him, paralysing his power of thought. When he came to himself, he was alone. His limbs were imprisoned in a new and unusual form; he had, in short, become in every respect the counterpart of the black wolf that a few minutes before had been speaking to him. One single white hair on his head alone shone in contrast to the remainder of the sombre coloured fur; this one white hair of the wolf was the one black hair which had remained to the man. Thibault had scarcely had time to recover himself when he fancied he heard a rustling among the bushes, and the sound of a low, muffled bark.... He thought of the Baron and his hounds, and trembled. Thus metamorphosed into the black wolf, he decided that he would not do what his predecessor had done, and wait till the dogs were upon him. It was probably a bloodhound he had heard, and he would get away before the hounds were uncoupled. He made off, striking straight ahead, as is the manner of wolves, and it was a profound satisfaction to him to find that in his new form he had tenfold his former strength and elasticity of limb. By the devil and his horns! the voice of the Lord of Vez was now heard to say to his new huntsman a few paces off, you hold the leash too slack, my lad; you have let the bloodhound give tongue, and we shall never head the wolf back now. I was in fault, I do not deny it, my Lord; but as I saw it go by last evening only a few yards from this spot, I never guessed that it would take up its quarters for the night in this part of the wood and that it was so close to us as all that. Are you sure it is the same one that has got away from us so often? May the bread I eat in your service choke me, my lord, if it is not the same black wolf that we were chasing last year when poor Marcotte was drowned. I should like finely to put the dogs on its track, said the Baron, with a sigh. My lord has but to give the order, and we will do so, but he will allow me to observe that we have still two good hours of darkness before us, time enough for every horse we have to break its legs. That may be, but if we wait for the day, l Eveill , the fellow will have had time to get ten leagues away. Ten leagues at least, said l Eveill , shaking his head. I have got this cursed black wolf on my brain, added the Baron, and I have such a longing to have its skin, that I feel sure I shall catch an illness if I do not get hold of it. Well then, my lord, let us have the dogs out without a moment s loss of time. You are right, l Eveill ; go and fetch the hounds. L Eveill went back to his horse, that he had tied to a tree outside the wood, and went off at a gallop, and in ten minutes time, which seemed like ten centuries to the Baron, he was back with the whole hunting train. The hounds were immediately uncoupled. Gently, gently, my lads! said the Lord of Vez, you forget you are not handling your old well-trained dogs; if you get excited with these raw recruits, they ll merely kick up a devil of a row, and be no more good than so many turnspits; let em get warmed up by degrees. And, indeed, the dogs were no sooner loose, than two or three got at once on to the scent of the were-wolf, and began to give cry, whereupon the others joined them. The whole pack started off on Thibault s track, at first quietly following up the scent, and only giving cry at long intervals, then more excitedly and of more accord, until they had so thoroughly imbibed the odour of the wolf ahead of them, and the scent had become so strong, that they tore along, baying furiously, and with unparalleled eagerness in the direction of the Yvors coppice. Well begun, is half done! cried the Baron. You look after the relays, l Eveill ; I want them ready whenever needed! I will encourage the dogs.... And you be on the alert, you others, he added, addressing himself to the younger keepers, we have more than one defeat to avenge, and if I lose this view halloo through the fault of anyone among you, by the devil and his horns! he shall be the dogs quarry in place of the wolf! After pronouncing these words of encouragement, the Baron put his horse to the gallop, and although it was still pitch dark and the ground was rough, he kept the animal going at top speed so as to come up with the hounds, which could be heard giving tongue in the low lands about Bourg-Fontaine. CHAPTER XXIV HUNTING DOWN THE WERE-WOLF Thibault had got well ahead of the dogs, thanks to the precaution he had taken of making good his escape at the first note of the bloodhound. For some time he heard no further sound of pursuit; but, all at once, like distant thunder, the baying of the hounds reached his ears, and he began to feel some anxiety. He had been trotting, but he now went on at greater speed, and did not pause till he had put a few more leagues between himself and his enemies. Then he stood still and took his bearings; he found himself on the heights at Montaigu. He bent his head and listened--the dogs still seemed a long way off, somewhere near the Tillet coppice. It required a wolf s ear to distinguish them so far off. Thibault went down the hill again, as if to meet the dogs; then, leaving Erneville to the left, he leaped into the little stream which rises there, waded down its course as far as Grimancourt, dashed into the woods of Lessart-l Abbesse, and finally gained the forest of Compi gne. He was somewhat reassured to find that, in spite of his three hours hard running, the steel-like muscles of his wolf legs were not in the least fatigued. He hesitated, however, to trust himself in a forest which was not so familiar to him as that of Villers-Cotterets. After another dash of a mile or so, he decided that by doubling boldly he would be most likely to put the dogs off the scent. He crossed at a gallop all the stretch of plain between Pierrefond and Mont-Gobert, took to the woods at the Champ Meutard, came out again at Vauvaudrand, regained the stream by the Sanc res timber floatage, and once more found himself in the forest near Long-Pont. Unfortunately for him, just as he reached the end of the Route du Pendu, he came across another pack of twenty dogs, which Monsieur de Montbreton s huntsman was bringing up as a relay, for the Baron had sent his neighbour news of the chase. Instantly the hounds were uncoupled by the huntsman as he caught sight of the wolf, for seeing that the latter kept its distance, he feared it would get too far ahead if he waited for the others to come up before loosing his dogs. And now began the struggle between the were-wolf and the dogs in very earnest. It was a wild chase, which the horses, in spite of their skilled riders, had great difficulty in following, a chase over plains, through woods, across heaths, pursued at a headlong pace. As the hunt flew by, it appeared and disappeared like a flash of lightning across a cloud, leaving behind a whirlwind of dust, and a sound of horns and cries which echo had hardly time to repeat. It rushed over hill and dale, through torrents and bogs, and over precipices, as if horses and dogs had been winged like Hippogriffs and Chimeras. The Baron had come up with his huntsmen, riding at their head, and almost riding on the tails of his dogs, his eye flashing, his nostrils dilated, exciting the pack with wild shouts and furious blasts, digging his spurs into his horse s sides whenever an obstacle of any kind caused it to hesitate for a single instant. The black wolf, on his side, still held on at the same rapid pace; although sorely shaken at hearing the fresh pack in full pursuit only a short way behind him, just as he had got back to the forest, he had not lost an inch of ground. As he retained to the full all his human consciousness, it seemed to him impossible, as he still ran on, that he should not escape in safety from this ordeal; he felt that it was not possible for him to die before he had taken vengeance for all the agony that others made him suffer, before he had known those pleasures that had been promised him, above all--for at this critical moment his thoughts kept on running on this--before he had gained Agnelette s love. At moments he was possessed by terror, at others by anger. He thought at times that he would turn and face this yelling pack of dogs, and, forgetting his present form, scatter them with stones and blows. Then, an instant after, feeling mad with rage, deafened by the death-knell the hounds were ringing in his ears, he fled, he leaped, he flew with the legs of a deer, with the wings of an eagle. But his efforts were in vain; he might run, leap, almost fly, the sounds of death still clung to him, and if for a moment they became more distant, it was only to hear them a moment after nearer and more threatening still. But still the instinct of self-preservation did not fail him; and still his strength was undiminished; only, if by ill luck, he were to come across other relays, he felt that it might give way. So he determined to take a bold course so as to out-distance the dogs, and to get back to his lairs, where he knew his ground and hoped to evade the dogs. He therefore doubled for the second time. He first ran back to Puiseux, then skirted past Viviers, regained the forest of Compi gne, made a dash into the forest of Largue, returned and crossed the Aisne at Attichy, and finally got back to the forest of Villers-Cotterets at the low lands of Argent. He trusted in this way to baffle the strategical plans of the Lord of Vez, who had, no doubt, posted his dogs at various likely points. Once back in his old quarters Thibault breathed more freely. He was now on the banks of the Ourcq between Norroy and Trouennes, where the river runs at the foot of deep rocks on either side; he leaped up on to a sharp-pointed crag overhanging the water, and from this high vantage ground he sprang into the waves below, then swam to a crevice at the base of the rock from which he had leapt, which was situated rather below the ordinary level of the water, and here, at the back of this cave, he waited. He had gained at least three miles upon the dogs; and yet, scarcely another ten minutes had elapsed, when the whole pack arrived and stormed the crest of the rock. Those who were leading, mad with excitement, did not see the gulf in front of them, or else, like their quarry they thought they would leap safely into it, for they plunged, and Thibault was splashed, far back as he was hidden, by the water that was scattered in every direction as they fell into it one by one. Less fortunate, however, and less vigorous than he was, they were unable to fight against the current, and after vainly battling with it, they were borne along out of sight before they had even got scent of the were-wolf s retreat. Overhead he could hear the tramping of the horses feet, the baying of the dogs that were still left, the cries of men, and above all these sounds, dominating the other voices, that of the Baron as he cursed and swore. When the last dog had fallen into the water, and been carried away like the others, he saw, thanks to a bend in the river, that the huntsmen were going down it, and persuaded that the Baron, whom he recognised at the head of his hunting-train, would only do this with the intention of coming up it again, he determined not to wait for this, and left his hiding-place. Now swimming, now leaping with agility from one rock to the other, at times wading through the water, he went up the river to the end of the Cr ne coppice. Certain that he had now made a considerable advance on his enemies, he resolved to get to one of the villages near and run in and out among the houses, feeling sure that they would not think of coming after him there. He thought of Pr ciamont; if any village was well known to him, it was that; and then, at Pr ciamont, he would be near Agnelette. He felt that this neighbourhood would put fresh vigour into him, and would bring him good fortune, and that the gentle image of the innocent girl would have some influence on his fate. So he started off in that direction. It was now six o clock in the evening; the hunt had lasted nearly fifteen hours, and wolf, dogs and huntsmen had covered fifty leagues at least. When, at last, after circling round by Manereux and Oigny, the black wolf reached the borders of the heath by the lane of Ham, the sun was already beginning to sink, and shedding a dazzling light over the flowery plain; the little white and pink flowers scented the breeze that played caressingly around them; the grasshopper was singing in its little house of moss, and the lark was soaring up towards heaven, saluting the eve with its song, as twelve hours before it had saluted the morn. The peaceful beauty of nature had a strange effect on Thibault. It seemed enigmatical to him that nature could be so smiling and beautiful, while anguish such as his was devouring his soul. He saw the flowers, and heard the insects and the birds, and he compared the quiet joy of this innocent world with the horrible pangs he was enduring, and asked himself, whether after all, notwithstanding all the new promises that had been made him by the devil s envoy, he had acted any more wisely in making this second compact than he had in making the first. He began to doubt whether he might not find himself deceived in the one as he had been in the other. As he went along a little footpath nearly hidden under the golden broom, he suddenly remembered that it was by this very path that he had taken Agnelette home on the first day of their acquaintance; the day, when inspired by his good angel, he had asked her to be his wife. The thought that, thanks to this new compact, he might be able to recover Agnelette s love, revived his spirits, which had been saddened and depressed by the sight of the universal happiness around him. He heard the church bells at Pr ciamont ringing in the valley below; its solemn, monotonous tones recalled the thought of his fellow men to the black wolf, and of all he had to fear from them. So he ran boldly on, across the fields, to the village, where he hoped to find a refuge in some empty building. As he was skirting the little stone wall of the village cemetery, he heard a sound of voices, approaching along the road he was in. He could not fail to meet whoever they might be who were coming towards him, if he himself went on; it was not safe to turn back, as he would have to cross some rising ground whence he might easily be seen; so there was nothing left for it but to jump over the wall of the cemetery, and with a bound he was on the other side. This graveyard as usual adjoined the church; it was uncared for, and overgrown with tall grass, while brambles and thorns grew rankly in places. The wolf made for the thickest of these bramble bushes; he found a sort of ruined vault, whence he could look out without being seen, and he crept under the branches and hid himself inside. A few yards away from him was a newly-dug grave; within the church could be heard the chanting of the priests, the more distinctly that the vault must at one time have communicated by a passage with the crypt. Presently the chanting ceased, and the black wolf, who did not feel quite at ease in the neighbourhood of a church, and thought that the road must now be clear, decided that it was time to start off again and to find a safer retreat than the one he had fled to in his haste. But he had scarcely got his nose outside the bramble bush when the gate of the cemetery opened, and he quickly retreated again to his hole, in great trepidation as to who might now be approaching. The first person he saw was a child dressed in a white alb and carrying a vessel of holy water; he was followed by a man in a surplice, bearing a silver cross, and after the latter came a priest, chanting the psalms for the dead. Behind these were four peasants carrying a bier covered with a white pall over which were scattered green branches and flowers, and beneath the sheet could be seen the outline of a coffin; a few villagers from Pr ciamont wound up this little procession. Although there was nothing unusual in such a sight as this, seeing that he was in a cemetery, and that the newly-dug grave must have prepared him for it, Thibault, nevertheless, felt strangely moved as he looked on. Although the slightest movement might betray his presence and bring destruction upon him, he anxiously watched every detail of the ceremony. The priest having blessed the newly-made grave, the peasants laid down their burden on an adjoining hillock. It is the custom in our country when a young girl, or young married woman, dies in the fullness of her youth and beauty, to carry her to the grave-yard in an open coffin, with only a pall over her, so that her friends may bid her a last farewell, her relations give her a last kiss. Then the coffin is nailed down, and all is over. An old woman, led by some kind hand, for she was apparently blind, went up to the coffin to give the dead one a last kiss; the peasants lifted the pall from the still face, and there lay Agnelette. A low groan escaped from Thibault s agonised breast, and mingled with the tears and sobs of those present. Agnelette, as she lay there so pale in death, wrapped in an ineffable calm, appeared more beautiful than when in life, beneath her wreath of forget-me-nots and daisies. As Thibault looked upon the poor dead girl, his heart seemed suddenly to melt within him. It was he, as he had truly realised, who had really killed her, and he experienced a genuine and overpowering sorrow, the more poignant since for the first time for many long months he forgot to think of himself, and thought only of the dead woman, now lost to him for ever. As he heard the blows of the hammer knocking the nails into the coffin, as he heard the earth and stones being shovelled into the grave and falling with a dull thud on to the body of the only woman he had ever loved, a feeling of giddiness came over him. The hard stones he thought must be bruising Agnelette s tender flesh, so fresh and sweet but a few days ago, and only yesterday still throbbing with life, and he made a movement as if to rush out on the assailants and snatch away the body, which dead, must surely belong to him, since, living, it had belonged to another. But the grief of the man overcame this instinct of the wild beast at bay; a shudder passed through the body hidden beneath its wolf skin; tears fell from the fierce blood-red eyes, and the unhappy man cried out: O God! take my life, I

vantage

How many times the word 'vantage' appears in the text?

wished for riches, and here I am in despair at having lost the humble roof of bracken under shelter of which I could sleep in peace without anxiety as to the morrow, without troubling myself about the rain or the wind beating against the branches of the giant oaks. I wished for position, and here I am, stoned and hunted down by the lowest peasants, whom formerly I despised. I asked for love, and the only woman who loved me and whom I loved became the wife of another, and she is at this moment cursing me as she lies dying, while I, notwithstanding all the power you have given me, can do nothing to help her! Leave off loving anybody but yourself, Thibault. Oh! yes, laugh at me, do! I am not laughing at you. But did you not cast envious eyes on other people s property before you had set eyes on me? Yes, for a wretched buck, of which there are hundreds just as good browsing in the forest! You thought your wishes were going to stop at the buck, Thibault; but wishes lead on to one another, as the night to the day, and the day to night. When you wished for the buck, you also wished for the silver dish on which it would be served; the silver dish led you on to wish for the servant who carries it and for the carver who cuts up its contents. Ambition is like the vault of heaven; it appears to be bounded by the horizon, but it covers the whole earth. You disdained Agnelette s innocence, and went after Madame Poulet s mill; if you had gained the mill, you would immediately have wanted the house of the Bailiff Magloire; and his house would have had no further attraction for you when once you had seen the Castle of Mont-Gobert. You are one in your envious disposition with the fallen Angel, your master and mine; only, as you were not clever enough to reap the benefit that might have accrued to you from your power of inflicting evil, it would perhaps have been more to your interest to continue to lead an honest life. Yes, indeed, replied the shoe-maker, I feel the truth of the proverb, Evil to him who evil wishes But, he continued, can I not become an honest man again? The wolf gave a mocking chuckle. My good fellow, the devil can drag a man to hell, he said, by a single hair. Have you ever counted how many of yours now belong to him? No. I cannot tell you that exactly either, but I know how many you have which are still your own. You have one left! You see it is long past the time for repentance. But if a man is lost when but one of his hairs belongs to the devil, said Thibault, why cannot God likewise save a man in virtue of a single hair? Well, try if that is so! And, besides, when I concluded that unhappy bargain with you, I did not understand that it was to be a compact of this kind. Oh, yes! I know all about the bad faith of you men! Was it no compact then to consent to give me your hairs, you stupid fool? Since men invented baptism, we do not know how to get hold of them, and so, in return for any concessions we make them, we are bound to insist on their relinquishing to us some part of their body on which we can lay hands. You gave us the hairs of your head; they are firmly rooted, as you have proved yourself and will not come away in our grasp.... No, no, Thibault, you have belonged to us ever since, standing on the threshold of the door that was once there, you cherished within you thoughts of deceit and violence. And so, cried Thibault passionately, rising and stamping his foot, and so I am lost as regards the next world without having enjoyed the pleasures of this! You can yet enjoy these. And how, I pray. By boldly following the path that you have struck by chance, and resolutely determining on a course of conduct which you have adopted as yet only in a halfhearted way; in short, by frankly owning yourself to be one of us. And how am I to do this? Take my place. And what then? You will then acquire my power, and you will have nothing left to wish for. If your power is so great, if it can give you all the riches that I long for, why do you give it up? Do not trouble yourself about me. The master for whom I shall have won a retainer will liberally reward me. And if I take your place, shall I also have to take your form? Yes, in the night-time; by day you will be a man again. The nights are long, dark, full of snares; I may be brought down by a bullet from a keeper, or be caught in a trap, and then good-bye riches, good-bye position and pleasure. Not so; for this skin that covers me is impenetrable by iron, lead or steel. As long as it protects your body, you will be not only invulnerable, but immortal; once a year, like all were-wolves, you will become a wolf again for four and twenty hours, and during that interval, you will be in danger of death like any other animal. I had just reached that dangerous time a year ago to-day, when we first met. Ah! said Thibault, that explains why you feared my Lord Baron s dogs. When we have dealings with men, we are forbidden to speak anything but the truth, and the whole truth; it is for them to accept or refuse. You have boasted to me of the power that I should acquire; tell me, now, in what that power will consist? It will be such that even the most powerful king will not be able to withstand it, since his power is limited by the human and the possible. Shall I be rich? So rich, that you will come in time to despise riches, since, by the mere force of your will, you will obtain not only what men can only acquire with gold and silver, but also all that superior beings get by their conjurations. Shall I be able to revenge myself on my enemies? You will have unlimited power over everything which is connected with evil. If I love a woman, will there again be a possibility of my losing her? As you will have dominion over all your fellow creatures, you will be able to do with them what you like. There will be no power to enable them to escape from the trammels of my will? Nothing, except death, which is stronger than all. And I shall only run the risk of death myself on one day out of the three hundred and sixty-five? On one day only; during the remaining days nothing can harm you, neither iron, lead, nor steel, neither water, nor fire. And there is no deceit, no trap to catch me, in your words? None, on my honour as a wolf! Good, said Thibault, then let it be so; a wolf for four and twenty hours, for the rest of the time the monarch of creation! What am I to do? I am ready. Pick a holly-leaf, tear it in three pieces with your teeth, and throw it away from you, as far as you can. Thibault did as he was commanded. Having torn the leaf in three pieces, he scattered them on the air, and although the night till then had been a peaceful one, there was immediately heard a loud peal of thunder, while a tempestuous whirlwind arose, which caught up the fragments and carried them whirling away with it. And now, brother Thibault, said the wolf, take my place, and good luck be with you! As was my case just a year ago, so you will have to become a wolf for four and twenty hours; you must endeavour to come out of the ordeal as happily as I did, thanks to you, and then you will see realised all that I have promised you. Meanwhile, I will pray the lord of the cloven hoof that he will protect you from the teeth of the Baron s hounds, for, by the devil himself, I take a genuine interest in you, friend Thibault. And then it seemed to Thibault that he saw the black wolf grow larger and taller, that it stood up on its hind legs and finally walked away in the form of a man, who made a sign to him with his hand as he disappeared. We say _it seemed to him_, for Thibault s ideas, for a second or two, became very indistinct. A feeling of torpor passed over him, paralysing his power of thought. When he came to himself, he was alone. His limbs were imprisoned in a new and unusual form; he had, in short, become in every respect the counterpart of the black wolf that a few minutes before had been speaking to him. One single white hair on his head alone shone in contrast to the remainder of the sombre coloured fur; this one white hair of the wolf was the one black hair which had remained to the man. Thibault had scarcely had time to recover himself when he fancied he heard a rustling among the bushes, and the sound of a low, muffled bark.... He thought of the Baron and his hounds, and trembled. Thus metamorphosed into the black wolf, he decided that he would not do what his predecessor had done, and wait till the dogs were upon him. It was probably a bloodhound he had heard, and he would get away before the hounds were uncoupled. He made off, striking straight ahead, as is the manner of wolves, and it was a profound satisfaction to him to find that in his new form he had tenfold his former strength and elasticity of limb. By the devil and his horns! the voice of the Lord of Vez was now heard to say to his new huntsman a few paces off, you hold the leash too slack, my lad; you have let the bloodhound give tongue, and we shall never head the wolf back now. I was in fault, I do not deny it, my Lord; but as I saw it go by last evening only a few yards from this spot, I never guessed that it would take up its quarters for the night in this part of the wood and that it was so close to us as all that. Are you sure it is the same one that has got away from us so often? May the bread I eat in your service choke me, my lord, if it is not the same black wolf that we were chasing last year when poor Marcotte was drowned. I should like finely to put the dogs on its track, said the Baron, with a sigh. My lord has but to give the order, and we will do so, but he will allow me to observe that we have still two good hours of darkness before us, time enough for every horse we have to break its legs. That may be, but if we wait for the day, l Eveill , the fellow will have had time to get ten leagues away. Ten leagues at least, said l Eveill , shaking his head. I have got this cursed black wolf on my brain, added the Baron, and I have such a longing to have its skin, that I feel sure I shall catch an illness if I do not get hold of it. Well then, my lord, let us have the dogs out without a moment s loss of time. You are right, l Eveill ; go and fetch the hounds. L Eveill went back to his horse, that he had tied to a tree outside the wood, and went off at a gallop, and in ten minutes time, which seemed like ten centuries to the Baron, he was back with the whole hunting train. The hounds were immediately uncoupled. Gently, gently, my lads! said the Lord of Vez, you forget you are not handling your old well-trained dogs; if you get excited with these raw recruits, they ll merely kick up a devil of a row, and be no more good than so many turnspits; let em get warmed up by degrees. And, indeed, the dogs were no sooner loose, than two or three got at once on to the scent of the were-wolf, and began to give cry, whereupon the others joined them. The whole pack started off on Thibault s track, at first quietly following up the scent, and only giving cry at long intervals, then more excitedly and of more accord, until they had so thoroughly imbibed the odour of the wolf ahead of them, and the scent had become so strong, that they tore along, baying furiously, and with unparalleled eagerness in the direction of the Yvors coppice. Well begun, is half done! cried the Baron. You look after the relays, l Eveill ; I want them ready whenever needed! I will encourage the dogs.... And you be on the alert, you others, he added, addressing himself to the younger keepers, we have more than one defeat to avenge, and if I lose this view halloo through the fault of anyone among you, by the devil and his horns! he shall be the dogs quarry in place of the wolf! After pronouncing these words of encouragement, the Baron put his horse to the gallop, and although it was still pitch dark and the ground was rough, he kept the animal going at top speed so as to come up with the hounds, which could be heard giving tongue in the low lands about Bourg-Fontaine. CHAPTER XXIV HUNTING DOWN THE WERE-WOLF Thibault had got well ahead of the dogs, thanks to the precaution he had taken of making good his escape at the first note of the bloodhound. For some time he heard no further sound of pursuit; but, all at once, like distant thunder, the baying of the hounds reached his ears, and he began to feel some anxiety. He had been trotting, but he now went on at greater speed, and did not pause till he had put a few more leagues between himself and his enemies. Then he stood still and took his bearings; he found himself on the heights at Montaigu. He bent his head and listened--the dogs still seemed a long way off, somewhere near the Tillet coppice. It required a wolf s ear to distinguish them so far off. Thibault went down the hill again, as if to meet the dogs; then, leaving Erneville to the left, he leaped into the little stream which rises there, waded down its course as far as Grimancourt, dashed into the woods of Lessart-l Abbesse, and finally gained the forest of Compi gne. He was somewhat reassured to find that, in spite of his three hours hard running, the steel-like muscles of his wolf legs were not in the least fatigued. He hesitated, however, to trust himself in a forest which was not so familiar to him as that of Villers-Cotterets. After another dash of a mile or so, he decided that by doubling boldly he would be most likely to put the dogs off the scent. He crossed at a gallop all the stretch of plain between Pierrefond and Mont-Gobert, took to the woods at the Champ Meutard, came out again at Vauvaudrand, regained the stream by the Sanc res timber floatage, and once more found himself in the forest near Long-Pont. Unfortunately for him, just as he reached the end of the Route du Pendu, he came across another pack of twenty dogs, which Monsieur de Montbreton s huntsman was bringing up as a relay, for the Baron had sent his neighbour news of the chase. Instantly the hounds were uncoupled by the huntsman as he caught sight of the wolf, for seeing that the latter kept its distance, he feared it would get too far ahead if he waited for the others to come up before loosing his dogs. And now began the struggle between the were-wolf and the dogs in very earnest. It was a wild chase, which the horses, in spite of their skilled riders, had great difficulty in following, a chase over plains, through woods, across heaths, pursued at a headlong pace. As the hunt flew by, it appeared and disappeared like a flash of lightning across a cloud, leaving behind a whirlwind of dust, and a sound of horns and cries which echo had hardly time to repeat. It rushed over hill and dale, through torrents and bogs, and over precipices, as if horses and dogs had been winged like Hippogriffs and Chimeras. The Baron had come up with his huntsmen, riding at their head, and almost riding on the tails of his dogs, his eye flashing, his nostrils dilated, exciting the pack with wild shouts and furious blasts, digging his spurs into his horse s sides whenever an obstacle of any kind caused it to hesitate for a single instant. The black wolf, on his side, still held on at the same rapid pace; although sorely shaken at hearing the fresh pack in full pursuit only a short way behind him, just as he had got back to the forest, he had not lost an inch of ground. As he retained to the full all his human consciousness, it seemed to him impossible, as he still ran on, that he should not escape in safety from this ordeal; he felt that it was not possible for him to die before he had taken vengeance for all the agony that others made him suffer, before he had known those pleasures that had been promised him, above all--for at this critical moment his thoughts kept on running on this--before he had gained Agnelette s love. At moments he was possessed by terror, at others by anger. He thought at times that he would turn and face this yelling pack of dogs, and, forgetting his present form, scatter them with stones and blows. Then, an instant after, feeling mad with rage, deafened by the death-knell the hounds were ringing in his ears, he fled, he leaped, he flew with the legs of a deer, with the wings of an eagle. But his efforts were in vain; he might run, leap, almost fly, the sounds of death still clung to him, and if for a moment they became more distant, it was only to hear them a moment after nearer and more threatening still. But still the instinct of self-preservation did not fail him; and still his strength was undiminished; only, if by ill luck, he were to come across other relays, he felt that it might give way. So he determined to take a bold course so as to out-distance the dogs, and to get back to his lairs, where he knew his ground and hoped to evade the dogs. He therefore doubled for the second time. He first ran back to Puiseux, then skirted past Viviers, regained the forest of Compi gne, made a dash into the forest of Largue, returned and crossed the Aisne at Attichy, and finally got back to the forest of Villers-Cotterets at the low lands of Argent. He trusted in this way to baffle the strategical plans of the Lord of Vez, who had, no doubt, posted his dogs at various likely points. Once back in his old quarters Thibault breathed more freely. He was now on the banks of the Ourcq between Norroy and Trouennes, where the river runs at the foot of deep rocks on either side; he leaped up on to a sharp-pointed crag overhanging the water, and from this high vantage ground he sprang into the waves below, then swam to a crevice at the base of the rock from which he had leapt, which was situated rather below the ordinary level of the water, and here, at the back of this cave, he waited. He had gained at least three miles upon the dogs; and yet, scarcely another ten minutes had elapsed, when the whole pack arrived and stormed the crest of the rock. Those who were leading, mad with excitement, did not see the gulf in front of them, or else, like their quarry they thought they would leap safely into it, for they plunged, and Thibault was splashed, far back as he was hidden, by the water that was scattered in every direction as they fell into it one by one. Less fortunate, however, and less vigorous than he was, they were unable to fight against the current, and after vainly battling with it, they were borne along out of sight before they had even got scent of the were-wolf s retreat. Overhead he could hear the tramping of the horses feet, the baying of the dogs that were still left, the cries of men, and above all these sounds, dominating the other voices, that of the Baron as he cursed and swore. When the last dog had fallen into the water, and been carried away like the others, he saw, thanks to a bend in the river, that the huntsmen were going down it, and persuaded that the Baron, whom he recognised at the head of his hunting-train, would only do this with the intention of coming up it again, he determined not to wait for this, and left his hiding-place. Now swimming, now leaping with agility from one rock to the other, at times wading through the water, he went up the river to the end of the Cr ne coppice. Certain that he had now made a considerable advance on his enemies, he resolved to get to one of the villages near and run in and out among the houses, feeling sure that they would not think of coming after him there. He thought of Pr ciamont; if any village was well known to him, it was that; and then, at Pr ciamont, he would be near Agnelette. He felt that this neighbourhood would put fresh vigour into him, and would bring him good fortune, and that the gentle image of the innocent girl would have some influence on his fate. So he started off in that direction. It was now six o clock in the evening; the hunt had lasted nearly fifteen hours, and wolf, dogs and huntsmen had covered fifty leagues at least. When, at last, after circling round by Manereux and Oigny, the black wolf reached the borders of the heath by the lane of Ham, the sun was already beginning to sink, and shedding a dazzling light over the flowery plain; the little white and pink flowers scented the breeze that played caressingly around them; the grasshopper was singing in its little house of moss, and the lark was soaring up towards heaven, saluting the eve with its song, as twelve hours before it had saluted the morn. The peaceful beauty of nature had a strange effect on Thibault. It seemed enigmatical to him that nature could be so smiling and beautiful, while anguish such as his was devouring his soul. He saw the flowers, and heard the insects and the birds, and he compared the quiet joy of this innocent world with the horrible pangs he was enduring, and asked himself, whether after all, notwithstanding all the new promises that had been made him by the devil s envoy, he had acted any more wisely in making this second compact than he had in making the first. He began to doubt whether he might not find himself deceived in the one as he had been in the other. As he went along a little footpath nearly hidden under the golden broom, he suddenly remembered that it was by this very path that he had taken Agnelette home on the first day of their acquaintance; the day, when inspired by his good angel, he had asked her to be his wife. The thought that, thanks to this new compact, he might be able to recover Agnelette s love, revived his spirits, which had been saddened and depressed by the sight of the universal happiness around him. He heard the church bells at Pr ciamont ringing in the valley below; its solemn, monotonous tones recalled the thought of his fellow men to the black wolf, and of all he had to fear from them. So he ran boldly on, across the fields, to the village, where he hoped to find a refuge in some empty building. As he was skirting the little stone wall of the village cemetery, he heard a sound of voices, approaching along the road he was in. He could not fail to meet whoever they might be who were coming towards him, if he himself went on; it was not safe to turn back, as he would have to cross some rising ground whence he might easily be seen; so there was nothing left for it but to jump over the wall of the cemetery, and with a bound he was on the other side. This graveyard as usual adjoined the church; it was uncared for, and overgrown with tall grass, while brambles and thorns grew rankly in places. The wolf made for the thickest of these bramble bushes; he found a sort of ruined vault, whence he could look out without being seen, and he crept under the branches and hid himself inside. A few yards away from him was a newly-dug grave; within the church could be heard the chanting of the priests, the more distinctly that the vault must at one time have communicated by a passage with the crypt. Presently the chanting ceased, and the black wolf, who did not feel quite at ease in the neighbourhood of a church, and thought that the road must now be clear, decided that it was time to start off again and to find a safer retreat than the one he had fled to in his haste. But he had scarcely got his nose outside the bramble bush when the gate of the cemetery opened, and he quickly retreated again to his hole, in great trepidation as to who might now be approaching. The first person he saw was a child dressed in a white alb and carrying a vessel of holy water; he was followed by a man in a surplice, bearing a silver cross, and after the latter came a priest, chanting the psalms for the dead. Behind these were four peasants carrying a bier covered with a white pall over which were scattered green branches and flowers, and beneath the sheet could be seen the outline of a coffin; a few villagers from Pr ciamont wound up this little procession. Although there was nothing unusual in such a sight as this, seeing that he was in a cemetery, and that the newly-dug grave must have prepared him for it, Thibault, nevertheless, felt strangely moved as he looked on. Although the slightest movement might betray his presence and bring destruction upon him, he anxiously watched every detail of the ceremony. The priest having blessed the newly-made grave, the peasants laid down their burden on an adjoining hillock. It is the custom in our country when a young girl, or young married woman, dies in the fullness of her youth and beauty, to carry her to the grave-yard in an open coffin, with only a pall over her, so that her friends may bid her a last farewell, her relations give her a last kiss. Then the coffin is nailed down, and all is over. An old woman, led by some kind hand, for she was apparently blind, went up to the coffin to give the dead one a last kiss; the peasants lifted the pall from the still face, and there lay Agnelette. A low groan escaped from Thibault s agonised breast, and mingled with the tears and sobs of those present. Agnelette, as she lay there so pale in death, wrapped in an ineffable calm, appeared more beautiful than when in life, beneath her wreath of forget-me-nots and daisies. As Thibault looked upon the poor dead girl, his heart seemed suddenly to melt within him. It was he, as he had truly realised, who had really killed her, and he experienced a genuine and overpowering sorrow, the more poignant since for the first time for many long months he forgot to think of himself, and thought only of the dead woman, now lost to him for ever. As he heard the blows of the hammer knocking the nails into the coffin, as he heard the earth and stones being shovelled into the grave and falling with a dull thud on to the body of the only woman he had ever loved, a feeling of giddiness came over him. The hard stones he thought must be bruising Agnelette s tender flesh, so fresh and sweet but a few days ago, and only yesterday still throbbing with life, and he made a movement as if to rush out on the assailants and snatch away the body, which dead, must surely belong to him, since, living, it had belonged to another. But the grief of the man overcame this instinct of the wild beast at bay; a shudder passed through the body hidden beneath its wolf skin; tears fell from the fierce blood-red eyes, and the unhappy man cried out: O God! take my life, I

rich

How many times the word 'rich' appears in the text?

wished for riches, and here I am in despair at having lost the humble roof of bracken under shelter of which I could sleep in peace without anxiety as to the morrow, without troubling myself about the rain or the wind beating against the branches of the giant oaks. I wished for position, and here I am, stoned and hunted down by the lowest peasants, whom formerly I despised. I asked for love, and the only woman who loved me and whom I loved became the wife of another, and she is at this moment cursing me as she lies dying, while I, notwithstanding all the power you have given me, can do nothing to help her! Leave off loving anybody but yourself, Thibault. Oh! yes, laugh at me, do! I am not laughing at you. But did you not cast envious eyes on other people s property before you had set eyes on me? Yes, for a wretched buck, of which there are hundreds just as good browsing in the forest! You thought your wishes were going to stop at the buck, Thibault; but wishes lead on to one another, as the night to the day, and the day to night. When you wished for the buck, you also wished for the silver dish on which it would be served; the silver dish led you on to wish for the servant who carries it and for the carver who cuts up its contents. Ambition is like the vault of heaven; it appears to be bounded by the horizon, but it covers the whole earth. You disdained Agnelette s innocence, and went after Madame Poulet s mill; if you had gained the mill, you would immediately have wanted the house of the Bailiff Magloire; and his house would have had no further attraction for you when once you had seen the Castle of Mont-Gobert. You are one in your envious disposition with the fallen Angel, your master and mine; only, as you were not clever enough to reap the benefit that might have accrued to you from your power of inflicting evil, it would perhaps have been more to your interest to continue to lead an honest life. Yes, indeed, replied the shoe-maker, I feel the truth of the proverb, Evil to him who evil wishes But, he continued, can I not become an honest man again? The wolf gave a mocking chuckle. My good fellow, the devil can drag a man to hell, he said, by a single hair. Have you ever counted how many of yours now belong to him? No. I cannot tell you that exactly either, but I know how many you have which are still your own. You have one left! You see it is long past the time for repentance. But if a man is lost when but one of his hairs belongs to the devil, said Thibault, why cannot God likewise save a man in virtue of a single hair? Well, try if that is so! And, besides, when I concluded that unhappy bargain with you, I did not understand that it was to be a compact of this kind. Oh, yes! I know all about the bad faith of you men! Was it no compact then to consent to give me your hairs, you stupid fool? Since men invented baptism, we do not know how to get hold of them, and so, in return for any concessions we make them, we are bound to insist on their relinquishing to us some part of their body on which we can lay hands. You gave us the hairs of your head; they are firmly rooted, as you have proved yourself and will not come away in our grasp.... No, no, Thibault, you have belonged to us ever since, standing on the threshold of the door that was once there, you cherished within you thoughts of deceit and violence. And so, cried Thibault passionately, rising and stamping his foot, and so I am lost as regards the next world without having enjoyed the pleasures of this! You can yet enjoy these. And how, I pray. By boldly following the path that you have struck by chance, and resolutely determining on a course of conduct which you have adopted as yet only in a halfhearted way; in short, by frankly owning yourself to be one of us. And how am I to do this? Take my place. And what then? You will then acquire my power, and you will have nothing left to wish for. If your power is so great, if it can give you all the riches that I long for, why do you give it up? Do not trouble yourself about me. The master for whom I shall have won a retainer will liberally reward me. And if I take your place, shall I also have to take your form? Yes, in the night-time; by day you will be a man again. The nights are long, dark, full of snares; I may be brought down by a bullet from a keeper, or be caught in a trap, and then good-bye riches, good-bye position and pleasure. Not so; for this skin that covers me is impenetrable by iron, lead or steel. As long as it protects your body, you will be not only invulnerable, but immortal; once a year, like all were-wolves, you will become a wolf again for four and twenty hours, and during that interval, you will be in danger of death like any other animal. I had just reached that dangerous time a year ago to-day, when we first met. Ah! said Thibault, that explains why you feared my Lord Baron s dogs. When we have dealings with men, we are forbidden to speak anything but the truth, and the whole truth; it is for them to accept or refuse. You have boasted to me of the power that I should acquire; tell me, now, in what that power will consist? It will be such that even the most powerful king will not be able to withstand it, since his power is limited by the human and the possible. Shall I be rich? So rich, that you will come in time to despise riches, since, by the mere force of your will, you will obtain not only what men can only acquire with gold and silver, but also all that superior beings get by their conjurations. Shall I be able to revenge myself on my enemies? You will have unlimited power over everything which is connected with evil. If I love a woman, will there again be a possibility of my losing her? As you will have dominion over all your fellow creatures, you will be able to do with them what you like. There will be no power to enable them to escape from the trammels of my will? Nothing, except death, which is stronger than all. And I shall only run the risk of death myself on one day out of the three hundred and sixty-five? On one day only; during the remaining days nothing can harm you, neither iron, lead, nor steel, neither water, nor fire. And there is no deceit, no trap to catch me, in your words? None, on my honour as a wolf! Good, said Thibault, then let it be so; a wolf for four and twenty hours, for the rest of the time the monarch of creation! What am I to do? I am ready. Pick a holly-leaf, tear it in three pieces with your teeth, and throw it away from you, as far as you can. Thibault did as he was commanded. Having torn the leaf in three pieces, he scattered them on the air, and although the night till then had been a peaceful one, there was immediately heard a loud peal of thunder, while a tempestuous whirlwind arose, which caught up the fragments and carried them whirling away with it. And now, brother Thibault, said the wolf, take my place, and good luck be with you! As was my case just a year ago, so you will have to become a wolf for four and twenty hours; you must endeavour to come out of the ordeal as happily as I did, thanks to you, and then you will see realised all that I have promised you. Meanwhile, I will pray the lord of the cloven hoof that he will protect you from the teeth of the Baron s hounds, for, by the devil himself, I take a genuine interest in you, friend Thibault. And then it seemed to Thibault that he saw the black wolf grow larger and taller, that it stood up on its hind legs and finally walked away in the form of a man, who made a sign to him with his hand as he disappeared. We say _it seemed to him_, for Thibault s ideas, for a second or two, became very indistinct. A feeling of torpor passed over him, paralysing his power of thought. When he came to himself, he was alone. His limbs were imprisoned in a new and unusual form; he had, in short, become in every respect the counterpart of the black wolf that a few minutes before had been speaking to him. One single white hair on his head alone shone in contrast to the remainder of the sombre coloured fur; this one white hair of the wolf was the one black hair which had remained to the man. Thibault had scarcely had time to recover himself when he fancied he heard a rustling among the bushes, and the sound of a low, muffled bark.... He thought of the Baron and his hounds, and trembled. Thus metamorphosed into the black wolf, he decided that he would not do what his predecessor had done, and wait till the dogs were upon him. It was probably a bloodhound he had heard, and he would get away before the hounds were uncoupled. He made off, striking straight ahead, as is the manner of wolves, and it was a profound satisfaction to him to find that in his new form he had tenfold his former strength and elasticity of limb. By the devil and his horns! the voice of the Lord of Vez was now heard to say to his new huntsman a few paces off, you hold the leash too slack, my lad; you have let the bloodhound give tongue, and we shall never head the wolf back now. I was in fault, I do not deny it, my Lord; but as I saw it go by last evening only a few yards from this spot, I never guessed that it would take up its quarters for the night in this part of the wood and that it was so close to us as all that. Are you sure it is the same one that has got away from us so often? May the bread I eat in your service choke me, my lord, if it is not the same black wolf that we were chasing last year when poor Marcotte was drowned. I should like finely to put the dogs on its track, said the Baron, with a sigh. My lord has but to give the order, and we will do so, but he will allow me to observe that we have still two good hours of darkness before us, time enough for every horse we have to break its legs. That may be, but if we wait for the day, l Eveill , the fellow will have had time to get ten leagues away. Ten leagues at least, said l Eveill , shaking his head. I have got this cursed black wolf on my brain, added the Baron, and I have such a longing to have its skin, that I feel sure I shall catch an illness if I do not get hold of it. Well then, my lord, let us have the dogs out without a moment s loss of time. You are right, l Eveill ; go and fetch the hounds. L Eveill went back to his horse, that he had tied to a tree outside the wood, and went off at a gallop, and in ten minutes time, which seemed like ten centuries to the Baron, he was back with the whole hunting train. The hounds were immediately uncoupled. Gently, gently, my lads! said the Lord of Vez, you forget you are not handling your old well-trained dogs; if you get excited with these raw recruits, they ll merely kick up a devil of a row, and be no more good than so many turnspits; let em get warmed up by degrees. And, indeed, the dogs were no sooner loose, than two or three got at once on to the scent of the were-wolf, and began to give cry, whereupon the others joined them. The whole pack started off on Thibault s track, at first quietly following up the scent, and only giving cry at long intervals, then more excitedly and of more accord, until they had so thoroughly imbibed the odour of the wolf ahead of them, and the scent had become so strong, that they tore along, baying furiously, and with unparalleled eagerness in the direction of the Yvors coppice. Well begun, is half done! cried the Baron. You look after the relays, l Eveill ; I want them ready whenever needed! I will encourage the dogs.... And you be on the alert, you others, he added, addressing himself to the younger keepers, we have more than one defeat to avenge, and if I lose this view halloo through the fault of anyone among you, by the devil and his horns! he shall be the dogs quarry in place of the wolf! After pronouncing these words of encouragement, the Baron put his horse to the gallop, and although it was still pitch dark and the ground was rough, he kept the animal going at top speed so as to come up with the hounds, which could be heard giving tongue in the low lands about Bourg-Fontaine. CHAPTER XXIV HUNTING DOWN THE WERE-WOLF Thibault had got well ahead of the dogs, thanks to the precaution he had taken of making good his escape at the first note of the bloodhound. For some time he heard no further sound of pursuit; but, all at once, like distant thunder, the baying of the hounds reached his ears, and he began to feel some anxiety. He had been trotting, but he now went on at greater speed, and did not pause till he had put a few more leagues between himself and his enemies. Then he stood still and took his bearings; he found himself on the heights at Montaigu. He bent his head and listened--the dogs still seemed a long way off, somewhere near the Tillet coppice. It required a wolf s ear to distinguish them so far off. Thibault went down the hill again, as if to meet the dogs; then, leaving Erneville to the left, he leaped into the little stream which rises there, waded down its course as far as Grimancourt, dashed into the woods of Lessart-l Abbesse, and finally gained the forest of Compi gne. He was somewhat reassured to find that, in spite of his three hours hard running, the steel-like muscles of his wolf legs were not in the least fatigued. He hesitated, however, to trust himself in a forest which was not so familiar to him as that of Villers-Cotterets. After another dash of a mile or so, he decided that by doubling boldly he would be most likely to put the dogs off the scent. He crossed at a gallop all the stretch of plain between Pierrefond and Mont-Gobert, took to the woods at the Champ Meutard, came out again at Vauvaudrand, regained the stream by the Sanc res timber floatage, and once more found himself in the forest near Long-Pont. Unfortunately for him, just as he reached the end of the Route du Pendu, he came across another pack of twenty dogs, which Monsieur de Montbreton s huntsman was bringing up as a relay, for the Baron had sent his neighbour news of the chase. Instantly the hounds were uncoupled by the huntsman as he caught sight of the wolf, for seeing that the latter kept its distance, he feared it would get too far ahead if he waited for the others to come up before loosing his dogs. And now began the struggle between the were-wolf and the dogs in very earnest. It was a wild chase, which the horses, in spite of their skilled riders, had great difficulty in following, a chase over plains, through woods, across heaths, pursued at a headlong pace. As the hunt flew by, it appeared and disappeared like a flash of lightning across a cloud, leaving behind a whirlwind of dust, and a sound of horns and cries which echo had hardly time to repeat. It rushed over hill and dale, through torrents and bogs, and over precipices, as if horses and dogs had been winged like Hippogriffs and Chimeras. The Baron had come up with his huntsmen, riding at their head, and almost riding on the tails of his dogs, his eye flashing, his nostrils dilated, exciting the pack with wild shouts and furious blasts, digging his spurs into his horse s sides whenever an obstacle of any kind caused it to hesitate for a single instant. The black wolf, on his side, still held on at the same rapid pace; although sorely shaken at hearing the fresh pack in full pursuit only a short way behind him, just as he had got back to the forest, he had not lost an inch of ground. As he retained to the full all his human consciousness, it seemed to him impossible, as he still ran on, that he should not escape in safety from this ordeal; he felt that it was not possible for him to die before he had taken vengeance for all the agony that others made him suffer, before he had known those pleasures that had been promised him, above all--for at this critical moment his thoughts kept on running on this--before he had gained Agnelette s love. At moments he was possessed by terror, at others by anger. He thought at times that he would turn and face this yelling pack of dogs, and, forgetting his present form, scatter them with stones and blows. Then, an instant after, feeling mad with rage, deafened by the death-knell the hounds were ringing in his ears, he fled, he leaped, he flew with the legs of a deer, with the wings of an eagle. But his efforts were in vain; he might run, leap, almost fly, the sounds of death still clung to him, and if for a moment they became more distant, it was only to hear them a moment after nearer and more threatening still. But still the instinct of self-preservation did not fail him; and still his strength was undiminished; only, if by ill luck, he were to come across other relays, he felt that it might give way. So he determined to take a bold course so as to out-distance the dogs, and to get back to his lairs, where he knew his ground and hoped to evade the dogs. He therefore doubled for the second time. He first ran back to Puiseux, then skirted past Viviers, regained the forest of Compi gne, made a dash into the forest of Largue, returned and crossed the Aisne at Attichy, and finally got back to the forest of Villers-Cotterets at the low lands of Argent. He trusted in this way to baffle the strategical plans of the Lord of Vez, who had, no doubt, posted his dogs at various likely points. Once back in his old quarters Thibault breathed more freely. He was now on the banks of the Ourcq between Norroy and Trouennes, where the river runs at the foot of deep rocks on either side; he leaped up on to a sharp-pointed crag overhanging the water, and from this high vantage ground he sprang into the waves below, then swam to a crevice at the base of the rock from which he had leapt, which was situated rather below the ordinary level of the water, and here, at the back of this cave, he waited. He had gained at least three miles upon the dogs; and yet, scarcely another ten minutes had elapsed, when the whole pack arrived and stormed the crest of the rock. Those who were leading, mad with excitement, did not see the gulf in front of them, or else, like their quarry they thought they would leap safely into it, for they plunged, and Thibault was splashed, far back as he was hidden, by the water that was scattered in every direction as they fell into it one by one. Less fortunate, however, and less vigorous than he was, they were unable to fight against the current, and after vainly battling with it, they were borne along out of sight before they had even got scent of the were-wolf s retreat. Overhead he could hear the tramping of the horses feet, the baying of the dogs that were still left, the cries of men, and above all these sounds, dominating the other voices, that of the Baron as he cursed and swore. When the last dog had fallen into the water, and been carried away like the others, he saw, thanks to a bend in the river, that the huntsmen were going down it, and persuaded that the Baron, whom he recognised at the head of his hunting-train, would only do this with the intention of coming up it again, he determined not to wait for this, and left his hiding-place. Now swimming, now leaping with agility from one rock to the other, at times wading through the water, he went up the river to the end of the Cr ne coppice. Certain that he had now made a considerable advance on his enemies, he resolved to get to one of the villages near and run in and out among the houses, feeling sure that they would not think of coming after him there. He thought of Pr ciamont; if any village was well known to him, it was that; and then, at Pr ciamont, he would be near Agnelette. He felt that this neighbourhood would put fresh vigour into him, and would bring him good fortune, and that the gentle image of the innocent girl would have some influence on his fate. So he started off in that direction. It was now six o clock in the evening; the hunt had lasted nearly fifteen hours, and wolf, dogs and huntsmen had covered fifty leagues at least. When, at last, after circling round by Manereux and Oigny, the black wolf reached the borders of the heath by the lane of Ham, the sun was already beginning to sink, and shedding a dazzling light over the flowery plain; the little white and pink flowers scented the breeze that played caressingly around them; the grasshopper was singing in its little house of moss, and the lark was soaring up towards heaven, saluting the eve with its song, as twelve hours before it had saluted the morn. The peaceful beauty of nature had a strange effect on Thibault. It seemed enigmatical to him that nature could be so smiling and beautiful, while anguish such as his was devouring his soul. He saw the flowers, and heard the insects and the birds, and he compared the quiet joy of this innocent world with the horrible pangs he was enduring, and asked himself, whether after all, notwithstanding all the new promises that had been made him by the devil s envoy, he had acted any more wisely in making this second compact than he had in making the first. He began to doubt whether he might not find himself deceived in the one as he had been in the other. As he went along a little footpath nearly hidden under the golden broom, he suddenly remembered that it was by this very path that he had taken Agnelette home on the first day of their acquaintance; the day, when inspired by his good angel, he had asked her to be his wife. The thought that, thanks to this new compact, he might be able to recover Agnelette s love, revived his spirits, which had been saddened and depressed by the sight of the universal happiness around him. He heard the church bells at Pr ciamont ringing in the valley below; its solemn, monotonous tones recalled the thought of his fellow men to the black wolf, and of all he had to fear from them. So he ran boldly on, across the fields, to the village, where he hoped to find a refuge in some empty building. As he was skirting the little stone wall of the village cemetery, he heard a sound of voices, approaching along the road he was in. He could not fail to meet whoever they might be who were coming towards him, if he himself went on; it was not safe to turn back, as he would have to cross some rising ground whence he might easily be seen; so there was nothing left for it but to jump over the wall of the cemetery, and with a bound he was on the other side. This graveyard as usual adjoined the church; it was uncared for, and overgrown with tall grass, while brambles and thorns grew rankly in places. The wolf made for the thickest of these bramble bushes; he found a sort of ruined vault, whence he could look out without being seen, and he crept under the branches and hid himself inside. A few yards away from him was a newly-dug grave; within the church could be heard the chanting of the priests, the more distinctly that the vault must at one time have communicated by a passage with the crypt. Presently the chanting ceased, and the black wolf, who did not feel quite at ease in the neighbourhood of a church, and thought that the road must now be clear, decided that it was time to start off again and to find a safer retreat than the one he had fled to in his haste. But he had scarcely got his nose outside the bramble bush when the gate of the cemetery opened, and he quickly retreated again to his hole, in great trepidation as to who might now be approaching. The first person he saw was a child dressed in a white alb and carrying a vessel of holy water; he was followed by a man in a surplice, bearing a silver cross, and after the latter came a priest, chanting the psalms for the dead. Behind these were four peasants carrying a bier covered with a white pall over which were scattered green branches and flowers, and beneath the sheet could be seen the outline of a coffin; a few villagers from Pr ciamont wound up this little procession. Although there was nothing unusual in such a sight as this, seeing that he was in a cemetery, and that the newly-dug grave must have prepared him for it, Thibault, nevertheless, felt strangely moved as he looked on. Although the slightest movement might betray his presence and bring destruction upon him, he anxiously watched every detail of the ceremony. The priest having blessed the newly-made grave, the peasants laid down their burden on an adjoining hillock. It is the custom in our country when a young girl, or young married woman, dies in the fullness of her youth and beauty, to carry her to the grave-yard in an open coffin, with only a pall over her, so that her friends may bid her a last farewell, her relations give her a last kiss. Then the coffin is nailed down, and all is over. An old woman, led by some kind hand, for she was apparently blind, went up to the coffin to give the dead one a last kiss; the peasants lifted the pall from the still face, and there lay Agnelette. A low groan escaped from Thibault s agonised breast, and mingled with the tears and sobs of those present. Agnelette, as she lay there so pale in death, wrapped in an ineffable calm, appeared more beautiful than when in life, beneath her wreath of forget-me-nots and daisies. As Thibault looked upon the poor dead girl, his heart seemed suddenly to melt within him. It was he, as he had truly realised, who had really killed her, and he experienced a genuine and overpowering sorrow, the more poignant since for the first time for many long months he forgot to think of himself, and thought only of the dead woman, now lost to him for ever. As he heard the blows of the hammer knocking the nails into the coffin, as he heard the earth and stones being shovelled into the grave and falling with a dull thud on to the body of the only woman he had ever loved, a feeling of giddiness came over him. The hard stones he thought must be bruising Agnelette s tender flesh, so fresh and sweet but a few days ago, and only yesterday still throbbing with life, and he made a movement as if to rush out on the assailants and snatch away the body, which dead, must surely belong to him, since, living, it had belonged to another. But the grief of the man overcame this instinct of the wild beast at bay; a shudder passed through the body hidden beneath its wolf skin; tears fell from the fierce blood-red eyes, and the unhappy man cried out: O God! take my life, I

direction

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wished for riches, and here I am in despair at having lost the humble roof of bracken under shelter of which I could sleep in peace without anxiety as to the morrow, without troubling myself about the rain or the wind beating against the branches of the giant oaks. I wished for position, and here I am, stoned and hunted down by the lowest peasants, whom formerly I despised. I asked for love, and the only woman who loved me and whom I loved became the wife of another, and she is at this moment cursing me as she lies dying, while I, notwithstanding all the power you have given me, can do nothing to help her! Leave off loving anybody but yourself, Thibault. Oh! yes, laugh at me, do! I am not laughing at you. But did you not cast envious eyes on other people s property before you had set eyes on me? Yes, for a wretched buck, of which there are hundreds just as good browsing in the forest! You thought your wishes were going to stop at the buck, Thibault; but wishes lead on to one another, as the night to the day, and the day to night. When you wished for the buck, you also wished for the silver dish on which it would be served; the silver dish led you on to wish for the servant who carries it and for the carver who cuts up its contents. Ambition is like the vault of heaven; it appears to be bounded by the horizon, but it covers the whole earth. You disdained Agnelette s innocence, and went after Madame Poulet s mill; if you had gained the mill, you would immediately have wanted the house of the Bailiff Magloire; and his house would have had no further attraction for you when once you had seen the Castle of Mont-Gobert. You are one in your envious disposition with the fallen Angel, your master and mine; only, as you were not clever enough to reap the benefit that might have accrued to you from your power of inflicting evil, it would perhaps have been more to your interest to continue to lead an honest life. Yes, indeed, replied the shoe-maker, I feel the truth of the proverb, Evil to him who evil wishes But, he continued, can I not become an honest man again? The wolf gave a mocking chuckle. My good fellow, the devil can drag a man to hell, he said, by a single hair. Have you ever counted how many of yours now belong to him? No. I cannot tell you that exactly either, but I know how many you have which are still your own. You have one left! You see it is long past the time for repentance. But if a man is lost when but one of his hairs belongs to the devil, said Thibault, why cannot God likewise save a man in virtue of a single hair? Well, try if that is so! And, besides, when I concluded that unhappy bargain with you, I did not understand that it was to be a compact of this kind. Oh, yes! I know all about the bad faith of you men! Was it no compact then to consent to give me your hairs, you stupid fool? Since men invented baptism, we do not know how to get hold of them, and so, in return for any concessions we make them, we are bound to insist on their relinquishing to us some part of their body on which we can lay hands. You gave us the hairs of your head; they are firmly rooted, as you have proved yourself and will not come away in our grasp.... No, no, Thibault, you have belonged to us ever since, standing on the threshold of the door that was once there, you cherished within you thoughts of deceit and violence. And so, cried Thibault passionately, rising and stamping his foot, and so I am lost as regards the next world without having enjoyed the pleasures of this! You can yet enjoy these. And how, I pray. By boldly following the path that you have struck by chance, and resolutely determining on a course of conduct which you have adopted as yet only in a halfhearted way; in short, by frankly owning yourself to be one of us. And how am I to do this? Take my place. And what then? You will then acquire my power, and you will have nothing left to wish for. If your power is so great, if it can give you all the riches that I long for, why do you give it up? Do not trouble yourself about me. The master for whom I shall have won a retainer will liberally reward me. And if I take your place, shall I also have to take your form? Yes, in the night-time; by day you will be a man again. The nights are long, dark, full of snares; I may be brought down by a bullet from a keeper, or be caught in a trap, and then good-bye riches, good-bye position and pleasure. Not so; for this skin that covers me is impenetrable by iron, lead or steel. As long as it protects your body, you will be not only invulnerable, but immortal; once a year, like all were-wolves, you will become a wolf again for four and twenty hours, and during that interval, you will be in danger of death like any other animal. I had just reached that dangerous time a year ago to-day, when we first met. Ah! said Thibault, that explains why you feared my Lord Baron s dogs. When we have dealings with men, we are forbidden to speak anything but the truth, and the whole truth; it is for them to accept or refuse. You have boasted to me of the power that I should acquire; tell me, now, in what that power will consist? It will be such that even the most powerful king will not be able to withstand it, since his power is limited by the human and the possible. Shall I be rich? So rich, that you will come in time to despise riches, since, by the mere force of your will, you will obtain not only what men can only acquire with gold and silver, but also all that superior beings get by their conjurations. Shall I be able to revenge myself on my enemies? You will have unlimited power over everything which is connected with evil. If I love a woman, will there again be a possibility of my losing her? As you will have dominion over all your fellow creatures, you will be able to do with them what you like. There will be no power to enable them to escape from the trammels of my will? Nothing, except death, which is stronger than all. And I shall only run the risk of death myself on one day out of the three hundred and sixty-five? On one day only; during the remaining days nothing can harm you, neither iron, lead, nor steel, neither water, nor fire. And there is no deceit, no trap to catch me, in your words? None, on my honour as a wolf! Good, said Thibault, then let it be so; a wolf for four and twenty hours, for the rest of the time the monarch of creation! What am I to do? I am ready. Pick a holly-leaf, tear it in three pieces with your teeth, and throw it away from you, as far as you can. Thibault did as he was commanded. Having torn the leaf in three pieces, he scattered them on the air, and although the night till then had been a peaceful one, there was immediately heard a loud peal of thunder, while a tempestuous whirlwind arose, which caught up the fragments and carried them whirling away with it. And now, brother Thibault, said the wolf, take my place, and good luck be with you! As was my case just a year ago, so you will have to become a wolf for four and twenty hours; you must endeavour to come out of the ordeal as happily as I did, thanks to you, and then you will see realised all that I have promised you. Meanwhile, I will pray the lord of the cloven hoof that he will protect you from the teeth of the Baron s hounds, for, by the devil himself, I take a genuine interest in you, friend Thibault. And then it seemed to Thibault that he saw the black wolf grow larger and taller, that it stood up on its hind legs and finally walked away in the form of a man, who made a sign to him with his hand as he disappeared. We say _it seemed to him_, for Thibault s ideas, for a second or two, became very indistinct. A feeling of torpor passed over him, paralysing his power of thought. When he came to himself, he was alone. His limbs were imprisoned in a new and unusual form; he had, in short, become in every respect the counterpart of the black wolf that a few minutes before had been speaking to him. One single white hair on his head alone shone in contrast to the remainder of the sombre coloured fur; this one white hair of the wolf was the one black hair which had remained to the man. Thibault had scarcely had time to recover himself when he fancied he heard a rustling among the bushes, and the sound of a low, muffled bark.... He thought of the Baron and his hounds, and trembled. Thus metamorphosed into the black wolf, he decided that he would not do what his predecessor had done, and wait till the dogs were upon him. It was probably a bloodhound he had heard, and he would get away before the hounds were uncoupled. He made off, striking straight ahead, as is the manner of wolves, and it was a profound satisfaction to him to find that in his new form he had tenfold his former strength and elasticity of limb. By the devil and his horns! the voice of the Lord of Vez was now heard to say to his new huntsman a few paces off, you hold the leash too slack, my lad; you have let the bloodhound give tongue, and we shall never head the wolf back now. I was in fault, I do not deny it, my Lord; but as I saw it go by last evening only a few yards from this spot, I never guessed that it would take up its quarters for the night in this part of the wood and that it was so close to us as all that. Are you sure it is the same one that has got away from us so often? May the bread I eat in your service choke me, my lord, if it is not the same black wolf that we were chasing last year when poor Marcotte was drowned. I should like finely to put the dogs on its track, said the Baron, with a sigh. My lord has but to give the order, and we will do so, but he will allow me to observe that we have still two good hours of darkness before us, time enough for every horse we have to break its legs. That may be, but if we wait for the day, l Eveill , the fellow will have had time to get ten leagues away. Ten leagues at least, said l Eveill , shaking his head. I have got this cursed black wolf on my brain, added the Baron, and I have such a longing to have its skin, that I feel sure I shall catch an illness if I do not get hold of it. Well then, my lord, let us have the dogs out without a moment s loss of time. You are right, l Eveill ; go and fetch the hounds. L Eveill went back to his horse, that he had tied to a tree outside the wood, and went off at a gallop, and in ten minutes time, which seemed like ten centuries to the Baron, he was back with the whole hunting train. The hounds were immediately uncoupled. Gently, gently, my lads! said the Lord of Vez, you forget you are not handling your old well-trained dogs; if you get excited with these raw recruits, they ll merely kick up a devil of a row, and be no more good than so many turnspits; let em get warmed up by degrees. And, indeed, the dogs were no sooner loose, than two or three got at once on to the scent of the were-wolf, and began to give cry, whereupon the others joined them. The whole pack started off on Thibault s track, at first quietly following up the scent, and only giving cry at long intervals, then more excitedly and of more accord, until they had so thoroughly imbibed the odour of the wolf ahead of them, and the scent had become so strong, that they tore along, baying furiously, and with unparalleled eagerness in the direction of the Yvors coppice. Well begun, is half done! cried the Baron. You look after the relays, l Eveill ; I want them ready whenever needed! I will encourage the dogs.... And you be on the alert, you others, he added, addressing himself to the younger keepers, we have more than one defeat to avenge, and if I lose this view halloo through the fault of anyone among you, by the devil and his horns! he shall be the dogs quarry in place of the wolf! After pronouncing these words of encouragement, the Baron put his horse to the gallop, and although it was still pitch dark and the ground was rough, he kept the animal going at top speed so as to come up with the hounds, which could be heard giving tongue in the low lands about Bourg-Fontaine. CHAPTER XXIV HUNTING DOWN THE WERE-WOLF Thibault had got well ahead of the dogs, thanks to the precaution he had taken of making good his escape at the first note of the bloodhound. For some time he heard no further sound of pursuit; but, all at once, like distant thunder, the baying of the hounds reached his ears, and he began to feel some anxiety. He had been trotting, but he now went on at greater speed, and did not pause till he had put a few more leagues between himself and his enemies. Then he stood still and took his bearings; he found himself on the heights at Montaigu. He bent his head and listened--the dogs still seemed a long way off, somewhere near the Tillet coppice. It required a wolf s ear to distinguish them so far off. Thibault went down the hill again, as if to meet the dogs; then, leaving Erneville to the left, he leaped into the little stream which rises there, waded down its course as far as Grimancourt, dashed into the woods of Lessart-l Abbesse, and finally gained the forest of Compi gne. He was somewhat reassured to find that, in spite of his three hours hard running, the steel-like muscles of his wolf legs were not in the least fatigued. He hesitated, however, to trust himself in a forest which was not so familiar to him as that of Villers-Cotterets. After another dash of a mile or so, he decided that by doubling boldly he would be most likely to put the dogs off the scent. He crossed at a gallop all the stretch of plain between Pierrefond and Mont-Gobert, took to the woods at the Champ Meutard, came out again at Vauvaudrand, regained the stream by the Sanc res timber floatage, and once more found himself in the forest near Long-Pont. Unfortunately for him, just as he reached the end of the Route du Pendu, he came across another pack of twenty dogs, which Monsieur de Montbreton s huntsman was bringing up as a relay, for the Baron had sent his neighbour news of the chase. Instantly the hounds were uncoupled by the huntsman as he caught sight of the wolf, for seeing that the latter kept its distance, he feared it would get too far ahead if he waited for the others to come up before loosing his dogs. And now began the struggle between the were-wolf and the dogs in very earnest. It was a wild chase, which the horses, in spite of their skilled riders, had great difficulty in following, a chase over plains, through woods, across heaths, pursued at a headlong pace. As the hunt flew by, it appeared and disappeared like a flash of lightning across a cloud, leaving behind a whirlwind of dust, and a sound of horns and cries which echo had hardly time to repeat. It rushed over hill and dale, through torrents and bogs, and over precipices, as if horses and dogs had been winged like Hippogriffs and Chimeras. The Baron had come up with his huntsmen, riding at their head, and almost riding on the tails of his dogs, his eye flashing, his nostrils dilated, exciting the pack with wild shouts and furious blasts, digging his spurs into his horse s sides whenever an obstacle of any kind caused it to hesitate for a single instant. The black wolf, on his side, still held on at the same rapid pace; although sorely shaken at hearing the fresh pack in full pursuit only a short way behind him, just as he had got back to the forest, he had not lost an inch of ground. As he retained to the full all his human consciousness, it seemed to him impossible, as he still ran on, that he should not escape in safety from this ordeal; he felt that it was not possible for him to die before he had taken vengeance for all the agony that others made him suffer, before he had known those pleasures that had been promised him, above all--for at this critical moment his thoughts kept on running on this--before he had gained Agnelette s love. At moments he was possessed by terror, at others by anger. He thought at times that he would turn and face this yelling pack of dogs, and, forgetting his present form, scatter them with stones and blows. Then, an instant after, feeling mad with rage, deafened by the death-knell the hounds were ringing in his ears, he fled, he leaped, he flew with the legs of a deer, with the wings of an eagle. But his efforts were in vain; he might run, leap, almost fly, the sounds of death still clung to him, and if for a moment they became more distant, it was only to hear them a moment after nearer and more threatening still. But still the instinct of self-preservation did not fail him; and still his strength was undiminished; only, if by ill luck, he were to come across other relays, he felt that it might give way. So he determined to take a bold course so as to out-distance the dogs, and to get back to his lairs, where he knew his ground and hoped to evade the dogs. He therefore doubled for the second time. He first ran back to Puiseux, then skirted past Viviers, regained the forest of Compi gne, made a dash into the forest of Largue, returned and crossed the Aisne at Attichy, and finally got back to the forest of Villers-Cotterets at the low lands of Argent. He trusted in this way to baffle the strategical plans of the Lord of Vez, who had, no doubt, posted his dogs at various likely points. Once back in his old quarters Thibault breathed more freely. He was now on the banks of the Ourcq between Norroy and Trouennes, where the river runs at the foot of deep rocks on either side; he leaped up on to a sharp-pointed crag overhanging the water, and from this high vantage ground he sprang into the waves below, then swam to a crevice at the base of the rock from which he had leapt, which was situated rather below the ordinary level of the water, and here, at the back of this cave, he waited. He had gained at least three miles upon the dogs; and yet, scarcely another ten minutes had elapsed, when the whole pack arrived and stormed the crest of the rock. Those who were leading, mad with excitement, did not see the gulf in front of them, or else, like their quarry they thought they would leap safely into it, for they plunged, and Thibault was splashed, far back as he was hidden, by the water that was scattered in every direction as they fell into it one by one. Less fortunate, however, and less vigorous than he was, they were unable to fight against the current, and after vainly battling with it, they were borne along out of sight before they had even got scent of the were-wolf s retreat. Overhead he could hear the tramping of the horses feet, the baying of the dogs that were still left, the cries of men, and above all these sounds, dominating the other voices, that of the Baron as he cursed and swore. When the last dog had fallen into the water, and been carried away like the others, he saw, thanks to a bend in the river, that the huntsmen were going down it, and persuaded that the Baron, whom he recognised at the head of his hunting-train, would only do this with the intention of coming up it again, he determined not to wait for this, and left his hiding-place. Now swimming, now leaping with agility from one rock to the other, at times wading through the water, he went up the river to the end of the Cr ne coppice. Certain that he had now made a considerable advance on his enemies, he resolved to get to one of the villages near and run in and out among the houses, feeling sure that they would not think of coming after him there. He thought of Pr ciamont; if any village was well known to him, it was that; and then, at Pr ciamont, he would be near Agnelette. He felt that this neighbourhood would put fresh vigour into him, and would bring him good fortune, and that the gentle image of the innocent girl would have some influence on his fate. So he started off in that direction. It was now six o clock in the evening; the hunt had lasted nearly fifteen hours, and wolf, dogs and huntsmen had covered fifty leagues at least. When, at last, after circling round by Manereux and Oigny, the black wolf reached the borders of the heath by the lane of Ham, the sun was already beginning to sink, and shedding a dazzling light over the flowery plain; the little white and pink flowers scented the breeze that played caressingly around them; the grasshopper was singing in its little house of moss, and the lark was soaring up towards heaven, saluting the eve with its song, as twelve hours before it had saluted the morn. The peaceful beauty of nature had a strange effect on Thibault. It seemed enigmatical to him that nature could be so smiling and beautiful, while anguish such as his was devouring his soul. He saw the flowers, and heard the insects and the birds, and he compared the quiet joy of this innocent world with the horrible pangs he was enduring, and asked himself, whether after all, notwithstanding all the new promises that had been made him by the devil s envoy, he had acted any more wisely in making this second compact than he had in making the first. He began to doubt whether he might not find himself deceived in the one as he had been in the other. As he went along a little footpath nearly hidden under the golden broom, he suddenly remembered that it was by this very path that he had taken Agnelette home on the first day of their acquaintance; the day, when inspired by his good angel, he had asked her to be his wife. The thought that, thanks to this new compact, he might be able to recover Agnelette s love, revived his spirits, which had been saddened and depressed by the sight of the universal happiness around him. He heard the church bells at Pr ciamont ringing in the valley below; its solemn, monotonous tones recalled the thought of his fellow men to the black wolf, and of all he had to fear from them. So he ran boldly on, across the fields, to the village, where he hoped to find a refuge in some empty building. As he was skirting the little stone wall of the village cemetery, he heard a sound of voices, approaching along the road he was in. He could not fail to meet whoever they might be who were coming towards him, if he himself went on; it was not safe to turn back, as he would have to cross some rising ground whence he might easily be seen; so there was nothing left for it but to jump over the wall of the cemetery, and with a bound he was on the other side. This graveyard as usual adjoined the church; it was uncared for, and overgrown with tall grass, while brambles and thorns grew rankly in places. The wolf made for the thickest of these bramble bushes; he found a sort of ruined vault, whence he could look out without being seen, and he crept under the branches and hid himself inside. A few yards away from him was a newly-dug grave; within the church could be heard the chanting of the priests, the more distinctly that the vault must at one time have communicated by a passage with the crypt. Presently the chanting ceased, and the black wolf, who did not feel quite at ease in the neighbourhood of a church, and thought that the road must now be clear, decided that it was time to start off again and to find a safer retreat than the one he had fled to in his haste. But he had scarcely got his nose outside the bramble bush when the gate of the cemetery opened, and he quickly retreated again to his hole, in great trepidation as to who might now be approaching. The first person he saw was a child dressed in a white alb and carrying a vessel of holy water; he was followed by a man in a surplice, bearing a silver cross, and after the latter came a priest, chanting the psalms for the dead. Behind these were four peasants carrying a bier covered with a white pall over which were scattered green branches and flowers, and beneath the sheet could be seen the outline of a coffin; a few villagers from Pr ciamont wound up this little procession. Although there was nothing unusual in such a sight as this, seeing that he was in a cemetery, and that the newly-dug grave must have prepared him for it, Thibault, nevertheless, felt strangely moved as he looked on. Although the slightest movement might betray his presence and bring destruction upon him, he anxiously watched every detail of the ceremony. The priest having blessed the newly-made grave, the peasants laid down their burden on an adjoining hillock. It is the custom in our country when a young girl, or young married woman, dies in the fullness of her youth and beauty, to carry her to the grave-yard in an open coffin, with only a pall over her, so that her friends may bid her a last farewell, her relations give her a last kiss. Then the coffin is nailed down, and all is over. An old woman, led by some kind hand, for she was apparently blind, went up to the coffin to give the dead one a last kiss; the peasants lifted the pall from the still face, and there lay Agnelette. A low groan escaped from Thibault s agonised breast, and mingled with the tears and sobs of those present. Agnelette, as she lay there so pale in death, wrapped in an ineffable calm, appeared more beautiful than when in life, beneath her wreath of forget-me-nots and daisies. As Thibault looked upon the poor dead girl, his heart seemed suddenly to melt within him. It was he, as he had truly realised, who had really killed her, and he experienced a genuine and overpowering sorrow, the more poignant since for the first time for many long months he forgot to think of himself, and thought only of the dead woman, now lost to him for ever. As he heard the blows of the hammer knocking the nails into the coffin, as he heard the earth and stones being shovelled into the grave and falling with a dull thud on to the body of the only woman he had ever loved, a feeling of giddiness came over him. The hard stones he thought must be bruising Agnelette s tender flesh, so fresh and sweet but a few days ago, and only yesterday still throbbing with life, and he made a movement as if to rush out on the assailants and snatch away the body, which dead, must surely belong to him, since, living, it had belonged to another. But the grief of the man overcame this instinct of the wild beast at bay; a shudder passed through the body hidden beneath its wolf skin; tears fell from the fierce blood-red eyes, and the unhappy man cried out: O God! take my life, I

recover

How many times the word 'recover' appears in the text?

wished for riches, and here I am in despair at having lost the humble roof of bracken under shelter of which I could sleep in peace without anxiety as to the morrow, without troubling myself about the rain or the wind beating against the branches of the giant oaks. I wished for position, and here I am, stoned and hunted down by the lowest peasants, whom formerly I despised. I asked for love, and the only woman who loved me and whom I loved became the wife of another, and she is at this moment cursing me as she lies dying, while I, notwithstanding all the power you have given me, can do nothing to help her! Leave off loving anybody but yourself, Thibault. Oh! yes, laugh at me, do! I am not laughing at you. But did you not cast envious eyes on other people s property before you had set eyes on me? Yes, for a wretched buck, of which there are hundreds just as good browsing in the forest! You thought your wishes were going to stop at the buck, Thibault; but wishes lead on to one another, as the night to the day, and the day to night. When you wished for the buck, you also wished for the silver dish on which it would be served; the silver dish led you on to wish for the servant who carries it and for the carver who cuts up its contents. Ambition is like the vault of heaven; it appears to be bounded by the horizon, but it covers the whole earth. You disdained Agnelette s innocence, and went after Madame Poulet s mill; if you had gained the mill, you would immediately have wanted the house of the Bailiff Magloire; and his house would have had no further attraction for you when once you had seen the Castle of Mont-Gobert. You are one in your envious disposition with the fallen Angel, your master and mine; only, as you were not clever enough to reap the benefit that might have accrued to you from your power of inflicting evil, it would perhaps have been more to your interest to continue to lead an honest life. Yes, indeed, replied the shoe-maker, I feel the truth of the proverb, Evil to him who evil wishes But, he continued, can I not become an honest man again? The wolf gave a mocking chuckle. My good fellow, the devil can drag a man to hell, he said, by a single hair. Have you ever counted how many of yours now belong to him? No. I cannot tell you that exactly either, but I know how many you have which are still your own. You have one left! You see it is long past the time for repentance. But if a man is lost when but one of his hairs belongs to the devil, said Thibault, why cannot God likewise save a man in virtue of a single hair? Well, try if that is so! And, besides, when I concluded that unhappy bargain with you, I did not understand that it was to be a compact of this kind. Oh, yes! I know all about the bad faith of you men! Was it no compact then to consent to give me your hairs, you stupid fool? Since men invented baptism, we do not know how to get hold of them, and so, in return for any concessions we make them, we are bound to insist on their relinquishing to us some part of their body on which we can lay hands. You gave us the hairs of your head; they are firmly rooted, as you have proved yourself and will not come away in our grasp.... No, no, Thibault, you have belonged to us ever since, standing on the threshold of the door that was once there, you cherished within you thoughts of deceit and violence. And so, cried Thibault passionately, rising and stamping his foot, and so I am lost as regards the next world without having enjoyed the pleasures of this! You can yet enjoy these. And how, I pray. By boldly following the path that you have struck by chance, and resolutely determining on a course of conduct which you have adopted as yet only in a halfhearted way; in short, by frankly owning yourself to be one of us. And how am I to do this? Take my place. And what then? You will then acquire my power, and you will have nothing left to wish for. If your power is so great, if it can give you all the riches that I long for, why do you give it up? Do not trouble yourself about me. The master for whom I shall have won a retainer will liberally reward me. And if I take your place, shall I also have to take your form? Yes, in the night-time; by day you will be a man again. The nights are long, dark, full of snares; I may be brought down by a bullet from a keeper, or be caught in a trap, and then good-bye riches, good-bye position and pleasure. Not so; for this skin that covers me is impenetrable by iron, lead or steel. As long as it protects your body, you will be not only invulnerable, but immortal; once a year, like all were-wolves, you will become a wolf again for four and twenty hours, and during that interval, you will be in danger of death like any other animal. I had just reached that dangerous time a year ago to-day, when we first met. Ah! said Thibault, that explains why you feared my Lord Baron s dogs. When we have dealings with men, we are forbidden to speak anything but the truth, and the whole truth; it is for them to accept or refuse. You have boasted to me of the power that I should acquire; tell me, now, in what that power will consist? It will be such that even the most powerful king will not be able to withstand it, since his power is limited by the human and the possible. Shall I be rich? So rich, that you will come in time to despise riches, since, by the mere force of your will, you will obtain not only what men can only acquire with gold and silver, but also all that superior beings get by their conjurations. Shall I be able to revenge myself on my enemies? You will have unlimited power over everything which is connected with evil. If I love a woman, will there again be a possibility of my losing her? As you will have dominion over all your fellow creatures, you will be able to do with them what you like. There will be no power to enable them to escape from the trammels of my will? Nothing, except death, which is stronger than all. And I shall only run the risk of death myself on one day out of the three hundred and sixty-five? On one day only; during the remaining days nothing can harm you, neither iron, lead, nor steel, neither water, nor fire. And there is no deceit, no trap to catch me, in your words? None, on my honour as a wolf! Good, said Thibault, then let it be so; a wolf for four and twenty hours, for the rest of the time the monarch of creation! What am I to do? I am ready. Pick a holly-leaf, tear it in three pieces with your teeth, and throw it away from you, as far as you can. Thibault did as he was commanded. Having torn the leaf in three pieces, he scattered them on the air, and although the night till then had been a peaceful one, there was immediately heard a loud peal of thunder, while a tempestuous whirlwind arose, which caught up the fragments and carried them whirling away with it. And now, brother Thibault, said the wolf, take my place, and good luck be with you! As was my case just a year ago, so you will have to become a wolf for four and twenty hours; you must endeavour to come out of the ordeal as happily as I did, thanks to you, and then you will see realised all that I have promised you. Meanwhile, I will pray the lord of the cloven hoof that he will protect you from the teeth of the Baron s hounds, for, by the devil himself, I take a genuine interest in you, friend Thibault. And then it seemed to Thibault that he saw the black wolf grow larger and taller, that it stood up on its hind legs and finally walked away in the form of a man, who made a sign to him with his hand as he disappeared. We say _it seemed to him_, for Thibault s ideas, for a second or two, became very indistinct. A feeling of torpor passed over him, paralysing his power of thought. When he came to himself, he was alone. His limbs were imprisoned in a new and unusual form; he had, in short, become in every respect the counterpart of the black wolf that a few minutes before had been speaking to him. One single white hair on his head alone shone in contrast to the remainder of the sombre coloured fur; this one white hair of the wolf was the one black hair which had remained to the man. Thibault had scarcely had time to recover himself when he fancied he heard a rustling among the bushes, and the sound of a low, muffled bark.... He thought of the Baron and his hounds, and trembled. Thus metamorphosed into the black wolf, he decided that he would not do what his predecessor had done, and wait till the dogs were upon him. It was probably a bloodhound he had heard, and he would get away before the hounds were uncoupled. He made off, striking straight ahead, as is the manner of wolves, and it was a profound satisfaction to him to find that in his new form he had tenfold his former strength and elasticity of limb. By the devil and his horns! the voice of the Lord of Vez was now heard to say to his new huntsman a few paces off, you hold the leash too slack, my lad; you have let the bloodhound give tongue, and we shall never head the wolf back now. I was in fault, I do not deny it, my Lord; but as I saw it go by last evening only a few yards from this spot, I never guessed that it would take up its quarters for the night in this part of the wood and that it was so close to us as all that. Are you sure it is the same one that has got away from us so often? May the bread I eat in your service choke me, my lord, if it is not the same black wolf that we were chasing last year when poor Marcotte was drowned. I should like finely to put the dogs on its track, said the Baron, with a sigh. My lord has but to give the order, and we will do so, but he will allow me to observe that we have still two good hours of darkness before us, time enough for every horse we have to break its legs. That may be, but if we wait for the day, l Eveill , the fellow will have had time to get ten leagues away. Ten leagues at least, said l Eveill , shaking his head. I have got this cursed black wolf on my brain, added the Baron, and I have such a longing to have its skin, that I feel sure I shall catch an illness if I do not get hold of it. Well then, my lord, let us have the dogs out without a moment s loss of time. You are right, l Eveill ; go and fetch the hounds. L Eveill went back to his horse, that he had tied to a tree outside the wood, and went off at a gallop, and in ten minutes time, which seemed like ten centuries to the Baron, he was back with the whole hunting train. The hounds were immediately uncoupled. Gently, gently, my lads! said the Lord of Vez, you forget you are not handling your old well-trained dogs; if you get excited with these raw recruits, they ll merely kick up a devil of a row, and be no more good than so many turnspits; let em get warmed up by degrees. And, indeed, the dogs were no sooner loose, than two or three got at once on to the scent of the were-wolf, and began to give cry, whereupon the others joined them. The whole pack started off on Thibault s track, at first quietly following up the scent, and only giving cry at long intervals, then more excitedly and of more accord, until they had so thoroughly imbibed the odour of the wolf ahead of them, and the scent had become so strong, that they tore along, baying furiously, and with unparalleled eagerness in the direction of the Yvors coppice. Well begun, is half done! cried the Baron. You look after the relays, l Eveill ; I want them ready whenever needed! I will encourage the dogs.... And you be on the alert, you others, he added, addressing himself to the younger keepers, we have more than one defeat to avenge, and if I lose this view halloo through the fault of anyone among you, by the devil and his horns! he shall be the dogs quarry in place of the wolf! After pronouncing these words of encouragement, the Baron put his horse to the gallop, and although it was still pitch dark and the ground was rough, he kept the animal going at top speed so as to come up with the hounds, which could be heard giving tongue in the low lands about Bourg-Fontaine. CHAPTER XXIV HUNTING DOWN THE WERE-WOLF Thibault had got well ahead of the dogs, thanks to the precaution he had taken of making good his escape at the first note of the bloodhound. For some time he heard no further sound of pursuit; but, all at once, like distant thunder, the baying of the hounds reached his ears, and he began to feel some anxiety. He had been trotting, but he now went on at greater speed, and did not pause till he had put a few more leagues between himself and his enemies. Then he stood still and took his bearings; he found himself on the heights at Montaigu. He bent his head and listened--the dogs still seemed a long way off, somewhere near the Tillet coppice. It required a wolf s ear to distinguish them so far off. Thibault went down the hill again, as if to meet the dogs; then, leaving Erneville to the left, he leaped into the little stream which rises there, waded down its course as far as Grimancourt, dashed into the woods of Lessart-l Abbesse, and finally gained the forest of Compi gne. He was somewhat reassured to find that, in spite of his three hours hard running, the steel-like muscles of his wolf legs were not in the least fatigued. He hesitated, however, to trust himself in a forest which was not so familiar to him as that of Villers-Cotterets. After another dash of a mile or so, he decided that by doubling boldly he would be most likely to put the dogs off the scent. He crossed at a gallop all the stretch of plain between Pierrefond and Mont-Gobert, took to the woods at the Champ Meutard, came out again at Vauvaudrand, regained the stream by the Sanc res timber floatage, and once more found himself in the forest near Long-Pont. Unfortunately for him, just as he reached the end of the Route du Pendu, he came across another pack of twenty dogs, which Monsieur de Montbreton s huntsman was bringing up as a relay, for the Baron had sent his neighbour news of the chase. Instantly the hounds were uncoupled by the huntsman as he caught sight of the wolf, for seeing that the latter kept its distance, he feared it would get too far ahead if he waited for the others to come up before loosing his dogs. And now began the struggle between the were-wolf and the dogs in very earnest. It was a wild chase, which the horses, in spite of their skilled riders, had great difficulty in following, a chase over plains, through woods, across heaths, pursued at a headlong pace. As the hunt flew by, it appeared and disappeared like a flash of lightning across a cloud, leaving behind a whirlwind of dust, and a sound of horns and cries which echo had hardly time to repeat. It rushed over hill and dale, through torrents and bogs, and over precipices, as if horses and dogs had been winged like Hippogriffs and Chimeras. The Baron had come up with his huntsmen, riding at their head, and almost riding on the tails of his dogs, his eye flashing, his nostrils dilated, exciting the pack with wild shouts and furious blasts, digging his spurs into his horse s sides whenever an obstacle of any kind caused it to hesitate for a single instant. The black wolf, on his side, still held on at the same rapid pace; although sorely shaken at hearing the fresh pack in full pursuit only a short way behind him, just as he had got back to the forest, he had not lost an inch of ground. As he retained to the full all his human consciousness, it seemed to him impossible, as he still ran on, that he should not escape in safety from this ordeal; he felt that it was not possible for him to die before he had taken vengeance for all the agony that others made him suffer, before he had known those pleasures that had been promised him, above all--for at this critical moment his thoughts kept on running on this--before he had gained Agnelette s love. At moments he was possessed by terror, at others by anger. He thought at times that he would turn and face this yelling pack of dogs, and, forgetting his present form, scatter them with stones and blows. Then, an instant after, feeling mad with rage, deafened by the death-knell the hounds were ringing in his ears, he fled, he leaped, he flew with the legs of a deer, with the wings of an eagle. But his efforts were in vain; he might run, leap, almost fly, the sounds of death still clung to him, and if for a moment they became more distant, it was only to hear them a moment after nearer and more threatening still. But still the instinct of self-preservation did not fail him; and still his strength was undiminished; only, if by ill luck, he were to come across other relays, he felt that it might give way. So he determined to take a bold course so as to out-distance the dogs, and to get back to his lairs, where he knew his ground and hoped to evade the dogs. He therefore doubled for the second time. He first ran back to Puiseux, then skirted past Viviers, regained the forest of Compi gne, made a dash into the forest of Largue, returned and crossed the Aisne at Attichy, and finally got back to the forest of Villers-Cotterets at the low lands of Argent. He trusted in this way to baffle the strategical plans of the Lord of Vez, who had, no doubt, posted his dogs at various likely points. Once back in his old quarters Thibault breathed more freely. He was now on the banks of the Ourcq between Norroy and Trouennes, where the river runs at the foot of deep rocks on either side; he leaped up on to a sharp-pointed crag overhanging the water, and from this high vantage ground he sprang into the waves below, then swam to a crevice at the base of the rock from which he had leapt, which was situated rather below the ordinary level of the water, and here, at the back of this cave, he waited. He had gained at least three miles upon the dogs; and yet, scarcely another ten minutes had elapsed, when the whole pack arrived and stormed the crest of the rock. Those who were leading, mad with excitement, did not see the gulf in front of them, or else, like their quarry they thought they would leap safely into it, for they plunged, and Thibault was splashed, far back as he was hidden, by the water that was scattered in every direction as they fell into it one by one. Less fortunate, however, and less vigorous than he was, they were unable to fight against the current, and after vainly battling with it, they were borne along out of sight before they had even got scent of the were-wolf s retreat. Overhead he could hear the tramping of the horses feet, the baying of the dogs that were still left, the cries of men, and above all these sounds, dominating the other voices, that of the Baron as he cursed and swore. When the last dog had fallen into the water, and been carried away like the others, he saw, thanks to a bend in the river, that the huntsmen were going down it, and persuaded that the Baron, whom he recognised at the head of his hunting-train, would only do this with the intention of coming up it again, he determined not to wait for this, and left his hiding-place. Now swimming, now leaping with agility from one rock to the other, at times wading through the water, he went up the river to the end of the Cr ne coppice. Certain that he had now made a considerable advance on his enemies, he resolved to get to one of the villages near and run in and out among the houses, feeling sure that they would not think of coming after him there. He thought of Pr ciamont; if any village was well known to him, it was that; and then, at Pr ciamont, he would be near Agnelette. He felt that this neighbourhood would put fresh vigour into him, and would bring him good fortune, and that the gentle image of the innocent girl would have some influence on his fate. So he started off in that direction. It was now six o clock in the evening; the hunt had lasted nearly fifteen hours, and wolf, dogs and huntsmen had covered fifty leagues at least. When, at last, after circling round by Manereux and Oigny, the black wolf reached the borders of the heath by the lane of Ham, the sun was already beginning to sink, and shedding a dazzling light over the flowery plain; the little white and pink flowers scented the breeze that played caressingly around them; the grasshopper was singing in its little house of moss, and the lark was soaring up towards heaven, saluting the eve with its song, as twelve hours before it had saluted the morn. The peaceful beauty of nature had a strange effect on Thibault. It seemed enigmatical to him that nature could be so smiling and beautiful, while anguish such as his was devouring his soul. He saw the flowers, and heard the insects and the birds, and he compared the quiet joy of this innocent world with the horrible pangs he was enduring, and asked himself, whether after all, notwithstanding all the new promises that had been made him by the devil s envoy, he had acted any more wisely in making this second compact than he had in making the first. He began to doubt whether he might not find himself deceived in the one as he had been in the other. As he went along a little footpath nearly hidden under the golden broom, he suddenly remembered that it was by this very path that he had taken Agnelette home on the first day of their acquaintance; the day, when inspired by his good angel, he had asked her to be his wife. The thought that, thanks to this new compact, he might be able to recover Agnelette s love, revived his spirits, which had been saddened and depressed by the sight of the universal happiness around him. He heard the church bells at Pr ciamont ringing in the valley below; its solemn, monotonous tones recalled the thought of his fellow men to the black wolf, and of all he had to fear from them. So he ran boldly on, across the fields, to the village, where he hoped to find a refuge in some empty building. As he was skirting the little stone wall of the village cemetery, he heard a sound of voices, approaching along the road he was in. He could not fail to meet whoever they might be who were coming towards him, if he himself went on; it was not safe to turn back, as he would have to cross some rising ground whence he might easily be seen; so there was nothing left for it but to jump over the wall of the cemetery, and with a bound he was on the other side. This graveyard as usual adjoined the church; it was uncared for, and overgrown with tall grass, while brambles and thorns grew rankly in places. The wolf made for the thickest of these bramble bushes; he found a sort of ruined vault, whence he could look out without being seen, and he crept under the branches and hid himself inside. A few yards away from him was a newly-dug grave; within the church could be heard the chanting of the priests, the more distinctly that the vault must at one time have communicated by a passage with the crypt. Presently the chanting ceased, and the black wolf, who did not feel quite at ease in the neighbourhood of a church, and thought that the road must now be clear, decided that it was time to start off again and to find a safer retreat than the one he had fled to in his haste. But he had scarcely got his nose outside the bramble bush when the gate of the cemetery opened, and he quickly retreated again to his hole, in great trepidation as to who might now be approaching. The first person he saw was a child dressed in a white alb and carrying a vessel of holy water; he was followed by a man in a surplice, bearing a silver cross, and after the latter came a priest, chanting the psalms for the dead. Behind these were four peasants carrying a bier covered with a white pall over which were scattered green branches and flowers, and beneath the sheet could be seen the outline of a coffin; a few villagers from Pr ciamont wound up this little procession. Although there was nothing unusual in such a sight as this, seeing that he was in a cemetery, and that the newly-dug grave must have prepared him for it, Thibault, nevertheless, felt strangely moved as he looked on. Although the slightest movement might betray his presence and bring destruction upon him, he anxiously watched every detail of the ceremony. The priest having blessed the newly-made grave, the peasants laid down their burden on an adjoining hillock. It is the custom in our country when a young girl, or young married woman, dies in the fullness of her youth and beauty, to carry her to the grave-yard in an open coffin, with only a pall over her, so that her friends may bid her a last farewell, her relations give her a last kiss. Then the coffin is nailed down, and all is over. An old woman, led by some kind hand, for she was apparently blind, went up to the coffin to give the dead one a last kiss; the peasants lifted the pall from the still face, and there lay Agnelette. A low groan escaped from Thibault s agonised breast, and mingled with the tears and sobs of those present. Agnelette, as she lay there so pale in death, wrapped in an ineffable calm, appeared more beautiful than when in life, beneath her wreath of forget-me-nots and daisies. As Thibault looked upon the poor dead girl, his heart seemed suddenly to melt within him. It was he, as he had truly realised, who had really killed her, and he experienced a genuine and overpowering sorrow, the more poignant since for the first time for many long months he forgot to think of himself, and thought only of the dead woman, now lost to him for ever. As he heard the blows of the hammer knocking the nails into the coffin, as he heard the earth and stones being shovelled into the grave and falling with a dull thud on to the body of the only woman he had ever loved, a feeling of giddiness came over him. The hard stones he thought must be bruising Agnelette s tender flesh, so fresh and sweet but a few days ago, and only yesterday still throbbing with life, and he made a movement as if to rush out on the assailants and snatch away the body, which dead, must surely belong to him, since, living, it had belonged to another. But the grief of the man overcame this instinct of the wild beast at bay; a shudder passed through the body hidden beneath its wolf skin; tears fell from the fierce blood-red eyes, and the unhappy man cried out: O God! take my life, I

spoilt

How many times the word 'spoilt' appears in the text?

wished for riches, and here I am in despair at having lost the humble roof of bracken under shelter of which I could sleep in peace without anxiety as to the morrow, without troubling myself about the rain or the wind beating against the branches of the giant oaks. I wished for position, and here I am, stoned and hunted down by the lowest peasants, whom formerly I despised. I asked for love, and the only woman who loved me and whom I loved became the wife of another, and she is at this moment cursing me as she lies dying, while I, notwithstanding all the power you have given me, can do nothing to help her! Leave off loving anybody but yourself, Thibault. Oh! yes, laugh at me, do! I am not laughing at you. But did you not cast envious eyes on other people s property before you had set eyes on me? Yes, for a wretched buck, of which there are hundreds just as good browsing in the forest! You thought your wishes were going to stop at the buck, Thibault; but wishes lead on to one another, as the night to the day, and the day to night. When you wished for the buck, you also wished for the silver dish on which it would be served; the silver dish led you on to wish for the servant who carries it and for the carver who cuts up its contents. Ambition is like the vault of heaven; it appears to be bounded by the horizon, but it covers the whole earth. You disdained Agnelette s innocence, and went after Madame Poulet s mill; if you had gained the mill, you would immediately have wanted the house of the Bailiff Magloire; and his house would have had no further attraction for you when once you had seen the Castle of Mont-Gobert. You are one in your envious disposition with the fallen Angel, your master and mine; only, as you were not clever enough to reap the benefit that might have accrued to you from your power of inflicting evil, it would perhaps have been more to your interest to continue to lead an honest life. Yes, indeed, replied the shoe-maker, I feel the truth of the proverb, Evil to him who evil wishes But, he continued, can I not become an honest man again? The wolf gave a mocking chuckle. My good fellow, the devil can drag a man to hell, he said, by a single hair. Have you ever counted how many of yours now belong to him? No. I cannot tell you that exactly either, but I know how many you have which are still your own. You have one left! You see it is long past the time for repentance. But if a man is lost when but one of his hairs belongs to the devil, said Thibault, why cannot God likewise save a man in virtue of a single hair? Well, try if that is so! And, besides, when I concluded that unhappy bargain with you, I did not understand that it was to be a compact of this kind. Oh, yes! I know all about the bad faith of you men! Was it no compact then to consent to give me your hairs, you stupid fool? Since men invented baptism, we do not know how to get hold of them, and so, in return for any concessions we make them, we are bound to insist on their relinquishing to us some part of their body on which we can lay hands. You gave us the hairs of your head; they are firmly rooted, as you have proved yourself and will not come away in our grasp.... No, no, Thibault, you have belonged to us ever since, standing on the threshold of the door that was once there, you cherished within you thoughts of deceit and violence. And so, cried Thibault passionately, rising and stamping his foot, and so I am lost as regards the next world without having enjoyed the pleasures of this! You can yet enjoy these. And how, I pray. By boldly following the path that you have struck by chance, and resolutely determining on a course of conduct which you have adopted as yet only in a halfhearted way; in short, by frankly owning yourself to be one of us. And how am I to do this? Take my place. And what then? You will then acquire my power, and you will have nothing left to wish for. If your power is so great, if it can give you all the riches that I long for, why do you give it up? Do not trouble yourself about me. The master for whom I shall have won a retainer will liberally reward me. And if I take your place, shall I also have to take your form? Yes, in the night-time; by day you will be a man again. The nights are long, dark, full of snares; I may be brought down by a bullet from a keeper, or be caught in a trap, and then good-bye riches, good-bye position and pleasure. Not so; for this skin that covers me is impenetrable by iron, lead or steel. As long as it protects your body, you will be not only invulnerable, but immortal; once a year, like all were-wolves, you will become a wolf again for four and twenty hours, and during that interval, you will be in danger of death like any other animal. I had just reached that dangerous time a year ago to-day, when we first met. Ah! said Thibault, that explains why you feared my Lord Baron s dogs. When we have dealings with men, we are forbidden to speak anything but the truth, and the whole truth; it is for them to accept or refuse. You have boasted to me of the power that I should acquire; tell me, now, in what that power will consist? It will be such that even the most powerful king will not be able to withstand it, since his power is limited by the human and the possible. Shall I be rich? So rich, that you will come in time to despise riches, since, by the mere force of your will, you will obtain not only what men can only acquire with gold and silver, but also all that superior beings get by their conjurations. Shall I be able to revenge myself on my enemies? You will have unlimited power over everything which is connected with evil. If I love a woman, will there again be a possibility of my losing her? As you will have dominion over all your fellow creatures, you will be able to do with them what you like. There will be no power to enable them to escape from the trammels of my will? Nothing, except death, which is stronger than all. And I shall only run the risk of death myself on one day out of the three hundred and sixty-five? On one day only; during the remaining days nothing can harm you, neither iron, lead, nor steel, neither water, nor fire. And there is no deceit, no trap to catch me, in your words? None, on my honour as a wolf! Good, said Thibault, then let it be so; a wolf for four and twenty hours, for the rest of the time the monarch of creation! What am I to do? I am ready. Pick a holly-leaf, tear it in three pieces with your teeth, and throw it away from you, as far as you can. Thibault did as he was commanded. Having torn the leaf in three pieces, he scattered them on the air, and although the night till then had been a peaceful one, there was immediately heard a loud peal of thunder, while a tempestuous whirlwind arose, which caught up the fragments and carried them whirling away with it. And now, brother Thibault, said the wolf, take my place, and good luck be with you! As was my case just a year ago, so you will have to become a wolf for four and twenty hours; you must endeavour to come out of the ordeal as happily as I did, thanks to you, and then you will see realised all that I have promised you. Meanwhile, I will pray the lord of the cloven hoof that he will protect you from the teeth of the Baron s hounds, for, by the devil himself, I take a genuine interest in you, friend Thibault. And then it seemed to Thibault that he saw the black wolf grow larger and taller, that it stood up on its hind legs and finally walked away in the form of a man, who made a sign to him with his hand as he disappeared. We say _it seemed to him_, for Thibault s ideas, for a second or two, became very indistinct. A feeling of torpor passed over him, paralysing his power of thought. When he came to himself, he was alone. His limbs were imprisoned in a new and unusual form; he had, in short, become in every respect the counterpart of the black wolf that a few minutes before had been speaking to him. One single white hair on his head alone shone in contrast to the remainder of the sombre coloured fur; this one white hair of the wolf was the one black hair which had remained to the man. Thibault had scarcely had time to recover himself when he fancied he heard a rustling among the bushes, and the sound of a low, muffled bark.... He thought of the Baron and his hounds, and trembled. Thus metamorphosed into the black wolf, he decided that he would not do what his predecessor had done, and wait till the dogs were upon him. It was probably a bloodhound he had heard, and he would get away before the hounds were uncoupled. He made off, striking straight ahead, as is the manner of wolves, and it was a profound satisfaction to him to find that in his new form he had tenfold his former strength and elasticity of limb. By the devil and his horns! the voice of the Lord of Vez was now heard to say to his new huntsman a few paces off, you hold the leash too slack, my lad; you have let the bloodhound give tongue, and we shall never head the wolf back now. I was in fault, I do not deny it, my Lord; but as I saw it go by last evening only a few yards from this spot, I never guessed that it would take up its quarters for the night in this part of the wood and that it was so close to us as all that. Are you sure it is the same one that has got away from us so often? May the bread I eat in your service choke me, my lord, if it is not the same black wolf that we were chasing last year when poor Marcotte was drowned. I should like finely to put the dogs on its track, said the Baron, with a sigh. My lord has but to give the order, and we will do so, but he will allow me to observe that we have still two good hours of darkness before us, time enough for every horse we have to break its legs. That may be, but if we wait for the day, l Eveill , the fellow will have had time to get ten leagues away. Ten leagues at least, said l Eveill , shaking his head. I have got this cursed black wolf on my brain, added the Baron, and I have such a longing to have its skin, that I feel sure I shall catch an illness if I do not get hold of it. Well then, my lord, let us have the dogs out without a moment s loss of time. You are right, l Eveill ; go and fetch the hounds. L Eveill went back to his horse, that he had tied to a tree outside the wood, and went off at a gallop, and in ten minutes time, which seemed like ten centuries to the Baron, he was back with the whole hunting train. The hounds were immediately uncoupled. Gently, gently, my lads! said the Lord of Vez, you forget you are not handling your old well-trained dogs; if you get excited with these raw recruits, they ll merely kick up a devil of a row, and be no more good than so many turnspits; let em get warmed up by degrees. And, indeed, the dogs were no sooner loose, than two or three got at once on to the scent of the were-wolf, and began to give cry, whereupon the others joined them. The whole pack started off on Thibault s track, at first quietly following up the scent, and only giving cry at long intervals, then more excitedly and of more accord, until they had so thoroughly imbibed the odour of the wolf ahead of them, and the scent had become so strong, that they tore along, baying furiously, and with unparalleled eagerness in the direction of the Yvors coppice. Well begun, is half done! cried the Baron. You look after the relays, l Eveill ; I want them ready whenever needed! I will encourage the dogs.... And you be on the alert, you others, he added, addressing himself to the younger keepers, we have more than one defeat to avenge, and if I lose this view halloo through the fault of anyone among you, by the devil and his horns! he shall be the dogs quarry in place of the wolf! After pronouncing these words of encouragement, the Baron put his horse to the gallop, and although it was still pitch dark and the ground was rough, he kept the animal going at top speed so as to come up with the hounds, which could be heard giving tongue in the low lands about Bourg-Fontaine. CHAPTER XXIV HUNTING DOWN THE WERE-WOLF Thibault had got well ahead of the dogs, thanks to the precaution he had taken of making good his escape at the first note of the bloodhound. For some time he heard no further sound of pursuit; but, all at once, like distant thunder, the baying of the hounds reached his ears, and he began to feel some anxiety. He had been trotting, but he now went on at greater speed, and did not pause till he had put a few more leagues between himself and his enemies. Then he stood still and took his bearings; he found himself on the heights at Montaigu. He bent his head and listened--the dogs still seemed a long way off, somewhere near the Tillet coppice. It required a wolf s ear to distinguish them so far off. Thibault went down the hill again, as if to meet the dogs; then, leaving Erneville to the left, he leaped into the little stream which rises there, waded down its course as far as Grimancourt, dashed into the woods of Lessart-l Abbesse, and finally gained the forest of Compi gne. He was somewhat reassured to find that, in spite of his three hours hard running, the steel-like muscles of his wolf legs were not in the least fatigued. He hesitated, however, to trust himself in a forest which was not so familiar to him as that of Villers-Cotterets. After another dash of a mile or so, he decided that by doubling boldly he would be most likely to put the dogs off the scent. He crossed at a gallop all the stretch of plain between Pierrefond and Mont-Gobert, took to the woods at the Champ Meutard, came out again at Vauvaudrand, regained the stream by the Sanc res timber floatage, and once more found himself in the forest near Long-Pont. Unfortunately for him, just as he reached the end of the Route du Pendu, he came across another pack of twenty dogs, which Monsieur de Montbreton s huntsman was bringing up as a relay, for the Baron had sent his neighbour news of the chase. Instantly the hounds were uncoupled by the huntsman as he caught sight of the wolf, for seeing that the latter kept its distance, he feared it would get too far ahead if he waited for the others to come up before loosing his dogs. And now began the struggle between the were-wolf and the dogs in very earnest. It was a wild chase, which the horses, in spite of their skilled riders, had great difficulty in following, a chase over plains, through woods, across heaths, pursued at a headlong pace. As the hunt flew by, it appeared and disappeared like a flash of lightning across a cloud, leaving behind a whirlwind of dust, and a sound of horns and cries which echo had hardly time to repeat. It rushed over hill and dale, through torrents and bogs, and over precipices, as if horses and dogs had been winged like Hippogriffs and Chimeras. The Baron had come up with his huntsmen, riding at their head, and almost riding on the tails of his dogs, his eye flashing, his nostrils dilated, exciting the pack with wild shouts and furious blasts, digging his spurs into his horse s sides whenever an obstacle of any kind caused it to hesitate for a single instant. The black wolf, on his side, still held on at the same rapid pace; although sorely shaken at hearing the fresh pack in full pursuit only a short way behind him, just as he had got back to the forest, he had not lost an inch of ground. As he retained to the full all his human consciousness, it seemed to him impossible, as he still ran on, that he should not escape in safety from this ordeal; he felt that it was not possible for him to die before he had taken vengeance for all the agony that others made him suffer, before he had known those pleasures that had been promised him, above all--for at this critical moment his thoughts kept on running on this--before he had gained Agnelette s love. At moments he was possessed by terror, at others by anger. He thought at times that he would turn and face this yelling pack of dogs, and, forgetting his present form, scatter them with stones and blows. Then, an instant after, feeling mad with rage, deafened by the death-knell the hounds were ringing in his ears, he fled, he leaped, he flew with the legs of a deer, with the wings of an eagle. But his efforts were in vain; he might run, leap, almost fly, the sounds of death still clung to him, and if for a moment they became more distant, it was only to hear them a moment after nearer and more threatening still. But still the instinct of self-preservation did not fail him; and still his strength was undiminished; only, if by ill luck, he were to come across other relays, he felt that it might give way. So he determined to take a bold course so as to out-distance the dogs, and to get back to his lairs, where he knew his ground and hoped to evade the dogs. He therefore doubled for the second time. He first ran back to Puiseux, then skirted past Viviers, regained the forest of Compi gne, made a dash into the forest of Largue, returned and crossed the Aisne at Attichy, and finally got back to the forest of Villers-Cotterets at the low lands of Argent. He trusted in this way to baffle the strategical plans of the Lord of Vez, who had, no doubt, posted his dogs at various likely points. Once back in his old quarters Thibault breathed more freely. He was now on the banks of the Ourcq between Norroy and Trouennes, where the river runs at the foot of deep rocks on either side; he leaped up on to a sharp-pointed crag overhanging the water, and from this high vantage ground he sprang into the waves below, then swam to a crevice at the base of the rock from which he had leapt, which was situated rather below the ordinary level of the water, and here, at the back of this cave, he waited. He had gained at least three miles upon the dogs; and yet, scarcely another ten minutes had elapsed, when the whole pack arrived and stormed the crest of the rock. Those who were leading, mad with excitement, did not see the gulf in front of them, or else, like their quarry they thought they would leap safely into it, for they plunged, and Thibault was splashed, far back as he was hidden, by the water that was scattered in every direction as they fell into it one by one. Less fortunate, however, and less vigorous than he was, they were unable to fight against the current, and after vainly battling with it, they were borne along out of sight before they had even got scent of the were-wolf s retreat. Overhead he could hear the tramping of the horses feet, the baying of the dogs that were still left, the cries of men, and above all these sounds, dominating the other voices, that of the Baron as he cursed and swore. When the last dog had fallen into the water, and been carried away like the others, he saw, thanks to a bend in the river, that the huntsmen were going down it, and persuaded that the Baron, whom he recognised at the head of his hunting-train, would only do this with the intention of coming up it again, he determined not to wait for this, and left his hiding-place. Now swimming, now leaping with agility from one rock to the other, at times wading through the water, he went up the river to the end of the Cr ne coppice. Certain that he had now made a considerable advance on his enemies, he resolved to get to one of the villages near and run in and out among the houses, feeling sure that they would not think of coming after him there. He thought of Pr ciamont; if any village was well known to him, it was that; and then, at Pr ciamont, he would be near Agnelette. He felt that this neighbourhood would put fresh vigour into him, and would bring him good fortune, and that the gentle image of the innocent girl would have some influence on his fate. So he started off in that direction. It was now six o clock in the evening; the hunt had lasted nearly fifteen hours, and wolf, dogs and huntsmen had covered fifty leagues at least. When, at last, after circling round by Manereux and Oigny, the black wolf reached the borders of the heath by the lane of Ham, the sun was already beginning to sink, and shedding a dazzling light over the flowery plain; the little white and pink flowers scented the breeze that played caressingly around them; the grasshopper was singing in its little house of moss, and the lark was soaring up towards heaven, saluting the eve with its song, as twelve hours before it had saluted the morn. The peaceful beauty of nature had a strange effect on Thibault. It seemed enigmatical to him that nature could be so smiling and beautiful, while anguish such as his was devouring his soul. He saw the flowers, and heard the insects and the birds, and he compared the quiet joy of this innocent world with the horrible pangs he was enduring, and asked himself, whether after all, notwithstanding all the new promises that had been made him by the devil s envoy, he had acted any more wisely in making this second compact than he had in making the first. He began to doubt whether he might not find himself deceived in the one as he had been in the other. As he went along a little footpath nearly hidden under the golden broom, he suddenly remembered that it was by this very path that he had taken Agnelette home on the first day of their acquaintance; the day, when inspired by his good angel, he had asked her to be his wife. The thought that, thanks to this new compact, he might be able to recover Agnelette s love, revived his spirits, which had been saddened and depressed by the sight of the universal happiness around him. He heard the church bells at Pr ciamont ringing in the valley below; its solemn, monotonous tones recalled the thought of his fellow men to the black wolf, and of all he had to fear from them. So he ran boldly on, across the fields, to the village, where he hoped to find a refuge in some empty building. As he was skirting the little stone wall of the village cemetery, he heard a sound of voices, approaching along the road he was in. He could not fail to meet whoever they might be who were coming towards him, if he himself went on; it was not safe to turn back, as he would have to cross some rising ground whence he might easily be seen; so there was nothing left for it but to jump over the wall of the cemetery, and with a bound he was on the other side. This graveyard as usual adjoined the church; it was uncared for, and overgrown with tall grass, while brambles and thorns grew rankly in places. The wolf made for the thickest of these bramble bushes; he found a sort of ruined vault, whence he could look out without being seen, and he crept under the branches and hid himself inside. A few yards away from him was a newly-dug grave; within the church could be heard the chanting of the priests, the more distinctly that the vault must at one time have communicated by a passage with the crypt. Presently the chanting ceased, and the black wolf, who did not feel quite at ease in the neighbourhood of a church, and thought that the road must now be clear, decided that it was time to start off again and to find a safer retreat than the one he had fled to in his haste. But he had scarcely got his nose outside the bramble bush when the gate of the cemetery opened, and he quickly retreated again to his hole, in great trepidation as to who might now be approaching. The first person he saw was a child dressed in a white alb and carrying a vessel of holy water; he was followed by a man in a surplice, bearing a silver cross, and after the latter came a priest, chanting the psalms for the dead. Behind these were four peasants carrying a bier covered with a white pall over which were scattered green branches and flowers, and beneath the sheet could be seen the outline of a coffin; a few villagers from Pr ciamont wound up this little procession. Although there was nothing unusual in such a sight as this, seeing that he was in a cemetery, and that the newly-dug grave must have prepared him for it, Thibault, nevertheless, felt strangely moved as he looked on. Although the slightest movement might betray his presence and bring destruction upon him, he anxiously watched every detail of the ceremony. The priest having blessed the newly-made grave, the peasants laid down their burden on an adjoining hillock. It is the custom in our country when a young girl, or young married woman, dies in the fullness of her youth and beauty, to carry her to the grave-yard in an open coffin, with only a pall over her, so that her friends may bid her a last farewell, her relations give her a last kiss. Then the coffin is nailed down, and all is over. An old woman, led by some kind hand, for she was apparently blind, went up to the coffin to give the dead one a last kiss; the peasants lifted the pall from the still face, and there lay Agnelette. A low groan escaped from Thibault s agonised breast, and mingled with the tears and sobs of those present. Agnelette, as she lay there so pale in death, wrapped in an ineffable calm, appeared more beautiful than when in life, beneath her wreath of forget-me-nots and daisies. As Thibault looked upon the poor dead girl, his heart seemed suddenly to melt within him. It was he, as he had truly realised, who had really killed her, and he experienced a genuine and overpowering sorrow, the more poignant since for the first time for many long months he forgot to think of himself, and thought only of the dead woman, now lost to him for ever. As he heard the blows of the hammer knocking the nails into the coffin, as he heard the earth and stones being shovelled into the grave and falling with a dull thud on to the body of the only woman he had ever loved, a feeling of giddiness came over him. The hard stones he thought must be bruising Agnelette s tender flesh, so fresh and sweet but a few days ago, and only yesterday still throbbing with life, and he made a movement as if to rush out on the assailants and snatch away the body, which dead, must surely belong to him, since, living, it had belonged to another. But the grief of the man overcame this instinct of the wild beast at bay; a shudder passed through the body hidden beneath its wolf skin; tears fell from the fierce blood-red eyes, and the unhappy man cried out: O God! take my life, I

hairs

How many times the word 'hairs' appears in the text?

wished for riches, and here I am in despair at having lost the humble roof of bracken under shelter of which I could sleep in peace without anxiety as to the morrow, without troubling myself about the rain or the wind beating against the branches of the giant oaks. I wished for position, and here I am, stoned and hunted down by the lowest peasants, whom formerly I despised. I asked for love, and the only woman who loved me and whom I loved became the wife of another, and she is at this moment cursing me as she lies dying, while I, notwithstanding all the power you have given me, can do nothing to help her! Leave off loving anybody but yourself, Thibault. Oh! yes, laugh at me, do! I am not laughing at you. But did you not cast envious eyes on other people s property before you had set eyes on me? Yes, for a wretched buck, of which there are hundreds just as good browsing in the forest! You thought your wishes were going to stop at the buck, Thibault; but wishes lead on to one another, as the night to the day, and the day to night. When you wished for the buck, you also wished for the silver dish on which it would be served; the silver dish led you on to wish for the servant who carries it and for the carver who cuts up its contents. Ambition is like the vault of heaven; it appears to be bounded by the horizon, but it covers the whole earth. You disdained Agnelette s innocence, and went after Madame Poulet s mill; if you had gained the mill, you would immediately have wanted the house of the Bailiff Magloire; and his house would have had no further attraction for you when once you had seen the Castle of Mont-Gobert. You are one in your envious disposition with the fallen Angel, your master and mine; only, as you were not clever enough to reap the benefit that might have accrued to you from your power of inflicting evil, it would perhaps have been more to your interest to continue to lead an honest life. Yes, indeed, replied the shoe-maker, I feel the truth of the proverb, Evil to him who evil wishes But, he continued, can I not become an honest man again? The wolf gave a mocking chuckle. My good fellow, the devil can drag a man to hell, he said, by a single hair. Have you ever counted how many of yours now belong to him? No. I cannot tell you that exactly either, but I know how many you have which are still your own. You have one left! You see it is long past the time for repentance. But if a man is lost when but one of his hairs belongs to the devil, said Thibault, why cannot God likewise save a man in virtue of a single hair? Well, try if that is so! And, besides, when I concluded that unhappy bargain with you, I did not understand that it was to be a compact of this kind. Oh, yes! I know all about the bad faith of you men! Was it no compact then to consent to give me your hairs, you stupid fool? Since men invented baptism, we do not know how to get hold of them, and so, in return for any concessions we make them, we are bound to insist on their relinquishing to us some part of their body on which we can lay hands. You gave us the hairs of your head; they are firmly rooted, as you have proved yourself and will not come away in our grasp.... No, no, Thibault, you have belonged to us ever since, standing on the threshold of the door that was once there, you cherished within you thoughts of deceit and violence. And so, cried Thibault passionately, rising and stamping his foot, and so I am lost as regards the next world without having enjoyed the pleasures of this! You can yet enjoy these. And how, I pray. By boldly following the path that you have struck by chance, and resolutely determining on a course of conduct which you have adopted as yet only in a halfhearted way; in short, by frankly owning yourself to be one of us. And how am I to do this? Take my place. And what then? You will then acquire my power, and you will have nothing left to wish for. If your power is so great, if it can give you all the riches that I long for, why do you give it up? Do not trouble yourself about me. The master for whom I shall have won a retainer will liberally reward me. And if I take your place, shall I also have to take your form? Yes, in the night-time; by day you will be a man again. The nights are long, dark, full of snares; I may be brought down by a bullet from a keeper, or be caught in a trap, and then good-bye riches, good-bye position and pleasure. Not so; for this skin that covers me is impenetrable by iron, lead or steel. As long as it protects your body, you will be not only invulnerable, but immortal; once a year, like all were-wolves, you will become a wolf again for four and twenty hours, and during that interval, you will be in danger of death like any other animal. I had just reached that dangerous time a year ago to-day, when we first met. Ah! said Thibault, that explains why you feared my Lord Baron s dogs. When we have dealings with men, we are forbidden to speak anything but the truth, and the whole truth; it is for them to accept or refuse. You have boasted to me of the power that I should acquire; tell me, now, in what that power will consist? It will be such that even the most powerful king will not be able to withstand it, since his power is limited by the human and the possible. Shall I be rich? So rich, that you will come in time to despise riches, since, by the mere force of your will, you will obtain not only what men can only acquire with gold and silver, but also all that superior beings get by their conjurations. Shall I be able to revenge myself on my enemies? You will have unlimited power over everything which is connected with evil. If I love a woman, will there again be a possibility of my losing her? As you will have dominion over all your fellow creatures, you will be able to do with them what you like. There will be no power to enable them to escape from the trammels of my will? Nothing, except death, which is stronger than all. And I shall only run the risk of death myself on one day out of the three hundred and sixty-five? On one day only; during the remaining days nothing can harm you, neither iron, lead, nor steel, neither water, nor fire. And there is no deceit, no trap to catch me, in your words? None, on my honour as a wolf! Good, said Thibault, then let it be so; a wolf for four and twenty hours, for the rest of the time the monarch of creation! What am I to do? I am ready. Pick a holly-leaf, tear it in three pieces with your teeth, and throw it away from you, as far as you can. Thibault did as he was commanded. Having torn the leaf in three pieces, he scattered them on the air, and although the night till then had been a peaceful one, there was immediately heard a loud peal of thunder, while a tempestuous whirlwind arose, which caught up the fragments and carried them whirling away with it. And now, brother Thibault, said the wolf, take my place, and good luck be with you! As was my case just a year ago, so you will have to become a wolf for four and twenty hours; you must endeavour to come out of the ordeal as happily as I did, thanks to you, and then you will see realised all that I have promised you. Meanwhile, I will pray the lord of the cloven hoof that he will protect you from the teeth of the Baron s hounds, for, by the devil himself, I take a genuine interest in you, friend Thibault. And then it seemed to Thibault that he saw the black wolf grow larger and taller, that it stood up on its hind legs and finally walked away in the form of a man, who made a sign to him with his hand as he disappeared. We say _it seemed to him_, for Thibault s ideas, for a second or two, became very indistinct. A feeling of torpor passed over him, paralysing his power of thought. When he came to himself, he was alone. His limbs were imprisoned in a new and unusual form; he had, in short, become in every respect the counterpart of the black wolf that a few minutes before had been speaking to him. One single white hair on his head alone shone in contrast to the remainder of the sombre coloured fur; this one white hair of the wolf was the one black hair which had remained to the man. Thibault had scarcely had time to recover himself when he fancied he heard a rustling among the bushes, and the sound of a low, muffled bark.... He thought of the Baron and his hounds, and trembled. Thus metamorphosed into the black wolf, he decided that he would not do what his predecessor had done, and wait till the dogs were upon him. It was probably a bloodhound he had heard, and he would get away before the hounds were uncoupled. He made off, striking straight ahead, as is the manner of wolves, and it was a profound satisfaction to him to find that in his new form he had tenfold his former strength and elasticity of limb. By the devil and his horns! the voice of the Lord of Vez was now heard to say to his new huntsman a few paces off, you hold the leash too slack, my lad; you have let the bloodhound give tongue, and we shall never head the wolf back now. I was in fault, I do not deny it, my Lord; but as I saw it go by last evening only a few yards from this spot, I never guessed that it would take up its quarters for the night in this part of the wood and that it was so close to us as all that. Are you sure it is the same one that has got away from us so often? May the bread I eat in your service choke me, my lord, if it is not the same black wolf that we were chasing last year when poor Marcotte was drowned. I should like finely to put the dogs on its track, said the Baron, with a sigh. My lord has but to give the order, and we will do so, but he will allow me to observe that we have still two good hours of darkness before us, time enough for every horse we have to break its legs. That may be, but if we wait for the day, l Eveill , the fellow will have had time to get ten leagues away. Ten leagues at least, said l Eveill , shaking his head. I have got this cursed black wolf on my brain, added the Baron, and I have such a longing to have its skin, that I feel sure I shall catch an illness if I do not get hold of it. Well then, my lord, let us have the dogs out without a moment s loss of time. You are right, l Eveill ; go and fetch the hounds. L Eveill went back to his horse, that he had tied to a tree outside the wood, and went off at a gallop, and in ten minutes time, which seemed like ten centuries to the Baron, he was back with the whole hunting train. The hounds were immediately uncoupled. Gently, gently, my lads! said the Lord of Vez, you forget you are not handling your old well-trained dogs; if you get excited with these raw recruits, they ll merely kick up a devil of a row, and be no more good than so many turnspits; let em get warmed up by degrees. And, indeed, the dogs were no sooner loose, than two or three got at once on to the scent of the were-wolf, and began to give cry, whereupon the others joined them. The whole pack started off on Thibault s track, at first quietly following up the scent, and only giving cry at long intervals, then more excitedly and of more accord, until they had so thoroughly imbibed the odour of the wolf ahead of them, and the scent had become so strong, that they tore along, baying furiously, and with unparalleled eagerness in the direction of the Yvors coppice. Well begun, is half done! cried the Baron. You look after the relays, l Eveill ; I want them ready whenever needed! I will encourage the dogs.... And you be on the alert, you others, he added, addressing himself to the younger keepers, we have more than one defeat to avenge, and if I lose this view halloo through the fault of anyone among you, by the devil and his horns! he shall be the dogs quarry in place of the wolf! After pronouncing these words of encouragement, the Baron put his horse to the gallop, and although it was still pitch dark and the ground was rough, he kept the animal going at top speed so as to come up with the hounds, which could be heard giving tongue in the low lands about Bourg-Fontaine. CHAPTER XXIV HUNTING DOWN THE WERE-WOLF Thibault had got well ahead of the dogs, thanks to the precaution he had taken of making good his escape at the first note of the bloodhound. For some time he heard no further sound of pursuit; but, all at once, like distant thunder, the baying of the hounds reached his ears, and he began to feel some anxiety. He had been trotting, but he now went on at greater speed, and did not pause till he had put a few more leagues between himself and his enemies. Then he stood still and took his bearings; he found himself on the heights at Montaigu. He bent his head and listened--the dogs still seemed a long way off, somewhere near the Tillet coppice. It required a wolf s ear to distinguish them so far off. Thibault went down the hill again, as if to meet the dogs; then, leaving Erneville to the left, he leaped into the little stream which rises there, waded down its course as far as Grimancourt, dashed into the woods of Lessart-l Abbesse, and finally gained the forest of Compi gne. He was somewhat reassured to find that, in spite of his three hours hard running, the steel-like muscles of his wolf legs were not in the least fatigued. He hesitated, however, to trust himself in a forest which was not so familiar to him as that of Villers-Cotterets. After another dash of a mile or so, he decided that by doubling boldly he would be most likely to put the dogs off the scent. He crossed at a gallop all the stretch of plain between Pierrefond and Mont-Gobert, took to the woods at the Champ Meutard, came out again at Vauvaudrand, regained the stream by the Sanc res timber floatage, and once more found himself in the forest near Long-Pont. Unfortunately for him, just as he reached the end of the Route du Pendu, he came across another pack of twenty dogs, which Monsieur de Montbreton s huntsman was bringing up as a relay, for the Baron had sent his neighbour news of the chase. Instantly the hounds were uncoupled by the huntsman as he caught sight of the wolf, for seeing that the latter kept its distance, he feared it would get too far ahead if he waited for the others to come up before loosing his dogs. And now began the struggle between the were-wolf and the dogs in very earnest. It was a wild chase, which the horses, in spite of their skilled riders, had great difficulty in following, a chase over plains, through woods, across heaths, pursued at a headlong pace. As the hunt flew by, it appeared and disappeared like a flash of lightning across a cloud, leaving behind a whirlwind of dust, and a sound of horns and cries which echo had hardly time to repeat. It rushed over hill and dale, through torrents and bogs, and over precipices, as if horses and dogs had been winged like Hippogriffs and Chimeras. The Baron had come up with his huntsmen, riding at their head, and almost riding on the tails of his dogs, his eye flashing, his nostrils dilated, exciting the pack with wild shouts and furious blasts, digging his spurs into his horse s sides whenever an obstacle of any kind caused it to hesitate for a single instant. The black wolf, on his side, still held on at the same rapid pace; although sorely shaken at hearing the fresh pack in full pursuit only a short way behind him, just as he had got back to the forest, he had not lost an inch of ground. As he retained to the full all his human consciousness, it seemed to him impossible, as he still ran on, that he should not escape in safety from this ordeal; he felt that it was not possible for him to die before he had taken vengeance for all the agony that others made him suffer, before he had known those pleasures that had been promised him, above all--for at this critical moment his thoughts kept on running on this--before he had gained Agnelette s love. At moments he was possessed by terror, at others by anger. He thought at times that he would turn and face this yelling pack of dogs, and, forgetting his present form, scatter them with stones and blows. Then, an instant after, feeling mad with rage, deafened by the death-knell the hounds were ringing in his ears, he fled, he leaped, he flew with the legs of a deer, with the wings of an eagle. But his efforts were in vain; he might run, leap, almost fly, the sounds of death still clung to him, and if for a moment they became more distant, it was only to hear them a moment after nearer and more threatening still. But still the instinct of self-preservation did not fail him; and still his strength was undiminished; only, if by ill luck, he were to come across other relays, he felt that it might give way. So he determined to take a bold course so as to out-distance the dogs, and to get back to his lairs, where he knew his ground and hoped to evade the dogs. He therefore doubled for the second time. He first ran back to Puiseux, then skirted past Viviers, regained the forest of Compi gne, made a dash into the forest of Largue, returned and crossed the Aisne at Attichy, and finally got back to the forest of Villers-Cotterets at the low lands of Argent. He trusted in this way to baffle the strategical plans of the Lord of Vez, who had, no doubt, posted his dogs at various likely points. Once back in his old quarters Thibault breathed more freely. He was now on the banks of the Ourcq between Norroy and Trouennes, where the river runs at the foot of deep rocks on either side; he leaped up on to a sharp-pointed crag overhanging the water, and from this high vantage ground he sprang into the waves below, then swam to a crevice at the base of the rock from which he had leapt, which was situated rather below the ordinary level of the water, and here, at the back of this cave, he waited. He had gained at least three miles upon the dogs; and yet, scarcely another ten minutes had elapsed, when the whole pack arrived and stormed the crest of the rock. Those who were leading, mad with excitement, did not see the gulf in front of them, or else, like their quarry they thought they would leap safely into it, for they plunged, and Thibault was splashed, far back as he was hidden, by the water that was scattered in every direction as they fell into it one by one. Less fortunate, however, and less vigorous than he was, they were unable to fight against the current, and after vainly battling with it, they were borne along out of sight before they had even got scent of the were-wolf s retreat. Overhead he could hear the tramping of the horses feet, the baying of the dogs that were still left, the cries of men, and above all these sounds, dominating the other voices, that of the Baron as he cursed and swore. When the last dog had fallen into the water, and been carried away like the others, he saw, thanks to a bend in the river, that the huntsmen were going down it, and persuaded that the Baron, whom he recognised at the head of his hunting-train, would only do this with the intention of coming up it again, he determined not to wait for this, and left his hiding-place. Now swimming, now leaping with agility from one rock to the other, at times wading through the water, he went up the river to the end of the Cr ne coppice. Certain that he had now made a considerable advance on his enemies, he resolved to get to one of the villages near and run in and out among the houses, feeling sure that they would not think of coming after him there. He thought of Pr ciamont; if any village was well known to him, it was that; and then, at Pr ciamont, he would be near Agnelette. He felt that this neighbourhood would put fresh vigour into him, and would bring him good fortune, and that the gentle image of the innocent girl would have some influence on his fate. So he started off in that direction. It was now six o clock in the evening; the hunt had lasted nearly fifteen hours, and wolf, dogs and huntsmen had covered fifty leagues at least. When, at last, after circling round by Manereux and Oigny, the black wolf reached the borders of the heath by the lane of Ham, the sun was already beginning to sink, and shedding a dazzling light over the flowery plain; the little white and pink flowers scented the breeze that played caressingly around them; the grasshopper was singing in its little house of moss, and the lark was soaring up towards heaven, saluting the eve with its song, as twelve hours before it had saluted the morn. The peaceful beauty of nature had a strange effect on Thibault. It seemed enigmatical to him that nature could be so smiling and beautiful, while anguish such as his was devouring his soul. He saw the flowers, and heard the insects and the birds, and he compared the quiet joy of this innocent world with the horrible pangs he was enduring, and asked himself, whether after all, notwithstanding all the new promises that had been made him by the devil s envoy, he had acted any more wisely in making this second compact than he had in making the first. He began to doubt whether he might not find himself deceived in the one as he had been in the other. As he went along a little footpath nearly hidden under the golden broom, he suddenly remembered that it was by this very path that he had taken Agnelette home on the first day of their acquaintance; the day, when inspired by his good angel, he had asked her to be his wife. The thought that, thanks to this new compact, he might be able to recover Agnelette s love, revived his spirits, which had been saddened and depressed by the sight of the universal happiness around him. He heard the church bells at Pr ciamont ringing in the valley below; its solemn, monotonous tones recalled the thought of his fellow men to the black wolf, and of all he had to fear from them. So he ran boldly on, across the fields, to the village, where he hoped to find a refuge in some empty building. As he was skirting the little stone wall of the village cemetery, he heard a sound of voices, approaching along the road he was in. He could not fail to meet whoever they might be who were coming towards him, if he himself went on; it was not safe to turn back, as he would have to cross some rising ground whence he might easily be seen; so there was nothing left for it but to jump over the wall of the cemetery, and with a bound he was on the other side. This graveyard as usual adjoined the church; it was uncared for, and overgrown with tall grass, while brambles and thorns grew rankly in places. The wolf made for the thickest of these bramble bushes; he found a sort of ruined vault, whence he could look out without being seen, and he crept under the branches and hid himself inside. A few yards away from him was a newly-dug grave; within the church could be heard the chanting of the priests, the more distinctly that the vault must at one time have communicated by a passage with the crypt. Presently the chanting ceased, and the black wolf, who did not feel quite at ease in the neighbourhood of a church, and thought that the road must now be clear, decided that it was time to start off again and to find a safer retreat than the one he had fled to in his haste. But he had scarcely got his nose outside the bramble bush when the gate of the cemetery opened, and he quickly retreated again to his hole, in great trepidation as to who might now be approaching. The first person he saw was a child dressed in a white alb and carrying a vessel of holy water; he was followed by a man in a surplice, bearing a silver cross, and after the latter came a priest, chanting the psalms for the dead. Behind these were four peasants carrying a bier covered with a white pall over which were scattered green branches and flowers, and beneath the sheet could be seen the outline of a coffin; a few villagers from Pr ciamont wound up this little procession. Although there was nothing unusual in such a sight as this, seeing that he was in a cemetery, and that the newly-dug grave must have prepared him for it, Thibault, nevertheless, felt strangely moved as he looked on. Although the slightest movement might betray his presence and bring destruction upon him, he anxiously watched every detail of the ceremony. The priest having blessed the newly-made grave, the peasants laid down their burden on an adjoining hillock. It is the custom in our country when a young girl, or young married woman, dies in the fullness of her youth and beauty, to carry her to the grave-yard in an open coffin, with only a pall over her, so that her friends may bid her a last farewell, her relations give her a last kiss. Then the coffin is nailed down, and all is over. An old woman, led by some kind hand, for she was apparently blind, went up to the coffin to give the dead one a last kiss; the peasants lifted the pall from the still face, and there lay Agnelette. A low groan escaped from Thibault s agonised breast, and mingled with the tears and sobs of those present. Agnelette, as she lay there so pale in death, wrapped in an ineffable calm, appeared more beautiful than when in life, beneath her wreath of forget-me-nots and daisies. As Thibault looked upon the poor dead girl, his heart seemed suddenly to melt within him. It was he, as he had truly realised, who had really killed her, and he experienced a genuine and overpowering sorrow, the more poignant since for the first time for many long months he forgot to think of himself, and thought only of the dead woman, now lost to him for ever. As he heard the blows of the hammer knocking the nails into the coffin, as he heard the earth and stones being shovelled into the grave and falling with a dull thud on to the body of the only woman he had ever loved, a feeling of giddiness came over him. The hard stones he thought must be bruising Agnelette s tender flesh, so fresh and sweet but a few days ago, and only yesterday still throbbing with life, and he made a movement as if to rush out on the assailants and snatch away the body, which dead, must surely belong to him, since, living, it had belonged to another. But the grief of the man overcame this instinct of the wild beast at bay; a shudder passed through the body hidden beneath its wolf skin; tears fell from the fierce blood-red eyes, and the unhappy man cried out: O God! take my life, I

hunting

How many times the word 'hunting' appears in the text?

wished for riches, and here I am in despair at having lost the humble roof of bracken under shelter of which I could sleep in peace without anxiety as to the morrow, without troubling myself about the rain or the wind beating against the branches of the giant oaks. I wished for position, and here I am, stoned and hunted down by the lowest peasants, whom formerly I despised. I asked for love, and the only woman who loved me and whom I loved became the wife of another, and she is at this moment cursing me as she lies dying, while I, notwithstanding all the power you have given me, can do nothing to help her! Leave off loving anybody but yourself, Thibault. Oh! yes, laugh at me, do! I am not laughing at you. But did you not cast envious eyes on other people s property before you had set eyes on me? Yes, for a wretched buck, of which there are hundreds just as good browsing in the forest! You thought your wishes were going to stop at the buck, Thibault; but wishes lead on to one another, as the night to the day, and the day to night. When you wished for the buck, you also wished for the silver dish on which it would be served; the silver dish led you on to wish for the servant who carries it and for the carver who cuts up its contents. Ambition is like the vault of heaven; it appears to be bounded by the horizon, but it covers the whole earth. You disdained Agnelette s innocence, and went after Madame Poulet s mill; if you had gained the mill, you would immediately have wanted the house of the Bailiff Magloire; and his house would have had no further attraction for you when once you had seen the Castle of Mont-Gobert. You are one in your envious disposition with the fallen Angel, your master and mine; only, as you were not clever enough to reap the benefit that might have accrued to you from your power of inflicting evil, it would perhaps have been more to your interest to continue to lead an honest life. Yes, indeed, replied the shoe-maker, I feel the truth of the proverb, Evil to him who evil wishes But, he continued, can I not become an honest man again? The wolf gave a mocking chuckle. My good fellow, the devil can drag a man to hell, he said, by a single hair. Have you ever counted how many of yours now belong to him? No. I cannot tell you that exactly either, but I know how many you have which are still your own. You have one left! You see it is long past the time for repentance. But if a man is lost when but one of his hairs belongs to the devil, said Thibault, why cannot God likewise save a man in virtue of a single hair? Well, try if that is so! And, besides, when I concluded that unhappy bargain with you, I did not understand that it was to be a compact of this kind. Oh, yes! I know all about the bad faith of you men! Was it no compact then to consent to give me your hairs, you stupid fool? Since men invented baptism, we do not know how to get hold of them, and so, in return for any concessions we make them, we are bound to insist on their relinquishing to us some part of their body on which we can lay hands. You gave us the hairs of your head; they are firmly rooted, as you have proved yourself and will not come away in our grasp.... No, no, Thibault, you have belonged to us ever since, standing on the threshold of the door that was once there, you cherished within you thoughts of deceit and violence. And so, cried Thibault passionately, rising and stamping his foot, and so I am lost as regards the next world without having enjoyed the pleasures of this! You can yet enjoy these. And how, I pray. By boldly following the path that you have struck by chance, and resolutely determining on a course of conduct which you have adopted as yet only in a halfhearted way; in short, by frankly owning yourself to be one of us. And how am I to do this? Take my place. And what then? You will then acquire my power, and you will have nothing left to wish for. If your power is so great, if it can give you all the riches that I long for, why do you give it up? Do not trouble yourself about me. The master for whom I shall have won a retainer will liberally reward me. And if I take your place, shall I also have to take your form? Yes, in the night-time; by day you will be a man again. The nights are long, dark, full of snares; I may be brought down by a bullet from a keeper, or be caught in a trap, and then good-bye riches, good-bye position and pleasure. Not so; for this skin that covers me is impenetrable by iron, lead or steel. As long as it protects your body, you will be not only invulnerable, but immortal; once a year, like all were-wolves, you will become a wolf again for four and twenty hours, and during that interval, you will be in danger of death like any other animal. I had just reached that dangerous time a year ago to-day, when we first met. Ah! said Thibault, that explains why you feared my Lord Baron s dogs. When we have dealings with men, we are forbidden to speak anything but the truth, and the whole truth; it is for them to accept or refuse. You have boasted to me of the power that I should acquire; tell me, now, in what that power will consist? It will be such that even the most powerful king will not be able to withstand it, since his power is limited by the human and the possible. Shall I be rich? So rich, that you will come in time to despise riches, since, by the mere force of your will, you will obtain not only what men can only acquire with gold and silver, but also all that superior beings get by their conjurations. Shall I be able to revenge myself on my enemies? You will have unlimited power over everything which is connected with evil. If I love a woman, will there again be a possibility of my losing her? As you will have dominion over all your fellow creatures, you will be able to do with them what you like. There will be no power to enable them to escape from the trammels of my will? Nothing, except death, which is stronger than all. And I shall only run the risk of death myself on one day out of the three hundred and sixty-five? On one day only; during the remaining days nothing can harm you, neither iron, lead, nor steel, neither water, nor fire. And there is no deceit, no trap to catch me, in your words? None, on my honour as a wolf! Good, said Thibault, then let it be so; a wolf for four and twenty hours, for the rest of the time the monarch of creation! What am I to do? I am ready. Pick a holly-leaf, tear it in three pieces with your teeth, and throw it away from you, as far as you can. Thibault did as he was commanded. Having torn the leaf in three pieces, he scattered them on the air, and although the night till then had been a peaceful one, there was immediately heard a loud peal of thunder, while a tempestuous whirlwind arose, which caught up the fragments and carried them whirling away with it. And now, brother Thibault, said the wolf, take my place, and good luck be with you! As was my case just a year ago, so you will have to become a wolf for four and twenty hours; you must endeavour to come out of the ordeal as happily as I did, thanks to you, and then you will see realised all that I have promised you. Meanwhile, I will pray the lord of the cloven hoof that he will protect you from the teeth of the Baron s hounds, for, by the devil himself, I take a genuine interest in you, friend Thibault. And then it seemed to Thibault that he saw the black wolf grow larger and taller, that it stood up on its hind legs and finally walked away in the form of a man, who made a sign to him with his hand as he disappeared. We say _it seemed to him_, for Thibault s ideas, for a second or two, became very indistinct. A feeling of torpor passed over him, paralysing his power of thought. When he came to himself, he was alone. His limbs were imprisoned in a new and unusual form; he had, in short, become in every respect the counterpart of the black wolf that a few minutes before had been speaking to him. One single white hair on his head alone shone in contrast to the remainder of the sombre coloured fur; this one white hair of the wolf was the one black hair which had remained to the man. Thibault had scarcely had time to recover himself when he fancied he heard a rustling among the bushes, and the sound of a low, muffled bark.... He thought of the Baron and his hounds, and trembled. Thus metamorphosed into the black wolf, he decided that he would not do what his predecessor had done, and wait till the dogs were upon him. It was probably a bloodhound he had heard, and he would get away before the hounds were uncoupled. He made off, striking straight ahead, as is the manner of wolves, and it was a profound satisfaction to him to find that in his new form he had tenfold his former strength and elasticity of limb. By the devil and his horns! the voice of the Lord of Vez was now heard to say to his new huntsman a few paces off, you hold the leash too slack, my lad; you have let the bloodhound give tongue, and we shall never head the wolf back now. I was in fault, I do not deny it, my Lord; but as I saw it go by last evening only a few yards from this spot, I never guessed that it would take up its quarters for the night in this part of the wood and that it was so close to us as all that. Are you sure it is the same one that has got away from us so often? May the bread I eat in your service choke me, my lord, if it is not the same black wolf that we were chasing last year when poor Marcotte was drowned. I should like finely to put the dogs on its track, said the Baron, with a sigh. My lord has but to give the order, and we will do so, but he will allow me to observe that we have still two good hours of darkness before us, time enough for every horse we have to break its legs. That may be, but if we wait for the day, l Eveill , the fellow will have had time to get ten leagues away. Ten leagues at least, said l Eveill , shaking his head. I have got this cursed black wolf on my brain, added the Baron, and I have such a longing to have its skin, that I feel sure I shall catch an illness if I do not get hold of it. Well then, my lord, let us have the dogs out without a moment s loss of time. You are right, l Eveill ; go and fetch the hounds. L Eveill went back to his horse, that he had tied to a tree outside the wood, and went off at a gallop, and in ten minutes time, which seemed like ten centuries to the Baron, he was back with the whole hunting train. The hounds were immediately uncoupled. Gently, gently, my lads! said the Lord of Vez, you forget you are not handling your old well-trained dogs; if you get excited with these raw recruits, they ll merely kick up a devil of a row, and be no more good than so many turnspits; let em get warmed up by degrees. And, indeed, the dogs were no sooner loose, than two or three got at once on to the scent of the were-wolf, and began to give cry, whereupon the others joined them. The whole pack started off on Thibault s track, at first quietly following up the scent, and only giving cry at long intervals, then more excitedly and of more accord, until they had so thoroughly imbibed the odour of the wolf ahead of them, and the scent had become so strong, that they tore along, baying furiously, and with unparalleled eagerness in the direction of the Yvors coppice. Well begun, is half done! cried the Baron. You look after the relays, l Eveill ; I want them ready whenever needed! I will encourage the dogs.... And you be on the alert, you others, he added, addressing himself to the younger keepers, we have more than one defeat to avenge, and if I lose this view halloo through the fault of anyone among you, by the devil and his horns! he shall be the dogs quarry in place of the wolf! After pronouncing these words of encouragement, the Baron put his horse to the gallop, and although it was still pitch dark and the ground was rough, he kept the animal going at top speed so as to come up with the hounds, which could be heard giving tongue in the low lands about Bourg-Fontaine. CHAPTER XXIV HUNTING DOWN THE WERE-WOLF Thibault had got well ahead of the dogs, thanks to the precaution he had taken of making good his escape at the first note of the bloodhound. For some time he heard no further sound of pursuit; but, all at once, like distant thunder, the baying of the hounds reached his ears, and he began to feel some anxiety. He had been trotting, but he now went on at greater speed, and did not pause till he had put a few more leagues between himself and his enemies. Then he stood still and took his bearings; he found himself on the heights at Montaigu. He bent his head and listened--the dogs still seemed a long way off, somewhere near the Tillet coppice. It required a wolf s ear to distinguish them so far off. Thibault went down the hill again, as if to meet the dogs; then, leaving Erneville to the left, he leaped into the little stream which rises there, waded down its course as far as Grimancourt, dashed into the woods of Lessart-l Abbesse, and finally gained the forest of Compi gne. He was somewhat reassured to find that, in spite of his three hours hard running, the steel-like muscles of his wolf legs were not in the least fatigued. He hesitated, however, to trust himself in a forest which was not so familiar to him as that of Villers-Cotterets. After another dash of a mile or so, he decided that by doubling boldly he would be most likely to put the dogs off the scent. He crossed at a gallop all the stretch of plain between Pierrefond and Mont-Gobert, took to the woods at the Champ Meutard, came out again at Vauvaudrand, regained the stream by the Sanc res timber floatage, and once more found himself in the forest near Long-Pont. Unfortunately for him, just as he reached the end of the Route du Pendu, he came across another pack of twenty dogs, which Monsieur de Montbreton s huntsman was bringing up as a relay, for the Baron had sent his neighbour news of the chase. Instantly the hounds were uncoupled by the huntsman as he caught sight of the wolf, for seeing that the latter kept its distance, he feared it would get too far ahead if he waited for the others to come up before loosing his dogs. And now began the struggle between the were-wolf and the dogs in very earnest. It was a wild chase, which the horses, in spite of their skilled riders, had great difficulty in following, a chase over plains, through woods, across heaths, pursued at a headlong pace. As the hunt flew by, it appeared and disappeared like a flash of lightning across a cloud, leaving behind a whirlwind of dust, and a sound of horns and cries which echo had hardly time to repeat. It rushed over hill and dale, through torrents and bogs, and over precipices, as if horses and dogs had been winged like Hippogriffs and Chimeras. The Baron had come up with his huntsmen, riding at their head, and almost riding on the tails of his dogs, his eye flashing, his nostrils dilated, exciting the pack with wild shouts and furious blasts, digging his spurs into his horse s sides whenever an obstacle of any kind caused it to hesitate for a single instant. The black wolf, on his side, still held on at the same rapid pace; although sorely shaken at hearing the fresh pack in full pursuit only a short way behind him, just as he had got back to the forest, he had not lost an inch of ground. As he retained to the full all his human consciousness, it seemed to him impossible, as he still ran on, that he should not escape in safety from this ordeal; he felt that it was not possible for him to die before he had taken vengeance for all the agony that others made him suffer, before he had known those pleasures that had been promised him, above all--for at this critical moment his thoughts kept on running on this--before he had gained Agnelette s love. At moments he was possessed by terror, at others by anger. He thought at times that he would turn and face this yelling pack of dogs, and, forgetting his present form, scatter them with stones and blows. Then, an instant after, feeling mad with rage, deafened by the death-knell the hounds were ringing in his ears, he fled, he leaped, he flew with the legs of a deer, with the wings of an eagle. But his efforts were in vain; he might run, leap, almost fly, the sounds of death still clung to him, and if for a moment they became more distant, it was only to hear them a moment after nearer and more threatening still. But still the instinct of self-preservation did not fail him; and still his strength was undiminished; only, if by ill luck, he were to come across other relays, he felt that it might give way. So he determined to take a bold course so as to out-distance the dogs, and to get back to his lairs, where he knew his ground and hoped to evade the dogs. He therefore doubled for the second time. He first ran back to Puiseux, then skirted past Viviers, regained the forest of Compi gne, made a dash into the forest of Largue, returned and crossed the Aisne at Attichy, and finally got back to the forest of Villers-Cotterets at the low lands of Argent. He trusted in this way to baffle the strategical plans of the Lord of Vez, who had, no doubt, posted his dogs at various likely points. Once back in his old quarters Thibault breathed more freely. He was now on the banks of the Ourcq between Norroy and Trouennes, where the river runs at the foot of deep rocks on either side; he leaped up on to a sharp-pointed crag overhanging the water, and from this high vantage ground he sprang into the waves below, then swam to a crevice at the base of the rock from which he had leapt, which was situated rather below the ordinary level of the water, and here, at the back of this cave, he waited. He had gained at least three miles upon the dogs; and yet, scarcely another ten minutes had elapsed, when the whole pack arrived and stormed the crest of the rock. Those who were leading, mad with excitement, did not see the gulf in front of them, or else, like their quarry they thought they would leap safely into it, for they plunged, and Thibault was splashed, far back as he was hidden, by the water that was scattered in every direction as they fell into it one by one. Less fortunate, however, and less vigorous than he was, they were unable to fight against the current, and after vainly battling with it, they were borne along out of sight before they had even got scent of the were-wolf s retreat. Overhead he could hear the tramping of the horses feet, the baying of the dogs that were still left, the cries of men, and above all these sounds, dominating the other voices, that of the Baron as he cursed and swore. When the last dog had fallen into the water, and been carried away like the others, he saw, thanks to a bend in the river, that the huntsmen were going down it, and persuaded that the Baron, whom he recognised at the head of his hunting-train, would only do this with the intention of coming up it again, he determined not to wait for this, and left his hiding-place. Now swimming, now leaping with agility from one rock to the other, at times wading through the water, he went up the river to the end of the Cr ne coppice. Certain that he had now made a considerable advance on his enemies, he resolved to get to one of the villages near and run in and out among the houses, feeling sure that they would not think of coming after him there. He thought of Pr ciamont; if any village was well known to him, it was that; and then, at Pr ciamont, he would be near Agnelette. He felt that this neighbourhood would put fresh vigour into him, and would bring him good fortune, and that the gentle image of the innocent girl would have some influence on his fate. So he started off in that direction. It was now six o clock in the evening; the hunt had lasted nearly fifteen hours, and wolf, dogs and huntsmen had covered fifty leagues at least. When, at last, after circling round by Manereux and Oigny, the black wolf reached the borders of the heath by the lane of Ham, the sun was already beginning to sink, and shedding a dazzling light over the flowery plain; the little white and pink flowers scented the breeze that played caressingly around them; the grasshopper was singing in its little house of moss, and the lark was soaring up towards heaven, saluting the eve with its song, as twelve hours before it had saluted the morn. The peaceful beauty of nature had a strange effect on Thibault. It seemed enigmatical to him that nature could be so smiling and beautiful, while anguish such as his was devouring his soul. He saw the flowers, and heard the insects and the birds, and he compared the quiet joy of this innocent world with the horrible pangs he was enduring, and asked himself, whether after all, notwithstanding all the new promises that had been made him by the devil s envoy, he had acted any more wisely in making this second compact than he had in making the first. He began to doubt whether he might not find himself deceived in the one as he had been in the other. As he went along a little footpath nearly hidden under the golden broom, he suddenly remembered that it was by this very path that he had taken Agnelette home on the first day of their acquaintance; the day, when inspired by his good angel, he had asked her to be his wife. The thought that, thanks to this new compact, he might be able to recover Agnelette s love, revived his spirits, which had been saddened and depressed by the sight of the universal happiness around him. He heard the church bells at Pr ciamont ringing in the valley below; its solemn, monotonous tones recalled the thought of his fellow men to the black wolf, and of all he had to fear from them. So he ran boldly on, across the fields, to the village, where he hoped to find a refuge in some empty building. As he was skirting the little stone wall of the village cemetery, he heard a sound of voices, approaching along the road he was in. He could not fail to meet whoever they might be who were coming towards him, if he himself went on; it was not safe to turn back, as he would have to cross some rising ground whence he might easily be seen; so there was nothing left for it but to jump over the wall of the cemetery, and with a bound he was on the other side. This graveyard as usual adjoined the church; it was uncared for, and overgrown with tall grass, while brambles and thorns grew rankly in places. The wolf made for the thickest of these bramble bushes; he found a sort of ruined vault, whence he could look out without being seen, and he crept under the branches and hid himself inside. A few yards away from him was a newly-dug grave; within the church could be heard the chanting of the priests, the more distinctly that the vault must at one time have communicated by a passage with the crypt. Presently the chanting ceased, and the black wolf, who did not feel quite at ease in the neighbourhood of a church, and thought that the road must now be clear, decided that it was time to start off again and to find a safer retreat than the one he had fled to in his haste. But he had scarcely got his nose outside the bramble bush when the gate of the cemetery opened, and he quickly retreated again to his hole, in great trepidation as to who might now be approaching. The first person he saw was a child dressed in a white alb and carrying a vessel of holy water; he was followed by a man in a surplice, bearing a silver cross, and after the latter came a priest, chanting the psalms for the dead. Behind these were four peasants carrying a bier covered with a white pall over which were scattered green branches and flowers, and beneath the sheet could be seen the outline of a coffin; a few villagers from Pr ciamont wound up this little procession. Although there was nothing unusual in such a sight as this, seeing that he was in a cemetery, and that the newly-dug grave must have prepared him for it, Thibault, nevertheless, felt strangely moved as he looked on. Although the slightest movement might betray his presence and bring destruction upon him, he anxiously watched every detail of the ceremony. The priest having blessed the newly-made grave, the peasants laid down their burden on an adjoining hillock. It is the custom in our country when a young girl, or young married woman, dies in the fullness of her youth and beauty, to carry her to the grave-yard in an open coffin, with only a pall over her, so that her friends may bid her a last farewell, her relations give her a last kiss. Then the coffin is nailed down, and all is over. An old woman, led by some kind hand, for she was apparently blind, went up to the coffin to give the dead one a last kiss; the peasants lifted the pall from the still face, and there lay Agnelette. A low groan escaped from Thibault s agonised breast, and mingled with the tears and sobs of those present. Agnelette, as she lay there so pale in death, wrapped in an ineffable calm, appeared more beautiful than when in life, beneath her wreath of forget-me-nots and daisies. As Thibault looked upon the poor dead girl, his heart seemed suddenly to melt within him. It was he, as he had truly realised, who had really killed her, and he experienced a genuine and overpowering sorrow, the more poignant since for the first time for many long months he forgot to think of himself, and thought only of the dead woman, now lost to him for ever. As he heard the blows of the hammer knocking the nails into the coffin, as he heard the earth and stones being shovelled into the grave and falling with a dull thud on to the body of the only woman he had ever loved, a feeling of giddiness came over him. The hard stones he thought must be bruising Agnelette s tender flesh, so fresh and sweet but a few days ago, and only yesterday still throbbing with life, and he made a movement as if to rush out on the assailants and snatch away the body, which dead, must surely belong to him, since, living, it had belonged to another. But the grief of the man overcame this instinct of the wild beast at bay; a shudder passed through the body hidden beneath its wolf skin; tears fell from the fierce blood-red eyes, and the unhappy man cried out: O God! take my life, I

thoughts

How many times the word 'thoughts' appears in the text?

wished for riches, and here I am in despair at having lost the humble roof of bracken under shelter of which I could sleep in peace without anxiety as to the morrow, without troubling myself about the rain or the wind beating against the branches of the giant oaks. I wished for position, and here I am, stoned and hunted down by the lowest peasants, whom formerly I despised. I asked for love, and the only woman who loved me and whom I loved became the wife of another, and she is at this moment cursing me as she lies dying, while I, notwithstanding all the power you have given me, can do nothing to help her! Leave off loving anybody but yourself, Thibault. Oh! yes, laugh at me, do! I am not laughing at you. But did you not cast envious eyes on other people s property before you had set eyes on me? Yes, for a wretched buck, of which there are hundreds just as good browsing in the forest! You thought your wishes were going to stop at the buck, Thibault; but wishes lead on to one another, as the night to the day, and the day to night. When you wished for the buck, you also wished for the silver dish on which it would be served; the silver dish led you on to wish for the servant who carries it and for the carver who cuts up its contents. Ambition is like the vault of heaven; it appears to be bounded by the horizon, but it covers the whole earth. You disdained Agnelette s innocence, and went after Madame Poulet s mill; if you had gained the mill, you would immediately have wanted the house of the Bailiff Magloire; and his house would have had no further attraction for you when once you had seen the Castle of Mont-Gobert. You are one in your envious disposition with the fallen Angel, your master and mine; only, as you were not clever enough to reap the benefit that might have accrued to you from your power of inflicting evil, it would perhaps have been more to your interest to continue to lead an honest life. Yes, indeed, replied the shoe-maker, I feel the truth of the proverb, Evil to him who evil wishes But, he continued, can I not become an honest man again? The wolf gave a mocking chuckle. My good fellow, the devil can drag a man to hell, he said, by a single hair. Have you ever counted how many of yours now belong to him? No. I cannot tell you that exactly either, but I know how many you have which are still your own. You have one left! You see it is long past the time for repentance. But if a man is lost when but one of his hairs belongs to the devil, said Thibault, why cannot God likewise save a man in virtue of a single hair? Well, try if that is so! And, besides, when I concluded that unhappy bargain with you, I did not understand that it was to be a compact of this kind. Oh, yes! I know all about the bad faith of you men! Was it no compact then to consent to give me your hairs, you stupid fool? Since men invented baptism, we do not know how to get hold of them, and so, in return for any concessions we make them, we are bound to insist on their relinquishing to us some part of their body on which we can lay hands. You gave us the hairs of your head; they are firmly rooted, as you have proved yourself and will not come away in our grasp.... No, no, Thibault, you have belonged to us ever since, standing on the threshold of the door that was once there, you cherished within you thoughts of deceit and violence. And so, cried Thibault passionately, rising and stamping his foot, and so I am lost as regards the next world without having enjoyed the pleasures of this! You can yet enjoy these. And how, I pray. By boldly following the path that you have struck by chance, and resolutely determining on a course of conduct which you have adopted as yet only in a halfhearted way; in short, by frankly owning yourself to be one of us. And how am I to do this? Take my place. And what then? You will then acquire my power, and you will have nothing left to wish for. If your power is so great, if it can give you all the riches that I long for, why do you give it up? Do not trouble yourself about me. The master for whom I shall have won a retainer will liberally reward me. And if I take your place, shall I also have to take your form? Yes, in the night-time; by day you will be a man again. The nights are long, dark, full of snares; I may be brought down by a bullet from a keeper, or be caught in a trap, and then good-bye riches, good-bye position and pleasure. Not so; for this skin that covers me is impenetrable by iron, lead or steel. As long as it protects your body, you will be not only invulnerable, but immortal; once a year, like all were-wolves, you will become a wolf again for four and twenty hours, and during that interval, you will be in danger of death like any other animal. I had just reached that dangerous time a year ago to-day, when we first met. Ah! said Thibault, that explains why you feared my Lord Baron s dogs. When we have dealings with men, we are forbidden to speak anything but the truth, and the whole truth; it is for them to accept or refuse. You have boasted to me of the power that I should acquire; tell me, now, in what that power will consist? It will be such that even the most powerful king will not be able to withstand it, since his power is limited by the human and the possible. Shall I be rich? So rich, that you will come in time to despise riches, since, by the mere force of your will, you will obtain not only what men can only acquire with gold and silver, but also all that superior beings get by their conjurations. Shall I be able to revenge myself on my enemies? You will have unlimited power over everything which is connected with evil. If I love a woman, will there again be a possibility of my losing her? As you will have dominion over all your fellow creatures, you will be able to do with them what you like. There will be no power to enable them to escape from the trammels of my will? Nothing, except death, which is stronger than all. And I shall only run the risk of death myself on one day out of the three hundred and sixty-five? On one day only; during the remaining days nothing can harm you, neither iron, lead, nor steel, neither water, nor fire. And there is no deceit, no trap to catch me, in your words? None, on my honour as a wolf! Good, said Thibault, then let it be so; a wolf for four and twenty hours, for the rest of the time the monarch of creation! What am I to do? I am ready. Pick a holly-leaf, tear it in three pieces with your teeth, and throw it away from you, as far as you can. Thibault did as he was commanded. Having torn the leaf in three pieces, he scattered them on the air, and although the night till then had been a peaceful one, there was immediately heard a loud peal of thunder, while a tempestuous whirlwind arose, which caught up the fragments and carried them whirling away with it. And now, brother Thibault, said the wolf, take my place, and good luck be with you! As was my case just a year ago, so you will have to become a wolf for four and twenty hours; you must endeavour to come out of the ordeal as happily as I did, thanks to you, and then you will see realised all that I have promised you. Meanwhile, I will pray the lord of the cloven hoof that he will protect you from the teeth of the Baron s hounds, for, by the devil himself, I take a genuine interest in you, friend Thibault. And then it seemed to Thibault that he saw the black wolf grow larger and taller, that it stood up on its hind legs and finally walked away in the form of a man, who made a sign to him with his hand as he disappeared. We say _it seemed to him_, for Thibault s ideas, for a second or two, became very indistinct. A feeling of torpor passed over him, paralysing his power of thought. When he came to himself, he was alone. His limbs were imprisoned in a new and unusual form; he had, in short, become in every respect the counterpart of the black wolf that a few minutes before had been speaking to him. One single white hair on his head alone shone in contrast to the remainder of the sombre coloured fur; this one white hair of the wolf was the one black hair which had remained to the man. Thibault had scarcely had time to recover himself when he fancied he heard a rustling among the bushes, and the sound of a low, muffled bark.... He thought of the Baron and his hounds, and trembled. Thus metamorphosed into the black wolf, he decided that he would not do what his predecessor had done, and wait till the dogs were upon him. It was probably a bloodhound he had heard, and he would get away before the hounds were uncoupled. He made off, striking straight ahead, as is the manner of wolves, and it was a profound satisfaction to him to find that in his new form he had tenfold his former strength and elasticity of limb. By the devil and his horns! the voice of the Lord of Vez was now heard to say to his new huntsman a few paces off, you hold the leash too slack, my lad; you have let the bloodhound give tongue, and we shall never head the wolf back now. I was in fault, I do not deny it, my Lord; but as I saw it go by last evening only a few yards from this spot, I never guessed that it would take up its quarters for the night in this part of the wood and that it was so close to us as all that. Are you sure it is the same one that has got away from us so often? May the bread I eat in your service choke me, my lord, if it is not the same black wolf that we were chasing last year when poor Marcotte was drowned. I should like finely to put the dogs on its track, said the Baron, with a sigh. My lord has but to give the order, and we will do so, but he will allow me to observe that we have still two good hours of darkness before us, time enough for every horse we have to break its legs. That may be, but if we wait for the day, l Eveill , the fellow will have had time to get ten leagues away. Ten leagues at least, said l Eveill , shaking his head. I have got this cursed black wolf on my brain, added the Baron, and I have such a longing to have its skin, that I feel sure I shall catch an illness if I do not get hold of it. Well then, my lord, let us have the dogs out without a moment s loss of time. You are right, l Eveill ; go and fetch the hounds. L Eveill went back to his horse, that he had tied to a tree outside the wood, and went off at a gallop, and in ten minutes time, which seemed like ten centuries to the Baron, he was back with the whole hunting train. The hounds were immediately uncoupled. Gently, gently, my lads! said the Lord of Vez, you forget you are not handling your old well-trained dogs; if you get excited with these raw recruits, they ll merely kick up a devil of a row, and be no more good than so many turnspits; let em get warmed up by degrees. And, indeed, the dogs were no sooner loose, than two or three got at once on to the scent of the were-wolf, and began to give cry, whereupon the others joined them. The whole pack started off on Thibault s track, at first quietly following up the scent, and only giving cry at long intervals, then more excitedly and of more accord, until they had so thoroughly imbibed the odour of the wolf ahead of them, and the scent had become so strong, that they tore along, baying furiously, and with unparalleled eagerness in the direction of the Yvors coppice. Well begun, is half done! cried the Baron. You look after the relays, l Eveill ; I want them ready whenever needed! I will encourage the dogs.... And you be on the alert, you others, he added, addressing himself to the younger keepers, we have more than one defeat to avenge, and if I lose this view halloo through the fault of anyone among you, by the devil and his horns! he shall be the dogs quarry in place of the wolf! After pronouncing these words of encouragement, the Baron put his horse to the gallop, and although it was still pitch dark and the ground was rough, he kept the animal going at top speed so as to come up with the hounds, which could be heard giving tongue in the low lands about Bourg-Fontaine. CHAPTER XXIV HUNTING DOWN THE WERE-WOLF Thibault had got well ahead of the dogs, thanks to the precaution he had taken of making good his escape at the first note of the bloodhound. For some time he heard no further sound of pursuit; but, all at once, like distant thunder, the baying of the hounds reached his ears, and he began to feel some anxiety. He had been trotting, but he now went on at greater speed, and did not pause till he had put a few more leagues between himself and his enemies. Then he stood still and took his bearings; he found himself on the heights at Montaigu. He bent his head and listened--the dogs still seemed a long way off, somewhere near the Tillet coppice. It required a wolf s ear to distinguish them so far off. Thibault went down the hill again, as if to meet the dogs; then, leaving Erneville to the left, he leaped into the little stream which rises there, waded down its course as far as Grimancourt, dashed into the woods of Lessart-l Abbesse, and finally gained the forest of Compi gne. He was somewhat reassured to find that, in spite of his three hours hard running, the steel-like muscles of his wolf legs were not in the least fatigued. He hesitated, however, to trust himself in a forest which was not so familiar to him as that of Villers-Cotterets. After another dash of a mile or so, he decided that by doubling boldly he would be most likely to put the dogs off the scent. He crossed at a gallop all the stretch of plain between Pierrefond and Mont-Gobert, took to the woods at the Champ Meutard, came out again at Vauvaudrand, regained the stream by the Sanc res timber floatage, and once more found himself in the forest near Long-Pont. Unfortunately for him, just as he reached the end of the Route du Pendu, he came across another pack of twenty dogs, which Monsieur de Montbreton s huntsman was bringing up as a relay, for the Baron had sent his neighbour news of the chase. Instantly the hounds were uncoupled by the huntsman as he caught sight of the wolf, for seeing that the latter kept its distance, he feared it would get too far ahead if he waited for the others to come up before loosing his dogs. And now began the struggle between the were-wolf and the dogs in very earnest. It was a wild chase, which the horses, in spite of their skilled riders, had great difficulty in following, a chase over plains, through woods, across heaths, pursued at a headlong pace. As the hunt flew by, it appeared and disappeared like a flash of lightning across a cloud, leaving behind a whirlwind of dust, and a sound of horns and cries which echo had hardly time to repeat. It rushed over hill and dale, through torrents and bogs, and over precipices, as if horses and dogs had been winged like Hippogriffs and Chimeras. The Baron had come up with his huntsmen, riding at their head, and almost riding on the tails of his dogs, his eye flashing, his nostrils dilated, exciting the pack with wild shouts and furious blasts, digging his spurs into his horse s sides whenever an obstacle of any kind caused it to hesitate for a single instant. The black wolf, on his side, still held on at the same rapid pace; although sorely shaken at hearing the fresh pack in full pursuit only a short way behind him, just as he had got back to the forest, he had not lost an inch of ground. As he retained to the full all his human consciousness, it seemed to him impossible, as he still ran on, that he should not escape in safety from this ordeal; he felt that it was not possible for him to die before he had taken vengeance for all the agony that others made him suffer, before he had known those pleasures that had been promised him, above all--for at this critical moment his thoughts kept on running on this--before he had gained Agnelette s love. At moments he was possessed by terror, at others by anger. He thought at times that he would turn and face this yelling pack of dogs, and, forgetting his present form, scatter them with stones and blows. Then, an instant after, feeling mad with rage, deafened by the death-knell the hounds were ringing in his ears, he fled, he leaped, he flew with the legs of a deer, with the wings of an eagle. But his efforts were in vain; he might run, leap, almost fly, the sounds of death still clung to him, and if for a moment they became more distant, it was only to hear them a moment after nearer and more threatening still. But still the instinct of self-preservation did not fail him; and still his strength was undiminished; only, if by ill luck, he were to come across other relays, he felt that it might give way. So he determined to take a bold course so as to out-distance the dogs, and to get back to his lairs, where he knew his ground and hoped to evade the dogs. He therefore doubled for the second time. He first ran back to Puiseux, then skirted past Viviers, regained the forest of Compi gne, made a dash into the forest of Largue, returned and crossed the Aisne at Attichy, and finally got back to the forest of Villers-Cotterets at the low lands of Argent. He trusted in this way to baffle the strategical plans of the Lord of Vez, who had, no doubt, posted his dogs at various likely points. Once back in his old quarters Thibault breathed more freely. He was now on the banks of the Ourcq between Norroy and Trouennes, where the river runs at the foot of deep rocks on either side; he leaped up on to a sharp-pointed crag overhanging the water, and from this high vantage ground he sprang into the waves below, then swam to a crevice at the base of the rock from which he had leapt, which was situated rather below the ordinary level of the water, and here, at the back of this cave, he waited. He had gained at least three miles upon the dogs; and yet, scarcely another ten minutes had elapsed, when the whole pack arrived and stormed the crest of the rock. Those who were leading, mad with excitement, did not see the gulf in front of them, or else, like their quarry they thought they would leap safely into it, for they plunged, and Thibault was splashed, far back as he was hidden, by the water that was scattered in every direction as they fell into it one by one. Less fortunate, however, and less vigorous than he was, they were unable to fight against the current, and after vainly battling with it, they were borne along out of sight before they had even got scent of the were-wolf s retreat. Overhead he could hear the tramping of the horses feet, the baying of the dogs that were still left, the cries of men, and above all these sounds, dominating the other voices, that of the Baron as he cursed and swore. When the last dog had fallen into the water, and been carried away like the others, he saw, thanks to a bend in the river, that the huntsmen were going down it, and persuaded that the Baron, whom he recognised at the head of his hunting-train, would only do this with the intention of coming up it again, he determined not to wait for this, and left his hiding-place. Now swimming, now leaping with agility from one rock to the other, at times wading through the water, he went up the river to the end of the Cr ne coppice. Certain that he had now made a considerable advance on his enemies, he resolved to get to one of the villages near and run in and out among the houses, feeling sure that they would not think of coming after him there. He thought of Pr ciamont; if any village was well known to him, it was that; and then, at Pr ciamont, he would be near Agnelette. He felt that this neighbourhood would put fresh vigour into him, and would bring him good fortune, and that the gentle image of the innocent girl would have some influence on his fate. So he started off in that direction. It was now six o clock in the evening; the hunt had lasted nearly fifteen hours, and wolf, dogs and huntsmen had covered fifty leagues at least. When, at last, after circling round by Manereux and Oigny, the black wolf reached the borders of the heath by the lane of Ham, the sun was already beginning to sink, and shedding a dazzling light over the flowery plain; the little white and pink flowers scented the breeze that played caressingly around them; the grasshopper was singing in its little house of moss, and the lark was soaring up towards heaven, saluting the eve with its song, as twelve hours before it had saluted the morn. The peaceful beauty of nature had a strange effect on Thibault. It seemed enigmatical to him that nature could be so smiling and beautiful, while anguish such as his was devouring his soul. He saw the flowers, and heard the insects and the birds, and he compared the quiet joy of this innocent world with the horrible pangs he was enduring, and asked himself, whether after all, notwithstanding all the new promises that had been made him by the devil s envoy, he had acted any more wisely in making this second compact than he had in making the first. He began to doubt whether he might not find himself deceived in the one as he had been in the other. As he went along a little footpath nearly hidden under the golden broom, he suddenly remembered that it was by this very path that he had taken Agnelette home on the first day of their acquaintance; the day, when inspired by his good angel, he had asked her to be his wife. The thought that, thanks to this new compact, he might be able to recover Agnelette s love, revived his spirits, which had been saddened and depressed by the sight of the universal happiness around him. He heard the church bells at Pr ciamont ringing in the valley below; its solemn, monotonous tones recalled the thought of his fellow men to the black wolf, and of all he had to fear from them. So he ran boldly on, across the fields, to the village, where he hoped to find a refuge in some empty building. As he was skirting the little stone wall of the village cemetery, he heard a sound of voices, approaching along the road he was in. He could not fail to meet whoever they might be who were coming towards him, if he himself went on; it was not safe to turn back, as he would have to cross some rising ground whence he might easily be seen; so there was nothing left for it but to jump over the wall of the cemetery, and with a bound he was on the other side. This graveyard as usual adjoined the church; it was uncared for, and overgrown with tall grass, while brambles and thorns grew rankly in places. The wolf made for the thickest of these bramble bushes; he found a sort of ruined vault, whence he could look out without being seen, and he crept under the branches and hid himself inside. A few yards away from him was a newly-dug grave; within the church could be heard the chanting of the priests, the more distinctly that the vault must at one time have communicated by a passage with the crypt. Presently the chanting ceased, and the black wolf, who did not feel quite at ease in the neighbourhood of a church, and thought that the road must now be clear, decided that it was time to start off again and to find a safer retreat than the one he had fled to in his haste. But he had scarcely got his nose outside the bramble bush when the gate of the cemetery opened, and he quickly retreated again to his hole, in great trepidation as to who might now be approaching. The first person he saw was a child dressed in a white alb and carrying a vessel of holy water; he was followed by a man in a surplice, bearing a silver cross, and after the latter came a priest, chanting the psalms for the dead. Behind these were four peasants carrying a bier covered with a white pall over which were scattered green branches and flowers, and beneath the sheet could be seen the outline of a coffin; a few villagers from Pr ciamont wound up this little procession. Although there was nothing unusual in such a sight as this, seeing that he was in a cemetery, and that the newly-dug grave must have prepared him for it, Thibault, nevertheless, felt strangely moved as he looked on. Although the slightest movement might betray his presence and bring destruction upon him, he anxiously watched every detail of the ceremony. The priest having blessed the newly-made grave, the peasants laid down their burden on an adjoining hillock. It is the custom in our country when a young girl, or young married woman, dies in the fullness of her youth and beauty, to carry her to the grave-yard in an open coffin, with only a pall over her, so that her friends may bid her a last farewell, her relations give her a last kiss. Then the coffin is nailed down, and all is over. An old woman, led by some kind hand, for she was apparently blind, went up to the coffin to give the dead one a last kiss; the peasants lifted the pall from the still face, and there lay Agnelette. A low groan escaped from Thibault s agonised breast, and mingled with the tears and sobs of those present. Agnelette, as she lay there so pale in death, wrapped in an ineffable calm, appeared more beautiful than when in life, beneath her wreath of forget-me-nots and daisies. As Thibault looked upon the poor dead girl, his heart seemed suddenly to melt within him. It was he, as he had truly realised, who had really killed her, and he experienced a genuine and overpowering sorrow, the more poignant since for the first time for many long months he forgot to think of himself, and thought only of the dead woman, now lost to him for ever. As he heard the blows of the hammer knocking the nails into the coffin, as he heard the earth and stones being shovelled into the grave and falling with a dull thud on to the body of the only woman he had ever loved, a feeling of giddiness came over him. The hard stones he thought must be bruising Agnelette s tender flesh, so fresh and sweet but a few days ago, and only yesterday still throbbing with life, and he made a movement as if to rush out on the assailants and snatch away the body, which dead, must surely belong to him, since, living, it had belonged to another. But the grief of the man overcame this instinct of the wild beast at bay; a shudder passed through the body hidden beneath its wolf skin; tears fell from the fierce blood-red eyes, and the unhappy man cried out: O God! take my life, I

never

How many times the word 'never' appears in the text?

wished for riches, and here I am in despair at having lost the humble roof of bracken under shelter of which I could sleep in peace without anxiety as to the morrow, without troubling myself about the rain or the wind beating against the branches of the giant oaks. I wished for position, and here I am, stoned and hunted down by the lowest peasants, whom formerly I despised. I asked for love, and the only woman who loved me and whom I loved became the wife of another, and she is at this moment cursing me as she lies dying, while I, notwithstanding all the power you have given me, can do nothing to help her! Leave off loving anybody but yourself, Thibault. Oh! yes, laugh at me, do! I am not laughing at you. But did you not cast envious eyes on other people s property before you had set eyes on me? Yes, for a wretched buck, of which there are hundreds just as good browsing in the forest! You thought your wishes were going to stop at the buck, Thibault; but wishes lead on to one another, as the night to the day, and the day to night. When you wished for the buck, you also wished for the silver dish on which it would be served; the silver dish led you on to wish for the servant who carries it and for the carver who cuts up its contents. Ambition is like the vault of heaven; it appears to be bounded by the horizon, but it covers the whole earth. You disdained Agnelette s innocence, and went after Madame Poulet s mill; if you had gained the mill, you would immediately have wanted the house of the Bailiff Magloire; and his house would have had no further attraction for you when once you had seen the Castle of Mont-Gobert. You are one in your envious disposition with the fallen Angel, your master and mine; only, as you were not clever enough to reap the benefit that might have accrued to you from your power of inflicting evil, it would perhaps have been more to your interest to continue to lead an honest life. Yes, indeed, replied the shoe-maker, I feel the truth of the proverb, Evil to him who evil wishes But, he continued, can I not become an honest man again? The wolf gave a mocking chuckle. My good fellow, the devil can drag a man to hell, he said, by a single hair. Have you ever counted how many of yours now belong to him? No. I cannot tell you that exactly either, but I know how many you have which are still your own. You have one left! You see it is long past the time for repentance. But if a man is lost when but one of his hairs belongs to the devil, said Thibault, why cannot God likewise save a man in virtue of a single hair? Well, try if that is so! And, besides, when I concluded that unhappy bargain with you, I did not understand that it was to be a compact of this kind. Oh, yes! I know all about the bad faith of you men! Was it no compact then to consent to give me your hairs, you stupid fool? Since men invented baptism, we do not know how to get hold of them, and so, in return for any concessions we make them, we are bound to insist on their relinquishing to us some part of their body on which we can lay hands. You gave us the hairs of your head; they are firmly rooted, as you have proved yourself and will not come away in our grasp.... No, no, Thibault, you have belonged to us ever since, standing on the threshold of the door that was once there, you cherished within you thoughts of deceit and violence. And so, cried Thibault passionately, rising and stamping his foot, and so I am lost as regards the next world without having enjoyed the pleasures of this! You can yet enjoy these. And how, I pray. By boldly following the path that you have struck by chance, and resolutely determining on a course of conduct which you have adopted as yet only in a halfhearted way; in short, by frankly owning yourself to be one of us. And how am I to do this? Take my place. And what then? You will then acquire my power, and you will have nothing left to wish for. If your power is so great, if it can give you all the riches that I long for, why do you give it up? Do not trouble yourself about me. The master for whom I shall have won a retainer will liberally reward me. And if I take your place, shall I also have to take your form? Yes, in the night-time; by day you will be a man again. The nights are long, dark, full of snares; I may be brought down by a bullet from a keeper, or be caught in a trap, and then good-bye riches, good-bye position and pleasure. Not so; for this skin that covers me is impenetrable by iron, lead or steel. As long as it protects your body, you will be not only invulnerable, but immortal; once a year, like all were-wolves, you will become a wolf again for four and twenty hours, and during that interval, you will be in danger of death like any other animal. I had just reached that dangerous time a year ago to-day, when we first met. Ah! said Thibault, that explains why you feared my Lord Baron s dogs. When we have dealings with men, we are forbidden to speak anything but the truth, and the whole truth; it is for them to accept or refuse. You have boasted to me of the power that I should acquire; tell me, now, in what that power will consist? It will be such that even the most powerful king will not be able to withstand it, since his power is limited by the human and the possible. Shall I be rich? So rich, that you will come in time to despise riches, since, by the mere force of your will, you will obtain not only what men can only acquire with gold and silver, but also all that superior beings get by their conjurations. Shall I be able to revenge myself on my enemies? You will have unlimited power over everything which is connected with evil. If I love a woman, will there again be a possibility of my losing her? As you will have dominion over all your fellow creatures, you will be able to do with them what you like. There will be no power to enable them to escape from the trammels of my will? Nothing, except death, which is stronger than all. And I shall only run the risk of death myself on one day out of the three hundred and sixty-five? On one day only; during the remaining days nothing can harm you, neither iron, lead, nor steel, neither water, nor fire. And there is no deceit, no trap to catch me, in your words? None, on my honour as a wolf! Good, said Thibault, then let it be so; a wolf for four and twenty hours, for the rest of the time the monarch of creation! What am I to do? I am ready. Pick a holly-leaf, tear it in three pieces with your teeth, and throw it away from you, as far as you can. Thibault did as he was commanded. Having torn the leaf in three pieces, he scattered them on the air, and although the night till then had been a peaceful one, there was immediately heard a loud peal of thunder, while a tempestuous whirlwind arose, which caught up the fragments and carried them whirling away with it. And now, brother Thibault, said the wolf, take my place, and good luck be with you! As was my case just a year ago, so you will have to become a wolf for four and twenty hours; you must endeavour to come out of the ordeal as happily as I did, thanks to you, and then you will see realised all that I have promised you. Meanwhile, I will pray the lord of the cloven hoof that he will protect you from the teeth of the Baron s hounds, for, by the devil himself, I take a genuine interest in you, friend Thibault. And then it seemed to Thibault that he saw the black wolf grow larger and taller, that it stood up on its hind legs and finally walked away in the form of a man, who made a sign to him with his hand as he disappeared. We say _it seemed to him_, for Thibault s ideas, for a second or two, became very indistinct. A feeling of torpor passed over him, paralysing his power of thought. When he came to himself, he was alone. His limbs were imprisoned in a new and unusual form; he had, in short, become in every respect the counterpart of the black wolf that a few minutes before had been speaking to him. One single white hair on his head alone shone in contrast to the remainder of the sombre coloured fur; this one white hair of the wolf was the one black hair which had remained to the man. Thibault had scarcely had time to recover himself when he fancied he heard a rustling among the bushes, and the sound of a low, muffled bark.... He thought of the Baron and his hounds, and trembled. Thus metamorphosed into the black wolf, he decided that he would not do what his predecessor had done, and wait till the dogs were upon him. It was probably a bloodhound he had heard, and he would get away before the hounds were uncoupled. He made off, striking straight ahead, as is the manner of wolves, and it was a profound satisfaction to him to find that in his new form he had tenfold his former strength and elasticity of limb. By the devil and his horns! the voice of the Lord of Vez was now heard to say to his new huntsman a few paces off, you hold the leash too slack, my lad; you have let the bloodhound give tongue, and we shall never head the wolf back now. I was in fault, I do not deny it, my Lord; but as I saw it go by last evening only a few yards from this spot, I never guessed that it would take up its quarters for the night in this part of the wood and that it was so close to us as all that. Are you sure it is the same one that has got away from us so often? May the bread I eat in your service choke me, my lord, if it is not the same black wolf that we were chasing last year when poor Marcotte was drowned. I should like finely to put the dogs on its track, said the Baron, with a sigh. My lord has but to give the order, and we will do so, but he will allow me to observe that we have still two good hours of darkness before us, time enough for every horse we have to break its legs. That may be, but if we wait for the day, l Eveill , the fellow will have had time to get ten leagues away. Ten leagues at least, said l Eveill , shaking his head. I have got this cursed black wolf on my brain, added the Baron, and I have such a longing to have its skin, that I feel sure I shall catch an illness if I do not get hold of it. Well then, my lord, let us have the dogs out without a moment s loss of time. You are right, l Eveill ; go and fetch the hounds. L Eveill went back to his horse, that he had tied to a tree outside the wood, and went off at a gallop, and in ten minutes time, which seemed like ten centuries to the Baron, he was back with the whole hunting train. The hounds were immediately uncoupled. Gently, gently, my lads! said the Lord of Vez, you forget you are not handling your old well-trained dogs; if you get excited with these raw recruits, they ll merely kick up a devil of a row, and be no more good than so many turnspits; let em get warmed up by degrees. And, indeed, the dogs were no sooner loose, than two or three got at once on to the scent of the were-wolf, and began to give cry, whereupon the others joined them. The whole pack started off on Thibault s track, at first quietly following up the scent, and only giving cry at long intervals, then more excitedly and of more accord, until they had so thoroughly imbibed the odour of the wolf ahead of them, and the scent had become so strong, that they tore along, baying furiously, and with unparalleled eagerness in the direction of the Yvors coppice. Well begun, is half done! cried the Baron. You look after the relays, l Eveill ; I want them ready whenever needed! I will encourage the dogs.... And you be on the alert, you others, he added, addressing himself to the younger keepers, we have more than one defeat to avenge, and if I lose this view halloo through the fault of anyone among you, by the devil and his horns! he shall be the dogs quarry in place of the wolf! After pronouncing these words of encouragement, the Baron put his horse to the gallop, and although it was still pitch dark and the ground was rough, he kept the animal going at top speed so as to come up with the hounds, which could be heard giving tongue in the low lands about Bourg-Fontaine. CHAPTER XXIV HUNTING DOWN THE WERE-WOLF Thibault had got well ahead of the dogs, thanks to the precaution he had taken of making good his escape at the first note of the bloodhound. For some time he heard no further sound of pursuit; but, all at once, like distant thunder, the baying of the hounds reached his ears, and he began to feel some anxiety. He had been trotting, but he now went on at greater speed, and did not pause till he had put a few more leagues between himself and his enemies. Then he stood still and took his bearings; he found himself on the heights at Montaigu. He bent his head and listened--the dogs still seemed a long way off, somewhere near the Tillet coppice. It required a wolf s ear to distinguish them so far off. Thibault went down the hill again, as if to meet the dogs; then, leaving Erneville to the left, he leaped into the little stream which rises there, waded down its course as far as Grimancourt, dashed into the woods of Lessart-l Abbesse, and finally gained the forest of Compi gne. He was somewhat reassured to find that, in spite of his three hours hard running, the steel-like muscles of his wolf legs were not in the least fatigued. He hesitated, however, to trust himself in a forest which was not so familiar to him as that of Villers-Cotterets. After another dash of a mile or so, he decided that by doubling boldly he would be most likely to put the dogs off the scent. He crossed at a gallop all the stretch of plain between Pierrefond and Mont-Gobert, took to the woods at the Champ Meutard, came out again at Vauvaudrand, regained the stream by the Sanc res timber floatage, and once more found himself in the forest near Long-Pont. Unfortunately for him, just as he reached the end of the Route du Pendu, he came across another pack of twenty dogs, which Monsieur de Montbreton s huntsman was bringing up as a relay, for the Baron had sent his neighbour news of the chase. Instantly the hounds were uncoupled by the huntsman as he caught sight of the wolf, for seeing that the latter kept its distance, he feared it would get too far ahead if he waited for the others to come up before loosing his dogs. And now began the struggle between the were-wolf and the dogs in very earnest. It was a wild chase, which the horses, in spite of their skilled riders, had great difficulty in following, a chase over plains, through woods, across heaths, pursued at a headlong pace. As the hunt flew by, it appeared and disappeared like a flash of lightning across a cloud, leaving behind a whirlwind of dust, and a sound of horns and cries which echo had hardly time to repeat. It rushed over hill and dale, through torrents and bogs, and over precipices, as if horses and dogs had been winged like Hippogriffs and Chimeras. The Baron had come up with his huntsmen, riding at their head, and almost riding on the tails of his dogs, his eye flashing, his nostrils dilated, exciting the pack with wild shouts and furious blasts, digging his spurs into his horse s sides whenever an obstacle of any kind caused it to hesitate for a single instant. The black wolf, on his side, still held on at the same rapid pace; although sorely shaken at hearing the fresh pack in full pursuit only a short way behind him, just as he had got back to the forest, he had not lost an inch of ground. As he retained to the full all his human consciousness, it seemed to him impossible, as he still ran on, that he should not escape in safety from this ordeal; he felt that it was not possible for him to die before he had taken vengeance for all the agony that others made him suffer, before he had known those pleasures that had been promised him, above all--for at this critical moment his thoughts kept on running on this--before he had gained Agnelette s love. At moments he was possessed by terror, at others by anger. He thought at times that he would turn and face this yelling pack of dogs, and, forgetting his present form, scatter them with stones and blows. Then, an instant after, feeling mad with rage, deafened by the death-knell the hounds were ringing in his ears, he fled, he leaped, he flew with the legs of a deer, with the wings of an eagle. But his efforts were in vain; he might run, leap, almost fly, the sounds of death still clung to him, and if for a moment they became more distant, it was only to hear them a moment after nearer and more threatening still. But still the instinct of self-preservation did not fail him; and still his strength was undiminished; only, if by ill luck, he were to come across other relays, he felt that it might give way. So he determined to take a bold course so as to out-distance the dogs, and to get back to his lairs, where he knew his ground and hoped to evade the dogs. He therefore doubled for the second time. He first ran back to Puiseux, then skirted past Viviers, regained the forest of Compi gne, made a dash into the forest of Largue, returned and crossed the Aisne at Attichy, and finally got back to the forest of Villers-Cotterets at the low lands of Argent. He trusted in this way to baffle the strategical plans of the Lord of Vez, who had, no doubt, posted his dogs at various likely points. Once back in his old quarters Thibault breathed more freely. He was now on the banks of the Ourcq between Norroy and Trouennes, where the river runs at the foot of deep rocks on either side; he leaped up on to a sharp-pointed crag overhanging the water, and from this high vantage ground he sprang into the waves below, then swam to a crevice at the base of the rock from which he had leapt, which was situated rather below the ordinary level of the water, and here, at the back of this cave, he waited. He had gained at least three miles upon the dogs; and yet, scarcely another ten minutes had elapsed, when the whole pack arrived and stormed the crest of the rock. Those who were leading, mad with excitement, did not see the gulf in front of them, or else, like their quarry they thought they would leap safely into it, for they plunged, and Thibault was splashed, far back as he was hidden, by the water that was scattered in every direction as they fell into it one by one. Less fortunate, however, and less vigorous than he was, they were unable to fight against the current, and after vainly battling with it, they were borne along out of sight before they had even got scent of the were-wolf s retreat. Overhead he could hear the tramping of the horses feet, the baying of the dogs that were still left, the cries of men, and above all these sounds, dominating the other voices, that of the Baron as he cursed and swore. When the last dog had fallen into the water, and been carried away like the others, he saw, thanks to a bend in the river, that the huntsmen were going down it, and persuaded that the Baron, whom he recognised at the head of his hunting-train, would only do this with the intention of coming up it again, he determined not to wait for this, and left his hiding-place. Now swimming, now leaping with agility from one rock to the other, at times wading through the water, he went up the river to the end of the Cr ne coppice. Certain that he had now made a considerable advance on his enemies, he resolved to get to one of the villages near and run in and out among the houses, feeling sure that they would not think of coming after him there. He thought of Pr ciamont; if any village was well known to him, it was that; and then, at Pr ciamont, he would be near Agnelette. He felt that this neighbourhood would put fresh vigour into him, and would bring him good fortune, and that the gentle image of the innocent girl would have some influence on his fate. So he started off in that direction. It was now six o clock in the evening; the hunt had lasted nearly fifteen hours, and wolf, dogs and huntsmen had covered fifty leagues at least. When, at last, after circling round by Manereux and Oigny, the black wolf reached the borders of the heath by the lane of Ham, the sun was already beginning to sink, and shedding a dazzling light over the flowery plain; the little white and pink flowers scented the breeze that played caressingly around them; the grasshopper was singing in its little house of moss, and the lark was soaring up towards heaven, saluting the eve with its song, as twelve hours before it had saluted the morn. The peaceful beauty of nature had a strange effect on Thibault. It seemed enigmatical to him that nature could be so smiling and beautiful, while anguish such as his was devouring his soul. He saw the flowers, and heard the insects and the birds, and he compared the quiet joy of this innocent world with the horrible pangs he was enduring, and asked himself, whether after all, notwithstanding all the new promises that had been made him by the devil s envoy, he had acted any more wisely in making this second compact than he had in making the first. He began to doubt whether he might not find himself deceived in the one as he had been in the other. As he went along a little footpath nearly hidden under the golden broom, he suddenly remembered that it was by this very path that he had taken Agnelette home on the first day of their acquaintance; the day, when inspired by his good angel, he had asked her to be his wife. The thought that, thanks to this new compact, he might be able to recover Agnelette s love, revived his spirits, which had been saddened and depressed by the sight of the universal happiness around him. He heard the church bells at Pr ciamont ringing in the valley below; its solemn, monotonous tones recalled the thought of his fellow men to the black wolf, and of all he had to fear from them. So he ran boldly on, across the fields, to the village, where he hoped to find a refuge in some empty building. As he was skirting the little stone wall of the village cemetery, he heard a sound of voices, approaching along the road he was in. He could not fail to meet whoever they might be who were coming towards him, if he himself went on; it was not safe to turn back, as he would have to cross some rising ground whence he might easily be seen; so there was nothing left for it but to jump over the wall of the cemetery, and with a bound he was on the other side. This graveyard as usual adjoined the church; it was uncared for, and overgrown with tall grass, while brambles and thorns grew rankly in places. The wolf made for the thickest of these bramble bushes; he found a sort of ruined vault, whence he could look out without being seen, and he crept under the branches and hid himself inside. A few yards away from him was a newly-dug grave; within the church could be heard the chanting of the priests, the more distinctly that the vault must at one time have communicated by a passage with the crypt. Presently the chanting ceased, and the black wolf, who did not feel quite at ease in the neighbourhood of a church, and thought that the road must now be clear, decided that it was time to start off again and to find a safer retreat than the one he had fled to in his haste. But he had scarcely got his nose outside the bramble bush when the gate of the cemetery opened, and he quickly retreated again to his hole, in great trepidation as to who might now be approaching. The first person he saw was a child dressed in a white alb and carrying a vessel of holy water; he was followed by a man in a surplice, bearing a silver cross, and after the latter came a priest, chanting the psalms for the dead. Behind these were four peasants carrying a bier covered with a white pall over which were scattered green branches and flowers, and beneath the sheet could be seen the outline of a coffin; a few villagers from Pr ciamont wound up this little procession. Although there was nothing unusual in such a sight as this, seeing that he was in a cemetery, and that the newly-dug grave must have prepared him for it, Thibault, nevertheless, felt strangely moved as he looked on. Although the slightest movement might betray his presence and bring destruction upon him, he anxiously watched every detail of the ceremony. The priest having blessed the newly-made grave, the peasants laid down their burden on an adjoining hillock. It is the custom in our country when a young girl, or young married woman, dies in the fullness of her youth and beauty, to carry her to the grave-yard in an open coffin, with only a pall over her, so that her friends may bid her a last farewell, her relations give her a last kiss. Then the coffin is nailed down, and all is over. An old woman, led by some kind hand, for she was apparently blind, went up to the coffin to give the dead one a last kiss; the peasants lifted the pall from the still face, and there lay Agnelette. A low groan escaped from Thibault s agonised breast, and mingled with the tears and sobs of those present. Agnelette, as she lay there so pale in death, wrapped in an ineffable calm, appeared more beautiful than when in life, beneath her wreath of forget-me-nots and daisies. As Thibault looked upon the poor dead girl, his heart seemed suddenly to melt within him. It was he, as he had truly realised, who had really killed her, and he experienced a genuine and overpowering sorrow, the more poignant since for the first time for many long months he forgot to think of himself, and thought only of the dead woman, now lost to him for ever. As he heard the blows of the hammer knocking the nails into the coffin, as he heard the earth and stones being shovelled into the grave and falling with a dull thud on to the body of the only woman he had ever loved, a feeling of giddiness came over him. The hard stones he thought must be bruising Agnelette s tender flesh, so fresh and sweet but a few days ago, and only yesterday still throbbing with life, and he made a movement as if to rush out on the assailants and snatch away the body, which dead, must surely belong to him, since, living, it had belonged to another. But the grief of the man overcame this instinct of the wild beast at bay; a shudder passed through the body hidden beneath its wolf skin; tears fell from the fierce blood-red eyes, and the unhappy man cried out: O God! take my life, I

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wished for riches, and here I am in despair at having lost the humble roof of bracken under shelter of which I could sleep in peace without anxiety as to the morrow, without troubling myself about the rain or the wind beating against the branches of the giant oaks. I wished for position, and here I am, stoned and hunted down by the lowest peasants, whom formerly I despised. I asked for love, and the only woman who loved me and whom I loved became the wife of another, and she is at this moment cursing me as she lies dying, while I, notwithstanding all the power you have given me, can do nothing to help her! Leave off loving anybody but yourself, Thibault. Oh! yes, laugh at me, do! I am not laughing at you. But did you not cast envious eyes on other people s property before you had set eyes on me? Yes, for a wretched buck, of which there are hundreds just as good browsing in the forest! You thought your wishes were going to stop at the buck, Thibault; but wishes lead on to one another, as the night to the day, and the day to night. When you wished for the buck, you also wished for the silver dish on which it would be served; the silver dish led you on to wish for the servant who carries it and for the carver who cuts up its contents. Ambition is like the vault of heaven; it appears to be bounded by the horizon, but it covers the whole earth. You disdained Agnelette s innocence, and went after Madame Poulet s mill; if you had gained the mill, you would immediately have wanted the house of the Bailiff Magloire; and his house would have had no further attraction for you when once you had seen the Castle of Mont-Gobert. You are one in your envious disposition with the fallen Angel, your master and mine; only, as you were not clever enough to reap the benefit that might have accrued to you from your power of inflicting evil, it would perhaps have been more to your interest to continue to lead an honest life. Yes, indeed, replied the shoe-maker, I feel the truth of the proverb, Evil to him who evil wishes But, he continued, can I not become an honest man again? The wolf gave a mocking chuckle. My good fellow, the devil can drag a man to hell, he said, by a single hair. Have you ever counted how many of yours now belong to him? No. I cannot tell you that exactly either, but I know how many you have which are still your own. You have one left! You see it is long past the time for repentance. But if a man is lost when but one of his hairs belongs to the devil, said Thibault, why cannot God likewise save a man in virtue of a single hair? Well, try if that is so! And, besides, when I concluded that unhappy bargain with you, I did not understand that it was to be a compact of this kind. Oh, yes! I know all about the bad faith of you men! Was it no compact then to consent to give me your hairs, you stupid fool? Since men invented baptism, we do not know how to get hold of them, and so, in return for any concessions we make them, we are bound to insist on their relinquishing to us some part of their body on which we can lay hands. You gave us the hairs of your head; they are firmly rooted, as you have proved yourself and will not come away in our grasp.... No, no, Thibault, you have belonged to us ever since, standing on the threshold of the door that was once there, you cherished within you thoughts of deceit and violence. And so, cried Thibault passionately, rising and stamping his foot, and so I am lost as regards the next world without having enjoyed the pleasures of this! You can yet enjoy these. And how, I pray. By boldly following the path that you have struck by chance, and resolutely determining on a course of conduct which you have adopted as yet only in a halfhearted way; in short, by frankly owning yourself to be one of us. And how am I to do this? Take my place. And what then? You will then acquire my power, and you will have nothing left to wish for. If your power is so great, if it can give you all the riches that I long for, why do you give it up? Do not trouble yourself about me. The master for whom I shall have won a retainer will liberally reward me. And if I take your place, shall I also have to take your form? Yes, in the night-time; by day you will be a man again. The nights are long, dark, full of snares; I may be brought down by a bullet from a keeper, or be caught in a trap, and then good-bye riches, good-bye position and pleasure. Not so; for this skin that covers me is impenetrable by iron, lead or steel. As long as it protects your body, you will be not only invulnerable, but immortal; once a year, like all were-wolves, you will become a wolf again for four and twenty hours, and during that interval, you will be in danger of death like any other animal. I had just reached that dangerous time a year ago to-day, when we first met. Ah! said Thibault, that explains why you feared my Lord Baron s dogs. When we have dealings with men, we are forbidden to speak anything but the truth, and the whole truth; it is for them to accept or refuse. You have boasted to me of the power that I should acquire; tell me, now, in what that power will consist? It will be such that even the most powerful king will not be able to withstand it, since his power is limited by the human and the possible. Shall I be rich? So rich, that you will come in time to despise riches, since, by the mere force of your will, you will obtain not only what men can only acquire with gold and silver, but also all that superior beings get by their conjurations. Shall I be able to revenge myself on my enemies? You will have unlimited power over everything which is connected with evil. If I love a woman, will there again be a possibility of my losing her? As you will have dominion over all your fellow creatures, you will be able to do with them what you like. There will be no power to enable them to escape from the trammels of my will? Nothing, except death, which is stronger than all. And I shall only run the risk of death myself on one day out of the three hundred and sixty-five? On one day only; during the remaining days nothing can harm you, neither iron, lead, nor steel, neither water, nor fire. And there is no deceit, no trap to catch me, in your words? None, on my honour as a wolf! Good, said Thibault, then let it be so; a wolf for four and twenty hours, for the rest of the time the monarch of creation! What am I to do? I am ready. Pick a holly-leaf, tear it in three pieces with your teeth, and throw it away from you, as far as you can. Thibault did as he was commanded. Having torn the leaf in three pieces, he scattered them on the air, and although the night till then had been a peaceful one, there was immediately heard a loud peal of thunder, while a tempestuous whirlwind arose, which caught up the fragments and carried them whirling away with it. And now, brother Thibault, said the wolf, take my place, and good luck be with you! As was my case just a year ago, so you will have to become a wolf for four and twenty hours; you must endeavour to come out of the ordeal as happily as I did, thanks to you, and then you will see realised all that I have promised you. Meanwhile, I will pray the lord of the cloven hoof that he will protect you from the teeth of the Baron s hounds, for, by the devil himself, I take a genuine interest in you, friend Thibault. And then it seemed to Thibault that he saw the black wolf grow larger and taller, that it stood up on its hind legs and finally walked away in the form of a man, who made a sign to him with his hand as he disappeared. We say _it seemed to him_, for Thibault s ideas, for a second or two, became very indistinct. A feeling of torpor passed over him, paralysing his power of thought. When he came to himself, he was alone. His limbs were imprisoned in a new and unusual form; he had, in short, become in every respect the counterpart of the black wolf that a few minutes before had been speaking to him. One single white hair on his head alone shone in contrast to the remainder of the sombre coloured fur; this one white hair of the wolf was the one black hair which had remained to the man. Thibault had scarcely had time to recover himself when he fancied he heard a rustling among the bushes, and the sound of a low, muffled bark.... He thought of the Baron and his hounds, and trembled. Thus metamorphosed into the black wolf, he decided that he would not do what his predecessor had done, and wait till the dogs were upon him. It was probably a bloodhound he had heard, and he would get away before the hounds were uncoupled. He made off, striking straight ahead, as is the manner of wolves, and it was a profound satisfaction to him to find that in his new form he had tenfold his former strength and elasticity of limb. By the devil and his horns! the voice of the Lord of Vez was now heard to say to his new huntsman a few paces off, you hold the leash too slack, my lad; you have let the bloodhound give tongue, and we shall never head the wolf back now. I was in fault, I do not deny it, my Lord; but as I saw it go by last evening only a few yards from this spot, I never guessed that it would take up its quarters for the night in this part of the wood and that it was so close to us as all that. Are you sure it is the same one that has got away from us so often? May the bread I eat in your service choke me, my lord, if it is not the same black wolf that we were chasing last year when poor Marcotte was drowned. I should like finely to put the dogs on its track, said the Baron, with a sigh. My lord has but to give the order, and we will do so, but he will allow me to observe that we have still two good hours of darkness before us, time enough for every horse we have to break its legs. That may be, but if we wait for the day, l Eveill , the fellow will have had time to get ten leagues away. Ten leagues at least, said l Eveill , shaking his head. I have got this cursed black wolf on my brain, added the Baron, and I have such a longing to have its skin, that I feel sure I shall catch an illness if I do not get hold of it. Well then, my lord, let us have the dogs out without a moment s loss of time. You are right, l Eveill ; go and fetch the hounds. L Eveill went back to his horse, that he had tied to a tree outside the wood, and went off at a gallop, and in ten minutes time, which seemed like ten centuries to the Baron, he was back with the whole hunting train. The hounds were immediately uncoupled. Gently, gently, my lads! said the Lord of Vez, you forget you are not handling your old well-trained dogs; if you get excited with these raw recruits, they ll merely kick up a devil of a row, and be no more good than so many turnspits; let em get warmed up by degrees. And, indeed, the dogs were no sooner loose, than two or three got at once on to the scent of the were-wolf, and began to give cry, whereupon the others joined them. The whole pack started off on Thibault s track, at first quietly following up the scent, and only giving cry at long intervals, then more excitedly and of more accord, until they had so thoroughly imbibed the odour of the wolf ahead of them, and the scent had become so strong, that they tore along, baying furiously, and with unparalleled eagerness in the direction of the Yvors coppice. Well begun, is half done! cried the Baron. You look after the relays, l Eveill ; I want them ready whenever needed! I will encourage the dogs.... And you be on the alert, you others, he added, addressing himself to the younger keepers, we have more than one defeat to avenge, and if I lose this view halloo through the fault of anyone among you, by the devil and his horns! he shall be the dogs quarry in place of the wolf! After pronouncing these words of encouragement, the Baron put his horse to the gallop, and although it was still pitch dark and the ground was rough, he kept the animal going at top speed so as to come up with the hounds, which could be heard giving tongue in the low lands about Bourg-Fontaine. CHAPTER XXIV HUNTING DOWN THE WERE-WOLF Thibault had got well ahead of the dogs, thanks to the precaution he had taken of making good his escape at the first note of the bloodhound. For some time he heard no further sound of pursuit; but, all at once, like distant thunder, the baying of the hounds reached his ears, and he began to feel some anxiety. He had been trotting, but he now went on at greater speed, and did not pause till he had put a few more leagues between himself and his enemies. Then he stood still and took his bearings; he found himself on the heights at Montaigu. He bent his head and listened--the dogs still seemed a long way off, somewhere near the Tillet coppice. It required a wolf s ear to distinguish them so far off. Thibault went down the hill again, as if to meet the dogs; then, leaving Erneville to the left, he leaped into the little stream which rises there, waded down its course as far as Grimancourt, dashed into the woods of Lessart-l Abbesse, and finally gained the forest of Compi gne. He was somewhat reassured to find that, in spite of his three hours hard running, the steel-like muscles of his wolf legs were not in the least fatigued. He hesitated, however, to trust himself in a forest which was not so familiar to him as that of Villers-Cotterets. After another dash of a mile or so, he decided that by doubling boldly he would be most likely to put the dogs off the scent. He crossed at a gallop all the stretch of plain between Pierrefond and Mont-Gobert, took to the woods at the Champ Meutard, came out again at Vauvaudrand, regained the stream by the Sanc res timber floatage, and once more found himself in the forest near Long-Pont. Unfortunately for him, just as he reached the end of the Route du Pendu, he came across another pack of twenty dogs, which Monsieur de Montbreton s huntsman was bringing up as a relay, for the Baron had sent his neighbour news of the chase. Instantly the hounds were uncoupled by the huntsman as he caught sight of the wolf, for seeing that the latter kept its distance, he feared it would get too far ahead if he waited for the others to come up before loosing his dogs. And now began the struggle between the were-wolf and the dogs in very earnest. It was a wild chase, which the horses, in spite of their skilled riders, had great difficulty in following, a chase over plains, through woods, across heaths, pursued at a headlong pace. As the hunt flew by, it appeared and disappeared like a flash of lightning across a cloud, leaving behind a whirlwind of dust, and a sound of horns and cries which echo had hardly time to repeat. It rushed over hill and dale, through torrents and bogs, and over precipices, as if horses and dogs had been winged like Hippogriffs and Chimeras. The Baron had come up with his huntsmen, riding at their head, and almost riding on the tails of his dogs, his eye flashing, his nostrils dilated, exciting the pack with wild shouts and furious blasts, digging his spurs into his horse s sides whenever an obstacle of any kind caused it to hesitate for a single instant. The black wolf, on his side, still held on at the same rapid pace; although sorely shaken at hearing the fresh pack in full pursuit only a short way behind him, just as he had got back to the forest, he had not lost an inch of ground. As he retained to the full all his human consciousness, it seemed to him impossible, as he still ran on, that he should not escape in safety from this ordeal; he felt that it was not possible for him to die before he had taken vengeance for all the agony that others made him suffer, before he had known those pleasures that had been promised him, above all--for at this critical moment his thoughts kept on running on this--before he had gained Agnelette s love. At moments he was possessed by terror, at others by anger. He thought at times that he would turn and face this yelling pack of dogs, and, forgetting his present form, scatter them with stones and blows. Then, an instant after, feeling mad with rage, deafened by the death-knell the hounds were ringing in his ears, he fled, he leaped, he flew with the legs of a deer, with the wings of an eagle. But his efforts were in vain; he might run, leap, almost fly, the sounds of death still clung to him, and if for a moment they became more distant, it was only to hear them a moment after nearer and more threatening still. But still the instinct of self-preservation did not fail him; and still his strength was undiminished; only, if by ill luck, he were to come across other relays, he felt that it might give way. So he determined to take a bold course so as to out-distance the dogs, and to get back to his lairs, where he knew his ground and hoped to evade the dogs. He therefore doubled for the second time. He first ran back to Puiseux, then skirted past Viviers, regained the forest of Compi gne, made a dash into the forest of Largue, returned and crossed the Aisne at Attichy, and finally got back to the forest of Villers-Cotterets at the low lands of Argent. He trusted in this way to baffle the strategical plans of the Lord of Vez, who had, no doubt, posted his dogs at various likely points. Once back in his old quarters Thibault breathed more freely. He was now on the banks of the Ourcq between Norroy and Trouennes, where the river runs at the foot of deep rocks on either side; he leaped up on to a sharp-pointed crag overhanging the water, and from this high vantage ground he sprang into the waves below, then swam to a crevice at the base of the rock from which he had leapt, which was situated rather below the ordinary level of the water, and here, at the back of this cave, he waited. He had gained at least three miles upon the dogs; and yet, scarcely another ten minutes had elapsed, when the whole pack arrived and stormed the crest of the rock. Those who were leading, mad with excitement, did not see the gulf in front of them, or else, like their quarry they thought they would leap safely into it, for they plunged, and Thibault was splashed, far back as he was hidden, by the water that was scattered in every direction as they fell into it one by one. Less fortunate, however, and less vigorous than he was, they were unable to fight against the current, and after vainly battling with it, they were borne along out of sight before they had even got scent of the were-wolf s retreat. Overhead he could hear the tramping of the horses feet, the baying of the dogs that were still left, the cries of men, and above all these sounds, dominating the other voices, that of the Baron as he cursed and swore. When the last dog had fallen into the water, and been carried away like the others, he saw, thanks to a bend in the river, that the huntsmen were going down it, and persuaded that the Baron, whom he recognised at the head of his hunting-train, would only do this with the intention of coming up it again, he determined not to wait for this, and left his hiding-place. Now swimming, now leaping with agility from one rock to the other, at times wading through the water, he went up the river to the end of the Cr ne coppice. Certain that he had now made a considerable advance on his enemies, he resolved to get to one of the villages near and run in and out among the houses, feeling sure that they would not think of coming after him there. He thought of Pr ciamont; if any village was well known to him, it was that; and then, at Pr ciamont, he would be near Agnelette. He felt that this neighbourhood would put fresh vigour into him, and would bring him good fortune, and that the gentle image of the innocent girl would have some influence on his fate. So he started off in that direction. It was now six o clock in the evening; the hunt had lasted nearly fifteen hours, and wolf, dogs and huntsmen had covered fifty leagues at least. When, at last, after circling round by Manereux and Oigny, the black wolf reached the borders of the heath by the lane of Ham, the sun was already beginning to sink, and shedding a dazzling light over the flowery plain; the little white and pink flowers scented the breeze that played caressingly around them; the grasshopper was singing in its little house of moss, and the lark was soaring up towards heaven, saluting the eve with its song, as twelve hours before it had saluted the morn. The peaceful beauty of nature had a strange effect on Thibault. It seemed enigmatical to him that nature could be so smiling and beautiful, while anguish such as his was devouring his soul. He saw the flowers, and heard the insects and the birds, and he compared the quiet joy of this innocent world with the horrible pangs he was enduring, and asked himself, whether after all, notwithstanding all the new promises that had been made him by the devil s envoy, he had acted any more wisely in making this second compact than he had in making the first. He began to doubt whether he might not find himself deceived in the one as he had been in the other. As he went along a little footpath nearly hidden under the golden broom, he suddenly remembered that it was by this very path that he had taken Agnelette home on the first day of their acquaintance; the day, when inspired by his good angel, he had asked her to be his wife. The thought that, thanks to this new compact, he might be able to recover Agnelette s love, revived his spirits, which had been saddened and depressed by the sight of the universal happiness around him. He heard the church bells at Pr ciamont ringing in the valley below; its solemn, monotonous tones recalled the thought of his fellow men to the black wolf, and of all he had to fear from them. So he ran boldly on, across the fields, to the village, where he hoped to find a refuge in some empty building. As he was skirting the little stone wall of the village cemetery, he heard a sound of voices, approaching along the road he was in. He could not fail to meet whoever they might be who were coming towards him, if he himself went on; it was not safe to turn back, as he would have to cross some rising ground whence he might easily be seen; so there was nothing left for it but to jump over the wall of the cemetery, and with a bound he was on the other side. This graveyard as usual adjoined the church; it was uncared for, and overgrown with tall grass, while brambles and thorns grew rankly in places. The wolf made for the thickest of these bramble bushes; he found a sort of ruined vault, whence he could look out without being seen, and he crept under the branches and hid himself inside. A few yards away from him was a newly-dug grave; within the church could be heard the chanting of the priests, the more distinctly that the vault must at one time have communicated by a passage with the crypt. Presently the chanting ceased, and the black wolf, who did not feel quite at ease in the neighbourhood of a church, and thought that the road must now be clear, decided that it was time to start off again and to find a safer retreat than the one he had fled to in his haste. But he had scarcely got his nose outside the bramble bush when the gate of the cemetery opened, and he quickly retreated again to his hole, in great trepidation as to who might now be approaching. The first person he saw was a child dressed in a white alb and carrying a vessel of holy water; he was followed by a man in a surplice, bearing a silver cross, and after the latter came a priest, chanting the psalms for the dead. Behind these were four peasants carrying a bier covered with a white pall over which were scattered green branches and flowers, and beneath the sheet could be seen the outline of a coffin; a few villagers from Pr ciamont wound up this little procession. Although there was nothing unusual in such a sight as this, seeing that he was in a cemetery, and that the newly-dug grave must have prepared him for it, Thibault, nevertheless, felt strangely moved as he looked on. Although the slightest movement might betray his presence and bring destruction upon him, he anxiously watched every detail of the ceremony. The priest having blessed the newly-made grave, the peasants laid down their burden on an adjoining hillock. It is the custom in our country when a young girl, or young married woman, dies in the fullness of her youth and beauty, to carry her to the grave-yard in an open coffin, with only a pall over her, so that her friends may bid her a last farewell, her relations give her a last kiss. Then the coffin is nailed down, and all is over. An old woman, led by some kind hand, for she was apparently blind, went up to the coffin to give the dead one a last kiss; the peasants lifted the pall from the still face, and there lay Agnelette. A low groan escaped from Thibault s agonised breast, and mingled with the tears and sobs of those present. Agnelette, as she lay there so pale in death, wrapped in an ineffable calm, appeared more beautiful than when in life, beneath her wreath of forget-me-nots and daisies. As Thibault looked upon the poor dead girl, his heart seemed suddenly to melt within him. It was he, as he had truly realised, who had really killed her, and he experienced a genuine and overpowering sorrow, the more poignant since for the first time for many long months he forgot to think of himself, and thought only of the dead woman, now lost to him for ever. As he heard the blows of the hammer knocking the nails into the coffin, as he heard the earth and stones being shovelled into the grave and falling with a dull thud on to the body of the only woman he had ever loved, a feeling of giddiness came over him. The hard stones he thought must be bruising Agnelette s tender flesh, so fresh and sweet but a few days ago, and only yesterday still throbbing with life, and he made a movement as if to rush out on the assailants and snatch away the body, which dead, must surely belong to him, since, living, it had belonged to another. But the grief of the man overcame this instinct of the wild beast at bay; a shudder passed through the body hidden beneath its wolf skin; tears fell from the fierce blood-red eyes, and the unhappy man cried out: O God! take my life, I

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wished for riches, and here I am in despair at having lost the humble roof of bracken under shelter of which I could sleep in peace without anxiety as to the morrow, without troubling myself about the rain or the wind beating against the branches of the giant oaks. I wished for position, and here I am, stoned and hunted down by the lowest peasants, whom formerly I despised. I asked for love, and the only woman who loved me and whom I loved became the wife of another, and she is at this moment cursing me as she lies dying, while I, notwithstanding all the power you have given me, can do nothing to help her! Leave off loving anybody but yourself, Thibault. Oh! yes, laugh at me, do! I am not laughing at you. But did you not cast envious eyes on other people s property before you had set eyes on me? Yes, for a wretched buck, of which there are hundreds just as good browsing in the forest! You thought your wishes were going to stop at the buck, Thibault; but wishes lead on to one another, as the night to the day, and the day to night. When you wished for the buck, you also wished for the silver dish on which it would be served; the silver dish led you on to wish for the servant who carries it and for the carver who cuts up its contents. Ambition is like the vault of heaven; it appears to be bounded by the horizon, but it covers the whole earth. You disdained Agnelette s innocence, and went after Madame Poulet s mill; if you had gained the mill, you would immediately have wanted the house of the Bailiff Magloire; and his house would have had no further attraction for you when once you had seen the Castle of Mont-Gobert. You are one in your envious disposition with the fallen Angel, your master and mine; only, as you were not clever enough to reap the benefit that might have accrued to you from your power of inflicting evil, it would perhaps have been more to your interest to continue to lead an honest life. Yes, indeed, replied the shoe-maker, I feel the truth of the proverb, Evil to him who evil wishes But, he continued, can I not become an honest man again? The wolf gave a mocking chuckle. My good fellow, the devil can drag a man to hell, he said, by a single hair. Have you ever counted how many of yours now belong to him? No. I cannot tell you that exactly either, but I know how many you have which are still your own. You have one left! You see it is long past the time for repentance. But if a man is lost when but one of his hairs belongs to the devil, said Thibault, why cannot God likewise save a man in virtue of a single hair? Well, try if that is so! And, besides, when I concluded that unhappy bargain with you, I did not understand that it was to be a compact of this kind. Oh, yes! I know all about the bad faith of you men! Was it no compact then to consent to give me your hairs, you stupid fool? Since men invented baptism, we do not know how to get hold of them, and so, in return for any concessions we make them, we are bound to insist on their relinquishing to us some part of their body on which we can lay hands. You gave us the hairs of your head; they are firmly rooted, as you have proved yourself and will not come away in our grasp.... No, no, Thibault, you have belonged to us ever since, standing on the threshold of the door that was once there, you cherished within you thoughts of deceit and violence. And so, cried Thibault passionately, rising and stamping his foot, and so I am lost as regards the next world without having enjoyed the pleasures of this! You can yet enjoy these. And how, I pray. By boldly following the path that you have struck by chance, and resolutely determining on a course of conduct which you have adopted as yet only in a halfhearted way; in short, by frankly owning yourself to be one of us. And how am I to do this? Take my place. And what then? You will then acquire my power, and you will have nothing left to wish for. If your power is so great, if it can give you all the riches that I long for, why do you give it up? Do not trouble yourself about me. The master for whom I shall have won a retainer will liberally reward me. And if I take your place, shall I also have to take your form? Yes, in the night-time; by day you will be a man again. The nights are long, dark, full of snares; I may be brought down by a bullet from a keeper, or be caught in a trap, and then good-bye riches, good-bye position and pleasure. Not so; for this skin that covers me is impenetrable by iron, lead or steel. As long as it protects your body, you will be not only invulnerable, but immortal; once a year, like all were-wolves, you will become a wolf again for four and twenty hours, and during that interval, you will be in danger of death like any other animal. I had just reached that dangerous time a year ago to-day, when we first met. Ah! said Thibault, that explains why you feared my Lord Baron s dogs. When we have dealings with men, we are forbidden to speak anything but the truth, and the whole truth; it is for them to accept or refuse. You have boasted to me of the power that I should acquire; tell me, now, in what that power will consist? It will be such that even the most powerful king will not be able to withstand it, since his power is limited by the human and the possible. Shall I be rich? So rich, that you will come in time to despise riches, since, by the mere force of your will, you will obtain not only what men can only acquire with gold and silver, but also all that superior beings get by their conjurations. Shall I be able to revenge myself on my enemies? You will have unlimited power over everything which is connected with evil. If I love a woman, will there again be a possibility of my losing her? As you will have dominion over all your fellow creatures, you will be able to do with them what you like. There will be no power to enable them to escape from the trammels of my will? Nothing, except death, which is stronger than all. And I shall only run the risk of death myself on one day out of the three hundred and sixty-five? On one day only; during the remaining days nothing can harm you, neither iron, lead, nor steel, neither water, nor fire. And there is no deceit, no trap to catch me, in your words? None, on my honour as a wolf! Good, said Thibault, then let it be so; a wolf for four and twenty hours, for the rest of the time the monarch of creation! What am I to do? I am ready. Pick a holly-leaf, tear it in three pieces with your teeth, and throw it away from you, as far as you can. Thibault did as he was commanded. Having torn the leaf in three pieces, he scattered them on the air, and although the night till then had been a peaceful one, there was immediately heard a loud peal of thunder, while a tempestuous whirlwind arose, which caught up the fragments and carried them whirling away with it. And now, brother Thibault, said the wolf, take my place, and good luck be with you! As was my case just a year ago, so you will have to become a wolf for four and twenty hours; you must endeavour to come out of the ordeal as happily as I did, thanks to you, and then you will see realised all that I have promised you. Meanwhile, I will pray the lord of the cloven hoof that he will protect you from the teeth of the Baron s hounds, for, by the devil himself, I take a genuine interest in you, friend Thibault. And then it seemed to Thibault that he saw the black wolf grow larger and taller, that it stood up on its hind legs and finally walked away in the form of a man, who made a sign to him with his hand as he disappeared. We say _it seemed to him_, for Thibault s ideas, for a second or two, became very indistinct. A feeling of torpor passed over him, paralysing his power of thought. When he came to himself, he was alone. His limbs were imprisoned in a new and unusual form; he had, in short, become in every respect the counterpart of the black wolf that a few minutes before had been speaking to him. One single white hair on his head alone shone in contrast to the remainder of the sombre coloured fur; this one white hair of the wolf was the one black hair which had remained to the man. Thibault had scarcely had time to recover himself when he fancied he heard a rustling among the bushes, and the sound of a low, muffled bark.... He thought of the Baron and his hounds, and trembled. Thus metamorphosed into the black wolf, he decided that he would not do what his predecessor had done, and wait till the dogs were upon him. It was probably a bloodhound he had heard, and he would get away before the hounds were uncoupled. He made off, striking straight ahead, as is the manner of wolves, and it was a profound satisfaction to him to find that in his new form he had tenfold his former strength and elasticity of limb. By the devil and his horns! the voice of the Lord of Vez was now heard to say to his new huntsman a few paces off, you hold the leash too slack, my lad; you have let the bloodhound give tongue, and we shall never head the wolf back now. I was in fault, I do not deny it, my Lord; but as I saw it go by last evening only a few yards from this spot, I never guessed that it would take up its quarters for the night in this part of the wood and that it was so close to us as all that. Are you sure it is the same one that has got away from us so often? May the bread I eat in your service choke me, my lord, if it is not the same black wolf that we were chasing last year when poor Marcotte was drowned. I should like finely to put the dogs on its track, said the Baron, with a sigh. My lord has but to give the order, and we will do so, but he will allow me to observe that we have still two good hours of darkness before us, time enough for every horse we have to break its legs. That may be, but if we wait for the day, l Eveill , the fellow will have had time to get ten leagues away. Ten leagues at least, said l Eveill , shaking his head. I have got this cursed black wolf on my brain, added the Baron, and I have such a longing to have its skin, that I feel sure I shall catch an illness if I do not get hold of it. Well then, my lord, let us have the dogs out without a moment s loss of time. You are right, l Eveill ; go and fetch the hounds. L Eveill went back to his horse, that he had tied to a tree outside the wood, and went off at a gallop, and in ten minutes time, which seemed like ten centuries to the Baron, he was back with the whole hunting train. The hounds were immediately uncoupled. Gently, gently, my lads! said the Lord of Vez, you forget you are not handling your old well-trained dogs; if you get excited with these raw recruits, they ll merely kick up a devil of a row, and be no more good than so many turnspits; let em get warmed up by degrees. And, indeed, the dogs were no sooner loose, than two or three got at once on to the scent of the were-wolf, and began to give cry, whereupon the others joined them. The whole pack started off on Thibault s track, at first quietly following up the scent, and only giving cry at long intervals, then more excitedly and of more accord, until they had so thoroughly imbibed the odour of the wolf ahead of them, and the scent had become so strong, that they tore along, baying furiously, and with unparalleled eagerness in the direction of the Yvors coppice. Well begun, is half done! cried the Baron. You look after the relays, l Eveill ; I want them ready whenever needed! I will encourage the dogs.... And you be on the alert, you others, he added, addressing himself to the younger keepers, we have more than one defeat to avenge, and if I lose this view halloo through the fault of anyone among you, by the devil and his horns! he shall be the dogs quarry in place of the wolf! After pronouncing these words of encouragement, the Baron put his horse to the gallop, and although it was still pitch dark and the ground was rough, he kept the animal going at top speed so as to come up with the hounds, which could be heard giving tongue in the low lands about Bourg-Fontaine. CHAPTER XXIV HUNTING DOWN THE WERE-WOLF Thibault had got well ahead of the dogs, thanks to the precaution he had taken of making good his escape at the first note of the bloodhound. For some time he heard no further sound of pursuit; but, all at once, like distant thunder, the baying of the hounds reached his ears, and he began to feel some anxiety. He had been trotting, but he now went on at greater speed, and did not pause till he had put a few more leagues between himself and his enemies. Then he stood still and took his bearings; he found himself on the heights at Montaigu. He bent his head and listened--the dogs still seemed a long way off, somewhere near the Tillet coppice. It required a wolf s ear to distinguish them so far off. Thibault went down the hill again, as if to meet the dogs; then, leaving Erneville to the left, he leaped into the little stream which rises there, waded down its course as far as Grimancourt, dashed into the woods of Lessart-l Abbesse, and finally gained the forest of Compi gne. He was somewhat reassured to find that, in spite of his three hours hard running, the steel-like muscles of his wolf legs were not in the least fatigued. He hesitated, however, to trust himself in a forest which was not so familiar to him as that of Villers-Cotterets. After another dash of a mile or so, he decided that by doubling boldly he would be most likely to put the dogs off the scent. He crossed at a gallop all the stretch of plain between Pierrefond and Mont-Gobert, took to the woods at the Champ Meutard, came out again at Vauvaudrand, regained the stream by the Sanc res timber floatage, and once more found himself in the forest near Long-Pont. Unfortunately for him, just as he reached the end of the Route du Pendu, he came across another pack of twenty dogs, which Monsieur de Montbreton s huntsman was bringing up as a relay, for the Baron had sent his neighbour news of the chase. Instantly the hounds were uncoupled by the huntsman as he caught sight of the wolf, for seeing that the latter kept its distance, he feared it would get too far ahead if he waited for the others to come up before loosing his dogs. And now began the struggle between the were-wolf and the dogs in very earnest. It was a wild chase, which the horses, in spite of their skilled riders, had great difficulty in following, a chase over plains, through woods, across heaths, pursued at a headlong pace. As the hunt flew by, it appeared and disappeared like a flash of lightning across a cloud, leaving behind a whirlwind of dust, and a sound of horns and cries which echo had hardly time to repeat. It rushed over hill and dale, through torrents and bogs, and over precipices, as if horses and dogs had been winged like Hippogriffs and Chimeras. The Baron had come up with his huntsmen, riding at their head, and almost riding on the tails of his dogs, his eye flashing, his nostrils dilated, exciting the pack with wild shouts and furious blasts, digging his spurs into his horse s sides whenever an obstacle of any kind caused it to hesitate for a single instant. The black wolf, on his side, still held on at the same rapid pace; although sorely shaken at hearing the fresh pack in full pursuit only a short way behind him, just as he had got back to the forest, he had not lost an inch of ground. As he retained to the full all his human consciousness, it seemed to him impossible, as he still ran on, that he should not escape in safety from this ordeal; he felt that it was not possible for him to die before he had taken vengeance for all the agony that others made him suffer, before he had known those pleasures that had been promised him, above all--for at this critical moment his thoughts kept on running on this--before he had gained Agnelette s love. At moments he was possessed by terror, at others by anger. He thought at times that he would turn and face this yelling pack of dogs, and, forgetting his present form, scatter them with stones and blows. Then, an instant after, feeling mad with rage, deafened by the death-knell the hounds were ringing in his ears, he fled, he leaped, he flew with the legs of a deer, with the wings of an eagle. But his efforts were in vain; he might run, leap, almost fly, the sounds of death still clung to him, and if for a moment they became more distant, it was only to hear them a moment after nearer and more threatening still. But still the instinct of self-preservation did not fail him; and still his strength was undiminished; only, if by ill luck, he were to come across other relays, he felt that it might give way. So he determined to take a bold course so as to out-distance the dogs, and to get back to his lairs, where he knew his ground and hoped to evade the dogs. He therefore doubled for the second time. He first ran back to Puiseux, then skirted past Viviers, regained the forest of Compi gne, made a dash into the forest of Largue, returned and crossed the Aisne at Attichy, and finally got back to the forest of Villers-Cotterets at the low lands of Argent. He trusted in this way to baffle the strategical plans of the Lord of Vez, who had, no doubt, posted his dogs at various likely points. Once back in his old quarters Thibault breathed more freely. He was now on the banks of the Ourcq between Norroy and Trouennes, where the river runs at the foot of deep rocks on either side; he leaped up on to a sharp-pointed crag overhanging the water, and from this high vantage ground he sprang into the waves below, then swam to a crevice at the base of the rock from which he had leapt, which was situated rather below the ordinary level of the water, and here, at the back of this cave, he waited. He had gained at least three miles upon the dogs; and yet, scarcely another ten minutes had elapsed, when the whole pack arrived and stormed the crest of the rock. Those who were leading, mad with excitement, did not see the gulf in front of them, or else, like their quarry they thought they would leap safely into it, for they plunged, and Thibault was splashed, far back as he was hidden, by the water that was scattered in every direction as they fell into it one by one. Less fortunate, however, and less vigorous than he was, they were unable to fight against the current, and after vainly battling with it, they were borne along out of sight before they had even got scent of the were-wolf s retreat. Overhead he could hear the tramping of the horses feet, the baying of the dogs that were still left, the cries of men, and above all these sounds, dominating the other voices, that of the Baron as he cursed and swore. When the last dog had fallen into the water, and been carried away like the others, he saw, thanks to a bend in the river, that the huntsmen were going down it, and persuaded that the Baron, whom he recognised at the head of his hunting-train, would only do this with the intention of coming up it again, he determined not to wait for this, and left his hiding-place. Now swimming, now leaping with agility from one rock to the other, at times wading through the water, he went up the river to the end of the Cr ne coppice. Certain that he had now made a considerable advance on his enemies, he resolved to get to one of the villages near and run in and out among the houses, feeling sure that they would not think of coming after him there. He thought of Pr ciamont; if any village was well known to him, it was that; and then, at Pr ciamont, he would be near Agnelette. He felt that this neighbourhood would put fresh vigour into him, and would bring him good fortune, and that the gentle image of the innocent girl would have some influence on his fate. So he started off in that direction. It was now six o clock in the evening; the hunt had lasted nearly fifteen hours, and wolf, dogs and huntsmen had covered fifty leagues at least. When, at last, after circling round by Manereux and Oigny, the black wolf reached the borders of the heath by the lane of Ham, the sun was already beginning to sink, and shedding a dazzling light over the flowery plain; the little white and pink flowers scented the breeze that played caressingly around them; the grasshopper was singing in its little house of moss, and the lark was soaring up towards heaven, saluting the eve with its song, as twelve hours before it had saluted the morn. The peaceful beauty of nature had a strange effect on Thibault. It seemed enigmatical to him that nature could be so smiling and beautiful, while anguish such as his was devouring his soul. He saw the flowers, and heard the insects and the birds, and he compared the quiet joy of this innocent world with the horrible pangs he was enduring, and asked himself, whether after all, notwithstanding all the new promises that had been made him by the devil s envoy, he had acted any more wisely in making this second compact than he had in making the first. He began to doubt whether he might not find himself deceived in the one as he had been in the other. As he went along a little footpath nearly hidden under the golden broom, he suddenly remembered that it was by this very path that he had taken Agnelette home on the first day of their acquaintance; the day, when inspired by his good angel, he had asked her to be his wife. The thought that, thanks to this new compact, he might be able to recover Agnelette s love, revived his spirits, which had been saddened and depressed by the sight of the universal happiness around him. He heard the church bells at Pr ciamont ringing in the valley below; its solemn, monotonous tones recalled the thought of his fellow men to the black wolf, and of all he had to fear from them. So he ran boldly on, across the fields, to the village, where he hoped to find a refuge in some empty building. As he was skirting the little stone wall of the village cemetery, he heard a sound of voices, approaching along the road he was in. He could not fail to meet whoever they might be who were coming towards him, if he himself went on; it was not safe to turn back, as he would have to cross some rising ground whence he might easily be seen; so there was nothing left for it but to jump over the wall of the cemetery, and with a bound he was on the other side. This graveyard as usual adjoined the church; it was uncared for, and overgrown with tall grass, while brambles and thorns grew rankly in places. The wolf made for the thickest of these bramble bushes; he found a sort of ruined vault, whence he could look out without being seen, and he crept under the branches and hid himself inside. A few yards away from him was a newly-dug grave; within the church could be heard the chanting of the priests, the more distinctly that the vault must at one time have communicated by a passage with the crypt. Presently the chanting ceased, and the black wolf, who did not feel quite at ease in the neighbourhood of a church, and thought that the road must now be clear, decided that it was time to start off again and to find a safer retreat than the one he had fled to in his haste. But he had scarcely got his nose outside the bramble bush when the gate of the cemetery opened, and he quickly retreated again to his hole, in great trepidation as to who might now be approaching. The first person he saw was a child dressed in a white alb and carrying a vessel of holy water; he was followed by a man in a surplice, bearing a silver cross, and after the latter came a priest, chanting the psalms for the dead. Behind these were four peasants carrying a bier covered with a white pall over which were scattered green branches and flowers, and beneath the sheet could be seen the outline of a coffin; a few villagers from Pr ciamont wound up this little procession. Although there was nothing unusual in such a sight as this, seeing that he was in a cemetery, and that the newly-dug grave must have prepared him for it, Thibault, nevertheless, felt strangely moved as he looked on. Although the slightest movement might betray his presence and bring destruction upon him, he anxiously watched every detail of the ceremony. The priest having blessed the newly-made grave, the peasants laid down their burden on an adjoining hillock. It is the custom in our country when a young girl, or young married woman, dies in the fullness of her youth and beauty, to carry her to the grave-yard in an open coffin, with only a pall over her, so that her friends may bid her a last farewell, her relations give her a last kiss. Then the coffin is nailed down, and all is over. An old woman, led by some kind hand, for she was apparently blind, went up to the coffin to give the dead one a last kiss; the peasants lifted the pall from the still face, and there lay Agnelette. A low groan escaped from Thibault s agonised breast, and mingled with the tears and sobs of those present. Agnelette, as she lay there so pale in death, wrapped in an ineffable calm, appeared more beautiful than when in life, beneath her wreath of forget-me-nots and daisies. As Thibault looked upon the poor dead girl, his heart seemed suddenly to melt within him. It was he, as he had truly realised, who had really killed her, and he experienced a genuine and overpowering sorrow, the more poignant since for the first time for many long months he forgot to think of himself, and thought only of the dead woman, now lost to him for ever. As he heard the blows of the hammer knocking the nails into the coffin, as he heard the earth and stones being shovelled into the grave and falling with a dull thud on to the body of the only woman he had ever loved, a feeling of giddiness came over him. The hard stones he thought must be bruising Agnelette s tender flesh, so fresh and sweet but a few days ago, and only yesterday still throbbing with life, and he made a movement as if to rush out on the assailants and snatch away the body, which dead, must surely belong to him, since, living, it had belonged to another. But the grief of the man overcame this instinct of the wild beast at bay; a shudder passed through the body hidden beneath its wolf skin; tears fell from the fierce blood-red eyes, and the unhappy man cried out: O God! take my life, I

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How many times the word 'essentially' appears in the text?

wished for riches, and here I am in despair at having lost the humble roof of bracken under shelter of which I could sleep in peace without anxiety as to the morrow, without troubling myself about the rain or the wind beating against the branches of the giant oaks. I wished for position, and here I am, stoned and hunted down by the lowest peasants, whom formerly I despised. I asked for love, and the only woman who loved me and whom I loved became the wife of another, and she is at this moment cursing me as she lies dying, while I, notwithstanding all the power you have given me, can do nothing to help her! Leave off loving anybody but yourself, Thibault. Oh! yes, laugh at me, do! I am not laughing at you. But did you not cast envious eyes on other people s property before you had set eyes on me? Yes, for a wretched buck, of which there are hundreds just as good browsing in the forest! You thought your wishes were going to stop at the buck, Thibault; but wishes lead on to one another, as the night to the day, and the day to night. When you wished for the buck, you also wished for the silver dish on which it would be served; the silver dish led you on to wish for the servant who carries it and for the carver who cuts up its contents. Ambition is like the vault of heaven; it appears to be bounded by the horizon, but it covers the whole earth. You disdained Agnelette s innocence, and went after Madame Poulet s mill; if you had gained the mill, you would immediately have wanted the house of the Bailiff Magloire; and his house would have had no further attraction for you when once you had seen the Castle of Mont-Gobert. You are one in your envious disposition with the fallen Angel, your master and mine; only, as you were not clever enough to reap the benefit that might have accrued to you from your power of inflicting evil, it would perhaps have been more to your interest to continue to lead an honest life. Yes, indeed, replied the shoe-maker, I feel the truth of the proverb, Evil to him who evil wishes But, he continued, can I not become an honest man again? The wolf gave a mocking chuckle. My good fellow, the devil can drag a man to hell, he said, by a single hair. Have you ever counted how many of yours now belong to him? No. I cannot tell you that exactly either, but I know how many you have which are still your own. You have one left! You see it is long past the time for repentance. But if a man is lost when but one of his hairs belongs to the devil, said Thibault, why cannot God likewise save a man in virtue of a single hair? Well, try if that is so! And, besides, when I concluded that unhappy bargain with you, I did not understand that it was to be a compact of this kind. Oh, yes! I know all about the bad faith of you men! Was it no compact then to consent to give me your hairs, you stupid fool? Since men invented baptism, we do not know how to get hold of them, and so, in return for any concessions we make them, we are bound to insist on their relinquishing to us some part of their body on which we can lay hands. You gave us the hairs of your head; they are firmly rooted, as you have proved yourself and will not come away in our grasp.... No, no, Thibault, you have belonged to us ever since, standing on the threshold of the door that was once there, you cherished within you thoughts of deceit and violence. And so, cried Thibault passionately, rising and stamping his foot, and so I am lost as regards the next world without having enjoyed the pleasures of this! You can yet enjoy these. And how, I pray. By boldly following the path that you have struck by chance, and resolutely determining on a course of conduct which you have adopted as yet only in a halfhearted way; in short, by frankly owning yourself to be one of us. And how am I to do this? Take my place. And what then? You will then acquire my power, and you will have nothing left to wish for. If your power is so great, if it can give you all the riches that I long for, why do you give it up? Do not trouble yourself about me. The master for whom I shall have won a retainer will liberally reward me. And if I take your place, shall I also have to take your form? Yes, in the night-time; by day you will be a man again. The nights are long, dark, full of snares; I may be brought down by a bullet from a keeper, or be caught in a trap, and then good-bye riches, good-bye position and pleasure. Not so; for this skin that covers me is impenetrable by iron, lead or steel. As long as it protects your body, you will be not only invulnerable, but immortal; once a year, like all were-wolves, you will become a wolf again for four and twenty hours, and during that interval, you will be in danger of death like any other animal. I had just reached that dangerous time a year ago to-day, when we first met. Ah! said Thibault, that explains why you feared my Lord Baron s dogs. When we have dealings with men, we are forbidden to speak anything but the truth, and the whole truth; it is for them to accept or refuse. You have boasted to me of the power that I should acquire; tell me, now, in what that power will consist? It will be such that even the most powerful king will not be able to withstand it, since his power is limited by the human and the possible. Shall I be rich? So rich, that you will come in time to despise riches, since, by the mere force of your will, you will obtain not only what men can only acquire with gold and silver, but also all that superior beings get by their conjurations. Shall I be able to revenge myself on my enemies? You will have unlimited power over everything which is connected with evil. If I love a woman, will there again be a possibility of my losing her? As you will have dominion over all your fellow creatures, you will be able to do with them what you like. There will be no power to enable them to escape from the trammels of my will? Nothing, except death, which is stronger than all. And I shall only run the risk of death myself on one day out of the three hundred and sixty-five? On one day only; during the remaining days nothing can harm you, neither iron, lead, nor steel, neither water, nor fire. And there is no deceit, no trap to catch me, in your words? None, on my honour as a wolf! Good, said Thibault, then let it be so; a wolf for four and twenty hours, for the rest of the time the monarch of creation! What am I to do? I am ready. Pick a holly-leaf, tear it in three pieces with your teeth, and throw it away from you, as far as you can. Thibault did as he was commanded. Having torn the leaf in three pieces, he scattered them on the air, and although the night till then had been a peaceful one, there was immediately heard a loud peal of thunder, while a tempestuous whirlwind arose, which caught up the fragments and carried them whirling away with it. And now, brother Thibault, said the wolf, take my place, and good luck be with you! As was my case just a year ago, so you will have to become a wolf for four and twenty hours; you must endeavour to come out of the ordeal as happily as I did, thanks to you, and then you will see realised all that I have promised you. Meanwhile, I will pray the lord of the cloven hoof that he will protect you from the teeth of the Baron s hounds, for, by the devil himself, I take a genuine interest in you, friend Thibault. And then it seemed to Thibault that he saw the black wolf grow larger and taller, that it stood up on its hind legs and finally walked away in the form of a man, who made a sign to him with his hand as he disappeared. We say _it seemed to him_, for Thibault s ideas, for a second or two, became very indistinct. A feeling of torpor passed over him, paralysing his power of thought. When he came to himself, he was alone. His limbs were imprisoned in a new and unusual form; he had, in short, become in every respect the counterpart of the black wolf that a few minutes before had been speaking to him. One single white hair on his head alone shone in contrast to the remainder of the sombre coloured fur; this one white hair of the wolf was the one black hair which had remained to the man. Thibault had scarcely had time to recover himself when he fancied he heard a rustling among the bushes, and the sound of a low, muffled bark.... He thought of the Baron and his hounds, and trembled. Thus metamorphosed into the black wolf, he decided that he would not do what his predecessor had done, and wait till the dogs were upon him. It was probably a bloodhound he had heard, and he would get away before the hounds were uncoupled. He made off, striking straight ahead, as is the manner of wolves, and it was a profound satisfaction to him to find that in his new form he had tenfold his former strength and elasticity of limb. By the devil and his horns! the voice of the Lord of Vez was now heard to say to his new huntsman a few paces off, you hold the leash too slack, my lad; you have let the bloodhound give tongue, and we shall never head the wolf back now. I was in fault, I do not deny it, my Lord; but as I saw it go by last evening only a few yards from this spot, I never guessed that it would take up its quarters for the night in this part of the wood and that it was so close to us as all that. Are you sure it is the same one that has got away from us so often? May the bread I eat in your service choke me, my lord, if it is not the same black wolf that we were chasing last year when poor Marcotte was drowned. I should like finely to put the dogs on its track, said the Baron, with a sigh. My lord has but to give the order, and we will do so, but he will allow me to observe that we have still two good hours of darkness before us, time enough for every horse we have to break its legs. That may be, but if we wait for the day, l Eveill , the fellow will have had time to get ten leagues away. Ten leagues at least, said l Eveill , shaking his head. I have got this cursed black wolf on my brain, added the Baron, and I have such a longing to have its skin, that I feel sure I shall catch an illness if I do not get hold of it. Well then, my lord, let us have the dogs out without a moment s loss of time. You are right, l Eveill ; go and fetch the hounds. L Eveill went back to his horse, that he had tied to a tree outside the wood, and went off at a gallop, and in ten minutes time, which seemed like ten centuries to the Baron, he was back with the whole hunting train. The hounds were immediately uncoupled. Gently, gently, my lads! said the Lord of Vez, you forget you are not handling your old well-trained dogs; if you get excited with these raw recruits, they ll merely kick up a devil of a row, and be no more good than so many turnspits; let em get warmed up by degrees. And, indeed, the dogs were no sooner loose, than two or three got at once on to the scent of the were-wolf, and began to give cry, whereupon the others joined them. The whole pack started off on Thibault s track, at first quietly following up the scent, and only giving cry at long intervals, then more excitedly and of more accord, until they had so thoroughly imbibed the odour of the wolf ahead of them, and the scent had become so strong, that they tore along, baying furiously, and with unparalleled eagerness in the direction of the Yvors coppice. Well begun, is half done! cried the Baron. You look after the relays, l Eveill ; I want them ready whenever needed! I will encourage the dogs.... And you be on the alert, you others, he added, addressing himself to the younger keepers, we have more than one defeat to avenge, and if I lose this view halloo through the fault of anyone among you, by the devil and his horns! he shall be the dogs quarry in place of the wolf! After pronouncing these words of encouragement, the Baron put his horse to the gallop, and although it was still pitch dark and the ground was rough, he kept the animal going at top speed so as to come up with the hounds, which could be heard giving tongue in the low lands about Bourg-Fontaine. CHAPTER XXIV HUNTING DOWN THE WERE-WOLF Thibault had got well ahead of the dogs, thanks to the precaution he had taken of making good his escape at the first note of the bloodhound. For some time he heard no further sound of pursuit; but, all at once, like distant thunder, the baying of the hounds reached his ears, and he began to feel some anxiety. He had been trotting, but he now went on at greater speed, and did not pause till he had put a few more leagues between himself and his enemies. Then he stood still and took his bearings; he found himself on the heights at Montaigu. He bent his head and listened--the dogs still seemed a long way off, somewhere near the Tillet coppice. It required a wolf s ear to distinguish them so far off. Thibault went down the hill again, as if to meet the dogs; then, leaving Erneville to the left, he leaped into the little stream which rises there, waded down its course as far as Grimancourt, dashed into the woods of Lessart-l Abbesse, and finally gained the forest of Compi gne. He was somewhat reassured to find that, in spite of his three hours hard running, the steel-like muscles of his wolf legs were not in the least fatigued. He hesitated, however, to trust himself in a forest which was not so familiar to him as that of Villers-Cotterets. After another dash of a mile or so, he decided that by doubling boldly he would be most likely to put the dogs off the scent. He crossed at a gallop all the stretch of plain between Pierrefond and Mont-Gobert, took to the woods at the Champ Meutard, came out again at Vauvaudrand, regained the stream by the Sanc res timber floatage, and once more found himself in the forest near Long-Pont. Unfortunately for him, just as he reached the end of the Route du Pendu, he came across another pack of twenty dogs, which Monsieur de Montbreton s huntsman was bringing up as a relay, for the Baron had sent his neighbour news of the chase. Instantly the hounds were uncoupled by the huntsman as he caught sight of the wolf, for seeing that the latter kept its distance, he feared it would get too far ahead if he waited for the others to come up before loosing his dogs. And now began the struggle between the were-wolf and the dogs in very earnest. It was a wild chase, which the horses, in spite of their skilled riders, had great difficulty in following, a chase over plains, through woods, across heaths, pursued at a headlong pace. As the hunt flew by, it appeared and disappeared like a flash of lightning across a cloud, leaving behind a whirlwind of dust, and a sound of horns and cries which echo had hardly time to repeat. It rushed over hill and dale, through torrents and bogs, and over precipices, as if horses and dogs had been winged like Hippogriffs and Chimeras. The Baron had come up with his huntsmen, riding at their head, and almost riding on the tails of his dogs, his eye flashing, his nostrils dilated, exciting the pack with wild shouts and furious blasts, digging his spurs into his horse s sides whenever an obstacle of any kind caused it to hesitate for a single instant. The black wolf, on his side, still held on at the same rapid pace; although sorely shaken at hearing the fresh pack in full pursuit only a short way behind him, just as he had got back to the forest, he had not lost an inch of ground. As he retained to the full all his human consciousness, it seemed to him impossible, as he still ran on, that he should not escape in safety from this ordeal; he felt that it was not possible for him to die before he had taken vengeance for all the agony that others made him suffer, before he had known those pleasures that had been promised him, above all--for at this critical moment his thoughts kept on running on this--before he had gained Agnelette s love. At moments he was possessed by terror, at others by anger. He thought at times that he would turn and face this yelling pack of dogs, and, forgetting his present form, scatter them with stones and blows. Then, an instant after, feeling mad with rage, deafened by the death-knell the hounds were ringing in his ears, he fled, he leaped, he flew with the legs of a deer, with the wings of an eagle. But his efforts were in vain; he might run, leap, almost fly, the sounds of death still clung to him, and if for a moment they became more distant, it was only to hear them a moment after nearer and more threatening still. But still the instinct of self-preservation did not fail him; and still his strength was undiminished; only, if by ill luck, he were to come across other relays, he felt that it might give way. So he determined to take a bold course so as to out-distance the dogs, and to get back to his lairs, where he knew his ground and hoped to evade the dogs. He therefore doubled for the second time. He first ran back to Puiseux, then skirted past Viviers, regained the forest of Compi gne, made a dash into the forest of Largue, returned and crossed the Aisne at Attichy, and finally got back to the forest of Villers-Cotterets at the low lands of Argent. He trusted in this way to baffle the strategical plans of the Lord of Vez, who had, no doubt, posted his dogs at various likely points. Once back in his old quarters Thibault breathed more freely. He was now on the banks of the Ourcq between Norroy and Trouennes, where the river runs at the foot of deep rocks on either side; he leaped up on to a sharp-pointed crag overhanging the water, and from this high vantage ground he sprang into the waves below, then swam to a crevice at the base of the rock from which he had leapt, which was situated rather below the ordinary level of the water, and here, at the back of this cave, he waited. He had gained at least three miles upon the dogs; and yet, scarcely another ten minutes had elapsed, when the whole pack arrived and stormed the crest of the rock. Those who were leading, mad with excitement, did not see the gulf in front of them, or else, like their quarry they thought they would leap safely into it, for they plunged, and Thibault was splashed, far back as he was hidden, by the water that was scattered in every direction as they fell into it one by one. Less fortunate, however, and less vigorous than he was, they were unable to fight against the current, and after vainly battling with it, they were borne along out of sight before they had even got scent of the were-wolf s retreat. Overhead he could hear the tramping of the horses feet, the baying of the dogs that were still left, the cries of men, and above all these sounds, dominating the other voices, that of the Baron as he cursed and swore. When the last dog had fallen into the water, and been carried away like the others, he saw, thanks to a bend in the river, that the huntsmen were going down it, and persuaded that the Baron, whom he recognised at the head of his hunting-train, would only do this with the intention of coming up it again, he determined not to wait for this, and left his hiding-place. Now swimming, now leaping with agility from one rock to the other, at times wading through the water, he went up the river to the end of the Cr ne coppice. Certain that he had now made a considerable advance on his enemies, he resolved to get to one of the villages near and run in and out among the houses, feeling sure that they would not think of coming after him there. He thought of Pr ciamont; if any village was well known to him, it was that; and then, at Pr ciamont, he would be near Agnelette. He felt that this neighbourhood would put fresh vigour into him, and would bring him good fortune, and that the gentle image of the innocent girl would have some influence on his fate. So he started off in that direction. It was now six o clock in the evening; the hunt had lasted nearly fifteen hours, and wolf, dogs and huntsmen had covered fifty leagues at least. When, at last, after circling round by Manereux and Oigny, the black wolf reached the borders of the heath by the lane of Ham, the sun was already beginning to sink, and shedding a dazzling light over the flowery plain; the little white and pink flowers scented the breeze that played caressingly around them; the grasshopper was singing in its little house of moss, and the lark was soaring up towards heaven, saluting the eve with its song, as twelve hours before it had saluted the morn. The peaceful beauty of nature had a strange effect on Thibault. It seemed enigmatical to him that nature could be so smiling and beautiful, while anguish such as his was devouring his soul. He saw the flowers, and heard the insects and the birds, and he compared the quiet joy of this innocent world with the horrible pangs he was enduring, and asked himself, whether after all, notwithstanding all the new promises that had been made him by the devil s envoy, he had acted any more wisely in making this second compact than he had in making the first. He began to doubt whether he might not find himself deceived in the one as he had been in the other. As he went along a little footpath nearly hidden under the golden broom, he suddenly remembered that it was by this very path that he had taken Agnelette home on the first day of their acquaintance; the day, when inspired by his good angel, he had asked her to be his wife. The thought that, thanks to this new compact, he might be able to recover Agnelette s love, revived his spirits, which had been saddened and depressed by the sight of the universal happiness around him. He heard the church bells at Pr ciamont ringing in the valley below; its solemn, monotonous tones recalled the thought of his fellow men to the black wolf, and of all he had to fear from them. So he ran boldly on, across the fields, to the village, where he hoped to find a refuge in some empty building. As he was skirting the little stone wall of the village cemetery, he heard a sound of voices, approaching along the road he was in. He could not fail to meet whoever they might be who were coming towards him, if he himself went on; it was not safe to turn back, as he would have to cross some rising ground whence he might easily be seen; so there was nothing left for it but to jump over the wall of the cemetery, and with a bound he was on the other side. This graveyard as usual adjoined the church; it was uncared for, and overgrown with tall grass, while brambles and thorns grew rankly in places. The wolf made for the thickest of these bramble bushes; he found a sort of ruined vault, whence he could look out without being seen, and he crept under the branches and hid himself inside. A few yards away from him was a newly-dug grave; within the church could be heard the chanting of the priests, the more distinctly that the vault must at one time have communicated by a passage with the crypt. Presently the chanting ceased, and the black wolf, who did not feel quite at ease in the neighbourhood of a church, and thought that the road must now be clear, decided that it was time to start off again and to find a safer retreat than the one he had fled to in his haste. But he had scarcely got his nose outside the bramble bush when the gate of the cemetery opened, and he quickly retreated again to his hole, in great trepidation as to who might now be approaching. The first person he saw was a child dressed in a white alb and carrying a vessel of holy water; he was followed by a man in a surplice, bearing a silver cross, and after the latter came a priest, chanting the psalms for the dead. Behind these were four peasants carrying a bier covered with a white pall over which were scattered green branches and flowers, and beneath the sheet could be seen the outline of a coffin; a few villagers from Pr ciamont wound up this little procession. Although there was nothing unusual in such a sight as this, seeing that he was in a cemetery, and that the newly-dug grave must have prepared him for it, Thibault, nevertheless, felt strangely moved as he looked on. Although the slightest movement might betray his presence and bring destruction upon him, he anxiously watched every detail of the ceremony. The priest having blessed the newly-made grave, the peasants laid down their burden on an adjoining hillock. It is the custom in our country when a young girl, or young married woman, dies in the fullness of her youth and beauty, to carry her to the grave-yard in an open coffin, with only a pall over her, so that her friends may bid her a last farewell, her relations give her a last kiss. Then the coffin is nailed down, and all is over. An old woman, led by some kind hand, for she was apparently blind, went up to the coffin to give the dead one a last kiss; the peasants lifted the pall from the still face, and there lay Agnelette. A low groan escaped from Thibault s agonised breast, and mingled with the tears and sobs of those present. Agnelette, as she lay there so pale in death, wrapped in an ineffable calm, appeared more beautiful than when in life, beneath her wreath of forget-me-nots and daisies. As Thibault looked upon the poor dead girl, his heart seemed suddenly to melt within him. It was he, as he had truly realised, who had really killed her, and he experienced a genuine and overpowering sorrow, the more poignant since for the first time for many long months he forgot to think of himself, and thought only of the dead woman, now lost to him for ever. As he heard the blows of the hammer knocking the nails into the coffin, as he heard the earth and stones being shovelled into the grave and falling with a dull thud on to the body of the only woman he had ever loved, a feeling of giddiness came over him. The hard stones he thought must be bruising Agnelette s tender flesh, so fresh and sweet but a few days ago, and only yesterday still throbbing with life, and he made a movement as if to rush out on the assailants and snatch away the body, which dead, must surely belong to him, since, living, it had belonged to another. But the grief of the man overcame this instinct of the wild beast at bay; a shudder passed through the body hidden beneath its wolf skin; tears fell from the fierce blood-red eyes, and the unhappy man cried out: O God! take my life, I

chase

How many times the word 'chase' appears in the text?

wished for riches, and here I am in despair at having lost the humble roof of bracken under shelter of which I could sleep in peace without anxiety as to the morrow, without troubling myself about the rain or the wind beating against the branches of the giant oaks. I wished for position, and here I am, stoned and hunted down by the lowest peasants, whom formerly I despised. I asked for love, and the only woman who loved me and whom I loved became the wife of another, and she is at this moment cursing me as she lies dying, while I, notwithstanding all the power you have given me, can do nothing to help her! Leave off loving anybody but yourself, Thibault. Oh! yes, laugh at me, do! I am not laughing at you. But did you not cast envious eyes on other people s property before you had set eyes on me? Yes, for a wretched buck, of which there are hundreds just as good browsing in the forest! You thought your wishes were going to stop at the buck, Thibault; but wishes lead on to one another, as the night to the day, and the day to night. When you wished for the buck, you also wished for the silver dish on which it would be served; the silver dish led you on to wish for the servant who carries it and for the carver who cuts up its contents. Ambition is like the vault of heaven; it appears to be bounded by the horizon, but it covers the whole earth. You disdained Agnelette s innocence, and went after Madame Poulet s mill; if you had gained the mill, you would immediately have wanted the house of the Bailiff Magloire; and his house would have had no further attraction for you when once you had seen the Castle of Mont-Gobert. You are one in your envious disposition with the fallen Angel, your master and mine; only, as you were not clever enough to reap the benefit that might have accrued to you from your power of inflicting evil, it would perhaps have been more to your interest to continue to lead an honest life. Yes, indeed, replied the shoe-maker, I feel the truth of the proverb, Evil to him who evil wishes But, he continued, can I not become an honest man again? The wolf gave a mocking chuckle. My good fellow, the devil can drag a man to hell, he said, by a single hair. Have you ever counted how many of yours now belong to him? No. I cannot tell you that exactly either, but I know how many you have which are still your own. You have one left! You see it is long past the time for repentance. But if a man is lost when but one of his hairs belongs to the devil, said Thibault, why cannot God likewise save a man in virtue of a single hair? Well, try if that is so! And, besides, when I concluded that unhappy bargain with you, I did not understand that it was to be a compact of this kind. Oh, yes! I know all about the bad faith of you men! Was it no compact then to consent to give me your hairs, you stupid fool? Since men invented baptism, we do not know how to get hold of them, and so, in return for any concessions we make them, we are bound to insist on their relinquishing to us some part of their body on which we can lay hands. You gave us the hairs of your head; they are firmly rooted, as you have proved yourself and will not come away in our grasp.... No, no, Thibault, you have belonged to us ever since, standing on the threshold of the door that was once there, you cherished within you thoughts of deceit and violence. And so, cried Thibault passionately, rising and stamping his foot, and so I am lost as regards the next world without having enjoyed the pleasures of this! You can yet enjoy these. And how, I pray. By boldly following the path that you have struck by chance, and resolutely determining on a course of conduct which you have adopted as yet only in a halfhearted way; in short, by frankly owning yourself to be one of us. And how am I to do this? Take my place. And what then? You will then acquire my power, and you will have nothing left to wish for. If your power is so great, if it can give you all the riches that I long for, why do you give it up? Do not trouble yourself about me. The master for whom I shall have won a retainer will liberally reward me. And if I take your place, shall I also have to take your form? Yes, in the night-time; by day you will be a man again. The nights are long, dark, full of snares; I may be brought down by a bullet from a keeper, or be caught in a trap, and then good-bye riches, good-bye position and pleasure. Not so; for this skin that covers me is impenetrable by iron, lead or steel. As long as it protects your body, you will be not only invulnerable, but immortal; once a year, like all were-wolves, you will become a wolf again for four and twenty hours, and during that interval, you will be in danger of death like any other animal. I had just reached that dangerous time a year ago to-day, when we first met. Ah! said Thibault, that explains why you feared my Lord Baron s dogs. When we have dealings with men, we are forbidden to speak anything but the truth, and the whole truth; it is for them to accept or refuse. You have boasted to me of the power that I should acquire; tell me, now, in what that power will consist? It will be such that even the most powerful king will not be able to withstand it, since his power is limited by the human and the possible. Shall I be rich? So rich, that you will come in time to despise riches, since, by the mere force of your will, you will obtain not only what men can only acquire with gold and silver, but also all that superior beings get by their conjurations. Shall I be able to revenge myself on my enemies? You will have unlimited power over everything which is connected with evil. If I love a woman, will there again be a possibility of my losing her? As you will have dominion over all your fellow creatures, you will be able to do with them what you like. There will be no power to enable them to escape from the trammels of my will? Nothing, except death, which is stronger than all. And I shall only run the risk of death myself on one day out of the three hundred and sixty-five? On one day only; during the remaining days nothing can harm you, neither iron, lead, nor steel, neither water, nor fire. And there is no deceit, no trap to catch me, in your words? None, on my honour as a wolf! Good, said Thibault, then let it be so; a wolf for four and twenty hours, for the rest of the time the monarch of creation! What am I to do? I am ready. Pick a holly-leaf, tear it in three pieces with your teeth, and throw it away from you, as far as you can. Thibault did as he was commanded. Having torn the leaf in three pieces, he scattered them on the air, and although the night till then had been a peaceful one, there was immediately heard a loud peal of thunder, while a tempestuous whirlwind arose, which caught up the fragments and carried them whirling away with it. And now, brother Thibault, said the wolf, take my place, and good luck be with you! As was my case just a year ago, so you will have to become a wolf for four and twenty hours; you must endeavour to come out of the ordeal as happily as I did, thanks to you, and then you will see realised all that I have promised you. Meanwhile, I will pray the lord of the cloven hoof that he will protect you from the teeth of the Baron s hounds, for, by the devil himself, I take a genuine interest in you, friend Thibault. And then it seemed to Thibault that he saw the black wolf grow larger and taller, that it stood up on its hind legs and finally walked away in the form of a man, who made a sign to him with his hand as he disappeared. We say _it seemed to him_, for Thibault s ideas, for a second or two, became very indistinct. A feeling of torpor passed over him, paralysing his power of thought. When he came to himself, he was alone. His limbs were imprisoned in a new and unusual form; he had, in short, become in every respect the counterpart of the black wolf that a few minutes before had been speaking to him. One single white hair on his head alone shone in contrast to the remainder of the sombre coloured fur; this one white hair of the wolf was the one black hair which had remained to the man. Thibault had scarcely had time to recover himself when he fancied he heard a rustling among the bushes, and the sound of a low, muffled bark.... He thought of the Baron and his hounds, and trembled. Thus metamorphosed into the black wolf, he decided that he would not do what his predecessor had done, and wait till the dogs were upon him. It was probably a bloodhound he had heard, and he would get away before the hounds were uncoupled. He made off, striking straight ahead, as is the manner of wolves, and it was a profound satisfaction to him to find that in his new form he had tenfold his former strength and elasticity of limb. By the devil and his horns! the voice of the Lord of Vez was now heard to say to his new huntsman a few paces off, you hold the leash too slack, my lad; you have let the bloodhound give tongue, and we shall never head the wolf back now. I was in fault, I do not deny it, my Lord; but as I saw it go by last evening only a few yards from this spot, I never guessed that it would take up its quarters for the night in this part of the wood and that it was so close to us as all that. Are you sure it is the same one that has got away from us so often? May the bread I eat in your service choke me, my lord, if it is not the same black wolf that we were chasing last year when poor Marcotte was drowned. I should like finely to put the dogs on its track, said the Baron, with a sigh. My lord has but to give the order, and we will do so, but he will allow me to observe that we have still two good hours of darkness before us, time enough for every horse we have to break its legs. That may be, but if we wait for the day, l Eveill , the fellow will have had time to get ten leagues away. Ten leagues at least, said l Eveill , shaking his head. I have got this cursed black wolf on my brain, added the Baron, and I have such a longing to have its skin, that I feel sure I shall catch an illness if I do not get hold of it. Well then, my lord, let us have the dogs out without a moment s loss of time. You are right, l Eveill ; go and fetch the hounds. L Eveill went back to his horse, that he had tied to a tree outside the wood, and went off at a gallop, and in ten minutes time, which seemed like ten centuries to the Baron, he was back with the whole hunting train. The hounds were immediately uncoupled. Gently, gently, my lads! said the Lord of Vez, you forget you are not handling your old well-trained dogs; if you get excited with these raw recruits, they ll merely kick up a devil of a row, and be no more good than so many turnspits; let em get warmed up by degrees. And, indeed, the dogs were no sooner loose, than two or three got at once on to the scent of the were-wolf, and began to give cry, whereupon the others joined them. The whole pack started off on Thibault s track, at first quietly following up the scent, and only giving cry at long intervals, then more excitedly and of more accord, until they had so thoroughly imbibed the odour of the wolf ahead of them, and the scent had become so strong, that they tore along, baying furiously, and with unparalleled eagerness in the direction of the Yvors coppice. Well begun, is half done! cried the Baron. You look after the relays, l Eveill ; I want them ready whenever needed! I will encourage the dogs.... And you be on the alert, you others, he added, addressing himself to the younger keepers, we have more than one defeat to avenge, and if I lose this view halloo through the fault of anyone among you, by the devil and his horns! he shall be the dogs quarry in place of the wolf! After pronouncing these words of encouragement, the Baron put his horse to the gallop, and although it was still pitch dark and the ground was rough, he kept the animal going at top speed so as to come up with the hounds, which could be heard giving tongue in the low lands about Bourg-Fontaine. CHAPTER XXIV HUNTING DOWN THE WERE-WOLF Thibault had got well ahead of the dogs, thanks to the precaution he had taken of making good his escape at the first note of the bloodhound. For some time he heard no further sound of pursuit; but, all at once, like distant thunder, the baying of the hounds reached his ears, and he began to feel some anxiety. He had been trotting, but he now went on at greater speed, and did not pause till he had put a few more leagues between himself and his enemies. Then he stood still and took his bearings; he found himself on the heights at Montaigu. He bent his head and listened--the dogs still seemed a long way off, somewhere near the Tillet coppice. It required a wolf s ear to distinguish them so far off. Thibault went down the hill again, as if to meet the dogs; then, leaving Erneville to the left, he leaped into the little stream which rises there, waded down its course as far as Grimancourt, dashed into the woods of Lessart-l Abbesse, and finally gained the forest of Compi gne. He was somewhat reassured to find that, in spite of his three hours hard running, the steel-like muscles of his wolf legs were not in the least fatigued. He hesitated, however, to trust himself in a forest which was not so familiar to him as that of Villers-Cotterets. After another dash of a mile or so, he decided that by doubling boldly he would be most likely to put the dogs off the scent. He crossed at a gallop all the stretch of plain between Pierrefond and Mont-Gobert, took to the woods at the Champ Meutard, came out again at Vauvaudrand, regained the stream by the Sanc res timber floatage, and once more found himself in the forest near Long-Pont. Unfortunately for him, just as he reached the end of the Route du Pendu, he came across another pack of twenty dogs, which Monsieur de Montbreton s huntsman was bringing up as a relay, for the Baron had sent his neighbour news of the chase. Instantly the hounds were uncoupled by the huntsman as he caught sight of the wolf, for seeing that the latter kept its distance, he feared it would get too far ahead if he waited for the others to come up before loosing his dogs. And now began the struggle between the were-wolf and the dogs in very earnest. It was a wild chase, which the horses, in spite of their skilled riders, had great difficulty in following, a chase over plains, through woods, across heaths, pursued at a headlong pace. As the hunt flew by, it appeared and disappeared like a flash of lightning across a cloud, leaving behind a whirlwind of dust, and a sound of horns and cries which echo had hardly time to repeat. It rushed over hill and dale, through torrents and bogs, and over precipices, as if horses and dogs had been winged like Hippogriffs and Chimeras. The Baron had come up with his huntsmen, riding at their head, and almost riding on the tails of his dogs, his eye flashing, his nostrils dilated, exciting the pack with wild shouts and furious blasts, digging his spurs into his horse s sides whenever an obstacle of any kind caused it to hesitate for a single instant. The black wolf, on his side, still held on at the same rapid pace; although sorely shaken at hearing the fresh pack in full pursuit only a short way behind him, just as he had got back to the forest, he had not lost an inch of ground. As he retained to the full all his human consciousness, it seemed to him impossible, as he still ran on, that he should not escape in safety from this ordeal; he felt that it was not possible for him to die before he had taken vengeance for all the agony that others made him suffer, before he had known those pleasures that had been promised him, above all--for at this critical moment his thoughts kept on running on this--before he had gained Agnelette s love. At moments he was possessed by terror, at others by anger. He thought at times that he would turn and face this yelling pack of dogs, and, forgetting his present form, scatter them with stones and blows. Then, an instant after, feeling mad with rage, deafened by the death-knell the hounds were ringing in his ears, he fled, he leaped, he flew with the legs of a deer, with the wings of an eagle. But his efforts were in vain; he might run, leap, almost fly, the sounds of death still clung to him, and if for a moment they became more distant, it was only to hear them a moment after nearer and more threatening still. But still the instinct of self-preservation did not fail him; and still his strength was undiminished; only, if by ill luck, he were to come across other relays, he felt that it might give way. So he determined to take a bold course so as to out-distance the dogs, and to get back to his lairs, where he knew his ground and hoped to evade the dogs. He therefore doubled for the second time. He first ran back to Puiseux, then skirted past Viviers, regained the forest of Compi gne, made a dash into the forest of Largue, returned and crossed the Aisne at Attichy, and finally got back to the forest of Villers-Cotterets at the low lands of Argent. He trusted in this way to baffle the strategical plans of the Lord of Vez, who had, no doubt, posted his dogs at various likely points. Once back in his old quarters Thibault breathed more freely. He was now on the banks of the Ourcq between Norroy and Trouennes, where the river runs at the foot of deep rocks on either side; he leaped up on to a sharp-pointed crag overhanging the water, and from this high vantage ground he sprang into the waves below, then swam to a crevice at the base of the rock from which he had leapt, which was situated rather below the ordinary level of the water, and here, at the back of this cave, he waited. He had gained at least three miles upon the dogs; and yet, scarcely another ten minutes had elapsed, when the whole pack arrived and stormed the crest of the rock. Those who were leading, mad with excitement, did not see the gulf in front of them, or else, like their quarry they thought they would leap safely into it, for they plunged, and Thibault was splashed, far back as he was hidden, by the water that was scattered in every direction as they fell into it one by one. Less fortunate, however, and less vigorous than he was, they were unable to fight against the current, and after vainly battling with it, they were borne along out of sight before they had even got scent of the were-wolf s retreat. Overhead he could hear the tramping of the horses feet, the baying of the dogs that were still left, the cries of men, and above all these sounds, dominating the other voices, that of the Baron as he cursed and swore. When the last dog had fallen into the water, and been carried away like the others, he saw, thanks to a bend in the river, that the huntsmen were going down it, and persuaded that the Baron, whom he recognised at the head of his hunting-train, would only do this with the intention of coming up it again, he determined not to wait for this, and left his hiding-place. Now swimming, now leaping with agility from one rock to the other, at times wading through the water, he went up the river to the end of the Cr ne coppice. Certain that he had now made a considerable advance on his enemies, he resolved to get to one of the villages near and run in and out among the houses, feeling sure that they would not think of coming after him there. He thought of Pr ciamont; if any village was well known to him, it was that; and then, at Pr ciamont, he would be near Agnelette. He felt that this neighbourhood would put fresh vigour into him, and would bring him good fortune, and that the gentle image of the innocent girl would have some influence on his fate. So he started off in that direction. It was now six o clock in the evening; the hunt had lasted nearly fifteen hours, and wolf, dogs and huntsmen had covered fifty leagues at least. When, at last, after circling round by Manereux and Oigny, the black wolf reached the borders of the heath by the lane of Ham, the sun was already beginning to sink, and shedding a dazzling light over the flowery plain; the little white and pink flowers scented the breeze that played caressingly around them; the grasshopper was singing in its little house of moss, and the lark was soaring up towards heaven, saluting the eve with its song, as twelve hours before it had saluted the morn. The peaceful beauty of nature had a strange effect on Thibault. It seemed enigmatical to him that nature could be so smiling and beautiful, while anguish such as his was devouring his soul. He saw the flowers, and heard the insects and the birds, and he compared the quiet joy of this innocent world with the horrible pangs he was enduring, and asked himself, whether after all, notwithstanding all the new promises that had been made him by the devil s envoy, he had acted any more wisely in making this second compact than he had in making the first. He began to doubt whether he might not find himself deceived in the one as he had been in the other. As he went along a little footpath nearly hidden under the golden broom, he suddenly remembered that it was by this very path that he had taken Agnelette home on the first day of their acquaintance; the day, when inspired by his good angel, he had asked her to be his wife. The thought that, thanks to this new compact, he might be able to recover Agnelette s love, revived his spirits, which had been saddened and depressed by the sight of the universal happiness around him. He heard the church bells at Pr ciamont ringing in the valley below; its solemn, monotonous tones recalled the thought of his fellow men to the black wolf, and of all he had to fear from them. So he ran boldly on, across the fields, to the village, where he hoped to find a refuge in some empty building. As he was skirting the little stone wall of the village cemetery, he heard a sound of voices, approaching along the road he was in. He could not fail to meet whoever they might be who were coming towards him, if he himself went on; it was not safe to turn back, as he would have to cross some rising ground whence he might easily be seen; so there was nothing left for it but to jump over the wall of the cemetery, and with a bound he was on the other side. This graveyard as usual adjoined the church; it was uncared for, and overgrown with tall grass, while brambles and thorns grew rankly in places. The wolf made for the thickest of these bramble bushes; he found a sort of ruined vault, whence he could look out without being seen, and he crept under the branches and hid himself inside. A few yards away from him was a newly-dug grave; within the church could be heard the chanting of the priests, the more distinctly that the vault must at one time have communicated by a passage with the crypt. Presently the chanting ceased, and the black wolf, who did not feel quite at ease in the neighbourhood of a church, and thought that the road must now be clear, decided that it was time to start off again and to find a safer retreat than the one he had fled to in his haste. But he had scarcely got his nose outside the bramble bush when the gate of the cemetery opened, and he quickly retreated again to his hole, in great trepidation as to who might now be approaching. The first person he saw was a child dressed in a white alb and carrying a vessel of holy water; he was followed by a man in a surplice, bearing a silver cross, and after the latter came a priest, chanting the psalms for the dead. Behind these were four peasants carrying a bier covered with a white pall over which were scattered green branches and flowers, and beneath the sheet could be seen the outline of a coffin; a few villagers from Pr ciamont wound up this little procession. Although there was nothing unusual in such a sight as this, seeing that he was in a cemetery, and that the newly-dug grave must have prepared him for it, Thibault, nevertheless, felt strangely moved as he looked on. Although the slightest movement might betray his presence and bring destruction upon him, he anxiously watched every detail of the ceremony. The priest having blessed the newly-made grave, the peasants laid down their burden on an adjoining hillock. It is the custom in our country when a young girl, or young married woman, dies in the fullness of her youth and beauty, to carry her to the grave-yard in an open coffin, with only a pall over her, so that her friends may bid her a last farewell, her relations give her a last kiss. Then the coffin is nailed down, and all is over. An old woman, led by some kind hand, for she was apparently blind, went up to the coffin to give the dead one a last kiss; the peasants lifted the pall from the still face, and there lay Agnelette. A low groan escaped from Thibault s agonised breast, and mingled with the tears and sobs of those present. Agnelette, as she lay there so pale in death, wrapped in an ineffable calm, appeared more beautiful than when in life, beneath her wreath of forget-me-nots and daisies. As Thibault looked upon the poor dead girl, his heart seemed suddenly to melt within him. It was he, as he had truly realised, who had really killed her, and he experienced a genuine and overpowering sorrow, the more poignant since for the first time for many long months he forgot to think of himself, and thought only of the dead woman, now lost to him for ever. As he heard the blows of the hammer knocking the nails into the coffin, as he heard the earth and stones being shovelled into the grave and falling with a dull thud on to the body of the only woman he had ever loved, a feeling of giddiness came over him. The hard stones he thought must be bruising Agnelette s tender flesh, so fresh and sweet but a few days ago, and only yesterday still throbbing with life, and he made a movement as if to rush out on the assailants and snatch away the body, which dead, must surely belong to him, since, living, it had belonged to another. But the grief of the man overcame this instinct of the wild beast at bay; a shudder passed through the body hidden beneath its wolf skin; tears fell from the fierce blood-red eyes, and the unhappy man cried out: O God! take my life, I

wait

How many times the word 'wait' appears in the text?

wished for riches, and here I am in despair at having lost the humble roof of bracken under shelter of which I could sleep in peace without anxiety as to the morrow, without troubling myself about the rain or the wind beating against the branches of the giant oaks. I wished for position, and here I am, stoned and hunted down by the lowest peasants, whom formerly I despised. I asked for love, and the only woman who loved me and whom I loved became the wife of another, and she is at this moment cursing me as she lies dying, while I, notwithstanding all the power you have given me, can do nothing to help her! Leave off loving anybody but yourself, Thibault. Oh! yes, laugh at me, do! I am not laughing at you. But did you not cast envious eyes on other people s property before you had set eyes on me? Yes, for a wretched buck, of which there are hundreds just as good browsing in the forest! You thought your wishes were going to stop at the buck, Thibault; but wishes lead on to one another, as the night to the day, and the day to night. When you wished for the buck, you also wished for the silver dish on which it would be served; the silver dish led you on to wish for the servant who carries it and for the carver who cuts up its contents. Ambition is like the vault of heaven; it appears to be bounded by the horizon, but it covers the whole earth. You disdained Agnelette s innocence, and went after Madame Poulet s mill; if you had gained the mill, you would immediately have wanted the house of the Bailiff Magloire; and his house would have had no further attraction for you when once you had seen the Castle of Mont-Gobert. You are one in your envious disposition with the fallen Angel, your master and mine; only, as you were not clever enough to reap the benefit that might have accrued to you from your power of inflicting evil, it would perhaps have been more to your interest to continue to lead an honest life. Yes, indeed, replied the shoe-maker, I feel the truth of the proverb, Evil to him who evil wishes But, he continued, can I not become an honest man again? The wolf gave a mocking chuckle. My good fellow, the devil can drag a man to hell, he said, by a single hair. Have you ever counted how many of yours now belong to him? No. I cannot tell you that exactly either, but I know how many you have which are still your own. You have one left! You see it is long past the time for repentance. But if a man is lost when but one of his hairs belongs to the devil, said Thibault, why cannot God likewise save a man in virtue of a single hair? Well, try if that is so! And, besides, when I concluded that unhappy bargain with you, I did not understand that it was to be a compact of this kind. Oh, yes! I know all about the bad faith of you men! Was it no compact then to consent to give me your hairs, you stupid fool? Since men invented baptism, we do not know how to get hold of them, and so, in return for any concessions we make them, we are bound to insist on their relinquishing to us some part of their body on which we can lay hands. You gave us the hairs of your head; they are firmly rooted, as you have proved yourself and will not come away in our grasp.... No, no, Thibault, you have belonged to us ever since, standing on the threshold of the door that was once there, you cherished within you thoughts of deceit and violence. And so, cried Thibault passionately, rising and stamping his foot, and so I am lost as regards the next world without having enjoyed the pleasures of this! You can yet enjoy these. And how, I pray. By boldly following the path that you have struck by chance, and resolutely determining on a course of conduct which you have adopted as yet only in a halfhearted way; in short, by frankly owning yourself to be one of us. And how am I to do this? Take my place. And what then? You will then acquire my power, and you will have nothing left to wish for. If your power is so great, if it can give you all the riches that I long for, why do you give it up? Do not trouble yourself about me. The master for whom I shall have won a retainer will liberally reward me. And if I take your place, shall I also have to take your form? Yes, in the night-time; by day you will be a man again. The nights are long, dark, full of snares; I may be brought down by a bullet from a keeper, or be caught in a trap, and then good-bye riches, good-bye position and pleasure. Not so; for this skin that covers me is impenetrable by iron, lead or steel. As long as it protects your body, you will be not only invulnerable, but immortal; once a year, like all were-wolves, you will become a wolf again for four and twenty hours, and during that interval, you will be in danger of death like any other animal. I had just reached that dangerous time a year ago to-day, when we first met. Ah! said Thibault, that explains why you feared my Lord Baron s dogs. When we have dealings with men, we are forbidden to speak anything but the truth, and the whole truth; it is for them to accept or refuse. You have boasted to me of the power that I should acquire; tell me, now, in what that power will consist? It will be such that even the most powerful king will not be able to withstand it, since his power is limited by the human and the possible. Shall I be rich? So rich, that you will come in time to despise riches, since, by the mere force of your will, you will obtain not only what men can only acquire with gold and silver, but also all that superior beings get by their conjurations. Shall I be able to revenge myself on my enemies? You will have unlimited power over everything which is connected with evil. If I love a woman, will there again be a possibility of my losing her? As you will have dominion over all your fellow creatures, you will be able to do with them what you like. There will be no power to enable them to escape from the trammels of my will? Nothing, except death, which is stronger than all. And I shall only run the risk of death myself on one day out of the three hundred and sixty-five? On one day only; during the remaining days nothing can harm you, neither iron, lead, nor steel, neither water, nor fire. And there is no deceit, no trap to catch me, in your words? None, on my honour as a wolf! Good, said Thibault, then let it be so; a wolf for four and twenty hours, for the rest of the time the monarch of creation! What am I to do? I am ready. Pick a holly-leaf, tear it in three pieces with your teeth, and throw it away from you, as far as you can. Thibault did as he was commanded. Having torn the leaf in three pieces, he scattered them on the air, and although the night till then had been a peaceful one, there was immediately heard a loud peal of thunder, while a tempestuous whirlwind arose, which caught up the fragments and carried them whirling away with it. And now, brother Thibault, said the wolf, take my place, and good luck be with you! As was my case just a year ago, so you will have to become a wolf for four and twenty hours; you must endeavour to come out of the ordeal as happily as I did, thanks to you, and then you will see realised all that I have promised you. Meanwhile, I will pray the lord of the cloven hoof that he will protect you from the teeth of the Baron s hounds, for, by the devil himself, I take a genuine interest in you, friend Thibault. And then it seemed to Thibault that he saw the black wolf grow larger and taller, that it stood up on its hind legs and finally walked away in the form of a man, who made a sign to him with his hand as he disappeared. We say _it seemed to him_, for Thibault s ideas, for a second or two, became very indistinct. A feeling of torpor passed over him, paralysing his power of thought. When he came to himself, he was alone. His limbs were imprisoned in a new and unusual form; he had, in short, become in every respect the counterpart of the black wolf that a few minutes before had been speaking to him. One single white hair on his head alone shone in contrast to the remainder of the sombre coloured fur; this one white hair of the wolf was the one black hair which had remained to the man. Thibault had scarcely had time to recover himself when he fancied he heard a rustling among the bushes, and the sound of a low, muffled bark.... He thought of the Baron and his hounds, and trembled. Thus metamorphosed into the black wolf, he decided that he would not do what his predecessor had done, and wait till the dogs were upon him. It was probably a bloodhound he had heard, and he would get away before the hounds were uncoupled. He made off, striking straight ahead, as is the manner of wolves, and it was a profound satisfaction to him to find that in his new form he had tenfold his former strength and elasticity of limb. By the devil and his horns! the voice of the Lord of Vez was now heard to say to his new huntsman a few paces off, you hold the leash too slack, my lad; you have let the bloodhound give tongue, and we shall never head the wolf back now. I was in fault, I do not deny it, my Lord; but as I saw it go by last evening only a few yards from this spot, I never guessed that it would take up its quarters for the night in this part of the wood and that it was so close to us as all that. Are you sure it is the same one that has got away from us so often? May the bread I eat in your service choke me, my lord, if it is not the same black wolf that we were chasing last year when poor Marcotte was drowned. I should like finely to put the dogs on its track, said the Baron, with a sigh. My lord has but to give the order, and we will do so, but he will allow me to observe that we have still two good hours of darkness before us, time enough for every horse we have to break its legs. That may be, but if we wait for the day, l Eveill , the fellow will have had time to get ten leagues away. Ten leagues at least, said l Eveill , shaking his head. I have got this cursed black wolf on my brain, added the Baron, and I have such a longing to have its skin, that I feel sure I shall catch an illness if I do not get hold of it. Well then, my lord, let us have the dogs out without a moment s loss of time. You are right, l Eveill ; go and fetch the hounds. L Eveill went back to his horse, that he had tied to a tree outside the wood, and went off at a gallop, and in ten minutes time, which seemed like ten centuries to the Baron, he was back with the whole hunting train. The hounds were immediately uncoupled. Gently, gently, my lads! said the Lord of Vez, you forget you are not handling your old well-trained dogs; if you get excited with these raw recruits, they ll merely kick up a devil of a row, and be no more good than so many turnspits; let em get warmed up by degrees. And, indeed, the dogs were no sooner loose, than two or three got at once on to the scent of the were-wolf, and began to give cry, whereupon the others joined them. The whole pack started off on Thibault s track, at first quietly following up the scent, and only giving cry at long intervals, then more excitedly and of more accord, until they had so thoroughly imbibed the odour of the wolf ahead of them, and the scent had become so strong, that they tore along, baying furiously, and with unparalleled eagerness in the direction of the Yvors coppice. Well begun, is half done! cried the Baron. You look after the relays, l Eveill ; I want them ready whenever needed! I will encourage the dogs.... And you be on the alert, you others, he added, addressing himself to the younger keepers, we have more than one defeat to avenge, and if I lose this view halloo through the fault of anyone among you, by the devil and his horns! he shall be the dogs quarry in place of the wolf! After pronouncing these words of encouragement, the Baron put his horse to the gallop, and although it was still pitch dark and the ground was rough, he kept the animal going at top speed so as to come up with the hounds, which could be heard giving tongue in the low lands about Bourg-Fontaine. CHAPTER XXIV HUNTING DOWN THE WERE-WOLF Thibault had got well ahead of the dogs, thanks to the precaution he had taken of making good his escape at the first note of the bloodhound. For some time he heard no further sound of pursuit; but, all at once, like distant thunder, the baying of the hounds reached his ears, and he began to feel some anxiety. He had been trotting, but he now went on at greater speed, and did not pause till he had put a few more leagues between himself and his enemies. Then he stood still and took his bearings; he found himself on the heights at Montaigu. He bent his head and listened--the dogs still seemed a long way off, somewhere near the Tillet coppice. It required a wolf s ear to distinguish them so far off. Thibault went down the hill again, as if to meet the dogs; then, leaving Erneville to the left, he leaped into the little stream which rises there, waded down its course as far as Grimancourt, dashed into the woods of Lessart-l Abbesse, and finally gained the forest of Compi gne. He was somewhat reassured to find that, in spite of his three hours hard running, the steel-like muscles of his wolf legs were not in the least fatigued. He hesitated, however, to trust himself in a forest which was not so familiar to him as that of Villers-Cotterets. After another dash of a mile or so, he decided that by doubling boldly he would be most likely to put the dogs off the scent. He crossed at a gallop all the stretch of plain between Pierrefond and Mont-Gobert, took to the woods at the Champ Meutard, came out again at Vauvaudrand, regained the stream by the Sanc res timber floatage, and once more found himself in the forest near Long-Pont. Unfortunately for him, just as he reached the end of the Route du Pendu, he came across another pack of twenty dogs, which Monsieur de Montbreton s huntsman was bringing up as a relay, for the Baron had sent his neighbour news of the chase. Instantly the hounds were uncoupled by the huntsman as he caught sight of the wolf, for seeing that the latter kept its distance, he feared it would get too far ahead if he waited for the others to come up before loosing his dogs. And now began the struggle between the were-wolf and the dogs in very earnest. It was a wild chase, which the horses, in spite of their skilled riders, had great difficulty in following, a chase over plains, through woods, across heaths, pursued at a headlong pace. As the hunt flew by, it appeared and disappeared like a flash of lightning across a cloud, leaving behind a whirlwind of dust, and a sound of horns and cries which echo had hardly time to repeat. It rushed over hill and dale, through torrents and bogs, and over precipices, as if horses and dogs had been winged like Hippogriffs and Chimeras. The Baron had come up with his huntsmen, riding at their head, and almost riding on the tails of his dogs, his eye flashing, his nostrils dilated, exciting the pack with wild shouts and furious blasts, digging his spurs into his horse s sides whenever an obstacle of any kind caused it to hesitate for a single instant. The black wolf, on his side, still held on at the same rapid pace; although sorely shaken at hearing the fresh pack in full pursuit only a short way behind him, just as he had got back to the forest, he had not lost an inch of ground. As he retained to the full all his human consciousness, it seemed to him impossible, as he still ran on, that he should not escape in safety from this ordeal; he felt that it was not possible for him to die before he had taken vengeance for all the agony that others made him suffer, before he had known those pleasures that had been promised him, above all--for at this critical moment his thoughts kept on running on this--before he had gained Agnelette s love. At moments he was possessed by terror, at others by anger. He thought at times that he would turn and face this yelling pack of dogs, and, forgetting his present form, scatter them with stones and blows. Then, an instant after, feeling mad with rage, deafened by the death-knell the hounds were ringing in his ears, he fled, he leaped, he flew with the legs of a deer, with the wings of an eagle. But his efforts were in vain; he might run, leap, almost fly, the sounds of death still clung to him, and if for a moment they became more distant, it was only to hear them a moment after nearer and more threatening still. But still the instinct of self-preservation did not fail him; and still his strength was undiminished; only, if by ill luck, he were to come across other relays, he felt that it might give way. So he determined to take a bold course so as to out-distance the dogs, and to get back to his lairs, where he knew his ground and hoped to evade the dogs. He therefore doubled for the second time. He first ran back to Puiseux, then skirted past Viviers, regained the forest of Compi gne, made a dash into the forest of Largue, returned and crossed the Aisne at Attichy, and finally got back to the forest of Villers-Cotterets at the low lands of Argent. He trusted in this way to baffle the strategical plans of the Lord of Vez, who had, no doubt, posted his dogs at various likely points. Once back in his old quarters Thibault breathed more freely. He was now on the banks of the Ourcq between Norroy and Trouennes, where the river runs at the foot of deep rocks on either side; he leaped up on to a sharp-pointed crag overhanging the water, and from this high vantage ground he sprang into the waves below, then swam to a crevice at the base of the rock from which he had leapt, which was situated rather below the ordinary level of the water, and here, at the back of this cave, he waited. He had gained at least three miles upon the dogs; and yet, scarcely another ten minutes had elapsed, when the whole pack arrived and stormed the crest of the rock. Those who were leading, mad with excitement, did not see the gulf in front of them, or else, like their quarry they thought they would leap safely into it, for they plunged, and Thibault was splashed, far back as he was hidden, by the water that was scattered in every direction as they fell into it one by one. Less fortunate, however, and less vigorous than he was, they were unable to fight against the current, and after vainly battling with it, they were borne along out of sight before they had even got scent of the were-wolf s retreat. Overhead he could hear the tramping of the horses feet, the baying of the dogs that were still left, the cries of men, and above all these sounds, dominating the other voices, that of the Baron as he cursed and swore. When the last dog had fallen into the water, and been carried away like the others, he saw, thanks to a bend in the river, that the huntsmen were going down it, and persuaded that the Baron, whom he recognised at the head of his hunting-train, would only do this with the intention of coming up it again, he determined not to wait for this, and left his hiding-place. Now swimming, now leaping with agility from one rock to the other, at times wading through the water, he went up the river to the end of the Cr ne coppice. Certain that he had now made a considerable advance on his enemies, he resolved to get to one of the villages near and run in and out among the houses, feeling sure that they would not think of coming after him there. He thought of Pr ciamont; if any village was well known to him, it was that; and then, at Pr ciamont, he would be near Agnelette. He felt that this neighbourhood would put fresh vigour into him, and would bring him good fortune, and that the gentle image of the innocent girl would have some influence on his fate. So he started off in that direction. It was now six o clock in the evening; the hunt had lasted nearly fifteen hours, and wolf, dogs and huntsmen had covered fifty leagues at least. When, at last, after circling round by Manereux and Oigny, the black wolf reached the borders of the heath by the lane of Ham, the sun was already beginning to sink, and shedding a dazzling light over the flowery plain; the little white and pink flowers scented the breeze that played caressingly around them; the grasshopper was singing in its little house of moss, and the lark was soaring up towards heaven, saluting the eve with its song, as twelve hours before it had saluted the morn. The peaceful beauty of nature had a strange effect on Thibault. It seemed enigmatical to him that nature could be so smiling and beautiful, while anguish such as his was devouring his soul. He saw the flowers, and heard the insects and the birds, and he compared the quiet joy of this innocent world with the horrible pangs he was enduring, and asked himself, whether after all, notwithstanding all the new promises that had been made him by the devil s envoy, he had acted any more wisely in making this second compact than he had in making the first. He began to doubt whether he might not find himself deceived in the one as he had been in the other. As he went along a little footpath nearly hidden under the golden broom, he suddenly remembered that it was by this very path that he had taken Agnelette home on the first day of their acquaintance; the day, when inspired by his good angel, he had asked her to be his wife. The thought that, thanks to this new compact, he might be able to recover Agnelette s love, revived his spirits, which had been saddened and depressed by the sight of the universal happiness around him. He heard the church bells at Pr ciamont ringing in the valley below; its solemn, monotonous tones recalled the thought of his fellow men to the black wolf, and of all he had to fear from them. So he ran boldly on, across the fields, to the village, where he hoped to find a refuge in some empty building. As he was skirting the little stone wall of the village cemetery, he heard a sound of voices, approaching along the road he was in. He could not fail to meet whoever they might be who were coming towards him, if he himself went on; it was not safe to turn back, as he would have to cross some rising ground whence he might easily be seen; so there was nothing left for it but to jump over the wall of the cemetery, and with a bound he was on the other side. This graveyard as usual adjoined the church; it was uncared for, and overgrown with tall grass, while brambles and thorns grew rankly in places. The wolf made for the thickest of these bramble bushes; he found a sort of ruined vault, whence he could look out without being seen, and he crept under the branches and hid himself inside. A few yards away from him was a newly-dug grave; within the church could be heard the chanting of the priests, the more distinctly that the vault must at one time have communicated by a passage with the crypt. Presently the chanting ceased, and the black wolf, who did not feel quite at ease in the neighbourhood of a church, and thought that the road must now be clear, decided that it was time to start off again and to find a safer retreat than the one he had fled to in his haste. But he had scarcely got his nose outside the bramble bush when the gate of the cemetery opened, and he quickly retreated again to his hole, in great trepidation as to who might now be approaching. The first person he saw was a child dressed in a white alb and carrying a vessel of holy water; he was followed by a man in a surplice, bearing a silver cross, and after the latter came a priest, chanting the psalms for the dead. Behind these were four peasants carrying a bier covered with a white pall over which were scattered green branches and flowers, and beneath the sheet could be seen the outline of a coffin; a few villagers from Pr ciamont wound up this little procession. Although there was nothing unusual in such a sight as this, seeing that he was in a cemetery, and that the newly-dug grave must have prepared him for it, Thibault, nevertheless, felt strangely moved as he looked on. Although the slightest movement might betray his presence and bring destruction upon him, he anxiously watched every detail of the ceremony. The priest having blessed the newly-made grave, the peasants laid down their burden on an adjoining hillock. It is the custom in our country when a young girl, or young married woman, dies in the fullness of her youth and beauty, to carry her to the grave-yard in an open coffin, with only a pall over her, so that her friends may bid her a last farewell, her relations give her a last kiss. Then the coffin is nailed down, and all is over. An old woman, led by some kind hand, for she was apparently blind, went up to the coffin to give the dead one a last kiss; the peasants lifted the pall from the still face, and there lay Agnelette. A low groan escaped from Thibault s agonised breast, and mingled with the tears and sobs of those present. Agnelette, as she lay there so pale in death, wrapped in an ineffable calm, appeared more beautiful than when in life, beneath her wreath of forget-me-nots and daisies. As Thibault looked upon the poor dead girl, his heart seemed suddenly to melt within him. It was he, as he had truly realised, who had really killed her, and he experienced a genuine and overpowering sorrow, the more poignant since for the first time for many long months he forgot to think of himself, and thought only of the dead woman, now lost to him for ever. As he heard the blows of the hammer knocking the nails into the coffin, as he heard the earth and stones being shovelled into the grave and falling with a dull thud on to the body of the only woman he had ever loved, a feeling of giddiness came over him. The hard stones he thought must be bruising Agnelette s tender flesh, so fresh and sweet but a few days ago, and only yesterday still throbbing with life, and he made a movement as if to rush out on the assailants and snatch away the body, which dead, must surely belong to him, since, living, it had belonged to another. But the grief of the man overcame this instinct of the wild beast at bay; a shudder passed through the body hidden beneath its wolf skin; tears fell from the fierce blood-red eyes, and the unhappy man cried out: O God! take my life, I

truth

How many times the word 'truth' appears in the text?

wished for riches, and here I am in despair at having lost the humble roof of bracken under shelter of which I could sleep in peace without anxiety as to the morrow, without troubling myself about the rain or the wind beating against the branches of the giant oaks. I wished for position, and here I am, stoned and hunted down by the lowest peasants, whom formerly I despised. I asked for love, and the only woman who loved me and whom I loved became the wife of another, and she is at this moment cursing me as she lies dying, while I, notwithstanding all the power you have given me, can do nothing to help her! Leave off loving anybody but yourself, Thibault. Oh! yes, laugh at me, do! I am not laughing at you. But did you not cast envious eyes on other people s property before you had set eyes on me? Yes, for a wretched buck, of which there are hundreds just as good browsing in the forest! You thought your wishes were going to stop at the buck, Thibault; but wishes lead on to one another, as the night to the day, and the day to night. When you wished for the buck, you also wished for the silver dish on which it would be served; the silver dish led you on to wish for the servant who carries it and for the carver who cuts up its contents. Ambition is like the vault of heaven; it appears to be bounded by the horizon, but it covers the whole earth. You disdained Agnelette s innocence, and went after Madame Poulet s mill; if you had gained the mill, you would immediately have wanted the house of the Bailiff Magloire; and his house would have had no further attraction for you when once you had seen the Castle of Mont-Gobert. You are one in your envious disposition with the fallen Angel, your master and mine; only, as you were not clever enough to reap the benefit that might have accrued to you from your power of inflicting evil, it would perhaps have been more to your interest to continue to lead an honest life. Yes, indeed, replied the shoe-maker, I feel the truth of the proverb, Evil to him who evil wishes But, he continued, can I not become an honest man again? The wolf gave a mocking chuckle. My good fellow, the devil can drag a man to hell, he said, by a single hair. Have you ever counted how many of yours now belong to him? No. I cannot tell you that exactly either, but I know how many you have which are still your own. You have one left! You see it is long past the time for repentance. But if a man is lost when but one of his hairs belongs to the devil, said Thibault, why cannot God likewise save a man in virtue of a single hair? Well, try if that is so! And, besides, when I concluded that unhappy bargain with you, I did not understand that it was to be a compact of this kind. Oh, yes! I know all about the bad faith of you men! Was it no compact then to consent to give me your hairs, you stupid fool? Since men invented baptism, we do not know how to get hold of them, and so, in return for any concessions we make them, we are bound to insist on their relinquishing to us some part of their body on which we can lay hands. You gave us the hairs of your head; they are firmly rooted, as you have proved yourself and will not come away in our grasp.... No, no, Thibault, you have belonged to us ever since, standing on the threshold of the door that was once there, you cherished within you thoughts of deceit and violence. And so, cried Thibault passionately, rising and stamping his foot, and so I am lost as regards the next world without having enjoyed the pleasures of this! You can yet enjoy these. And how, I pray. By boldly following the path that you have struck by chance, and resolutely determining on a course of conduct which you have adopted as yet only in a halfhearted way; in short, by frankly owning yourself to be one of us. And how am I to do this? Take my place. And what then? You will then acquire my power, and you will have nothing left to wish for. If your power is so great, if it can give you all the riches that I long for, why do you give it up? Do not trouble yourself about me. The master for whom I shall have won a retainer will liberally reward me. And if I take your place, shall I also have to take your form? Yes, in the night-time; by day you will be a man again. The nights are long, dark, full of snares; I may be brought down by a bullet from a keeper, or be caught in a trap, and then good-bye riches, good-bye position and pleasure. Not so; for this skin that covers me is impenetrable by iron, lead or steel. As long as it protects your body, you will be not only invulnerable, but immortal; once a year, like all were-wolves, you will become a wolf again for four and twenty hours, and during that interval, you will be in danger of death like any other animal. I had just reached that dangerous time a year ago to-day, when we first met. Ah! said Thibault, that explains why you feared my Lord Baron s dogs. When we have dealings with men, we are forbidden to speak anything but the truth, and the whole truth; it is for them to accept or refuse. You have boasted to me of the power that I should acquire; tell me, now, in what that power will consist? It will be such that even the most powerful king will not be able to withstand it, since his power is limited by the human and the possible. Shall I be rich? So rich, that you will come in time to despise riches, since, by the mere force of your will, you will obtain not only what men can only acquire with gold and silver, but also all that superior beings get by their conjurations. Shall I be able to revenge myself on my enemies? You will have unlimited power over everything which is connected with evil. If I love a woman, will there again be a possibility of my losing her? As you will have dominion over all your fellow creatures, you will be able to do with them what you like. There will be no power to enable them to escape from the trammels of my will? Nothing, except death, which is stronger than all. And I shall only run the risk of death myself on one day out of the three hundred and sixty-five? On one day only; during the remaining days nothing can harm you, neither iron, lead, nor steel, neither water, nor fire. And there is no deceit, no trap to catch me, in your words? None, on my honour as a wolf! Good, said Thibault, then let it be so; a wolf for four and twenty hours, for the rest of the time the monarch of creation! What am I to do? I am ready. Pick a holly-leaf, tear it in three pieces with your teeth, and throw it away from you, as far as you can. Thibault did as he was commanded. Having torn the leaf in three pieces, he scattered them on the air, and although the night till then had been a peaceful one, there was immediately heard a loud peal of thunder, while a tempestuous whirlwind arose, which caught up the fragments and carried them whirling away with it. And now, brother Thibault, said the wolf, take my place, and good luck be with you! As was my case just a year ago, so you will have to become a wolf for four and twenty hours; you must endeavour to come out of the ordeal as happily as I did, thanks to you, and then you will see realised all that I have promised you. Meanwhile, I will pray the lord of the cloven hoof that he will protect you from the teeth of the Baron s hounds, for, by the devil himself, I take a genuine interest in you, friend Thibault. And then it seemed to Thibault that he saw the black wolf grow larger and taller, that it stood up on its hind legs and finally walked away in the form of a man, who made a sign to him with his hand as he disappeared. We say _it seemed to him_, for Thibault s ideas, for a second or two, became very indistinct. A feeling of torpor passed over him, paralysing his power of thought. When he came to himself, he was alone. His limbs were imprisoned in a new and unusual form; he had, in short, become in every respect the counterpart of the black wolf that a few minutes before had been speaking to him. One single white hair on his head alone shone in contrast to the remainder of the sombre coloured fur; this one white hair of the wolf was the one black hair which had remained to the man. Thibault had scarcely had time to recover himself when he fancied he heard a rustling among the bushes, and the sound of a low, muffled bark.... He thought of the Baron and his hounds, and trembled. Thus metamorphosed into the black wolf, he decided that he would not do what his predecessor had done, and wait till the dogs were upon him. It was probably a bloodhound he had heard, and he would get away before the hounds were uncoupled. He made off, striking straight ahead, as is the manner of wolves, and it was a profound satisfaction to him to find that in his new form he had tenfold his former strength and elasticity of limb. By the devil and his horns! the voice of the Lord of Vez was now heard to say to his new huntsman a few paces off, you hold the leash too slack, my lad; you have let the bloodhound give tongue, and we shall never head the wolf back now. I was in fault, I do not deny it, my Lord; but as I saw it go by last evening only a few yards from this spot, I never guessed that it would take up its quarters for the night in this part of the wood and that it was so close to us as all that. Are you sure it is the same one that has got away from us so often? May the bread I eat in your service choke me, my lord, if it is not the same black wolf that we were chasing last year when poor Marcotte was drowned. I should like finely to put the dogs on its track, said the Baron, with a sigh. My lord has but to give the order, and we will do so, but he will allow me to observe that we have still two good hours of darkness before us, time enough for every horse we have to break its legs. That may be, but if we wait for the day, l Eveill , the fellow will have had time to get ten leagues away. Ten leagues at least, said l Eveill , shaking his head. I have got this cursed black wolf on my brain, added the Baron, and I have such a longing to have its skin, that I feel sure I shall catch an illness if I do not get hold of it. Well then, my lord, let us have the dogs out without a moment s loss of time. You are right, l Eveill ; go and fetch the hounds. L Eveill went back to his horse, that he had tied to a tree outside the wood, and went off at a gallop, and in ten minutes time, which seemed like ten centuries to the Baron, he was back with the whole hunting train. The hounds were immediately uncoupled. Gently, gently, my lads! said the Lord of Vez, you forget you are not handling your old well-trained dogs; if you get excited with these raw recruits, they ll merely kick up a devil of a row, and be no more good than so many turnspits; let em get warmed up by degrees. And, indeed, the dogs were no sooner loose, than two or three got at once on to the scent of the were-wolf, and began to give cry, whereupon the others joined them. The whole pack started off on Thibault s track, at first quietly following up the scent, and only giving cry at long intervals, then more excitedly and of more accord, until they had so thoroughly imbibed the odour of the wolf ahead of them, and the scent had become so strong, that they tore along, baying furiously, and with unparalleled eagerness in the direction of the Yvors coppice. Well begun, is half done! cried the Baron. You look after the relays, l Eveill ; I want them ready whenever needed! I will encourage the dogs.... And you be on the alert, you others, he added, addressing himself to the younger keepers, we have more than one defeat to avenge, and if I lose this view halloo through the fault of anyone among you, by the devil and his horns! he shall be the dogs quarry in place of the wolf! After pronouncing these words of encouragement, the Baron put his horse to the gallop, and although it was still pitch dark and the ground was rough, he kept the animal going at top speed so as to come up with the hounds, which could be heard giving tongue in the low lands about Bourg-Fontaine. CHAPTER XXIV HUNTING DOWN THE WERE-WOLF Thibault had got well ahead of the dogs, thanks to the precaution he had taken of making good his escape at the first note of the bloodhound. For some time he heard no further sound of pursuit; but, all at once, like distant thunder, the baying of the hounds reached his ears, and he began to feel some anxiety. He had been trotting, but he now went on at greater speed, and did not pause till he had put a few more leagues between himself and his enemies. Then he stood still and took his bearings; he found himself on the heights at Montaigu. He bent his head and listened--the dogs still seemed a long way off, somewhere near the Tillet coppice. It required a wolf s ear to distinguish them so far off. Thibault went down the hill again, as if to meet the dogs; then, leaving Erneville to the left, he leaped into the little stream which rises there, waded down its course as far as Grimancourt, dashed into the woods of Lessart-l Abbesse, and finally gained the forest of Compi gne. He was somewhat reassured to find that, in spite of his three hours hard running, the steel-like muscles of his wolf legs were not in the least fatigued. He hesitated, however, to trust himself in a forest which was not so familiar to him as that of Villers-Cotterets. After another dash of a mile or so, he decided that by doubling boldly he would be most likely to put the dogs off the scent. He crossed at a gallop all the stretch of plain between Pierrefond and Mont-Gobert, took to the woods at the Champ Meutard, came out again at Vauvaudrand, regained the stream by the Sanc res timber floatage, and once more found himself in the forest near Long-Pont. Unfortunately for him, just as he reached the end of the Route du Pendu, he came across another pack of twenty dogs, which Monsieur de Montbreton s huntsman was bringing up as a relay, for the Baron had sent his neighbour news of the chase. Instantly the hounds were uncoupled by the huntsman as he caught sight of the wolf, for seeing that the latter kept its distance, he feared it would get too far ahead if he waited for the others to come up before loosing his dogs. And now began the struggle between the were-wolf and the dogs in very earnest. It was a wild chase, which the horses, in spite of their skilled riders, had great difficulty in following, a chase over plains, through woods, across heaths, pursued at a headlong pace. As the hunt flew by, it appeared and disappeared like a flash of lightning across a cloud, leaving behind a whirlwind of dust, and a sound of horns and cries which echo had hardly time to repeat. It rushed over hill and dale, through torrents and bogs, and over precipices, as if horses and dogs had been winged like Hippogriffs and Chimeras. The Baron had come up with his huntsmen, riding at their head, and almost riding on the tails of his dogs, his eye flashing, his nostrils dilated, exciting the pack with wild shouts and furious blasts, digging his spurs into his horse s sides whenever an obstacle of any kind caused it to hesitate for a single instant. The black wolf, on his side, still held on at the same rapid pace; although sorely shaken at hearing the fresh pack in full pursuit only a short way behind him, just as he had got back to the forest, he had not lost an inch of ground. As he retained to the full all his human consciousness, it seemed to him impossible, as he still ran on, that he should not escape in safety from this ordeal; he felt that it was not possible for him to die before he had taken vengeance for all the agony that others made him suffer, before he had known those pleasures that had been promised him, above all--for at this critical moment his thoughts kept on running on this--before he had gained Agnelette s love. At moments he was possessed by terror, at others by anger. He thought at times that he would turn and face this yelling pack of dogs, and, forgetting his present form, scatter them with stones and blows. Then, an instant after, feeling mad with rage, deafened by the death-knell the hounds were ringing in his ears, he fled, he leaped, he flew with the legs of a deer, with the wings of an eagle. But his efforts were in vain; he might run, leap, almost fly, the sounds of death still clung to him, and if for a moment they became more distant, it was only to hear them a moment after nearer and more threatening still. But still the instinct of self-preservation did not fail him; and still his strength was undiminished; only, if by ill luck, he were to come across other relays, he felt that it might give way. So he determined to take a bold course so as to out-distance the dogs, and to get back to his lairs, where he knew his ground and hoped to evade the dogs. He therefore doubled for the second time. He first ran back to Puiseux, then skirted past Viviers, regained the forest of Compi gne, made a dash into the forest of Largue, returned and crossed the Aisne at Attichy, and finally got back to the forest of Villers-Cotterets at the low lands of Argent. He trusted in this way to baffle the strategical plans of the Lord of Vez, who had, no doubt, posted his dogs at various likely points. Once back in his old quarters Thibault breathed more freely. He was now on the banks of the Ourcq between Norroy and Trouennes, where the river runs at the foot of deep rocks on either side; he leaped up on to a sharp-pointed crag overhanging the water, and from this high vantage ground he sprang into the waves below, then swam to a crevice at the base of the rock from which he had leapt, which was situated rather below the ordinary level of the water, and here, at the back of this cave, he waited. He had gained at least three miles upon the dogs; and yet, scarcely another ten minutes had elapsed, when the whole pack arrived and stormed the crest of the rock. Those who were leading, mad with excitement, did not see the gulf in front of them, or else, like their quarry they thought they would leap safely into it, for they plunged, and Thibault was splashed, far back as he was hidden, by the water that was scattered in every direction as they fell into it one by one. Less fortunate, however, and less vigorous than he was, they were unable to fight against the current, and after vainly battling with it, they were borne along out of sight before they had even got scent of the were-wolf s retreat. Overhead he could hear the tramping of the horses feet, the baying of the dogs that were still left, the cries of men, and above all these sounds, dominating the other voices, that of the Baron as he cursed and swore. When the last dog had fallen into the water, and been carried away like the others, he saw, thanks to a bend in the river, that the huntsmen were going down it, and persuaded that the Baron, whom he recognised at the head of his hunting-train, would only do this with the intention of coming up it again, he determined not to wait for this, and left his hiding-place. Now swimming, now leaping with agility from one rock to the other, at times wading through the water, he went up the river to the end of the Cr ne coppice. Certain that he had now made a considerable advance on his enemies, he resolved to get to one of the villages near and run in and out among the houses, feeling sure that they would not think of coming after him there. He thought of Pr ciamont; if any village was well known to him, it was that; and then, at Pr ciamont, he would be near Agnelette. He felt that this neighbourhood would put fresh vigour into him, and would bring him good fortune, and that the gentle image of the innocent girl would have some influence on his fate. So he started off in that direction. It was now six o clock in the evening; the hunt had lasted nearly fifteen hours, and wolf, dogs and huntsmen had covered fifty leagues at least. When, at last, after circling round by Manereux and Oigny, the black wolf reached the borders of the heath by the lane of Ham, the sun was already beginning to sink, and shedding a dazzling light over the flowery plain; the little white and pink flowers scented the breeze that played caressingly around them; the grasshopper was singing in its little house of moss, and the lark was soaring up towards heaven, saluting the eve with its song, as twelve hours before it had saluted the morn. The peaceful beauty of nature had a strange effect on Thibault. It seemed enigmatical to him that nature could be so smiling and beautiful, while anguish such as his was devouring his soul. He saw the flowers, and heard the insects and the birds, and he compared the quiet joy of this innocent world with the horrible pangs he was enduring, and asked himself, whether after all, notwithstanding all the new promises that had been made him by the devil s envoy, he had acted any more wisely in making this second compact than he had in making the first. He began to doubt whether he might not find himself deceived in the one as he had been in the other. As he went along a little footpath nearly hidden under the golden broom, he suddenly remembered that it was by this very path that he had taken Agnelette home on the first day of their acquaintance; the day, when inspired by his good angel, he had asked her to be his wife. The thought that, thanks to this new compact, he might be able to recover Agnelette s love, revived his spirits, which had been saddened and depressed by the sight of the universal happiness around him. He heard the church bells at Pr ciamont ringing in the valley below; its solemn, monotonous tones recalled the thought of his fellow men to the black wolf, and of all he had to fear from them. So he ran boldly on, across the fields, to the village, where he hoped to find a refuge in some empty building. As he was skirting the little stone wall of the village cemetery, he heard a sound of voices, approaching along the road he was in. He could not fail to meet whoever they might be who were coming towards him, if he himself went on; it was not safe to turn back, as he would have to cross some rising ground whence he might easily be seen; so there was nothing left for it but to jump over the wall of the cemetery, and with a bound he was on the other side. This graveyard as usual adjoined the church; it was uncared for, and overgrown with tall grass, while brambles and thorns grew rankly in places. The wolf made for the thickest of these bramble bushes; he found a sort of ruined vault, whence he could look out without being seen, and he crept under the branches and hid himself inside. A few yards away from him was a newly-dug grave; within the church could be heard the chanting of the priests, the more distinctly that the vault must at one time have communicated by a passage with the crypt. Presently the chanting ceased, and the black wolf, who did not feel quite at ease in the neighbourhood of a church, and thought that the road must now be clear, decided that it was time to start off again and to find a safer retreat than the one he had fled to in his haste. But he had scarcely got his nose outside the bramble bush when the gate of the cemetery opened, and he quickly retreated again to his hole, in great trepidation as to who might now be approaching. The first person he saw was a child dressed in a white alb and carrying a vessel of holy water; he was followed by a man in a surplice, bearing a silver cross, and after the latter came a priest, chanting the psalms for the dead. Behind these were four peasants carrying a bier covered with a white pall over which were scattered green branches and flowers, and beneath the sheet could be seen the outline of a coffin; a few villagers from Pr ciamont wound up this little procession. Although there was nothing unusual in such a sight as this, seeing that he was in a cemetery, and that the newly-dug grave must have prepared him for it, Thibault, nevertheless, felt strangely moved as he looked on. Although the slightest movement might betray his presence and bring destruction upon him, he anxiously watched every detail of the ceremony. The priest having blessed the newly-made grave, the peasants laid down their burden on an adjoining hillock. It is the custom in our country when a young girl, or young married woman, dies in the fullness of her youth and beauty, to carry her to the grave-yard in an open coffin, with only a pall over her, so that her friends may bid her a last farewell, her relations give her a last kiss. Then the coffin is nailed down, and all is over. An old woman, led by some kind hand, for she was apparently blind, went up to the coffin to give the dead one a last kiss; the peasants lifted the pall from the still face, and there lay Agnelette. A low groan escaped from Thibault s agonised breast, and mingled with the tears and sobs of those present. Agnelette, as she lay there so pale in death, wrapped in an ineffable calm, appeared more beautiful than when in life, beneath her wreath of forget-me-nots and daisies. As Thibault looked upon the poor dead girl, his heart seemed suddenly to melt within him. It was he, as he had truly realised, who had really killed her, and he experienced a genuine and overpowering sorrow, the more poignant since for the first time for many long months he forgot to think of himself, and thought only of the dead woman, now lost to him for ever. As he heard the blows of the hammer knocking the nails into the coffin, as he heard the earth and stones being shovelled into the grave and falling with a dull thud on to the body of the only woman he had ever loved, a feeling of giddiness came over him. The hard stones he thought must be bruising Agnelette s tender flesh, so fresh and sweet but a few days ago, and only yesterday still throbbing with life, and he made a movement as if to rush out on the assailants and snatch away the body, which dead, must surely belong to him, since, living, it had belonged to another. But the grief of the man overcame this instinct of the wild beast at bay; a shudder passed through the body hidden beneath its wolf skin; tears fell from the fierce blood-red eyes, and the unhappy man cried out: O God! take my life, I

felt

How many times the word 'felt' appears in the text?

wished for riches, and here I am in despair at having lost the humble roof of bracken under shelter of which I could sleep in peace without anxiety as to the morrow, without troubling myself about the rain or the wind beating against the branches of the giant oaks. I wished for position, and here I am, stoned and hunted down by the lowest peasants, whom formerly I despised. I asked for love, and the only woman who loved me and whom I loved became the wife of another, and she is at this moment cursing me as she lies dying, while I, notwithstanding all the power you have given me, can do nothing to help her! Leave off loving anybody but yourself, Thibault. Oh! yes, laugh at me, do! I am not laughing at you. But did you not cast envious eyes on other people s property before you had set eyes on me? Yes, for a wretched buck, of which there are hundreds just as good browsing in the forest! You thought your wishes were going to stop at the buck, Thibault; but wishes lead on to one another, as the night to the day, and the day to night. When you wished for the buck, you also wished for the silver dish on which it would be served; the silver dish led you on to wish for the servant who carries it and for the carver who cuts up its contents. Ambition is like the vault of heaven; it appears to be bounded by the horizon, but it covers the whole earth. You disdained Agnelette s innocence, and went after Madame Poulet s mill; if you had gained the mill, you would immediately have wanted the house of the Bailiff Magloire; and his house would have had no further attraction for you when once you had seen the Castle of Mont-Gobert. You are one in your envious disposition with the fallen Angel, your master and mine; only, as you were not clever enough to reap the benefit that might have accrued to you from your power of inflicting evil, it would perhaps have been more to your interest to continue to lead an honest life. Yes, indeed, replied the shoe-maker, I feel the truth of the proverb, Evil to him who evil wishes But, he continued, can I not become an honest man again? The wolf gave a mocking chuckle. My good fellow, the devil can drag a man to hell, he said, by a single hair. Have you ever counted how many of yours now belong to him? No. I cannot tell you that exactly either, but I know how many you have which are still your own. You have one left! You see it is long past the time for repentance. But if a man is lost when but one of his hairs belongs to the devil, said Thibault, why cannot God likewise save a man in virtue of a single hair? Well, try if that is so! And, besides, when I concluded that unhappy bargain with you, I did not understand that it was to be a compact of this kind. Oh, yes! I know all about the bad faith of you men! Was it no compact then to consent to give me your hairs, you stupid fool? Since men invented baptism, we do not know how to get hold of them, and so, in return for any concessions we make them, we are bound to insist on their relinquishing to us some part of their body on which we can lay hands. You gave us the hairs of your head; they are firmly rooted, as you have proved yourself and will not come away in our grasp.... No, no, Thibault, you have belonged to us ever since, standing on the threshold of the door that was once there, you cherished within you thoughts of deceit and violence. And so, cried Thibault passionately, rising and stamping his foot, and so I am lost as regards the next world without having enjoyed the pleasures of this! You can yet enjoy these. And how, I pray. By boldly following the path that you have struck by chance, and resolutely determining on a course of conduct which you have adopted as yet only in a halfhearted way; in short, by frankly owning yourself to be one of us. And how am I to do this? Take my place. And what then? You will then acquire my power, and you will have nothing left to wish for. If your power is so great, if it can give you all the riches that I long for, why do you give it up? Do not trouble yourself about me. The master for whom I shall have won a retainer will liberally reward me. And if I take your place, shall I also have to take your form? Yes, in the night-time; by day you will be a man again. The nights are long, dark, full of snares; I may be brought down by a bullet from a keeper, or be caught in a trap, and then good-bye riches, good-bye position and pleasure. Not so; for this skin that covers me is impenetrable by iron, lead or steel. As long as it protects your body, you will be not only invulnerable, but immortal; once a year, like all were-wolves, you will become a wolf again for four and twenty hours, and during that interval, you will be in danger of death like any other animal. I had just reached that dangerous time a year ago to-day, when we first met. Ah! said Thibault, that explains why you feared my Lord Baron s dogs. When we have dealings with men, we are forbidden to speak anything but the truth, and the whole truth; it is for them to accept or refuse. You have boasted to me of the power that I should acquire; tell me, now, in what that power will consist? It will be such that even the most powerful king will not be able to withstand it, since his power is limited by the human and the possible. Shall I be rich? So rich, that you will come in time to despise riches, since, by the mere force of your will, you will obtain not only what men can only acquire with gold and silver, but also all that superior beings get by their conjurations. Shall I be able to revenge myself on my enemies? You will have unlimited power over everything which is connected with evil. If I love a woman, will there again be a possibility of my losing her? As you will have dominion over all your fellow creatures, you will be able to do with them what you like. There will be no power to enable them to escape from the trammels of my will? Nothing, except death, which is stronger than all. And I shall only run the risk of death myself on one day out of the three hundred and sixty-five? On one day only; during the remaining days nothing can harm you, neither iron, lead, nor steel, neither water, nor fire. And there is no deceit, no trap to catch me, in your words? None, on my honour as a wolf! Good, said Thibault, then let it be so; a wolf for four and twenty hours, for the rest of the time the monarch of creation! What am I to do? I am ready. Pick a holly-leaf, tear it in three pieces with your teeth, and throw it away from you, as far as you can. Thibault did as he was commanded. Having torn the leaf in three pieces, he scattered them on the air, and although the night till then had been a peaceful one, there was immediately heard a loud peal of thunder, while a tempestuous whirlwind arose, which caught up the fragments and carried them whirling away with it. And now, brother Thibault, said the wolf, take my place, and good luck be with you! As was my case just a year ago, so you will have to become a wolf for four and twenty hours; you must endeavour to come out of the ordeal as happily as I did, thanks to you, and then you will see realised all that I have promised you. Meanwhile, I will pray the lord of the cloven hoof that he will protect you from the teeth of the Baron s hounds, for, by the devil himself, I take a genuine interest in you, friend Thibault. And then it seemed to Thibault that he saw the black wolf grow larger and taller, that it stood up on its hind legs and finally walked away in the form of a man, who made a sign to him with his hand as he disappeared. We say _it seemed to him_, for Thibault s ideas, for a second or two, became very indistinct. A feeling of torpor passed over him, paralysing his power of thought. When he came to himself, he was alone. His limbs were imprisoned in a new and unusual form; he had, in short, become in every respect the counterpart of the black wolf that a few minutes before had been speaking to him. One single white hair on his head alone shone in contrast to the remainder of the sombre coloured fur; this one white hair of the wolf was the one black hair which had remained to the man. Thibault had scarcely had time to recover himself when he fancied he heard a rustling among the bushes, and the sound of a low, muffled bark.... He thought of the Baron and his hounds, and trembled. Thus metamorphosed into the black wolf, he decided that he would not do what his predecessor had done, and wait till the dogs were upon him. It was probably a bloodhound he had heard, and he would get away before the hounds were uncoupled. He made off, striking straight ahead, as is the manner of wolves, and it was a profound satisfaction to him to find that in his new form he had tenfold his former strength and elasticity of limb. By the devil and his horns! the voice of the Lord of Vez was now heard to say to his new huntsman a few paces off, you hold the leash too slack, my lad; you have let the bloodhound give tongue, and we shall never head the wolf back now. I was in fault, I do not deny it, my Lord; but as I saw it go by last evening only a few yards from this spot, I never guessed that it would take up its quarters for the night in this part of the wood and that it was so close to us as all that. Are you sure it is the same one that has got away from us so often? May the bread I eat in your service choke me, my lord, if it is not the same black wolf that we were chasing last year when poor Marcotte was drowned. I should like finely to put the dogs on its track, said the Baron, with a sigh. My lord has but to give the order, and we will do so, but he will allow me to observe that we have still two good hours of darkness before us, time enough for every horse we have to break its legs. That may be, but if we wait for the day, l Eveill , the fellow will have had time to get ten leagues away. Ten leagues at least, said l Eveill , shaking his head. I have got this cursed black wolf on my brain, added the Baron, and I have such a longing to have its skin, that I feel sure I shall catch an illness if I do not get hold of it. Well then, my lord, let us have the dogs out without a moment s loss of time. You are right, l Eveill ; go and fetch the hounds. L Eveill went back to his horse, that he had tied to a tree outside the wood, and went off at a gallop, and in ten minutes time, which seemed like ten centuries to the Baron, he was back with the whole hunting train. The hounds were immediately uncoupled. Gently, gently, my lads! said the Lord of Vez, you forget you are not handling your old well-trained dogs; if you get excited with these raw recruits, they ll merely kick up a devil of a row, and be no more good than so many turnspits; let em get warmed up by degrees. And, indeed, the dogs were no sooner loose, than two or three got at once on to the scent of the were-wolf, and began to give cry, whereupon the others joined them. The whole pack started off on Thibault s track, at first quietly following up the scent, and only giving cry at long intervals, then more excitedly and of more accord, until they had so thoroughly imbibed the odour of the wolf ahead of them, and the scent had become so strong, that they tore along, baying furiously, and with unparalleled eagerness in the direction of the Yvors coppice. Well begun, is half done! cried the Baron. You look after the relays, l Eveill ; I want them ready whenever needed! I will encourage the dogs.... And you be on the alert, you others, he added, addressing himself to the younger keepers, we have more than one defeat to avenge, and if I lose this view halloo through the fault of anyone among you, by the devil and his horns! he shall be the dogs quarry in place of the wolf! After pronouncing these words of encouragement, the Baron put his horse to the gallop, and although it was still pitch dark and the ground was rough, he kept the animal going at top speed so as to come up with the hounds, which could be heard giving tongue in the low lands about Bourg-Fontaine. CHAPTER XXIV HUNTING DOWN THE WERE-WOLF Thibault had got well ahead of the dogs, thanks to the precaution he had taken of making good his escape at the first note of the bloodhound. For some time he heard no further sound of pursuit; but, all at once, like distant thunder, the baying of the hounds reached his ears, and he began to feel some anxiety. He had been trotting, but he now went on at greater speed, and did not pause till he had put a few more leagues between himself and his enemies. Then he stood still and took his bearings; he found himself on the heights at Montaigu. He bent his head and listened--the dogs still seemed a long way off, somewhere near the Tillet coppice. It required a wolf s ear to distinguish them so far off. Thibault went down the hill again, as if to meet the dogs; then, leaving Erneville to the left, he leaped into the little stream which rises there, waded down its course as far as Grimancourt, dashed into the woods of Lessart-l Abbesse, and finally gained the forest of Compi gne. He was somewhat reassured to find that, in spite of his three hours hard running, the steel-like muscles of his wolf legs were not in the least fatigued. He hesitated, however, to trust himself in a forest which was not so familiar to him as that of Villers-Cotterets. After another dash of a mile or so, he decided that by doubling boldly he would be most likely to put the dogs off the scent. He crossed at a gallop all the stretch of plain between Pierrefond and Mont-Gobert, took to the woods at the Champ Meutard, came out again at Vauvaudrand, regained the stream by the Sanc res timber floatage, and once more found himself in the forest near Long-Pont. Unfortunately for him, just as he reached the end of the Route du Pendu, he came across another pack of twenty dogs, which Monsieur de Montbreton s huntsman was bringing up as a relay, for the Baron had sent his neighbour news of the chase. Instantly the hounds were uncoupled by the huntsman as he caught sight of the wolf, for seeing that the latter kept its distance, he feared it would get too far ahead if he waited for the others to come up before loosing his dogs. And now began the struggle between the were-wolf and the dogs in very earnest. It was a wild chase, which the horses, in spite of their skilled riders, had great difficulty in following, a chase over plains, through woods, across heaths, pursued at a headlong pace. As the hunt flew by, it appeared and disappeared like a flash of lightning across a cloud, leaving behind a whirlwind of dust, and a sound of horns and cries which echo had hardly time to repeat. It rushed over hill and dale, through torrents and bogs, and over precipices, as if horses and dogs had been winged like Hippogriffs and Chimeras. The Baron had come up with his huntsmen, riding at their head, and almost riding on the tails of his dogs, his eye flashing, his nostrils dilated, exciting the pack with wild shouts and furious blasts, digging his spurs into his horse s sides whenever an obstacle of any kind caused it to hesitate for a single instant. The black wolf, on his side, still held on at the same rapid pace; although sorely shaken at hearing the fresh pack in full pursuit only a short way behind him, just as he had got back to the forest, he had not lost an inch of ground. As he retained to the full all his human consciousness, it seemed to him impossible, as he still ran on, that he should not escape in safety from this ordeal; he felt that it was not possible for him to die before he had taken vengeance for all the agony that others made him suffer, before he had known those pleasures that had been promised him, above all--for at this critical moment his thoughts kept on running on this--before he had gained Agnelette s love. At moments he was possessed by terror, at others by anger. He thought at times that he would turn and face this yelling pack of dogs, and, forgetting his present form, scatter them with stones and blows. Then, an instant after, feeling mad with rage, deafened by the death-knell the hounds were ringing in his ears, he fled, he leaped, he flew with the legs of a deer, with the wings of an eagle. But his efforts were in vain; he might run, leap, almost fly, the sounds of death still clung to him, and if for a moment they became more distant, it was only to hear them a moment after nearer and more threatening still. But still the instinct of self-preservation did not fail him; and still his strength was undiminished; only, if by ill luck, he were to come across other relays, he felt that it might give way. So he determined to take a bold course so as to out-distance the dogs, and to get back to his lairs, where he knew his ground and hoped to evade the dogs. He therefore doubled for the second time. He first ran back to Puiseux, then skirted past Viviers, regained the forest of Compi gne, made a dash into the forest of Largue, returned and crossed the Aisne at Attichy, and finally got back to the forest of Villers-Cotterets at the low lands of Argent. He trusted in this way to baffle the strategical plans of the Lord of Vez, who had, no doubt, posted his dogs at various likely points. Once back in his old quarters Thibault breathed more freely. He was now on the banks of the Ourcq between Norroy and Trouennes, where the river runs at the foot of deep rocks on either side; he leaped up on to a sharp-pointed crag overhanging the water, and from this high vantage ground he sprang into the waves below, then swam to a crevice at the base of the rock from which he had leapt, which was situated rather below the ordinary level of the water, and here, at the back of this cave, he waited. He had gained at least three miles upon the dogs; and yet, scarcely another ten minutes had elapsed, when the whole pack arrived and stormed the crest of the rock. Those who were leading, mad with excitement, did not see the gulf in front of them, or else, like their quarry they thought they would leap safely into it, for they plunged, and Thibault was splashed, far back as he was hidden, by the water that was scattered in every direction as they fell into it one by one. Less fortunate, however, and less vigorous than he was, they were unable to fight against the current, and after vainly battling with it, they were borne along out of sight before they had even got scent of the were-wolf s retreat. Overhead he could hear the tramping of the horses feet, the baying of the dogs that were still left, the cries of men, and above all these sounds, dominating the other voices, that of the Baron as he cursed and swore. When the last dog had fallen into the water, and been carried away like the others, he saw, thanks to a bend in the river, that the huntsmen were going down it, and persuaded that the Baron, whom he recognised at the head of his hunting-train, would only do this with the intention of coming up it again, he determined not to wait for this, and left his hiding-place. Now swimming, now leaping with agility from one rock to the other, at times wading through the water, he went up the river to the end of the Cr ne coppice. Certain that he had now made a considerable advance on his enemies, he resolved to get to one of the villages near and run in and out among the houses, feeling sure that they would not think of coming after him there. He thought of Pr ciamont; if any village was well known to him, it was that; and then, at Pr ciamont, he would be near Agnelette. He felt that this neighbourhood would put fresh vigour into him, and would bring him good fortune, and that the gentle image of the innocent girl would have some influence on his fate. So he started off in that direction. It was now six o clock in the evening; the hunt had lasted nearly fifteen hours, and wolf, dogs and huntsmen had covered fifty leagues at least. When, at last, after circling round by Manereux and Oigny, the black wolf reached the borders of the heath by the lane of Ham, the sun was already beginning to sink, and shedding a dazzling light over the flowery plain; the little white and pink flowers scented the breeze that played caressingly around them; the grasshopper was singing in its little house of moss, and the lark was soaring up towards heaven, saluting the eve with its song, as twelve hours before it had saluted the morn. The peaceful beauty of nature had a strange effect on Thibault. It seemed enigmatical to him that nature could be so smiling and beautiful, while anguish such as his was devouring his soul. He saw the flowers, and heard the insects and the birds, and he compared the quiet joy of this innocent world with the horrible pangs he was enduring, and asked himself, whether after all, notwithstanding all the new promises that had been made him by the devil s envoy, he had acted any more wisely in making this second compact than he had in making the first. He began to doubt whether he might not find himself deceived in the one as he had been in the other. As he went along a little footpath nearly hidden under the golden broom, he suddenly remembered that it was by this very path that he had taken Agnelette home on the first day of their acquaintance; the day, when inspired by his good angel, he had asked her to be his wife. The thought that, thanks to this new compact, he might be able to recover Agnelette s love, revived his spirits, which had been saddened and depressed by the sight of the universal happiness around him. He heard the church bells at Pr ciamont ringing in the valley below; its solemn, monotonous tones recalled the thought of his fellow men to the black wolf, and of all he had to fear from them. So he ran boldly on, across the fields, to the village, where he hoped to find a refuge in some empty building. As he was skirting the little stone wall of the village cemetery, he heard a sound of voices, approaching along the road he was in. He could not fail to meet whoever they might be who were coming towards him, if he himself went on; it was not safe to turn back, as he would have to cross some rising ground whence he might easily be seen; so there was nothing left for it but to jump over the wall of the cemetery, and with a bound he was on the other side. This graveyard as usual adjoined the church; it was uncared for, and overgrown with tall grass, while brambles and thorns grew rankly in places. The wolf made for the thickest of these bramble bushes; he found a sort of ruined vault, whence he could look out without being seen, and he crept under the branches and hid himself inside. A few yards away from him was a newly-dug grave; within the church could be heard the chanting of the priests, the more distinctly that the vault must at one time have communicated by a passage with the crypt. Presently the chanting ceased, and the black wolf, who did not feel quite at ease in the neighbourhood of a church, and thought that the road must now be clear, decided that it was time to start off again and to find a safer retreat than the one he had fled to in his haste. But he had scarcely got his nose outside the bramble bush when the gate of the cemetery opened, and he quickly retreated again to his hole, in great trepidation as to who might now be approaching. The first person he saw was a child dressed in a white alb and carrying a vessel of holy water; he was followed by a man in a surplice, bearing a silver cross, and after the latter came a priest, chanting the psalms for the dead. Behind these were four peasants carrying a bier covered with a white pall over which were scattered green branches and flowers, and beneath the sheet could be seen the outline of a coffin; a few villagers from Pr ciamont wound up this little procession. Although there was nothing unusual in such a sight as this, seeing that he was in a cemetery, and that the newly-dug grave must have prepared him for it, Thibault, nevertheless, felt strangely moved as he looked on. Although the slightest movement might betray his presence and bring destruction upon him, he anxiously watched every detail of the ceremony. The priest having blessed the newly-made grave, the peasants laid down their burden on an adjoining hillock. It is the custom in our country when a young girl, or young married woman, dies in the fullness of her youth and beauty, to carry her to the grave-yard in an open coffin, with only a pall over her, so that her friends may bid her a last farewell, her relations give her a last kiss. Then the coffin is nailed down, and all is over. An old woman, led by some kind hand, for she was apparently blind, went up to the coffin to give the dead one a last kiss; the peasants lifted the pall from the still face, and there lay Agnelette. A low groan escaped from Thibault s agonised breast, and mingled with the tears and sobs of those present. Agnelette, as she lay there so pale in death, wrapped in an ineffable calm, appeared more beautiful than when in life, beneath her wreath of forget-me-nots and daisies. As Thibault looked upon the poor dead girl, his heart seemed suddenly to melt within him. It was he, as he had truly realised, who had really killed her, and he experienced a genuine and overpowering sorrow, the more poignant since for the first time for many long months he forgot to think of himself, and thought only of the dead woman, now lost to him for ever. As he heard the blows of the hammer knocking the nails into the coffin, as he heard the earth and stones being shovelled into the grave and falling with a dull thud on to the body of the only woman he had ever loved, a feeling of giddiness came over him. The hard stones he thought must be bruising Agnelette s tender flesh, so fresh and sweet but a few days ago, and only yesterday still throbbing with life, and he made a movement as if to rush out on the assailants and snatch away the body, which dead, must surely belong to him, since, living, it had belonged to another. But the grief of the man overcame this instinct of the wild beast at bay; a shudder passed through the body hidden beneath its wolf skin; tears fell from the fierce blood-red eyes, and the unhappy man cried out: O God! take my life, I

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How many times the word 'disappeared' appears in the text?

wished for riches, and here I am in despair at having lost the humble roof of bracken under shelter of which I could sleep in peace without anxiety as to the morrow, without troubling myself about the rain or the wind beating against the branches of the giant oaks. I wished for position, and here I am, stoned and hunted down by the lowest peasants, whom formerly I despised. I asked for love, and the only woman who loved me and whom I loved became the wife of another, and she is at this moment cursing me as she lies dying, while I, notwithstanding all the power you have given me, can do nothing to help her! Leave off loving anybody but yourself, Thibault. Oh! yes, laugh at me, do! I am not laughing at you. But did you not cast envious eyes on other people s property before you had set eyes on me? Yes, for a wretched buck, of which there are hundreds just as good browsing in the forest! You thought your wishes were going to stop at the buck, Thibault; but wishes lead on to one another, as the night to the day, and the day to night. When you wished for the buck, you also wished for the silver dish on which it would be served; the silver dish led you on to wish for the servant who carries it and for the carver who cuts up its contents. Ambition is like the vault of heaven; it appears to be bounded by the horizon, but it covers the whole earth. You disdained Agnelette s innocence, and went after Madame Poulet s mill; if you had gained the mill, you would immediately have wanted the house of the Bailiff Magloire; and his house would have had no further attraction for you when once you had seen the Castle of Mont-Gobert. You are one in your envious disposition with the fallen Angel, your master and mine; only, as you were not clever enough to reap the benefit that might have accrued to you from your power of inflicting evil, it would perhaps have been more to your interest to continue to lead an honest life. Yes, indeed, replied the shoe-maker, I feel the truth of the proverb, Evil to him who evil wishes But, he continued, can I not become an honest man again? The wolf gave a mocking chuckle. My good fellow, the devil can drag a man to hell, he said, by a single hair. Have you ever counted how many of yours now belong to him? No. I cannot tell you that exactly either, but I know how many you have which are still your own. You have one left! You see it is long past the time for repentance. But if a man is lost when but one of his hairs belongs to the devil, said Thibault, why cannot God likewise save a man in virtue of a single hair? Well, try if that is so! And, besides, when I concluded that unhappy bargain with you, I did not understand that it was to be a compact of this kind. Oh, yes! I know all about the bad faith of you men! Was it no compact then to consent to give me your hairs, you stupid fool? Since men invented baptism, we do not know how to get hold of them, and so, in return for any concessions we make them, we are bound to insist on their relinquishing to us some part of their body on which we can lay hands. You gave us the hairs of your head; they are firmly rooted, as you have proved yourself and will not come away in our grasp.... No, no, Thibault, you have belonged to us ever since, standing on the threshold of the door that was once there, you cherished within you thoughts of deceit and violence. And so, cried Thibault passionately, rising and stamping his foot, and so I am lost as regards the next world without having enjoyed the pleasures of this! You can yet enjoy these. And how, I pray. By boldly following the path that you have struck by chance, and resolutely determining on a course of conduct which you have adopted as yet only in a halfhearted way; in short, by frankly owning yourself to be one of us. And how am I to do this? Take my place. And what then? You will then acquire my power, and you will have nothing left to wish for. If your power is so great, if it can give you all the riches that I long for, why do you give it up? Do not trouble yourself about me. The master for whom I shall have won a retainer will liberally reward me. And if I take your place, shall I also have to take your form? Yes, in the night-time; by day you will be a man again. The nights are long, dark, full of snares; I may be brought down by a bullet from a keeper, or be caught in a trap, and then good-bye riches, good-bye position and pleasure. Not so; for this skin that covers me is impenetrable by iron, lead or steel. As long as it protects your body, you will be not only invulnerable, but immortal; once a year, like all were-wolves, you will become a wolf again for four and twenty hours, and during that interval, you will be in danger of death like any other animal. I had just reached that dangerous time a year ago to-day, when we first met. Ah! said Thibault, that explains why you feared my Lord Baron s dogs. When we have dealings with men, we are forbidden to speak anything but the truth, and the whole truth; it is for them to accept or refuse. You have boasted to me of the power that I should acquire; tell me, now, in what that power will consist? It will be such that even the most powerful king will not be able to withstand it, since his power is limited by the human and the possible. Shall I be rich? So rich, that you will come in time to despise riches, since, by the mere force of your will, you will obtain not only what men can only acquire with gold and silver, but also all that superior beings get by their conjurations. Shall I be able to revenge myself on my enemies? You will have unlimited power over everything which is connected with evil. If I love a woman, will there again be a possibility of my losing her? As you will have dominion over all your fellow creatures, you will be able to do with them what you like. There will be no power to enable them to escape from the trammels of my will? Nothing, except death, which is stronger than all. And I shall only run the risk of death myself on one day out of the three hundred and sixty-five? On one day only; during the remaining days nothing can harm you, neither iron, lead, nor steel, neither water, nor fire. And there is no deceit, no trap to catch me, in your words? None, on my honour as a wolf! Good, said Thibault, then let it be so; a wolf for four and twenty hours, for the rest of the time the monarch of creation! What am I to do? I am ready. Pick a holly-leaf, tear it in three pieces with your teeth, and throw it away from you, as far as you can. Thibault did as he was commanded. Having torn the leaf in three pieces, he scattered them on the air, and although the night till then had been a peaceful one, there was immediately heard a loud peal of thunder, while a tempestuous whirlwind arose, which caught up the fragments and carried them whirling away with it. And now, brother Thibault, said the wolf, take my place, and good luck be with you! As was my case just a year ago, so you will have to become a wolf for four and twenty hours; you must endeavour to come out of the ordeal as happily as I did, thanks to you, and then you will see realised all that I have promised you. Meanwhile, I will pray the lord of the cloven hoof that he will protect you from the teeth of the Baron s hounds, for, by the devil himself, I take a genuine interest in you, friend Thibault. And then it seemed to Thibault that he saw the black wolf grow larger and taller, that it stood up on its hind legs and finally walked away in the form of a man, who made a sign to him with his hand as he disappeared. We say _it seemed to him_, for Thibault s ideas, for a second or two, became very indistinct. A feeling of torpor passed over him, paralysing his power of thought. When he came to himself, he was alone. His limbs were imprisoned in a new and unusual form; he had, in short, become in every respect the counterpart of the black wolf that a few minutes before had been speaking to him. One single white hair on his head alone shone in contrast to the remainder of the sombre coloured fur; this one white hair of the wolf was the one black hair which had remained to the man. Thibault had scarcely had time to recover himself when he fancied he heard a rustling among the bushes, and the sound of a low, muffled bark.... He thought of the Baron and his hounds, and trembled. Thus metamorphosed into the black wolf, he decided that he would not do what his predecessor had done, and wait till the dogs were upon him. It was probably a bloodhound he had heard, and he would get away before the hounds were uncoupled. He made off, striking straight ahead, as is the manner of wolves, and it was a profound satisfaction to him to find that in his new form he had tenfold his former strength and elasticity of limb. By the devil and his horns! the voice of the Lord of Vez was now heard to say to his new huntsman a few paces off, you hold the leash too slack, my lad; you have let the bloodhound give tongue, and we shall never head the wolf back now. I was in fault, I do not deny it, my Lord; but as I saw it go by last evening only a few yards from this spot, I never guessed that it would take up its quarters for the night in this part of the wood and that it was so close to us as all that. Are you sure it is the same one that has got away from us so often? May the bread I eat in your service choke me, my lord, if it is not the same black wolf that we were chasing last year when poor Marcotte was drowned. I should like finely to put the dogs on its track, said the Baron, with a sigh. My lord has but to give the order, and we will do so, but he will allow me to observe that we have still two good hours of darkness before us, time enough for every horse we have to break its legs. That may be, but if we wait for the day, l Eveill , the fellow will have had time to get ten leagues away. Ten leagues at least, said l Eveill , shaking his head. I have got this cursed black wolf on my brain, added the Baron, and I have such a longing to have its skin, that I feel sure I shall catch an illness if I do not get hold of it. Well then, my lord, let us have the dogs out without a moment s loss of time. You are right, l Eveill ; go and fetch the hounds. L Eveill went back to his horse, that he had tied to a tree outside the wood, and went off at a gallop, and in ten minutes time, which seemed like ten centuries to the Baron, he was back with the whole hunting train. The hounds were immediately uncoupled. Gently, gently, my lads! said the Lord of Vez, you forget you are not handling your old well-trained dogs; if you get excited with these raw recruits, they ll merely kick up a devil of a row, and be no more good than so many turnspits; let em get warmed up by degrees. And, indeed, the dogs were no sooner loose, than two or three got at once on to the scent of the were-wolf, and began to give cry, whereupon the others joined them. The whole pack started off on Thibault s track, at first quietly following up the scent, and only giving cry at long intervals, then more excitedly and of more accord, until they had so thoroughly imbibed the odour of the wolf ahead of them, and the scent had become so strong, that they tore along, baying furiously, and with unparalleled eagerness in the direction of the Yvors coppice. Well begun, is half done! cried the Baron. You look after the relays, l Eveill ; I want them ready whenever needed! I will encourage the dogs.... And you be on the alert, you others, he added, addressing himself to the younger keepers, we have more than one defeat to avenge, and if I lose this view halloo through the fault of anyone among you, by the devil and his horns! he shall be the dogs quarry in place of the wolf! After pronouncing these words of encouragement, the Baron put his horse to the gallop, and although it was still pitch dark and the ground was rough, he kept the animal going at top speed so as to come up with the hounds, which could be heard giving tongue in the low lands about Bourg-Fontaine. CHAPTER XXIV HUNTING DOWN THE WERE-WOLF Thibault had got well ahead of the dogs, thanks to the precaution he had taken of making good his escape at the first note of the bloodhound. For some time he heard no further sound of pursuit; but, all at once, like distant thunder, the baying of the hounds reached his ears, and he began to feel some anxiety. He had been trotting, but he now went on at greater speed, and did not pause till he had put a few more leagues between himself and his enemies. Then he stood still and took his bearings; he found himself on the heights at Montaigu. He bent his head and listened--the dogs still seemed a long way off, somewhere near the Tillet coppice. It required a wolf s ear to distinguish them so far off. Thibault went down the hill again, as if to meet the dogs; then, leaving Erneville to the left, he leaped into the little stream which rises there, waded down its course as far as Grimancourt, dashed into the woods of Lessart-l Abbesse, and finally gained the forest of Compi gne. He was somewhat reassured to find that, in spite of his three hours hard running, the steel-like muscles of his wolf legs were not in the least fatigued. He hesitated, however, to trust himself in a forest which was not so familiar to him as that of Villers-Cotterets. After another dash of a mile or so, he decided that by doubling boldly he would be most likely to put the dogs off the scent. He crossed at a gallop all the stretch of plain between Pierrefond and Mont-Gobert, took to the woods at the Champ Meutard, came out again at Vauvaudrand, regained the stream by the Sanc res timber floatage, and once more found himself in the forest near Long-Pont. Unfortunately for him, just as he reached the end of the Route du Pendu, he came across another pack of twenty dogs, which Monsieur de Montbreton s huntsman was bringing up as a relay, for the Baron had sent his neighbour news of the chase. Instantly the hounds were uncoupled by the huntsman as he caught sight of the wolf, for seeing that the latter kept its distance, he feared it would get too far ahead if he waited for the others to come up before loosing his dogs. And now began the struggle between the were-wolf and the dogs in very earnest. It was a wild chase, which the horses, in spite of their skilled riders, had great difficulty in following, a chase over plains, through woods, across heaths, pursued at a headlong pace. As the hunt flew by, it appeared and disappeared like a flash of lightning across a cloud, leaving behind a whirlwind of dust, and a sound of horns and cries which echo had hardly time to repeat. It rushed over hill and dale, through torrents and bogs, and over precipices, as if horses and dogs had been winged like Hippogriffs and Chimeras. The Baron had come up with his huntsmen, riding at their head, and almost riding on the tails of his dogs, his eye flashing, his nostrils dilated, exciting the pack with wild shouts and furious blasts, digging his spurs into his horse s sides whenever an obstacle of any kind caused it to hesitate for a single instant. The black wolf, on his side, still held on at the same rapid pace; although sorely shaken at hearing the fresh pack in full pursuit only a short way behind him, just as he had got back to the forest, he had not lost an inch of ground. As he retained to the full all his human consciousness, it seemed to him impossible, as he still ran on, that he should not escape in safety from this ordeal; he felt that it was not possible for him to die before he had taken vengeance for all the agony that others made him suffer, before he had known those pleasures that had been promised him, above all--for at this critical moment his thoughts kept on running on this--before he had gained Agnelette s love. At moments he was possessed by terror, at others by anger. He thought at times that he would turn and face this yelling pack of dogs, and, forgetting his present form, scatter them with stones and blows. Then, an instant after, feeling mad with rage, deafened by the death-knell the hounds were ringing in his ears, he fled, he leaped, he flew with the legs of a deer, with the wings of an eagle. But his efforts were in vain; he might run, leap, almost fly, the sounds of death still clung to him, and if for a moment they became more distant, it was only to hear them a moment after nearer and more threatening still. But still the instinct of self-preservation did not fail him; and still his strength was undiminished; only, if by ill luck, he were to come across other relays, he felt that it might give way. So he determined to take a bold course so as to out-distance the dogs, and to get back to his lairs, where he knew his ground and hoped to evade the dogs. He therefore doubled for the second time. He first ran back to Puiseux, then skirted past Viviers, regained the forest of Compi gne, made a dash into the forest of Largue, returned and crossed the Aisne at Attichy, and finally got back to the forest of Villers-Cotterets at the low lands of Argent. He trusted in this way to baffle the strategical plans of the Lord of Vez, who had, no doubt, posted his dogs at various likely points. Once back in his old quarters Thibault breathed more freely. He was now on the banks of the Ourcq between Norroy and Trouennes, where the river runs at the foot of deep rocks on either side; he leaped up on to a sharp-pointed crag overhanging the water, and from this high vantage ground he sprang into the waves below, then swam to a crevice at the base of the rock from which he had leapt, which was situated rather below the ordinary level of the water, and here, at the back of this cave, he waited. He had gained at least three miles upon the dogs; and yet, scarcely another ten minutes had elapsed, when the whole pack arrived and stormed the crest of the rock. Those who were leading, mad with excitement, did not see the gulf in front of them, or else, like their quarry they thought they would leap safely into it, for they plunged, and Thibault was splashed, far back as he was hidden, by the water that was scattered in every direction as they fell into it one by one. Less fortunate, however, and less vigorous than he was, they were unable to fight against the current, and after vainly battling with it, they were borne along out of sight before they had even got scent of the were-wolf s retreat. Overhead he could hear the tramping of the horses feet, the baying of the dogs that were still left, the cries of men, and above all these sounds, dominating the other voices, that of the Baron as he cursed and swore. When the last dog had fallen into the water, and been carried away like the others, he saw, thanks to a bend in the river, that the huntsmen were going down it, and persuaded that the Baron, whom he recognised at the head of his hunting-train, would only do this with the intention of coming up it again, he determined not to wait for this, and left his hiding-place. Now swimming, now leaping with agility from one rock to the other, at times wading through the water, he went up the river to the end of the Cr ne coppice. Certain that he had now made a considerable advance on his enemies, he resolved to get to one of the villages near and run in and out among the houses, feeling sure that they would not think of coming after him there. He thought of Pr ciamont; if any village was well known to him, it was that; and then, at Pr ciamont, he would be near Agnelette. He felt that this neighbourhood would put fresh vigour into him, and would bring him good fortune, and that the gentle image of the innocent girl would have some influence on his fate. So he started off in that direction. It was now six o clock in the evening; the hunt had lasted nearly fifteen hours, and wolf, dogs and huntsmen had covered fifty leagues at least. When, at last, after circling round by Manereux and Oigny, the black wolf reached the borders of the heath by the lane of Ham, the sun was already beginning to sink, and shedding a dazzling light over the flowery plain; the little white and pink flowers scented the breeze that played caressingly around them; the grasshopper was singing in its little house of moss, and the lark was soaring up towards heaven, saluting the eve with its song, as twelve hours before it had saluted the morn. The peaceful beauty of nature had a strange effect on Thibault. It seemed enigmatical to him that nature could be so smiling and beautiful, while anguish such as his was devouring his soul. He saw the flowers, and heard the insects and the birds, and he compared the quiet joy of this innocent world with the horrible pangs he was enduring, and asked himself, whether after all, notwithstanding all the new promises that had been made him by the devil s envoy, he had acted any more wisely in making this second compact than he had in making the first. He began to doubt whether he might not find himself deceived in the one as he had been in the other. As he went along a little footpath nearly hidden under the golden broom, he suddenly remembered that it was by this very path that he had taken Agnelette home on the first day of their acquaintance; the day, when inspired by his good angel, he had asked her to be his wife. The thought that, thanks to this new compact, he might be able to recover Agnelette s love, revived his spirits, which had been saddened and depressed by the sight of the universal happiness around him. He heard the church bells at Pr ciamont ringing in the valley below; its solemn, monotonous tones recalled the thought of his fellow men to the black wolf, and of all he had to fear from them. So he ran boldly on, across the fields, to the village, where he hoped to find a refuge in some empty building. As he was skirting the little stone wall of the village cemetery, he heard a sound of voices, approaching along the road he was in. He could not fail to meet whoever they might be who were coming towards him, if he himself went on; it was not safe to turn back, as he would have to cross some rising ground whence he might easily be seen; so there was nothing left for it but to jump over the wall of the cemetery, and with a bound he was on the other side. This graveyard as usual adjoined the church; it was uncared for, and overgrown with tall grass, while brambles and thorns grew rankly in places. The wolf made for the thickest of these bramble bushes; he found a sort of ruined vault, whence he could look out without being seen, and he crept under the branches and hid himself inside. A few yards away from him was a newly-dug grave; within the church could be heard the chanting of the priests, the more distinctly that the vault must at one time have communicated by a passage with the crypt. Presently the chanting ceased, and the black wolf, who did not feel quite at ease in the neighbourhood of a church, and thought that the road must now be clear, decided that it was time to start off again and to find a safer retreat than the one he had fled to in his haste. But he had scarcely got his nose outside the bramble bush when the gate of the cemetery opened, and he quickly retreated again to his hole, in great trepidation as to who might now be approaching. The first person he saw was a child dressed in a white alb and carrying a vessel of holy water; he was followed by a man in a surplice, bearing a silver cross, and after the latter came a priest, chanting the psalms for the dead. Behind these were four peasants carrying a bier covered with a white pall over which were scattered green branches and flowers, and beneath the sheet could be seen the outline of a coffin; a few villagers from Pr ciamont wound up this little procession. Although there was nothing unusual in such a sight as this, seeing that he was in a cemetery, and that the newly-dug grave must have prepared him for it, Thibault, nevertheless, felt strangely moved as he looked on. Although the slightest movement might betray his presence and bring destruction upon him, he anxiously watched every detail of the ceremony. The priest having blessed the newly-made grave, the peasants laid down their burden on an adjoining hillock. It is the custom in our country when a young girl, or young married woman, dies in the fullness of her youth and beauty, to carry her to the grave-yard in an open coffin, with only a pall over her, so that her friends may bid her a last farewell, her relations give her a last kiss. Then the coffin is nailed down, and all is over. An old woman, led by some kind hand, for she was apparently blind, went up to the coffin to give the dead one a last kiss; the peasants lifted the pall from the still face, and there lay Agnelette. A low groan escaped from Thibault s agonised breast, and mingled with the tears and sobs of those present. Agnelette, as she lay there so pale in death, wrapped in an ineffable calm, appeared more beautiful than when in life, beneath her wreath of forget-me-nots and daisies. As Thibault looked upon the poor dead girl, his heart seemed suddenly to melt within him. It was he, as he had truly realised, who had really killed her, and he experienced a genuine and overpowering sorrow, the more poignant since for the first time for many long months he forgot to think of himself, and thought only of the dead woman, now lost to him for ever. As he heard the blows of the hammer knocking the nails into the coffin, as he heard the earth and stones being shovelled into the grave and falling with a dull thud on to the body of the only woman he had ever loved, a feeling of giddiness came over him. The hard stones he thought must be bruising Agnelette s tender flesh, so fresh and sweet but a few days ago, and only yesterday still throbbing with life, and he made a movement as if to rush out on the assailants and snatch away the body, which dead, must surely belong to him, since, living, it had belonged to another. But the grief of the man overcame this instinct of the wild beast at bay; a shudder passed through the body hidden beneath its wolf skin; tears fell from the fierce blood-red eyes, and the unhappy man cried out: O God! take my life, I

struggle

How many times the word 'struggle' appears in the text?

wished for riches, and here I am in despair at having lost the humble roof of bracken under shelter of which I could sleep in peace without anxiety as to the morrow, without troubling myself about the rain or the wind beating against the branches of the giant oaks. I wished for position, and here I am, stoned and hunted down by the lowest peasants, whom formerly I despised. I asked for love, and the only woman who loved me and whom I loved became the wife of another, and she is at this moment cursing me as she lies dying, while I, notwithstanding all the power you have given me, can do nothing to help her! Leave off loving anybody but yourself, Thibault. Oh! yes, laugh at me, do! I am not laughing at you. But did you not cast envious eyes on other people s property before you had set eyes on me? Yes, for a wretched buck, of which there are hundreds just as good browsing in the forest! You thought your wishes were going to stop at the buck, Thibault; but wishes lead on to one another, as the night to the day, and the day to night. When you wished for the buck, you also wished for the silver dish on which it would be served; the silver dish led you on to wish for the servant who carries it and for the carver who cuts up its contents. Ambition is like the vault of heaven; it appears to be bounded by the horizon, but it covers the whole earth. You disdained Agnelette s innocence, and went after Madame Poulet s mill; if you had gained the mill, you would immediately have wanted the house of the Bailiff Magloire; and his house would have had no further attraction for you when once you had seen the Castle of Mont-Gobert. You are one in your envious disposition with the fallen Angel, your master and mine; only, as you were not clever enough to reap the benefit that might have accrued to you from your power of inflicting evil, it would perhaps have been more to your interest to continue to lead an honest life. Yes, indeed, replied the shoe-maker, I feel the truth of the proverb, Evil to him who evil wishes But, he continued, can I not become an honest man again? The wolf gave a mocking chuckle. My good fellow, the devil can drag a man to hell, he said, by a single hair. Have you ever counted how many of yours now belong to him? No. I cannot tell you that exactly either, but I know how many you have which are still your own. You have one left! You see it is long past the time for repentance. But if a man is lost when but one of his hairs belongs to the devil, said Thibault, why cannot God likewise save a man in virtue of a single hair? Well, try if that is so! And, besides, when I concluded that unhappy bargain with you, I did not understand that it was to be a compact of this kind. Oh, yes! I know all about the bad faith of you men! Was it no compact then to consent to give me your hairs, you stupid fool? Since men invented baptism, we do not know how to get hold of them, and so, in return for any concessions we make them, we are bound to insist on their relinquishing to us some part of their body on which we can lay hands. You gave us the hairs of your head; they are firmly rooted, as you have proved yourself and will not come away in our grasp.... No, no, Thibault, you have belonged to us ever since, standing on the threshold of the door that was once there, you cherished within you thoughts of deceit and violence. And so, cried Thibault passionately, rising and stamping his foot, and so I am lost as regards the next world without having enjoyed the pleasures of this! You can yet enjoy these. And how, I pray. By boldly following the path that you have struck by chance, and resolutely determining on a course of conduct which you have adopted as yet only in a halfhearted way; in short, by frankly owning yourself to be one of us. And how am I to do this? Take my place. And what then? You will then acquire my power, and you will have nothing left to wish for. If your power is so great, if it can give you all the riches that I long for, why do you give it up? Do not trouble yourself about me. The master for whom I shall have won a retainer will liberally reward me. And if I take your place, shall I also have to take your form? Yes, in the night-time; by day you will be a man again. The nights are long, dark, full of snares; I may be brought down by a bullet from a keeper, or be caught in a trap, and then good-bye riches, good-bye position and pleasure. Not so; for this skin that covers me is impenetrable by iron, lead or steel. As long as it protects your body, you will be not only invulnerable, but immortal; once a year, like all were-wolves, you will become a wolf again for four and twenty hours, and during that interval, you will be in danger of death like any other animal. I had just reached that dangerous time a year ago to-day, when we first met. Ah! said Thibault, that explains why you feared my Lord Baron s dogs. When we have dealings with men, we are forbidden to speak anything but the truth, and the whole truth; it is for them to accept or refuse. You have boasted to me of the power that I should acquire; tell me, now, in what that power will consist? It will be such that even the most powerful king will not be able to withstand it, since his power is limited by the human and the possible. Shall I be rich? So rich, that you will come in time to despise riches, since, by the mere force of your will, you will obtain not only what men can only acquire with gold and silver, but also all that superior beings get by their conjurations. Shall I be able to revenge myself on my enemies? You will have unlimited power over everything which is connected with evil. If I love a woman, will there again be a possibility of my losing her? As you will have dominion over all your fellow creatures, you will be able to do with them what you like. There will be no power to enable them to escape from the trammels of my will? Nothing, except death, which is stronger than all. And I shall only run the risk of death myself on one day out of the three hundred and sixty-five? On one day only; during the remaining days nothing can harm you, neither iron, lead, nor steel, neither water, nor fire. And there is no deceit, no trap to catch me, in your words? None, on my honour as a wolf! Good, said Thibault, then let it be so; a wolf for four and twenty hours, for the rest of the time the monarch of creation! What am I to do? I am ready. Pick a holly-leaf, tear it in three pieces with your teeth, and throw it away from you, as far as you can. Thibault did as he was commanded. Having torn the leaf in three pieces, he scattered them on the air, and although the night till then had been a peaceful one, there was immediately heard a loud peal of thunder, while a tempestuous whirlwind arose, which caught up the fragments and carried them whirling away with it. And now, brother Thibault, said the wolf, take my place, and good luck be with you! As was my case just a year ago, so you will have to become a wolf for four and twenty hours; you must endeavour to come out of the ordeal as happily as I did, thanks to you, and then you will see realised all that I have promised you. Meanwhile, I will pray the lord of the cloven hoof that he will protect you from the teeth of the Baron s hounds, for, by the devil himself, I take a genuine interest in you, friend Thibault. And then it seemed to Thibault that he saw the black wolf grow larger and taller, that it stood up on its hind legs and finally walked away in the form of a man, who made a sign to him with his hand as he disappeared. We say _it seemed to him_, for Thibault s ideas, for a second or two, became very indistinct. A feeling of torpor passed over him, paralysing his power of thought. When he came to himself, he was alone. His limbs were imprisoned in a new and unusual form; he had, in short, become in every respect the counterpart of the black wolf that a few minutes before had been speaking to him. One single white hair on his head alone shone in contrast to the remainder of the sombre coloured fur; this one white hair of the wolf was the one black hair which had remained to the man. Thibault had scarcely had time to recover himself when he fancied he heard a rustling among the bushes, and the sound of a low, muffled bark.... He thought of the Baron and his hounds, and trembled. Thus metamorphosed into the black wolf, he decided that he would not do what his predecessor had done, and wait till the dogs were upon him. It was probably a bloodhound he had heard, and he would get away before the hounds were uncoupled. He made off, striking straight ahead, as is the manner of wolves, and it was a profound satisfaction to him to find that in his new form he had tenfold his former strength and elasticity of limb. By the devil and his horns! the voice of the Lord of Vez was now heard to say to his new huntsman a few paces off, you hold the leash too slack, my lad; you have let the bloodhound give tongue, and we shall never head the wolf back now. I was in fault, I do not deny it, my Lord; but as I saw it go by last evening only a few yards from this spot, I never guessed that it would take up its quarters for the night in this part of the wood and that it was so close to us as all that. Are you sure it is the same one that has got away from us so often? May the bread I eat in your service choke me, my lord, if it is not the same black wolf that we were chasing last year when poor Marcotte was drowned. I should like finely to put the dogs on its track, said the Baron, with a sigh. My lord has but to give the order, and we will do so, but he will allow me to observe that we have still two good hours of darkness before us, time enough for every horse we have to break its legs. That may be, but if we wait for the day, l Eveill , the fellow will have had time to get ten leagues away. Ten leagues at least, said l Eveill , shaking his head. I have got this cursed black wolf on my brain, added the Baron, and I have such a longing to have its skin, that I feel sure I shall catch an illness if I do not get hold of it. Well then, my lord, let us have the dogs out without a moment s loss of time. You are right, l Eveill ; go and fetch the hounds. L Eveill went back to his horse, that he had tied to a tree outside the wood, and went off at a gallop, and in ten minutes time, which seemed like ten centuries to the Baron, he was back with the whole hunting train. The hounds were immediately uncoupled. Gently, gently, my lads! said the Lord of Vez, you forget you are not handling your old well-trained dogs; if you get excited with these raw recruits, they ll merely kick up a devil of a row, and be no more good than so many turnspits; let em get warmed up by degrees. And, indeed, the dogs were no sooner loose, than two or three got at once on to the scent of the were-wolf, and began to give cry, whereupon the others joined them. The whole pack started off on Thibault s track, at first quietly following up the scent, and only giving cry at long intervals, then more excitedly and of more accord, until they had so thoroughly imbibed the odour of the wolf ahead of them, and the scent had become so strong, that they tore along, baying furiously, and with unparalleled eagerness in the direction of the Yvors coppice. Well begun, is half done! cried the Baron. You look after the relays, l Eveill ; I want them ready whenever needed! I will encourage the dogs.... And you be on the alert, you others, he added, addressing himself to the younger keepers, we have more than one defeat to avenge, and if I lose this view halloo through the fault of anyone among you, by the devil and his horns! he shall be the dogs quarry in place of the wolf! After pronouncing these words of encouragement, the Baron put his horse to the gallop, and although it was still pitch dark and the ground was rough, he kept the animal going at top speed so as to come up with the hounds, which could be heard giving tongue in the low lands about Bourg-Fontaine. CHAPTER XXIV HUNTING DOWN THE WERE-WOLF Thibault had got well ahead of the dogs, thanks to the precaution he had taken of making good his escape at the first note of the bloodhound. For some time he heard no further sound of pursuit; but, all at once, like distant thunder, the baying of the hounds reached his ears, and he began to feel some anxiety. He had been trotting, but he now went on at greater speed, and did not pause till he had put a few more leagues between himself and his enemies. Then he stood still and took his bearings; he found himself on the heights at Montaigu. He bent his head and listened--the dogs still seemed a long way off, somewhere near the Tillet coppice. It required a wolf s ear to distinguish them so far off. Thibault went down the hill again, as if to meet the dogs; then, leaving Erneville to the left, he leaped into the little stream which rises there, waded down its course as far as Grimancourt, dashed into the woods of Lessart-l Abbesse, and finally gained the forest of Compi gne. He was somewhat reassured to find that, in spite of his three hours hard running, the steel-like muscles of his wolf legs were not in the least fatigued. He hesitated, however, to trust himself in a forest which was not so familiar to him as that of Villers-Cotterets. After another dash of a mile or so, he decided that by doubling boldly he would be most likely to put the dogs off the scent. He crossed at a gallop all the stretch of plain between Pierrefond and Mont-Gobert, took to the woods at the Champ Meutard, came out again at Vauvaudrand, regained the stream by the Sanc res timber floatage, and once more found himself in the forest near Long-Pont. Unfortunately for him, just as he reached the end of the Route du Pendu, he came across another pack of twenty dogs, which Monsieur de Montbreton s huntsman was bringing up as a relay, for the Baron had sent his neighbour news of the chase. Instantly the hounds were uncoupled by the huntsman as he caught sight of the wolf, for seeing that the latter kept its distance, he feared it would get too far ahead if he waited for the others to come up before loosing his dogs. And now began the struggle between the were-wolf and the dogs in very earnest. It was a wild chase, which the horses, in spite of their skilled riders, had great difficulty in following, a chase over plains, through woods, across heaths, pursued at a headlong pace. As the hunt flew by, it appeared and disappeared like a flash of lightning across a cloud, leaving behind a whirlwind of dust, and a sound of horns and cries which echo had hardly time to repeat. It rushed over hill and dale, through torrents and bogs, and over precipices, as if horses and dogs had been winged like Hippogriffs and Chimeras. The Baron had come up with his huntsmen, riding at their head, and almost riding on the tails of his dogs, his eye flashing, his nostrils dilated, exciting the pack with wild shouts and furious blasts, digging his spurs into his horse s sides whenever an obstacle of any kind caused it to hesitate for a single instant. The black wolf, on his side, still held on at the same rapid pace; although sorely shaken at hearing the fresh pack in full pursuit only a short way behind him, just as he had got back to the forest, he had not lost an inch of ground. As he retained to the full all his human consciousness, it seemed to him impossible, as he still ran on, that he should not escape in safety from this ordeal; he felt that it was not possible for him to die before he had taken vengeance for all the agony that others made him suffer, before he had known those pleasures that had been promised him, above all--for at this critical moment his thoughts kept on running on this--before he had gained Agnelette s love. At moments he was possessed by terror, at others by anger. He thought at times that he would turn and face this yelling pack of dogs, and, forgetting his present form, scatter them with stones and blows. Then, an instant after, feeling mad with rage, deafened by the death-knell the hounds were ringing in his ears, he fled, he leaped, he flew with the legs of a deer, with the wings of an eagle. But his efforts were in vain; he might run, leap, almost fly, the sounds of death still clung to him, and if for a moment they became more distant, it was only to hear them a moment after nearer and more threatening still. But still the instinct of self-preservation did not fail him; and still his strength was undiminished; only, if by ill luck, he were to come across other relays, he felt that it might give way. So he determined to take a bold course so as to out-distance the dogs, and to get back to his lairs, where he knew his ground and hoped to evade the dogs. He therefore doubled for the second time. He first ran back to Puiseux, then skirted past Viviers, regained the forest of Compi gne, made a dash into the forest of Largue, returned and crossed the Aisne at Attichy, and finally got back to the forest of Villers-Cotterets at the low lands of Argent. He trusted in this way to baffle the strategical plans of the Lord of Vez, who had, no doubt, posted his dogs at various likely points. Once back in his old quarters Thibault breathed more freely. He was now on the banks of the Ourcq between Norroy and Trouennes, where the river runs at the foot of deep rocks on either side; he leaped up on to a sharp-pointed crag overhanging the water, and from this high vantage ground he sprang into the waves below, then swam to a crevice at the base of the rock from which he had leapt, which was situated rather below the ordinary level of the water, and here, at the back of this cave, he waited. He had gained at least three miles upon the dogs; and yet, scarcely another ten minutes had elapsed, when the whole pack arrived and stormed the crest of the rock. Those who were leading, mad with excitement, did not see the gulf in front of them, or else, like their quarry they thought they would leap safely into it, for they plunged, and Thibault was splashed, far back as he was hidden, by the water that was scattered in every direction as they fell into it one by one. Less fortunate, however, and less vigorous than he was, they were unable to fight against the current, and after vainly battling with it, they were borne along out of sight before they had even got scent of the were-wolf s retreat. Overhead he could hear the tramping of the horses feet, the baying of the dogs that were still left, the cries of men, and above all these sounds, dominating the other voices, that of the Baron as he cursed and swore. When the last dog had fallen into the water, and been carried away like the others, he saw, thanks to a bend in the river, that the huntsmen were going down it, and persuaded that the Baron, whom he recognised at the head of his hunting-train, would only do this with the intention of coming up it again, he determined not to wait for this, and left his hiding-place. Now swimming, now leaping with agility from one rock to the other, at times wading through the water, he went up the river to the end of the Cr ne coppice. Certain that he had now made a considerable advance on his enemies, he resolved to get to one of the villages near and run in and out among the houses, feeling sure that they would not think of coming after him there. He thought of Pr ciamont; if any village was well known to him, it was that; and then, at Pr ciamont, he would be near Agnelette. He felt that this neighbourhood would put fresh vigour into him, and would bring him good fortune, and that the gentle image of the innocent girl would have some influence on his fate. So he started off in that direction. It was now six o clock in the evening; the hunt had lasted nearly fifteen hours, and wolf, dogs and huntsmen had covered fifty leagues at least. When, at last, after circling round by Manereux and Oigny, the black wolf reached the borders of the heath by the lane of Ham, the sun was already beginning to sink, and shedding a dazzling light over the flowery plain; the little white and pink flowers scented the breeze that played caressingly around them; the grasshopper was singing in its little house of moss, and the lark was soaring up towards heaven, saluting the eve with its song, as twelve hours before it had saluted the morn. The peaceful beauty of nature had a strange effect on Thibault. It seemed enigmatical to him that nature could be so smiling and beautiful, while anguish such as his was devouring his soul. He saw the flowers, and heard the insects and the birds, and he compared the quiet joy of this innocent world with the horrible pangs he was enduring, and asked himself, whether after all, notwithstanding all the new promises that had been made him by the devil s envoy, he had acted any more wisely in making this second compact than he had in making the first. He began to doubt whether he might not find himself deceived in the one as he had been in the other. As he went along a little footpath nearly hidden under the golden broom, he suddenly remembered that it was by this very path that he had taken Agnelette home on the first day of their acquaintance; the day, when inspired by his good angel, he had asked her to be his wife. The thought that, thanks to this new compact, he might be able to recover Agnelette s love, revived his spirits, which had been saddened and depressed by the sight of the universal happiness around him. He heard the church bells at Pr ciamont ringing in the valley below; its solemn, monotonous tones recalled the thought of his fellow men to the black wolf, and of all he had to fear from them. So he ran boldly on, across the fields, to the village, where he hoped to find a refuge in some empty building. As he was skirting the little stone wall of the village cemetery, he heard a sound of voices, approaching along the road he was in. He could not fail to meet whoever they might be who were coming towards him, if he himself went on; it was not safe to turn back, as he would have to cross some rising ground whence he might easily be seen; so there was nothing left for it but to jump over the wall of the cemetery, and with a bound he was on the other side. This graveyard as usual adjoined the church; it was uncared for, and overgrown with tall grass, while brambles and thorns grew rankly in places. The wolf made for the thickest of these bramble bushes; he found a sort of ruined vault, whence he could look out without being seen, and he crept under the branches and hid himself inside. A few yards away from him was a newly-dug grave; within the church could be heard the chanting of the priests, the more distinctly that the vault must at one time have communicated by a passage with the crypt. Presently the chanting ceased, and the black wolf, who did not feel quite at ease in the neighbourhood of a church, and thought that the road must now be clear, decided that it was time to start off again and to find a safer retreat than the one he had fled to in his haste. But he had scarcely got his nose outside the bramble bush when the gate of the cemetery opened, and he quickly retreated again to his hole, in great trepidation as to who might now be approaching. The first person he saw was a child dressed in a white alb and carrying a vessel of holy water; he was followed by a man in a surplice, bearing a silver cross, and after the latter came a priest, chanting the psalms for the dead. Behind these were four peasants carrying a bier covered with a white pall over which were scattered green branches and flowers, and beneath the sheet could be seen the outline of a coffin; a few villagers from Pr ciamont wound up this little procession. Although there was nothing unusual in such a sight as this, seeing that he was in a cemetery, and that the newly-dug grave must have prepared him for it, Thibault, nevertheless, felt strangely moved as he looked on. Although the slightest movement might betray his presence and bring destruction upon him, he anxiously watched every detail of the ceremony. The priest having blessed the newly-made grave, the peasants laid down their burden on an adjoining hillock. It is the custom in our country when a young girl, or young married woman, dies in the fullness of her youth and beauty, to carry her to the grave-yard in an open coffin, with only a pall over her, so that her friends may bid her a last farewell, her relations give her a last kiss. Then the coffin is nailed down, and all is over. An old woman, led by some kind hand, for she was apparently blind, went up to the coffin to give the dead one a last kiss; the peasants lifted the pall from the still face, and there lay Agnelette. A low groan escaped from Thibault s agonised breast, and mingled with the tears and sobs of those present. Agnelette, as she lay there so pale in death, wrapped in an ineffable calm, appeared more beautiful than when in life, beneath her wreath of forget-me-nots and daisies. As Thibault looked upon the poor dead girl, his heart seemed suddenly to melt within him. It was he, as he had truly realised, who had really killed her, and he experienced a genuine and overpowering sorrow, the more poignant since for the first time for many long months he forgot to think of himself, and thought only of the dead woman, now lost to him for ever. As he heard the blows of the hammer knocking the nails into the coffin, as he heard the earth and stones being shovelled into the grave and falling with a dull thud on to the body of the only woman he had ever loved, a feeling of giddiness came over him. The hard stones he thought must be bruising Agnelette s tender flesh, so fresh and sweet but a few days ago, and only yesterday still throbbing with life, and he made a movement as if to rush out on the assailants and snatch away the body, which dead, must surely belong to him, since, living, it had belonged to another. But the grief of the man overcame this instinct of the wild beast at bay; a shudder passed through the body hidden beneath its wolf skin; tears fell from the fierce blood-red eyes, and the unhappy man cried out: O God! take my life, I

scatter

How many times the word 'scatter' appears in the text?

wished for riches, and here I am in despair at having lost the humble roof of bracken under shelter of which I could sleep in peace without anxiety as to the morrow, without troubling myself about the rain or the wind beating against the branches of the giant oaks. I wished for position, and here I am, stoned and hunted down by the lowest peasants, whom formerly I despised. I asked for love, and the only woman who loved me and whom I loved became the wife of another, and she is at this moment cursing me as she lies dying, while I, notwithstanding all the power you have given me, can do nothing to help her! Leave off loving anybody but yourself, Thibault. Oh! yes, laugh at me, do! I am not laughing at you. But did you not cast envious eyes on other people s property before you had set eyes on me? Yes, for a wretched buck, of which there are hundreds just as good browsing in the forest! You thought your wishes were going to stop at the buck, Thibault; but wishes lead on to one another, as the night to the day, and the day to night. When you wished for the buck, you also wished for the silver dish on which it would be served; the silver dish led you on to wish for the servant who carries it and for the carver who cuts up its contents. Ambition is like the vault of heaven; it appears to be bounded by the horizon, but it covers the whole earth. You disdained Agnelette s innocence, and went after Madame Poulet s mill; if you had gained the mill, you would immediately have wanted the house of the Bailiff Magloire; and his house would have had no further attraction for you when once you had seen the Castle of Mont-Gobert. You are one in your envious disposition with the fallen Angel, your master and mine; only, as you were not clever enough to reap the benefit that might have accrued to you from your power of inflicting evil, it would perhaps have been more to your interest to continue to lead an honest life. Yes, indeed, replied the shoe-maker, I feel the truth of the proverb, Evil to him who evil wishes But, he continued, can I not become an honest man again? The wolf gave a mocking chuckle. My good fellow, the devil can drag a man to hell, he said, by a single hair. Have you ever counted how many of yours now belong to him? No. I cannot tell you that exactly either, but I know how many you have which are still your own. You have one left! You see it is long past the time for repentance. But if a man is lost when but one of his hairs belongs to the devil, said Thibault, why cannot God likewise save a man in virtue of a single hair? Well, try if that is so! And, besides, when I concluded that unhappy bargain with you, I did not understand that it was to be a compact of this kind. Oh, yes! I know all about the bad faith of you men! Was it no compact then to consent to give me your hairs, you stupid fool? Since men invented baptism, we do not know how to get hold of them, and so, in return for any concessions we make them, we are bound to insist on their relinquishing to us some part of their body on which we can lay hands. You gave us the hairs of your head; they are firmly rooted, as you have proved yourself and will not come away in our grasp.... No, no, Thibault, you have belonged to us ever since, standing on the threshold of the door that was once there, you cherished within you thoughts of deceit and violence. And so, cried Thibault passionately, rising and stamping his foot, and so I am lost as regards the next world without having enjoyed the pleasures of this! You can yet enjoy these. And how, I pray. By boldly following the path that you have struck by chance, and resolutely determining on a course of conduct which you have adopted as yet only in a halfhearted way; in short, by frankly owning yourself to be one of us. And how am I to do this? Take my place. And what then? You will then acquire my power, and you will have nothing left to wish for. If your power is so great, if it can give you all the riches that I long for, why do you give it up? Do not trouble yourself about me. The master for whom I shall have won a retainer will liberally reward me. And if I take your place, shall I also have to take your form? Yes, in the night-time; by day you will be a man again. The nights are long, dark, full of snares; I may be brought down by a bullet from a keeper, or be caught in a trap, and then good-bye riches, good-bye position and pleasure. Not so; for this skin that covers me is impenetrable by iron, lead or steel. As long as it protects your body, you will be not only invulnerable, but immortal; once a year, like all were-wolves, you will become a wolf again for four and twenty hours, and during that interval, you will be in danger of death like any other animal. I had just reached that dangerous time a year ago to-day, when we first met. Ah! said Thibault, that explains why you feared my Lord Baron s dogs. When we have dealings with men, we are forbidden to speak anything but the truth, and the whole truth; it is for them to accept or refuse. You have boasted to me of the power that I should acquire; tell me, now, in what that power will consist? It will be such that even the most powerful king will not be able to withstand it, since his power is limited by the human and the possible. Shall I be rich? So rich, that you will come in time to despise riches, since, by the mere force of your will, you will obtain not only what men can only acquire with gold and silver, but also all that superior beings get by their conjurations. Shall I be able to revenge myself on my enemies? You will have unlimited power over everything which is connected with evil. If I love a woman, will there again be a possibility of my losing her? As you will have dominion over all your fellow creatures, you will be able to do with them what you like. There will be no power to enable them to escape from the trammels of my will? Nothing, except death, which is stronger than all. And I shall only run the risk of death myself on one day out of the three hundred and sixty-five? On one day only; during the remaining days nothing can harm you, neither iron, lead, nor steel, neither water, nor fire. And there is no deceit, no trap to catch me, in your words? None, on my honour as a wolf! Good, said Thibault, then let it be so; a wolf for four and twenty hours, for the rest of the time the monarch of creation! What am I to do? I am ready. Pick a holly-leaf, tear it in three pieces with your teeth, and throw it away from you, as far as you can. Thibault did as he was commanded. Having torn the leaf in three pieces, he scattered them on the air, and although the night till then had been a peaceful one, there was immediately heard a loud peal of thunder, while a tempestuous whirlwind arose, which caught up the fragments and carried them whirling away with it. And now, brother Thibault, said the wolf, take my place, and good luck be with you! As was my case just a year ago, so you will have to become a wolf for four and twenty hours; you must endeavour to come out of the ordeal as happily as I did, thanks to you, and then you will see realised all that I have promised you. Meanwhile, I will pray the lord of the cloven hoof that he will protect you from the teeth of the Baron s hounds, for, by the devil himself, I take a genuine interest in you, friend Thibault. And then it seemed to Thibault that he saw the black wolf grow larger and taller, that it stood up on its hind legs and finally walked away in the form of a man, who made a sign to him with his hand as he disappeared. We say _it seemed to him_, for Thibault s ideas, for a second or two, became very indistinct. A feeling of torpor passed over him, paralysing his power of thought. When he came to himself, he was alone. His limbs were imprisoned in a new and unusual form; he had, in short, become in every respect the counterpart of the black wolf that a few minutes before had been speaking to him. One single white hair on his head alone shone in contrast to the remainder of the sombre coloured fur; this one white hair of the wolf was the one black hair which had remained to the man. Thibault had scarcely had time to recover himself when he fancied he heard a rustling among the bushes, and the sound of a low, muffled bark.... He thought of the Baron and his hounds, and trembled. Thus metamorphosed into the black wolf, he decided that he would not do what his predecessor had done, and wait till the dogs were upon him. It was probably a bloodhound he had heard, and he would get away before the hounds were uncoupled. He made off, striking straight ahead, as is the manner of wolves, and it was a profound satisfaction to him to find that in his new form he had tenfold his former strength and elasticity of limb. By the devil and his horns! the voice of the Lord of Vez was now heard to say to his new huntsman a few paces off, you hold the leash too slack, my lad; you have let the bloodhound give tongue, and we shall never head the wolf back now. I was in fault, I do not deny it, my Lord; but as I saw it go by last evening only a few yards from this spot, I never guessed that it would take up its quarters for the night in this part of the wood and that it was so close to us as all that. Are you sure it is the same one that has got away from us so often? May the bread I eat in your service choke me, my lord, if it is not the same black wolf that we were chasing last year when poor Marcotte was drowned. I should like finely to put the dogs on its track, said the Baron, with a sigh. My lord has but to give the order, and we will do so, but he will allow me to observe that we have still two good hours of darkness before us, time enough for every horse we have to break its legs. That may be, but if we wait for the day, l Eveill , the fellow will have had time to get ten leagues away. Ten leagues at least, said l Eveill , shaking his head. I have got this cursed black wolf on my brain, added the Baron, and I have such a longing to have its skin, that I feel sure I shall catch an illness if I do not get hold of it. Well then, my lord, let us have the dogs out without a moment s loss of time. You are right, l Eveill ; go and fetch the hounds. L Eveill went back to his horse, that he had tied to a tree outside the wood, and went off at a gallop, and in ten minutes time, which seemed like ten centuries to the Baron, he was back with the whole hunting train. The hounds were immediately uncoupled. Gently, gently, my lads! said the Lord of Vez, you forget you are not handling your old well-trained dogs; if you get excited with these raw recruits, they ll merely kick up a devil of a row, and be no more good than so many turnspits; let em get warmed up by degrees. And, indeed, the dogs were no sooner loose, than two or three got at once on to the scent of the were-wolf, and began to give cry, whereupon the others joined them. The whole pack started off on Thibault s track, at first quietly following up the scent, and only giving cry at long intervals, then more excitedly and of more accord, until they had so thoroughly imbibed the odour of the wolf ahead of them, and the scent had become so strong, that they tore along, baying furiously, and with unparalleled eagerness in the direction of the Yvors coppice. Well begun, is half done! cried the Baron. You look after the relays, l Eveill ; I want them ready whenever needed! I will encourage the dogs.... And you be on the alert, you others, he added, addressing himself to the younger keepers, we have more than one defeat to avenge, and if I lose this view halloo through the fault of anyone among you, by the devil and his horns! he shall be the dogs quarry in place of the wolf! After pronouncing these words of encouragement, the Baron put his horse to the gallop, and although it was still pitch dark and the ground was rough, he kept the animal going at top speed so as to come up with the hounds, which could be heard giving tongue in the low lands about Bourg-Fontaine. CHAPTER XXIV HUNTING DOWN THE WERE-WOLF Thibault had got well ahead of the dogs, thanks to the precaution he had taken of making good his escape at the first note of the bloodhound. For some time he heard no further sound of pursuit; but, all at once, like distant thunder, the baying of the hounds reached his ears, and he began to feel some anxiety. He had been trotting, but he now went on at greater speed, and did not pause till he had put a few more leagues between himself and his enemies. Then he stood still and took his bearings; he found himself on the heights at Montaigu. He bent his head and listened--the dogs still seemed a long way off, somewhere near the Tillet coppice. It required a wolf s ear to distinguish them so far off. Thibault went down the hill again, as if to meet the dogs; then, leaving Erneville to the left, he leaped into the little stream which rises there, waded down its course as far as Grimancourt, dashed into the woods of Lessart-l Abbesse, and finally gained the forest of Compi gne. He was somewhat reassured to find that, in spite of his three hours hard running, the steel-like muscles of his wolf legs were not in the least fatigued. He hesitated, however, to trust himself in a forest which was not so familiar to him as that of Villers-Cotterets. After another dash of a mile or so, he decided that by doubling boldly he would be most likely to put the dogs off the scent. He crossed at a gallop all the stretch of plain between Pierrefond and Mont-Gobert, took to the woods at the Champ Meutard, came out again at Vauvaudrand, regained the stream by the Sanc res timber floatage, and once more found himself in the forest near Long-Pont. Unfortunately for him, just as he reached the end of the Route du Pendu, he came across another pack of twenty dogs, which Monsieur de Montbreton s huntsman was bringing up as a relay, for the Baron had sent his neighbour news of the chase. Instantly the hounds were uncoupled by the huntsman as he caught sight of the wolf, for seeing that the latter kept its distance, he feared it would get too far ahead if he waited for the others to come up before loosing his dogs. And now began the struggle between the were-wolf and the dogs in very earnest. It was a wild chase, which the horses, in spite of their skilled riders, had great difficulty in following, a chase over plains, through woods, across heaths, pursued at a headlong pace. As the hunt flew by, it appeared and disappeared like a flash of lightning across a cloud, leaving behind a whirlwind of dust, and a sound of horns and cries which echo had hardly time to repeat. It rushed over hill and dale, through torrents and bogs, and over precipices, as if horses and dogs had been winged like Hippogriffs and Chimeras. The Baron had come up with his huntsmen, riding at their head, and almost riding on the tails of his dogs, his eye flashing, his nostrils dilated, exciting the pack with wild shouts and furious blasts, digging his spurs into his horse s sides whenever an obstacle of any kind caused it to hesitate for a single instant. The black wolf, on his side, still held on at the same rapid pace; although sorely shaken at hearing the fresh pack in full pursuit only a short way behind him, just as he had got back to the forest, he had not lost an inch of ground. As he retained to the full all his human consciousness, it seemed to him impossible, as he still ran on, that he should not escape in safety from this ordeal; he felt that it was not possible for him to die before he had taken vengeance for all the agony that others made him suffer, before he had known those pleasures that had been promised him, above all--for at this critical moment his thoughts kept on running on this--before he had gained Agnelette s love. At moments he was possessed by terror, at others by anger. He thought at times that he would turn and face this yelling pack of dogs, and, forgetting his present form, scatter them with stones and blows. Then, an instant after, feeling mad with rage, deafened by the death-knell the hounds were ringing in his ears, he fled, he leaped, he flew with the legs of a deer, with the wings of an eagle. But his efforts were in vain; he might run, leap, almost fly, the sounds of death still clung to him, and if for a moment they became more distant, it was only to hear them a moment after nearer and more threatening still. But still the instinct of self-preservation did not fail him; and still his strength was undiminished; only, if by ill luck, he were to come across other relays, he felt that it might give way. So he determined to take a bold course so as to out-distance the dogs, and to get back to his lairs, where he knew his ground and hoped to evade the dogs. He therefore doubled for the second time. He first ran back to Puiseux, then skirted past Viviers, regained the forest of Compi gne, made a dash into the forest of Largue, returned and crossed the Aisne at Attichy, and finally got back to the forest of Villers-Cotterets at the low lands of Argent. He trusted in this way to baffle the strategical plans of the Lord of Vez, who had, no doubt, posted his dogs at various likely points. Once back in his old quarters Thibault breathed more freely. He was now on the banks of the Ourcq between Norroy and Trouennes, where the river runs at the foot of deep rocks on either side; he leaped up on to a sharp-pointed crag overhanging the water, and from this high vantage ground he sprang into the waves below, then swam to a crevice at the base of the rock from which he had leapt, which was situated rather below the ordinary level of the water, and here, at the back of this cave, he waited. He had gained at least three miles upon the dogs; and yet, scarcely another ten minutes had elapsed, when the whole pack arrived and stormed the crest of the rock. Those who were leading, mad with excitement, did not see the gulf in front of them, or else, like their quarry they thought they would leap safely into it, for they plunged, and Thibault was splashed, far back as he was hidden, by the water that was scattered in every direction as they fell into it one by one. Less fortunate, however, and less vigorous than he was, they were unable to fight against the current, and after vainly battling with it, they were borne along out of sight before they had even got scent of the were-wolf s retreat. Overhead he could hear the tramping of the horses feet, the baying of the dogs that were still left, the cries of men, and above all these sounds, dominating the other voices, that of the Baron as he cursed and swore. When the last dog had fallen into the water, and been carried away like the others, he saw, thanks to a bend in the river, that the huntsmen were going down it, and persuaded that the Baron, whom he recognised at the head of his hunting-train, would only do this with the intention of coming up it again, he determined not to wait for this, and left his hiding-place. Now swimming, now leaping with agility from one rock to the other, at times wading through the water, he went up the river to the end of the Cr ne coppice. Certain that he had now made a considerable advance on his enemies, he resolved to get to one of the villages near and run in and out among the houses, feeling sure that they would not think of coming after him there. He thought of Pr ciamont; if any village was well known to him, it was that; and then, at Pr ciamont, he would be near Agnelette. He felt that this neighbourhood would put fresh vigour into him, and would bring him good fortune, and that the gentle image of the innocent girl would have some influence on his fate. So he started off in that direction. It was now six o clock in the evening; the hunt had lasted nearly fifteen hours, and wolf, dogs and huntsmen had covered fifty leagues at least. When, at last, after circling round by Manereux and Oigny, the black wolf reached the borders of the heath by the lane of Ham, the sun was already beginning to sink, and shedding a dazzling light over the flowery plain; the little white and pink flowers scented the breeze that played caressingly around them; the grasshopper was singing in its little house of moss, and the lark was soaring up towards heaven, saluting the eve with its song, as twelve hours before it had saluted the morn. The peaceful beauty of nature had a strange effect on Thibault. It seemed enigmatical to him that nature could be so smiling and beautiful, while anguish such as his was devouring his soul. He saw the flowers, and heard the insects and the birds, and he compared the quiet joy of this innocent world with the horrible pangs he was enduring, and asked himself, whether after all, notwithstanding all the new promises that had been made him by the devil s envoy, he had acted any more wisely in making this second compact than he had in making the first. He began to doubt whether he might not find himself deceived in the one as he had been in the other. As he went along a little footpath nearly hidden under the golden broom, he suddenly remembered that it was by this very path that he had taken Agnelette home on the first day of their acquaintance; the day, when inspired by his good angel, he had asked her to be his wife. The thought that, thanks to this new compact, he might be able to recover Agnelette s love, revived his spirits, which had been saddened and depressed by the sight of the universal happiness around him. He heard the church bells at Pr ciamont ringing in the valley below; its solemn, monotonous tones recalled the thought of his fellow men to the black wolf, and of all he had to fear from them. So he ran boldly on, across the fields, to the village, where he hoped to find a refuge in some empty building. As he was skirting the little stone wall of the village cemetery, he heard a sound of voices, approaching along the road he was in. He could not fail to meet whoever they might be who were coming towards him, if he himself went on; it was not safe to turn back, as he would have to cross some rising ground whence he might easily be seen; so there was nothing left for it but to jump over the wall of the cemetery, and with a bound he was on the other side. This graveyard as usual adjoined the church; it was uncared for, and overgrown with tall grass, while brambles and thorns grew rankly in places. The wolf made for the thickest of these bramble bushes; he found a sort of ruined vault, whence he could look out without being seen, and he crept under the branches and hid himself inside. A few yards away from him was a newly-dug grave; within the church could be heard the chanting of the priests, the more distinctly that the vault must at one time have communicated by a passage with the crypt. Presently the chanting ceased, and the black wolf, who did not feel quite at ease in the neighbourhood of a church, and thought that the road must now be clear, decided that it was time to start off again and to find a safer retreat than the one he had fled to in his haste. But he had scarcely got his nose outside the bramble bush when the gate of the cemetery opened, and he quickly retreated again to his hole, in great trepidation as to who might now be approaching. The first person he saw was a child dressed in a white alb and carrying a vessel of holy water; he was followed by a man in a surplice, bearing a silver cross, and after the latter came a priest, chanting the psalms for the dead. Behind these were four peasants carrying a bier covered with a white pall over which were scattered green branches and flowers, and beneath the sheet could be seen the outline of a coffin; a few villagers from Pr ciamont wound up this little procession. Although there was nothing unusual in such a sight as this, seeing that he was in a cemetery, and that the newly-dug grave must have prepared him for it, Thibault, nevertheless, felt strangely moved as he looked on. Although the slightest movement might betray his presence and bring destruction upon him, he anxiously watched every detail of the ceremony. The priest having blessed the newly-made grave, the peasants laid down their burden on an adjoining hillock. It is the custom in our country when a young girl, or young married woman, dies in the fullness of her youth and beauty, to carry her to the grave-yard in an open coffin, with only a pall over her, so that her friends may bid her a last farewell, her relations give her a last kiss. Then the coffin is nailed down, and all is over. An old woman, led by some kind hand, for she was apparently blind, went up to the coffin to give the dead one a last kiss; the peasants lifted the pall from the still face, and there lay Agnelette. A low groan escaped from Thibault s agonised breast, and mingled with the tears and sobs of those present. Agnelette, as she lay there so pale in death, wrapped in an ineffable calm, appeared more beautiful than when in life, beneath her wreath of forget-me-nots and daisies. As Thibault looked upon the poor dead girl, his heart seemed suddenly to melt within him. It was he, as he had truly realised, who had really killed her, and he experienced a genuine and overpowering sorrow, the more poignant since for the first time for many long months he forgot to think of himself, and thought only of the dead woman, now lost to him for ever. As he heard the blows of the hammer knocking the nails into the coffin, as he heard the earth and stones being shovelled into the grave and falling with a dull thud on to the body of the only woman he had ever loved, a feeling of giddiness came over him. The hard stones he thought must be bruising Agnelette s tender flesh, so fresh and sweet but a few days ago, and only yesterday still throbbing with life, and he made a movement as if to rush out on the assailants and snatch away the body, which dead, must surely belong to him, since, living, it had belonged to another. But the grief of the man overcame this instinct of the wild beast at bay; a shudder passed through the body hidden beneath its wolf skin; tears fell from the fierce blood-red eyes, and the unhappy man cried out: O God! take my life, I

four

How many times the word 'four' appears in the text?

with a gasp. He collapsed again, and again the colonel, whose gloved hand still retained its hold on his collar, set him on his trembling legs with admirable expertness. "I tell you he's dead!" cried Mr. Shrimplin, lost to everything but that one dreadful fact. "Who's dead?" demanded the colonel. "Stand up, man, don't fall about like that or you may do yourself some injury!" for Mr. Shrimplin seemed about to collapse once more. "Old man McBride, Colonel--if he ain't dead I wish I may never see death!" "Dead!" cried the colonel. "Archibald McBride dead!" He released his hold on Mr. Shrimplin and took a step toward the door; Shrimplin, however, detained him with a shaking hand, though he was calmer now. "Colonel, you'd better be careful, he's lying there in a pool of blood; some one's killed him for his money! How do we know the murderer ain't there!" This conjecture was made to the empty street, for Colonel Harbison had entered the store. "Why does he want to leave me like that!" wailed Shrimplin, and his panic threatened a return. He dragged himself to the door. Here he paused, since he could not bring himself to enter, for before his eyes was the ghastly vision of that old man huddled on the blood-stained floor. He heard the colonel's steps echo down the long room, and when their sound ceased he knew he was standing beside the dead man. After what seemed an age of waiting the steps sounded again, and a moment later the colonel's tall form filled the doorway. "Andy!" said the colonel. Mr. Shrimplin turned with a start. At his back within reach of his hand stood Andy Gilmore. He had been utterly unaware of the gambler's approach, but now conscious of it he dropped in a miserable heap on the door-sill, while the white and unfamiliar world reeled before his bleached blue eyes; it was the very drunkenness of fear. "Howdy, Colonel," said the gambler, as he gave Harbison a half-military salute. He admired the colonel, who had once threatened to horsewhip him if he ever permitted his nephew, Watt, to enter his rooms. "Come here, Andy!" ordered the colonel briefly. "God's sake, Colonel!" gasped the wretched little lamplighter, struggling to his feet, "don't leave me here--" "What's wrong, Colonel?" asked Gilmore. "Archibald McBride's been murdered!" Mr. Gilmore took the butt of the half-smoked cigar from between his teeth, tossed it into the gutter, and pushing past Mr. Shrimplin entered the room. Colonel Harbison, a step or two in advance of his companion, led the way to the rear of the store. The colonel paused, and Gilmore gained a place at his elbow. "You are sure he's dead?" questioned the gambler. Kneeling beside the crumpled figure Gilmore slipped his hand in between the body and the floor; his manner was cool and businesslike. After a moment he withdrew his hand and looked, up into the colonel's face. "Well?" asked the colonel. "Oh, he's dead, all right!" Gilmore glanced about him, and the colonel's eyes following, they both discovered that the door leading into the side yard was partly open. "He went that way, eh, Colonel?" "It's altogether likely," agreed the veteran. "It's a nasty business!" said Gilmore reflectively. "Shocking!" snapped the colonel. "He took big chances," commented the gambler, "living the way he did." He spoke of the dead man. "Poor old man!" said the colonel pityingly. What had it all amounted to, those chances for the sake of gain, which Gilmore had in mind. "He can't have been dead very long," said Gilmore. "Did _you_ find him, Colonel?" he asked as he stood erect. "No, Shrimplin found him." Again the two men looked about them. On the floor by the counter at their right was a heavy sledge. Gilmore called Harbison's attention to this. "I guess the job was done with that," he said. "Possibly," agreed Harbison. Gilmore picked up the sledge and examined it narrowly. "Yes, you can see, there is blood on it." He handed it to Harbison, who stepped under the nearest lamp with the clumsy weapon in his hand. "You are right, Andy!" and he glanced at the rude instrument of death with a look of repugnance on his keen sensitive face, then he carefully, placed it under the wooden counter. "Horrible!" he muttered to himself. "It was no joke for him!" said the gambler, catching the last word. "But some one was bound to try this dodge sooner or later. Why, as far back as I can remember, people said he kept his money hidden away at the bottom of nail kegs and under heaps of scrap-iron." He took a cigar from his pocket, bit off the end, and struck a match. "Well, I wouldn't want to be the other fellow, Colonel; I'd be in all kinds of a panic; it takes nerve for a job like this." "It's a shocking circumstance," said the colonel. "I wonder if it paid!" speculated the gambler. "And I wonder who'll get what he leaves. Has he any family or relatives?" "No, not so far as any one knows. He came here many years ago, a close-mouthed Scotchman, who never had any intimates, never married, and never spoke of his private affairs." There was a slight commotion at the door. They could hear Shrimplin's agitated voice, and a moment later two men, chance passers-by with whom he had been speaking, shook themselves free of the little lamplighter and entered the room. The new-comers nodded to the colonel and Gilmore as they paused to stare mutely at the body on the floor. "He bled like a stuck pig!" said one of the men at last. He was a ragged slouching creature with a splotched and bloated face half hidden by a bristling red beard. He glanced at Gilmore for an uncertain instant out of a pair of small shifty eyes. "It's murder, ain't it, boss?" he added. "No doubt about that, Joe!" rejoined the gambler. "I suppose it was robbery?" said the other man, who had not spoken before. "Very likely," answered the colonel. "We have not examined the place, however; we shall wait for the proper officials." "Who do you want, Colonel?" "Coroner Taylor, and I suppose the sheriff," replied Harbison. The man nodded. "All right, I'll bring them; and say, what about the prosecuting attorney?" as he turned to leave. "Yes, bring Moxlow, too, if you can find him." The man hurried from the room. Gilmore leaned against the counter and smoked imperturbably. Joe Montgomery, with his great slouching shoulders arched, and his grimy hands buried deep in his trousers pockets, stared at the dead man in stolid wonder. Colonel Harbison's glance sought the same object but with a sensitive shrinking as from an ugly brutal thing. A clock ticked loudly in the office; there was the occasional fall of cinders from the grate of the rusted stove that heated the place; these were sounds that neither Gilmore nor the colonel had heard before. Presently a lean black cat stole from the office and sprang upon the counter; it purred softly. "Hello, puss!" said the gambler, putting out a hand. The cat stole closer. "I guess I'll have to take you home with me, eh? This ain't a place for unprotected females!" The cat crept back and forth under his caressing touch. At the street-door Shrimplin appeared and disappeared, now his head was thrust into the room, and now his nose was flattened against the dingy show-windows; from neither point could he quite command the view he desired nor could he bring himself to enter the building; then he vanished entirely, but after a brief interval they heard his voice. He was evidently speaking with some one in the street. A little crowd was rapidly gathering about him, but it disintegrated almost immediately, his listeners abandoning him to hurry into the store. "You must stand back, all of you!" said the colonel. "Unless you are very careful you may destroy important evidence!" The crowd assembled itself silently for the most part; here and there a man removed his hat, or made some whispered comment, or asked some eager low-voiced question of Gilmore or the colonel. Men stood on boxes, on nail kegs, and on counters. Except for the little circle left about the dead man on the floor, every vantage point of observation was soon occupied. It was scarcely half an hour since Shrimplin had fallen speechless into Colonel Harbison's arms, yet fully two hundred men had gathered in that long room or were struggling about the door to gain admittance to it. At a suggestion from Harbison, the gambler, followed by Joe, elbowed his way to the front door, which in spite of the protest of those outside, he closed and locked. A moment later, however, he opened it to admit Doctor Taylor, the coroner, and Conklin, the sheriff. The latter instantly set about clearing the room. Gilmore and the colonel remained with the officials and during the succeeding ten minutes the gambler, who had kept his post at the door, opened, it to Moxlow, young Watt Harbison and two policemen. As the coroner finished his examination of the body, the sound of wheels was heard in the Square and an undertaker's wagon drew up to the door. The murdered man was placed on a stretcher and covered with a black cloth, then four men raised the stretcher and for the last time the old merchant passed out under his creaking sign into the night. "I've agreed to watch at the house, Andy," said Colonel Harbison. "I want you and Watt to come with me." The gambler lighted a fresh cigar and the three men left the store. On the Square groups of men discussed the murder. Though none was permitted to enter the store, the windows afforded occasional glimpses of the little group of officials within, until a policeman closed and fastened the heavy wooden shutters. Then the crowd slowly and reluctantly dispersed. Meanwhile the town marshal, under cover of the excitement, had descended on the gas house where tramps congregated of winter nights for warmth and shelter. Here he found shivering over a can of beer, two homeless wretches, whom he arrested as suspicious characters. After this, official activity languished, for the official mind could think of nothing more to do. With the scattering of the crowd on the Square, Shrimplin climbed into his cart and drove off home. The smother of wind-driven snow still enveloped the, town, the very air seemed charged with mystery and horror, and before the little lamplighter's eyes was ever the haunting vision of the murdered man. He drove into the alley back of his house, unhitched Bill and led him into the barn. His torch made the gloom of the place more terrifying than utter darkness would have been. Suppose the murderer should be hiding there! Mr. Shrimplin's mind fastened on the hay-mow as the most likely place of concealment, and the cold sweat ran from him in icy streams; he could, almost see the murderer's evil eyes fixed upon him from the blackness above. But at last Bill was stripped of his harness, and the little lamplighter, escaping from the barn with its fancied terrors, hurried across his small back yard to his kitchen door. "Well!" said Mrs. Shrimplin, as he entered the room. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever think it worth your while to come home!" "What's the bell been ringing for?" asked Custer. Mrs. Shrimplin was seated by the table, which was littered with her sewing; Custer occupied his usual chair by the stove, and it was evident that they knew nothing of the tragedy in which Mr. Shrimplin had played so important, and as he now felt, so worthy a part. "I suppose I've been out quite a time, and I may say I've seen times, too! I guess there ain't no one in the town fitter to say they seen times than just me!" The light and comfort of his own pleasant kitchen had quite restored Mr. Shrimplin. "I may say I seen times!" he repeated significantly. "There's something doing in this here old town after all! I take back a heap of the hard things I've said about it; a feller can scare up a little excitement if he knows where to look for it. I ain't bragging none, but I guess you'll hear my name mentioned--I guess you'll even see it in print in the newspapers!" He warmed his cold hands over the stove. "Throw in a little more coal, sonny; I'm half froze, but I guess that's the worst any one can say of me!" "You make much of it, whatever it is," said Mrs. Shrimplin. "Maybe I do and maybe I don't," equivocated Mr. Shrimplin genially. "Maybe you're not above telling a body what kept you out half the night?" inquired his wife. "If you done and seen what I've did and saw," replied Mr. Shrimplin impressively, "you'd look for a little respect in your own home." "I'd be a heap quicker telling about it," said Mrs. Shrimplin. Mr. Shrimplin turned to Custer. "I guess, you're thinking it was a burglar; but, sonny, it wasn't no burglar--so you got another guess coming to you," he concluded benevolently. "I know!" cried Custer. "Some one's been killed!" "Exactly!" said Mr. Shrimplin with increasing benevolence. "Some one has been killed!" "You done it!" cried Custer. "I found the party," admitted Mr. Shrimplin with calm dignity. "Oh!" But perhaps Custer's first emotion was on the whole one of disappointment. "How you talk!" said Mrs. Shrimplin. "I reckon I might say more, most any one would," retorted Mr. Shrimplin quietly. "It was old man McBride--someone's murdered him for his money; I never seen the town so on end over anything before, but whoever wants to be well posted's got to come to me for the particulars. I seen the old man before Colonel Harbison seen him, I seen him before Andy Gilmore seen him, I seen him before the coroner seen him, or the sheriff or _any one_ seen him! I was on the spot ahead of 'em all. If any one wants to know how he looked just after he was killed, they got to come to me to find out. Colonel Harbison can't tell 'em, and Andy Gilmore can't tell 'em; it's only me knows them particulars!" The effect of this stirring declaration was quite all he had hoped for. Out of the tail of his eye he saw that Mrs. Shrimplin was, as she afterward freely confessed, taken aback. As for Custer, he had forgotten his disappointment that a death by violence had occurred for which his father was not directly responsible. "Did you see the man that killed old Mr. McBride?" asked Custer, breaking the breathless spell that was upon him. "No; if I'd been just about fifteen minutes sooner I'd have seen him; but I was just about that much too late, sonny. I guess he's a whole lot better off, though." "What would you have done if you'd seen him?" Custer's voice sank to a whisper. "Well, I don't pack a gun for nothing. If I'd seen him there, he'd had to go 'round to the jail with me. I guess I could have coaxed him there; I was ready for to offer extra inducements!" "And does everybody know you seen old Mr. McBride the first of any?" asked Custer. "I guess they do; I ain't afraid about that. Colonel Harbison's too much of a gentleman to claim any credit that ain't his; he'd be the first one to own up that he don't deserve no credit." "What took you into McBride's store? You hadn't no errand there." Mrs. Shrimplin was a careful and acquisitive wife. "I allow I made an errand there," said Mr. Shrimplin bridling. "I reckon many another man might have thought he hadn't no errand there either, but I feel different about them things. I was just turned into the Square when along comes young John North--" "What was he doing there?" suddenly asked Mrs. Shrimplin. "I expect he was attending strictly to his own business," retorted Mr. Shrimplin, offended by the utter irrelevancy of the question. "Go on, pal" begged Custer. He felt that his mother's interruptions were positively cruel, and--so like a woman! "Me and young John North passed the time of day," continued Mr. Shrimplin, thus abjured, "and I started around the north side of the Square to light the lamp on old man McBride's own corner. If I'd knowed then--" he paused impressively, "if I'd just knowed then, that was my time! I could have laid hands on the murderer. He was there somewheres, most likely he was watching me; well, maybe it was all for the best, I don't know as a married man's got any right to take chances. Anyway, I got to within, well--I should say, thirty feet of that lamp-post when all of a sudden Bill began to act up. You never saw a horse act up like he done! He rose in his britching and then the other end of him come up and he acted like he wanted to set down on the singletree!" "Why did he do that?" asked Custer. "Well, I guess you've got some few things to learn, Custer;" said Mr. Shrimplin indulgently. "He smelt blood--that's what he smelt!" "Oh!" gasped Custer. "I've knowed it to happen before. It's instinct," explained Shrimplin. "'Singular,' says I, and out I jumps to have a look about. I walked to the lamp-post, and then I seen what I hadn't seen before, that old man McBride's store door was open, so I stepped on to the sidewalk intending to close it, but as I put my hand on the knob I seen where the snow had drifted into the room, so I knew the door must have been open some little time. That's mighty odd, I thinks, and then it sort of come over me the way Bill had acted, and I went along into the store in pretty considerable of a hurry." "Were you afraid?" demanded Custer in an awe-struck whisper. "I'll tell you the truth, Custer, I wasn't. I own I'd drawed my gun, wishing to be on the safe side. First thing I noticed was that the lamps hadn't been turned up, though they was all lit. I got back to the end of the counter when I came to a halt, for there in a heap on the floor was old man McBride, with his head mashed in where some one had hit him with a sledge. There was blood all over the floor, and it was a mighty sickenin' spectacle. I sort of looked around hoping I'd see the murderer, but he'd lit out, and then I went back to the front of the store, where I seen Colonel Harbison coming across the Square. I told him what I'd seen and he went inside to look; while he was looking, along come Andy Gilmore and I told him, too, and he went in. They knowed the murderer wasn't there, that I'd been in ahead of them. After, that the people seemed to come from every direction; then presently some one started to ring the town bell and that fetched more people, until the Square in front of the store was packed and jammed with 'em. Everybody' wanted to hear about it first-hand from me; they wanted the _full particulars_ from the only one who knowed 'em." Mr. Shrimplin paused for breath. The recollection of his splendid publicity was dazzling. He imagined the morrow with its possibility of social triumph; he went as far as to feel that Mrs. Shrimplin now had a certain sneaking respect for him. "Did you see tracks in the snow?" demanded Custer. "No, I didn't see nothing," declared Mr. Shrimplin. "You seen young John North." It was Mrs. Shrimplin who spoke. "Well, yes, I seen young John North--I said I seen him!" CHAPTER SIX PUTTING ON THE SCREWS A score of men and boys followed the undertaker's wagon to the small frame cottage that had been Archibald McBride's home for half a century, and a group of these assembled about the gate as the wagon drew up before it. Along the quiet street, windows were raised and doors were opened. It was perhaps the first time, as it was to be the last, that Archibald McBride's neighbors took note of his home-coming. His keys had been found and intrusted to one of the policemen who accompanied the undertaker and his men; now, as the wagon came to a stand, this officer sprang to the ground, and pushing open the gate went quickly up the path to the front door. There in the shelter of the porch he paused to light a lantern, then he tried key after key until he found the one that fitted the lock; he opened the door and entered the house, the undertaker following him. A second officer stationed himself at the door and kept back the crowd. Their preparations were soon made and the two men reappeared on the porch. "It's all right," the undertaker said, and four men raised the stretcher again and carried the old merchant into the house. At this juncture Colonel Harbison, followed by his nephew and Gilmore, made his way through the crowd before the door. Gilmore, even, gave an involuntary shudder as they entered the small hall lighted by the single lantern, while the colonel could have wished himself anywhere else; he had come from a sense of duty; he had known McBride as well as any one in Mount Hope had known him, and it had seemed a lack of respect to the dead man to leave him to the care of the merely curious; but he was painfully conscious of the still presence in the parlor; he felt that they were unwelcome intruders in the home of that austere old man, who had made no friends, who had no intimates, but had lived according to his choice, solitary and alone. The colonel and Watt Harbison followed the gambler into what had been the old merchant's sitting-room. There were two lamps on the chimneypiece, both of which Gilmore lighted. "That's a whole lot better," he said. "Anything more we can do, gentlemen?" asked the undertaker, coming into the room. "Nothing, thank you," answered the colonel in a tone of abstraction, and he felt a sense of relief when the officials had gone their way into the night, leaving him and his two companions to their vigil. Now for the first time they had leisure and opportunity to look about them. It was a poor enough place, all things considered; the furniture was dingy with age and neglect, for Archibald McBride had kept no servant; a worn and faded carpet covered the floor; there was an engraving of Washington Crossing the Delaware and a few old-fashioned woodcuts on the wall; at one side of the room was a desk, opposite it a rusted sheet-iron stove in which Watt Harbison was already starting a fire; there was a scant assortment of uncomfortable chairs, a table, with one leg bandaged, and near the desk an old mahogany davenport. "This wouldn't have suited you, eh, Colonel?" said Gilmore at last. "He could hardly be said to live here, he merely came here to sleep," answered the colonel. "No, he couldn't have cared for anything but the one thing," said Gilmore. "Were you ever here before, Colonel?" he added. "Never." "I don't suppose half a dozen people in the town were ever inside his door until to-night," said Watt Harbison, speaking for the first time. Gilmore turned to look at the colonel's nephew as if he had only that moment become aware of his presence. What he saw did not impress him greatly, for young Watt, save for an unusually large head, was much like other young men of his class. His speech was soft, his face beardless and his gray eyes gazed steadily but without curiosity on, what was for him, an uncliented world. For the eighteen months that he had been an "attorney and counselor at law" the detail of office rent had been taken care of by the colonel. "Sort of makes the game he played seem rotten poor sport," commented Gilmore, replying to the nephew but looking at the uncle. The colonel was silent. "Rotten poor sport!" repeated Gilmore. "Who'll come in for his property?" asked Watt Harbison. "Oh, some one will claim that," said Gilmore. "They were saying down at the store, that once, years ago, a brother of his turned up, here, but McBride got rid of him." "Suppose we have a look around before we settle ourselves for the night," suggested Watt Harbison. "Will you join us, Colonel?" asked the gambler. But the colonel shook his head. Gilmore took up one of the lamps as he spoke and opened a door that led into what had evidently once been a dining-room, but it was now only partly furnished; back of this was a kitchen, and beyond the kitchen a woodshed. Returning to the front of the house, they mounted to the floor above. Here had been the old merchant's bedroom; adjoining it were two smaller rooms, one of which had been used as a place of storage for trunks and boxes and broken bits of furniture; the other room was empty. "We may as well go back down-stairs," said the gambler, halting, lamp in hand, in the center of the empty room. Harbison nodded, and leading the way to the floor below, they rejoined the colonel in the sitting-room, where they made themselves as comfortable as possible. The colonel and his nephew talked in subdued tones, principally of the murdered man; they had no desire to exclude their companion from the conversation, but Gilmore displayed no interest in what was said. He sat at the colonel's elbow, preoccupied and thoughtful, smoking cigar after cigar. Presently the colonel and his nephew lapsed into silence. Their silence seemed to rouse Gilmore to what was passing about him. He glanced at the elder Harbison. "You look tired, Colonel," he said. "Why don't you stretch out on that lounge yonder and take a nap?" "I think I shall, Andy, if you and Watt don't mind." And the colonel quitted his chair. "Better put your coat over you," advised the gambler. He watched the colonel as he made himself comfortable on the lounge, then he lighted a fresh cigar, tilted his chair against the wall and with head thrown back studied the ceiling. Watt Harbison made one or two tentative attempts at conversation, to which Gilmore briefly responded, then the young fellow also became thoughtful. He fell to watching the gambler's strong profile which the lamp silhouetted against the opposite wall; then drowsiness completely overcame him and he slept in his chair with his head fallen forward on his breast. Gilmore, alert and sleepless, smoked on; he was thinking of Evelyn Langham. After his interview with her husband that afternoon he had gone to his own apartment. His bedroom adjoined North's parlor and through the flimsy lath and plaster partition he had distinctly heard a woman's voice. The sound of that voice and the suspicion it instantly begot added to his furious hatred of North, for he had long suspected that something more than friendship existed between Marshall Langham's wife and Marshall Langham's friend. "Damn him!" thought the gambler. "I'll fix him yet!" And he puffed at his cigar viciously. He had made sure that North's mysterious visitor was Evelyn Langham, for when she left the building he himself had followed her. Out of the dregs of his nature this foolish mad passion of his had arisen to torture him; he had never spoken with Langham's wife, probably she knew him by sight, nothing more; but still his game, the waiting game he had been forced to play, was working itself out better than he had even hoped! At last he had Marshall Langham where he wanted him, where he could make him feel his power. Langham would not be able to raise the money required to cover up those forgeries, and on the basis of silence he would make his bargain with the lawyer. Gilmore pondered this problem for the better part of an hour, considering it from every conceivable angle; then suddenly the expression of his face changed, he forgot for the moment his ambitions and his desires, his hatred and his love; he thought he heard the click of the old-fashioned latch on the front gate. He remembered that it could be raised only with difficulty. Next he heard the sound of footsteps approaching the house. They seemed to come haltingly down the narrow brick path which the wind had swept clear of snow. Mr. Gilmore was blessed with a steadiness of nerve known to but few men, yet the hour and the occasion had their influence with him. He stood erect: now the steps which had paused for a moment seemed to recede; it was as if the intruder, whoever he might be, had come almost to the front door and had then, for some inexplicable reason, gone back to the street. Gilmore even imagined him as standing there with his hand on the latch of the gate. He was tempted to rouse his two companions, but he did not, and then, as he still stood with his senses tense, he heard the steps again approach the front door. With a glance in the direction of the colonel and his nephew to assure himself that they still slept, Gilmore rather shamefacedly slipped his right hand under the tails of his coat, tiptoed into the hall and paused there close by the parlor door. The steps

far

How many times the word 'far' appears in the text?

with a gasp. He collapsed again, and again the colonel, whose gloved hand still retained its hold on his collar, set him on his trembling legs with admirable expertness. "I tell you he's dead!" cried Mr. Shrimplin, lost to everything but that one dreadful fact. "Who's dead?" demanded the colonel. "Stand up, man, don't fall about like that or you may do yourself some injury!" for Mr. Shrimplin seemed about to collapse once more. "Old man McBride, Colonel--if he ain't dead I wish I may never see death!" "Dead!" cried the colonel. "Archibald McBride dead!" He released his hold on Mr. Shrimplin and took a step toward the door; Shrimplin, however, detained him with a shaking hand, though he was calmer now. "Colonel, you'd better be careful, he's lying there in a pool of blood; some one's killed him for his money! How do we know the murderer ain't there!" This conjecture was made to the empty street, for Colonel Harbison had entered the store. "Why does he want to leave me like that!" wailed Shrimplin, and his panic threatened a return. He dragged himself to the door. Here he paused, since he could not bring himself to enter, for before his eyes was the ghastly vision of that old man huddled on the blood-stained floor. He heard the colonel's steps echo down the long room, and when their sound ceased he knew he was standing beside the dead man. After what seemed an age of waiting the steps sounded again, and a moment later the colonel's tall form filled the doorway. "Andy!" said the colonel. Mr. Shrimplin turned with a start. At his back within reach of his hand stood Andy Gilmore. He had been utterly unaware of the gambler's approach, but now conscious of it he dropped in a miserable heap on the door-sill, while the white and unfamiliar world reeled before his bleached blue eyes; it was the very drunkenness of fear. "Howdy, Colonel," said the gambler, as he gave Harbison a half-military salute. He admired the colonel, who had once threatened to horsewhip him if he ever permitted his nephew, Watt, to enter his rooms. "Come here, Andy!" ordered the colonel briefly. "God's sake, Colonel!" gasped the wretched little lamplighter, struggling to his feet, "don't leave me here--" "What's wrong, Colonel?" asked Gilmore. "Archibald McBride's been murdered!" Mr. Gilmore took the butt of the half-smoked cigar from between his teeth, tossed it into the gutter, and pushing past Mr. Shrimplin entered the room. Colonel Harbison, a step or two in advance of his companion, led the way to the rear of the store. The colonel paused, and Gilmore gained a place at his elbow. "You are sure he's dead?" questioned the gambler. Kneeling beside the crumpled figure Gilmore slipped his hand in between the body and the floor; his manner was cool and businesslike. After a moment he withdrew his hand and looked, up into the colonel's face. "Well?" asked the colonel. "Oh, he's dead, all right!" Gilmore glanced about him, and the colonel's eyes following, they both discovered that the door leading into the side yard was partly open. "He went that way, eh, Colonel?" "It's altogether likely," agreed the veteran. "It's a nasty business!" said Gilmore reflectively. "Shocking!" snapped the colonel. "He took big chances," commented the gambler, "living the way he did." He spoke of the dead man. "Poor old man!" said the colonel pityingly. What had it all amounted to, those chances for the sake of gain, which Gilmore had in mind. "He can't have been dead very long," said Gilmore. "Did _you_ find him, Colonel?" he asked as he stood erect. "No, Shrimplin found him." Again the two men looked about them. On the floor by the counter at their right was a heavy sledge. Gilmore called Harbison's attention to this. "I guess the job was done with that," he said. "Possibly," agreed Harbison. Gilmore picked up the sledge and examined it narrowly. "Yes, you can see, there is blood on it." He handed it to Harbison, who stepped under the nearest lamp with the clumsy weapon in his hand. "You are right, Andy!" and he glanced at the rude instrument of death with a look of repugnance on his keen sensitive face, then he carefully, placed it under the wooden counter. "Horrible!" he muttered to himself. "It was no joke for him!" said the gambler, catching the last word. "But some one was bound to try this dodge sooner or later. Why, as far back as I can remember, people said he kept his money hidden away at the bottom of nail kegs and under heaps of scrap-iron." He took a cigar from his pocket, bit off the end, and struck a match. "Well, I wouldn't want to be the other fellow, Colonel; I'd be in all kinds of a panic; it takes nerve for a job like this." "It's a shocking circumstance," said the colonel. "I wonder if it paid!" speculated the gambler. "And I wonder who'll get what he leaves. Has he any family or relatives?" "No, not so far as any one knows. He came here many years ago, a close-mouthed Scotchman, who never had any intimates, never married, and never spoke of his private affairs." There was a slight commotion at the door. They could hear Shrimplin's agitated voice, and a moment later two men, chance passers-by with whom he had been speaking, shook themselves free of the little lamplighter and entered the room. The new-comers nodded to the colonel and Gilmore as they paused to stare mutely at the body on the floor. "He bled like a stuck pig!" said one of the men at last. He was a ragged slouching creature with a splotched and bloated face half hidden by a bristling red beard. He glanced at Gilmore for an uncertain instant out of a pair of small shifty eyes. "It's murder, ain't it, boss?" he added. "No doubt about that, Joe!" rejoined the gambler. "I suppose it was robbery?" said the other man, who had not spoken before. "Very likely," answered the colonel. "We have not examined the place, however; we shall wait for the proper officials." "Who do you want, Colonel?" "Coroner Taylor, and I suppose the sheriff," replied Harbison. The man nodded. "All right, I'll bring them; and say, what about the prosecuting attorney?" as he turned to leave. "Yes, bring Moxlow, too, if you can find him." The man hurried from the room. Gilmore leaned against the counter and smoked imperturbably. Joe Montgomery, with his great slouching shoulders arched, and his grimy hands buried deep in his trousers pockets, stared at the dead man in stolid wonder. Colonel Harbison's glance sought the same object but with a sensitive shrinking as from an ugly brutal thing. A clock ticked loudly in the office; there was the occasional fall of cinders from the grate of the rusted stove that heated the place; these were sounds that neither Gilmore nor the colonel had heard before. Presently a lean black cat stole from the office and sprang upon the counter; it purred softly. "Hello, puss!" said the gambler, putting out a hand. The cat stole closer. "I guess I'll have to take you home with me, eh? This ain't a place for unprotected females!" The cat crept back and forth under his caressing touch. At the street-door Shrimplin appeared and disappeared, now his head was thrust into the room, and now his nose was flattened against the dingy show-windows; from neither point could he quite command the view he desired nor could he bring himself to enter the building; then he vanished entirely, but after a brief interval they heard his voice. He was evidently speaking with some one in the street. A little crowd was rapidly gathering about him, but it disintegrated almost immediately, his listeners abandoning him to hurry into the store. "You must stand back, all of you!" said the colonel. "Unless you are very careful you may destroy important evidence!" The crowd assembled itself silently for the most part; here and there a man removed his hat, or made some whispered comment, or asked some eager low-voiced question of Gilmore or the colonel. Men stood on boxes, on nail kegs, and on counters. Except for the little circle left about the dead man on the floor, every vantage point of observation was soon occupied. It was scarcely half an hour since Shrimplin had fallen speechless into Colonel Harbison's arms, yet fully two hundred men had gathered in that long room or were struggling about the door to gain admittance to it. At a suggestion from Harbison, the gambler, followed by Joe, elbowed his way to the front door, which in spite of the protest of those outside, he closed and locked. A moment later, however, he opened it to admit Doctor Taylor, the coroner, and Conklin, the sheriff. The latter instantly set about clearing the room. Gilmore and the colonel remained with the officials and during the succeeding ten minutes the gambler, who had kept his post at the door, opened, it to Moxlow, young Watt Harbison and two policemen. As the coroner finished his examination of the body, the sound of wheels was heard in the Square and an undertaker's wagon drew up to the door. The murdered man was placed on a stretcher and covered with a black cloth, then four men raised the stretcher and for the last time the old merchant passed out under his creaking sign into the night. "I've agreed to watch at the house, Andy," said Colonel Harbison. "I want you and Watt to come with me." The gambler lighted a fresh cigar and the three men left the store. On the Square groups of men discussed the murder. Though none was permitted to enter the store, the windows afforded occasional glimpses of the little group of officials within, until a policeman closed and fastened the heavy wooden shutters. Then the crowd slowly and reluctantly dispersed. Meanwhile the town marshal, under cover of the excitement, had descended on the gas house where tramps congregated of winter nights for warmth and shelter. Here he found shivering over a can of beer, two homeless wretches, whom he arrested as suspicious characters. After this, official activity languished, for the official mind could think of nothing more to do. With the scattering of the crowd on the Square, Shrimplin climbed into his cart and drove off home. The smother of wind-driven snow still enveloped the, town, the very air seemed charged with mystery and horror, and before the little lamplighter's eyes was ever the haunting vision of the murdered man. He drove into the alley back of his house, unhitched Bill and led him into the barn. His torch made the gloom of the place more terrifying than utter darkness would have been. Suppose the murderer should be hiding there! Mr. Shrimplin's mind fastened on the hay-mow as the most likely place of concealment, and the cold sweat ran from him in icy streams; he could, almost see the murderer's evil eyes fixed upon him from the blackness above. But at last Bill was stripped of his harness, and the little lamplighter, escaping from the barn with its fancied terrors, hurried across his small back yard to his kitchen door. "Well!" said Mrs. Shrimplin, as he entered the room. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever think it worth your while to come home!" "What's the bell been ringing for?" asked Custer. Mrs. Shrimplin was seated by the table, which was littered with her sewing; Custer occupied his usual chair by the stove, and it was evident that they knew nothing of the tragedy in which Mr. Shrimplin had played so important, and as he now felt, so worthy a part. "I suppose I've been out quite a time, and I may say I've seen times, too! I guess there ain't no one in the town fitter to say they seen times than just me!" The light and comfort of his own pleasant kitchen had quite restored Mr. Shrimplin. "I may say I seen times!" he repeated significantly. "There's something doing in this here old town after all! I take back a heap of the hard things I've said about it; a feller can scare up a little excitement if he knows where to look for it. I ain't bragging none, but I guess you'll hear my name mentioned--I guess you'll even see it in print in the newspapers!" He warmed his cold hands over the stove. "Throw in a little more coal, sonny; I'm half froze, but I guess that's the worst any one can say of me!" "You make much of it, whatever it is," said Mrs. Shrimplin. "Maybe I do and maybe I don't," equivocated Mr. Shrimplin genially. "Maybe you're not above telling a body what kept you out half the night?" inquired his wife. "If you done and seen what I've did and saw," replied Mr. Shrimplin impressively, "you'd look for a little respect in your own home." "I'd be a heap quicker telling about it," said Mrs. Shrimplin. Mr. Shrimplin turned to Custer. "I guess, you're thinking it was a burglar; but, sonny, it wasn't no burglar--so you got another guess coming to you," he concluded benevolently. "I know!" cried Custer. "Some one's been killed!" "Exactly!" said Mr. Shrimplin with increasing benevolence. "Some one has been killed!" "You done it!" cried Custer. "I found the party," admitted Mr. Shrimplin with calm dignity. "Oh!" But perhaps Custer's first emotion was on the whole one of disappointment. "How you talk!" said Mrs. Shrimplin. "I reckon I might say more, most any one would," retorted Mr. Shrimplin quietly. "It was old man McBride--someone's murdered him for his money; I never seen the town so on end over anything before, but whoever wants to be well posted's got to come to me for the particulars. I seen the old man before Colonel Harbison seen him, I seen him before Andy Gilmore seen him, I seen him before the coroner seen him, or the sheriff or _any one_ seen him! I was on the spot ahead of 'em all. If any one wants to know how he looked just after he was killed, they got to come to me to find out. Colonel Harbison can't tell 'em, and Andy Gilmore can't tell 'em; it's only me knows them particulars!" The effect of this stirring declaration was quite all he had hoped for. Out of the tail of his eye he saw that Mrs. Shrimplin was, as she afterward freely confessed, taken aback. As for Custer, he had forgotten his disappointment that a death by violence had occurred for which his father was not directly responsible. "Did you see the man that killed old Mr. McBride?" asked Custer, breaking the breathless spell that was upon him. "No; if I'd been just about fifteen minutes sooner I'd have seen him; but I was just about that much too late, sonny. I guess he's a whole lot better off, though." "What would you have done if you'd seen him?" Custer's voice sank to a whisper. "Well, I don't pack a gun for nothing. If I'd seen him there, he'd had to go 'round to the jail with me. I guess I could have coaxed him there; I was ready for to offer extra inducements!" "And does everybody know you seen old Mr. McBride the first of any?" asked Custer. "I guess they do; I ain't afraid about that. Colonel Harbison's too much of a gentleman to claim any credit that ain't his; he'd be the first one to own up that he don't deserve no credit." "What took you into McBride's store? You hadn't no errand there." Mrs. Shrimplin was a careful and acquisitive wife. "I allow I made an errand there," said Mr. Shrimplin bridling. "I reckon many another man might have thought he hadn't no errand there either, but I feel different about them things. I was just turned into the Square when along comes young John North--" "What was he doing there?" suddenly asked Mrs. Shrimplin. "I expect he was attending strictly to his own business," retorted Mr. Shrimplin, offended by the utter irrelevancy of the question. "Go on, pal" begged Custer. He felt that his mother's interruptions were positively cruel, and--so like a woman! "Me and young John North passed the time of day," continued Mr. Shrimplin, thus abjured, "and I started around the north side of the Square to light the lamp on old man McBride's own corner. If I'd knowed then--" he paused impressively, "if I'd just knowed then, that was my time! I could have laid hands on the murderer. He was there somewheres, most likely he was watching me; well, maybe it was all for the best, I don't know as a married man's got any right to take chances. Anyway, I got to within, well--I should say, thirty feet of that lamp-post when all of a sudden Bill began to act up. You never saw a horse act up like he done! He rose in his britching and then the other end of him come up and he acted like he wanted to set down on the singletree!" "Why did he do that?" asked Custer. "Well, I guess you've got some few things to learn, Custer;" said Mr. Shrimplin indulgently. "He smelt blood--that's what he smelt!" "Oh!" gasped Custer. "I've knowed it to happen before. It's instinct," explained Shrimplin. "'Singular,' says I, and out I jumps to have a look about. I walked to the lamp-post, and then I seen what I hadn't seen before, that old man McBride's store door was open, so I stepped on to the sidewalk intending to close it, but as I put my hand on the knob I seen where the snow had drifted into the room, so I knew the door must have been open some little time. That's mighty odd, I thinks, and then it sort of come over me the way Bill had acted, and I went along into the store in pretty considerable of a hurry." "Were you afraid?" demanded Custer in an awe-struck whisper. "I'll tell you the truth, Custer, I wasn't. I own I'd drawed my gun, wishing to be on the safe side. First thing I noticed was that the lamps hadn't been turned up, though they was all lit. I got back to the end of the counter when I came to a halt, for there in a heap on the floor was old man McBride, with his head mashed in where some one had hit him with a sledge. There was blood all over the floor, and it was a mighty sickenin' spectacle. I sort of looked around hoping I'd see the murderer, but he'd lit out, and then I went back to the front of the store, where I seen Colonel Harbison coming across the Square. I told him what I'd seen and he went inside to look; while he was looking, along come Andy Gilmore and I told him, too, and he went in. They knowed the murderer wasn't there, that I'd been in ahead of them. After, that the people seemed to come from every direction; then presently some one started to ring the town bell and that fetched more people, until the Square in front of the store was packed and jammed with 'em. Everybody' wanted to hear about it first-hand from me; they wanted the _full particulars_ from the only one who knowed 'em." Mr. Shrimplin paused for breath. The recollection of his splendid publicity was dazzling. He imagined the morrow with its possibility of social triumph; he went as far as to feel that Mrs. Shrimplin now had a certain sneaking respect for him. "Did you see tracks in the snow?" demanded Custer. "No, I didn't see nothing," declared Mr. Shrimplin. "You seen young John North." It was Mrs. Shrimplin who spoke. "Well, yes, I seen young John North--I said I seen him!" CHAPTER SIX PUTTING ON THE SCREWS A score of men and boys followed the undertaker's wagon to the small frame cottage that had been Archibald McBride's home for half a century, and a group of these assembled about the gate as the wagon drew up before it. Along the quiet street, windows were raised and doors were opened. It was perhaps the first time, as it was to be the last, that Archibald McBride's neighbors took note of his home-coming. His keys had been found and intrusted to one of the policemen who accompanied the undertaker and his men; now, as the wagon came to a stand, this officer sprang to the ground, and pushing open the gate went quickly up the path to the front door. There in the shelter of the porch he paused to light a lantern, then he tried key after key until he found the one that fitted the lock; he opened the door and entered the house, the undertaker following him. A second officer stationed himself at the door and kept back the crowd. Their preparations were soon made and the two men reappeared on the porch. "It's all right," the undertaker said, and four men raised the stretcher again and carried the old merchant into the house. At this juncture Colonel Harbison, followed by his nephew and Gilmore, made his way through the crowd before the door. Gilmore, even, gave an involuntary shudder as they entered the small hall lighted by the single lantern, while the colonel could have wished himself anywhere else; he had come from a sense of duty; he had known McBride as well as any one in Mount Hope had known him, and it had seemed a lack of respect to the dead man to leave him to the care of the merely curious; but he was painfully conscious of the still presence in the parlor; he felt that they were unwelcome intruders in the home of that austere old man, who had made no friends, who had no intimates, but had lived according to his choice, solitary and alone. The colonel and Watt Harbison followed the gambler into what had been the old merchant's sitting-room. There were two lamps on the chimneypiece, both of which Gilmore lighted. "That's a whole lot better," he said. "Anything more we can do, gentlemen?" asked the undertaker, coming into the room. "Nothing, thank you," answered the colonel in a tone of abstraction, and he felt a sense of relief when the officials had gone their way into the night, leaving him and his two companions to their vigil. Now for the first time they had leisure and opportunity to look about them. It was a poor enough place, all things considered; the furniture was dingy with age and neglect, for Archibald McBride had kept no servant; a worn and faded carpet covered the floor; there was an engraving of Washington Crossing the Delaware and a few old-fashioned woodcuts on the wall; at one side of the room was a desk, opposite it a rusted sheet-iron stove in which Watt Harbison was already starting a fire; there was a scant assortment of uncomfortable chairs, a table, with one leg bandaged, and near the desk an old mahogany davenport. "This wouldn't have suited you, eh, Colonel?" said Gilmore at last. "He could hardly be said to live here, he merely came here to sleep," answered the colonel. "No, he couldn't have cared for anything but the one thing," said Gilmore. "Were you ever here before, Colonel?" he added. "Never." "I don't suppose half a dozen people in the town were ever inside his door until to-night," said Watt Harbison, speaking for the first time. Gilmore turned to look at the colonel's nephew as if he had only that moment become aware of his presence. What he saw did not impress him greatly, for young Watt, save for an unusually large head, was much like other young men of his class. His speech was soft, his face beardless and his gray eyes gazed steadily but without curiosity on, what was for him, an uncliented world. For the eighteen months that he had been an "attorney and counselor at law" the detail of office rent had been taken care of by the colonel. "Sort of makes the game he played seem rotten poor sport," commented Gilmore, replying to the nephew but looking at the uncle. The colonel was silent. "Rotten poor sport!" repeated Gilmore. "Who'll come in for his property?" asked Watt Harbison. "Oh, some one will claim that," said Gilmore. "They were saying down at the store, that once, years ago, a brother of his turned up, here, but McBride got rid of him." "Suppose we have a look around before we settle ourselves for the night," suggested Watt Harbison. "Will you join us, Colonel?" asked the gambler. But the colonel shook his head. Gilmore took up one of the lamps as he spoke and opened a door that led into what had evidently once been a dining-room, but it was now only partly furnished; back of this was a kitchen, and beyond the kitchen a woodshed. Returning to the front of the house, they mounted to the floor above. Here had been the old merchant's bedroom; adjoining it were two smaller rooms, one of which had been used as a place of storage for trunks and boxes and broken bits of furniture; the other room was empty. "We may as well go back down-stairs," said the gambler, halting, lamp in hand, in the center of the empty room. Harbison nodded, and leading the way to the floor below, they rejoined the colonel in the sitting-room, where they made themselves as comfortable as possible. The colonel and his nephew talked in subdued tones, principally of the murdered man; they had no desire to exclude their companion from the conversation, but Gilmore displayed no interest in what was said. He sat at the colonel's elbow, preoccupied and thoughtful, smoking cigar after cigar. Presently the colonel and his nephew lapsed into silence. Their silence seemed to rouse Gilmore to what was passing about him. He glanced at the elder Harbison. "You look tired, Colonel," he said. "Why don't you stretch out on that lounge yonder and take a nap?" "I think I shall, Andy, if you and Watt don't mind." And the colonel quitted his chair. "Better put your coat over you," advised the gambler. He watched the colonel as he made himself comfortable on the lounge, then he lighted a fresh cigar, tilted his chair against the wall and with head thrown back studied the ceiling. Watt Harbison made one or two tentative attempts at conversation, to which Gilmore briefly responded, then the young fellow also became thoughtful. He fell to watching the gambler's strong profile which the lamp silhouetted against the opposite wall; then drowsiness completely overcame him and he slept in his chair with his head fallen forward on his breast. Gilmore, alert and sleepless, smoked on; he was thinking of Evelyn Langham. After his interview with her husband that afternoon he had gone to his own apartment. His bedroom adjoined North's parlor and through the flimsy lath and plaster partition he had distinctly heard a woman's voice. The sound of that voice and the suspicion it instantly begot added to his furious hatred of North, for he had long suspected that something more than friendship existed between Marshall Langham's wife and Marshall Langham's friend. "Damn him!" thought the gambler. "I'll fix him yet!" And he puffed at his cigar viciously. He had made sure that North's mysterious visitor was Evelyn Langham, for when she left the building he himself had followed her. Out of the dregs of his nature this foolish mad passion of his had arisen to torture him; he had never spoken with Langham's wife, probably she knew him by sight, nothing more; but still his game, the waiting game he had been forced to play, was working itself out better than he had even hoped! At last he had Marshall Langham where he wanted him, where he could make him feel his power. Langham would not be able to raise the money required to cover up those forgeries, and on the basis of silence he would make his bargain with the lawyer. Gilmore pondered this problem for the better part of an hour, considering it from every conceivable angle; then suddenly the expression of his face changed, he forgot for the moment his ambitions and his desires, his hatred and his love; he thought he heard the click of the old-fashioned latch on the front gate. He remembered that it could be raised only with difficulty. Next he heard the sound of footsteps approaching the house. They seemed to come haltingly down the narrow brick path which the wind had swept clear of snow. Mr. Gilmore was blessed with a steadiness of nerve known to but few men, yet the hour and the occasion had their influence with him. He stood erect: now the steps which had paused for a moment seemed to recede; it was as if the intruder, whoever he might be, had come almost to the front door and had then, for some inexplicable reason, gone back to the street. Gilmore even imagined him as standing there with his hand on the latch of the gate. He was tempted to rouse his two companions, but he did not, and then, as he still stood with his senses tense, he heard the steps again approach the front door. With a glance in the direction of the colonel and his nephew to assure himself that they still slept, Gilmore rather shamefacedly slipped his right hand under the tails of his coat, tiptoed into the hall and paused there close by the parlor door. The steps

stuck

How many times the word 'stuck' appears in the text?

with a gasp. He collapsed again, and again the colonel, whose gloved hand still retained its hold on his collar, set him on his trembling legs with admirable expertness. "I tell you he's dead!" cried Mr. Shrimplin, lost to everything but that one dreadful fact. "Who's dead?" demanded the colonel. "Stand up, man, don't fall about like that or you may do yourself some injury!" for Mr. Shrimplin seemed about to collapse once more. "Old man McBride, Colonel--if he ain't dead I wish I may never see death!" "Dead!" cried the colonel. "Archibald McBride dead!" He released his hold on Mr. Shrimplin and took a step toward the door; Shrimplin, however, detained him with a shaking hand, though he was calmer now. "Colonel, you'd better be careful, he's lying there in a pool of blood; some one's killed him for his money! How do we know the murderer ain't there!" This conjecture was made to the empty street, for Colonel Harbison had entered the store. "Why does he want to leave me like that!" wailed Shrimplin, and his panic threatened a return. He dragged himself to the door. Here he paused, since he could not bring himself to enter, for before his eyes was the ghastly vision of that old man huddled on the blood-stained floor. He heard the colonel's steps echo down the long room, and when their sound ceased he knew he was standing beside the dead man. After what seemed an age of waiting the steps sounded again, and a moment later the colonel's tall form filled the doorway. "Andy!" said the colonel. Mr. Shrimplin turned with a start. At his back within reach of his hand stood Andy Gilmore. He had been utterly unaware of the gambler's approach, but now conscious of it he dropped in a miserable heap on the door-sill, while the white and unfamiliar world reeled before his bleached blue eyes; it was the very drunkenness of fear. "Howdy, Colonel," said the gambler, as he gave Harbison a half-military salute. He admired the colonel, who had once threatened to horsewhip him if he ever permitted his nephew, Watt, to enter his rooms. "Come here, Andy!" ordered the colonel briefly. "God's sake, Colonel!" gasped the wretched little lamplighter, struggling to his feet, "don't leave me here--" "What's wrong, Colonel?" asked Gilmore. "Archibald McBride's been murdered!" Mr. Gilmore took the butt of the half-smoked cigar from between his teeth, tossed it into the gutter, and pushing past Mr. Shrimplin entered the room. Colonel Harbison, a step or two in advance of his companion, led the way to the rear of the store. The colonel paused, and Gilmore gained a place at his elbow. "You are sure he's dead?" questioned the gambler. Kneeling beside the crumpled figure Gilmore slipped his hand in between the body and the floor; his manner was cool and businesslike. After a moment he withdrew his hand and looked, up into the colonel's face. "Well?" asked the colonel. "Oh, he's dead, all right!" Gilmore glanced about him, and the colonel's eyes following, they both discovered that the door leading into the side yard was partly open. "He went that way, eh, Colonel?" "It's altogether likely," agreed the veteran. "It's a nasty business!" said Gilmore reflectively. "Shocking!" snapped the colonel. "He took big chances," commented the gambler, "living the way he did." He spoke of the dead man. "Poor old man!" said the colonel pityingly. What had it all amounted to, those chances for the sake of gain, which Gilmore had in mind. "He can't have been dead very long," said Gilmore. "Did _you_ find him, Colonel?" he asked as he stood erect. "No, Shrimplin found him." Again the two men looked about them. On the floor by the counter at their right was a heavy sledge. Gilmore called Harbison's attention to this. "I guess the job was done with that," he said. "Possibly," agreed Harbison. Gilmore picked up the sledge and examined it narrowly. "Yes, you can see, there is blood on it." He handed it to Harbison, who stepped under the nearest lamp with the clumsy weapon in his hand. "You are right, Andy!" and he glanced at the rude instrument of death with a look of repugnance on his keen sensitive face, then he carefully, placed it under the wooden counter. "Horrible!" he muttered to himself. "It was no joke for him!" said the gambler, catching the last word. "But some one was bound to try this dodge sooner or later. Why, as far back as I can remember, people said he kept his money hidden away at the bottom of nail kegs and under heaps of scrap-iron." He took a cigar from his pocket, bit off the end, and struck a match. "Well, I wouldn't want to be the other fellow, Colonel; I'd be in all kinds of a panic; it takes nerve for a job like this." "It's a shocking circumstance," said the colonel. "I wonder if it paid!" speculated the gambler. "And I wonder who'll get what he leaves. Has he any family or relatives?" "No, not so far as any one knows. He came here many years ago, a close-mouthed Scotchman, who never had any intimates, never married, and never spoke of his private affairs." There was a slight commotion at the door. They could hear Shrimplin's agitated voice, and a moment later two men, chance passers-by with whom he had been speaking, shook themselves free of the little lamplighter and entered the room. The new-comers nodded to the colonel and Gilmore as they paused to stare mutely at the body on the floor. "He bled like a stuck pig!" said one of the men at last. He was a ragged slouching creature with a splotched and bloated face half hidden by a bristling red beard. He glanced at Gilmore for an uncertain instant out of a pair of small shifty eyes. "It's murder, ain't it, boss?" he added. "No doubt about that, Joe!" rejoined the gambler. "I suppose it was robbery?" said the other man, who had not spoken before. "Very likely," answered the colonel. "We have not examined the place, however; we shall wait for the proper officials." "Who do you want, Colonel?" "Coroner Taylor, and I suppose the sheriff," replied Harbison. The man nodded. "All right, I'll bring them; and say, what about the prosecuting attorney?" as he turned to leave. "Yes, bring Moxlow, too, if you can find him." The man hurried from the room. Gilmore leaned against the counter and smoked imperturbably. Joe Montgomery, with his great slouching shoulders arched, and his grimy hands buried deep in his trousers pockets, stared at the dead man in stolid wonder. Colonel Harbison's glance sought the same object but with a sensitive shrinking as from an ugly brutal thing. A clock ticked loudly in the office; there was the occasional fall of cinders from the grate of the rusted stove that heated the place; these were sounds that neither Gilmore nor the colonel had heard before. Presently a lean black cat stole from the office and sprang upon the counter; it purred softly. "Hello, puss!" said the gambler, putting out a hand. The cat stole closer. "I guess I'll have to take you home with me, eh? This ain't a place for unprotected females!" The cat crept back and forth under his caressing touch. At the street-door Shrimplin appeared and disappeared, now his head was thrust into the room, and now his nose was flattened against the dingy show-windows; from neither point could he quite command the view he desired nor could he bring himself to enter the building; then he vanished entirely, but after a brief interval they heard his voice. He was evidently speaking with some one in the street. A little crowd was rapidly gathering about him, but it disintegrated almost immediately, his listeners abandoning him to hurry into the store. "You must stand back, all of you!" said the colonel. "Unless you are very careful you may destroy important evidence!" The crowd assembled itself silently for the most part; here and there a man removed his hat, or made some whispered comment, or asked some eager low-voiced question of Gilmore or the colonel. Men stood on boxes, on nail kegs, and on counters. Except for the little circle left about the dead man on the floor, every vantage point of observation was soon occupied. It was scarcely half an hour since Shrimplin had fallen speechless into Colonel Harbison's arms, yet fully two hundred men had gathered in that long room or were struggling about the door to gain admittance to it. At a suggestion from Harbison, the gambler, followed by Joe, elbowed his way to the front door, which in spite of the protest of those outside, he closed and locked. A moment later, however, he opened it to admit Doctor Taylor, the coroner, and Conklin, the sheriff. The latter instantly set about clearing the room. Gilmore and the colonel remained with the officials and during the succeeding ten minutes the gambler, who had kept his post at the door, opened, it to Moxlow, young Watt Harbison and two policemen. As the coroner finished his examination of the body, the sound of wheels was heard in the Square and an undertaker's wagon drew up to the door. The murdered man was placed on a stretcher and covered with a black cloth, then four men raised the stretcher and for the last time the old merchant passed out under his creaking sign into the night. "I've agreed to watch at the house, Andy," said Colonel Harbison. "I want you and Watt to come with me." The gambler lighted a fresh cigar and the three men left the store. On the Square groups of men discussed the murder. Though none was permitted to enter the store, the windows afforded occasional glimpses of the little group of officials within, until a policeman closed and fastened the heavy wooden shutters. Then the crowd slowly and reluctantly dispersed. Meanwhile the town marshal, under cover of the excitement, had descended on the gas house where tramps congregated of winter nights for warmth and shelter. Here he found shivering over a can of beer, two homeless wretches, whom he arrested as suspicious characters. After this, official activity languished, for the official mind could think of nothing more to do. With the scattering of the crowd on the Square, Shrimplin climbed into his cart and drove off home. The smother of wind-driven snow still enveloped the, town, the very air seemed charged with mystery and horror, and before the little lamplighter's eyes was ever the haunting vision of the murdered man. He drove into the alley back of his house, unhitched Bill and led him into the barn. His torch made the gloom of the place more terrifying than utter darkness would have been. Suppose the murderer should be hiding there! Mr. Shrimplin's mind fastened on the hay-mow as the most likely place of concealment, and the cold sweat ran from him in icy streams; he could, almost see the murderer's evil eyes fixed upon him from the blackness above. But at last Bill was stripped of his harness, and the little lamplighter, escaping from the barn with its fancied terrors, hurried across his small back yard to his kitchen door. "Well!" said Mrs. Shrimplin, as he entered the room. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever think it worth your while to come home!" "What's the bell been ringing for?" asked Custer. Mrs. Shrimplin was seated by the table, which was littered with her sewing; Custer occupied his usual chair by the stove, and it was evident that they knew nothing of the tragedy in which Mr. Shrimplin had played so important, and as he now felt, so worthy a part. "I suppose I've been out quite a time, and I may say I've seen times, too! I guess there ain't no one in the town fitter to say they seen times than just me!" The light and comfort of his own pleasant kitchen had quite restored Mr. Shrimplin. "I may say I seen times!" he repeated significantly. "There's something doing in this here old town after all! I take back a heap of the hard things I've said about it; a feller can scare up a little excitement if he knows where to look for it. I ain't bragging none, but I guess you'll hear my name mentioned--I guess you'll even see it in print in the newspapers!" He warmed his cold hands over the stove. "Throw in a little more coal, sonny; I'm half froze, but I guess that's the worst any one can say of me!" "You make much of it, whatever it is," said Mrs. Shrimplin. "Maybe I do and maybe I don't," equivocated Mr. Shrimplin genially. "Maybe you're not above telling a body what kept you out half the night?" inquired his wife. "If you done and seen what I've did and saw," replied Mr. Shrimplin impressively, "you'd look for a little respect in your own home." "I'd be a heap quicker telling about it," said Mrs. Shrimplin. Mr. Shrimplin turned to Custer. "I guess, you're thinking it was a burglar; but, sonny, it wasn't no burglar--so you got another guess coming to you," he concluded benevolently. "I know!" cried Custer. "Some one's been killed!" "Exactly!" said Mr. Shrimplin with increasing benevolence. "Some one has been killed!" "You done it!" cried Custer. "I found the party," admitted Mr. Shrimplin with calm dignity. "Oh!" But perhaps Custer's first emotion was on the whole one of disappointment. "How you talk!" said Mrs. Shrimplin. "I reckon I might say more, most any one would," retorted Mr. Shrimplin quietly. "It was old man McBride--someone's murdered him for his money; I never seen the town so on end over anything before, but whoever wants to be well posted's got to come to me for the particulars. I seen the old man before Colonel Harbison seen him, I seen him before Andy Gilmore seen him, I seen him before the coroner seen him, or the sheriff or _any one_ seen him! I was on the spot ahead of 'em all. If any one wants to know how he looked just after he was killed, they got to come to me to find out. Colonel Harbison can't tell 'em, and Andy Gilmore can't tell 'em; it's only me knows them particulars!" The effect of this stirring declaration was quite all he had hoped for. Out of the tail of his eye he saw that Mrs. Shrimplin was, as she afterward freely confessed, taken aback. As for Custer, he had forgotten his disappointment that a death by violence had occurred for which his father was not directly responsible. "Did you see the man that killed old Mr. McBride?" asked Custer, breaking the breathless spell that was upon him. "No; if I'd been just about fifteen minutes sooner I'd have seen him; but I was just about that much too late, sonny. I guess he's a whole lot better off, though." "What would you have done if you'd seen him?" Custer's voice sank to a whisper. "Well, I don't pack a gun for nothing. If I'd seen him there, he'd had to go 'round to the jail with me. I guess I could have coaxed him there; I was ready for to offer extra inducements!" "And does everybody know you seen old Mr. McBride the first of any?" asked Custer. "I guess they do; I ain't afraid about that. Colonel Harbison's too much of a gentleman to claim any credit that ain't his; he'd be the first one to own up that he don't deserve no credit." "What took you into McBride's store? You hadn't no errand there." Mrs. Shrimplin was a careful and acquisitive wife. "I allow I made an errand there," said Mr. Shrimplin bridling. "I reckon many another man might have thought he hadn't no errand there either, but I feel different about them things. I was just turned into the Square when along comes young John North--" "What was he doing there?" suddenly asked Mrs. Shrimplin. "I expect he was attending strictly to his own business," retorted Mr. Shrimplin, offended by the utter irrelevancy of the question. "Go on, pal" begged Custer. He felt that his mother's interruptions were positively cruel, and--so like a woman! "Me and young John North passed the time of day," continued Mr. Shrimplin, thus abjured, "and I started around the north side of the Square to light the lamp on old man McBride's own corner. If I'd knowed then--" he paused impressively, "if I'd just knowed then, that was my time! I could have laid hands on the murderer. He was there somewheres, most likely he was watching me; well, maybe it was all for the best, I don't know as a married man's got any right to take chances. Anyway, I got to within, well--I should say, thirty feet of that lamp-post when all of a sudden Bill began to act up. You never saw a horse act up like he done! He rose in his britching and then the other end of him come up and he acted like he wanted to set down on the singletree!" "Why did he do that?" asked Custer. "Well, I guess you've got some few things to learn, Custer;" said Mr. Shrimplin indulgently. "He smelt blood--that's what he smelt!" "Oh!" gasped Custer. "I've knowed it to happen before. It's instinct," explained Shrimplin. "'Singular,' says I, and out I jumps to have a look about. I walked to the lamp-post, and then I seen what I hadn't seen before, that old man McBride's store door was open, so I stepped on to the sidewalk intending to close it, but as I put my hand on the knob I seen where the snow had drifted into the room, so I knew the door must have been open some little time. That's mighty odd, I thinks, and then it sort of come over me the way Bill had acted, and I went along into the store in pretty considerable of a hurry." "Were you afraid?" demanded Custer in an awe-struck whisper. "I'll tell you the truth, Custer, I wasn't. I own I'd drawed my gun, wishing to be on the safe side. First thing I noticed was that the lamps hadn't been turned up, though they was all lit. I got back to the end of the counter when I came to a halt, for there in a heap on the floor was old man McBride, with his head mashed in where some one had hit him with a sledge. There was blood all over the floor, and it was a mighty sickenin' spectacle. I sort of looked around hoping I'd see the murderer, but he'd lit out, and then I went back to the front of the store, where I seen Colonel Harbison coming across the Square. I told him what I'd seen and he went inside to look; while he was looking, along come Andy Gilmore and I told him, too, and he went in. They knowed the murderer wasn't there, that I'd been in ahead of them. After, that the people seemed to come from every direction; then presently some one started to ring the town bell and that fetched more people, until the Square in front of the store was packed and jammed with 'em. Everybody' wanted to hear about it first-hand from me; they wanted the _full particulars_ from the only one who knowed 'em." Mr. Shrimplin paused for breath. The recollection of his splendid publicity was dazzling. He imagined the morrow with its possibility of social triumph; he went as far as to feel that Mrs. Shrimplin now had a certain sneaking respect for him. "Did you see tracks in the snow?" demanded Custer. "No, I didn't see nothing," declared Mr. Shrimplin. "You seen young John North." It was Mrs. Shrimplin who spoke. "Well, yes, I seen young John North--I said I seen him!" CHAPTER SIX PUTTING ON THE SCREWS A score of men and boys followed the undertaker's wagon to the small frame cottage that had been Archibald McBride's home for half a century, and a group of these assembled about the gate as the wagon drew up before it. Along the quiet street, windows were raised and doors were opened. It was perhaps the first time, as it was to be the last, that Archibald McBride's neighbors took note of his home-coming. His keys had been found and intrusted to one of the policemen who accompanied the undertaker and his men; now, as the wagon came to a stand, this officer sprang to the ground, and pushing open the gate went quickly up the path to the front door. There in the shelter of the porch he paused to light a lantern, then he tried key after key until he found the one that fitted the lock; he opened the door and entered the house, the undertaker following him. A second officer stationed himself at the door and kept back the crowd. Their preparations were soon made and the two men reappeared on the porch. "It's all right," the undertaker said, and four men raised the stretcher again and carried the old merchant into the house. At this juncture Colonel Harbison, followed by his nephew and Gilmore, made his way through the crowd before the door. Gilmore, even, gave an involuntary shudder as they entered the small hall lighted by the single lantern, while the colonel could have wished himself anywhere else; he had come from a sense of duty; he had known McBride as well as any one in Mount Hope had known him, and it had seemed a lack of respect to the dead man to leave him to the care of the merely curious; but he was painfully conscious of the still presence in the parlor; he felt that they were unwelcome intruders in the home of that austere old man, who had made no friends, who had no intimates, but had lived according to his choice, solitary and alone. The colonel and Watt Harbison followed the gambler into what had been the old merchant's sitting-room. There were two lamps on the chimneypiece, both of which Gilmore lighted. "That's a whole lot better," he said. "Anything more we can do, gentlemen?" asked the undertaker, coming into the room. "Nothing, thank you," answered the colonel in a tone of abstraction, and he felt a sense of relief when the officials had gone their way into the night, leaving him and his two companions to their vigil. Now for the first time they had leisure and opportunity to look about them. It was a poor enough place, all things considered; the furniture was dingy with age and neglect, for Archibald McBride had kept no servant; a worn and faded carpet covered the floor; there was an engraving of Washington Crossing the Delaware and a few old-fashioned woodcuts on the wall; at one side of the room was a desk, opposite it a rusted sheet-iron stove in which Watt Harbison was already starting a fire; there was a scant assortment of uncomfortable chairs, a table, with one leg bandaged, and near the desk an old mahogany davenport. "This wouldn't have suited you, eh, Colonel?" said Gilmore at last. "He could hardly be said to live here, he merely came here to sleep," answered the colonel. "No, he couldn't have cared for anything but the one thing," said Gilmore. "Were you ever here before, Colonel?" he added. "Never." "I don't suppose half a dozen people in the town were ever inside his door until to-night," said Watt Harbison, speaking for the first time. Gilmore turned to look at the colonel's nephew as if he had only that moment become aware of his presence. What he saw did not impress him greatly, for young Watt, save for an unusually large head, was much like other young men of his class. His speech was soft, his face beardless and his gray eyes gazed steadily but without curiosity on, what was for him, an uncliented world. For the eighteen months that he had been an "attorney and counselor at law" the detail of office rent had been taken care of by the colonel. "Sort of makes the game he played seem rotten poor sport," commented Gilmore, replying to the nephew but looking at the uncle. The colonel was silent. "Rotten poor sport!" repeated Gilmore. "Who'll come in for his property?" asked Watt Harbison. "Oh, some one will claim that," said Gilmore. "They were saying down at the store, that once, years ago, a brother of his turned up, here, but McBride got rid of him." "Suppose we have a look around before we settle ourselves for the night," suggested Watt Harbison. "Will you join us, Colonel?" asked the gambler. But the colonel shook his head. Gilmore took up one of the lamps as he spoke and opened a door that led into what had evidently once been a dining-room, but it was now only partly furnished; back of this was a kitchen, and beyond the kitchen a woodshed. Returning to the front of the house, they mounted to the floor above. Here had been the old merchant's bedroom; adjoining it were two smaller rooms, one of which had been used as a place of storage for trunks and boxes and broken bits of furniture; the other room was empty. "We may as well go back down-stairs," said the gambler, halting, lamp in hand, in the center of the empty room. Harbison nodded, and leading the way to the floor below, they rejoined the colonel in the sitting-room, where they made themselves as comfortable as possible. The colonel and his nephew talked in subdued tones, principally of the murdered man; they had no desire to exclude their companion from the conversation, but Gilmore displayed no interest in what was said. He sat at the colonel's elbow, preoccupied and thoughtful, smoking cigar after cigar. Presently the colonel and his nephew lapsed into silence. Their silence seemed to rouse Gilmore to what was passing about him. He glanced at the elder Harbison. "You look tired, Colonel," he said. "Why don't you stretch out on that lounge yonder and take a nap?" "I think I shall, Andy, if you and Watt don't mind." And the colonel quitted his chair. "Better put your coat over you," advised the gambler. He watched the colonel as he made himself comfortable on the lounge, then he lighted a fresh cigar, tilted his chair against the wall and with head thrown back studied the ceiling. Watt Harbison made one or two tentative attempts at conversation, to which Gilmore briefly responded, then the young fellow also became thoughtful. He fell to watching the gambler's strong profile which the lamp silhouetted against the opposite wall; then drowsiness completely overcame him and he slept in his chair with his head fallen forward on his breast. Gilmore, alert and sleepless, smoked on; he was thinking of Evelyn Langham. After his interview with her husband that afternoon he had gone to his own apartment. His bedroom adjoined North's parlor and through the flimsy lath and plaster partition he had distinctly heard a woman's voice. The sound of that voice and the suspicion it instantly begot added to his furious hatred of North, for he had long suspected that something more than friendship existed between Marshall Langham's wife and Marshall Langham's friend. "Damn him!" thought the gambler. "I'll fix him yet!" And he puffed at his cigar viciously. He had made sure that North's mysterious visitor was Evelyn Langham, for when she left the building he himself had followed her. Out of the dregs of his nature this foolish mad passion of his had arisen to torture him; he had never spoken with Langham's wife, probably she knew him by sight, nothing more; but still his game, the waiting game he had been forced to play, was working itself out better than he had even hoped! At last he had Marshall Langham where he wanted him, where he could make him feel his power. Langham would not be able to raise the money required to cover up those forgeries, and on the basis of silence he would make his bargain with the lawyer. Gilmore pondered this problem for the better part of an hour, considering it from every conceivable angle; then suddenly the expression of his face changed, he forgot for the moment his ambitions and his desires, his hatred and his love; he thought he heard the click of the old-fashioned latch on the front gate. He remembered that it could be raised only with difficulty. Next he heard the sound of footsteps approaching the house. They seemed to come haltingly down the narrow brick path which the wind had swept clear of snow. Mr. Gilmore was blessed with a steadiness of nerve known to but few men, yet the hour and the occasion had their influence with him. He stood erect: now the steps which had paused for a moment seemed to recede; it was as if the intruder, whoever he might be, had come almost to the front door and had then, for some inexplicable reason, gone back to the street. Gilmore even imagined him as standing there with his hand on the latch of the gate. He was tempted to rouse his two companions, but he did not, and then, as he still stood with his senses tense, he heard the steps again approach the front door. With a glance in the direction of the colonel and his nephew to assure himself that they still slept, Gilmore rather shamefacedly slipped his right hand under the tails of his coat, tiptoed into the hall and paused there close by the parlor door. The steps

route

How many times the word 'route' appears in the text?

with a gasp. He collapsed again, and again the colonel, whose gloved hand still retained its hold on his collar, set him on his trembling legs with admirable expertness. "I tell you he's dead!" cried Mr. Shrimplin, lost to everything but that one dreadful fact. "Who's dead?" demanded the colonel. "Stand up, man, don't fall about like that or you may do yourself some injury!" for Mr. Shrimplin seemed about to collapse once more. "Old man McBride, Colonel--if he ain't dead I wish I may never see death!" "Dead!" cried the colonel. "Archibald McBride dead!" He released his hold on Mr. Shrimplin and took a step toward the door; Shrimplin, however, detained him with a shaking hand, though he was calmer now. "Colonel, you'd better be careful, he's lying there in a pool of blood; some one's killed him for his money! How do we know the murderer ain't there!" This conjecture was made to the empty street, for Colonel Harbison had entered the store. "Why does he want to leave me like that!" wailed Shrimplin, and his panic threatened a return. He dragged himself to the door. Here he paused, since he could not bring himself to enter, for before his eyes was the ghastly vision of that old man huddled on the blood-stained floor. He heard the colonel's steps echo down the long room, and when their sound ceased he knew he was standing beside the dead man. After what seemed an age of waiting the steps sounded again, and a moment later the colonel's tall form filled the doorway. "Andy!" said the colonel. Mr. Shrimplin turned with a start. At his back within reach of his hand stood Andy Gilmore. He had been utterly unaware of the gambler's approach, but now conscious of it he dropped in a miserable heap on the door-sill, while the white and unfamiliar world reeled before his bleached blue eyes; it was the very drunkenness of fear. "Howdy, Colonel," said the gambler, as he gave Harbison a half-military salute. He admired the colonel, who had once threatened to horsewhip him if he ever permitted his nephew, Watt, to enter his rooms. "Come here, Andy!" ordered the colonel briefly. "God's sake, Colonel!" gasped the wretched little lamplighter, struggling to his feet, "don't leave me here--" "What's wrong, Colonel?" asked Gilmore. "Archibald McBride's been murdered!" Mr. Gilmore took the butt of the half-smoked cigar from between his teeth, tossed it into the gutter, and pushing past Mr. Shrimplin entered the room. Colonel Harbison, a step or two in advance of his companion, led the way to the rear of the store. The colonel paused, and Gilmore gained a place at his elbow. "You are sure he's dead?" questioned the gambler. Kneeling beside the crumpled figure Gilmore slipped his hand in between the body and the floor; his manner was cool and businesslike. After a moment he withdrew his hand and looked, up into the colonel's face. "Well?" asked the colonel. "Oh, he's dead, all right!" Gilmore glanced about him, and the colonel's eyes following, they both discovered that the door leading into the side yard was partly open. "He went that way, eh, Colonel?" "It's altogether likely," agreed the veteran. "It's a nasty business!" said Gilmore reflectively. "Shocking!" snapped the colonel. "He took big chances," commented the gambler, "living the way he did." He spoke of the dead man. "Poor old man!" said the colonel pityingly. What had it all amounted to, those chances for the sake of gain, which Gilmore had in mind. "He can't have been dead very long," said Gilmore. "Did _you_ find him, Colonel?" he asked as he stood erect. "No, Shrimplin found him." Again the two men looked about them. On the floor by the counter at their right was a heavy sledge. Gilmore called Harbison's attention to this. "I guess the job was done with that," he said. "Possibly," agreed Harbison. Gilmore picked up the sledge and examined it narrowly. "Yes, you can see, there is blood on it." He handed it to Harbison, who stepped under the nearest lamp with the clumsy weapon in his hand. "You are right, Andy!" and he glanced at the rude instrument of death with a look of repugnance on his keen sensitive face, then he carefully, placed it under the wooden counter. "Horrible!" he muttered to himself. "It was no joke for him!" said the gambler, catching the last word. "But some one was bound to try this dodge sooner or later. Why, as far back as I can remember, people said he kept his money hidden away at the bottom of nail kegs and under heaps of scrap-iron." He took a cigar from his pocket, bit off the end, and struck a match. "Well, I wouldn't want to be the other fellow, Colonel; I'd be in all kinds of a panic; it takes nerve for a job like this." "It's a shocking circumstance," said the colonel. "I wonder if it paid!" speculated the gambler. "And I wonder who'll get what he leaves. Has he any family or relatives?" "No, not so far as any one knows. He came here many years ago, a close-mouthed Scotchman, who never had any intimates, never married, and never spoke of his private affairs." There was a slight commotion at the door. They could hear Shrimplin's agitated voice, and a moment later two men, chance passers-by with whom he had been speaking, shook themselves free of the little lamplighter and entered the room. The new-comers nodded to the colonel and Gilmore as they paused to stare mutely at the body on the floor. "He bled like a stuck pig!" said one of the men at last. He was a ragged slouching creature with a splotched and bloated face half hidden by a bristling red beard. He glanced at Gilmore for an uncertain instant out of a pair of small shifty eyes. "It's murder, ain't it, boss?" he added. "No doubt about that, Joe!" rejoined the gambler. "I suppose it was robbery?" said the other man, who had not spoken before. "Very likely," answered the colonel. "We have not examined the place, however; we shall wait for the proper officials." "Who do you want, Colonel?" "Coroner Taylor, and I suppose the sheriff," replied Harbison. The man nodded. "All right, I'll bring them; and say, what about the prosecuting attorney?" as he turned to leave. "Yes, bring Moxlow, too, if you can find him." The man hurried from the room. Gilmore leaned against the counter and smoked imperturbably. Joe Montgomery, with his great slouching shoulders arched, and his grimy hands buried deep in his trousers pockets, stared at the dead man in stolid wonder. Colonel Harbison's glance sought the same object but with a sensitive shrinking as from an ugly brutal thing. A clock ticked loudly in the office; there was the occasional fall of cinders from the grate of the rusted stove that heated the place; these were sounds that neither Gilmore nor the colonel had heard before. Presently a lean black cat stole from the office and sprang upon the counter; it purred softly. "Hello, puss!" said the gambler, putting out a hand. The cat stole closer. "I guess I'll have to take you home with me, eh? This ain't a place for unprotected females!" The cat crept back and forth under his caressing touch. At the street-door Shrimplin appeared and disappeared, now his head was thrust into the room, and now his nose was flattened against the dingy show-windows; from neither point could he quite command the view he desired nor could he bring himself to enter the building; then he vanished entirely, but after a brief interval they heard his voice. He was evidently speaking with some one in the street. A little crowd was rapidly gathering about him, but it disintegrated almost immediately, his listeners abandoning him to hurry into the store. "You must stand back, all of you!" said the colonel. "Unless you are very careful you may destroy important evidence!" The crowd assembled itself silently for the most part; here and there a man removed his hat, or made some whispered comment, or asked some eager low-voiced question of Gilmore or the colonel. Men stood on boxes, on nail kegs, and on counters. Except for the little circle left about the dead man on the floor, every vantage point of observation was soon occupied. It was scarcely half an hour since Shrimplin had fallen speechless into Colonel Harbison's arms, yet fully two hundred men had gathered in that long room or were struggling about the door to gain admittance to it. At a suggestion from Harbison, the gambler, followed by Joe, elbowed his way to the front door, which in spite of the protest of those outside, he closed and locked. A moment later, however, he opened it to admit Doctor Taylor, the coroner, and Conklin, the sheriff. The latter instantly set about clearing the room. Gilmore and the colonel remained with the officials and during the succeeding ten minutes the gambler, who had kept his post at the door, opened, it to Moxlow, young Watt Harbison and two policemen. As the coroner finished his examination of the body, the sound of wheels was heard in the Square and an undertaker's wagon drew up to the door. The murdered man was placed on a stretcher and covered with a black cloth, then four men raised the stretcher and for the last time the old merchant passed out under his creaking sign into the night. "I've agreed to watch at the house, Andy," said Colonel Harbison. "I want you and Watt to come with me." The gambler lighted a fresh cigar and the three men left the store. On the Square groups of men discussed the murder. Though none was permitted to enter the store, the windows afforded occasional glimpses of the little group of officials within, until a policeman closed and fastened the heavy wooden shutters. Then the crowd slowly and reluctantly dispersed. Meanwhile the town marshal, under cover of the excitement, had descended on the gas house where tramps congregated of winter nights for warmth and shelter. Here he found shivering over a can of beer, two homeless wretches, whom he arrested as suspicious characters. After this, official activity languished, for the official mind could think of nothing more to do. With the scattering of the crowd on the Square, Shrimplin climbed into his cart and drove off home. The smother of wind-driven snow still enveloped the, town, the very air seemed charged with mystery and horror, and before the little lamplighter's eyes was ever the haunting vision of the murdered man. He drove into the alley back of his house, unhitched Bill and led him into the barn. His torch made the gloom of the place more terrifying than utter darkness would have been. Suppose the murderer should be hiding there! Mr. Shrimplin's mind fastened on the hay-mow as the most likely place of concealment, and the cold sweat ran from him in icy streams; he could, almost see the murderer's evil eyes fixed upon him from the blackness above. But at last Bill was stripped of his harness, and the little lamplighter, escaping from the barn with its fancied terrors, hurried across his small back yard to his kitchen door. "Well!" said Mrs. Shrimplin, as he entered the room. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever think it worth your while to come home!" "What's the bell been ringing for?" asked Custer. Mrs. Shrimplin was seated by the table, which was littered with her sewing; Custer occupied his usual chair by the stove, and it was evident that they knew nothing of the tragedy in which Mr. Shrimplin had played so important, and as he now felt, so worthy a part. "I suppose I've been out quite a time, and I may say I've seen times, too! I guess there ain't no one in the town fitter to say they seen times than just me!" The light and comfort of his own pleasant kitchen had quite restored Mr. Shrimplin. "I may say I seen times!" he repeated significantly. "There's something doing in this here old town after all! I take back a heap of the hard things I've said about it; a feller can scare up a little excitement if he knows where to look for it. I ain't bragging none, but I guess you'll hear my name mentioned--I guess you'll even see it in print in the newspapers!" He warmed his cold hands over the stove. "Throw in a little more coal, sonny; I'm half froze, but I guess that's the worst any one can say of me!" "You make much of it, whatever it is," said Mrs. Shrimplin. "Maybe I do and maybe I don't," equivocated Mr. Shrimplin genially. "Maybe you're not above telling a body what kept you out half the night?" inquired his wife. "If you done and seen what I've did and saw," replied Mr. Shrimplin impressively, "you'd look for a little respect in your own home." "I'd be a heap quicker telling about it," said Mrs. Shrimplin. Mr. Shrimplin turned to Custer. "I guess, you're thinking it was a burglar; but, sonny, it wasn't no burglar--so you got another guess coming to you," he concluded benevolently. "I know!" cried Custer. "Some one's been killed!" "Exactly!" said Mr. Shrimplin with increasing benevolence. "Some one has been killed!" "You done it!" cried Custer. "I found the party," admitted Mr. Shrimplin with calm dignity. "Oh!" But perhaps Custer's first emotion was on the whole one of disappointment. "How you talk!" said Mrs. Shrimplin. "I reckon I might say more, most any one would," retorted Mr. Shrimplin quietly. "It was old man McBride--someone's murdered him for his money; I never seen the town so on end over anything before, but whoever wants to be well posted's got to come to me for the particulars. I seen the old man before Colonel Harbison seen him, I seen him before Andy Gilmore seen him, I seen him before the coroner seen him, or the sheriff or _any one_ seen him! I was on the spot ahead of 'em all. If any one wants to know how he looked just after he was killed, they got to come to me to find out. Colonel Harbison can't tell 'em, and Andy Gilmore can't tell 'em; it's only me knows them particulars!" The effect of this stirring declaration was quite all he had hoped for. Out of the tail of his eye he saw that Mrs. Shrimplin was, as she afterward freely confessed, taken aback. As for Custer, he had forgotten his disappointment that a death by violence had occurred for which his father was not directly responsible. "Did you see the man that killed old Mr. McBride?" asked Custer, breaking the breathless spell that was upon him. "No; if I'd been just about fifteen minutes sooner I'd have seen him; but I was just about that much too late, sonny. I guess he's a whole lot better off, though." "What would you have done if you'd seen him?" Custer's voice sank to a whisper. "Well, I don't pack a gun for nothing. If I'd seen him there, he'd had to go 'round to the jail with me. I guess I could have coaxed him there; I was ready for to offer extra inducements!" "And does everybody know you seen old Mr. McBride the first of any?" asked Custer. "I guess they do; I ain't afraid about that. Colonel Harbison's too much of a gentleman to claim any credit that ain't his; he'd be the first one to own up that he don't deserve no credit." "What took you into McBride's store? You hadn't no errand there." Mrs. Shrimplin was a careful and acquisitive wife. "I allow I made an errand there," said Mr. Shrimplin bridling. "I reckon many another man might have thought he hadn't no errand there either, but I feel different about them things. I was just turned into the Square when along comes young John North--" "What was he doing there?" suddenly asked Mrs. Shrimplin. "I expect he was attending strictly to his own business," retorted Mr. Shrimplin, offended by the utter irrelevancy of the question. "Go on, pal" begged Custer. He felt that his mother's interruptions were positively cruel, and--so like a woman! "Me and young John North passed the time of day," continued Mr. Shrimplin, thus abjured, "and I started around the north side of the Square to light the lamp on old man McBride's own corner. If I'd knowed then--" he paused impressively, "if I'd just knowed then, that was my time! I could have laid hands on the murderer. He was there somewheres, most likely he was watching me; well, maybe it was all for the best, I don't know as a married man's got any right to take chances. Anyway, I got to within, well--I should say, thirty feet of that lamp-post when all of a sudden Bill began to act up. You never saw a horse act up like he done! He rose in his britching and then the other end of him come up and he acted like he wanted to set down on the singletree!" "Why did he do that?" asked Custer. "Well, I guess you've got some few things to learn, Custer;" said Mr. Shrimplin indulgently. "He smelt blood--that's what he smelt!" "Oh!" gasped Custer. "I've knowed it to happen before. It's instinct," explained Shrimplin. "'Singular,' says I, and out I jumps to have a look about. I walked to the lamp-post, and then I seen what I hadn't seen before, that old man McBride's store door was open, so I stepped on to the sidewalk intending to close it, but as I put my hand on the knob I seen where the snow had drifted into the room, so I knew the door must have been open some little time. That's mighty odd, I thinks, and then it sort of come over me the way Bill had acted, and I went along into the store in pretty considerable of a hurry." "Were you afraid?" demanded Custer in an awe-struck whisper. "I'll tell you the truth, Custer, I wasn't. I own I'd drawed my gun, wishing to be on the safe side. First thing I noticed was that the lamps hadn't been turned up, though they was all lit. I got back to the end of the counter when I came to a halt, for there in a heap on the floor was old man McBride, with his head mashed in where some one had hit him with a sledge. There was blood all over the floor, and it was a mighty sickenin' spectacle. I sort of looked around hoping I'd see the murderer, but he'd lit out, and then I went back to the front of the store, where I seen Colonel Harbison coming across the Square. I told him what I'd seen and he went inside to look; while he was looking, along come Andy Gilmore and I told him, too, and he went in. They knowed the murderer wasn't there, that I'd been in ahead of them. After, that the people seemed to come from every direction; then presently some one started to ring the town bell and that fetched more people, until the Square in front of the store was packed and jammed with 'em. Everybody' wanted to hear about it first-hand from me; they wanted the _full particulars_ from the only one who knowed 'em." Mr. Shrimplin paused for breath. The recollection of his splendid publicity was dazzling. He imagined the morrow with its possibility of social triumph; he went as far as to feel that Mrs. Shrimplin now had a certain sneaking respect for him. "Did you see tracks in the snow?" demanded Custer. "No, I didn't see nothing," declared Mr. Shrimplin. "You seen young John North." It was Mrs. Shrimplin who spoke. "Well, yes, I seen young John North--I said I seen him!" CHAPTER SIX PUTTING ON THE SCREWS A score of men and boys followed the undertaker's wagon to the small frame cottage that had been Archibald McBride's home for half a century, and a group of these assembled about the gate as the wagon drew up before it. Along the quiet street, windows were raised and doors were opened. It was perhaps the first time, as it was to be the last, that Archibald McBride's neighbors took note of his home-coming. His keys had been found and intrusted to one of the policemen who accompanied the undertaker and his men; now, as the wagon came to a stand, this officer sprang to the ground, and pushing open the gate went quickly up the path to the front door. There in the shelter of the porch he paused to light a lantern, then he tried key after key until he found the one that fitted the lock; he opened the door and entered the house, the undertaker following him. A second officer stationed himself at the door and kept back the crowd. Their preparations were soon made and the two men reappeared on the porch. "It's all right," the undertaker said, and four men raised the stretcher again and carried the old merchant into the house. At this juncture Colonel Harbison, followed by his nephew and Gilmore, made his way through the crowd before the door. Gilmore, even, gave an involuntary shudder as they entered the small hall lighted by the single lantern, while the colonel could have wished himself anywhere else; he had come from a sense of duty; he had known McBride as well as any one in Mount Hope had known him, and it had seemed a lack of respect to the dead man to leave him to the care of the merely curious; but he was painfully conscious of the still presence in the parlor; he felt that they were unwelcome intruders in the home of that austere old man, who had made no friends, who had no intimates, but had lived according to his choice, solitary and alone. The colonel and Watt Harbison followed the gambler into what had been the old merchant's sitting-room. There were two lamps on the chimneypiece, both of which Gilmore lighted. "That's a whole lot better," he said. "Anything more we can do, gentlemen?" asked the undertaker, coming into the room. "Nothing, thank you," answered the colonel in a tone of abstraction, and he felt a sense of relief when the officials had gone their way into the night, leaving him and his two companions to their vigil. Now for the first time they had leisure and opportunity to look about them. It was a poor enough place, all things considered; the furniture was dingy with age and neglect, for Archibald McBride had kept no servant; a worn and faded carpet covered the floor; there was an engraving of Washington Crossing the Delaware and a few old-fashioned woodcuts on the wall; at one side of the room was a desk, opposite it a rusted sheet-iron stove in which Watt Harbison was already starting a fire; there was a scant assortment of uncomfortable chairs, a table, with one leg bandaged, and near the desk an old mahogany davenport. "This wouldn't have suited you, eh, Colonel?" said Gilmore at last. "He could hardly be said to live here, he merely came here to sleep," answered the colonel. "No, he couldn't have cared for anything but the one thing," said Gilmore. "Were you ever here before, Colonel?" he added. "Never." "I don't suppose half a dozen people in the town were ever inside his door until to-night," said Watt Harbison, speaking for the first time. Gilmore turned to look at the colonel's nephew as if he had only that moment become aware of his presence. What he saw did not impress him greatly, for young Watt, save for an unusually large head, was much like other young men of his class. His speech was soft, his face beardless and his gray eyes gazed steadily but without curiosity on, what was for him, an uncliented world. For the eighteen months that he had been an "attorney and counselor at law" the detail of office rent had been taken care of by the colonel. "Sort of makes the game he played seem rotten poor sport," commented Gilmore, replying to the nephew but looking at the uncle. The colonel was silent. "Rotten poor sport!" repeated Gilmore. "Who'll come in for his property?" asked Watt Harbison. "Oh, some one will claim that," said Gilmore. "They were saying down at the store, that once, years ago, a brother of his turned up, here, but McBride got rid of him." "Suppose we have a look around before we settle ourselves for the night," suggested Watt Harbison. "Will you join us, Colonel?" asked the gambler. But the colonel shook his head. Gilmore took up one of the lamps as he spoke and opened a door that led into what had evidently once been a dining-room, but it was now only partly furnished; back of this was a kitchen, and beyond the kitchen a woodshed. Returning to the front of the house, they mounted to the floor above. Here had been the old merchant's bedroom; adjoining it were two smaller rooms, one of which had been used as a place of storage for trunks and boxes and broken bits of furniture; the other room was empty. "We may as well go back down-stairs," said the gambler, halting, lamp in hand, in the center of the empty room. Harbison nodded, and leading the way to the floor below, they rejoined the colonel in the sitting-room, where they made themselves as comfortable as possible. The colonel and his nephew talked in subdued tones, principally of the murdered man; they had no desire to exclude their companion from the conversation, but Gilmore displayed no interest in what was said. He sat at the colonel's elbow, preoccupied and thoughtful, smoking cigar after cigar. Presently the colonel and his nephew lapsed into silence. Their silence seemed to rouse Gilmore to what was passing about him. He glanced at the elder Harbison. "You look tired, Colonel," he said. "Why don't you stretch out on that lounge yonder and take a nap?" "I think I shall, Andy, if you and Watt don't mind." And the colonel quitted his chair. "Better put your coat over you," advised the gambler. He watched the colonel as he made himself comfortable on the lounge, then he lighted a fresh cigar, tilted his chair against the wall and with head thrown back studied the ceiling. Watt Harbison made one or two tentative attempts at conversation, to which Gilmore briefly responded, then the young fellow also became thoughtful. He fell to watching the gambler's strong profile which the lamp silhouetted against the opposite wall; then drowsiness completely overcame him and he slept in his chair with his head fallen forward on his breast. Gilmore, alert and sleepless, smoked on; he was thinking of Evelyn Langham. After his interview with her husband that afternoon he had gone to his own apartment. His bedroom adjoined North's parlor and through the flimsy lath and plaster partition he had distinctly heard a woman's voice. The sound of that voice and the suspicion it instantly begot added to his furious hatred of North, for he had long suspected that something more than friendship existed between Marshall Langham's wife and Marshall Langham's friend. "Damn him!" thought the gambler. "I'll fix him yet!" And he puffed at his cigar viciously. He had made sure that North's mysterious visitor was Evelyn Langham, for when she left the building he himself had followed her. Out of the dregs of his nature this foolish mad passion of his had arisen to torture him; he had never spoken with Langham's wife, probably she knew him by sight, nothing more; but still his game, the waiting game he had been forced to play, was working itself out better than he had even hoped! At last he had Marshall Langham where he wanted him, where he could make him feel his power. Langham would not be able to raise the money required to cover up those forgeries, and on the basis of silence he would make his bargain with the lawyer. Gilmore pondered this problem for the better part of an hour, considering it from every conceivable angle; then suddenly the expression of his face changed, he forgot for the moment his ambitions and his desires, his hatred and his love; he thought he heard the click of the old-fashioned latch on the front gate. He remembered that it could be raised only with difficulty. Next he heard the sound of footsteps approaching the house. They seemed to come haltingly down the narrow brick path which the wind had swept clear of snow. Mr. Gilmore was blessed with a steadiness of nerve known to but few men, yet the hour and the occasion had their influence with him. He stood erect: now the steps which had paused for a moment seemed to recede; it was as if the intruder, whoever he might be, had come almost to the front door and had then, for some inexplicable reason, gone back to the street. Gilmore even imagined him as standing there with his hand on the latch of the gate. He was tempted to rouse his two companions, but he did not, and then, as he still stood with his senses tense, he heard the steps again approach the front door. With a glance in the direction of the colonel and his nephew to assure himself that they still slept, Gilmore rather shamefacedly slipped his right hand under the tails of his coat, tiptoed into the hall and paused there close by the parlor door. The steps

slowly

How many times the word 'slowly' appears in the text?

with a gasp. He collapsed again, and again the colonel, whose gloved hand still retained its hold on his collar, set him on his trembling legs with admirable expertness. "I tell you he's dead!" cried Mr. Shrimplin, lost to everything but that one dreadful fact. "Who's dead?" demanded the colonel. "Stand up, man, don't fall about like that or you may do yourself some injury!" for Mr. Shrimplin seemed about to collapse once more. "Old man McBride, Colonel--if he ain't dead I wish I may never see death!" "Dead!" cried the colonel. "Archibald McBride dead!" He released his hold on Mr. Shrimplin and took a step toward the door; Shrimplin, however, detained him with a shaking hand, though he was calmer now. "Colonel, you'd better be careful, he's lying there in a pool of blood; some one's killed him for his money! How do we know the murderer ain't there!" This conjecture was made to the empty street, for Colonel Harbison had entered the store. "Why does he want to leave me like that!" wailed Shrimplin, and his panic threatened a return. He dragged himself to the door. Here he paused, since he could not bring himself to enter, for before his eyes was the ghastly vision of that old man huddled on the blood-stained floor. He heard the colonel's steps echo down the long room, and when their sound ceased he knew he was standing beside the dead man. After what seemed an age of waiting the steps sounded again, and a moment later the colonel's tall form filled the doorway. "Andy!" said the colonel. Mr. Shrimplin turned with a start. At his back within reach of his hand stood Andy Gilmore. He had been utterly unaware of the gambler's approach, but now conscious of it he dropped in a miserable heap on the door-sill, while the white and unfamiliar world reeled before his bleached blue eyes; it was the very drunkenness of fear. "Howdy, Colonel," said the gambler, as he gave Harbison a half-military salute. He admired the colonel, who had once threatened to horsewhip him if he ever permitted his nephew, Watt, to enter his rooms. "Come here, Andy!" ordered the colonel briefly. "God's sake, Colonel!" gasped the wretched little lamplighter, struggling to his feet, "don't leave me here--" "What's wrong, Colonel?" asked Gilmore. "Archibald McBride's been murdered!" Mr. Gilmore took the butt of the half-smoked cigar from between his teeth, tossed it into the gutter, and pushing past Mr. Shrimplin entered the room. Colonel Harbison, a step or two in advance of his companion, led the way to the rear of the store. The colonel paused, and Gilmore gained a place at his elbow. "You are sure he's dead?" questioned the gambler. Kneeling beside the crumpled figure Gilmore slipped his hand in between the body and the floor; his manner was cool and businesslike. After a moment he withdrew his hand and looked, up into the colonel's face. "Well?" asked the colonel. "Oh, he's dead, all right!" Gilmore glanced about him, and the colonel's eyes following, they both discovered that the door leading into the side yard was partly open. "He went that way, eh, Colonel?" "It's altogether likely," agreed the veteran. "It's a nasty business!" said Gilmore reflectively. "Shocking!" snapped the colonel. "He took big chances," commented the gambler, "living the way he did." He spoke of the dead man. "Poor old man!" said the colonel pityingly. What had it all amounted to, those chances for the sake of gain, which Gilmore had in mind. "He can't have been dead very long," said Gilmore. "Did _you_ find him, Colonel?" he asked as he stood erect. "No, Shrimplin found him." Again the two men looked about them. On the floor by the counter at their right was a heavy sledge. Gilmore called Harbison's attention to this. "I guess the job was done with that," he said. "Possibly," agreed Harbison. Gilmore picked up the sledge and examined it narrowly. "Yes, you can see, there is blood on it." He handed it to Harbison, who stepped under the nearest lamp with the clumsy weapon in his hand. "You are right, Andy!" and he glanced at the rude instrument of death with a look of repugnance on his keen sensitive face, then he carefully, placed it under the wooden counter. "Horrible!" he muttered to himself. "It was no joke for him!" said the gambler, catching the last word. "But some one was bound to try this dodge sooner or later. Why, as far back as I can remember, people said he kept his money hidden away at the bottom of nail kegs and under heaps of scrap-iron." He took a cigar from his pocket, bit off the end, and struck a match. "Well, I wouldn't want to be the other fellow, Colonel; I'd be in all kinds of a panic; it takes nerve for a job like this." "It's a shocking circumstance," said the colonel. "I wonder if it paid!" speculated the gambler. "And I wonder who'll get what he leaves. Has he any family or relatives?" "No, not so far as any one knows. He came here many years ago, a close-mouthed Scotchman, who never had any intimates, never married, and never spoke of his private affairs." There was a slight commotion at the door. They could hear Shrimplin's agitated voice, and a moment later two men, chance passers-by with whom he had been speaking, shook themselves free of the little lamplighter and entered the room. The new-comers nodded to the colonel and Gilmore as they paused to stare mutely at the body on the floor. "He bled like a stuck pig!" said one of the men at last. He was a ragged slouching creature with a splotched and bloated face half hidden by a bristling red beard. He glanced at Gilmore for an uncertain instant out of a pair of small shifty eyes. "It's murder, ain't it, boss?" he added. "No doubt about that, Joe!" rejoined the gambler. "I suppose it was robbery?" said the other man, who had not spoken before. "Very likely," answered the colonel. "We have not examined the place, however; we shall wait for the proper officials." "Who do you want, Colonel?" "Coroner Taylor, and I suppose the sheriff," replied Harbison. The man nodded. "All right, I'll bring them; and say, what about the prosecuting attorney?" as he turned to leave. "Yes, bring Moxlow, too, if you can find him." The man hurried from the room. Gilmore leaned against the counter and smoked imperturbably. Joe Montgomery, with his great slouching shoulders arched, and his grimy hands buried deep in his trousers pockets, stared at the dead man in stolid wonder. Colonel Harbison's glance sought the same object but with a sensitive shrinking as from an ugly brutal thing. A clock ticked loudly in the office; there was the occasional fall of cinders from the grate of the rusted stove that heated the place; these were sounds that neither Gilmore nor the colonel had heard before. Presently a lean black cat stole from the office and sprang upon the counter; it purred softly. "Hello, puss!" said the gambler, putting out a hand. The cat stole closer. "I guess I'll have to take you home with me, eh? This ain't a place for unprotected females!" The cat crept back and forth under his caressing touch. At the street-door Shrimplin appeared and disappeared, now his head was thrust into the room, and now his nose was flattened against the dingy show-windows; from neither point could he quite command the view he desired nor could he bring himself to enter the building; then he vanished entirely, but after a brief interval they heard his voice. He was evidently speaking with some one in the street. A little crowd was rapidly gathering about him, but it disintegrated almost immediately, his listeners abandoning him to hurry into the store. "You must stand back, all of you!" said the colonel. "Unless you are very careful you may destroy important evidence!" The crowd assembled itself silently for the most part; here and there a man removed his hat, or made some whispered comment, or asked some eager low-voiced question of Gilmore or the colonel. Men stood on boxes, on nail kegs, and on counters. Except for the little circle left about the dead man on the floor, every vantage point of observation was soon occupied. It was scarcely half an hour since Shrimplin had fallen speechless into Colonel Harbison's arms, yet fully two hundred men had gathered in that long room or were struggling about the door to gain admittance to it. At a suggestion from Harbison, the gambler, followed by Joe, elbowed his way to the front door, which in spite of the protest of those outside, he closed and locked. A moment later, however, he opened it to admit Doctor Taylor, the coroner, and Conklin, the sheriff. The latter instantly set about clearing the room. Gilmore and the colonel remained with the officials and during the succeeding ten minutes the gambler, who had kept his post at the door, opened, it to Moxlow, young Watt Harbison and two policemen. As the coroner finished his examination of the body, the sound of wheels was heard in the Square and an undertaker's wagon drew up to the door. The murdered man was placed on a stretcher and covered with a black cloth, then four men raised the stretcher and for the last time the old merchant passed out under his creaking sign into the night. "I've agreed to watch at the house, Andy," said Colonel Harbison. "I want you and Watt to come with me." The gambler lighted a fresh cigar and the three men left the store. On the Square groups of men discussed the murder. Though none was permitted to enter the store, the windows afforded occasional glimpses of the little group of officials within, until a policeman closed and fastened the heavy wooden shutters. Then the crowd slowly and reluctantly dispersed. Meanwhile the town marshal, under cover of the excitement, had descended on the gas house where tramps congregated of winter nights for warmth and shelter. Here he found shivering over a can of beer, two homeless wretches, whom he arrested as suspicious characters. After this, official activity languished, for the official mind could think of nothing more to do. With the scattering of the crowd on the Square, Shrimplin climbed into his cart and drove off home. The smother of wind-driven snow still enveloped the, town, the very air seemed charged with mystery and horror, and before the little lamplighter's eyes was ever the haunting vision of the murdered man. He drove into the alley back of his house, unhitched Bill and led him into the barn. His torch made the gloom of the place more terrifying than utter darkness would have been. Suppose the murderer should be hiding there! Mr. Shrimplin's mind fastened on the hay-mow as the most likely place of concealment, and the cold sweat ran from him in icy streams; he could, almost see the murderer's evil eyes fixed upon him from the blackness above. But at last Bill was stripped of his harness, and the little lamplighter, escaping from the barn with its fancied terrors, hurried across his small back yard to his kitchen door. "Well!" said Mrs. Shrimplin, as he entered the room. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever think it worth your while to come home!" "What's the bell been ringing for?" asked Custer. Mrs. Shrimplin was seated by the table, which was littered with her sewing; Custer occupied his usual chair by the stove, and it was evident that they knew nothing of the tragedy in which Mr. Shrimplin had played so important, and as he now felt, so worthy a part. "I suppose I've been out quite a time, and I may say I've seen times, too! I guess there ain't no one in the town fitter to say they seen times than just me!" The light and comfort of his own pleasant kitchen had quite restored Mr. Shrimplin. "I may say I seen times!" he repeated significantly. "There's something doing in this here old town after all! I take back a heap of the hard things I've said about it; a feller can scare up a little excitement if he knows where to look for it. I ain't bragging none, but I guess you'll hear my name mentioned--I guess you'll even see it in print in the newspapers!" He warmed his cold hands over the stove. "Throw in a little more coal, sonny; I'm half froze, but I guess that's the worst any one can say of me!" "You make much of it, whatever it is," said Mrs. Shrimplin. "Maybe I do and maybe I don't," equivocated Mr. Shrimplin genially. "Maybe you're not above telling a body what kept you out half the night?" inquired his wife. "If you done and seen what I've did and saw," replied Mr. Shrimplin impressively, "you'd look for a little respect in your own home." "I'd be a heap quicker telling about it," said Mrs. Shrimplin. Mr. Shrimplin turned to Custer. "I guess, you're thinking it was a burglar; but, sonny, it wasn't no burglar--so you got another guess coming to you," he concluded benevolently. "I know!" cried Custer. "Some one's been killed!" "Exactly!" said Mr. Shrimplin with increasing benevolence. "Some one has been killed!" "You done it!" cried Custer. "I found the party," admitted Mr. Shrimplin with calm dignity. "Oh!" But perhaps Custer's first emotion was on the whole one of disappointment. "How you talk!" said Mrs. Shrimplin. "I reckon I might say more, most any one would," retorted Mr. Shrimplin quietly. "It was old man McBride--someone's murdered him for his money; I never seen the town so on end over anything before, but whoever wants to be well posted's got to come to me for the particulars. I seen the old man before Colonel Harbison seen him, I seen him before Andy Gilmore seen him, I seen him before the coroner seen him, or the sheriff or _any one_ seen him! I was on the spot ahead of 'em all. If any one wants to know how he looked just after he was killed, they got to come to me to find out. Colonel Harbison can't tell 'em, and Andy Gilmore can't tell 'em; it's only me knows them particulars!" The effect of this stirring declaration was quite all he had hoped for. Out of the tail of his eye he saw that Mrs. Shrimplin was, as she afterward freely confessed, taken aback. As for Custer, he had forgotten his disappointment that a death by violence had occurred for which his father was not directly responsible. "Did you see the man that killed old Mr. McBride?" asked Custer, breaking the breathless spell that was upon him. "No; if I'd been just about fifteen minutes sooner I'd have seen him; but I was just about that much too late, sonny. I guess he's a whole lot better off, though." "What would you have done if you'd seen him?" Custer's voice sank to a whisper. "Well, I don't pack a gun for nothing. If I'd seen him there, he'd had to go 'round to the jail with me. I guess I could have coaxed him there; I was ready for to offer extra inducements!" "And does everybody know you seen old Mr. McBride the first of any?" asked Custer. "I guess they do; I ain't afraid about that. Colonel Harbison's too much of a gentleman to claim any credit that ain't his; he'd be the first one to own up that he don't deserve no credit." "What took you into McBride's store? You hadn't no errand there." Mrs. Shrimplin was a careful and acquisitive wife. "I allow I made an errand there," said Mr. Shrimplin bridling. "I reckon many another man might have thought he hadn't no errand there either, but I feel different about them things. I was just turned into the Square when along comes young John North--" "What was he doing there?" suddenly asked Mrs. Shrimplin. "I expect he was attending strictly to his own business," retorted Mr. Shrimplin, offended by the utter irrelevancy of the question. "Go on, pal" begged Custer. He felt that his mother's interruptions were positively cruel, and--so like a woman! "Me and young John North passed the time of day," continued Mr. Shrimplin, thus abjured, "and I started around the north side of the Square to light the lamp on old man McBride's own corner. If I'd knowed then--" he paused impressively, "if I'd just knowed then, that was my time! I could have laid hands on the murderer. He was there somewheres, most likely he was watching me; well, maybe it was all for the best, I don't know as a married man's got any right to take chances. Anyway, I got to within, well--I should say, thirty feet of that lamp-post when all of a sudden Bill began to act up. You never saw a horse act up like he done! He rose in his britching and then the other end of him come up and he acted like he wanted to set down on the singletree!" "Why did he do that?" asked Custer. "Well, I guess you've got some few things to learn, Custer;" said Mr. Shrimplin indulgently. "He smelt blood--that's what he smelt!" "Oh!" gasped Custer. "I've knowed it to happen before. It's instinct," explained Shrimplin. "'Singular,' says I, and out I jumps to have a look about. I walked to the lamp-post, and then I seen what I hadn't seen before, that old man McBride's store door was open, so I stepped on to the sidewalk intending to close it, but as I put my hand on the knob I seen where the snow had drifted into the room, so I knew the door must have been open some little time. That's mighty odd, I thinks, and then it sort of come over me the way Bill had acted, and I went along into the store in pretty considerable of a hurry." "Were you afraid?" demanded Custer in an awe-struck whisper. "I'll tell you the truth, Custer, I wasn't. I own I'd drawed my gun, wishing to be on the safe side. First thing I noticed was that the lamps hadn't been turned up, though they was all lit. I got back to the end of the counter when I came to a halt, for there in a heap on the floor was old man McBride, with his head mashed in where some one had hit him with a sledge. There was blood all over the floor, and it was a mighty sickenin' spectacle. I sort of looked around hoping I'd see the murderer, but he'd lit out, and then I went back to the front of the store, where I seen Colonel Harbison coming across the Square. I told him what I'd seen and he went inside to look; while he was looking, along come Andy Gilmore and I told him, too, and he went in. They knowed the murderer wasn't there, that I'd been in ahead of them. After, that the people seemed to come from every direction; then presently some one started to ring the town bell and that fetched more people, until the Square in front of the store was packed and jammed with 'em. Everybody' wanted to hear about it first-hand from me; they wanted the _full particulars_ from the only one who knowed 'em." Mr. Shrimplin paused for breath. The recollection of his splendid publicity was dazzling. He imagined the morrow with its possibility of social triumph; he went as far as to feel that Mrs. Shrimplin now had a certain sneaking respect for him. "Did you see tracks in the snow?" demanded Custer. "No, I didn't see nothing," declared Mr. Shrimplin. "You seen young John North." It was Mrs. Shrimplin who spoke. "Well, yes, I seen young John North--I said I seen him!" CHAPTER SIX PUTTING ON THE SCREWS A score of men and boys followed the undertaker's wagon to the small frame cottage that had been Archibald McBride's home for half a century, and a group of these assembled about the gate as the wagon drew up before it. Along the quiet street, windows were raised and doors were opened. It was perhaps the first time, as it was to be the last, that Archibald McBride's neighbors took note of his home-coming. His keys had been found and intrusted to one of the policemen who accompanied the undertaker and his men; now, as the wagon came to a stand, this officer sprang to the ground, and pushing open the gate went quickly up the path to the front door. There in the shelter of the porch he paused to light a lantern, then he tried key after key until he found the one that fitted the lock; he opened the door and entered the house, the undertaker following him. A second officer stationed himself at the door and kept back the crowd. Their preparations were soon made and the two men reappeared on the porch. "It's all right," the undertaker said, and four men raised the stretcher again and carried the old merchant into the house. At this juncture Colonel Harbison, followed by his nephew and Gilmore, made his way through the crowd before the door. Gilmore, even, gave an involuntary shudder as they entered the small hall lighted by the single lantern, while the colonel could have wished himself anywhere else; he had come from a sense of duty; he had known McBride as well as any one in Mount Hope had known him, and it had seemed a lack of respect to the dead man to leave him to the care of the merely curious; but he was painfully conscious of the still presence in the parlor; he felt that they were unwelcome intruders in the home of that austere old man, who had made no friends, who had no intimates, but had lived according to his choice, solitary and alone. The colonel and Watt Harbison followed the gambler into what had been the old merchant's sitting-room. There were two lamps on the chimneypiece, both of which Gilmore lighted. "That's a whole lot better," he said. "Anything more we can do, gentlemen?" asked the undertaker, coming into the room. "Nothing, thank you," answered the colonel in a tone of abstraction, and he felt a sense of relief when the officials had gone their way into the night, leaving him and his two companions to their vigil. Now for the first time they had leisure and opportunity to look about them. It was a poor enough place, all things considered; the furniture was dingy with age and neglect, for Archibald McBride had kept no servant; a worn and faded carpet covered the floor; there was an engraving of Washington Crossing the Delaware and a few old-fashioned woodcuts on the wall; at one side of the room was a desk, opposite it a rusted sheet-iron stove in which Watt Harbison was already starting a fire; there was a scant assortment of uncomfortable chairs, a table, with one leg bandaged, and near the desk an old mahogany davenport. "This wouldn't have suited you, eh, Colonel?" said Gilmore at last. "He could hardly be said to live here, he merely came here to sleep," answered the colonel. "No, he couldn't have cared for anything but the one thing," said Gilmore. "Were you ever here before, Colonel?" he added. "Never." "I don't suppose half a dozen people in the town were ever inside his door until to-night," said Watt Harbison, speaking for the first time. Gilmore turned to look at the colonel's nephew as if he had only that moment become aware of his presence. What he saw did not impress him greatly, for young Watt, save for an unusually large head, was much like other young men of his class. His speech was soft, his face beardless and his gray eyes gazed steadily but without curiosity on, what was for him, an uncliented world. For the eighteen months that he had been an "attorney and counselor at law" the detail of office rent had been taken care of by the colonel. "Sort of makes the game he played seem rotten poor sport," commented Gilmore, replying to the nephew but looking at the uncle. The colonel was silent. "Rotten poor sport!" repeated Gilmore. "Who'll come in for his property?" asked Watt Harbison. "Oh, some one will claim that," said Gilmore. "They were saying down at the store, that once, years ago, a brother of his turned up, here, but McBride got rid of him." "Suppose we have a look around before we settle ourselves for the night," suggested Watt Harbison. "Will you join us, Colonel?" asked the gambler. But the colonel shook his head. Gilmore took up one of the lamps as he spoke and opened a door that led into what had evidently once been a dining-room, but it was now only partly furnished; back of this was a kitchen, and beyond the kitchen a woodshed. Returning to the front of the house, they mounted to the floor above. Here had been the old merchant's bedroom; adjoining it were two smaller rooms, one of which had been used as a place of storage for trunks and boxes and broken bits of furniture; the other room was empty. "We may as well go back down-stairs," said the gambler, halting, lamp in hand, in the center of the empty room. Harbison nodded, and leading the way to the floor below, they rejoined the colonel in the sitting-room, where they made themselves as comfortable as possible. The colonel and his nephew talked in subdued tones, principally of the murdered man; they had no desire to exclude their companion from the conversation, but Gilmore displayed no interest in what was said. He sat at the colonel's elbow, preoccupied and thoughtful, smoking cigar after cigar. Presently the colonel and his nephew lapsed into silence. Their silence seemed to rouse Gilmore to what was passing about him. He glanced at the elder Harbison. "You look tired, Colonel," he said. "Why don't you stretch out on that lounge yonder and take a nap?" "I think I shall, Andy, if you and Watt don't mind." And the colonel quitted his chair. "Better put your coat over you," advised the gambler. He watched the colonel as he made himself comfortable on the lounge, then he lighted a fresh cigar, tilted his chair against the wall and with head thrown back studied the ceiling. Watt Harbison made one or two tentative attempts at conversation, to which Gilmore briefly responded, then the young fellow also became thoughtful. He fell to watching the gambler's strong profile which the lamp silhouetted against the opposite wall; then drowsiness completely overcame him and he slept in his chair with his head fallen forward on his breast. Gilmore, alert and sleepless, smoked on; he was thinking of Evelyn Langham. After his interview with her husband that afternoon he had gone to his own apartment. His bedroom adjoined North's parlor and through the flimsy lath and plaster partition he had distinctly heard a woman's voice. The sound of that voice and the suspicion it instantly begot added to his furious hatred of North, for he had long suspected that something more than friendship existed between Marshall Langham's wife and Marshall Langham's friend. "Damn him!" thought the gambler. "I'll fix him yet!" And he puffed at his cigar viciously. He had made sure that North's mysterious visitor was Evelyn Langham, for when she left the building he himself had followed her. Out of the dregs of his nature this foolish mad passion of his had arisen to torture him; he had never spoken with Langham's wife, probably she knew him by sight, nothing more; but still his game, the waiting game he had been forced to play, was working itself out better than he had even hoped! At last he had Marshall Langham where he wanted him, where he could make him feel his power. Langham would not be able to raise the money required to cover up those forgeries, and on the basis of silence he would make his bargain with the lawyer. Gilmore pondered this problem for the better part of an hour, considering it from every conceivable angle; then suddenly the expression of his face changed, he forgot for the moment his ambitions and his desires, his hatred and his love; he thought he heard the click of the old-fashioned latch on the front gate. He remembered that it could be raised only with difficulty. Next he heard the sound of footsteps approaching the house. They seemed to come haltingly down the narrow brick path which the wind had swept clear of snow. Mr. Gilmore was blessed with a steadiness of nerve known to but few men, yet the hour and the occasion had their influence with him. He stood erect: now the steps which had paused for a moment seemed to recede; it was as if the intruder, whoever he might be, had come almost to the front door and had then, for some inexplicable reason, gone back to the street. Gilmore even imagined him as standing there with his hand on the latch of the gate. He was tempted to rouse his two companions, but he did not, and then, as he still stood with his senses tense, he heard the steps again approach the front door. With a glance in the direction of the colonel and his nephew to assure himself that they still slept, Gilmore rather shamefacedly slipped his right hand under the tails of his coat, tiptoed into the hall and paused there close by the parlor door. The steps

passers

How many times the word 'passers' appears in the text?

with a gasp. He collapsed again, and again the colonel, whose gloved hand still retained its hold on his collar, set him on his trembling legs with admirable expertness. "I tell you he's dead!" cried Mr. Shrimplin, lost to everything but that one dreadful fact. "Who's dead?" demanded the colonel. "Stand up, man, don't fall about like that or you may do yourself some injury!" for Mr. Shrimplin seemed about to collapse once more. "Old man McBride, Colonel--if he ain't dead I wish I may never see death!" "Dead!" cried the colonel. "Archibald McBride dead!" He released his hold on Mr. Shrimplin and took a step toward the door; Shrimplin, however, detained him with a shaking hand, though he was calmer now. "Colonel, you'd better be careful, he's lying there in a pool of blood; some one's killed him for his money! How do we know the murderer ain't there!" This conjecture was made to the empty street, for Colonel Harbison had entered the store. "Why does he want to leave me like that!" wailed Shrimplin, and his panic threatened a return. He dragged himself to the door. Here he paused, since he could not bring himself to enter, for before his eyes was the ghastly vision of that old man huddled on the blood-stained floor. He heard the colonel's steps echo down the long room, and when their sound ceased he knew he was standing beside the dead man. After what seemed an age of waiting the steps sounded again, and a moment later the colonel's tall form filled the doorway. "Andy!" said the colonel. Mr. Shrimplin turned with a start. At his back within reach of his hand stood Andy Gilmore. He had been utterly unaware of the gambler's approach, but now conscious of it he dropped in a miserable heap on the door-sill, while the white and unfamiliar world reeled before his bleached blue eyes; it was the very drunkenness of fear. "Howdy, Colonel," said the gambler, as he gave Harbison a half-military salute. He admired the colonel, who had once threatened to horsewhip him if he ever permitted his nephew, Watt, to enter his rooms. "Come here, Andy!" ordered the colonel briefly. "God's sake, Colonel!" gasped the wretched little lamplighter, struggling to his feet, "don't leave me here--" "What's wrong, Colonel?" asked Gilmore. "Archibald McBride's been murdered!" Mr. Gilmore took the butt of the half-smoked cigar from between his teeth, tossed it into the gutter, and pushing past Mr. Shrimplin entered the room. Colonel Harbison, a step or two in advance of his companion, led the way to the rear of the store. The colonel paused, and Gilmore gained a place at his elbow. "You are sure he's dead?" questioned the gambler. Kneeling beside the crumpled figure Gilmore slipped his hand in between the body and the floor; his manner was cool and businesslike. After a moment he withdrew his hand and looked, up into the colonel's face. "Well?" asked the colonel. "Oh, he's dead, all right!" Gilmore glanced about him, and the colonel's eyes following, they both discovered that the door leading into the side yard was partly open. "He went that way, eh, Colonel?" "It's altogether likely," agreed the veteran. "It's a nasty business!" said Gilmore reflectively. "Shocking!" snapped the colonel. "He took big chances," commented the gambler, "living the way he did." He spoke of the dead man. "Poor old man!" said the colonel pityingly. What had it all amounted to, those chances for the sake of gain, which Gilmore had in mind. "He can't have been dead very long," said Gilmore. "Did _you_ find him, Colonel?" he asked as he stood erect. "No, Shrimplin found him." Again the two men looked about them. On the floor by the counter at their right was a heavy sledge. Gilmore called Harbison's attention to this. "I guess the job was done with that," he said. "Possibly," agreed Harbison. Gilmore picked up the sledge and examined it narrowly. "Yes, you can see, there is blood on it." He handed it to Harbison, who stepped under the nearest lamp with the clumsy weapon in his hand. "You are right, Andy!" and he glanced at the rude instrument of death with a look of repugnance on his keen sensitive face, then he carefully, placed it under the wooden counter. "Horrible!" he muttered to himself. "It was no joke for him!" said the gambler, catching the last word. "But some one was bound to try this dodge sooner or later. Why, as far back as I can remember, people said he kept his money hidden away at the bottom of nail kegs and under heaps of scrap-iron." He took a cigar from his pocket, bit off the end, and struck a match. "Well, I wouldn't want to be the other fellow, Colonel; I'd be in all kinds of a panic; it takes nerve for a job like this." "It's a shocking circumstance," said the colonel. "I wonder if it paid!" speculated the gambler. "And I wonder who'll get what he leaves. Has he any family or relatives?" "No, not so far as any one knows. He came here many years ago, a close-mouthed Scotchman, who never had any intimates, never married, and never spoke of his private affairs." There was a slight commotion at the door. They could hear Shrimplin's agitated voice, and a moment later two men, chance passers-by with whom he had been speaking, shook themselves free of the little lamplighter and entered the room. The new-comers nodded to the colonel and Gilmore as they paused to stare mutely at the body on the floor. "He bled like a stuck pig!" said one of the men at last. He was a ragged slouching creature with a splotched and bloated face half hidden by a bristling red beard. He glanced at Gilmore for an uncertain instant out of a pair of small shifty eyes. "It's murder, ain't it, boss?" he added. "No doubt about that, Joe!" rejoined the gambler. "I suppose it was robbery?" said the other man, who had not spoken before. "Very likely," answered the colonel. "We have not examined the place, however; we shall wait for the proper officials." "Who do you want, Colonel?" "Coroner Taylor, and I suppose the sheriff," replied Harbison. The man nodded. "All right, I'll bring them; and say, what about the prosecuting attorney?" as he turned to leave. "Yes, bring Moxlow, too, if you can find him." The man hurried from the room. Gilmore leaned against the counter and smoked imperturbably. Joe Montgomery, with his great slouching shoulders arched, and his grimy hands buried deep in his trousers pockets, stared at the dead man in stolid wonder. Colonel Harbison's glance sought the same object but with a sensitive shrinking as from an ugly brutal thing. A clock ticked loudly in the office; there was the occasional fall of cinders from the grate of the rusted stove that heated the place; these were sounds that neither Gilmore nor the colonel had heard before. Presently a lean black cat stole from the office and sprang upon the counter; it purred softly. "Hello, puss!" said the gambler, putting out a hand. The cat stole closer. "I guess I'll have to take you home with me, eh? This ain't a place for unprotected females!" The cat crept back and forth under his caressing touch. At the street-door Shrimplin appeared and disappeared, now his head was thrust into the room, and now his nose was flattened against the dingy show-windows; from neither point could he quite command the view he desired nor could he bring himself to enter the building; then he vanished entirely, but after a brief interval they heard his voice. He was evidently speaking with some one in the street. A little crowd was rapidly gathering about him, but it disintegrated almost immediately, his listeners abandoning him to hurry into the store. "You must stand back, all of you!" said the colonel. "Unless you are very careful you may destroy important evidence!" The crowd assembled itself silently for the most part; here and there a man removed his hat, or made some whispered comment, or asked some eager low-voiced question of Gilmore or the colonel. Men stood on boxes, on nail kegs, and on counters. Except for the little circle left about the dead man on the floor, every vantage point of observation was soon occupied. It was scarcely half an hour since Shrimplin had fallen speechless into Colonel Harbison's arms, yet fully two hundred men had gathered in that long room or were struggling about the door to gain admittance to it. At a suggestion from Harbison, the gambler, followed by Joe, elbowed his way to the front door, which in spite of the protest of those outside, he closed and locked. A moment later, however, he opened it to admit Doctor Taylor, the coroner, and Conklin, the sheriff. The latter instantly set about clearing the room. Gilmore and the colonel remained with the officials and during the succeeding ten minutes the gambler, who had kept his post at the door, opened, it to Moxlow, young Watt Harbison and two policemen. As the coroner finished his examination of the body, the sound of wheels was heard in the Square and an undertaker's wagon drew up to the door. The murdered man was placed on a stretcher and covered with a black cloth, then four men raised the stretcher and for the last time the old merchant passed out under his creaking sign into the night. "I've agreed to watch at the house, Andy," said Colonel Harbison. "I want you and Watt to come with me." The gambler lighted a fresh cigar and the three men left the store. On the Square groups of men discussed the murder. Though none was permitted to enter the store, the windows afforded occasional glimpses of the little group of officials within, until a policeman closed and fastened the heavy wooden shutters. Then the crowd slowly and reluctantly dispersed. Meanwhile the town marshal, under cover of the excitement, had descended on the gas house where tramps congregated of winter nights for warmth and shelter. Here he found shivering over a can of beer, two homeless wretches, whom he arrested as suspicious characters. After this, official activity languished, for the official mind could think of nothing more to do. With the scattering of the crowd on the Square, Shrimplin climbed into his cart and drove off home. The smother of wind-driven snow still enveloped the, town, the very air seemed charged with mystery and horror, and before the little lamplighter's eyes was ever the haunting vision of the murdered man. He drove into the alley back of his house, unhitched Bill and led him into the barn. His torch made the gloom of the place more terrifying than utter darkness would have been. Suppose the murderer should be hiding there! Mr. Shrimplin's mind fastened on the hay-mow as the most likely place of concealment, and the cold sweat ran from him in icy streams; he could, almost see the murderer's evil eyes fixed upon him from the blackness above. But at last Bill was stripped of his harness, and the little lamplighter, escaping from the barn with its fancied terrors, hurried across his small back yard to his kitchen door. "Well!" said Mrs. Shrimplin, as he entered the room. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever think it worth your while to come home!" "What's the bell been ringing for?" asked Custer. Mrs. Shrimplin was seated by the table, which was littered with her sewing; Custer occupied his usual chair by the stove, and it was evident that they knew nothing of the tragedy in which Mr. Shrimplin had played so important, and as he now felt, so worthy a part. "I suppose I've been out quite a time, and I may say I've seen times, too! I guess there ain't no one in the town fitter to say they seen times than just me!" The light and comfort of his own pleasant kitchen had quite restored Mr. Shrimplin. "I may say I seen times!" he repeated significantly. "There's something doing in this here old town after all! I take back a heap of the hard things I've said about it; a feller can scare up a little excitement if he knows where to look for it. I ain't bragging none, but I guess you'll hear my name mentioned--I guess you'll even see it in print in the newspapers!" He warmed his cold hands over the stove. "Throw in a little more coal, sonny; I'm half froze, but I guess that's the worst any one can say of me!" "You make much of it, whatever it is," said Mrs. Shrimplin. "Maybe I do and maybe I don't," equivocated Mr. Shrimplin genially. "Maybe you're not above telling a body what kept you out half the night?" inquired his wife. "If you done and seen what I've did and saw," replied Mr. Shrimplin impressively, "you'd look for a little respect in your own home." "I'd be a heap quicker telling about it," said Mrs. Shrimplin. Mr. Shrimplin turned to Custer. "I guess, you're thinking it was a burglar; but, sonny, it wasn't no burglar--so you got another guess coming to you," he concluded benevolently. "I know!" cried Custer. "Some one's been killed!" "Exactly!" said Mr. Shrimplin with increasing benevolence. "Some one has been killed!" "You done it!" cried Custer. "I found the party," admitted Mr. Shrimplin with calm dignity. "Oh!" But perhaps Custer's first emotion was on the whole one of disappointment. "How you talk!" said Mrs. Shrimplin. "I reckon I might say more, most any one would," retorted Mr. Shrimplin quietly. "It was old man McBride--someone's murdered him for his money; I never seen the town so on end over anything before, but whoever wants to be well posted's got to come to me for the particulars. I seen the old man before Colonel Harbison seen him, I seen him before Andy Gilmore seen him, I seen him before the coroner seen him, or the sheriff or _any one_ seen him! I was on the spot ahead of 'em all. If any one wants to know how he looked just after he was killed, they got to come to me to find out. Colonel Harbison can't tell 'em, and Andy Gilmore can't tell 'em; it's only me knows them particulars!" The effect of this stirring declaration was quite all he had hoped for. Out of the tail of his eye he saw that Mrs. Shrimplin was, as she afterward freely confessed, taken aback. As for Custer, he had forgotten his disappointment that a death by violence had occurred for which his father was not directly responsible. "Did you see the man that killed old Mr. McBride?" asked Custer, breaking the breathless spell that was upon him. "No; if I'd been just about fifteen minutes sooner I'd have seen him; but I was just about that much too late, sonny. I guess he's a whole lot better off, though." "What would you have done if you'd seen him?" Custer's voice sank to a whisper. "Well, I don't pack a gun for nothing. If I'd seen him there, he'd had to go 'round to the jail with me. I guess I could have coaxed him there; I was ready for to offer extra inducements!" "And does everybody know you seen old Mr. McBride the first of any?" asked Custer. "I guess they do; I ain't afraid about that. Colonel Harbison's too much of a gentleman to claim any credit that ain't his; he'd be the first one to own up that he don't deserve no credit." "What took you into McBride's store? You hadn't no errand there." Mrs. Shrimplin was a careful and acquisitive wife. "I allow I made an errand there," said Mr. Shrimplin bridling. "I reckon many another man might have thought he hadn't no errand there either, but I feel different about them things. I was just turned into the Square when along comes young John North--" "What was he doing there?" suddenly asked Mrs. Shrimplin. "I expect he was attending strictly to his own business," retorted Mr. Shrimplin, offended by the utter irrelevancy of the question. "Go on, pal" begged Custer. He felt that his mother's interruptions were positively cruel, and--so like a woman! "Me and young John North passed the time of day," continued Mr. Shrimplin, thus abjured, "and I started around the north side of the Square to light the lamp on old man McBride's own corner. If I'd knowed then--" he paused impressively, "if I'd just knowed then, that was my time! I could have laid hands on the murderer. He was there somewheres, most likely he was watching me; well, maybe it was all for the best, I don't know as a married man's got any right to take chances. Anyway, I got to within, well--I should say, thirty feet of that lamp-post when all of a sudden Bill began to act up. You never saw a horse act up like he done! He rose in his britching and then the other end of him come up and he acted like he wanted to set down on the singletree!" "Why did he do that?" asked Custer. "Well, I guess you've got some few things to learn, Custer;" said Mr. Shrimplin indulgently. "He smelt blood--that's what he smelt!" "Oh!" gasped Custer. "I've knowed it to happen before. It's instinct," explained Shrimplin. "'Singular,' says I, and out I jumps to have a look about. I walked to the lamp-post, and then I seen what I hadn't seen before, that old man McBride's store door was open, so I stepped on to the sidewalk intending to close it, but as I put my hand on the knob I seen where the snow had drifted into the room, so I knew the door must have been open some little time. That's mighty odd, I thinks, and then it sort of come over me the way Bill had acted, and I went along into the store in pretty considerable of a hurry." "Were you afraid?" demanded Custer in an awe-struck whisper. "I'll tell you the truth, Custer, I wasn't. I own I'd drawed my gun, wishing to be on the safe side. First thing I noticed was that the lamps hadn't been turned up, though they was all lit. I got back to the end of the counter when I came to a halt, for there in a heap on the floor was old man McBride, with his head mashed in where some one had hit him with a sledge. There was blood all over the floor, and it was a mighty sickenin' spectacle. I sort of looked around hoping I'd see the murderer, but he'd lit out, and then I went back to the front of the store, where I seen Colonel Harbison coming across the Square. I told him what I'd seen and he went inside to look; while he was looking, along come Andy Gilmore and I told him, too, and he went in. They knowed the murderer wasn't there, that I'd been in ahead of them. After, that the people seemed to come from every direction; then presently some one started to ring the town bell and that fetched more people, until the Square in front of the store was packed and jammed with 'em. Everybody' wanted to hear about it first-hand from me; they wanted the _full particulars_ from the only one who knowed 'em." Mr. Shrimplin paused for breath. The recollection of his splendid publicity was dazzling. He imagined the morrow with its possibility of social triumph; he went as far as to feel that Mrs. Shrimplin now had a certain sneaking respect for him. "Did you see tracks in the snow?" demanded Custer. "No, I didn't see nothing," declared Mr. Shrimplin. "You seen young John North." It was Mrs. Shrimplin who spoke. "Well, yes, I seen young John North--I said I seen him!" CHAPTER SIX PUTTING ON THE SCREWS A score of men and boys followed the undertaker's wagon to the small frame cottage that had been Archibald McBride's home for half a century, and a group of these assembled about the gate as the wagon drew up before it. Along the quiet street, windows were raised and doors were opened. It was perhaps the first time, as it was to be the last, that Archibald McBride's neighbors took note of his home-coming. His keys had been found and intrusted to one of the policemen who accompanied the undertaker and his men; now, as the wagon came to a stand, this officer sprang to the ground, and pushing open the gate went quickly up the path to the front door. There in the shelter of the porch he paused to light a lantern, then he tried key after key until he found the one that fitted the lock; he opened the door and entered the house, the undertaker following him. A second officer stationed himself at the door and kept back the crowd. Their preparations were soon made and the two men reappeared on the porch. "It's all right," the undertaker said, and four men raised the stretcher again and carried the old merchant into the house. At this juncture Colonel Harbison, followed by his nephew and Gilmore, made his way through the crowd before the door. Gilmore, even, gave an involuntary shudder as they entered the small hall lighted by the single lantern, while the colonel could have wished himself anywhere else; he had come from a sense of duty; he had known McBride as well as any one in Mount Hope had known him, and it had seemed a lack of respect to the dead man to leave him to the care of the merely curious; but he was painfully conscious of the still presence in the parlor; he felt that they were unwelcome intruders in the home of that austere old man, who had made no friends, who had no intimates, but had lived according to his choice, solitary and alone. The colonel and Watt Harbison followed the gambler into what had been the old merchant's sitting-room. There were two lamps on the chimneypiece, both of which Gilmore lighted. "That's a whole lot better," he said. "Anything more we can do, gentlemen?" asked the undertaker, coming into the room. "Nothing, thank you," answered the colonel in a tone of abstraction, and he felt a sense of relief when the officials had gone their way into the night, leaving him and his two companions to their vigil. Now for the first time they had leisure and opportunity to look about them. It was a poor enough place, all things considered; the furniture was dingy with age and neglect, for Archibald McBride had kept no servant; a worn and faded carpet covered the floor; there was an engraving of Washington Crossing the Delaware and a few old-fashioned woodcuts on the wall; at one side of the room was a desk, opposite it a rusted sheet-iron stove in which Watt Harbison was already starting a fire; there was a scant assortment of uncomfortable chairs, a table, with one leg bandaged, and near the desk an old mahogany davenport. "This wouldn't have suited you, eh, Colonel?" said Gilmore at last. "He could hardly be said to live here, he merely came here to sleep," answered the colonel. "No, he couldn't have cared for anything but the one thing," said Gilmore. "Were you ever here before, Colonel?" he added. "Never." "I don't suppose half a dozen people in the town were ever inside his door until to-night," said Watt Harbison, speaking for the first time. Gilmore turned to look at the colonel's nephew as if he had only that moment become aware of his presence. What he saw did not impress him greatly, for young Watt, save for an unusually large head, was much like other young men of his class. His speech was soft, his face beardless and his gray eyes gazed steadily but without curiosity on, what was for him, an uncliented world. For the eighteen months that he had been an "attorney and counselor at law" the detail of office rent had been taken care of by the colonel. "Sort of makes the game he played seem rotten poor sport," commented Gilmore, replying to the nephew but looking at the uncle. The colonel was silent. "Rotten poor sport!" repeated Gilmore. "Who'll come in for his property?" asked Watt Harbison. "Oh, some one will claim that," said Gilmore. "They were saying down at the store, that once, years ago, a brother of his turned up, here, but McBride got rid of him." "Suppose we have a look around before we settle ourselves for the night," suggested Watt Harbison. "Will you join us, Colonel?" asked the gambler. But the colonel shook his head. Gilmore took up one of the lamps as he spoke and opened a door that led into what had evidently once been a dining-room, but it was now only partly furnished; back of this was a kitchen, and beyond the kitchen a woodshed. Returning to the front of the house, they mounted to the floor above. Here had been the old merchant's bedroom; adjoining it were two smaller rooms, one of which had been used as a place of storage for trunks and boxes and broken bits of furniture; the other room was empty. "We may as well go back down-stairs," said the gambler, halting, lamp in hand, in the center of the empty room. Harbison nodded, and leading the way to the floor below, they rejoined the colonel in the sitting-room, where they made themselves as comfortable as possible. The colonel and his nephew talked in subdued tones, principally of the murdered man; they had no desire to exclude their companion from the conversation, but Gilmore displayed no interest in what was said. He sat at the colonel's elbow, preoccupied and thoughtful, smoking cigar after cigar. Presently the colonel and his nephew lapsed into silence. Their silence seemed to rouse Gilmore to what was passing about him. He glanced at the elder Harbison. "You look tired, Colonel," he said. "Why don't you stretch out on that lounge yonder and take a nap?" "I think I shall, Andy, if you and Watt don't mind." And the colonel quitted his chair. "Better put your coat over you," advised the gambler. He watched the colonel as he made himself comfortable on the lounge, then he lighted a fresh cigar, tilted his chair against the wall and with head thrown back studied the ceiling. Watt Harbison made one or two tentative attempts at conversation, to which Gilmore briefly responded, then the young fellow also became thoughtful. He fell to watching the gambler's strong profile which the lamp silhouetted against the opposite wall; then drowsiness completely overcame him and he slept in his chair with his head fallen forward on his breast. Gilmore, alert and sleepless, smoked on; he was thinking of Evelyn Langham. After his interview with her husband that afternoon he had gone to his own apartment. His bedroom adjoined North's parlor and through the flimsy lath and plaster partition he had distinctly heard a woman's voice. The sound of that voice and the suspicion it instantly begot added to his furious hatred of North, for he had long suspected that something more than friendship existed between Marshall Langham's wife and Marshall Langham's friend. "Damn him!" thought the gambler. "I'll fix him yet!" And he puffed at his cigar viciously. He had made sure that North's mysterious visitor was Evelyn Langham, for when she left the building he himself had followed her. Out of the dregs of his nature this foolish mad passion of his had arisen to torture him; he had never spoken with Langham's wife, probably she knew him by sight, nothing more; but still his game, the waiting game he had been forced to play, was working itself out better than he had even hoped! At last he had Marshall Langham where he wanted him, where he could make him feel his power. Langham would not be able to raise the money required to cover up those forgeries, and on the basis of silence he would make his bargain with the lawyer. Gilmore pondered this problem for the better part of an hour, considering it from every conceivable angle; then suddenly the expression of his face changed, he forgot for the moment his ambitions and his desires, his hatred and his love; he thought he heard the click of the old-fashioned latch on the front gate. He remembered that it could be raised only with difficulty. Next he heard the sound of footsteps approaching the house. They seemed to come haltingly down the narrow brick path which the wind had swept clear of snow. Mr. Gilmore was blessed with a steadiness of nerve known to but few men, yet the hour and the occasion had their influence with him. He stood erect: now the steps which had paused for a moment seemed to recede; it was as if the intruder, whoever he might be, had come almost to the front door and had then, for some inexplicable reason, gone back to the street. Gilmore even imagined him as standing there with his hand on the latch of the gate. He was tempted to rouse his two companions, but he did not, and then, as he still stood with his senses tense, he heard the steps again approach the front door. With a glance in the direction of the colonel and his nephew to assure himself that they still slept, Gilmore rather shamefacedly slipped his right hand under the tails of his coat, tiptoed into the hall and paused there close by the parlor door. The steps

singular

How many times the word 'singular' appears in the text?

with a gasp. He collapsed again, and again the colonel, whose gloved hand still retained its hold on his collar, set him on his trembling legs with admirable expertness. "I tell you he's dead!" cried Mr. Shrimplin, lost to everything but that one dreadful fact. "Who's dead?" demanded the colonel. "Stand up, man, don't fall about like that or you may do yourself some injury!" for Mr. Shrimplin seemed about to collapse once more. "Old man McBride, Colonel--if he ain't dead I wish I may never see death!" "Dead!" cried the colonel. "Archibald McBride dead!" He released his hold on Mr. Shrimplin and took a step toward the door; Shrimplin, however, detained him with a shaking hand, though he was calmer now. "Colonel, you'd better be careful, he's lying there in a pool of blood; some one's killed him for his money! How do we know the murderer ain't there!" This conjecture was made to the empty street, for Colonel Harbison had entered the store. "Why does he want to leave me like that!" wailed Shrimplin, and his panic threatened a return. He dragged himself to the door. Here he paused, since he could not bring himself to enter, for before his eyes was the ghastly vision of that old man huddled on the blood-stained floor. He heard the colonel's steps echo down the long room, and when their sound ceased he knew he was standing beside the dead man. After what seemed an age of waiting the steps sounded again, and a moment later the colonel's tall form filled the doorway. "Andy!" said the colonel. Mr. Shrimplin turned with a start. At his back within reach of his hand stood Andy Gilmore. He had been utterly unaware of the gambler's approach, but now conscious of it he dropped in a miserable heap on the door-sill, while the white and unfamiliar world reeled before his bleached blue eyes; it was the very drunkenness of fear. "Howdy, Colonel," said the gambler, as he gave Harbison a half-military salute. He admired the colonel, who had once threatened to horsewhip him if he ever permitted his nephew, Watt, to enter his rooms. "Come here, Andy!" ordered the colonel briefly. "God's sake, Colonel!" gasped the wretched little lamplighter, struggling to his feet, "don't leave me here--" "What's wrong, Colonel?" asked Gilmore. "Archibald McBride's been murdered!" Mr. Gilmore took the butt of the half-smoked cigar from between his teeth, tossed it into the gutter, and pushing past Mr. Shrimplin entered the room. Colonel Harbison, a step or two in advance of his companion, led the way to the rear of the store. The colonel paused, and Gilmore gained a place at his elbow. "You are sure he's dead?" questioned the gambler. Kneeling beside the crumpled figure Gilmore slipped his hand in between the body and the floor; his manner was cool and businesslike. After a moment he withdrew his hand and looked, up into the colonel's face. "Well?" asked the colonel. "Oh, he's dead, all right!" Gilmore glanced about him, and the colonel's eyes following, they both discovered that the door leading into the side yard was partly open. "He went that way, eh, Colonel?" "It's altogether likely," agreed the veteran. "It's a nasty business!" said Gilmore reflectively. "Shocking!" snapped the colonel. "He took big chances," commented the gambler, "living the way he did." He spoke of the dead man. "Poor old man!" said the colonel pityingly. What had it all amounted to, those chances for the sake of gain, which Gilmore had in mind. "He can't have been dead very long," said Gilmore. "Did _you_ find him, Colonel?" he asked as he stood erect. "No, Shrimplin found him." Again the two men looked about them. On the floor by the counter at their right was a heavy sledge. Gilmore called Harbison's attention to this. "I guess the job was done with that," he said. "Possibly," agreed Harbison. Gilmore picked up the sledge and examined it narrowly. "Yes, you can see, there is blood on it." He handed it to Harbison, who stepped under the nearest lamp with the clumsy weapon in his hand. "You are right, Andy!" and he glanced at the rude instrument of death with a look of repugnance on his keen sensitive face, then he carefully, placed it under the wooden counter. "Horrible!" he muttered to himself. "It was no joke for him!" said the gambler, catching the last word. "But some one was bound to try this dodge sooner or later. Why, as far back as I can remember, people said he kept his money hidden away at the bottom of nail kegs and under heaps of scrap-iron." He took a cigar from his pocket, bit off the end, and struck a match. "Well, I wouldn't want to be the other fellow, Colonel; I'd be in all kinds of a panic; it takes nerve for a job like this." "It's a shocking circumstance," said the colonel. "I wonder if it paid!" speculated the gambler. "And I wonder who'll get what he leaves. Has he any family or relatives?" "No, not so far as any one knows. He came here many years ago, a close-mouthed Scotchman, who never had any intimates, never married, and never spoke of his private affairs." There was a slight commotion at the door. They could hear Shrimplin's agitated voice, and a moment later two men, chance passers-by with whom he had been speaking, shook themselves free of the little lamplighter and entered the room. The new-comers nodded to the colonel and Gilmore as they paused to stare mutely at the body on the floor. "He bled like a stuck pig!" said one of the men at last. He was a ragged slouching creature with a splotched and bloated face half hidden by a bristling red beard. He glanced at Gilmore for an uncertain instant out of a pair of small shifty eyes. "It's murder, ain't it, boss?" he added. "No doubt about that, Joe!" rejoined the gambler. "I suppose it was robbery?" said the other man, who had not spoken before. "Very likely," answered the colonel. "We have not examined the place, however; we shall wait for the proper officials." "Who do you want, Colonel?" "Coroner Taylor, and I suppose the sheriff," replied Harbison. The man nodded. "All right, I'll bring them; and say, what about the prosecuting attorney?" as he turned to leave. "Yes, bring Moxlow, too, if you can find him." The man hurried from the room. Gilmore leaned against the counter and smoked imperturbably. Joe Montgomery, with his great slouching shoulders arched, and his grimy hands buried deep in his trousers pockets, stared at the dead man in stolid wonder. Colonel Harbison's glance sought the same object but with a sensitive shrinking as from an ugly brutal thing. A clock ticked loudly in the office; there was the occasional fall of cinders from the grate of the rusted stove that heated the place; these were sounds that neither Gilmore nor the colonel had heard before. Presently a lean black cat stole from the office and sprang upon the counter; it purred softly. "Hello, puss!" said the gambler, putting out a hand. The cat stole closer. "I guess I'll have to take you home with me, eh? This ain't a place for unprotected females!" The cat crept back and forth under his caressing touch. At the street-door Shrimplin appeared and disappeared, now his head was thrust into the room, and now his nose was flattened against the dingy show-windows; from neither point could he quite command the view he desired nor could he bring himself to enter the building; then he vanished entirely, but after a brief interval they heard his voice. He was evidently speaking with some one in the street. A little crowd was rapidly gathering about him, but it disintegrated almost immediately, his listeners abandoning him to hurry into the store. "You must stand back, all of you!" said the colonel. "Unless you are very careful you may destroy important evidence!" The crowd assembled itself silently for the most part; here and there a man removed his hat, or made some whispered comment, or asked some eager low-voiced question of Gilmore or the colonel. Men stood on boxes, on nail kegs, and on counters. Except for the little circle left about the dead man on the floor, every vantage point of observation was soon occupied. It was scarcely half an hour since Shrimplin had fallen speechless into Colonel Harbison's arms, yet fully two hundred men had gathered in that long room or were struggling about the door to gain admittance to it. At a suggestion from Harbison, the gambler, followed by Joe, elbowed his way to the front door, which in spite of the protest of those outside, he closed and locked. A moment later, however, he opened it to admit Doctor Taylor, the coroner, and Conklin, the sheriff. The latter instantly set about clearing the room. Gilmore and the colonel remained with the officials and during the succeeding ten minutes the gambler, who had kept his post at the door, opened, it to Moxlow, young Watt Harbison and two policemen. As the coroner finished his examination of the body, the sound of wheels was heard in the Square and an undertaker's wagon drew up to the door. The murdered man was placed on a stretcher and covered with a black cloth, then four men raised the stretcher and for the last time the old merchant passed out under his creaking sign into the night. "I've agreed to watch at the house, Andy," said Colonel Harbison. "I want you and Watt to come with me." The gambler lighted a fresh cigar and the three men left the store. On the Square groups of men discussed the murder. Though none was permitted to enter the store, the windows afforded occasional glimpses of the little group of officials within, until a policeman closed and fastened the heavy wooden shutters. Then the crowd slowly and reluctantly dispersed. Meanwhile the town marshal, under cover of the excitement, had descended on the gas house where tramps congregated of winter nights for warmth and shelter. Here he found shivering over a can of beer, two homeless wretches, whom he arrested as suspicious characters. After this, official activity languished, for the official mind could think of nothing more to do. With the scattering of the crowd on the Square, Shrimplin climbed into his cart and drove off home. The smother of wind-driven snow still enveloped the, town, the very air seemed charged with mystery and horror, and before the little lamplighter's eyes was ever the haunting vision of the murdered man. He drove into the alley back of his house, unhitched Bill and led him into the barn. His torch made the gloom of the place more terrifying than utter darkness would have been. Suppose the murderer should be hiding there! Mr. Shrimplin's mind fastened on the hay-mow as the most likely place of concealment, and the cold sweat ran from him in icy streams; he could, almost see the murderer's evil eyes fixed upon him from the blackness above. But at last Bill was stripped of his harness, and the little lamplighter, escaping from the barn with its fancied terrors, hurried across his small back yard to his kitchen door. "Well!" said Mrs. Shrimplin, as he entered the room. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever think it worth your while to come home!" "What's the bell been ringing for?" asked Custer. Mrs. Shrimplin was seated by the table, which was littered with her sewing; Custer occupied his usual chair by the stove, and it was evident that they knew nothing of the tragedy in which Mr. Shrimplin had played so important, and as he now felt, so worthy a part. "I suppose I've been out quite a time, and I may say I've seen times, too! I guess there ain't no one in the town fitter to say they seen times than just me!" The light and comfort of his own pleasant kitchen had quite restored Mr. Shrimplin. "I may say I seen times!" he repeated significantly. "There's something doing in this here old town after all! I take back a heap of the hard things I've said about it; a feller can scare up a little excitement if he knows where to look for it. I ain't bragging none, but I guess you'll hear my name mentioned--I guess you'll even see it in print in the newspapers!" He warmed his cold hands over the stove. "Throw in a little more coal, sonny; I'm half froze, but I guess that's the worst any one can say of me!" "You make much of it, whatever it is," said Mrs. Shrimplin. "Maybe I do and maybe I don't," equivocated Mr. Shrimplin genially. "Maybe you're not above telling a body what kept you out half the night?" inquired his wife. "If you done and seen what I've did and saw," replied Mr. Shrimplin impressively, "you'd look for a little respect in your own home." "I'd be a heap quicker telling about it," said Mrs. Shrimplin. Mr. Shrimplin turned to Custer. "I guess, you're thinking it was a burglar; but, sonny, it wasn't no burglar--so you got another guess coming to you," he concluded benevolently. "I know!" cried Custer. "Some one's been killed!" "Exactly!" said Mr. Shrimplin with increasing benevolence. "Some one has been killed!" "You done it!" cried Custer. "I found the party," admitted Mr. Shrimplin with calm dignity. "Oh!" But perhaps Custer's first emotion was on the whole one of disappointment. "How you talk!" said Mrs. Shrimplin. "I reckon I might say more, most any one would," retorted Mr. Shrimplin quietly. "It was old man McBride--someone's murdered him for his money; I never seen the town so on end over anything before, but whoever wants to be well posted's got to come to me for the particulars. I seen the old man before Colonel Harbison seen him, I seen him before Andy Gilmore seen him, I seen him before the coroner seen him, or the sheriff or _any one_ seen him! I was on the spot ahead of 'em all. If any one wants to know how he looked just after he was killed, they got to come to me to find out. Colonel Harbison can't tell 'em, and Andy Gilmore can't tell 'em; it's only me knows them particulars!" The effect of this stirring declaration was quite all he had hoped for. Out of the tail of his eye he saw that Mrs. Shrimplin was, as she afterward freely confessed, taken aback. As for Custer, he had forgotten his disappointment that a death by violence had occurred for which his father was not directly responsible. "Did you see the man that killed old Mr. McBride?" asked Custer, breaking the breathless spell that was upon him. "No; if I'd been just about fifteen minutes sooner I'd have seen him; but I was just about that much too late, sonny. I guess he's a whole lot better off, though." "What would you have done if you'd seen him?" Custer's voice sank to a whisper. "Well, I don't pack a gun for nothing. If I'd seen him there, he'd had to go 'round to the jail with me. I guess I could have coaxed him there; I was ready for to offer extra inducements!" "And does everybody know you seen old Mr. McBride the first of any?" asked Custer. "I guess they do; I ain't afraid about that. Colonel Harbison's too much of a gentleman to claim any credit that ain't his; he'd be the first one to own up that he don't deserve no credit." "What took you into McBride's store? You hadn't no errand there." Mrs. Shrimplin was a careful and acquisitive wife. "I allow I made an errand there," said Mr. Shrimplin bridling. "I reckon many another man might have thought he hadn't no errand there either, but I feel different about them things. I was just turned into the Square when along comes young John North--" "What was he doing there?" suddenly asked Mrs. Shrimplin. "I expect he was attending strictly to his own business," retorted Mr. Shrimplin, offended by the utter irrelevancy of the question. "Go on, pal" begged Custer. He felt that his mother's interruptions were positively cruel, and--so like a woman! "Me and young John North passed the time of day," continued Mr. Shrimplin, thus abjured, "and I started around the north side of the Square to light the lamp on old man McBride's own corner. If I'd knowed then--" he paused impressively, "if I'd just knowed then, that was my time! I could have laid hands on the murderer. He was there somewheres, most likely he was watching me; well, maybe it was all for the best, I don't know as a married man's got any right to take chances. Anyway, I got to within, well--I should say, thirty feet of that lamp-post when all of a sudden Bill began to act up. You never saw a horse act up like he done! He rose in his britching and then the other end of him come up and he acted like he wanted to set down on the singletree!" "Why did he do that?" asked Custer. "Well, I guess you've got some few things to learn, Custer;" said Mr. Shrimplin indulgently. "He smelt blood--that's what he smelt!" "Oh!" gasped Custer. "I've knowed it to happen before. It's instinct," explained Shrimplin. "'Singular,' says I, and out I jumps to have a look about. I walked to the lamp-post, and then I seen what I hadn't seen before, that old man McBride's store door was open, so I stepped on to the sidewalk intending to close it, but as I put my hand on the knob I seen where the snow had drifted into the room, so I knew the door must have been open some little time. That's mighty odd, I thinks, and then it sort of come over me the way Bill had acted, and I went along into the store in pretty considerable of a hurry." "Were you afraid?" demanded Custer in an awe-struck whisper. "I'll tell you the truth, Custer, I wasn't. I own I'd drawed my gun, wishing to be on the safe side. First thing I noticed was that the lamps hadn't been turned up, though they was all lit. I got back to the end of the counter when I came to a halt, for there in a heap on the floor was old man McBride, with his head mashed in where some one had hit him with a sledge. There was blood all over the floor, and it was a mighty sickenin' spectacle. I sort of looked around hoping I'd see the murderer, but he'd lit out, and then I went back to the front of the store, where I seen Colonel Harbison coming across the Square. I told him what I'd seen and he went inside to look; while he was looking, along come Andy Gilmore and I told him, too, and he went in. They knowed the murderer wasn't there, that I'd been in ahead of them. After, that the people seemed to come from every direction; then presently some one started to ring the town bell and that fetched more people, until the Square in front of the store was packed and jammed with 'em. Everybody' wanted to hear about it first-hand from me; they wanted the _full particulars_ from the only one who knowed 'em." Mr. Shrimplin paused for breath. The recollection of his splendid publicity was dazzling. He imagined the morrow with its possibility of social triumph; he went as far as to feel that Mrs. Shrimplin now had a certain sneaking respect for him. "Did you see tracks in the snow?" demanded Custer. "No, I didn't see nothing," declared Mr. Shrimplin. "You seen young John North." It was Mrs. Shrimplin who spoke. "Well, yes, I seen young John North--I said I seen him!" CHAPTER SIX PUTTING ON THE SCREWS A score of men and boys followed the undertaker's wagon to the small frame cottage that had been Archibald McBride's home for half a century, and a group of these assembled about the gate as the wagon drew up before it. Along the quiet street, windows were raised and doors were opened. It was perhaps the first time, as it was to be the last, that Archibald McBride's neighbors took note of his home-coming. His keys had been found and intrusted to one of the policemen who accompanied the undertaker and his men; now, as the wagon came to a stand, this officer sprang to the ground, and pushing open the gate went quickly up the path to the front door. There in the shelter of the porch he paused to light a lantern, then he tried key after key until he found the one that fitted the lock; he opened the door and entered the house, the undertaker following him. A second officer stationed himself at the door and kept back the crowd. Their preparations were soon made and the two men reappeared on the porch. "It's all right," the undertaker said, and four men raised the stretcher again and carried the old merchant into the house. At this juncture Colonel Harbison, followed by his nephew and Gilmore, made his way through the crowd before the door. Gilmore, even, gave an involuntary shudder as they entered the small hall lighted by the single lantern, while the colonel could have wished himself anywhere else; he had come from a sense of duty; he had known McBride as well as any one in Mount Hope had known him, and it had seemed a lack of respect to the dead man to leave him to the care of the merely curious; but he was painfully conscious of the still presence in the parlor; he felt that they were unwelcome intruders in the home of that austere old man, who had made no friends, who had no intimates, but had lived according to his choice, solitary and alone. The colonel and Watt Harbison followed the gambler into what had been the old merchant's sitting-room. There were two lamps on the chimneypiece, both of which Gilmore lighted. "That's a whole lot better," he said. "Anything more we can do, gentlemen?" asked the undertaker, coming into the room. "Nothing, thank you," answered the colonel in a tone of abstraction, and he felt a sense of relief when the officials had gone their way into the night, leaving him and his two companions to their vigil. Now for the first time they had leisure and opportunity to look about them. It was a poor enough place, all things considered; the furniture was dingy with age and neglect, for Archibald McBride had kept no servant; a worn and faded carpet covered the floor; there was an engraving of Washington Crossing the Delaware and a few old-fashioned woodcuts on the wall; at one side of the room was a desk, opposite it a rusted sheet-iron stove in which Watt Harbison was already starting a fire; there was a scant assortment of uncomfortable chairs, a table, with one leg bandaged, and near the desk an old mahogany davenport. "This wouldn't have suited you, eh, Colonel?" said Gilmore at last. "He could hardly be said to live here, he merely came here to sleep," answered the colonel. "No, he couldn't have cared for anything but the one thing," said Gilmore. "Were you ever here before, Colonel?" he added. "Never." "I don't suppose half a dozen people in the town were ever inside his door until to-night," said Watt Harbison, speaking for the first time. Gilmore turned to look at the colonel's nephew as if he had only that moment become aware of his presence. What he saw did not impress him greatly, for young Watt, save for an unusually large head, was much like other young men of his class. His speech was soft, his face beardless and his gray eyes gazed steadily but without curiosity on, what was for him, an uncliented world. For the eighteen months that he had been an "attorney and counselor at law" the detail of office rent had been taken care of by the colonel. "Sort of makes the game he played seem rotten poor sport," commented Gilmore, replying to the nephew but looking at the uncle. The colonel was silent. "Rotten poor sport!" repeated Gilmore. "Who'll come in for his property?" asked Watt Harbison. "Oh, some one will claim that," said Gilmore. "They were saying down at the store, that once, years ago, a brother of his turned up, here, but McBride got rid of him." "Suppose we have a look around before we settle ourselves for the night," suggested Watt Harbison. "Will you join us, Colonel?" asked the gambler. But the colonel shook his head. Gilmore took up one of the lamps as he spoke and opened a door that led into what had evidently once been a dining-room, but it was now only partly furnished; back of this was a kitchen, and beyond the kitchen a woodshed. Returning to the front of the house, they mounted to the floor above. Here had been the old merchant's bedroom; adjoining it were two smaller rooms, one of which had been used as a place of storage for trunks and boxes and broken bits of furniture; the other room was empty. "We may as well go back down-stairs," said the gambler, halting, lamp in hand, in the center of the empty room. Harbison nodded, and leading the way to the floor below, they rejoined the colonel in the sitting-room, where they made themselves as comfortable as possible. The colonel and his nephew talked in subdued tones, principally of the murdered man; they had no desire to exclude their companion from the conversation, but Gilmore displayed no interest in what was said. He sat at the colonel's elbow, preoccupied and thoughtful, smoking cigar after cigar. Presently the colonel and his nephew lapsed into silence. Their silence seemed to rouse Gilmore to what was passing about him. He glanced at the elder Harbison. "You look tired, Colonel," he said. "Why don't you stretch out on that lounge yonder and take a nap?" "I think I shall, Andy, if you and Watt don't mind." And the colonel quitted his chair. "Better put your coat over you," advised the gambler. He watched the colonel as he made himself comfortable on the lounge, then he lighted a fresh cigar, tilted his chair against the wall and with head thrown back studied the ceiling. Watt Harbison made one or two tentative attempts at conversation, to which Gilmore briefly responded, then the young fellow also became thoughtful. He fell to watching the gambler's strong profile which the lamp silhouetted against the opposite wall; then drowsiness completely overcame him and he slept in his chair with his head fallen forward on his breast. Gilmore, alert and sleepless, smoked on; he was thinking of Evelyn Langham. After his interview with her husband that afternoon he had gone to his own apartment. His bedroom adjoined North's parlor and through the flimsy lath and plaster partition he had distinctly heard a woman's voice. The sound of that voice and the suspicion it instantly begot added to his furious hatred of North, for he had long suspected that something more than friendship existed between Marshall Langham's wife and Marshall Langham's friend. "Damn him!" thought the gambler. "I'll fix him yet!" And he puffed at his cigar viciously. He had made sure that North's mysterious visitor was Evelyn Langham, for when she left the building he himself had followed her. Out of the dregs of his nature this foolish mad passion of his had arisen to torture him; he had never spoken with Langham's wife, probably she knew him by sight, nothing more; but still his game, the waiting game he had been forced to play, was working itself out better than he had even hoped! At last he had Marshall Langham where he wanted him, where he could make him feel his power. Langham would not be able to raise the money required to cover up those forgeries, and on the basis of silence he would make his bargain with the lawyer. Gilmore pondered this problem for the better part of an hour, considering it from every conceivable angle; then suddenly the expression of his face changed, he forgot for the moment his ambitions and his desires, his hatred and his love; he thought he heard the click of the old-fashioned latch on the front gate. He remembered that it could be raised only with difficulty. Next he heard the sound of footsteps approaching the house. They seemed to come haltingly down the narrow brick path which the wind had swept clear of snow. Mr. Gilmore was blessed with a steadiness of nerve known to but few men, yet the hour and the occasion had their influence with him. He stood erect: now the steps which had paused for a moment seemed to recede; it was as if the intruder, whoever he might be, had come almost to the front door and had then, for some inexplicable reason, gone back to the street. Gilmore even imagined him as standing there with his hand on the latch of the gate. He was tempted to rouse his two companions, but he did not, and then, as he still stood with his senses tense, he heard the steps again approach the front door. With a glance in the direction of the colonel and his nephew to assure himself that they still slept, Gilmore rather shamefacedly slipped his right hand under the tails of his coat, tiptoed into the hall and paused there close by the parlor door. The steps

times

How many times the word 'times' appears in the text?

with a gasp. He collapsed again, and again the colonel, whose gloved hand still retained its hold on his collar, set him on his trembling legs with admirable expertness. "I tell you he's dead!" cried Mr. Shrimplin, lost to everything but that one dreadful fact. "Who's dead?" demanded the colonel. "Stand up, man, don't fall about like that or you may do yourself some injury!" for Mr. Shrimplin seemed about to collapse once more. "Old man McBride, Colonel--if he ain't dead I wish I may never see death!" "Dead!" cried the colonel. "Archibald McBride dead!" He released his hold on Mr. Shrimplin and took a step toward the door; Shrimplin, however, detained him with a shaking hand, though he was calmer now. "Colonel, you'd better be careful, he's lying there in a pool of blood; some one's killed him for his money! How do we know the murderer ain't there!" This conjecture was made to the empty street, for Colonel Harbison had entered the store. "Why does he want to leave me like that!" wailed Shrimplin, and his panic threatened a return. He dragged himself to the door. Here he paused, since he could not bring himself to enter, for before his eyes was the ghastly vision of that old man huddled on the blood-stained floor. He heard the colonel's steps echo down the long room, and when their sound ceased he knew he was standing beside the dead man. After what seemed an age of waiting the steps sounded again, and a moment later the colonel's tall form filled the doorway. "Andy!" said the colonel. Mr. Shrimplin turned with a start. At his back within reach of his hand stood Andy Gilmore. He had been utterly unaware of the gambler's approach, but now conscious of it he dropped in a miserable heap on the door-sill, while the white and unfamiliar world reeled before his bleached blue eyes; it was the very drunkenness of fear. "Howdy, Colonel," said the gambler, as he gave Harbison a half-military salute. He admired the colonel, who had once threatened to horsewhip him if he ever permitted his nephew, Watt, to enter his rooms. "Come here, Andy!" ordered the colonel briefly. "God's sake, Colonel!" gasped the wretched little lamplighter, struggling to his feet, "don't leave me here--" "What's wrong, Colonel?" asked Gilmore. "Archibald McBride's been murdered!" Mr. Gilmore took the butt of the half-smoked cigar from between his teeth, tossed it into the gutter, and pushing past Mr. Shrimplin entered the room. Colonel Harbison, a step or two in advance of his companion, led the way to the rear of the store. The colonel paused, and Gilmore gained a place at his elbow. "You are sure he's dead?" questioned the gambler. Kneeling beside the crumpled figure Gilmore slipped his hand in between the body and the floor; his manner was cool and businesslike. After a moment he withdrew his hand and looked, up into the colonel's face. "Well?" asked the colonel. "Oh, he's dead, all right!" Gilmore glanced about him, and the colonel's eyes following, they both discovered that the door leading into the side yard was partly open. "He went that way, eh, Colonel?" "It's altogether likely," agreed the veteran. "It's a nasty business!" said Gilmore reflectively. "Shocking!" snapped the colonel. "He took big chances," commented the gambler, "living the way he did." He spoke of the dead man. "Poor old man!" said the colonel pityingly. What had it all amounted to, those chances for the sake of gain, which Gilmore had in mind. "He can't have been dead very long," said Gilmore. "Did _you_ find him, Colonel?" he asked as he stood erect. "No, Shrimplin found him." Again the two men looked about them. On the floor by the counter at their right was a heavy sledge. Gilmore called Harbison's attention to this. "I guess the job was done with that," he said. "Possibly," agreed Harbison. Gilmore picked up the sledge and examined it narrowly. "Yes, you can see, there is blood on it." He handed it to Harbison, who stepped under the nearest lamp with the clumsy weapon in his hand. "You are right, Andy!" and he glanced at the rude instrument of death with a look of repugnance on his keen sensitive face, then he carefully, placed it under the wooden counter. "Horrible!" he muttered to himself. "It was no joke for him!" said the gambler, catching the last word. "But some one was bound to try this dodge sooner or later. Why, as far back as I can remember, people said he kept his money hidden away at the bottom of nail kegs and under heaps of scrap-iron." He took a cigar from his pocket, bit off the end, and struck a match. "Well, I wouldn't want to be the other fellow, Colonel; I'd be in all kinds of a panic; it takes nerve for a job like this." "It's a shocking circumstance," said the colonel. "I wonder if it paid!" speculated the gambler. "And I wonder who'll get what he leaves. Has he any family or relatives?" "No, not so far as any one knows. He came here many years ago, a close-mouthed Scotchman, who never had any intimates, never married, and never spoke of his private affairs." There was a slight commotion at the door. They could hear Shrimplin's agitated voice, and a moment later two men, chance passers-by with whom he had been speaking, shook themselves free of the little lamplighter and entered the room. The new-comers nodded to the colonel and Gilmore as they paused to stare mutely at the body on the floor. "He bled like a stuck pig!" said one of the men at last. He was a ragged slouching creature with a splotched and bloated face half hidden by a bristling red beard. He glanced at Gilmore for an uncertain instant out of a pair of small shifty eyes. "It's murder, ain't it, boss?" he added. "No doubt about that, Joe!" rejoined the gambler. "I suppose it was robbery?" said the other man, who had not spoken before. "Very likely," answered the colonel. "We have not examined the place, however; we shall wait for the proper officials." "Who do you want, Colonel?" "Coroner Taylor, and I suppose the sheriff," replied Harbison. The man nodded. "All right, I'll bring them; and say, what about the prosecuting attorney?" as he turned to leave. "Yes, bring Moxlow, too, if you can find him." The man hurried from the room. Gilmore leaned against the counter and smoked imperturbably. Joe Montgomery, with his great slouching shoulders arched, and his grimy hands buried deep in his trousers pockets, stared at the dead man in stolid wonder. Colonel Harbison's glance sought the same object but with a sensitive shrinking as from an ugly brutal thing. A clock ticked loudly in the office; there was the occasional fall of cinders from the grate of the rusted stove that heated the place; these were sounds that neither Gilmore nor the colonel had heard before. Presently a lean black cat stole from the office and sprang upon the counter; it purred softly. "Hello, puss!" said the gambler, putting out a hand. The cat stole closer. "I guess I'll have to take you home with me, eh? This ain't a place for unprotected females!" The cat crept back and forth under his caressing touch. At the street-door Shrimplin appeared and disappeared, now his head was thrust into the room, and now his nose was flattened against the dingy show-windows; from neither point could he quite command the view he desired nor could he bring himself to enter the building; then he vanished entirely, but after a brief interval they heard his voice. He was evidently speaking with some one in the street. A little crowd was rapidly gathering about him, but it disintegrated almost immediately, his listeners abandoning him to hurry into the store. "You must stand back, all of you!" said the colonel. "Unless you are very careful you may destroy important evidence!" The crowd assembled itself silently for the most part; here and there a man removed his hat, or made some whispered comment, or asked some eager low-voiced question of Gilmore or the colonel. Men stood on boxes, on nail kegs, and on counters. Except for the little circle left about the dead man on the floor, every vantage point of observation was soon occupied. It was scarcely half an hour since Shrimplin had fallen speechless into Colonel Harbison's arms, yet fully two hundred men had gathered in that long room or were struggling about the door to gain admittance to it. At a suggestion from Harbison, the gambler, followed by Joe, elbowed his way to the front door, which in spite of the protest of those outside, he closed and locked. A moment later, however, he opened it to admit Doctor Taylor, the coroner, and Conklin, the sheriff. The latter instantly set about clearing the room. Gilmore and the colonel remained with the officials and during the succeeding ten minutes the gambler, who had kept his post at the door, opened, it to Moxlow, young Watt Harbison and two policemen. As the coroner finished his examination of the body, the sound of wheels was heard in the Square and an undertaker's wagon drew up to the door. The murdered man was placed on a stretcher and covered with a black cloth, then four men raised the stretcher and for the last time the old merchant passed out under his creaking sign into the night. "I've agreed to watch at the house, Andy," said Colonel Harbison. "I want you and Watt to come with me." The gambler lighted a fresh cigar and the three men left the store. On the Square groups of men discussed the murder. Though none was permitted to enter the store, the windows afforded occasional glimpses of the little group of officials within, until a policeman closed and fastened the heavy wooden shutters. Then the crowd slowly and reluctantly dispersed. Meanwhile the town marshal, under cover of the excitement, had descended on the gas house where tramps congregated of winter nights for warmth and shelter. Here he found shivering over a can of beer, two homeless wretches, whom he arrested as suspicious characters. After this, official activity languished, for the official mind could think of nothing more to do. With the scattering of the crowd on the Square, Shrimplin climbed into his cart and drove off home. The smother of wind-driven snow still enveloped the, town, the very air seemed charged with mystery and horror, and before the little lamplighter's eyes was ever the haunting vision of the murdered man. He drove into the alley back of his house, unhitched Bill and led him into the barn. His torch made the gloom of the place more terrifying than utter darkness would have been. Suppose the murderer should be hiding there! Mr. Shrimplin's mind fastened on the hay-mow as the most likely place of concealment, and the cold sweat ran from him in icy streams; he could, almost see the murderer's evil eyes fixed upon him from the blackness above. But at last Bill was stripped of his harness, and the little lamplighter, escaping from the barn with its fancied terrors, hurried across his small back yard to his kitchen door. "Well!" said Mrs. Shrimplin, as he entered the room. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever think it worth your while to come home!" "What's the bell been ringing for?" asked Custer. Mrs. Shrimplin was seated by the table, which was littered with her sewing; Custer occupied his usual chair by the stove, and it was evident that they knew nothing of the tragedy in which Mr. Shrimplin had played so important, and as he now felt, so worthy a part. "I suppose I've been out quite a time, and I may say I've seen times, too! I guess there ain't no one in the town fitter to say they seen times than just me!" The light and comfort of his own pleasant kitchen had quite restored Mr. Shrimplin. "I may say I seen times!" he repeated significantly. "There's something doing in this here old town after all! I take back a heap of the hard things I've said about it; a feller can scare up a little excitement if he knows where to look for it. I ain't bragging none, but I guess you'll hear my name mentioned--I guess you'll even see it in print in the newspapers!" He warmed his cold hands over the stove. "Throw in a little more coal, sonny; I'm half froze, but I guess that's the worst any one can say of me!" "You make much of it, whatever it is," said Mrs. Shrimplin. "Maybe I do and maybe I don't," equivocated Mr. Shrimplin genially. "Maybe you're not above telling a body what kept you out half the night?" inquired his wife. "If you done and seen what I've did and saw," replied Mr. Shrimplin impressively, "you'd look for a little respect in your own home." "I'd be a heap quicker telling about it," said Mrs. Shrimplin. Mr. Shrimplin turned to Custer. "I guess, you're thinking it was a burglar; but, sonny, it wasn't no burglar--so you got another guess coming to you," he concluded benevolently. "I know!" cried Custer. "Some one's been killed!" "Exactly!" said Mr. Shrimplin with increasing benevolence. "Some one has been killed!" "You done it!" cried Custer. "I found the party," admitted Mr. Shrimplin with calm dignity. "Oh!" But perhaps Custer's first emotion was on the whole one of disappointment. "How you talk!" said Mrs. Shrimplin. "I reckon I might say more, most any one would," retorted Mr. Shrimplin quietly. "It was old man McBride--someone's murdered him for his money; I never seen the town so on end over anything before, but whoever wants to be well posted's got to come to me for the particulars. I seen the old man before Colonel Harbison seen him, I seen him before Andy Gilmore seen him, I seen him before the coroner seen him, or the sheriff or _any one_ seen him! I was on the spot ahead of 'em all. If any one wants to know how he looked just after he was killed, they got to come to me to find out. Colonel Harbison can't tell 'em, and Andy Gilmore can't tell 'em; it's only me knows them particulars!" The effect of this stirring declaration was quite all he had hoped for. Out of the tail of his eye he saw that Mrs. Shrimplin was, as she afterward freely confessed, taken aback. As for Custer, he had forgotten his disappointment that a death by violence had occurred for which his father was not directly responsible. "Did you see the man that killed old Mr. McBride?" asked Custer, breaking the breathless spell that was upon him. "No; if I'd been just about fifteen minutes sooner I'd have seen him; but I was just about that much too late, sonny. I guess he's a whole lot better off, though." "What would you have done if you'd seen him?" Custer's voice sank to a whisper. "Well, I don't pack a gun for nothing. If I'd seen him there, he'd had to go 'round to the jail with me. I guess I could have coaxed him there; I was ready for to offer extra inducements!" "And does everybody know you seen old Mr. McBride the first of any?" asked Custer. "I guess they do; I ain't afraid about that. Colonel Harbison's too much of a gentleman to claim any credit that ain't his; he'd be the first one to own up that he don't deserve no credit." "What took you into McBride's store? You hadn't no errand there." Mrs. Shrimplin was a careful and acquisitive wife. "I allow I made an errand there," said Mr. Shrimplin bridling. "I reckon many another man might have thought he hadn't no errand there either, but I feel different about them things. I was just turned into the Square when along comes young John North--" "What was he doing there?" suddenly asked Mrs. Shrimplin. "I expect he was attending strictly to his own business," retorted Mr. Shrimplin, offended by the utter irrelevancy of the question. "Go on, pal" begged Custer. He felt that his mother's interruptions were positively cruel, and--so like a woman! "Me and young John North passed the time of day," continued Mr. Shrimplin, thus abjured, "and I started around the north side of the Square to light the lamp on old man McBride's own corner. If I'd knowed then--" he paused impressively, "if I'd just knowed then, that was my time! I could have laid hands on the murderer. He was there somewheres, most likely he was watching me; well, maybe it was all for the best, I don't know as a married man's got any right to take chances. Anyway, I got to within, well--I should say, thirty feet of that lamp-post when all of a sudden Bill began to act up. You never saw a horse act up like he done! He rose in his britching and then the other end of him come up and he acted like he wanted to set down on the singletree!" "Why did he do that?" asked Custer. "Well, I guess you've got some few things to learn, Custer;" said Mr. Shrimplin indulgently. "He smelt blood--that's what he smelt!" "Oh!" gasped Custer. "I've knowed it to happen before. It's instinct," explained Shrimplin. "'Singular,' says I, and out I jumps to have a look about. I walked to the lamp-post, and then I seen what I hadn't seen before, that old man McBride's store door was open, so I stepped on to the sidewalk intending to close it, but as I put my hand on the knob I seen where the snow had drifted into the room, so I knew the door must have been open some little time. That's mighty odd, I thinks, and then it sort of come over me the way Bill had acted, and I went along into the store in pretty considerable of a hurry." "Were you afraid?" demanded Custer in an awe-struck whisper. "I'll tell you the truth, Custer, I wasn't. I own I'd drawed my gun, wishing to be on the safe side. First thing I noticed was that the lamps hadn't been turned up, though they was all lit. I got back to the end of the counter when I came to a halt, for there in a heap on the floor was old man McBride, with his head mashed in where some one had hit him with a sledge. There was blood all over the floor, and it was a mighty sickenin' spectacle. I sort of looked around hoping I'd see the murderer, but he'd lit out, and then I went back to the front of the store, where I seen Colonel Harbison coming across the Square. I told him what I'd seen and he went inside to look; while he was looking, along come Andy Gilmore and I told him, too, and he went in. They knowed the murderer wasn't there, that I'd been in ahead of them. After, that the people seemed to come from every direction; then presently some one started to ring the town bell and that fetched more people, until the Square in front of the store was packed and jammed with 'em. Everybody' wanted to hear about it first-hand from me; they wanted the _full particulars_ from the only one who knowed 'em." Mr. Shrimplin paused for breath. The recollection of his splendid publicity was dazzling. He imagined the morrow with its possibility of social triumph; he went as far as to feel that Mrs. Shrimplin now had a certain sneaking respect for him. "Did you see tracks in the snow?" demanded Custer. "No, I didn't see nothing," declared Mr. Shrimplin. "You seen young John North." It was Mrs. Shrimplin who spoke. "Well, yes, I seen young John North--I said I seen him!" CHAPTER SIX PUTTING ON THE SCREWS A score of men and boys followed the undertaker's wagon to the small frame cottage that had been Archibald McBride's home for half a century, and a group of these assembled about the gate as the wagon drew up before it. Along the quiet street, windows were raised and doors were opened. It was perhaps the first time, as it was to be the last, that Archibald McBride's neighbors took note of his home-coming. His keys had been found and intrusted to one of the policemen who accompanied the undertaker and his men; now, as the wagon came to a stand, this officer sprang to the ground, and pushing open the gate went quickly up the path to the front door. There in the shelter of the porch he paused to light a lantern, then he tried key after key until he found the one that fitted the lock; he opened the door and entered the house, the undertaker following him. A second officer stationed himself at the door and kept back the crowd. Their preparations were soon made and the two men reappeared on the porch. "It's all right," the undertaker said, and four men raised the stretcher again and carried the old merchant into the house. At this juncture Colonel Harbison, followed by his nephew and Gilmore, made his way through the crowd before the door. Gilmore, even, gave an involuntary shudder as they entered the small hall lighted by the single lantern, while the colonel could have wished himself anywhere else; he had come from a sense of duty; he had known McBride as well as any one in Mount Hope had known him, and it had seemed a lack of respect to the dead man to leave him to the care of the merely curious; but he was painfully conscious of the still presence in the parlor; he felt that they were unwelcome intruders in the home of that austere old man, who had made no friends, who had no intimates, but had lived according to his choice, solitary and alone. The colonel and Watt Harbison followed the gambler into what had been the old merchant's sitting-room. There were two lamps on the chimneypiece, both of which Gilmore lighted. "That's a whole lot better," he said. "Anything more we can do, gentlemen?" asked the undertaker, coming into the room. "Nothing, thank you," answered the colonel in a tone of abstraction, and he felt a sense of relief when the officials had gone their way into the night, leaving him and his two companions to their vigil. Now for the first time they had leisure and opportunity to look about them. It was a poor enough place, all things considered; the furniture was dingy with age and neglect, for Archibald McBride had kept no servant; a worn and faded carpet covered the floor; there was an engraving of Washington Crossing the Delaware and a few old-fashioned woodcuts on the wall; at one side of the room was a desk, opposite it a rusted sheet-iron stove in which Watt Harbison was already starting a fire; there was a scant assortment of uncomfortable chairs, a table, with one leg bandaged, and near the desk an old mahogany davenport. "This wouldn't have suited you, eh, Colonel?" said Gilmore at last. "He could hardly be said to live here, he merely came here to sleep," answered the colonel. "No, he couldn't have cared for anything but the one thing," said Gilmore. "Were you ever here before, Colonel?" he added. "Never." "I don't suppose half a dozen people in the town were ever inside his door until to-night," said Watt Harbison, speaking for the first time. Gilmore turned to look at the colonel's nephew as if he had only that moment become aware of his presence. What he saw did not impress him greatly, for young Watt, save for an unusually large head, was much like other young men of his class. His speech was soft, his face beardless and his gray eyes gazed steadily but without curiosity on, what was for him, an uncliented world. For the eighteen months that he had been an "attorney and counselor at law" the detail of office rent had been taken care of by the colonel. "Sort of makes the game he played seem rotten poor sport," commented Gilmore, replying to the nephew but looking at the uncle. The colonel was silent. "Rotten poor sport!" repeated Gilmore. "Who'll come in for his property?" asked Watt Harbison. "Oh, some one will claim that," said Gilmore. "They were saying down at the store, that once, years ago, a brother of his turned up, here, but McBride got rid of him." "Suppose we have a look around before we settle ourselves for the night," suggested Watt Harbison. "Will you join us, Colonel?" asked the gambler. But the colonel shook his head. Gilmore took up one of the lamps as he spoke and opened a door that led into what had evidently once been a dining-room, but it was now only partly furnished; back of this was a kitchen, and beyond the kitchen a woodshed. Returning to the front of the house, they mounted to the floor above. Here had been the old merchant's bedroom; adjoining it were two smaller rooms, one of which had been used as a place of storage for trunks and boxes and broken bits of furniture; the other room was empty. "We may as well go back down-stairs," said the gambler, halting, lamp in hand, in the center of the empty room. Harbison nodded, and leading the way to the floor below, they rejoined the colonel in the sitting-room, where they made themselves as comfortable as possible. The colonel and his nephew talked in subdued tones, principally of the murdered man; they had no desire to exclude their companion from the conversation, but Gilmore displayed no interest in what was said. He sat at the colonel's elbow, preoccupied and thoughtful, smoking cigar after cigar. Presently the colonel and his nephew lapsed into silence. Their silence seemed to rouse Gilmore to what was passing about him. He glanced at the elder Harbison. "You look tired, Colonel," he said. "Why don't you stretch out on that lounge yonder and take a nap?" "I think I shall, Andy, if you and Watt don't mind." And the colonel quitted his chair. "Better put your coat over you," advised the gambler. He watched the colonel as he made himself comfortable on the lounge, then he lighted a fresh cigar, tilted his chair against the wall and with head thrown back studied the ceiling. Watt Harbison made one or two tentative attempts at conversation, to which Gilmore briefly responded, then the young fellow also became thoughtful. He fell to watching the gambler's strong profile which the lamp silhouetted against the opposite wall; then drowsiness completely overcame him and he slept in his chair with his head fallen forward on his breast. Gilmore, alert and sleepless, smoked on; he was thinking of Evelyn Langham. After his interview with her husband that afternoon he had gone to his own apartment. His bedroom adjoined North's parlor and through the flimsy lath and plaster partition he had distinctly heard a woman's voice. The sound of that voice and the suspicion it instantly begot added to his furious hatred of North, for he had long suspected that something more than friendship existed between Marshall Langham's wife and Marshall Langham's friend. "Damn him!" thought the gambler. "I'll fix him yet!" And he puffed at his cigar viciously. He had made sure that North's mysterious visitor was Evelyn Langham, for when she left the building he himself had followed her. Out of the dregs of his nature this foolish mad passion of his had arisen to torture him; he had never spoken with Langham's wife, probably she knew him by sight, nothing more; but still his game, the waiting game he had been forced to play, was working itself out better than he had even hoped! At last he had Marshall Langham where he wanted him, where he could make him feel his power. Langham would not be able to raise the money required to cover up those forgeries, and on the basis of silence he would make his bargain with the lawyer. Gilmore pondered this problem for the better part of an hour, considering it from every conceivable angle; then suddenly the expression of his face changed, he forgot for the moment his ambitions and his desires, his hatred and his love; he thought he heard the click of the old-fashioned latch on the front gate. He remembered that it could be raised only with difficulty. Next he heard the sound of footsteps approaching the house. They seemed to come haltingly down the narrow brick path which the wind had swept clear of snow. Mr. Gilmore was blessed with a steadiness of nerve known to but few men, yet the hour and the occasion had their influence with him. He stood erect: now the steps which had paused for a moment seemed to recede; it was as if the intruder, whoever he might be, had come almost to the front door and had then, for some inexplicable reason, gone back to the street. Gilmore even imagined him as standing there with his hand on the latch of the gate. He was tempted to rouse his two companions, but he did not, and then, as he still stood with his senses tense, he heard the steps again approach the front door. With a glance in the direction of the colonel and his nephew to assure himself that they still slept, Gilmore rather shamefacedly slipped his right hand under the tails of his coat, tiptoed into the hall and paused there close by the parlor door. The steps

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with a gasp. He collapsed again, and again the colonel, whose gloved hand still retained its hold on his collar, set him on his trembling legs with admirable expertness. "I tell you he's dead!" cried Mr. Shrimplin, lost to everything but that one dreadful fact. "Who's dead?" demanded the colonel. "Stand up, man, don't fall about like that or you may do yourself some injury!" for Mr. Shrimplin seemed about to collapse once more. "Old man McBride, Colonel--if he ain't dead I wish I may never see death!" "Dead!" cried the colonel. "Archibald McBride dead!" He released his hold on Mr. Shrimplin and took a step toward the door; Shrimplin, however, detained him with a shaking hand, though he was calmer now. "Colonel, you'd better be careful, he's lying there in a pool of blood; some one's killed him for his money! How do we know the murderer ain't there!" This conjecture was made to the empty street, for Colonel Harbison had entered the store. "Why does he want to leave me like that!" wailed Shrimplin, and his panic threatened a return. He dragged himself to the door. Here he paused, since he could not bring himself to enter, for before his eyes was the ghastly vision of that old man huddled on the blood-stained floor. He heard the colonel's steps echo down the long room, and when their sound ceased he knew he was standing beside the dead man. After what seemed an age of waiting the steps sounded again, and a moment later the colonel's tall form filled the doorway. "Andy!" said the colonel. Mr. Shrimplin turned with a start. At his back within reach of his hand stood Andy Gilmore. He had been utterly unaware of the gambler's approach, but now conscious of it he dropped in a miserable heap on the door-sill, while the white and unfamiliar world reeled before his bleached blue eyes; it was the very drunkenness of fear. "Howdy, Colonel," said the gambler, as he gave Harbison a half-military salute. He admired the colonel, who had once threatened to horsewhip him if he ever permitted his nephew, Watt, to enter his rooms. "Come here, Andy!" ordered the colonel briefly. "God's sake, Colonel!" gasped the wretched little lamplighter, struggling to his feet, "don't leave me here--" "What's wrong, Colonel?" asked Gilmore. "Archibald McBride's been murdered!" Mr. Gilmore took the butt of the half-smoked cigar from between his teeth, tossed it into the gutter, and pushing past Mr. Shrimplin entered the room. Colonel Harbison, a step or two in advance of his companion, led the way to the rear of the store. The colonel paused, and Gilmore gained a place at his elbow. "You are sure he's dead?" questioned the gambler. Kneeling beside the crumpled figure Gilmore slipped his hand in between the body and the floor; his manner was cool and businesslike. After a moment he withdrew his hand and looked, up into the colonel's face. "Well?" asked the colonel. "Oh, he's dead, all right!" Gilmore glanced about him, and the colonel's eyes following, they both discovered that the door leading into the side yard was partly open. "He went that way, eh, Colonel?" "It's altogether likely," agreed the veteran. "It's a nasty business!" said Gilmore reflectively. "Shocking!" snapped the colonel. "He took big chances," commented the gambler, "living the way he did." He spoke of the dead man. "Poor old man!" said the colonel pityingly. What had it all amounted to, those chances for the sake of gain, which Gilmore had in mind. "He can't have been dead very long," said Gilmore. "Did _you_ find him, Colonel?" he asked as he stood erect. "No, Shrimplin found him." Again the two men looked about them. On the floor by the counter at their right was a heavy sledge. Gilmore called Harbison's attention to this. "I guess the job was done with that," he said. "Possibly," agreed Harbison. Gilmore picked up the sledge and examined it narrowly. "Yes, you can see, there is blood on it." He handed it to Harbison, who stepped under the nearest lamp with the clumsy weapon in his hand. "You are right, Andy!" and he glanced at the rude instrument of death with a look of repugnance on his keen sensitive face, then he carefully, placed it under the wooden counter. "Horrible!" he muttered to himself. "It was no joke for him!" said the gambler, catching the last word. "But some one was bound to try this dodge sooner or later. Why, as far back as I can remember, people said he kept his money hidden away at the bottom of nail kegs and under heaps of scrap-iron." He took a cigar from his pocket, bit off the end, and struck a match. "Well, I wouldn't want to be the other fellow, Colonel; I'd be in all kinds of a panic; it takes nerve for a job like this." "It's a shocking circumstance," said the colonel. "I wonder if it paid!" speculated the gambler. "And I wonder who'll get what he leaves. Has he any family or relatives?" "No, not so far as any one knows. He came here many years ago, a close-mouthed Scotchman, who never had any intimates, never married, and never spoke of his private affairs." There was a slight commotion at the door. They could hear Shrimplin's agitated voice, and a moment later two men, chance passers-by with whom he had been speaking, shook themselves free of the little lamplighter and entered the room. The new-comers nodded to the colonel and Gilmore as they paused to stare mutely at the body on the floor. "He bled like a stuck pig!" said one of the men at last. He was a ragged slouching creature with a splotched and bloated face half hidden by a bristling red beard. He glanced at Gilmore for an uncertain instant out of a pair of small shifty eyes. "It's murder, ain't it, boss?" he added. "No doubt about that, Joe!" rejoined the gambler. "I suppose it was robbery?" said the other man, who had not spoken before. "Very likely," answered the colonel. "We have not examined the place, however; we shall wait for the proper officials." "Who do you want, Colonel?" "Coroner Taylor, and I suppose the sheriff," replied Harbison. The man nodded. "All right, I'll bring them; and say, what about the prosecuting attorney?" as he turned to leave. "Yes, bring Moxlow, too, if you can find him." The man hurried from the room. Gilmore leaned against the counter and smoked imperturbably. Joe Montgomery, with his great slouching shoulders arched, and his grimy hands buried deep in his trousers pockets, stared at the dead man in stolid wonder. Colonel Harbison's glance sought the same object but with a sensitive shrinking as from an ugly brutal thing. A clock ticked loudly in the office; there was the occasional fall of cinders from the grate of the rusted stove that heated the place; these were sounds that neither Gilmore nor the colonel had heard before. Presently a lean black cat stole from the office and sprang upon the counter; it purred softly. "Hello, puss!" said the gambler, putting out a hand. The cat stole closer. "I guess I'll have to take you home with me, eh? This ain't a place for unprotected females!" The cat crept back and forth under his caressing touch. At the street-door Shrimplin appeared and disappeared, now his head was thrust into the room, and now his nose was flattened against the dingy show-windows; from neither point could he quite command the view he desired nor could he bring himself to enter the building; then he vanished entirely, but after a brief interval they heard his voice. He was evidently speaking with some one in the street. A little crowd was rapidly gathering about him, but it disintegrated almost immediately, his listeners abandoning him to hurry into the store. "You must stand back, all of you!" said the colonel. "Unless you are very careful you may destroy important evidence!" The crowd assembled itself silently for the most part; here and there a man removed his hat, or made some whispered comment, or asked some eager low-voiced question of Gilmore or the colonel. Men stood on boxes, on nail kegs, and on counters. Except for the little circle left about the dead man on the floor, every vantage point of observation was soon occupied. It was scarcely half an hour since Shrimplin had fallen speechless into Colonel Harbison's arms, yet fully two hundred men had gathered in that long room or were struggling about the door to gain admittance to it. At a suggestion from Harbison, the gambler, followed by Joe, elbowed his way to the front door, which in spite of the protest of those outside, he closed and locked. A moment later, however, he opened it to admit Doctor Taylor, the coroner, and Conklin, the sheriff. The latter instantly set about clearing the room. Gilmore and the colonel remained with the officials and during the succeeding ten minutes the gambler, who had kept his post at the door, opened, it to Moxlow, young Watt Harbison and two policemen. As the coroner finished his examination of the body, the sound of wheels was heard in the Square and an undertaker's wagon drew up to the door. The murdered man was placed on a stretcher and covered with a black cloth, then four men raised the stretcher and for the last time the old merchant passed out under his creaking sign into the night. "I've agreed to watch at the house, Andy," said Colonel Harbison. "I want you and Watt to come with me." The gambler lighted a fresh cigar and the three men left the store. On the Square groups of men discussed the murder. Though none was permitted to enter the store, the windows afforded occasional glimpses of the little group of officials within, until a policeman closed and fastened the heavy wooden shutters. Then the crowd slowly and reluctantly dispersed. Meanwhile the town marshal, under cover of the excitement, had descended on the gas house where tramps congregated of winter nights for warmth and shelter. Here he found shivering over a can of beer, two homeless wretches, whom he arrested as suspicious characters. After this, official activity languished, for the official mind could think of nothing more to do. With the scattering of the crowd on the Square, Shrimplin climbed into his cart and drove off home. The smother of wind-driven snow still enveloped the, town, the very air seemed charged with mystery and horror, and before the little lamplighter's eyes was ever the haunting vision of the murdered man. He drove into the alley back of his house, unhitched Bill and led him into the barn. His torch made the gloom of the place more terrifying than utter darkness would have been. Suppose the murderer should be hiding there! Mr. Shrimplin's mind fastened on the hay-mow as the most likely place of concealment, and the cold sweat ran from him in icy streams; he could, almost see the murderer's evil eyes fixed upon him from the blackness above. But at last Bill was stripped of his harness, and the little lamplighter, escaping from the barn with its fancied terrors, hurried across his small back yard to his kitchen door. "Well!" said Mrs. Shrimplin, as he entered the room. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever think it worth your while to come home!" "What's the bell been ringing for?" asked Custer. Mrs. Shrimplin was seated by the table, which was littered with her sewing; Custer occupied his usual chair by the stove, and it was evident that they knew nothing of the tragedy in which Mr. Shrimplin had played so important, and as he now felt, so worthy a part. "I suppose I've been out quite a time, and I may say I've seen times, too! I guess there ain't no one in the town fitter to say they seen times than just me!" The light and comfort of his own pleasant kitchen had quite restored Mr. Shrimplin. "I may say I seen times!" he repeated significantly. "There's something doing in this here old town after all! I take back a heap of the hard things I've said about it; a feller can scare up a little excitement if he knows where to look for it. I ain't bragging none, but I guess you'll hear my name mentioned--I guess you'll even see it in print in the newspapers!" He warmed his cold hands over the stove. "Throw in a little more coal, sonny; I'm half froze, but I guess that's the worst any one can say of me!" "You make much of it, whatever it is," said Mrs. Shrimplin. "Maybe I do and maybe I don't," equivocated Mr. Shrimplin genially. "Maybe you're not above telling a body what kept you out half the night?" inquired his wife. "If you done and seen what I've did and saw," replied Mr. Shrimplin impressively, "you'd look for a little respect in your own home." "I'd be a heap quicker telling about it," said Mrs. Shrimplin. Mr. Shrimplin turned to Custer. "I guess, you're thinking it was a burglar; but, sonny, it wasn't no burglar--so you got another guess coming to you," he concluded benevolently. "I know!" cried Custer. "Some one's been killed!" "Exactly!" said Mr. Shrimplin with increasing benevolence. "Some one has been killed!" "You done it!" cried Custer. "I found the party," admitted Mr. Shrimplin with calm dignity. "Oh!" But perhaps Custer's first emotion was on the whole one of disappointment. "How you talk!" said Mrs. Shrimplin. "I reckon I might say more, most any one would," retorted Mr. Shrimplin quietly. "It was old man McBride--someone's murdered him for his money; I never seen the town so on end over anything before, but whoever wants to be well posted's got to come to me for the particulars. I seen the old man before Colonel Harbison seen him, I seen him before Andy Gilmore seen him, I seen him before the coroner seen him, or the sheriff or _any one_ seen him! I was on the spot ahead of 'em all. If any one wants to know how he looked just after he was killed, they got to come to me to find out. Colonel Harbison can't tell 'em, and Andy Gilmore can't tell 'em; it's only me knows them particulars!" The effect of this stirring declaration was quite all he had hoped for. Out of the tail of his eye he saw that Mrs. Shrimplin was, as she afterward freely confessed, taken aback. As for Custer, he had forgotten his disappointment that a death by violence had occurred for which his father was not directly responsible. "Did you see the man that killed old Mr. McBride?" asked Custer, breaking the breathless spell that was upon him. "No; if I'd been just about fifteen minutes sooner I'd have seen him; but I was just about that much too late, sonny. I guess he's a whole lot better off, though." "What would you have done if you'd seen him?" Custer's voice sank to a whisper. "Well, I don't pack a gun for nothing. If I'd seen him there, he'd had to go 'round to the jail with me. I guess I could have coaxed him there; I was ready for to offer extra inducements!" "And does everybody know you seen old Mr. McBride the first of any?" asked Custer. "I guess they do; I ain't afraid about that. Colonel Harbison's too much of a gentleman to claim any credit that ain't his; he'd be the first one to own up that he don't deserve no credit." "What took you into McBride's store? You hadn't no errand there." Mrs. Shrimplin was a careful and acquisitive wife. "I allow I made an errand there," said Mr. Shrimplin bridling. "I reckon many another man might have thought he hadn't no errand there either, but I feel different about them things. I was just turned into the Square when along comes young John North--" "What was he doing there?" suddenly asked Mrs. Shrimplin. "I expect he was attending strictly to his own business," retorted Mr. Shrimplin, offended by the utter irrelevancy of the question. "Go on, pal" begged Custer. He felt that his mother's interruptions were positively cruel, and--so like a woman! "Me and young John North passed the time of day," continued Mr. Shrimplin, thus abjured, "and I started around the north side of the Square to light the lamp on old man McBride's own corner. If I'd knowed then--" he paused impressively, "if I'd just knowed then, that was my time! I could have laid hands on the murderer. He was there somewheres, most likely he was watching me; well, maybe it was all for the best, I don't know as a married man's got any right to take chances. Anyway, I got to within, well--I should say, thirty feet of that lamp-post when all of a sudden Bill began to act up. You never saw a horse act up like he done! He rose in his britching and then the other end of him come up and he acted like he wanted to set down on the singletree!" "Why did he do that?" asked Custer. "Well, I guess you've got some few things to learn, Custer;" said Mr. Shrimplin indulgently. "He smelt blood--that's what he smelt!" "Oh!" gasped Custer. "I've knowed it to happen before. It's instinct," explained Shrimplin. "'Singular,' says I, and out I jumps to have a look about. I walked to the lamp-post, and then I seen what I hadn't seen before, that old man McBride's store door was open, so I stepped on to the sidewalk intending to close it, but as I put my hand on the knob I seen where the snow had drifted into the room, so I knew the door must have been open some little time. That's mighty odd, I thinks, and then it sort of come over me the way Bill had acted, and I went along into the store in pretty considerable of a hurry." "Were you afraid?" demanded Custer in an awe-struck whisper. "I'll tell you the truth, Custer, I wasn't. I own I'd drawed my gun, wishing to be on the safe side. First thing I noticed was that the lamps hadn't been turned up, though they was all lit. I got back to the end of the counter when I came to a halt, for there in a heap on the floor was old man McBride, with his head mashed in where some one had hit him with a sledge. There was blood all over the floor, and it was a mighty sickenin' spectacle. I sort of looked around hoping I'd see the murderer, but he'd lit out, and then I went back to the front of the store, where I seen Colonel Harbison coming across the Square. I told him what I'd seen and he went inside to look; while he was looking, along come Andy Gilmore and I told him, too, and he went in. They knowed the murderer wasn't there, that I'd been in ahead of them. After, that the people seemed to come from every direction; then presently some one started to ring the town bell and that fetched more people, until the Square in front of the store was packed and jammed with 'em. Everybody' wanted to hear about it first-hand from me; they wanted the _full particulars_ from the only one who knowed 'em." Mr. Shrimplin paused for breath. The recollection of his splendid publicity was dazzling. He imagined the morrow with its possibility of social triumph; he went as far as to feel that Mrs. Shrimplin now had a certain sneaking respect for him. "Did you see tracks in the snow?" demanded Custer. "No, I didn't see nothing," declared Mr. Shrimplin. "You seen young John North." It was Mrs. Shrimplin who spoke. "Well, yes, I seen young John North--I said I seen him!" CHAPTER SIX PUTTING ON THE SCREWS A score of men and boys followed the undertaker's wagon to the small frame cottage that had been Archibald McBride's home for half a century, and a group of these assembled about the gate as the wagon drew up before it. Along the quiet street, windows were raised and doors were opened. It was perhaps the first time, as it was to be the last, that Archibald McBride's neighbors took note of his home-coming. His keys had been found and intrusted to one of the policemen who accompanied the undertaker and his men; now, as the wagon came to a stand, this officer sprang to the ground, and pushing open the gate went quickly up the path to the front door. There in the shelter of the porch he paused to light a lantern, then he tried key after key until he found the one that fitted the lock; he opened the door and entered the house, the undertaker following him. A second officer stationed himself at the door and kept back the crowd. Their preparations were soon made and the two men reappeared on the porch. "It's all right," the undertaker said, and four men raised the stretcher again and carried the old merchant into the house. At this juncture Colonel Harbison, followed by his nephew and Gilmore, made his way through the crowd before the door. Gilmore, even, gave an involuntary shudder as they entered the small hall lighted by the single lantern, while the colonel could have wished himself anywhere else; he had come from a sense of duty; he had known McBride as well as any one in Mount Hope had known him, and it had seemed a lack of respect to the dead man to leave him to the care of the merely curious; but he was painfully conscious of the still presence in the parlor; he felt that they were unwelcome intruders in the home of that austere old man, who had made no friends, who had no intimates, but had lived according to his choice, solitary and alone. The colonel and Watt Harbison followed the gambler into what had been the old merchant's sitting-room. There were two lamps on the chimneypiece, both of which Gilmore lighted. "That's a whole lot better," he said. "Anything more we can do, gentlemen?" asked the undertaker, coming into the room. "Nothing, thank you," answered the colonel in a tone of abstraction, and he felt a sense of relief when the officials had gone their way into the night, leaving him and his two companions to their vigil. Now for the first time they had leisure and opportunity to look about them. It was a poor enough place, all things considered; the furniture was dingy with age and neglect, for Archibald McBride had kept no servant; a worn and faded carpet covered the floor; there was an engraving of Washington Crossing the Delaware and a few old-fashioned woodcuts on the wall; at one side of the room was a desk, opposite it a rusted sheet-iron stove in which Watt Harbison was already starting a fire; there was a scant assortment of uncomfortable chairs, a table, with one leg bandaged, and near the desk an old mahogany davenport. "This wouldn't have suited you, eh, Colonel?" said Gilmore at last. "He could hardly be said to live here, he merely came here to sleep," answered the colonel. "No, he couldn't have cared for anything but the one thing," said Gilmore. "Were you ever here before, Colonel?" he added. "Never." "I don't suppose half a dozen people in the town were ever inside his door until to-night," said Watt Harbison, speaking for the first time. Gilmore turned to look at the colonel's nephew as if he had only that moment become aware of his presence. What he saw did not impress him greatly, for young Watt, save for an unusually large head, was much like other young men of his class. His speech was soft, his face beardless and his gray eyes gazed steadily but without curiosity on, what was for him, an uncliented world. For the eighteen months that he had been an "attorney and counselor at law" the detail of office rent had been taken care of by the colonel. "Sort of makes the game he played seem rotten poor sport," commented Gilmore, replying to the nephew but looking at the uncle. The colonel was silent. "Rotten poor sport!" repeated Gilmore. "Who'll come in for his property?" asked Watt Harbison. "Oh, some one will claim that," said Gilmore. "They were saying down at the store, that once, years ago, a brother of his turned up, here, but McBride got rid of him." "Suppose we have a look around before we settle ourselves for the night," suggested Watt Harbison. "Will you join us, Colonel?" asked the gambler. But the colonel shook his head. Gilmore took up one of the lamps as he spoke and opened a door that led into what had evidently once been a dining-room, but it was now only partly furnished; back of this was a kitchen, and beyond the kitchen a woodshed. Returning to the front of the house, they mounted to the floor above. Here had been the old merchant's bedroom; adjoining it were two smaller rooms, one of which had been used as a place of storage for trunks and boxes and broken bits of furniture; the other room was empty. "We may as well go back down-stairs," said the gambler, halting, lamp in hand, in the center of the empty room. Harbison nodded, and leading the way to the floor below, they rejoined the colonel in the sitting-room, where they made themselves as comfortable as possible. The colonel and his nephew talked in subdued tones, principally of the murdered man; they had no desire to exclude their companion from the conversation, but Gilmore displayed no interest in what was said. He sat at the colonel's elbow, preoccupied and thoughtful, smoking cigar after cigar. Presently the colonel and his nephew lapsed into silence. Their silence seemed to rouse Gilmore to what was passing about him. He glanced at the elder Harbison. "You look tired, Colonel," he said. "Why don't you stretch out on that lounge yonder and take a nap?" "I think I shall, Andy, if you and Watt don't mind." And the colonel quitted his chair. "Better put your coat over you," advised the gambler. He watched the colonel as he made himself comfortable on the lounge, then he lighted a fresh cigar, tilted his chair against the wall and with head thrown back studied the ceiling. Watt Harbison made one or two tentative attempts at conversation, to which Gilmore briefly responded, then the young fellow also became thoughtful. He fell to watching the gambler's strong profile which the lamp silhouetted against the opposite wall; then drowsiness completely overcame him and he slept in his chair with his head fallen forward on his breast. Gilmore, alert and sleepless, smoked on; he was thinking of Evelyn Langham. After his interview with her husband that afternoon he had gone to his own apartment. His bedroom adjoined North's parlor and through the flimsy lath and plaster partition he had distinctly heard a woman's voice. The sound of that voice and the suspicion it instantly begot added to his furious hatred of North, for he had long suspected that something more than friendship existed between Marshall Langham's wife and Marshall Langham's friend. "Damn him!" thought the gambler. "I'll fix him yet!" And he puffed at his cigar viciously. He had made sure that North's mysterious visitor was Evelyn Langham, for when she left the building he himself had followed her. Out of the dregs of his nature this foolish mad passion of his had arisen to torture him; he had never spoken with Langham's wife, probably she knew him by sight, nothing more; but still his game, the waiting game he had been forced to play, was working itself out better than he had even hoped! At last he had Marshall Langham where he wanted him, where he could make him feel his power. Langham would not be able to raise the money required to cover up those forgeries, and on the basis of silence he would make his bargain with the lawyer. Gilmore pondered this problem for the better part of an hour, considering it from every conceivable angle; then suddenly the expression of his face changed, he forgot for the moment his ambitions and his desires, his hatred and his love; he thought he heard the click of the old-fashioned latch on the front gate. He remembered that it could be raised only with difficulty. Next he heard the sound of footsteps approaching the house. They seemed to come haltingly down the narrow brick path which the wind had swept clear of snow. Mr. Gilmore was blessed with a steadiness of nerve known to but few men, yet the hour and the occasion had their influence with him. He stood erect: now the steps which had paused for a moment seemed to recede; it was as if the intruder, whoever he might be, had come almost to the front door and had then, for some inexplicable reason, gone back to the street. Gilmore even imagined him as standing there with his hand on the latch of the gate. He was tempted to rouse his two companions, but he did not, and then, as he still stood with his senses tense, he heard the steps again approach the front door. With a glance in the direction of the colonel and his nephew to assure himself that they still slept, Gilmore rather shamefacedly slipped his right hand under the tails of his coat, tiptoed into the hall and paused there close by the parlor door. The steps

self

How many times the word 'self' appears in the text?

with a gasp. He collapsed again, and again the colonel, whose gloved hand still retained its hold on his collar, set him on his trembling legs with admirable expertness. "I tell you he's dead!" cried Mr. Shrimplin, lost to everything but that one dreadful fact. "Who's dead?" demanded the colonel. "Stand up, man, don't fall about like that or you may do yourself some injury!" for Mr. Shrimplin seemed about to collapse once more. "Old man McBride, Colonel--if he ain't dead I wish I may never see death!" "Dead!" cried the colonel. "Archibald McBride dead!" He released his hold on Mr. Shrimplin and took a step toward the door; Shrimplin, however, detained him with a shaking hand, though he was calmer now. "Colonel, you'd better be careful, he's lying there in a pool of blood; some one's killed him for his money! How do we know the murderer ain't there!" This conjecture was made to the empty street, for Colonel Harbison had entered the store. "Why does he want to leave me like that!" wailed Shrimplin, and his panic threatened a return. He dragged himself to the door. Here he paused, since he could not bring himself to enter, for before his eyes was the ghastly vision of that old man huddled on the blood-stained floor. He heard the colonel's steps echo down the long room, and when their sound ceased he knew he was standing beside the dead man. After what seemed an age of waiting the steps sounded again, and a moment later the colonel's tall form filled the doorway. "Andy!" said the colonel. Mr. Shrimplin turned with a start. At his back within reach of his hand stood Andy Gilmore. He had been utterly unaware of the gambler's approach, but now conscious of it he dropped in a miserable heap on the door-sill, while the white and unfamiliar world reeled before his bleached blue eyes; it was the very drunkenness of fear. "Howdy, Colonel," said the gambler, as he gave Harbison a half-military salute. He admired the colonel, who had once threatened to horsewhip him if he ever permitted his nephew, Watt, to enter his rooms. "Come here, Andy!" ordered the colonel briefly. "God's sake, Colonel!" gasped the wretched little lamplighter, struggling to his feet, "don't leave me here--" "What's wrong, Colonel?" asked Gilmore. "Archibald McBride's been murdered!" Mr. Gilmore took the butt of the half-smoked cigar from between his teeth, tossed it into the gutter, and pushing past Mr. Shrimplin entered the room. Colonel Harbison, a step or two in advance of his companion, led the way to the rear of the store. The colonel paused, and Gilmore gained a place at his elbow. "You are sure he's dead?" questioned the gambler. Kneeling beside the crumpled figure Gilmore slipped his hand in between the body and the floor; his manner was cool and businesslike. After a moment he withdrew his hand and looked, up into the colonel's face. "Well?" asked the colonel. "Oh, he's dead, all right!" Gilmore glanced about him, and the colonel's eyes following, they both discovered that the door leading into the side yard was partly open. "He went that way, eh, Colonel?" "It's altogether likely," agreed the veteran. "It's a nasty business!" said Gilmore reflectively. "Shocking!" snapped the colonel. "He took big chances," commented the gambler, "living the way he did." He spoke of the dead man. "Poor old man!" said the colonel pityingly. What had it all amounted to, those chances for the sake of gain, which Gilmore had in mind. "He can't have been dead very long," said Gilmore. "Did _you_ find him, Colonel?" he asked as he stood erect. "No, Shrimplin found him." Again the two men looked about them. On the floor by the counter at their right was a heavy sledge. Gilmore called Harbison's attention to this. "I guess the job was done with that," he said. "Possibly," agreed Harbison. Gilmore picked up the sledge and examined it narrowly. "Yes, you can see, there is blood on it." He handed it to Harbison, who stepped under the nearest lamp with the clumsy weapon in his hand. "You are right, Andy!" and he glanced at the rude instrument of death with a look of repugnance on his keen sensitive face, then he carefully, placed it under the wooden counter. "Horrible!" he muttered to himself. "It was no joke for him!" said the gambler, catching the last word. "But some one was bound to try this dodge sooner or later. Why, as far back as I can remember, people said he kept his money hidden away at the bottom of nail kegs and under heaps of scrap-iron." He took a cigar from his pocket, bit off the end, and struck a match. "Well, I wouldn't want to be the other fellow, Colonel; I'd be in all kinds of a panic; it takes nerve for a job like this." "It's a shocking circumstance," said the colonel. "I wonder if it paid!" speculated the gambler. "And I wonder who'll get what he leaves. Has he any family or relatives?" "No, not so far as any one knows. He came here many years ago, a close-mouthed Scotchman, who never had any intimates, never married, and never spoke of his private affairs." There was a slight commotion at the door. They could hear Shrimplin's agitated voice, and a moment later two men, chance passers-by with whom he had been speaking, shook themselves free of the little lamplighter and entered the room. The new-comers nodded to the colonel and Gilmore as they paused to stare mutely at the body on the floor. "He bled like a stuck pig!" said one of the men at last. He was a ragged slouching creature with a splotched and bloated face half hidden by a bristling red beard. He glanced at Gilmore for an uncertain instant out of a pair of small shifty eyes. "It's murder, ain't it, boss?" he added. "No doubt about that, Joe!" rejoined the gambler. "I suppose it was robbery?" said the other man, who had not spoken before. "Very likely," answered the colonel. "We have not examined the place, however; we shall wait for the proper officials." "Who do you want, Colonel?" "Coroner Taylor, and I suppose the sheriff," replied Harbison. The man nodded. "All right, I'll bring them; and say, what about the prosecuting attorney?" as he turned to leave. "Yes, bring Moxlow, too, if you can find him." The man hurried from the room. Gilmore leaned against the counter and smoked imperturbably. Joe Montgomery, with his great slouching shoulders arched, and his grimy hands buried deep in his trousers pockets, stared at the dead man in stolid wonder. Colonel Harbison's glance sought the same object but with a sensitive shrinking as from an ugly brutal thing. A clock ticked loudly in the office; there was the occasional fall of cinders from the grate of the rusted stove that heated the place; these were sounds that neither Gilmore nor the colonel had heard before. Presently a lean black cat stole from the office and sprang upon the counter; it purred softly. "Hello, puss!" said the gambler, putting out a hand. The cat stole closer. "I guess I'll have to take you home with me, eh? This ain't a place for unprotected females!" The cat crept back and forth under his caressing touch. At the street-door Shrimplin appeared and disappeared, now his head was thrust into the room, and now his nose was flattened against the dingy show-windows; from neither point could he quite command the view he desired nor could he bring himself to enter the building; then he vanished entirely, but after a brief interval they heard his voice. He was evidently speaking with some one in the street. A little crowd was rapidly gathering about him, but it disintegrated almost immediately, his listeners abandoning him to hurry into the store. "You must stand back, all of you!" said the colonel. "Unless you are very careful you may destroy important evidence!" The crowd assembled itself silently for the most part; here and there a man removed his hat, or made some whispered comment, or asked some eager low-voiced question of Gilmore or the colonel. Men stood on boxes, on nail kegs, and on counters. Except for the little circle left about the dead man on the floor, every vantage point of observation was soon occupied. It was scarcely half an hour since Shrimplin had fallen speechless into Colonel Harbison's arms, yet fully two hundred men had gathered in that long room or were struggling about the door to gain admittance to it. At a suggestion from Harbison, the gambler, followed by Joe, elbowed his way to the front door, which in spite of the protest of those outside, he closed and locked. A moment later, however, he opened it to admit Doctor Taylor, the coroner, and Conklin, the sheriff. The latter instantly set about clearing the room. Gilmore and the colonel remained with the officials and during the succeeding ten minutes the gambler, who had kept his post at the door, opened, it to Moxlow, young Watt Harbison and two policemen. As the coroner finished his examination of the body, the sound of wheels was heard in the Square and an undertaker's wagon drew up to the door. The murdered man was placed on a stretcher and covered with a black cloth, then four men raised the stretcher and for the last time the old merchant passed out under his creaking sign into the night. "I've agreed to watch at the house, Andy," said Colonel Harbison. "I want you and Watt to come with me." The gambler lighted a fresh cigar and the three men left the store. On the Square groups of men discussed the murder. Though none was permitted to enter the store, the windows afforded occasional glimpses of the little group of officials within, until a policeman closed and fastened the heavy wooden shutters. Then the crowd slowly and reluctantly dispersed. Meanwhile the town marshal, under cover of the excitement, had descended on the gas house where tramps congregated of winter nights for warmth and shelter. Here he found shivering over a can of beer, two homeless wretches, whom he arrested as suspicious characters. After this, official activity languished, for the official mind could think of nothing more to do. With the scattering of the crowd on the Square, Shrimplin climbed into his cart and drove off home. The smother of wind-driven snow still enveloped the, town, the very air seemed charged with mystery and horror, and before the little lamplighter's eyes was ever the haunting vision of the murdered man. He drove into the alley back of his house, unhitched Bill and led him into the barn. His torch made the gloom of the place more terrifying than utter darkness would have been. Suppose the murderer should be hiding there! Mr. Shrimplin's mind fastened on the hay-mow as the most likely place of concealment, and the cold sweat ran from him in icy streams; he could, almost see the murderer's evil eyes fixed upon him from the blackness above. But at last Bill was stripped of his harness, and the little lamplighter, escaping from the barn with its fancied terrors, hurried across his small back yard to his kitchen door. "Well!" said Mrs. Shrimplin, as he entered the room. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever think it worth your while to come home!" "What's the bell been ringing for?" asked Custer. Mrs. Shrimplin was seated by the table, which was littered with her sewing; Custer occupied his usual chair by the stove, and it was evident that they knew nothing of the tragedy in which Mr. Shrimplin had played so important, and as he now felt, so worthy a part. "I suppose I've been out quite a time, and I may say I've seen times, too! I guess there ain't no one in the town fitter to say they seen times than just me!" The light and comfort of his own pleasant kitchen had quite restored Mr. Shrimplin. "I may say I seen times!" he repeated significantly. "There's something doing in this here old town after all! I take back a heap of the hard things I've said about it; a feller can scare up a little excitement if he knows where to look for it. I ain't bragging none, but I guess you'll hear my name mentioned--I guess you'll even see it in print in the newspapers!" He warmed his cold hands over the stove. "Throw in a little more coal, sonny; I'm half froze, but I guess that's the worst any one can say of me!" "You make much of it, whatever it is," said Mrs. Shrimplin. "Maybe I do and maybe I don't," equivocated Mr. Shrimplin genially. "Maybe you're not above telling a body what kept you out half the night?" inquired his wife. "If you done and seen what I've did and saw," replied Mr. Shrimplin impressively, "you'd look for a little respect in your own home." "I'd be a heap quicker telling about it," said Mrs. Shrimplin. Mr. Shrimplin turned to Custer. "I guess, you're thinking it was a burglar; but, sonny, it wasn't no burglar--so you got another guess coming to you," he concluded benevolently. "I know!" cried Custer. "Some one's been killed!" "Exactly!" said Mr. Shrimplin with increasing benevolence. "Some one has been killed!" "You done it!" cried Custer. "I found the party," admitted Mr. Shrimplin with calm dignity. "Oh!" But perhaps Custer's first emotion was on the whole one of disappointment. "How you talk!" said Mrs. Shrimplin. "I reckon I might say more, most any one would," retorted Mr. Shrimplin quietly. "It was old man McBride--someone's murdered him for his money; I never seen the town so on end over anything before, but whoever wants to be well posted's got to come to me for the particulars. I seen the old man before Colonel Harbison seen him, I seen him before Andy Gilmore seen him, I seen him before the coroner seen him, or the sheriff or _any one_ seen him! I was on the spot ahead of 'em all. If any one wants to know how he looked just after he was killed, they got to come to me to find out. Colonel Harbison can't tell 'em, and Andy Gilmore can't tell 'em; it's only me knows them particulars!" The effect of this stirring declaration was quite all he had hoped for. Out of the tail of his eye he saw that Mrs. Shrimplin was, as she afterward freely confessed, taken aback. As for Custer, he had forgotten his disappointment that a death by violence had occurred for which his father was not directly responsible. "Did you see the man that killed old Mr. McBride?" asked Custer, breaking the breathless spell that was upon him. "No; if I'd been just about fifteen minutes sooner I'd have seen him; but I was just about that much too late, sonny. I guess he's a whole lot better off, though." "What would you have done if you'd seen him?" Custer's voice sank to a whisper. "Well, I don't pack a gun for nothing. If I'd seen him there, he'd had to go 'round to the jail with me. I guess I could have coaxed him there; I was ready for to offer extra inducements!" "And does everybody know you seen old Mr. McBride the first of any?" asked Custer. "I guess they do; I ain't afraid about that. Colonel Harbison's too much of a gentleman to claim any credit that ain't his; he'd be the first one to own up that he don't deserve no credit." "What took you into McBride's store? You hadn't no errand there." Mrs. Shrimplin was a careful and acquisitive wife. "I allow I made an errand there," said Mr. Shrimplin bridling. "I reckon many another man might have thought he hadn't no errand there either, but I feel different about them things. I was just turned into the Square when along comes young John North--" "What was he doing there?" suddenly asked Mrs. Shrimplin. "I expect he was attending strictly to his own business," retorted Mr. Shrimplin, offended by the utter irrelevancy of the question. "Go on, pal" begged Custer. He felt that his mother's interruptions were positively cruel, and--so like a woman! "Me and young John North passed the time of day," continued Mr. Shrimplin, thus abjured, "and I started around the north side of the Square to light the lamp on old man McBride's own corner. If I'd knowed then--" he paused impressively, "if I'd just knowed then, that was my time! I could have laid hands on the murderer. He was there somewheres, most likely he was watching me; well, maybe it was all for the best, I don't know as a married man's got any right to take chances. Anyway, I got to within, well--I should say, thirty feet of that lamp-post when all of a sudden Bill began to act up. You never saw a horse act up like he done! He rose in his britching and then the other end of him come up and he acted like he wanted to set down on the singletree!" "Why did he do that?" asked Custer. "Well, I guess you've got some few things to learn, Custer;" said Mr. Shrimplin indulgently. "He smelt blood--that's what he smelt!" "Oh!" gasped Custer. "I've knowed it to happen before. It's instinct," explained Shrimplin. "'Singular,' says I, and out I jumps to have a look about. I walked to the lamp-post, and then I seen what I hadn't seen before, that old man McBride's store door was open, so I stepped on to the sidewalk intending to close it, but as I put my hand on the knob I seen where the snow had drifted into the room, so I knew the door must have been open some little time. That's mighty odd, I thinks, and then it sort of come over me the way Bill had acted, and I went along into the store in pretty considerable of a hurry." "Were you afraid?" demanded Custer in an awe-struck whisper. "I'll tell you the truth, Custer, I wasn't. I own I'd drawed my gun, wishing to be on the safe side. First thing I noticed was that the lamps hadn't been turned up, though they was all lit. I got back to the end of the counter when I came to a halt, for there in a heap on the floor was old man McBride, with his head mashed in where some one had hit him with a sledge. There was blood all over the floor, and it was a mighty sickenin' spectacle. I sort of looked around hoping I'd see the murderer, but he'd lit out, and then I went back to the front of the store, where I seen Colonel Harbison coming across the Square. I told him what I'd seen and he went inside to look; while he was looking, along come Andy Gilmore and I told him, too, and he went in. They knowed the murderer wasn't there, that I'd been in ahead of them. After, that the people seemed to come from every direction; then presently some one started to ring the town bell and that fetched more people, until the Square in front of the store was packed and jammed with 'em. Everybody' wanted to hear about it first-hand from me; they wanted the _full particulars_ from the only one who knowed 'em." Mr. Shrimplin paused for breath. The recollection of his splendid publicity was dazzling. He imagined the morrow with its possibility of social triumph; he went as far as to feel that Mrs. Shrimplin now had a certain sneaking respect for him. "Did you see tracks in the snow?" demanded Custer. "No, I didn't see nothing," declared Mr. Shrimplin. "You seen young John North." It was Mrs. Shrimplin who spoke. "Well, yes, I seen young John North--I said I seen him!" CHAPTER SIX PUTTING ON THE SCREWS A score of men and boys followed the undertaker's wagon to the small frame cottage that had been Archibald McBride's home for half a century, and a group of these assembled about the gate as the wagon drew up before it. Along the quiet street, windows were raised and doors were opened. It was perhaps the first time, as it was to be the last, that Archibald McBride's neighbors took note of his home-coming. His keys had been found and intrusted to one of the policemen who accompanied the undertaker and his men; now, as the wagon came to a stand, this officer sprang to the ground, and pushing open the gate went quickly up the path to the front door. There in the shelter of the porch he paused to light a lantern, then he tried key after key until he found the one that fitted the lock; he opened the door and entered the house, the undertaker following him. A second officer stationed himself at the door and kept back the crowd. Their preparations were soon made and the two men reappeared on the porch. "It's all right," the undertaker said, and four men raised the stretcher again and carried the old merchant into the house. At this juncture Colonel Harbison, followed by his nephew and Gilmore, made his way through the crowd before the door. Gilmore, even, gave an involuntary shudder as they entered the small hall lighted by the single lantern, while the colonel could have wished himself anywhere else; he had come from a sense of duty; he had known McBride as well as any one in Mount Hope had known him, and it had seemed a lack of respect to the dead man to leave him to the care of the merely curious; but he was painfully conscious of the still presence in the parlor; he felt that they were unwelcome intruders in the home of that austere old man, who had made no friends, who had no intimates, but had lived according to his choice, solitary and alone. The colonel and Watt Harbison followed the gambler into what had been the old merchant's sitting-room. There were two lamps on the chimneypiece, both of which Gilmore lighted. "That's a whole lot better," he said. "Anything more we can do, gentlemen?" asked the undertaker, coming into the room. "Nothing, thank you," answered the colonel in a tone of abstraction, and he felt a sense of relief when the officials had gone their way into the night, leaving him and his two companions to their vigil. Now for the first time they had leisure and opportunity to look about them. It was a poor enough place, all things considered; the furniture was dingy with age and neglect, for Archibald McBride had kept no servant; a worn and faded carpet covered the floor; there was an engraving of Washington Crossing the Delaware and a few old-fashioned woodcuts on the wall; at one side of the room was a desk, opposite it a rusted sheet-iron stove in which Watt Harbison was already starting a fire; there was a scant assortment of uncomfortable chairs, a table, with one leg bandaged, and near the desk an old mahogany davenport. "This wouldn't have suited you, eh, Colonel?" said Gilmore at last. "He could hardly be said to live here, he merely came here to sleep," answered the colonel. "No, he couldn't have cared for anything but the one thing," said Gilmore. "Were you ever here before, Colonel?" he added. "Never." "I don't suppose half a dozen people in the town were ever inside his door until to-night," said Watt Harbison, speaking for the first time. Gilmore turned to look at the colonel's nephew as if he had only that moment become aware of his presence. What he saw did not impress him greatly, for young Watt, save for an unusually large head, was much like other young men of his class. His speech was soft, his face beardless and his gray eyes gazed steadily but without curiosity on, what was for him, an uncliented world. For the eighteen months that he had been an "attorney and counselor at law" the detail of office rent had been taken care of by the colonel. "Sort of makes the game he played seem rotten poor sport," commented Gilmore, replying to the nephew but looking at the uncle. The colonel was silent. "Rotten poor sport!" repeated Gilmore. "Who'll come in for his property?" asked Watt Harbison. "Oh, some one will claim that," said Gilmore. "They were saying down at the store, that once, years ago, a brother of his turned up, here, but McBride got rid of him." "Suppose we have a look around before we settle ourselves for the night," suggested Watt Harbison. "Will you join us, Colonel?" asked the gambler. But the colonel shook his head. Gilmore took up one of the lamps as he spoke and opened a door that led into what had evidently once been a dining-room, but it was now only partly furnished; back of this was a kitchen, and beyond the kitchen a woodshed. Returning to the front of the house, they mounted to the floor above. Here had been the old merchant's bedroom; adjoining it were two smaller rooms, one of which had been used as a place of storage for trunks and boxes and broken bits of furniture; the other room was empty. "We may as well go back down-stairs," said the gambler, halting, lamp in hand, in the center of the empty room. Harbison nodded, and leading the way to the floor below, they rejoined the colonel in the sitting-room, where they made themselves as comfortable as possible. The colonel and his nephew talked in subdued tones, principally of the murdered man; they had no desire to exclude their companion from the conversation, but Gilmore displayed no interest in what was said. He sat at the colonel's elbow, preoccupied and thoughtful, smoking cigar after cigar. Presently the colonel and his nephew lapsed into silence. Their silence seemed to rouse Gilmore to what was passing about him. He glanced at the elder Harbison. "You look tired, Colonel," he said. "Why don't you stretch out on that lounge yonder and take a nap?" "I think I shall, Andy, if you and Watt don't mind." And the colonel quitted his chair. "Better put your coat over you," advised the gambler. He watched the colonel as he made himself comfortable on the lounge, then he lighted a fresh cigar, tilted his chair against the wall and with head thrown back studied the ceiling. Watt Harbison made one or two tentative attempts at conversation, to which Gilmore briefly responded, then the young fellow also became thoughtful. He fell to watching the gambler's strong profile which the lamp silhouetted against the opposite wall; then drowsiness completely overcame him and he slept in his chair with his head fallen forward on his breast. Gilmore, alert and sleepless, smoked on; he was thinking of Evelyn Langham. After his interview with her husband that afternoon he had gone to his own apartment. His bedroom adjoined North's parlor and through the flimsy lath and plaster partition he had distinctly heard a woman's voice. The sound of that voice and the suspicion it instantly begot added to his furious hatred of North, for he had long suspected that something more than friendship existed between Marshall Langham's wife and Marshall Langham's friend. "Damn him!" thought the gambler. "I'll fix him yet!" And he puffed at his cigar viciously. He had made sure that North's mysterious visitor was Evelyn Langham, for when she left the building he himself had followed her. Out of the dregs of his nature this foolish mad passion of his had arisen to torture him; he had never spoken with Langham's wife, probably she knew him by sight, nothing more; but still his game, the waiting game he had been forced to play, was working itself out better than he had even hoped! At last he had Marshall Langham where he wanted him, where he could make him feel his power. Langham would not be able to raise the money required to cover up those forgeries, and on the basis of silence he would make his bargain with the lawyer. Gilmore pondered this problem for the better part of an hour, considering it from every conceivable angle; then suddenly the expression of his face changed, he forgot for the moment his ambitions and his desires, his hatred and his love; he thought he heard the click of the old-fashioned latch on the front gate. He remembered that it could be raised only with difficulty. Next he heard the sound of footsteps approaching the house. They seemed to come haltingly down the narrow brick path which the wind had swept clear of snow. Mr. Gilmore was blessed with a steadiness of nerve known to but few men, yet the hour and the occasion had their influence with him. He stood erect: now the steps which had paused for a moment seemed to recede; it was as if the intruder, whoever he might be, had come almost to the front door and had then, for some inexplicable reason, gone back to the street. Gilmore even imagined him as standing there with his hand on the latch of the gate. He was tempted to rouse his two companions, but he did not, and then, as he still stood with his senses tense, he heard the steps again approach the front door. With a glance in the direction of the colonel and his nephew to assure himself that they still slept, Gilmore rather shamefacedly slipped his right hand under the tails of his coat, tiptoed into the hall and paused there close by the parlor door. The steps

firing

How many times the word 'firing' appears in the text?

with a gasp. He collapsed again, and again the colonel, whose gloved hand still retained its hold on his collar, set him on his trembling legs with admirable expertness. "I tell you he's dead!" cried Mr. Shrimplin, lost to everything but that one dreadful fact. "Who's dead?" demanded the colonel. "Stand up, man, don't fall about like that or you may do yourself some injury!" for Mr. Shrimplin seemed about to collapse once more. "Old man McBride, Colonel--if he ain't dead I wish I may never see death!" "Dead!" cried the colonel. "Archibald McBride dead!" He released his hold on Mr. Shrimplin and took a step toward the door; Shrimplin, however, detained him with a shaking hand, though he was calmer now. "Colonel, you'd better be careful, he's lying there in a pool of blood; some one's killed him for his money! How do we know the murderer ain't there!" This conjecture was made to the empty street, for Colonel Harbison had entered the store. "Why does he want to leave me like that!" wailed Shrimplin, and his panic threatened a return. He dragged himself to the door. Here he paused, since he could not bring himself to enter, for before his eyes was the ghastly vision of that old man huddled on the blood-stained floor. He heard the colonel's steps echo down the long room, and when their sound ceased he knew he was standing beside the dead man. After what seemed an age of waiting the steps sounded again, and a moment later the colonel's tall form filled the doorway. "Andy!" said the colonel. Mr. Shrimplin turned with a start. At his back within reach of his hand stood Andy Gilmore. He had been utterly unaware of the gambler's approach, but now conscious of it he dropped in a miserable heap on the door-sill, while the white and unfamiliar world reeled before his bleached blue eyes; it was the very drunkenness of fear. "Howdy, Colonel," said the gambler, as he gave Harbison a half-military salute. He admired the colonel, who had once threatened to horsewhip him if he ever permitted his nephew, Watt, to enter his rooms. "Come here, Andy!" ordered the colonel briefly. "God's sake, Colonel!" gasped the wretched little lamplighter, struggling to his feet, "don't leave me here--" "What's wrong, Colonel?" asked Gilmore. "Archibald McBride's been murdered!" Mr. Gilmore took the butt of the half-smoked cigar from between his teeth, tossed it into the gutter, and pushing past Mr. Shrimplin entered the room. Colonel Harbison, a step or two in advance of his companion, led the way to the rear of the store. The colonel paused, and Gilmore gained a place at his elbow. "You are sure he's dead?" questioned the gambler. Kneeling beside the crumpled figure Gilmore slipped his hand in between the body and the floor; his manner was cool and businesslike. After a moment he withdrew his hand and looked, up into the colonel's face. "Well?" asked the colonel. "Oh, he's dead, all right!" Gilmore glanced about him, and the colonel's eyes following, they both discovered that the door leading into the side yard was partly open. "He went that way, eh, Colonel?" "It's altogether likely," agreed the veteran. "It's a nasty business!" said Gilmore reflectively. "Shocking!" snapped the colonel. "He took big chances," commented the gambler, "living the way he did." He spoke of the dead man. "Poor old man!" said the colonel pityingly. What had it all amounted to, those chances for the sake of gain, which Gilmore had in mind. "He can't have been dead very long," said Gilmore. "Did _you_ find him, Colonel?" he asked as he stood erect. "No, Shrimplin found him." Again the two men looked about them. On the floor by the counter at their right was a heavy sledge. Gilmore called Harbison's attention to this. "I guess the job was done with that," he said. "Possibly," agreed Harbison. Gilmore picked up the sledge and examined it narrowly. "Yes, you can see, there is blood on it." He handed it to Harbison, who stepped under the nearest lamp with the clumsy weapon in his hand. "You are right, Andy!" and he glanced at the rude instrument of death with a look of repugnance on his keen sensitive face, then he carefully, placed it under the wooden counter. "Horrible!" he muttered to himself. "It was no joke for him!" said the gambler, catching the last word. "But some one was bound to try this dodge sooner or later. Why, as far back as I can remember, people said he kept his money hidden away at the bottom of nail kegs and under heaps of scrap-iron." He took a cigar from his pocket, bit off the end, and struck a match. "Well, I wouldn't want to be the other fellow, Colonel; I'd be in all kinds of a panic; it takes nerve for a job like this." "It's a shocking circumstance," said the colonel. "I wonder if it paid!" speculated the gambler. "And I wonder who'll get what he leaves. Has he any family or relatives?" "No, not so far as any one knows. He came here many years ago, a close-mouthed Scotchman, who never had any intimates, never married, and never spoke of his private affairs." There was a slight commotion at the door. They could hear Shrimplin's agitated voice, and a moment later two men, chance passers-by with whom he had been speaking, shook themselves free of the little lamplighter and entered the room. The new-comers nodded to the colonel and Gilmore as they paused to stare mutely at the body on the floor. "He bled like a stuck pig!" said one of the men at last. He was a ragged slouching creature with a splotched and bloated face half hidden by a bristling red beard. He glanced at Gilmore for an uncertain instant out of a pair of small shifty eyes. "It's murder, ain't it, boss?" he added. "No doubt about that, Joe!" rejoined the gambler. "I suppose it was robbery?" said the other man, who had not spoken before. "Very likely," answered the colonel. "We have not examined the place, however; we shall wait for the proper officials." "Who do you want, Colonel?" "Coroner Taylor, and I suppose the sheriff," replied Harbison. The man nodded. "All right, I'll bring them; and say, what about the prosecuting attorney?" as he turned to leave. "Yes, bring Moxlow, too, if you can find him." The man hurried from the room. Gilmore leaned against the counter and smoked imperturbably. Joe Montgomery, with his great slouching shoulders arched, and his grimy hands buried deep in his trousers pockets, stared at the dead man in stolid wonder. Colonel Harbison's glance sought the same object but with a sensitive shrinking as from an ugly brutal thing. A clock ticked loudly in the office; there was the occasional fall of cinders from the grate of the rusted stove that heated the place; these were sounds that neither Gilmore nor the colonel had heard before. Presently a lean black cat stole from the office and sprang upon the counter; it purred softly. "Hello, puss!" said the gambler, putting out a hand. The cat stole closer. "I guess I'll have to take you home with me, eh? This ain't a place for unprotected females!" The cat crept back and forth under his caressing touch. At the street-door Shrimplin appeared and disappeared, now his head was thrust into the room, and now his nose was flattened against the dingy show-windows; from neither point could he quite command the view he desired nor could he bring himself to enter the building; then he vanished entirely, but after a brief interval they heard his voice. He was evidently speaking with some one in the street. A little crowd was rapidly gathering about him, but it disintegrated almost immediately, his listeners abandoning him to hurry into the store. "You must stand back, all of you!" said the colonel. "Unless you are very careful you may destroy important evidence!" The crowd assembled itself silently for the most part; here and there a man removed his hat, or made some whispered comment, or asked some eager low-voiced question of Gilmore or the colonel. Men stood on boxes, on nail kegs, and on counters. Except for the little circle left about the dead man on the floor, every vantage point of observation was soon occupied. It was scarcely half an hour since Shrimplin had fallen speechless into Colonel Harbison's arms, yet fully two hundred men had gathered in that long room or were struggling about the door to gain admittance to it. At a suggestion from Harbison, the gambler, followed by Joe, elbowed his way to the front door, which in spite of the protest of those outside, he closed and locked. A moment later, however, he opened it to admit Doctor Taylor, the coroner, and Conklin, the sheriff. The latter instantly set about clearing the room. Gilmore and the colonel remained with the officials and during the succeeding ten minutes the gambler, who had kept his post at the door, opened, it to Moxlow, young Watt Harbison and two policemen. As the coroner finished his examination of the body, the sound of wheels was heard in the Square and an undertaker's wagon drew up to the door. The murdered man was placed on a stretcher and covered with a black cloth, then four men raised the stretcher and for the last time the old merchant passed out under his creaking sign into the night. "I've agreed to watch at the house, Andy," said Colonel Harbison. "I want you and Watt to come with me." The gambler lighted a fresh cigar and the three men left the store. On the Square groups of men discussed the murder. Though none was permitted to enter the store, the windows afforded occasional glimpses of the little group of officials within, until a policeman closed and fastened the heavy wooden shutters. Then the crowd slowly and reluctantly dispersed. Meanwhile the town marshal, under cover of the excitement, had descended on the gas house where tramps congregated of winter nights for warmth and shelter. Here he found shivering over a can of beer, two homeless wretches, whom he arrested as suspicious characters. After this, official activity languished, for the official mind could think of nothing more to do. With the scattering of the crowd on the Square, Shrimplin climbed into his cart and drove off home. The smother of wind-driven snow still enveloped the, town, the very air seemed charged with mystery and horror, and before the little lamplighter's eyes was ever the haunting vision of the murdered man. He drove into the alley back of his house, unhitched Bill and led him into the barn. His torch made the gloom of the place more terrifying than utter darkness would have been. Suppose the murderer should be hiding there! Mr. Shrimplin's mind fastened on the hay-mow as the most likely place of concealment, and the cold sweat ran from him in icy streams; he could, almost see the murderer's evil eyes fixed upon him from the blackness above. But at last Bill was stripped of his harness, and the little lamplighter, escaping from the barn with its fancied terrors, hurried across his small back yard to his kitchen door. "Well!" said Mrs. Shrimplin, as he entered the room. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever think it worth your while to come home!" "What's the bell been ringing for?" asked Custer. Mrs. Shrimplin was seated by the table, which was littered with her sewing; Custer occupied his usual chair by the stove, and it was evident that they knew nothing of the tragedy in which Mr. Shrimplin had played so important, and as he now felt, so worthy a part. "I suppose I've been out quite a time, and I may say I've seen times, too! I guess there ain't no one in the town fitter to say they seen times than just me!" The light and comfort of his own pleasant kitchen had quite restored Mr. Shrimplin. "I may say I seen times!" he repeated significantly. "There's something doing in this here old town after all! I take back a heap of the hard things I've said about it; a feller can scare up a little excitement if he knows where to look for it. I ain't bragging none, but I guess you'll hear my name mentioned--I guess you'll even see it in print in the newspapers!" He warmed his cold hands over the stove. "Throw in a little more coal, sonny; I'm half froze, but I guess that's the worst any one can say of me!" "You make much of it, whatever it is," said Mrs. Shrimplin. "Maybe I do and maybe I don't," equivocated Mr. Shrimplin genially. "Maybe you're not above telling a body what kept you out half the night?" inquired his wife. "If you done and seen what I've did and saw," replied Mr. Shrimplin impressively, "you'd look for a little respect in your own home." "I'd be a heap quicker telling about it," said Mrs. Shrimplin. Mr. Shrimplin turned to Custer. "I guess, you're thinking it was a burglar; but, sonny, it wasn't no burglar--so you got another guess coming to you," he concluded benevolently. "I know!" cried Custer. "Some one's been killed!" "Exactly!" said Mr. Shrimplin with increasing benevolence. "Some one has been killed!" "You done it!" cried Custer. "I found the party," admitted Mr. Shrimplin with calm dignity. "Oh!" But perhaps Custer's first emotion was on the whole one of disappointment. "How you talk!" said Mrs. Shrimplin. "I reckon I might say more, most any one would," retorted Mr. Shrimplin quietly. "It was old man McBride--someone's murdered him for his money; I never seen the town so on end over anything before, but whoever wants to be well posted's got to come to me for the particulars. I seen the old man before Colonel Harbison seen him, I seen him before Andy Gilmore seen him, I seen him before the coroner seen him, or the sheriff or _any one_ seen him! I was on the spot ahead of 'em all. If any one wants to know how he looked just after he was killed, they got to come to me to find out. Colonel Harbison can't tell 'em, and Andy Gilmore can't tell 'em; it's only me knows them particulars!" The effect of this stirring declaration was quite all he had hoped for. Out of the tail of his eye he saw that Mrs. Shrimplin was, as she afterward freely confessed, taken aback. As for Custer, he had forgotten his disappointment that a death by violence had occurred for which his father was not directly responsible. "Did you see the man that killed old Mr. McBride?" asked Custer, breaking the breathless spell that was upon him. "No; if I'd been just about fifteen minutes sooner I'd have seen him; but I was just about that much too late, sonny. I guess he's a whole lot better off, though." "What would you have done if you'd seen him?" Custer's voice sank to a whisper. "Well, I don't pack a gun for nothing. If I'd seen him there, he'd had to go 'round to the jail with me. I guess I could have coaxed him there; I was ready for to offer extra inducements!" "And does everybody know you seen old Mr. McBride the first of any?" asked Custer. "I guess they do; I ain't afraid about that. Colonel Harbison's too much of a gentleman to claim any credit that ain't his; he'd be the first one to own up that he don't deserve no credit." "What took you into McBride's store? You hadn't no errand there." Mrs. Shrimplin was a careful and acquisitive wife. "I allow I made an errand there," said Mr. Shrimplin bridling. "I reckon many another man might have thought he hadn't no errand there either, but I feel different about them things. I was just turned into the Square when along comes young John North--" "What was he doing there?" suddenly asked Mrs. Shrimplin. "I expect he was attending strictly to his own business," retorted Mr. Shrimplin, offended by the utter irrelevancy of the question. "Go on, pal" begged Custer. He felt that his mother's interruptions were positively cruel, and--so like a woman! "Me and young John North passed the time of day," continued Mr. Shrimplin, thus abjured, "and I started around the north side of the Square to light the lamp on old man McBride's own corner. If I'd knowed then--" he paused impressively, "if I'd just knowed then, that was my time! I could have laid hands on the murderer. He was there somewheres, most likely he was watching me; well, maybe it was all for the best, I don't know as a married man's got any right to take chances. Anyway, I got to within, well--I should say, thirty feet of that lamp-post when all of a sudden Bill began to act up. You never saw a horse act up like he done! He rose in his britching and then the other end of him come up and he acted like he wanted to set down on the singletree!" "Why did he do that?" asked Custer. "Well, I guess you've got some few things to learn, Custer;" said Mr. Shrimplin indulgently. "He smelt blood--that's what he smelt!" "Oh!" gasped Custer. "I've knowed it to happen before. It's instinct," explained Shrimplin. "'Singular,' says I, and out I jumps to have a look about. I walked to the lamp-post, and then I seen what I hadn't seen before, that old man McBride's store door was open, so I stepped on to the sidewalk intending to close it, but as I put my hand on the knob I seen where the snow had drifted into the room, so I knew the door must have been open some little time. That's mighty odd, I thinks, and then it sort of come over me the way Bill had acted, and I went along into the store in pretty considerable of a hurry." "Were you afraid?" demanded Custer in an awe-struck whisper. "I'll tell you the truth, Custer, I wasn't. I own I'd drawed my gun, wishing to be on the safe side. First thing I noticed was that the lamps hadn't been turned up, though they was all lit. I got back to the end of the counter when I came to a halt, for there in a heap on the floor was old man McBride, with his head mashed in where some one had hit him with a sledge. There was blood all over the floor, and it was a mighty sickenin' spectacle. I sort of looked around hoping I'd see the murderer, but he'd lit out, and then I went back to the front of the store, where I seen Colonel Harbison coming across the Square. I told him what I'd seen and he went inside to look; while he was looking, along come Andy Gilmore and I told him, too, and he went in. They knowed the murderer wasn't there, that I'd been in ahead of them. After, that the people seemed to come from every direction; then presently some one started to ring the town bell and that fetched more people, until the Square in front of the store was packed and jammed with 'em. Everybody' wanted to hear about it first-hand from me; they wanted the _full particulars_ from the only one who knowed 'em." Mr. Shrimplin paused for breath. The recollection of his splendid publicity was dazzling. He imagined the morrow with its possibility of social triumph; he went as far as to feel that Mrs. Shrimplin now had a certain sneaking respect for him. "Did you see tracks in the snow?" demanded Custer. "No, I didn't see nothing," declared Mr. Shrimplin. "You seen young John North." It was Mrs. Shrimplin who spoke. "Well, yes, I seen young John North--I said I seen him!" CHAPTER SIX PUTTING ON THE SCREWS A score of men and boys followed the undertaker's wagon to the small frame cottage that had been Archibald McBride's home for half a century, and a group of these assembled about the gate as the wagon drew up before it. Along the quiet street, windows were raised and doors were opened. It was perhaps the first time, as it was to be the last, that Archibald McBride's neighbors took note of his home-coming. His keys had been found and intrusted to one of the policemen who accompanied the undertaker and his men; now, as the wagon came to a stand, this officer sprang to the ground, and pushing open the gate went quickly up the path to the front door. There in the shelter of the porch he paused to light a lantern, then he tried key after key until he found the one that fitted the lock; he opened the door and entered the house, the undertaker following him. A second officer stationed himself at the door and kept back the crowd. Their preparations were soon made and the two men reappeared on the porch. "It's all right," the undertaker said, and four men raised the stretcher again and carried the old merchant into the house. At this juncture Colonel Harbison, followed by his nephew and Gilmore, made his way through the crowd before the door. Gilmore, even, gave an involuntary shudder as they entered the small hall lighted by the single lantern, while the colonel could have wished himself anywhere else; he had come from a sense of duty; he had known McBride as well as any one in Mount Hope had known him, and it had seemed a lack of respect to the dead man to leave him to the care of the merely curious; but he was painfully conscious of the still presence in the parlor; he felt that they were unwelcome intruders in the home of that austere old man, who had made no friends, who had no intimates, but had lived according to his choice, solitary and alone. The colonel and Watt Harbison followed the gambler into what had been the old merchant's sitting-room. There were two lamps on the chimneypiece, both of which Gilmore lighted. "That's a whole lot better," he said. "Anything more we can do, gentlemen?" asked the undertaker, coming into the room. "Nothing, thank you," answered the colonel in a tone of abstraction, and he felt a sense of relief when the officials had gone their way into the night, leaving him and his two companions to their vigil. Now for the first time they had leisure and opportunity to look about them. It was a poor enough place, all things considered; the furniture was dingy with age and neglect, for Archibald McBride had kept no servant; a worn and faded carpet covered the floor; there was an engraving of Washington Crossing the Delaware and a few old-fashioned woodcuts on the wall; at one side of the room was a desk, opposite it a rusted sheet-iron stove in which Watt Harbison was already starting a fire; there was a scant assortment of uncomfortable chairs, a table, with one leg bandaged, and near the desk an old mahogany davenport. "This wouldn't have suited you, eh, Colonel?" said Gilmore at last. "He could hardly be said to live here, he merely came here to sleep," answered the colonel. "No, he couldn't have cared for anything but the one thing," said Gilmore. "Were you ever here before, Colonel?" he added. "Never." "I don't suppose half a dozen people in the town were ever inside his door until to-night," said Watt Harbison, speaking for the first time. Gilmore turned to look at the colonel's nephew as if he had only that moment become aware of his presence. What he saw did not impress him greatly, for young Watt, save for an unusually large head, was much like other young men of his class. His speech was soft, his face beardless and his gray eyes gazed steadily but without curiosity on, what was for him, an uncliented world. For the eighteen months that he had been an "attorney and counselor at law" the detail of office rent had been taken care of by the colonel. "Sort of makes the game he played seem rotten poor sport," commented Gilmore, replying to the nephew but looking at the uncle. The colonel was silent. "Rotten poor sport!" repeated Gilmore. "Who'll come in for his property?" asked Watt Harbison. "Oh, some one will claim that," said Gilmore. "They were saying down at the store, that once, years ago, a brother of his turned up, here, but McBride got rid of him." "Suppose we have a look around before we settle ourselves for the night," suggested Watt Harbison. "Will you join us, Colonel?" asked the gambler. But the colonel shook his head. Gilmore took up one of the lamps as he spoke and opened a door that led into what had evidently once been a dining-room, but it was now only partly furnished; back of this was a kitchen, and beyond the kitchen a woodshed. Returning to the front of the house, they mounted to the floor above. Here had been the old merchant's bedroom; adjoining it were two smaller rooms, one of which had been used as a place of storage for trunks and boxes and broken bits of furniture; the other room was empty. "We may as well go back down-stairs," said the gambler, halting, lamp in hand, in the center of the empty room. Harbison nodded, and leading the way to the floor below, they rejoined the colonel in the sitting-room, where they made themselves as comfortable as possible. The colonel and his nephew talked in subdued tones, principally of the murdered man; they had no desire to exclude their companion from the conversation, but Gilmore displayed no interest in what was said. He sat at the colonel's elbow, preoccupied and thoughtful, smoking cigar after cigar. Presently the colonel and his nephew lapsed into silence. Their silence seemed to rouse Gilmore to what was passing about him. He glanced at the elder Harbison. "You look tired, Colonel," he said. "Why don't you stretch out on that lounge yonder and take a nap?" "I think I shall, Andy, if you and Watt don't mind." And the colonel quitted his chair. "Better put your coat over you," advised the gambler. He watched the colonel as he made himself comfortable on the lounge, then he lighted a fresh cigar, tilted his chair against the wall and with head thrown back studied the ceiling. Watt Harbison made one or two tentative attempts at conversation, to which Gilmore briefly responded, then the young fellow also became thoughtful. He fell to watching the gambler's strong profile which the lamp silhouetted against the opposite wall; then drowsiness completely overcame him and he slept in his chair with his head fallen forward on his breast. Gilmore, alert and sleepless, smoked on; he was thinking of Evelyn Langham. After his interview with her husband that afternoon he had gone to his own apartment. His bedroom adjoined North's parlor and through the flimsy lath and plaster partition he had distinctly heard a woman's voice. The sound of that voice and the suspicion it instantly begot added to his furious hatred of North, for he had long suspected that something more than friendship existed between Marshall Langham's wife and Marshall Langham's friend. "Damn him!" thought the gambler. "I'll fix him yet!" And he puffed at his cigar viciously. He had made sure that North's mysterious visitor was Evelyn Langham, for when she left the building he himself had followed her. Out of the dregs of his nature this foolish mad passion of his had arisen to torture him; he had never spoken with Langham's wife, probably she knew him by sight, nothing more; but still his game, the waiting game he had been forced to play, was working itself out better than he had even hoped! At last he had Marshall Langham where he wanted him, where he could make him feel his power. Langham would not be able to raise the money required to cover up those forgeries, and on the basis of silence he would make his bargain with the lawyer. Gilmore pondered this problem for the better part of an hour, considering it from every conceivable angle; then suddenly the expression of his face changed, he forgot for the moment his ambitions and his desires, his hatred and his love; he thought he heard the click of the old-fashioned latch on the front gate. He remembered that it could be raised only with difficulty. Next he heard the sound of footsteps approaching the house. They seemed to come haltingly down the narrow brick path which the wind had swept clear of snow. Mr. Gilmore was blessed with a steadiness of nerve known to but few men, yet the hour and the occasion had their influence with him. He stood erect: now the steps which had paused for a moment seemed to recede; it was as if the intruder, whoever he might be, had come almost to the front door and had then, for some inexplicable reason, gone back to the street. Gilmore even imagined him as standing there with his hand on the latch of the gate. He was tempted to rouse his two companions, but he did not, and then, as he still stood with his senses tense, he heard the steps again approach the front door. With a glance in the direction of the colonel and his nephew to assure himself that they still slept, Gilmore rather shamefacedly slipped his right hand under the tails of his coat, tiptoed into the hall and paused there close by the parlor door. The steps

removed

How many times the word 'removed' appears in the text?

with a gasp. He collapsed again, and again the colonel, whose gloved hand still retained its hold on his collar, set him on his trembling legs with admirable expertness. "I tell you he's dead!" cried Mr. Shrimplin, lost to everything but that one dreadful fact. "Who's dead?" demanded the colonel. "Stand up, man, don't fall about like that or you may do yourself some injury!" for Mr. Shrimplin seemed about to collapse once more. "Old man McBride, Colonel--if he ain't dead I wish I may never see death!" "Dead!" cried the colonel. "Archibald McBride dead!" He released his hold on Mr. Shrimplin and took a step toward the door; Shrimplin, however, detained him with a shaking hand, though he was calmer now. "Colonel, you'd better be careful, he's lying there in a pool of blood; some one's killed him for his money! How do we know the murderer ain't there!" This conjecture was made to the empty street, for Colonel Harbison had entered the store. "Why does he want to leave me like that!" wailed Shrimplin, and his panic threatened a return. He dragged himself to the door. Here he paused, since he could not bring himself to enter, for before his eyes was the ghastly vision of that old man huddled on the blood-stained floor. He heard the colonel's steps echo down the long room, and when their sound ceased he knew he was standing beside the dead man. After what seemed an age of waiting the steps sounded again, and a moment later the colonel's tall form filled the doorway. "Andy!" said the colonel. Mr. Shrimplin turned with a start. At his back within reach of his hand stood Andy Gilmore. He had been utterly unaware of the gambler's approach, but now conscious of it he dropped in a miserable heap on the door-sill, while the white and unfamiliar world reeled before his bleached blue eyes; it was the very drunkenness of fear. "Howdy, Colonel," said the gambler, as he gave Harbison a half-military salute. He admired the colonel, who had once threatened to horsewhip him if he ever permitted his nephew, Watt, to enter his rooms. "Come here, Andy!" ordered the colonel briefly. "God's sake, Colonel!" gasped the wretched little lamplighter, struggling to his feet, "don't leave me here--" "What's wrong, Colonel?" asked Gilmore. "Archibald McBride's been murdered!" Mr. Gilmore took the butt of the half-smoked cigar from between his teeth, tossed it into the gutter, and pushing past Mr. Shrimplin entered the room. Colonel Harbison, a step or two in advance of his companion, led the way to the rear of the store. The colonel paused, and Gilmore gained a place at his elbow. "You are sure he's dead?" questioned the gambler. Kneeling beside the crumpled figure Gilmore slipped his hand in between the body and the floor; his manner was cool and businesslike. After a moment he withdrew his hand and looked, up into the colonel's face. "Well?" asked the colonel. "Oh, he's dead, all right!" Gilmore glanced about him, and the colonel's eyes following, they both discovered that the door leading into the side yard was partly open. "He went that way, eh, Colonel?" "It's altogether likely," agreed the veteran. "It's a nasty business!" said Gilmore reflectively. "Shocking!" snapped the colonel. "He took big chances," commented the gambler, "living the way he did." He spoke of the dead man. "Poor old man!" said the colonel pityingly. What had it all amounted to, those chances for the sake of gain, which Gilmore had in mind. "He can't have been dead very long," said Gilmore. "Did _you_ find him, Colonel?" he asked as he stood erect. "No, Shrimplin found him." Again the two men looked about them. On the floor by the counter at their right was a heavy sledge. Gilmore called Harbison's attention to this. "I guess the job was done with that," he said. "Possibly," agreed Harbison. Gilmore picked up the sledge and examined it narrowly. "Yes, you can see, there is blood on it." He handed it to Harbison, who stepped under the nearest lamp with the clumsy weapon in his hand. "You are right, Andy!" and he glanced at the rude instrument of death with a look of repugnance on his keen sensitive face, then he carefully, placed it under the wooden counter. "Horrible!" he muttered to himself. "It was no joke for him!" said the gambler, catching the last word. "But some one was bound to try this dodge sooner or later. Why, as far back as I can remember, people said he kept his money hidden away at the bottom of nail kegs and under heaps of scrap-iron." He took a cigar from his pocket, bit off the end, and struck a match. "Well, I wouldn't want to be the other fellow, Colonel; I'd be in all kinds of a panic; it takes nerve for a job like this." "It's a shocking circumstance," said the colonel. "I wonder if it paid!" speculated the gambler. "And I wonder who'll get what he leaves. Has he any family or relatives?" "No, not so far as any one knows. He came here many years ago, a close-mouthed Scotchman, who never had any intimates, never married, and never spoke of his private affairs." There was a slight commotion at the door. They could hear Shrimplin's agitated voice, and a moment later two men, chance passers-by with whom he had been speaking, shook themselves free of the little lamplighter and entered the room. The new-comers nodded to the colonel and Gilmore as they paused to stare mutely at the body on the floor. "He bled like a stuck pig!" said one of the men at last. He was a ragged slouching creature with a splotched and bloated face half hidden by a bristling red beard. He glanced at Gilmore for an uncertain instant out of a pair of small shifty eyes. "It's murder, ain't it, boss?" he added. "No doubt about that, Joe!" rejoined the gambler. "I suppose it was robbery?" said the other man, who had not spoken before. "Very likely," answered the colonel. "We have not examined the place, however; we shall wait for the proper officials." "Who do you want, Colonel?" "Coroner Taylor, and I suppose the sheriff," replied Harbison. The man nodded. "All right, I'll bring them; and say, what about the prosecuting attorney?" as he turned to leave. "Yes, bring Moxlow, too, if you can find him." The man hurried from the room. Gilmore leaned against the counter and smoked imperturbably. Joe Montgomery, with his great slouching shoulders arched, and his grimy hands buried deep in his trousers pockets, stared at the dead man in stolid wonder. Colonel Harbison's glance sought the same object but with a sensitive shrinking as from an ugly brutal thing. A clock ticked loudly in the office; there was the occasional fall of cinders from the grate of the rusted stove that heated the place; these were sounds that neither Gilmore nor the colonel had heard before. Presently a lean black cat stole from the office and sprang upon the counter; it purred softly. "Hello, puss!" said the gambler, putting out a hand. The cat stole closer. "I guess I'll have to take you home with me, eh? This ain't a place for unprotected females!" The cat crept back and forth under his caressing touch. At the street-door Shrimplin appeared and disappeared, now his head was thrust into the room, and now his nose was flattened against the dingy show-windows; from neither point could he quite command the view he desired nor could he bring himself to enter the building; then he vanished entirely, but after a brief interval they heard his voice. He was evidently speaking with some one in the street. A little crowd was rapidly gathering about him, but it disintegrated almost immediately, his listeners abandoning him to hurry into the store. "You must stand back, all of you!" said the colonel. "Unless you are very careful you may destroy important evidence!" The crowd assembled itself silently for the most part; here and there a man removed his hat, or made some whispered comment, or asked some eager low-voiced question of Gilmore or the colonel. Men stood on boxes, on nail kegs, and on counters. Except for the little circle left about the dead man on the floor, every vantage point of observation was soon occupied. It was scarcely half an hour since Shrimplin had fallen speechless into Colonel Harbison's arms, yet fully two hundred men had gathered in that long room or were struggling about the door to gain admittance to it. At a suggestion from Harbison, the gambler, followed by Joe, elbowed his way to the front door, which in spite of the protest of those outside, he closed and locked. A moment later, however, he opened it to admit Doctor Taylor, the coroner, and Conklin, the sheriff. The latter instantly set about clearing the room. Gilmore and the colonel remained with the officials and during the succeeding ten minutes the gambler, who had kept his post at the door, opened, it to Moxlow, young Watt Harbison and two policemen. As the coroner finished his examination of the body, the sound of wheels was heard in the Square and an undertaker's wagon drew up to the door. The murdered man was placed on a stretcher and covered with a black cloth, then four men raised the stretcher and for the last time the old merchant passed out under his creaking sign into the night. "I've agreed to watch at the house, Andy," said Colonel Harbison. "I want you and Watt to come with me." The gambler lighted a fresh cigar and the three men left the store. On the Square groups of men discussed the murder. Though none was permitted to enter the store, the windows afforded occasional glimpses of the little group of officials within, until a policeman closed and fastened the heavy wooden shutters. Then the crowd slowly and reluctantly dispersed. Meanwhile the town marshal, under cover of the excitement, had descended on the gas house where tramps congregated of winter nights for warmth and shelter. Here he found shivering over a can of beer, two homeless wretches, whom he arrested as suspicious characters. After this, official activity languished, for the official mind could think of nothing more to do. With the scattering of the crowd on the Square, Shrimplin climbed into his cart and drove off home. The smother of wind-driven snow still enveloped the, town, the very air seemed charged with mystery and horror, and before the little lamplighter's eyes was ever the haunting vision of the murdered man. He drove into the alley back of his house, unhitched Bill and led him into the barn. His torch made the gloom of the place more terrifying than utter darkness would have been. Suppose the murderer should be hiding there! Mr. Shrimplin's mind fastened on the hay-mow as the most likely place of concealment, and the cold sweat ran from him in icy streams; he could, almost see the murderer's evil eyes fixed upon him from the blackness above. But at last Bill was stripped of his harness, and the little lamplighter, escaping from the barn with its fancied terrors, hurried across his small back yard to his kitchen door. "Well!" said Mrs. Shrimplin, as he entered the room. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever think it worth your while to come home!" "What's the bell been ringing for?" asked Custer. Mrs. Shrimplin was seated by the table, which was littered with her sewing; Custer occupied his usual chair by the stove, and it was evident that they knew nothing of the tragedy in which Mr. Shrimplin had played so important, and as he now felt, so worthy a part. "I suppose I've been out quite a time, and I may say I've seen times, too! I guess there ain't no one in the town fitter to say they seen times than just me!" The light and comfort of his own pleasant kitchen had quite restored Mr. Shrimplin. "I may say I seen times!" he repeated significantly. "There's something doing in this here old town after all! I take back a heap of the hard things I've said about it; a feller can scare up a little excitement if he knows where to look for it. I ain't bragging none, but I guess you'll hear my name mentioned--I guess you'll even see it in print in the newspapers!" He warmed his cold hands over the stove. "Throw in a little more coal, sonny; I'm half froze, but I guess that's the worst any one can say of me!" "You make much of it, whatever it is," said Mrs. Shrimplin. "Maybe I do and maybe I don't," equivocated Mr. Shrimplin genially. "Maybe you're not above telling a body what kept you out half the night?" inquired his wife. "If you done and seen what I've did and saw," replied Mr. Shrimplin impressively, "you'd look for a little respect in your own home." "I'd be a heap quicker telling about it," said Mrs. Shrimplin. Mr. Shrimplin turned to Custer. "I guess, you're thinking it was a burglar; but, sonny, it wasn't no burglar--so you got another guess coming to you," he concluded benevolently. "I know!" cried Custer. "Some one's been killed!" "Exactly!" said Mr. Shrimplin with increasing benevolence. "Some one has been killed!" "You done it!" cried Custer. "I found the party," admitted Mr. Shrimplin with calm dignity. "Oh!" But perhaps Custer's first emotion was on the whole one of disappointment. "How you talk!" said Mrs. Shrimplin. "I reckon I might say more, most any one would," retorted Mr. Shrimplin quietly. "It was old man McBride--someone's murdered him for his money; I never seen the town so on end over anything before, but whoever wants to be well posted's got to come to me for the particulars. I seen the old man before Colonel Harbison seen him, I seen him before Andy Gilmore seen him, I seen him before the coroner seen him, or the sheriff or _any one_ seen him! I was on the spot ahead of 'em all. If any one wants to know how he looked just after he was killed, they got to come to me to find out. Colonel Harbison can't tell 'em, and Andy Gilmore can't tell 'em; it's only me knows them particulars!" The effect of this stirring declaration was quite all he had hoped for. Out of the tail of his eye he saw that Mrs. Shrimplin was, as she afterward freely confessed, taken aback. As for Custer, he had forgotten his disappointment that a death by violence had occurred for which his father was not directly responsible. "Did you see the man that killed old Mr. McBride?" asked Custer, breaking the breathless spell that was upon him. "No; if I'd been just about fifteen minutes sooner I'd have seen him; but I was just about that much too late, sonny. I guess he's a whole lot better off, though." "What would you have done if you'd seen him?" Custer's voice sank to a whisper. "Well, I don't pack a gun for nothing. If I'd seen him there, he'd had to go 'round to the jail with me. I guess I could have coaxed him there; I was ready for to offer extra inducements!" "And does everybody know you seen old Mr. McBride the first of any?" asked Custer. "I guess they do; I ain't afraid about that. Colonel Harbison's too much of a gentleman to claim any credit that ain't his; he'd be the first one to own up that he don't deserve no credit." "What took you into McBride's store? You hadn't no errand there." Mrs. Shrimplin was a careful and acquisitive wife. "I allow I made an errand there," said Mr. Shrimplin bridling. "I reckon many another man might have thought he hadn't no errand there either, but I feel different about them things. I was just turned into the Square when along comes young John North--" "What was he doing there?" suddenly asked Mrs. Shrimplin. "I expect he was attending strictly to his own business," retorted Mr. Shrimplin, offended by the utter irrelevancy of the question. "Go on, pal" begged Custer. He felt that his mother's interruptions were positively cruel, and--so like a woman! "Me and young John North passed the time of day," continued Mr. Shrimplin, thus abjured, "and I started around the north side of the Square to light the lamp on old man McBride's own corner. If I'd knowed then--" he paused impressively, "if I'd just knowed then, that was my time! I could have laid hands on the murderer. He was there somewheres, most likely he was watching me; well, maybe it was all for the best, I don't know as a married man's got any right to take chances. Anyway, I got to within, well--I should say, thirty feet of that lamp-post when all of a sudden Bill began to act up. You never saw a horse act up like he done! He rose in his britching and then the other end of him come up and he acted like he wanted to set down on the singletree!" "Why did he do that?" asked Custer. "Well, I guess you've got some few things to learn, Custer;" said Mr. Shrimplin indulgently. "He smelt blood--that's what he smelt!" "Oh!" gasped Custer. "I've knowed it to happen before. It's instinct," explained Shrimplin. "'Singular,' says I, and out I jumps to have a look about. I walked to the lamp-post, and then I seen what I hadn't seen before, that old man McBride's store door was open, so I stepped on to the sidewalk intending to close it, but as I put my hand on the knob I seen where the snow had drifted into the room, so I knew the door must have been open some little time. That's mighty odd, I thinks, and then it sort of come over me the way Bill had acted, and I went along into the store in pretty considerable of a hurry." "Were you afraid?" demanded Custer in an awe-struck whisper. "I'll tell you the truth, Custer, I wasn't. I own I'd drawed my gun, wishing to be on the safe side. First thing I noticed was that the lamps hadn't been turned up, though they was all lit. I got back to the end of the counter when I came to a halt, for there in a heap on the floor was old man McBride, with his head mashed in where some one had hit him with a sledge. There was blood all over the floor, and it was a mighty sickenin' spectacle. I sort of looked around hoping I'd see the murderer, but he'd lit out, and then I went back to the front of the store, where I seen Colonel Harbison coming across the Square. I told him what I'd seen and he went inside to look; while he was looking, along come Andy Gilmore and I told him, too, and he went in. They knowed the murderer wasn't there, that I'd been in ahead of them. After, that the people seemed to come from every direction; then presently some one started to ring the town bell and that fetched more people, until the Square in front of the store was packed and jammed with 'em. Everybody' wanted to hear about it first-hand from me; they wanted the _full particulars_ from the only one who knowed 'em." Mr. Shrimplin paused for breath. The recollection of his splendid publicity was dazzling. He imagined the morrow with its possibility of social triumph; he went as far as to feel that Mrs. Shrimplin now had a certain sneaking respect for him. "Did you see tracks in the snow?" demanded Custer. "No, I didn't see nothing," declared Mr. Shrimplin. "You seen young John North." It was Mrs. Shrimplin who spoke. "Well, yes, I seen young John North--I said I seen him!" CHAPTER SIX PUTTING ON THE SCREWS A score of men and boys followed the undertaker's wagon to the small frame cottage that had been Archibald McBride's home for half a century, and a group of these assembled about the gate as the wagon drew up before it. Along the quiet street, windows were raised and doors were opened. It was perhaps the first time, as it was to be the last, that Archibald McBride's neighbors took note of his home-coming. His keys had been found and intrusted to one of the policemen who accompanied the undertaker and his men; now, as the wagon came to a stand, this officer sprang to the ground, and pushing open the gate went quickly up the path to the front door. There in the shelter of the porch he paused to light a lantern, then he tried key after key until he found the one that fitted the lock; he opened the door and entered the house, the undertaker following him. A second officer stationed himself at the door and kept back the crowd. Their preparations were soon made and the two men reappeared on the porch. "It's all right," the undertaker said, and four men raised the stretcher again and carried the old merchant into the house. At this juncture Colonel Harbison, followed by his nephew and Gilmore, made his way through the crowd before the door. Gilmore, even, gave an involuntary shudder as they entered the small hall lighted by the single lantern, while the colonel could have wished himself anywhere else; he had come from a sense of duty; he had known McBride as well as any one in Mount Hope had known him, and it had seemed a lack of respect to the dead man to leave him to the care of the merely curious; but he was painfully conscious of the still presence in the parlor; he felt that they were unwelcome intruders in the home of that austere old man, who had made no friends, who had no intimates, but had lived according to his choice, solitary and alone. The colonel and Watt Harbison followed the gambler into what had been the old merchant's sitting-room. There were two lamps on the chimneypiece, both of which Gilmore lighted. "That's a whole lot better," he said. "Anything more we can do, gentlemen?" asked the undertaker, coming into the room. "Nothing, thank you," answered the colonel in a tone of abstraction, and he felt a sense of relief when the officials had gone their way into the night, leaving him and his two companions to their vigil. Now for the first time they had leisure and opportunity to look about them. It was a poor enough place, all things considered; the furniture was dingy with age and neglect, for Archibald McBride had kept no servant; a worn and faded carpet covered the floor; there was an engraving of Washington Crossing the Delaware and a few old-fashioned woodcuts on the wall; at one side of the room was a desk, opposite it a rusted sheet-iron stove in which Watt Harbison was already starting a fire; there was a scant assortment of uncomfortable chairs, a table, with one leg bandaged, and near the desk an old mahogany davenport. "This wouldn't have suited you, eh, Colonel?" said Gilmore at last. "He could hardly be said to live here, he merely came here to sleep," answered the colonel. "No, he couldn't have cared for anything but the one thing," said Gilmore. "Were you ever here before, Colonel?" he added. "Never." "I don't suppose half a dozen people in the town were ever inside his door until to-night," said Watt Harbison, speaking for the first time. Gilmore turned to look at the colonel's nephew as if he had only that moment become aware of his presence. What he saw did not impress him greatly, for young Watt, save for an unusually large head, was much like other young men of his class. His speech was soft, his face beardless and his gray eyes gazed steadily but without curiosity on, what was for him, an uncliented world. For the eighteen months that he had been an "attorney and counselor at law" the detail of office rent had been taken care of by the colonel. "Sort of makes the game he played seem rotten poor sport," commented Gilmore, replying to the nephew but looking at the uncle. The colonel was silent. "Rotten poor sport!" repeated Gilmore. "Who'll come in for his property?" asked Watt Harbison. "Oh, some one will claim that," said Gilmore. "They were saying down at the store, that once, years ago, a brother of his turned up, here, but McBride got rid of him." "Suppose we have a look around before we settle ourselves for the night," suggested Watt Harbison. "Will you join us, Colonel?" asked the gambler. But the colonel shook his head. Gilmore took up one of the lamps as he spoke and opened a door that led into what had evidently once been a dining-room, but it was now only partly furnished; back of this was a kitchen, and beyond the kitchen a woodshed. Returning to the front of the house, they mounted to the floor above. Here had been the old merchant's bedroom; adjoining it were two smaller rooms, one of which had been used as a place of storage for trunks and boxes and broken bits of furniture; the other room was empty. "We may as well go back down-stairs," said the gambler, halting, lamp in hand, in the center of the empty room. Harbison nodded, and leading the way to the floor below, they rejoined the colonel in the sitting-room, where they made themselves as comfortable as possible. The colonel and his nephew talked in subdued tones, principally of the murdered man; they had no desire to exclude their companion from the conversation, but Gilmore displayed no interest in what was said. He sat at the colonel's elbow, preoccupied and thoughtful, smoking cigar after cigar. Presently the colonel and his nephew lapsed into silence. Their silence seemed to rouse Gilmore to what was passing about him. He glanced at the elder Harbison. "You look tired, Colonel," he said. "Why don't you stretch out on that lounge yonder and take a nap?" "I think I shall, Andy, if you and Watt don't mind." And the colonel quitted his chair. "Better put your coat over you," advised the gambler. He watched the colonel as he made himself comfortable on the lounge, then he lighted a fresh cigar, tilted his chair against the wall and with head thrown back studied the ceiling. Watt Harbison made one or two tentative attempts at conversation, to which Gilmore briefly responded, then the young fellow also became thoughtful. He fell to watching the gambler's strong profile which the lamp silhouetted against the opposite wall; then drowsiness completely overcame him and he slept in his chair with his head fallen forward on his breast. Gilmore, alert and sleepless, smoked on; he was thinking of Evelyn Langham. After his interview with her husband that afternoon he had gone to his own apartment. His bedroom adjoined North's parlor and through the flimsy lath and plaster partition he had distinctly heard a woman's voice. The sound of that voice and the suspicion it instantly begot added to his furious hatred of North, for he had long suspected that something more than friendship existed between Marshall Langham's wife and Marshall Langham's friend. "Damn him!" thought the gambler. "I'll fix him yet!" And he puffed at his cigar viciously. He had made sure that North's mysterious visitor was Evelyn Langham, for when she left the building he himself had followed her. Out of the dregs of his nature this foolish mad passion of his had arisen to torture him; he had never spoken with Langham's wife, probably she knew him by sight, nothing more; but still his game, the waiting game he had been forced to play, was working itself out better than he had even hoped! At last he had Marshall Langham where he wanted him, where he could make him feel his power. Langham would not be able to raise the money required to cover up those forgeries, and on the basis of silence he would make his bargain with the lawyer. Gilmore pondered this problem for the better part of an hour, considering it from every conceivable angle; then suddenly the expression of his face changed, he forgot for the moment his ambitions and his desires, his hatred and his love; he thought he heard the click of the old-fashioned latch on the front gate. He remembered that it could be raised only with difficulty. Next he heard the sound of footsteps approaching the house. They seemed to come haltingly down the narrow brick path which the wind had swept clear of snow. Mr. Gilmore was blessed with a steadiness of nerve known to but few men, yet the hour and the occasion had their influence with him. He stood erect: now the steps which had paused for a moment seemed to recede; it was as if the intruder, whoever he might be, had come almost to the front door and had then, for some inexplicable reason, gone back to the street. Gilmore even imagined him as standing there with his hand on the latch of the gate. He was tempted to rouse his two companions, but he did not, and then, as he still stood with his senses tense, he heard the steps again approach the front door. With a glance in the direction of the colonel and his nephew to assure himself that they still slept, Gilmore rather shamefacedly slipped his right hand under the tails of his coat, tiptoed into the hall and paused there close by the parlor door. The steps

readily

How many times the word 'readily' appears in the text?

with a gasp. He collapsed again, and again the colonel, whose gloved hand still retained its hold on his collar, set him on his trembling legs with admirable expertness. "I tell you he's dead!" cried Mr. Shrimplin, lost to everything but that one dreadful fact. "Who's dead?" demanded the colonel. "Stand up, man, don't fall about like that or you may do yourself some injury!" for Mr. Shrimplin seemed about to collapse once more. "Old man McBride, Colonel--if he ain't dead I wish I may never see death!" "Dead!" cried the colonel. "Archibald McBride dead!" He released his hold on Mr. Shrimplin and took a step toward the door; Shrimplin, however, detained him with a shaking hand, though he was calmer now. "Colonel, you'd better be careful, he's lying there in a pool of blood; some one's killed him for his money! How do we know the murderer ain't there!" This conjecture was made to the empty street, for Colonel Harbison had entered the store. "Why does he want to leave me like that!" wailed Shrimplin, and his panic threatened a return. He dragged himself to the door. Here he paused, since he could not bring himself to enter, for before his eyes was the ghastly vision of that old man huddled on the blood-stained floor. He heard the colonel's steps echo down the long room, and when their sound ceased he knew he was standing beside the dead man. After what seemed an age of waiting the steps sounded again, and a moment later the colonel's tall form filled the doorway. "Andy!" said the colonel. Mr. Shrimplin turned with a start. At his back within reach of his hand stood Andy Gilmore. He had been utterly unaware of the gambler's approach, but now conscious of it he dropped in a miserable heap on the door-sill, while the white and unfamiliar world reeled before his bleached blue eyes; it was the very drunkenness of fear. "Howdy, Colonel," said the gambler, as he gave Harbison a half-military salute. He admired the colonel, who had once threatened to horsewhip him if he ever permitted his nephew, Watt, to enter his rooms. "Come here, Andy!" ordered the colonel briefly. "God's sake, Colonel!" gasped the wretched little lamplighter, struggling to his feet, "don't leave me here--" "What's wrong, Colonel?" asked Gilmore. "Archibald McBride's been murdered!" Mr. Gilmore took the butt of the half-smoked cigar from between his teeth, tossed it into the gutter, and pushing past Mr. Shrimplin entered the room. Colonel Harbison, a step or two in advance of his companion, led the way to the rear of the store. The colonel paused, and Gilmore gained a place at his elbow. "You are sure he's dead?" questioned the gambler. Kneeling beside the crumpled figure Gilmore slipped his hand in between the body and the floor; his manner was cool and businesslike. After a moment he withdrew his hand and looked, up into the colonel's face. "Well?" asked the colonel. "Oh, he's dead, all right!" Gilmore glanced about him, and the colonel's eyes following, they both discovered that the door leading into the side yard was partly open. "He went that way, eh, Colonel?" "It's altogether likely," agreed the veteran. "It's a nasty business!" said Gilmore reflectively. "Shocking!" snapped the colonel. "He took big chances," commented the gambler, "living the way he did." He spoke of the dead man. "Poor old man!" said the colonel pityingly. What had it all amounted to, those chances for the sake of gain, which Gilmore had in mind. "He can't have been dead very long," said Gilmore. "Did _you_ find him, Colonel?" he asked as he stood erect. "No, Shrimplin found him." Again the two men looked about them. On the floor by the counter at their right was a heavy sledge. Gilmore called Harbison's attention to this. "I guess the job was done with that," he said. "Possibly," agreed Harbison. Gilmore picked up the sledge and examined it narrowly. "Yes, you can see, there is blood on it." He handed it to Harbison, who stepped under the nearest lamp with the clumsy weapon in his hand. "You are right, Andy!" and he glanced at the rude instrument of death with a look of repugnance on his keen sensitive face, then he carefully, placed it under the wooden counter. "Horrible!" he muttered to himself. "It was no joke for him!" said the gambler, catching the last word. "But some one was bound to try this dodge sooner or later. Why, as far back as I can remember, people said he kept his money hidden away at the bottom of nail kegs and under heaps of scrap-iron." He took a cigar from his pocket, bit off the end, and struck a match. "Well, I wouldn't want to be the other fellow, Colonel; I'd be in all kinds of a panic; it takes nerve for a job like this." "It's a shocking circumstance," said the colonel. "I wonder if it paid!" speculated the gambler. "And I wonder who'll get what he leaves. Has he any family or relatives?" "No, not so far as any one knows. He came here many years ago, a close-mouthed Scotchman, who never had any intimates, never married, and never spoke of his private affairs." There was a slight commotion at the door. They could hear Shrimplin's agitated voice, and a moment later two men, chance passers-by with whom he had been speaking, shook themselves free of the little lamplighter and entered the room. The new-comers nodded to the colonel and Gilmore as they paused to stare mutely at the body on the floor. "He bled like a stuck pig!" said one of the men at last. He was a ragged slouching creature with a splotched and bloated face half hidden by a bristling red beard. He glanced at Gilmore for an uncertain instant out of a pair of small shifty eyes. "It's murder, ain't it, boss?" he added. "No doubt about that, Joe!" rejoined the gambler. "I suppose it was robbery?" said the other man, who had not spoken before. "Very likely," answered the colonel. "We have not examined the place, however; we shall wait for the proper officials." "Who do you want, Colonel?" "Coroner Taylor, and I suppose the sheriff," replied Harbison. The man nodded. "All right, I'll bring them; and say, what about the prosecuting attorney?" as he turned to leave. "Yes, bring Moxlow, too, if you can find him." The man hurried from the room. Gilmore leaned against the counter and smoked imperturbably. Joe Montgomery, with his great slouching shoulders arched, and his grimy hands buried deep in his trousers pockets, stared at the dead man in stolid wonder. Colonel Harbison's glance sought the same object but with a sensitive shrinking as from an ugly brutal thing. A clock ticked loudly in the office; there was the occasional fall of cinders from the grate of the rusted stove that heated the place; these were sounds that neither Gilmore nor the colonel had heard before. Presently a lean black cat stole from the office and sprang upon the counter; it purred softly. "Hello, puss!" said the gambler, putting out a hand. The cat stole closer. "I guess I'll have to take you home with me, eh? This ain't a place for unprotected females!" The cat crept back and forth under his caressing touch. At the street-door Shrimplin appeared and disappeared, now his head was thrust into the room, and now his nose was flattened against the dingy show-windows; from neither point could he quite command the view he desired nor could he bring himself to enter the building; then he vanished entirely, but after a brief interval they heard his voice. He was evidently speaking with some one in the street. A little crowd was rapidly gathering about him, but it disintegrated almost immediately, his listeners abandoning him to hurry into the store. "You must stand back, all of you!" said the colonel. "Unless you are very careful you may destroy important evidence!" The crowd assembled itself silently for the most part; here and there a man removed his hat, or made some whispered comment, or asked some eager low-voiced question of Gilmore or the colonel. Men stood on boxes, on nail kegs, and on counters. Except for the little circle left about the dead man on the floor, every vantage point of observation was soon occupied. It was scarcely half an hour since Shrimplin had fallen speechless into Colonel Harbison's arms, yet fully two hundred men had gathered in that long room or were struggling about the door to gain admittance to it. At a suggestion from Harbison, the gambler, followed by Joe, elbowed his way to the front door, which in spite of the protest of those outside, he closed and locked. A moment later, however, he opened it to admit Doctor Taylor, the coroner, and Conklin, the sheriff. The latter instantly set about clearing the room. Gilmore and the colonel remained with the officials and during the succeeding ten minutes the gambler, who had kept his post at the door, opened, it to Moxlow, young Watt Harbison and two policemen. As the coroner finished his examination of the body, the sound of wheels was heard in the Square and an undertaker's wagon drew up to the door. The murdered man was placed on a stretcher and covered with a black cloth, then four men raised the stretcher and for the last time the old merchant passed out under his creaking sign into the night. "I've agreed to watch at the house, Andy," said Colonel Harbison. "I want you and Watt to come with me." The gambler lighted a fresh cigar and the three men left the store. On the Square groups of men discussed the murder. Though none was permitted to enter the store, the windows afforded occasional glimpses of the little group of officials within, until a policeman closed and fastened the heavy wooden shutters. Then the crowd slowly and reluctantly dispersed. Meanwhile the town marshal, under cover of the excitement, had descended on the gas house where tramps congregated of winter nights for warmth and shelter. Here he found shivering over a can of beer, two homeless wretches, whom he arrested as suspicious characters. After this, official activity languished, for the official mind could think of nothing more to do. With the scattering of the crowd on the Square, Shrimplin climbed into his cart and drove off home. The smother of wind-driven snow still enveloped the, town, the very air seemed charged with mystery and horror, and before the little lamplighter's eyes was ever the haunting vision of the murdered man. He drove into the alley back of his house, unhitched Bill and led him into the barn. His torch made the gloom of the place more terrifying than utter darkness would have been. Suppose the murderer should be hiding there! Mr. Shrimplin's mind fastened on the hay-mow as the most likely place of concealment, and the cold sweat ran from him in icy streams; he could, almost see the murderer's evil eyes fixed upon him from the blackness above. But at last Bill was stripped of his harness, and the little lamplighter, escaping from the barn with its fancied terrors, hurried across his small back yard to his kitchen door. "Well!" said Mrs. Shrimplin, as he entered the room. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever think it worth your while to come home!" "What's the bell been ringing for?" asked Custer. Mrs. Shrimplin was seated by the table, which was littered with her sewing; Custer occupied his usual chair by the stove, and it was evident that they knew nothing of the tragedy in which Mr. Shrimplin had played so important, and as he now felt, so worthy a part. "I suppose I've been out quite a time, and I may say I've seen times, too! I guess there ain't no one in the town fitter to say they seen times than just me!" The light and comfort of his own pleasant kitchen had quite restored Mr. Shrimplin. "I may say I seen times!" he repeated significantly. "There's something doing in this here old town after all! I take back a heap of the hard things I've said about it; a feller can scare up a little excitement if he knows where to look for it. I ain't bragging none, but I guess you'll hear my name mentioned--I guess you'll even see it in print in the newspapers!" He warmed his cold hands over the stove. "Throw in a little more coal, sonny; I'm half froze, but I guess that's the worst any one can say of me!" "You make much of it, whatever it is," said Mrs. Shrimplin. "Maybe I do and maybe I don't," equivocated Mr. Shrimplin genially. "Maybe you're not above telling a body what kept you out half the night?" inquired his wife. "If you done and seen what I've did and saw," replied Mr. Shrimplin impressively, "you'd look for a little respect in your own home." "I'd be a heap quicker telling about it," said Mrs. Shrimplin. Mr. Shrimplin turned to Custer. "I guess, you're thinking it was a burglar; but, sonny, it wasn't no burglar--so you got another guess coming to you," he concluded benevolently. "I know!" cried Custer. "Some one's been killed!" "Exactly!" said Mr. Shrimplin with increasing benevolence. "Some one has been killed!" "You done it!" cried Custer. "I found the party," admitted Mr. Shrimplin with calm dignity. "Oh!" But perhaps Custer's first emotion was on the whole one of disappointment. "How you talk!" said Mrs. Shrimplin. "I reckon I might say more, most any one would," retorted Mr. Shrimplin quietly. "It was old man McBride--someone's murdered him for his money; I never seen the town so on end over anything before, but whoever wants to be well posted's got to come to me for the particulars. I seen the old man before Colonel Harbison seen him, I seen him before Andy Gilmore seen him, I seen him before the coroner seen him, or the sheriff or _any one_ seen him! I was on the spot ahead of 'em all. If any one wants to know how he looked just after he was killed, they got to come to me to find out. Colonel Harbison can't tell 'em, and Andy Gilmore can't tell 'em; it's only me knows them particulars!" The effect of this stirring declaration was quite all he had hoped for. Out of the tail of his eye he saw that Mrs. Shrimplin was, as she afterward freely confessed, taken aback. As for Custer, he had forgotten his disappointment that a death by violence had occurred for which his father was not directly responsible. "Did you see the man that killed old Mr. McBride?" asked Custer, breaking the breathless spell that was upon him. "No; if I'd been just about fifteen minutes sooner I'd have seen him; but I was just about that much too late, sonny. I guess he's a whole lot better off, though." "What would you have done if you'd seen him?" Custer's voice sank to a whisper. "Well, I don't pack a gun for nothing. If I'd seen him there, he'd had to go 'round to the jail with me. I guess I could have coaxed him there; I was ready for to offer extra inducements!" "And does everybody know you seen old Mr. McBride the first of any?" asked Custer. "I guess they do; I ain't afraid about that. Colonel Harbison's too much of a gentleman to claim any credit that ain't his; he'd be the first one to own up that he don't deserve no credit." "What took you into McBride's store? You hadn't no errand there." Mrs. Shrimplin was a careful and acquisitive wife. "I allow I made an errand there," said Mr. Shrimplin bridling. "I reckon many another man might have thought he hadn't no errand there either, but I feel different about them things. I was just turned into the Square when along comes young John North--" "What was he doing there?" suddenly asked Mrs. Shrimplin. "I expect he was attending strictly to his own business," retorted Mr. Shrimplin, offended by the utter irrelevancy of the question. "Go on, pal" begged Custer. He felt that his mother's interruptions were positively cruel, and--so like a woman! "Me and young John North passed the time of day," continued Mr. Shrimplin, thus abjured, "and I started around the north side of the Square to light the lamp on old man McBride's own corner. If I'd knowed then--" he paused impressively, "if I'd just knowed then, that was my time! I could have laid hands on the murderer. He was there somewheres, most likely he was watching me; well, maybe it was all for the best, I don't know as a married man's got any right to take chances. Anyway, I got to within, well--I should say, thirty feet of that lamp-post when all of a sudden Bill began to act up. You never saw a horse act up like he done! He rose in his britching and then the other end of him come up and he acted like he wanted to set down on the singletree!" "Why did he do that?" asked Custer. "Well, I guess you've got some few things to learn, Custer;" said Mr. Shrimplin indulgently. "He smelt blood--that's what he smelt!" "Oh!" gasped Custer. "I've knowed it to happen before. It's instinct," explained Shrimplin. "'Singular,' says I, and out I jumps to have a look about. I walked to the lamp-post, and then I seen what I hadn't seen before, that old man McBride's store door was open, so I stepped on to the sidewalk intending to close it, but as I put my hand on the knob I seen where the snow had drifted into the room, so I knew the door must have been open some little time. That's mighty odd, I thinks, and then it sort of come over me the way Bill had acted, and I went along into the store in pretty considerable of a hurry." "Were you afraid?" demanded Custer in an awe-struck whisper. "I'll tell you the truth, Custer, I wasn't. I own I'd drawed my gun, wishing to be on the safe side. First thing I noticed was that the lamps hadn't been turned up, though they was all lit. I got back to the end of the counter when I came to a halt, for there in a heap on the floor was old man McBride, with his head mashed in where some one had hit him with a sledge. There was blood all over the floor, and it was a mighty sickenin' spectacle. I sort of looked around hoping I'd see the murderer, but he'd lit out, and then I went back to the front of the store, where I seen Colonel Harbison coming across the Square. I told him what I'd seen and he went inside to look; while he was looking, along come Andy Gilmore and I told him, too, and he went in. They knowed the murderer wasn't there, that I'd been in ahead of them. After, that the people seemed to come from every direction; then presently some one started to ring the town bell and that fetched more people, until the Square in front of the store was packed and jammed with 'em. Everybody' wanted to hear about it first-hand from me; they wanted the _full particulars_ from the only one who knowed 'em." Mr. Shrimplin paused for breath. The recollection of his splendid publicity was dazzling. He imagined the morrow with its possibility of social triumph; he went as far as to feel that Mrs. Shrimplin now had a certain sneaking respect for him. "Did you see tracks in the snow?" demanded Custer. "No, I didn't see nothing," declared Mr. Shrimplin. "You seen young John North." It was Mrs. Shrimplin who spoke. "Well, yes, I seen young John North--I said I seen him!" CHAPTER SIX PUTTING ON THE SCREWS A score of men and boys followed the undertaker's wagon to the small frame cottage that had been Archibald McBride's home for half a century, and a group of these assembled about the gate as the wagon drew up before it. Along the quiet street, windows were raised and doors were opened. It was perhaps the first time, as it was to be the last, that Archibald McBride's neighbors took note of his home-coming. His keys had been found and intrusted to one of the policemen who accompanied the undertaker and his men; now, as the wagon came to a stand, this officer sprang to the ground, and pushing open the gate went quickly up the path to the front door. There in the shelter of the porch he paused to light a lantern, then he tried key after key until he found the one that fitted the lock; he opened the door and entered the house, the undertaker following him. A second officer stationed himself at the door and kept back the crowd. Their preparations were soon made and the two men reappeared on the porch. "It's all right," the undertaker said, and four men raised the stretcher again and carried the old merchant into the house. At this juncture Colonel Harbison, followed by his nephew and Gilmore, made his way through the crowd before the door. Gilmore, even, gave an involuntary shudder as they entered the small hall lighted by the single lantern, while the colonel could have wished himself anywhere else; he had come from a sense of duty; he had known McBride as well as any one in Mount Hope had known him, and it had seemed a lack of respect to the dead man to leave him to the care of the merely curious; but he was painfully conscious of the still presence in the parlor; he felt that they were unwelcome intruders in the home of that austere old man, who had made no friends, who had no intimates, but had lived according to his choice, solitary and alone. The colonel and Watt Harbison followed the gambler into what had been the old merchant's sitting-room. There were two lamps on the chimneypiece, both of which Gilmore lighted. "That's a whole lot better," he said. "Anything more we can do, gentlemen?" asked the undertaker, coming into the room. "Nothing, thank you," answered the colonel in a tone of abstraction, and he felt a sense of relief when the officials had gone their way into the night, leaving him and his two companions to their vigil. Now for the first time they had leisure and opportunity to look about them. It was a poor enough place, all things considered; the furniture was dingy with age and neglect, for Archibald McBride had kept no servant; a worn and faded carpet covered the floor; there was an engraving of Washington Crossing the Delaware and a few old-fashioned woodcuts on the wall; at one side of the room was a desk, opposite it a rusted sheet-iron stove in which Watt Harbison was already starting a fire; there was a scant assortment of uncomfortable chairs, a table, with one leg bandaged, and near the desk an old mahogany davenport. "This wouldn't have suited you, eh, Colonel?" said Gilmore at last. "He could hardly be said to live here, he merely came here to sleep," answered the colonel. "No, he couldn't have cared for anything but the one thing," said Gilmore. "Were you ever here before, Colonel?" he added. "Never." "I don't suppose half a dozen people in the town were ever inside his door until to-night," said Watt Harbison, speaking for the first time. Gilmore turned to look at the colonel's nephew as if he had only that moment become aware of his presence. What he saw did not impress him greatly, for young Watt, save for an unusually large head, was much like other young men of his class. His speech was soft, his face beardless and his gray eyes gazed steadily but without curiosity on, what was for him, an uncliented world. For the eighteen months that he had been an "attorney and counselor at law" the detail of office rent had been taken care of by the colonel. "Sort of makes the game he played seem rotten poor sport," commented Gilmore, replying to the nephew but looking at the uncle. The colonel was silent. "Rotten poor sport!" repeated Gilmore. "Who'll come in for his property?" asked Watt Harbison. "Oh, some one will claim that," said Gilmore. "They were saying down at the store, that once, years ago, a brother of his turned up, here, but McBride got rid of him." "Suppose we have a look around before we settle ourselves for the night," suggested Watt Harbison. "Will you join us, Colonel?" asked the gambler. But the colonel shook his head. Gilmore took up one of the lamps as he spoke and opened a door that led into what had evidently once been a dining-room, but it was now only partly furnished; back of this was a kitchen, and beyond the kitchen a woodshed. Returning to the front of the house, they mounted to the floor above. Here had been the old merchant's bedroom; adjoining it were two smaller rooms, one of which had been used as a place of storage for trunks and boxes and broken bits of furniture; the other room was empty. "We may as well go back down-stairs," said the gambler, halting, lamp in hand, in the center of the empty room. Harbison nodded, and leading the way to the floor below, they rejoined the colonel in the sitting-room, where they made themselves as comfortable as possible. The colonel and his nephew talked in subdued tones, principally of the murdered man; they had no desire to exclude their companion from the conversation, but Gilmore displayed no interest in what was said. He sat at the colonel's elbow, preoccupied and thoughtful, smoking cigar after cigar. Presently the colonel and his nephew lapsed into silence. Their silence seemed to rouse Gilmore to what was passing about him. He glanced at the elder Harbison. "You look tired, Colonel," he said. "Why don't you stretch out on that lounge yonder and take a nap?" "I think I shall, Andy, if you and Watt don't mind." And the colonel quitted his chair. "Better put your coat over you," advised the gambler. He watched the colonel as he made himself comfortable on the lounge, then he lighted a fresh cigar, tilted his chair against the wall and with head thrown back studied the ceiling. Watt Harbison made one or two tentative attempts at conversation, to which Gilmore briefly responded, then the young fellow also became thoughtful. He fell to watching the gambler's strong profile which the lamp silhouetted against the opposite wall; then drowsiness completely overcame him and he slept in his chair with his head fallen forward on his breast. Gilmore, alert and sleepless, smoked on; he was thinking of Evelyn Langham. After his interview with her husband that afternoon he had gone to his own apartment. His bedroom adjoined North's parlor and through the flimsy lath and plaster partition he had distinctly heard a woman's voice. The sound of that voice and the suspicion it instantly begot added to his furious hatred of North, for he had long suspected that something more than friendship existed between Marshall Langham's wife and Marshall Langham's friend. "Damn him!" thought the gambler. "I'll fix him yet!" And he puffed at his cigar viciously. He had made sure that North's mysterious visitor was Evelyn Langham, for when she left the building he himself had followed her. Out of the dregs of his nature this foolish mad passion of his had arisen to torture him; he had never spoken with Langham's wife, probably she knew him by sight, nothing more; but still his game, the waiting game he had been forced to play, was working itself out better than he had even hoped! At last he had Marshall Langham where he wanted him, where he could make him feel his power. Langham would not be able to raise the money required to cover up those forgeries, and on the basis of silence he would make his bargain with the lawyer. Gilmore pondered this problem for the better part of an hour, considering it from every conceivable angle; then suddenly the expression of his face changed, he forgot for the moment his ambitions and his desires, his hatred and his love; he thought he heard the click of the old-fashioned latch on the front gate. He remembered that it could be raised only with difficulty. Next he heard the sound of footsteps approaching the house. They seemed to come haltingly down the narrow brick path which the wind had swept clear of snow. Mr. Gilmore was blessed with a steadiness of nerve known to but few men, yet the hour and the occasion had their influence with him. He stood erect: now the steps which had paused for a moment seemed to recede; it was as if the intruder, whoever he might be, had come almost to the front door and had then, for some inexplicable reason, gone back to the street. Gilmore even imagined him as standing there with his hand on the latch of the gate. He was tempted to rouse his two companions, but he did not, and then, as he still stood with his senses tense, he heard the steps again approach the front door. With a glance in the direction of the colonel and his nephew to assure himself that they still slept, Gilmore rather shamefacedly slipped his right hand under the tails of his coat, tiptoed into the hall and paused there close by the parlor door. The steps

hear

How many times the word 'hear' appears in the text?

with a gasp. He collapsed again, and again the colonel, whose gloved hand still retained its hold on his collar, set him on his trembling legs with admirable expertness. "I tell you he's dead!" cried Mr. Shrimplin, lost to everything but that one dreadful fact. "Who's dead?" demanded the colonel. "Stand up, man, don't fall about like that or you may do yourself some injury!" for Mr. Shrimplin seemed about to collapse once more. "Old man McBride, Colonel--if he ain't dead I wish I may never see death!" "Dead!" cried the colonel. "Archibald McBride dead!" He released his hold on Mr. Shrimplin and took a step toward the door; Shrimplin, however, detained him with a shaking hand, though he was calmer now. "Colonel, you'd better be careful, he's lying there in a pool of blood; some one's killed him for his money! How do we know the murderer ain't there!" This conjecture was made to the empty street, for Colonel Harbison had entered the store. "Why does he want to leave me like that!" wailed Shrimplin, and his panic threatened a return. He dragged himself to the door. Here he paused, since he could not bring himself to enter, for before his eyes was the ghastly vision of that old man huddled on the blood-stained floor. He heard the colonel's steps echo down the long room, and when their sound ceased he knew he was standing beside the dead man. After what seemed an age of waiting the steps sounded again, and a moment later the colonel's tall form filled the doorway. "Andy!" said the colonel. Mr. Shrimplin turned with a start. At his back within reach of his hand stood Andy Gilmore. He had been utterly unaware of the gambler's approach, but now conscious of it he dropped in a miserable heap on the door-sill, while the white and unfamiliar world reeled before his bleached blue eyes; it was the very drunkenness of fear. "Howdy, Colonel," said the gambler, as he gave Harbison a half-military salute. He admired the colonel, who had once threatened to horsewhip him if he ever permitted his nephew, Watt, to enter his rooms. "Come here, Andy!" ordered the colonel briefly. "God's sake, Colonel!" gasped the wretched little lamplighter, struggling to his feet, "don't leave me here--" "What's wrong, Colonel?" asked Gilmore. "Archibald McBride's been murdered!" Mr. Gilmore took the butt of the half-smoked cigar from between his teeth, tossed it into the gutter, and pushing past Mr. Shrimplin entered the room. Colonel Harbison, a step or two in advance of his companion, led the way to the rear of the store. The colonel paused, and Gilmore gained a place at his elbow. "You are sure he's dead?" questioned the gambler. Kneeling beside the crumpled figure Gilmore slipped his hand in between the body and the floor; his manner was cool and businesslike. After a moment he withdrew his hand and looked, up into the colonel's face. "Well?" asked the colonel. "Oh, he's dead, all right!" Gilmore glanced about him, and the colonel's eyes following, they both discovered that the door leading into the side yard was partly open. "He went that way, eh, Colonel?" "It's altogether likely," agreed the veteran. "It's a nasty business!" said Gilmore reflectively. "Shocking!" snapped the colonel. "He took big chances," commented the gambler, "living the way he did." He spoke of the dead man. "Poor old man!" said the colonel pityingly. What had it all amounted to, those chances for the sake of gain, which Gilmore had in mind. "He can't have been dead very long," said Gilmore. "Did _you_ find him, Colonel?" he asked as he stood erect. "No, Shrimplin found him." Again the two men looked about them. On the floor by the counter at their right was a heavy sledge. Gilmore called Harbison's attention to this. "I guess the job was done with that," he said. "Possibly," agreed Harbison. Gilmore picked up the sledge and examined it narrowly. "Yes, you can see, there is blood on it." He handed it to Harbison, who stepped under the nearest lamp with the clumsy weapon in his hand. "You are right, Andy!" and he glanced at the rude instrument of death with a look of repugnance on his keen sensitive face, then he carefully, placed it under the wooden counter. "Horrible!" he muttered to himself. "It was no joke for him!" said the gambler, catching the last word. "But some one was bound to try this dodge sooner or later. Why, as far back as I can remember, people said he kept his money hidden away at the bottom of nail kegs and under heaps of scrap-iron." He took a cigar from his pocket, bit off the end, and struck a match. "Well, I wouldn't want to be the other fellow, Colonel; I'd be in all kinds of a panic; it takes nerve for a job like this." "It's a shocking circumstance," said the colonel. "I wonder if it paid!" speculated the gambler. "And I wonder who'll get what he leaves. Has he any family or relatives?" "No, not so far as any one knows. He came here many years ago, a close-mouthed Scotchman, who never had any intimates, never married, and never spoke of his private affairs." There was a slight commotion at the door. They could hear Shrimplin's agitated voice, and a moment later two men, chance passers-by with whom he had been speaking, shook themselves free of the little lamplighter and entered the room. The new-comers nodded to the colonel and Gilmore as they paused to stare mutely at the body on the floor. "He bled like a stuck pig!" said one of the men at last. He was a ragged slouching creature with a splotched and bloated face half hidden by a bristling red beard. He glanced at Gilmore for an uncertain instant out of a pair of small shifty eyes. "It's murder, ain't it, boss?" he added. "No doubt about that, Joe!" rejoined the gambler. "I suppose it was robbery?" said the other man, who had not spoken before. "Very likely," answered the colonel. "We have not examined the place, however; we shall wait for the proper officials." "Who do you want, Colonel?" "Coroner Taylor, and I suppose the sheriff," replied Harbison. The man nodded. "All right, I'll bring them; and say, what about the prosecuting attorney?" as he turned to leave. "Yes, bring Moxlow, too, if you can find him." The man hurried from the room. Gilmore leaned against the counter and smoked imperturbably. Joe Montgomery, with his great slouching shoulders arched, and his grimy hands buried deep in his trousers pockets, stared at the dead man in stolid wonder. Colonel Harbison's glance sought the same object but with a sensitive shrinking as from an ugly brutal thing. A clock ticked loudly in the office; there was the occasional fall of cinders from the grate of the rusted stove that heated the place; these were sounds that neither Gilmore nor the colonel had heard before. Presently a lean black cat stole from the office and sprang upon the counter; it purred softly. "Hello, puss!" said the gambler, putting out a hand. The cat stole closer. "I guess I'll have to take you home with me, eh? This ain't a place for unprotected females!" The cat crept back and forth under his caressing touch. At the street-door Shrimplin appeared and disappeared, now his head was thrust into the room, and now his nose was flattened against the dingy show-windows; from neither point could he quite command the view he desired nor could he bring himself to enter the building; then he vanished entirely, but after a brief interval they heard his voice. He was evidently speaking with some one in the street. A little crowd was rapidly gathering about him, but it disintegrated almost immediately, his listeners abandoning him to hurry into the store. "You must stand back, all of you!" said the colonel. "Unless you are very careful you may destroy important evidence!" The crowd assembled itself silently for the most part; here and there a man removed his hat, or made some whispered comment, or asked some eager low-voiced question of Gilmore or the colonel. Men stood on boxes, on nail kegs, and on counters. Except for the little circle left about the dead man on the floor, every vantage point of observation was soon occupied. It was scarcely half an hour since Shrimplin had fallen speechless into Colonel Harbison's arms, yet fully two hundred men had gathered in that long room or were struggling about the door to gain admittance to it. At a suggestion from Harbison, the gambler, followed by Joe, elbowed his way to the front door, which in spite of the protest of those outside, he closed and locked. A moment later, however, he opened it to admit Doctor Taylor, the coroner, and Conklin, the sheriff. The latter instantly set about clearing the room. Gilmore and the colonel remained with the officials and during the succeeding ten minutes the gambler, who had kept his post at the door, opened, it to Moxlow, young Watt Harbison and two policemen. As the coroner finished his examination of the body, the sound of wheels was heard in the Square and an undertaker's wagon drew up to the door. The murdered man was placed on a stretcher and covered with a black cloth, then four men raised the stretcher and for the last time the old merchant passed out under his creaking sign into the night. "I've agreed to watch at the house, Andy," said Colonel Harbison. "I want you and Watt to come with me." The gambler lighted a fresh cigar and the three men left the store. On the Square groups of men discussed the murder. Though none was permitted to enter the store, the windows afforded occasional glimpses of the little group of officials within, until a policeman closed and fastened the heavy wooden shutters. Then the crowd slowly and reluctantly dispersed. Meanwhile the town marshal, under cover of the excitement, had descended on the gas house where tramps congregated of winter nights for warmth and shelter. Here he found shivering over a can of beer, two homeless wretches, whom he arrested as suspicious characters. After this, official activity languished, for the official mind could think of nothing more to do. With the scattering of the crowd on the Square, Shrimplin climbed into his cart and drove off home. The smother of wind-driven snow still enveloped the, town, the very air seemed charged with mystery and horror, and before the little lamplighter's eyes was ever the haunting vision of the murdered man. He drove into the alley back of his house, unhitched Bill and led him into the barn. His torch made the gloom of the place more terrifying than utter darkness would have been. Suppose the murderer should be hiding there! Mr. Shrimplin's mind fastened on the hay-mow as the most likely place of concealment, and the cold sweat ran from him in icy streams; he could, almost see the murderer's evil eyes fixed upon him from the blackness above. But at last Bill was stripped of his harness, and the little lamplighter, escaping from the barn with its fancied terrors, hurried across his small back yard to his kitchen door. "Well!" said Mrs. Shrimplin, as he entered the room. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever think it worth your while to come home!" "What's the bell been ringing for?" asked Custer. Mrs. Shrimplin was seated by the table, which was littered with her sewing; Custer occupied his usual chair by the stove, and it was evident that they knew nothing of the tragedy in which Mr. Shrimplin had played so important, and as he now felt, so worthy a part. "I suppose I've been out quite a time, and I may say I've seen times, too! I guess there ain't no one in the town fitter to say they seen times than just me!" The light and comfort of his own pleasant kitchen had quite restored Mr. Shrimplin. "I may say I seen times!" he repeated significantly. "There's something doing in this here old town after all! I take back a heap of the hard things I've said about it; a feller can scare up a little excitement if he knows where to look for it. I ain't bragging none, but I guess you'll hear my name mentioned--I guess you'll even see it in print in the newspapers!" He warmed his cold hands over the stove. "Throw in a little more coal, sonny; I'm half froze, but I guess that's the worst any one can say of me!" "You make much of it, whatever it is," said Mrs. Shrimplin. "Maybe I do and maybe I don't," equivocated Mr. Shrimplin genially. "Maybe you're not above telling a body what kept you out half the night?" inquired his wife. "If you done and seen what I've did and saw," replied Mr. Shrimplin impressively, "you'd look for a little respect in your own home." "I'd be a heap quicker telling about it," said Mrs. Shrimplin. Mr. Shrimplin turned to Custer. "I guess, you're thinking it was a burglar; but, sonny, it wasn't no burglar--so you got another guess coming to you," he concluded benevolently. "I know!" cried Custer. "Some one's been killed!" "Exactly!" said Mr. Shrimplin with increasing benevolence. "Some one has been killed!" "You done it!" cried Custer. "I found the party," admitted Mr. Shrimplin with calm dignity. "Oh!" But perhaps Custer's first emotion was on the whole one of disappointment. "How you talk!" said Mrs. Shrimplin. "I reckon I might say more, most any one would," retorted Mr. Shrimplin quietly. "It was old man McBride--someone's murdered him for his money; I never seen the town so on end over anything before, but whoever wants to be well posted's got to come to me for the particulars. I seen the old man before Colonel Harbison seen him, I seen him before Andy Gilmore seen him, I seen him before the coroner seen him, or the sheriff or _any one_ seen him! I was on the spot ahead of 'em all. If any one wants to know how he looked just after he was killed, they got to come to me to find out. Colonel Harbison can't tell 'em, and Andy Gilmore can't tell 'em; it's only me knows them particulars!" The effect of this stirring declaration was quite all he had hoped for. Out of the tail of his eye he saw that Mrs. Shrimplin was, as she afterward freely confessed, taken aback. As for Custer, he had forgotten his disappointment that a death by violence had occurred for which his father was not directly responsible. "Did you see the man that killed old Mr. McBride?" asked Custer, breaking the breathless spell that was upon him. "No; if I'd been just about fifteen minutes sooner I'd have seen him; but I was just about that much too late, sonny. I guess he's a whole lot better off, though." "What would you have done if you'd seen him?" Custer's voice sank to a whisper. "Well, I don't pack a gun for nothing. If I'd seen him there, he'd had to go 'round to the jail with me. I guess I could have coaxed him there; I was ready for to offer extra inducements!" "And does everybody know you seen old Mr. McBride the first of any?" asked Custer. "I guess they do; I ain't afraid about that. Colonel Harbison's too much of a gentleman to claim any credit that ain't his; he'd be the first one to own up that he don't deserve no credit." "What took you into McBride's store? You hadn't no errand there." Mrs. Shrimplin was a careful and acquisitive wife. "I allow I made an errand there," said Mr. Shrimplin bridling. "I reckon many another man might have thought he hadn't no errand there either, but I feel different about them things. I was just turned into the Square when along comes young John North--" "What was he doing there?" suddenly asked Mrs. Shrimplin. "I expect he was attending strictly to his own business," retorted Mr. Shrimplin, offended by the utter irrelevancy of the question. "Go on, pal" begged Custer. He felt that his mother's interruptions were positively cruel, and--so like a woman! "Me and young John North passed the time of day," continued Mr. Shrimplin, thus abjured, "and I started around the north side of the Square to light the lamp on old man McBride's own corner. If I'd knowed then--" he paused impressively, "if I'd just knowed then, that was my time! I could have laid hands on the murderer. He was there somewheres, most likely he was watching me; well, maybe it was all for the best, I don't know as a married man's got any right to take chances. Anyway, I got to within, well--I should say, thirty feet of that lamp-post when all of a sudden Bill began to act up. You never saw a horse act up like he done! He rose in his britching and then the other end of him come up and he acted like he wanted to set down on the singletree!" "Why did he do that?" asked Custer. "Well, I guess you've got some few things to learn, Custer;" said Mr. Shrimplin indulgently. "He smelt blood--that's what he smelt!" "Oh!" gasped Custer. "I've knowed it to happen before. It's instinct," explained Shrimplin. "'Singular,' says I, and out I jumps to have a look about. I walked to the lamp-post, and then I seen what I hadn't seen before, that old man McBride's store door was open, so I stepped on to the sidewalk intending to close it, but as I put my hand on the knob I seen where the snow had drifted into the room, so I knew the door must have been open some little time. That's mighty odd, I thinks, and then it sort of come over me the way Bill had acted, and I went along into the store in pretty considerable of a hurry." "Were you afraid?" demanded Custer in an awe-struck whisper. "I'll tell you the truth, Custer, I wasn't. I own I'd drawed my gun, wishing to be on the safe side. First thing I noticed was that the lamps hadn't been turned up, though they was all lit. I got back to the end of the counter when I came to a halt, for there in a heap on the floor was old man McBride, with his head mashed in where some one had hit him with a sledge. There was blood all over the floor, and it was a mighty sickenin' spectacle. I sort of looked around hoping I'd see the murderer, but he'd lit out, and then I went back to the front of the store, where I seen Colonel Harbison coming across the Square. I told him what I'd seen and he went inside to look; while he was looking, along come Andy Gilmore and I told him, too, and he went in. They knowed the murderer wasn't there, that I'd been in ahead of them. After, that the people seemed to come from every direction; then presently some one started to ring the town bell and that fetched more people, until the Square in front of the store was packed and jammed with 'em. Everybody' wanted to hear about it first-hand from me; they wanted the _full particulars_ from the only one who knowed 'em." Mr. Shrimplin paused for breath. The recollection of his splendid publicity was dazzling. He imagined the morrow with its possibility of social triumph; he went as far as to feel that Mrs. Shrimplin now had a certain sneaking respect for him. "Did you see tracks in the snow?" demanded Custer. "No, I didn't see nothing," declared Mr. Shrimplin. "You seen young John North." It was Mrs. Shrimplin who spoke. "Well, yes, I seen young John North--I said I seen him!" CHAPTER SIX PUTTING ON THE SCREWS A score of men and boys followed the undertaker's wagon to the small frame cottage that had been Archibald McBride's home for half a century, and a group of these assembled about the gate as the wagon drew up before it. Along the quiet street, windows were raised and doors were opened. It was perhaps the first time, as it was to be the last, that Archibald McBride's neighbors took note of his home-coming. His keys had been found and intrusted to one of the policemen who accompanied the undertaker and his men; now, as the wagon came to a stand, this officer sprang to the ground, and pushing open the gate went quickly up the path to the front door. There in the shelter of the porch he paused to light a lantern, then he tried key after key until he found the one that fitted the lock; he opened the door and entered the house, the undertaker following him. A second officer stationed himself at the door and kept back the crowd. Their preparations were soon made and the two men reappeared on the porch. "It's all right," the undertaker said, and four men raised the stretcher again and carried the old merchant into the house. At this juncture Colonel Harbison, followed by his nephew and Gilmore, made his way through the crowd before the door. Gilmore, even, gave an involuntary shudder as they entered the small hall lighted by the single lantern, while the colonel could have wished himself anywhere else; he had come from a sense of duty; he had known McBride as well as any one in Mount Hope had known him, and it had seemed a lack of respect to the dead man to leave him to the care of the merely curious; but he was painfully conscious of the still presence in the parlor; he felt that they were unwelcome intruders in the home of that austere old man, who had made no friends, who had no intimates, but had lived according to his choice, solitary and alone. The colonel and Watt Harbison followed the gambler into what had been the old merchant's sitting-room. There were two lamps on the chimneypiece, both of which Gilmore lighted. "That's a whole lot better," he said. "Anything more we can do, gentlemen?" asked the undertaker, coming into the room. "Nothing, thank you," answered the colonel in a tone of abstraction, and he felt a sense of relief when the officials had gone their way into the night, leaving him and his two companions to their vigil. Now for the first time they had leisure and opportunity to look about them. It was a poor enough place, all things considered; the furniture was dingy with age and neglect, for Archibald McBride had kept no servant; a worn and faded carpet covered the floor; there was an engraving of Washington Crossing the Delaware and a few old-fashioned woodcuts on the wall; at one side of the room was a desk, opposite it a rusted sheet-iron stove in which Watt Harbison was already starting a fire; there was a scant assortment of uncomfortable chairs, a table, with one leg bandaged, and near the desk an old mahogany davenport. "This wouldn't have suited you, eh, Colonel?" said Gilmore at last. "He could hardly be said to live here, he merely came here to sleep," answered the colonel. "No, he couldn't have cared for anything but the one thing," said Gilmore. "Were you ever here before, Colonel?" he added. "Never." "I don't suppose half a dozen people in the town were ever inside his door until to-night," said Watt Harbison, speaking for the first time. Gilmore turned to look at the colonel's nephew as if he had only that moment become aware of his presence. What he saw did not impress him greatly, for young Watt, save for an unusually large head, was much like other young men of his class. His speech was soft, his face beardless and his gray eyes gazed steadily but without curiosity on, what was for him, an uncliented world. For the eighteen months that he had been an "attorney and counselor at law" the detail of office rent had been taken care of by the colonel. "Sort of makes the game he played seem rotten poor sport," commented Gilmore, replying to the nephew but looking at the uncle. The colonel was silent. "Rotten poor sport!" repeated Gilmore. "Who'll come in for his property?" asked Watt Harbison. "Oh, some one will claim that," said Gilmore. "They were saying down at the store, that once, years ago, a brother of his turned up, here, but McBride got rid of him." "Suppose we have a look around before we settle ourselves for the night," suggested Watt Harbison. "Will you join us, Colonel?" asked the gambler. But the colonel shook his head. Gilmore took up one of the lamps as he spoke and opened a door that led into what had evidently once been a dining-room, but it was now only partly furnished; back of this was a kitchen, and beyond the kitchen a woodshed. Returning to the front of the house, they mounted to the floor above. Here had been the old merchant's bedroom; adjoining it were two smaller rooms, one of which had been used as a place of storage for trunks and boxes and broken bits of furniture; the other room was empty. "We may as well go back down-stairs," said the gambler, halting, lamp in hand, in the center of the empty room. Harbison nodded, and leading the way to the floor below, they rejoined the colonel in the sitting-room, where they made themselves as comfortable as possible. The colonel and his nephew talked in subdued tones, principally of the murdered man; they had no desire to exclude their companion from the conversation, but Gilmore displayed no interest in what was said. He sat at the colonel's elbow, preoccupied and thoughtful, smoking cigar after cigar. Presently the colonel and his nephew lapsed into silence. Their silence seemed to rouse Gilmore to what was passing about him. He glanced at the elder Harbison. "You look tired, Colonel," he said. "Why don't you stretch out on that lounge yonder and take a nap?" "I think I shall, Andy, if you and Watt don't mind." And the colonel quitted his chair. "Better put your coat over you," advised the gambler. He watched the colonel as he made himself comfortable on the lounge, then he lighted a fresh cigar, tilted his chair against the wall and with head thrown back studied the ceiling. Watt Harbison made one or two tentative attempts at conversation, to which Gilmore briefly responded, then the young fellow also became thoughtful. He fell to watching the gambler's strong profile which the lamp silhouetted against the opposite wall; then drowsiness completely overcame him and he slept in his chair with his head fallen forward on his breast. Gilmore, alert and sleepless, smoked on; he was thinking of Evelyn Langham. After his interview with her husband that afternoon he had gone to his own apartment. His bedroom adjoined North's parlor and through the flimsy lath and plaster partition he had distinctly heard a woman's voice. The sound of that voice and the suspicion it instantly begot added to his furious hatred of North, for he had long suspected that something more than friendship existed between Marshall Langham's wife and Marshall Langham's friend. "Damn him!" thought the gambler. "I'll fix him yet!" And he puffed at his cigar viciously. He had made sure that North's mysterious visitor was Evelyn Langham, for when she left the building he himself had followed her. Out of the dregs of his nature this foolish mad passion of his had arisen to torture him; he had never spoken with Langham's wife, probably she knew him by sight, nothing more; but still his game, the waiting game he had been forced to play, was working itself out better than he had even hoped! At last he had Marshall Langham where he wanted him, where he could make him feel his power. Langham would not be able to raise the money required to cover up those forgeries, and on the basis of silence he would make his bargain with the lawyer. Gilmore pondered this problem for the better part of an hour, considering it from every conceivable angle; then suddenly the expression of his face changed, he forgot for the moment his ambitions and his desires, his hatred and his love; he thought he heard the click of the old-fashioned latch on the front gate. He remembered that it could be raised only with difficulty. Next he heard the sound of footsteps approaching the house. They seemed to come haltingly down the narrow brick path which the wind had swept clear of snow. Mr. Gilmore was blessed with a steadiness of nerve known to but few men, yet the hour and the occasion had their influence with him. He stood erect: now the steps which had paused for a moment seemed to recede; it was as if the intruder, whoever he might be, had come almost to the front door and had then, for some inexplicable reason, gone back to the street. Gilmore even imagined him as standing there with his hand on the latch of the gate. He was tempted to rouse his two companions, but he did not, and then, as he still stood with his senses tense, he heard the steps again approach the front door. With a glance in the direction of the colonel and his nephew to assure himself that they still slept, Gilmore rather shamefacedly slipped his right hand under the tails of his coat, tiptoed into the hall and paused there close by the parlor door. The steps

suspended

How many times the word 'suspended' appears in the text?

with a gasp. He collapsed again, and again the colonel, whose gloved hand still retained its hold on his collar, set him on his trembling legs with admirable expertness. "I tell you he's dead!" cried Mr. Shrimplin, lost to everything but that one dreadful fact. "Who's dead?" demanded the colonel. "Stand up, man, don't fall about like that or you may do yourself some injury!" for Mr. Shrimplin seemed about to collapse once more. "Old man McBride, Colonel--if he ain't dead I wish I may never see death!" "Dead!" cried the colonel. "Archibald McBride dead!" He released his hold on Mr. Shrimplin and took a step toward the door; Shrimplin, however, detained him with a shaking hand, though he was calmer now. "Colonel, you'd better be careful, he's lying there in a pool of blood; some one's killed him for his money! How do we know the murderer ain't there!" This conjecture was made to the empty street, for Colonel Harbison had entered the store. "Why does he want to leave me like that!" wailed Shrimplin, and his panic threatened a return. He dragged himself to the door. Here he paused, since he could not bring himself to enter, for before his eyes was the ghastly vision of that old man huddled on the blood-stained floor. He heard the colonel's steps echo down the long room, and when their sound ceased he knew he was standing beside the dead man. After what seemed an age of waiting the steps sounded again, and a moment later the colonel's tall form filled the doorway. "Andy!" said the colonel. Mr. Shrimplin turned with a start. At his back within reach of his hand stood Andy Gilmore. He had been utterly unaware of the gambler's approach, but now conscious of it he dropped in a miserable heap on the door-sill, while the white and unfamiliar world reeled before his bleached blue eyes; it was the very drunkenness of fear. "Howdy, Colonel," said the gambler, as he gave Harbison a half-military salute. He admired the colonel, who had once threatened to horsewhip him if he ever permitted his nephew, Watt, to enter his rooms. "Come here, Andy!" ordered the colonel briefly. "God's sake, Colonel!" gasped the wretched little lamplighter, struggling to his feet, "don't leave me here--" "What's wrong, Colonel?" asked Gilmore. "Archibald McBride's been murdered!" Mr. Gilmore took the butt of the half-smoked cigar from between his teeth, tossed it into the gutter, and pushing past Mr. Shrimplin entered the room. Colonel Harbison, a step or two in advance of his companion, led the way to the rear of the store. The colonel paused, and Gilmore gained a place at his elbow. "You are sure he's dead?" questioned the gambler. Kneeling beside the crumpled figure Gilmore slipped his hand in between the body and the floor; his manner was cool and businesslike. After a moment he withdrew his hand and looked, up into the colonel's face. "Well?" asked the colonel. "Oh, he's dead, all right!" Gilmore glanced about him, and the colonel's eyes following, they both discovered that the door leading into the side yard was partly open. "He went that way, eh, Colonel?" "It's altogether likely," agreed the veteran. "It's a nasty business!" said Gilmore reflectively. "Shocking!" snapped the colonel. "He took big chances," commented the gambler, "living the way he did." He spoke of the dead man. "Poor old man!" said the colonel pityingly. What had it all amounted to, those chances for the sake of gain, which Gilmore had in mind. "He can't have been dead very long," said Gilmore. "Did _you_ find him, Colonel?" he asked as he stood erect. "No, Shrimplin found him." Again the two men looked about them. On the floor by the counter at their right was a heavy sledge. Gilmore called Harbison's attention to this. "I guess the job was done with that," he said. "Possibly," agreed Harbison. Gilmore picked up the sledge and examined it narrowly. "Yes, you can see, there is blood on it." He handed it to Harbison, who stepped under the nearest lamp with the clumsy weapon in his hand. "You are right, Andy!" and he glanced at the rude instrument of death with a look of repugnance on his keen sensitive face, then he carefully, placed it under the wooden counter. "Horrible!" he muttered to himself. "It was no joke for him!" said the gambler, catching the last word. "But some one was bound to try this dodge sooner or later. Why, as far back as I can remember, people said he kept his money hidden away at the bottom of nail kegs and under heaps of scrap-iron." He took a cigar from his pocket, bit off the end, and struck a match. "Well, I wouldn't want to be the other fellow, Colonel; I'd be in all kinds of a panic; it takes nerve for a job like this." "It's a shocking circumstance," said the colonel. "I wonder if it paid!" speculated the gambler. "And I wonder who'll get what he leaves. Has he any family or relatives?" "No, not so far as any one knows. He came here many years ago, a close-mouthed Scotchman, who never had any intimates, never married, and never spoke of his private affairs." There was a slight commotion at the door. They could hear Shrimplin's agitated voice, and a moment later two men, chance passers-by with whom he had been speaking, shook themselves free of the little lamplighter and entered the room. The new-comers nodded to the colonel and Gilmore as they paused to stare mutely at the body on the floor. "He bled like a stuck pig!" said one of the men at last. He was a ragged slouching creature with a splotched and bloated face half hidden by a bristling red beard. He glanced at Gilmore for an uncertain instant out of a pair of small shifty eyes. "It's murder, ain't it, boss?" he added. "No doubt about that, Joe!" rejoined the gambler. "I suppose it was robbery?" said the other man, who had not spoken before. "Very likely," answered the colonel. "We have not examined the place, however; we shall wait for the proper officials." "Who do you want, Colonel?" "Coroner Taylor, and I suppose the sheriff," replied Harbison. The man nodded. "All right, I'll bring them; and say, what about the prosecuting attorney?" as he turned to leave. "Yes, bring Moxlow, too, if you can find him." The man hurried from the room. Gilmore leaned against the counter and smoked imperturbably. Joe Montgomery, with his great slouching shoulders arched, and his grimy hands buried deep in his trousers pockets, stared at the dead man in stolid wonder. Colonel Harbison's glance sought the same object but with a sensitive shrinking as from an ugly brutal thing. A clock ticked loudly in the office; there was the occasional fall of cinders from the grate of the rusted stove that heated the place; these were sounds that neither Gilmore nor the colonel had heard before. Presently a lean black cat stole from the office and sprang upon the counter; it purred softly. "Hello, puss!" said the gambler, putting out a hand. The cat stole closer. "I guess I'll have to take you home with me, eh? This ain't a place for unprotected females!" The cat crept back and forth under his caressing touch. At the street-door Shrimplin appeared and disappeared, now his head was thrust into the room, and now his nose was flattened against the dingy show-windows; from neither point could he quite command the view he desired nor could he bring himself to enter the building; then he vanished entirely, but after a brief interval they heard his voice. He was evidently speaking with some one in the street. A little crowd was rapidly gathering about him, but it disintegrated almost immediately, his listeners abandoning him to hurry into the store. "You must stand back, all of you!" said the colonel. "Unless you are very careful you may destroy important evidence!" The crowd assembled itself silently for the most part; here and there a man removed his hat, or made some whispered comment, or asked some eager low-voiced question of Gilmore or the colonel. Men stood on boxes, on nail kegs, and on counters. Except for the little circle left about the dead man on the floor, every vantage point of observation was soon occupied. It was scarcely half an hour since Shrimplin had fallen speechless into Colonel Harbison's arms, yet fully two hundred men had gathered in that long room or were struggling about the door to gain admittance to it. At a suggestion from Harbison, the gambler, followed by Joe, elbowed his way to the front door, which in spite of the protest of those outside, he closed and locked. A moment later, however, he opened it to admit Doctor Taylor, the coroner, and Conklin, the sheriff. The latter instantly set about clearing the room. Gilmore and the colonel remained with the officials and during the succeeding ten minutes the gambler, who had kept his post at the door, opened, it to Moxlow, young Watt Harbison and two policemen. As the coroner finished his examination of the body, the sound of wheels was heard in the Square and an undertaker's wagon drew up to the door. The murdered man was placed on a stretcher and covered with a black cloth, then four men raised the stretcher and for the last time the old merchant passed out under his creaking sign into the night. "I've agreed to watch at the house, Andy," said Colonel Harbison. "I want you and Watt to come with me." The gambler lighted a fresh cigar and the three men left the store. On the Square groups of men discussed the murder. Though none was permitted to enter the store, the windows afforded occasional glimpses of the little group of officials within, until a policeman closed and fastened the heavy wooden shutters. Then the crowd slowly and reluctantly dispersed. Meanwhile the town marshal, under cover of the excitement, had descended on the gas house where tramps congregated of winter nights for warmth and shelter. Here he found shivering over a can of beer, two homeless wretches, whom he arrested as suspicious characters. After this, official activity languished, for the official mind could think of nothing more to do. With the scattering of the crowd on the Square, Shrimplin climbed into his cart and drove off home. The smother of wind-driven snow still enveloped the, town, the very air seemed charged with mystery and horror, and before the little lamplighter's eyes was ever the haunting vision of the murdered man. He drove into the alley back of his house, unhitched Bill and led him into the barn. His torch made the gloom of the place more terrifying than utter darkness would have been. Suppose the murderer should be hiding there! Mr. Shrimplin's mind fastened on the hay-mow as the most likely place of concealment, and the cold sweat ran from him in icy streams; he could, almost see the murderer's evil eyes fixed upon him from the blackness above. But at last Bill was stripped of his harness, and the little lamplighter, escaping from the barn with its fancied terrors, hurried across his small back yard to his kitchen door. "Well!" said Mrs. Shrimplin, as he entered the room. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever think it worth your while to come home!" "What's the bell been ringing for?" asked Custer. Mrs. Shrimplin was seated by the table, which was littered with her sewing; Custer occupied his usual chair by the stove, and it was evident that they knew nothing of the tragedy in which Mr. Shrimplin had played so important, and as he now felt, so worthy a part. "I suppose I've been out quite a time, and I may say I've seen times, too! I guess there ain't no one in the town fitter to say they seen times than just me!" The light and comfort of his own pleasant kitchen had quite restored Mr. Shrimplin. "I may say I seen times!" he repeated significantly. "There's something doing in this here old town after all! I take back a heap of the hard things I've said about it; a feller can scare up a little excitement if he knows where to look for it. I ain't bragging none, but I guess you'll hear my name mentioned--I guess you'll even see it in print in the newspapers!" He warmed his cold hands over the stove. "Throw in a little more coal, sonny; I'm half froze, but I guess that's the worst any one can say of me!" "You make much of it, whatever it is," said Mrs. Shrimplin. "Maybe I do and maybe I don't," equivocated Mr. Shrimplin genially. "Maybe you're not above telling a body what kept you out half the night?" inquired his wife. "If you done and seen what I've did and saw," replied Mr. Shrimplin impressively, "you'd look for a little respect in your own home." "I'd be a heap quicker telling about it," said Mrs. Shrimplin. Mr. Shrimplin turned to Custer. "I guess, you're thinking it was a burglar; but, sonny, it wasn't no burglar--so you got another guess coming to you," he concluded benevolently. "I know!" cried Custer. "Some one's been killed!" "Exactly!" said Mr. Shrimplin with increasing benevolence. "Some one has been killed!" "You done it!" cried Custer. "I found the party," admitted Mr. Shrimplin with calm dignity. "Oh!" But perhaps Custer's first emotion was on the whole one of disappointment. "How you talk!" said Mrs. Shrimplin. "I reckon I might say more, most any one would," retorted Mr. Shrimplin quietly. "It was old man McBride--someone's murdered him for his money; I never seen the town so on end over anything before, but whoever wants to be well posted's got to come to me for the particulars. I seen the old man before Colonel Harbison seen him, I seen him before Andy Gilmore seen him, I seen him before the coroner seen him, or the sheriff or _any one_ seen him! I was on the spot ahead of 'em all. If any one wants to know how he looked just after he was killed, they got to come to me to find out. Colonel Harbison can't tell 'em, and Andy Gilmore can't tell 'em; it's only me knows them particulars!" The effect of this stirring declaration was quite all he had hoped for. Out of the tail of his eye he saw that Mrs. Shrimplin was, as she afterward freely confessed, taken aback. As for Custer, he had forgotten his disappointment that a death by violence had occurred for which his father was not directly responsible. "Did you see the man that killed old Mr. McBride?" asked Custer, breaking the breathless spell that was upon him. "No; if I'd been just about fifteen minutes sooner I'd have seen him; but I was just about that much too late, sonny. I guess he's a whole lot better off, though." "What would you have done if you'd seen him?" Custer's voice sank to a whisper. "Well, I don't pack a gun for nothing. If I'd seen him there, he'd had to go 'round to the jail with me. I guess I could have coaxed him there; I was ready for to offer extra inducements!" "And does everybody know you seen old Mr. McBride the first of any?" asked Custer. "I guess they do; I ain't afraid about that. Colonel Harbison's too much of a gentleman to claim any credit that ain't his; he'd be the first one to own up that he don't deserve no credit." "What took you into McBride's store? You hadn't no errand there." Mrs. Shrimplin was a careful and acquisitive wife. "I allow I made an errand there," said Mr. Shrimplin bridling. "I reckon many another man might have thought he hadn't no errand there either, but I feel different about them things. I was just turned into the Square when along comes young John North--" "What was he doing there?" suddenly asked Mrs. Shrimplin. "I expect he was attending strictly to his own business," retorted Mr. Shrimplin, offended by the utter irrelevancy of the question. "Go on, pal" begged Custer. He felt that his mother's interruptions were positively cruel, and--so like a woman! "Me and young John North passed the time of day," continued Mr. Shrimplin, thus abjured, "and I started around the north side of the Square to light the lamp on old man McBride's own corner. If I'd knowed then--" he paused impressively, "if I'd just knowed then, that was my time! I could have laid hands on the murderer. He was there somewheres, most likely he was watching me; well, maybe it was all for the best, I don't know as a married man's got any right to take chances. Anyway, I got to within, well--I should say, thirty feet of that lamp-post when all of a sudden Bill began to act up. You never saw a horse act up like he done! He rose in his britching and then the other end of him come up and he acted like he wanted to set down on the singletree!" "Why did he do that?" asked Custer. "Well, I guess you've got some few things to learn, Custer;" said Mr. Shrimplin indulgently. "He smelt blood--that's what he smelt!" "Oh!" gasped Custer. "I've knowed it to happen before. It's instinct," explained Shrimplin. "'Singular,' says I, and out I jumps to have a look about. I walked to the lamp-post, and then I seen what I hadn't seen before, that old man McBride's store door was open, so I stepped on to the sidewalk intending to close it, but as I put my hand on the knob I seen where the snow had drifted into the room, so I knew the door must have been open some little time. That's mighty odd, I thinks, and then it sort of come over me the way Bill had acted, and I went along into the store in pretty considerable of a hurry." "Were you afraid?" demanded Custer in an awe-struck whisper. "I'll tell you the truth, Custer, I wasn't. I own I'd drawed my gun, wishing to be on the safe side. First thing I noticed was that the lamps hadn't been turned up, though they was all lit. I got back to the end of the counter when I came to a halt, for there in a heap on the floor was old man McBride, with his head mashed in where some one had hit him with a sledge. There was blood all over the floor, and it was a mighty sickenin' spectacle. I sort of looked around hoping I'd see the murderer, but he'd lit out, and then I went back to the front of the store, where I seen Colonel Harbison coming across the Square. I told him what I'd seen and he went inside to look; while he was looking, along come Andy Gilmore and I told him, too, and he went in. They knowed the murderer wasn't there, that I'd been in ahead of them. After, that the people seemed to come from every direction; then presently some one started to ring the town bell and that fetched more people, until the Square in front of the store was packed and jammed with 'em. Everybody' wanted to hear about it first-hand from me; they wanted the _full particulars_ from the only one who knowed 'em." Mr. Shrimplin paused for breath. The recollection of his splendid publicity was dazzling. He imagined the morrow with its possibility of social triumph; he went as far as to feel that Mrs. Shrimplin now had a certain sneaking respect for him. "Did you see tracks in the snow?" demanded Custer. "No, I didn't see nothing," declared Mr. Shrimplin. "You seen young John North." It was Mrs. Shrimplin who spoke. "Well, yes, I seen young John North--I said I seen him!" CHAPTER SIX PUTTING ON THE SCREWS A score of men and boys followed the undertaker's wagon to the small frame cottage that had been Archibald McBride's home for half a century, and a group of these assembled about the gate as the wagon drew up before it. Along the quiet street, windows were raised and doors were opened. It was perhaps the first time, as it was to be the last, that Archibald McBride's neighbors took note of his home-coming. His keys had been found and intrusted to one of the policemen who accompanied the undertaker and his men; now, as the wagon came to a stand, this officer sprang to the ground, and pushing open the gate went quickly up the path to the front door. There in the shelter of the porch he paused to light a lantern, then he tried key after key until he found the one that fitted the lock; he opened the door and entered the house, the undertaker following him. A second officer stationed himself at the door and kept back the crowd. Their preparations were soon made and the two men reappeared on the porch. "It's all right," the undertaker said, and four men raised the stretcher again and carried the old merchant into the house. At this juncture Colonel Harbison, followed by his nephew and Gilmore, made his way through the crowd before the door. Gilmore, even, gave an involuntary shudder as they entered the small hall lighted by the single lantern, while the colonel could have wished himself anywhere else; he had come from a sense of duty; he had known McBride as well as any one in Mount Hope had known him, and it had seemed a lack of respect to the dead man to leave him to the care of the merely curious; but he was painfully conscious of the still presence in the parlor; he felt that they were unwelcome intruders in the home of that austere old man, who had made no friends, who had no intimates, but had lived according to his choice, solitary and alone. The colonel and Watt Harbison followed the gambler into what had been the old merchant's sitting-room. There were two lamps on the chimneypiece, both of which Gilmore lighted. "That's a whole lot better," he said. "Anything more we can do, gentlemen?" asked the undertaker, coming into the room. "Nothing, thank you," answered the colonel in a tone of abstraction, and he felt a sense of relief when the officials had gone their way into the night, leaving him and his two companions to their vigil. Now for the first time they had leisure and opportunity to look about them. It was a poor enough place, all things considered; the furniture was dingy with age and neglect, for Archibald McBride had kept no servant; a worn and faded carpet covered the floor; there was an engraving of Washington Crossing the Delaware and a few old-fashioned woodcuts on the wall; at one side of the room was a desk, opposite it a rusted sheet-iron stove in which Watt Harbison was already starting a fire; there was a scant assortment of uncomfortable chairs, a table, with one leg bandaged, and near the desk an old mahogany davenport. "This wouldn't have suited you, eh, Colonel?" said Gilmore at last. "He could hardly be said to live here, he merely came here to sleep," answered the colonel. "No, he couldn't have cared for anything but the one thing," said Gilmore. "Were you ever here before, Colonel?" he added. "Never." "I don't suppose half a dozen people in the town were ever inside his door until to-night," said Watt Harbison, speaking for the first time. Gilmore turned to look at the colonel's nephew as if he had only that moment become aware of his presence. What he saw did not impress him greatly, for young Watt, save for an unusually large head, was much like other young men of his class. His speech was soft, his face beardless and his gray eyes gazed steadily but without curiosity on, what was for him, an uncliented world. For the eighteen months that he had been an "attorney and counselor at law" the detail of office rent had been taken care of by the colonel. "Sort of makes the game he played seem rotten poor sport," commented Gilmore, replying to the nephew but looking at the uncle. The colonel was silent. "Rotten poor sport!" repeated Gilmore. "Who'll come in for his property?" asked Watt Harbison. "Oh, some one will claim that," said Gilmore. "They were saying down at the store, that once, years ago, a brother of his turned up, here, but McBride got rid of him." "Suppose we have a look around before we settle ourselves for the night," suggested Watt Harbison. "Will you join us, Colonel?" asked the gambler. But the colonel shook his head. Gilmore took up one of the lamps as he spoke and opened a door that led into what had evidently once been a dining-room, but it was now only partly furnished; back of this was a kitchen, and beyond the kitchen a woodshed. Returning to the front of the house, they mounted to the floor above. Here had been the old merchant's bedroom; adjoining it were two smaller rooms, one of which had been used as a place of storage for trunks and boxes and broken bits of furniture; the other room was empty. "We may as well go back down-stairs," said the gambler, halting, lamp in hand, in the center of the empty room. Harbison nodded, and leading the way to the floor below, they rejoined the colonel in the sitting-room, where they made themselves as comfortable as possible. The colonel and his nephew talked in subdued tones, principally of the murdered man; they had no desire to exclude their companion from the conversation, but Gilmore displayed no interest in what was said. He sat at the colonel's elbow, preoccupied and thoughtful, smoking cigar after cigar. Presently the colonel and his nephew lapsed into silence. Their silence seemed to rouse Gilmore to what was passing about him. He glanced at the elder Harbison. "You look tired, Colonel," he said. "Why don't you stretch out on that lounge yonder and take a nap?" "I think I shall, Andy, if you and Watt don't mind." And the colonel quitted his chair. "Better put your coat over you," advised the gambler. He watched the colonel as he made himself comfortable on the lounge, then he lighted a fresh cigar, tilted his chair against the wall and with head thrown back studied the ceiling. Watt Harbison made one or two tentative attempts at conversation, to which Gilmore briefly responded, then the young fellow also became thoughtful. He fell to watching the gambler's strong profile which the lamp silhouetted against the opposite wall; then drowsiness completely overcame him and he slept in his chair with his head fallen forward on his breast. Gilmore, alert and sleepless, smoked on; he was thinking of Evelyn Langham. After his interview with her husband that afternoon he had gone to his own apartment. His bedroom adjoined North's parlor and through the flimsy lath and plaster partition he had distinctly heard a woman's voice. The sound of that voice and the suspicion it instantly begot added to his furious hatred of North, for he had long suspected that something more than friendship existed between Marshall Langham's wife and Marshall Langham's friend. "Damn him!" thought the gambler. "I'll fix him yet!" And he puffed at his cigar viciously. He had made sure that North's mysterious visitor was Evelyn Langham, for when she left the building he himself had followed her. Out of the dregs of his nature this foolish mad passion of his had arisen to torture him; he had never spoken with Langham's wife, probably she knew him by sight, nothing more; but still his game, the waiting game he had been forced to play, was working itself out better than he had even hoped! At last he had Marshall Langham where he wanted him, where he could make him feel his power. Langham would not be able to raise the money required to cover up those forgeries, and on the basis of silence he would make his bargain with the lawyer. Gilmore pondered this problem for the better part of an hour, considering it from every conceivable angle; then suddenly the expression of his face changed, he forgot for the moment his ambitions and his desires, his hatred and his love; he thought he heard the click of the old-fashioned latch on the front gate. He remembered that it could be raised only with difficulty. Next he heard the sound of footsteps approaching the house. They seemed to come haltingly down the narrow brick path which the wind had swept clear of snow. Mr. Gilmore was blessed with a steadiness of nerve known to but few men, yet the hour and the occasion had their influence with him. He stood erect: now the steps which had paused for a moment seemed to recede; it was as if the intruder, whoever he might be, had come almost to the front door and had then, for some inexplicable reason, gone back to the street. Gilmore even imagined him as standing there with his hand on the latch of the gate. He was tempted to rouse his two companions, but he did not, and then, as he still stood with his senses tense, he heard the steps again approach the front door. With a glance in the direction of the colonel and his nephew to assure himself that they still slept, Gilmore rather shamefacedly slipped his right hand under the tails of his coat, tiptoed into the hall and paused there close by the parlor door. The steps

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with a gasp. He collapsed again, and again the colonel, whose gloved hand still retained its hold on his collar, set him on his trembling legs with admirable expertness. "I tell you he's dead!" cried Mr. Shrimplin, lost to everything but that one dreadful fact. "Who's dead?" demanded the colonel. "Stand up, man, don't fall about like that or you may do yourself some injury!" for Mr. Shrimplin seemed about to collapse once more. "Old man McBride, Colonel--if he ain't dead I wish I may never see death!" "Dead!" cried the colonel. "Archibald McBride dead!" He released his hold on Mr. Shrimplin and took a step toward the door; Shrimplin, however, detained him with a shaking hand, though he was calmer now. "Colonel, you'd better be careful, he's lying there in a pool of blood; some one's killed him for his money! How do we know the murderer ain't there!" This conjecture was made to the empty street, for Colonel Harbison had entered the store. "Why does he want to leave me like that!" wailed Shrimplin, and his panic threatened a return. He dragged himself to the door. Here he paused, since he could not bring himself to enter, for before his eyes was the ghastly vision of that old man huddled on the blood-stained floor. He heard the colonel's steps echo down the long room, and when their sound ceased he knew he was standing beside the dead man. After what seemed an age of waiting the steps sounded again, and a moment later the colonel's tall form filled the doorway. "Andy!" said the colonel. Mr. Shrimplin turned with a start. At his back within reach of his hand stood Andy Gilmore. He had been utterly unaware of the gambler's approach, but now conscious of it he dropped in a miserable heap on the door-sill, while the white and unfamiliar world reeled before his bleached blue eyes; it was the very drunkenness of fear. "Howdy, Colonel," said the gambler, as he gave Harbison a half-military salute. He admired the colonel, who had once threatened to horsewhip him if he ever permitted his nephew, Watt, to enter his rooms. "Come here, Andy!" ordered the colonel briefly. "God's sake, Colonel!" gasped the wretched little lamplighter, struggling to his feet, "don't leave me here--" "What's wrong, Colonel?" asked Gilmore. "Archibald McBride's been murdered!" Mr. Gilmore took the butt of the half-smoked cigar from between his teeth, tossed it into the gutter, and pushing past Mr. Shrimplin entered the room. Colonel Harbison, a step or two in advance of his companion, led the way to the rear of the store. The colonel paused, and Gilmore gained a place at his elbow. "You are sure he's dead?" questioned the gambler. Kneeling beside the crumpled figure Gilmore slipped his hand in between the body and the floor; his manner was cool and businesslike. After a moment he withdrew his hand and looked, up into the colonel's face. "Well?" asked the colonel. "Oh, he's dead, all right!" Gilmore glanced about him, and the colonel's eyes following, they both discovered that the door leading into the side yard was partly open. "He went that way, eh, Colonel?" "It's altogether likely," agreed the veteran. "It's a nasty business!" said Gilmore reflectively. "Shocking!" snapped the colonel. "He took big chances," commented the gambler, "living the way he did." He spoke of the dead man. "Poor old man!" said the colonel pityingly. What had it all amounted to, those chances for the sake of gain, which Gilmore had in mind. "He can't have been dead very long," said Gilmore. "Did _you_ find him, Colonel?" he asked as he stood erect. "No, Shrimplin found him." Again the two men looked about them. On the floor by the counter at their right was a heavy sledge. Gilmore called Harbison's attention to this. "I guess the job was done with that," he said. "Possibly," agreed Harbison. Gilmore picked up the sledge and examined it narrowly. "Yes, you can see, there is blood on it." He handed it to Harbison, who stepped under the nearest lamp with the clumsy weapon in his hand. "You are right, Andy!" and he glanced at the rude instrument of death with a look of repugnance on his keen sensitive face, then he carefully, placed it under the wooden counter. "Horrible!" he muttered to himself. "It was no joke for him!" said the gambler, catching the last word. "But some one was bound to try this dodge sooner or later. Why, as far back as I can remember, people said he kept his money hidden away at the bottom of nail kegs and under heaps of scrap-iron." He took a cigar from his pocket, bit off the end, and struck a match. "Well, I wouldn't want to be the other fellow, Colonel; I'd be in all kinds of a panic; it takes nerve for a job like this." "It's a shocking circumstance," said the colonel. "I wonder if it paid!" speculated the gambler. "And I wonder who'll get what he leaves. Has he any family or relatives?" "No, not so far as any one knows. He came here many years ago, a close-mouthed Scotchman, who never had any intimates, never married, and never spoke of his private affairs." There was a slight commotion at the door. They could hear Shrimplin's agitated voice, and a moment later two men, chance passers-by with whom he had been speaking, shook themselves free of the little lamplighter and entered the room. The new-comers nodded to the colonel and Gilmore as they paused to stare mutely at the body on the floor. "He bled like a stuck pig!" said one of the men at last. He was a ragged slouching creature with a splotched and bloated face half hidden by a bristling red beard. He glanced at Gilmore for an uncertain instant out of a pair of small shifty eyes. "It's murder, ain't it, boss?" he added. "No doubt about that, Joe!" rejoined the gambler. "I suppose it was robbery?" said the other man, who had not spoken before. "Very likely," answered the colonel. "We have not examined the place, however; we shall wait for the proper officials." "Who do you want, Colonel?" "Coroner Taylor, and I suppose the sheriff," replied Harbison. The man nodded. "All right, I'll bring them; and say, what about the prosecuting attorney?" as he turned to leave. "Yes, bring Moxlow, too, if you can find him." The man hurried from the room. Gilmore leaned against the counter and smoked imperturbably. Joe Montgomery, with his great slouching shoulders arched, and his grimy hands buried deep in his trousers pockets, stared at the dead man in stolid wonder. Colonel Harbison's glance sought the same object but with a sensitive shrinking as from an ugly brutal thing. A clock ticked loudly in the office; there was the occasional fall of cinders from the grate of the rusted stove that heated the place; these were sounds that neither Gilmore nor the colonel had heard before. Presently a lean black cat stole from the office and sprang upon the counter; it purred softly. "Hello, puss!" said the gambler, putting out a hand. The cat stole closer. "I guess I'll have to take you home with me, eh? This ain't a place for unprotected females!" The cat crept back and forth under his caressing touch. At the street-door Shrimplin appeared and disappeared, now his head was thrust into the room, and now his nose was flattened against the dingy show-windows; from neither point could he quite command the view he desired nor could he bring himself to enter the building; then he vanished entirely, but after a brief interval they heard his voice. He was evidently speaking with some one in the street. A little crowd was rapidly gathering about him, but it disintegrated almost immediately, his listeners abandoning him to hurry into the store. "You must stand back, all of you!" said the colonel. "Unless you are very careful you may destroy important evidence!" The crowd assembled itself silently for the most part; here and there a man removed his hat, or made some whispered comment, or asked some eager low-voiced question of Gilmore or the colonel. Men stood on boxes, on nail kegs, and on counters. Except for the little circle left about the dead man on the floor, every vantage point of observation was soon occupied. It was scarcely half an hour since Shrimplin had fallen speechless into Colonel Harbison's arms, yet fully two hundred men had gathered in that long room or were struggling about the door to gain admittance to it. At a suggestion from Harbison, the gambler, followed by Joe, elbowed his way to the front door, which in spite of the protest of those outside, he closed and locked. A moment later, however, he opened it to admit Doctor Taylor, the coroner, and Conklin, the sheriff. The latter instantly set about clearing the room. Gilmore and the colonel remained with the officials and during the succeeding ten minutes the gambler, who had kept his post at the door, opened, it to Moxlow, young Watt Harbison and two policemen. As the coroner finished his examination of the body, the sound of wheels was heard in the Square and an undertaker's wagon drew up to the door. The murdered man was placed on a stretcher and covered with a black cloth, then four men raised the stretcher and for the last time the old merchant passed out under his creaking sign into the night. "I've agreed to watch at the house, Andy," said Colonel Harbison. "I want you and Watt to come with me." The gambler lighted a fresh cigar and the three men left the store. On the Square groups of men discussed the murder. Though none was permitted to enter the store, the windows afforded occasional glimpses of the little group of officials within, until a policeman closed and fastened the heavy wooden shutters. Then the crowd slowly and reluctantly dispersed. Meanwhile the town marshal, under cover of the excitement, had descended on the gas house where tramps congregated of winter nights for warmth and shelter. Here he found shivering over a can of beer, two homeless wretches, whom he arrested as suspicious characters. After this, official activity languished, for the official mind could think of nothing more to do. With the scattering of the crowd on the Square, Shrimplin climbed into his cart and drove off home. The smother of wind-driven snow still enveloped the, town, the very air seemed charged with mystery and horror, and before the little lamplighter's eyes was ever the haunting vision of the murdered man. He drove into the alley back of his house, unhitched Bill and led him into the barn. His torch made the gloom of the place more terrifying than utter darkness would have been. Suppose the murderer should be hiding there! Mr. Shrimplin's mind fastened on the hay-mow as the most likely place of concealment, and the cold sweat ran from him in icy streams; he could, almost see the murderer's evil eyes fixed upon him from the blackness above. But at last Bill was stripped of his harness, and the little lamplighter, escaping from the barn with its fancied terrors, hurried across his small back yard to his kitchen door. "Well!" said Mrs. Shrimplin, as he entered the room. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever think it worth your while to come home!" "What's the bell been ringing for?" asked Custer. Mrs. Shrimplin was seated by the table, which was littered with her sewing; Custer occupied his usual chair by the stove, and it was evident that they knew nothing of the tragedy in which Mr. Shrimplin had played so important, and as he now felt, so worthy a part. "I suppose I've been out quite a time, and I may say I've seen times, too! I guess there ain't no one in the town fitter to say they seen times than just me!" The light and comfort of his own pleasant kitchen had quite restored Mr. Shrimplin. "I may say I seen times!" he repeated significantly. "There's something doing in this here old town after all! I take back a heap of the hard things I've said about it; a feller can scare up a little excitement if he knows where to look for it. I ain't bragging none, but I guess you'll hear my name mentioned--I guess you'll even see it in print in the newspapers!" He warmed his cold hands over the stove. "Throw in a little more coal, sonny; I'm half froze, but I guess that's the worst any one can say of me!" "You make much of it, whatever it is," said Mrs. Shrimplin. "Maybe I do and maybe I don't," equivocated Mr. Shrimplin genially. "Maybe you're not above telling a body what kept you out half the night?" inquired his wife. "If you done and seen what I've did and saw," replied Mr. Shrimplin impressively, "you'd look for a little respect in your own home." "I'd be a heap quicker telling about it," said Mrs. Shrimplin. Mr. Shrimplin turned to Custer. "I guess, you're thinking it was a burglar; but, sonny, it wasn't no burglar--so you got another guess coming to you," he concluded benevolently. "I know!" cried Custer. "Some one's been killed!" "Exactly!" said Mr. Shrimplin with increasing benevolence. "Some one has been killed!" "You done it!" cried Custer. "I found the party," admitted Mr. Shrimplin with calm dignity. "Oh!" But perhaps Custer's first emotion was on the whole one of disappointment. "How you talk!" said Mrs. Shrimplin. "I reckon I might say more, most any one would," retorted Mr. Shrimplin quietly. "It was old man McBride--someone's murdered him for his money; I never seen the town so on end over anything before, but whoever wants to be well posted's got to come to me for the particulars. I seen the old man before Colonel Harbison seen him, I seen him before Andy Gilmore seen him, I seen him before the coroner seen him, or the sheriff or _any one_ seen him! I was on the spot ahead of 'em all. If any one wants to know how he looked just after he was killed, they got to come to me to find out. Colonel Harbison can't tell 'em, and Andy Gilmore can't tell 'em; it's only me knows them particulars!" The effect of this stirring declaration was quite all he had hoped for. Out of the tail of his eye he saw that Mrs. Shrimplin was, as she afterward freely confessed, taken aback. As for Custer, he had forgotten his disappointment that a death by violence had occurred for which his father was not directly responsible. "Did you see the man that killed old Mr. McBride?" asked Custer, breaking the breathless spell that was upon him. "No; if I'd been just about fifteen minutes sooner I'd have seen him; but I was just about that much too late, sonny. I guess he's a whole lot better off, though." "What would you have done if you'd seen him?" Custer's voice sank to a whisper. "Well, I don't pack a gun for nothing. If I'd seen him there, he'd had to go 'round to the jail with me. I guess I could have coaxed him there; I was ready for to offer extra inducements!" "And does everybody know you seen old Mr. McBride the first of any?" asked Custer. "I guess they do; I ain't afraid about that. Colonel Harbison's too much of a gentleman to claim any credit that ain't his; he'd be the first one to own up that he don't deserve no credit." "What took you into McBride's store? You hadn't no errand there." Mrs. Shrimplin was a careful and acquisitive wife. "I allow I made an errand there," said Mr. Shrimplin bridling. "I reckon many another man might have thought he hadn't no errand there either, but I feel different about them things. I was just turned into the Square when along comes young John North--" "What was he doing there?" suddenly asked Mrs. Shrimplin. "I expect he was attending strictly to his own business," retorted Mr. Shrimplin, offended by the utter irrelevancy of the question. "Go on, pal" begged Custer. He felt that his mother's interruptions were positively cruel, and--so like a woman! "Me and young John North passed the time of day," continued Mr. Shrimplin, thus abjured, "and I started around the north side of the Square to light the lamp on old man McBride's own corner. If I'd knowed then--" he paused impressively, "if I'd just knowed then, that was my time! I could have laid hands on the murderer. He was there somewheres, most likely he was watching me; well, maybe it was all for the best, I don't know as a married man's got any right to take chances. Anyway, I got to within, well--I should say, thirty feet of that lamp-post when all of a sudden Bill began to act up. You never saw a horse act up like he done! He rose in his britching and then the other end of him come up and he acted like he wanted to set down on the singletree!" "Why did he do that?" asked Custer. "Well, I guess you've got some few things to learn, Custer;" said Mr. Shrimplin indulgently. "He smelt blood--that's what he smelt!" "Oh!" gasped Custer. "I've knowed it to happen before. It's instinct," explained Shrimplin. "'Singular,' says I, and out I jumps to have a look about. I walked to the lamp-post, and then I seen what I hadn't seen before, that old man McBride's store door was open, so I stepped on to the sidewalk intending to close it, but as I put my hand on the knob I seen where the snow had drifted into the room, so I knew the door must have been open some little time. That's mighty odd, I thinks, and then it sort of come over me the way Bill had acted, and I went along into the store in pretty considerable of a hurry." "Were you afraid?" demanded Custer in an awe-struck whisper. "I'll tell you the truth, Custer, I wasn't. I own I'd drawed my gun, wishing to be on the safe side. First thing I noticed was that the lamps hadn't been turned up, though they was all lit. I got back to the end of the counter when I came to a halt, for there in a heap on the floor was old man McBride, with his head mashed in where some one had hit him with a sledge. There was blood all over the floor, and it was a mighty sickenin' spectacle. I sort of looked around hoping I'd see the murderer, but he'd lit out, and then I went back to the front of the store, where I seen Colonel Harbison coming across the Square. I told him what I'd seen and he went inside to look; while he was looking, along come Andy Gilmore and I told him, too, and he went in. They knowed the murderer wasn't there, that I'd been in ahead of them. After, that the people seemed to come from every direction; then presently some one started to ring the town bell and that fetched more people, until the Square in front of the store was packed and jammed with 'em. Everybody' wanted to hear about it first-hand from me; they wanted the _full particulars_ from the only one who knowed 'em." Mr. Shrimplin paused for breath. The recollection of his splendid publicity was dazzling. He imagined the morrow with its possibility of social triumph; he went as far as to feel that Mrs. Shrimplin now had a certain sneaking respect for him. "Did you see tracks in the snow?" demanded Custer. "No, I didn't see nothing," declared Mr. Shrimplin. "You seen young John North." It was Mrs. Shrimplin who spoke. "Well, yes, I seen young John North--I said I seen him!" CHAPTER SIX PUTTING ON THE SCREWS A score of men and boys followed the undertaker's wagon to the small frame cottage that had been Archibald McBride's home for half a century, and a group of these assembled about the gate as the wagon drew up before it. Along the quiet street, windows were raised and doors were opened. It was perhaps the first time, as it was to be the last, that Archibald McBride's neighbors took note of his home-coming. His keys had been found and intrusted to one of the policemen who accompanied the undertaker and his men; now, as the wagon came to a stand, this officer sprang to the ground, and pushing open the gate went quickly up the path to the front door. There in the shelter of the porch he paused to light a lantern, then he tried key after key until he found the one that fitted the lock; he opened the door and entered the house, the undertaker following him. A second officer stationed himself at the door and kept back the crowd. Their preparations were soon made and the two men reappeared on the porch. "It's all right," the undertaker said, and four men raised the stretcher again and carried the old merchant into the house. At this juncture Colonel Harbison, followed by his nephew and Gilmore, made his way through the crowd before the door. Gilmore, even, gave an involuntary shudder as they entered the small hall lighted by the single lantern, while the colonel could have wished himself anywhere else; he had come from a sense of duty; he had known McBride as well as any one in Mount Hope had known him, and it had seemed a lack of respect to the dead man to leave him to the care of the merely curious; but he was painfully conscious of the still presence in the parlor; he felt that they were unwelcome intruders in the home of that austere old man, who had made no friends, who had no intimates, but had lived according to his choice, solitary and alone. The colonel and Watt Harbison followed the gambler into what had been the old merchant's sitting-room. There were two lamps on the chimneypiece, both of which Gilmore lighted. "That's a whole lot better," he said. "Anything more we can do, gentlemen?" asked the undertaker, coming into the room. "Nothing, thank you," answered the colonel in a tone of abstraction, and he felt a sense of relief when the officials had gone their way into the night, leaving him and his two companions to their vigil. Now for the first time they had leisure and opportunity to look about them. It was a poor enough place, all things considered; the furniture was dingy with age and neglect, for Archibald McBride had kept no servant; a worn and faded carpet covered the floor; there was an engraving of Washington Crossing the Delaware and a few old-fashioned woodcuts on the wall; at one side of the room was a desk, opposite it a rusted sheet-iron stove in which Watt Harbison was already starting a fire; there was a scant assortment of uncomfortable chairs, a table, with one leg bandaged, and near the desk an old mahogany davenport. "This wouldn't have suited you, eh, Colonel?" said Gilmore at last. "He could hardly be said to live here, he merely came here to sleep," answered the colonel. "No, he couldn't have cared for anything but the one thing," said Gilmore. "Were you ever here before, Colonel?" he added. "Never." "I don't suppose half a dozen people in the town were ever inside his door until to-night," said Watt Harbison, speaking for the first time. Gilmore turned to look at the colonel's nephew as if he had only that moment become aware of his presence. What he saw did not impress him greatly, for young Watt, save for an unusually large head, was much like other young men of his class. His speech was soft, his face beardless and his gray eyes gazed steadily but without curiosity on, what was for him, an uncliented world. For the eighteen months that he had been an "attorney and counselor at law" the detail of office rent had been taken care of by the colonel. "Sort of makes the game he played seem rotten poor sport," commented Gilmore, replying to the nephew but looking at the uncle. The colonel was silent. "Rotten poor sport!" repeated Gilmore. "Who'll come in for his property?" asked Watt Harbison. "Oh, some one will claim that," said Gilmore. "They were saying down at the store, that once, years ago, a brother of his turned up, here, but McBride got rid of him." "Suppose we have a look around before we settle ourselves for the night," suggested Watt Harbison. "Will you join us, Colonel?" asked the gambler. But the colonel shook his head. Gilmore took up one of the lamps as he spoke and opened a door that led into what had evidently once been a dining-room, but it was now only partly furnished; back of this was a kitchen, and beyond the kitchen a woodshed. Returning to the front of the house, they mounted to the floor above. Here had been the old merchant's bedroom; adjoining it were two smaller rooms, one of which had been used as a place of storage for trunks and boxes and broken bits of furniture; the other room was empty. "We may as well go back down-stairs," said the gambler, halting, lamp in hand, in the center of the empty room. Harbison nodded, and leading the way to the floor below, they rejoined the colonel in the sitting-room, where they made themselves as comfortable as possible. The colonel and his nephew talked in subdued tones, principally of the murdered man; they had no desire to exclude their companion from the conversation, but Gilmore displayed no interest in what was said. He sat at the colonel's elbow, preoccupied and thoughtful, smoking cigar after cigar. Presently the colonel and his nephew lapsed into silence. Their silence seemed to rouse Gilmore to what was passing about him. He glanced at the elder Harbison. "You look tired, Colonel," he said. "Why don't you stretch out on that lounge yonder and take a nap?" "I think I shall, Andy, if you and Watt don't mind." And the colonel quitted his chair. "Better put your coat over you," advised the gambler. He watched the colonel as he made himself comfortable on the lounge, then he lighted a fresh cigar, tilted his chair against the wall and with head thrown back studied the ceiling. Watt Harbison made one or two tentative attempts at conversation, to which Gilmore briefly responded, then the young fellow also became thoughtful. He fell to watching the gambler's strong profile which the lamp silhouetted against the opposite wall; then drowsiness completely overcame him and he slept in his chair with his head fallen forward on his breast. Gilmore, alert and sleepless, smoked on; he was thinking of Evelyn Langham. After his interview with her husband that afternoon he had gone to his own apartment. His bedroom adjoined North's parlor and through the flimsy lath and plaster partition he had distinctly heard a woman's voice. The sound of that voice and the suspicion it instantly begot added to his furious hatred of North, for he had long suspected that something more than friendship existed between Marshall Langham's wife and Marshall Langham's friend. "Damn him!" thought the gambler. "I'll fix him yet!" And he puffed at his cigar viciously. He had made sure that North's mysterious visitor was Evelyn Langham, for when she left the building he himself had followed her. Out of the dregs of his nature this foolish mad passion of his had arisen to torture him; he had never spoken with Langham's wife, probably she knew him by sight, nothing more; but still his game, the waiting game he had been forced to play, was working itself out better than he had even hoped! At last he had Marshall Langham where he wanted him, where he could make him feel his power. Langham would not be able to raise the money required to cover up those forgeries, and on the basis of silence he would make his bargain with the lawyer. Gilmore pondered this problem for the better part of an hour, considering it from every conceivable angle; then suddenly the expression of his face changed, he forgot for the moment his ambitions and his desires, his hatred and his love; he thought he heard the click of the old-fashioned latch on the front gate. He remembered that it could be raised only with difficulty. Next he heard the sound of footsteps approaching the house. They seemed to come haltingly down the narrow brick path which the wind had swept clear of snow. Mr. Gilmore was blessed with a steadiness of nerve known to but few men, yet the hour and the occasion had their influence with him. He stood erect: now the steps which had paused for a moment seemed to recede; it was as if the intruder, whoever he might be, had come almost to the front door and had then, for some inexplicable reason, gone back to the street. Gilmore even imagined him as standing there with his hand on the latch of the gate. He was tempted to rouse his two companions, but he did not, and then, as he still stood with his senses tense, he heard the steps again approach the front door. With a glance in the direction of the colonel and his nephew to assure himself that they still slept, Gilmore rather shamefacedly slipped his right hand under the tails of his coat, tiptoed into the hall and paused there close by the parlor door. The steps

doors

How many times the word 'doors' appears in the text?

with a gasp. He collapsed again, and again the colonel, whose gloved hand still retained its hold on his collar, set him on his trembling legs with admirable expertness. "I tell you he's dead!" cried Mr. Shrimplin, lost to everything but that one dreadful fact. "Who's dead?" demanded the colonel. "Stand up, man, don't fall about like that or you may do yourself some injury!" for Mr. Shrimplin seemed about to collapse once more. "Old man McBride, Colonel--if he ain't dead I wish I may never see death!" "Dead!" cried the colonel. "Archibald McBride dead!" He released his hold on Mr. Shrimplin and took a step toward the door; Shrimplin, however, detained him with a shaking hand, though he was calmer now. "Colonel, you'd better be careful, he's lying there in a pool of blood; some one's killed him for his money! How do we know the murderer ain't there!" This conjecture was made to the empty street, for Colonel Harbison had entered the store. "Why does he want to leave me like that!" wailed Shrimplin, and his panic threatened a return. He dragged himself to the door. Here he paused, since he could not bring himself to enter, for before his eyes was the ghastly vision of that old man huddled on the blood-stained floor. He heard the colonel's steps echo down the long room, and when their sound ceased he knew he was standing beside the dead man. After what seemed an age of waiting the steps sounded again, and a moment later the colonel's tall form filled the doorway. "Andy!" said the colonel. Mr. Shrimplin turned with a start. At his back within reach of his hand stood Andy Gilmore. He had been utterly unaware of the gambler's approach, but now conscious of it he dropped in a miserable heap on the door-sill, while the white and unfamiliar world reeled before his bleached blue eyes; it was the very drunkenness of fear. "Howdy, Colonel," said the gambler, as he gave Harbison a half-military salute. He admired the colonel, who had once threatened to horsewhip him if he ever permitted his nephew, Watt, to enter his rooms. "Come here, Andy!" ordered the colonel briefly. "God's sake, Colonel!" gasped the wretched little lamplighter, struggling to his feet, "don't leave me here--" "What's wrong, Colonel?" asked Gilmore. "Archibald McBride's been murdered!" Mr. Gilmore took the butt of the half-smoked cigar from between his teeth, tossed it into the gutter, and pushing past Mr. Shrimplin entered the room. Colonel Harbison, a step or two in advance of his companion, led the way to the rear of the store. The colonel paused, and Gilmore gained a place at his elbow. "You are sure he's dead?" questioned the gambler. Kneeling beside the crumpled figure Gilmore slipped his hand in between the body and the floor; his manner was cool and businesslike. After a moment he withdrew his hand and looked, up into the colonel's face. "Well?" asked the colonel. "Oh, he's dead, all right!" Gilmore glanced about him, and the colonel's eyes following, they both discovered that the door leading into the side yard was partly open. "He went that way, eh, Colonel?" "It's altogether likely," agreed the veteran. "It's a nasty business!" said Gilmore reflectively. "Shocking!" snapped the colonel. "He took big chances," commented the gambler, "living the way he did." He spoke of the dead man. "Poor old man!" said the colonel pityingly. What had it all amounted to, those chances for the sake of gain, which Gilmore had in mind. "He can't have been dead very long," said Gilmore. "Did _you_ find him, Colonel?" he asked as he stood erect. "No, Shrimplin found him." Again the two men looked about them. On the floor by the counter at their right was a heavy sledge. Gilmore called Harbison's attention to this. "I guess the job was done with that," he said. "Possibly," agreed Harbison. Gilmore picked up the sledge and examined it narrowly. "Yes, you can see, there is blood on it." He handed it to Harbison, who stepped under the nearest lamp with the clumsy weapon in his hand. "You are right, Andy!" and he glanced at the rude instrument of death with a look of repugnance on his keen sensitive face, then he carefully, placed it under the wooden counter. "Horrible!" he muttered to himself. "It was no joke for him!" said the gambler, catching the last word. "But some one was bound to try this dodge sooner or later. Why, as far back as I can remember, people said he kept his money hidden away at the bottom of nail kegs and under heaps of scrap-iron." He took a cigar from his pocket, bit off the end, and struck a match. "Well, I wouldn't want to be the other fellow, Colonel; I'd be in all kinds of a panic; it takes nerve for a job like this." "It's a shocking circumstance," said the colonel. "I wonder if it paid!" speculated the gambler. "And I wonder who'll get what he leaves. Has he any family or relatives?" "No, not so far as any one knows. He came here many years ago, a close-mouthed Scotchman, who never had any intimates, never married, and never spoke of his private affairs." There was a slight commotion at the door. They could hear Shrimplin's agitated voice, and a moment later two men, chance passers-by with whom he had been speaking, shook themselves free of the little lamplighter and entered the room. The new-comers nodded to the colonel and Gilmore as they paused to stare mutely at the body on the floor. "He bled like a stuck pig!" said one of the men at last. He was a ragged slouching creature with a splotched and bloated face half hidden by a bristling red beard. He glanced at Gilmore for an uncertain instant out of a pair of small shifty eyes. "It's murder, ain't it, boss?" he added. "No doubt about that, Joe!" rejoined the gambler. "I suppose it was robbery?" said the other man, who had not spoken before. "Very likely," answered the colonel. "We have not examined the place, however; we shall wait for the proper officials." "Who do you want, Colonel?" "Coroner Taylor, and I suppose the sheriff," replied Harbison. The man nodded. "All right, I'll bring them; and say, what about the prosecuting attorney?" as he turned to leave. "Yes, bring Moxlow, too, if you can find him." The man hurried from the room. Gilmore leaned against the counter and smoked imperturbably. Joe Montgomery, with his great slouching shoulders arched, and his grimy hands buried deep in his trousers pockets, stared at the dead man in stolid wonder. Colonel Harbison's glance sought the same object but with a sensitive shrinking as from an ugly brutal thing. A clock ticked loudly in the office; there was the occasional fall of cinders from the grate of the rusted stove that heated the place; these were sounds that neither Gilmore nor the colonel had heard before. Presently a lean black cat stole from the office and sprang upon the counter; it purred softly. "Hello, puss!" said the gambler, putting out a hand. The cat stole closer. "I guess I'll have to take you home with me, eh? This ain't a place for unprotected females!" The cat crept back and forth under his caressing touch. At the street-door Shrimplin appeared and disappeared, now his head was thrust into the room, and now his nose was flattened against the dingy show-windows; from neither point could he quite command the view he desired nor could he bring himself to enter the building; then he vanished entirely, but after a brief interval they heard his voice. He was evidently speaking with some one in the street. A little crowd was rapidly gathering about him, but it disintegrated almost immediately, his listeners abandoning him to hurry into the store. "You must stand back, all of you!" said the colonel. "Unless you are very careful you may destroy important evidence!" The crowd assembled itself silently for the most part; here and there a man removed his hat, or made some whispered comment, or asked some eager low-voiced question of Gilmore or the colonel. Men stood on boxes, on nail kegs, and on counters. Except for the little circle left about the dead man on the floor, every vantage point of observation was soon occupied. It was scarcely half an hour since Shrimplin had fallen speechless into Colonel Harbison's arms, yet fully two hundred men had gathered in that long room or were struggling about the door to gain admittance to it. At a suggestion from Harbison, the gambler, followed by Joe, elbowed his way to the front door, which in spite of the protest of those outside, he closed and locked. A moment later, however, he opened it to admit Doctor Taylor, the coroner, and Conklin, the sheriff. The latter instantly set about clearing the room. Gilmore and the colonel remained with the officials and during the succeeding ten minutes the gambler, who had kept his post at the door, opened, it to Moxlow, young Watt Harbison and two policemen. As the coroner finished his examination of the body, the sound of wheels was heard in the Square and an undertaker's wagon drew up to the door. The murdered man was placed on a stretcher and covered with a black cloth, then four men raised the stretcher and for the last time the old merchant passed out under his creaking sign into the night. "I've agreed to watch at the house, Andy," said Colonel Harbison. "I want you and Watt to come with me." The gambler lighted a fresh cigar and the three men left the store. On the Square groups of men discussed the murder. Though none was permitted to enter the store, the windows afforded occasional glimpses of the little group of officials within, until a policeman closed and fastened the heavy wooden shutters. Then the crowd slowly and reluctantly dispersed. Meanwhile the town marshal, under cover of the excitement, had descended on the gas house where tramps congregated of winter nights for warmth and shelter. Here he found shivering over a can of beer, two homeless wretches, whom he arrested as suspicious characters. After this, official activity languished, for the official mind could think of nothing more to do. With the scattering of the crowd on the Square, Shrimplin climbed into his cart and drove off home. The smother of wind-driven snow still enveloped the, town, the very air seemed charged with mystery and horror, and before the little lamplighter's eyes was ever the haunting vision of the murdered man. He drove into the alley back of his house, unhitched Bill and led him into the barn. His torch made the gloom of the place more terrifying than utter darkness would have been. Suppose the murderer should be hiding there! Mr. Shrimplin's mind fastened on the hay-mow as the most likely place of concealment, and the cold sweat ran from him in icy streams; he could, almost see the murderer's evil eyes fixed upon him from the blackness above. But at last Bill was stripped of his harness, and the little lamplighter, escaping from the barn with its fancied terrors, hurried across his small back yard to his kitchen door. "Well!" said Mrs. Shrimplin, as he entered the room. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever think it worth your while to come home!" "What's the bell been ringing for?" asked Custer. Mrs. Shrimplin was seated by the table, which was littered with her sewing; Custer occupied his usual chair by the stove, and it was evident that they knew nothing of the tragedy in which Mr. Shrimplin had played so important, and as he now felt, so worthy a part. "I suppose I've been out quite a time, and I may say I've seen times, too! I guess there ain't no one in the town fitter to say they seen times than just me!" The light and comfort of his own pleasant kitchen had quite restored Mr. Shrimplin. "I may say I seen times!" he repeated significantly. "There's something doing in this here old town after all! I take back a heap of the hard things I've said about it; a feller can scare up a little excitement if he knows where to look for it. I ain't bragging none, but I guess you'll hear my name mentioned--I guess you'll even see it in print in the newspapers!" He warmed his cold hands over the stove. "Throw in a little more coal, sonny; I'm half froze, but I guess that's the worst any one can say of me!" "You make much of it, whatever it is," said Mrs. Shrimplin. "Maybe I do and maybe I don't," equivocated Mr. Shrimplin genially. "Maybe you're not above telling a body what kept you out half the night?" inquired his wife. "If you done and seen what I've did and saw," replied Mr. Shrimplin impressively, "you'd look for a little respect in your own home." "I'd be a heap quicker telling about it," said Mrs. Shrimplin. Mr. Shrimplin turned to Custer. "I guess, you're thinking it was a burglar; but, sonny, it wasn't no burglar--so you got another guess coming to you," he concluded benevolently. "I know!" cried Custer. "Some one's been killed!" "Exactly!" said Mr. Shrimplin with increasing benevolence. "Some one has been killed!" "You done it!" cried Custer. "I found the party," admitted Mr. Shrimplin with calm dignity. "Oh!" But perhaps Custer's first emotion was on the whole one of disappointment. "How you talk!" said Mrs. Shrimplin. "I reckon I might say more, most any one would," retorted Mr. Shrimplin quietly. "It was old man McBride--someone's murdered him for his money; I never seen the town so on end over anything before, but whoever wants to be well posted's got to come to me for the particulars. I seen the old man before Colonel Harbison seen him, I seen him before Andy Gilmore seen him, I seen him before the coroner seen him, or the sheriff or _any one_ seen him! I was on the spot ahead of 'em all. If any one wants to know how he looked just after he was killed, they got to come to me to find out. Colonel Harbison can't tell 'em, and Andy Gilmore can't tell 'em; it's only me knows them particulars!" The effect of this stirring declaration was quite all he had hoped for. Out of the tail of his eye he saw that Mrs. Shrimplin was, as she afterward freely confessed, taken aback. As for Custer, he had forgotten his disappointment that a death by violence had occurred for which his father was not directly responsible. "Did you see the man that killed old Mr. McBride?" asked Custer, breaking the breathless spell that was upon him. "No; if I'd been just about fifteen minutes sooner I'd have seen him; but I was just about that much too late, sonny. I guess he's a whole lot better off, though." "What would you have done if you'd seen him?" Custer's voice sank to a whisper. "Well, I don't pack a gun for nothing. If I'd seen him there, he'd had to go 'round to the jail with me. I guess I could have coaxed him there; I was ready for to offer extra inducements!" "And does everybody know you seen old Mr. McBride the first of any?" asked Custer. "I guess they do; I ain't afraid about that. Colonel Harbison's too much of a gentleman to claim any credit that ain't his; he'd be the first one to own up that he don't deserve no credit." "What took you into McBride's store? You hadn't no errand there." Mrs. Shrimplin was a careful and acquisitive wife. "I allow I made an errand there," said Mr. Shrimplin bridling. "I reckon many another man might have thought he hadn't no errand there either, but I feel different about them things. I was just turned into the Square when along comes young John North--" "What was he doing there?" suddenly asked Mrs. Shrimplin. "I expect he was attending strictly to his own business," retorted Mr. Shrimplin, offended by the utter irrelevancy of the question. "Go on, pal" begged Custer. He felt that his mother's interruptions were positively cruel, and--so like a woman! "Me and young John North passed the time of day," continued Mr. Shrimplin, thus abjured, "and I started around the north side of the Square to light the lamp on old man McBride's own corner. If I'd knowed then--" he paused impressively, "if I'd just knowed then, that was my time! I could have laid hands on the murderer. He was there somewheres, most likely he was watching me; well, maybe it was all for the best, I don't know as a married man's got any right to take chances. Anyway, I got to within, well--I should say, thirty feet of that lamp-post when all of a sudden Bill began to act up. You never saw a horse act up like he done! He rose in his britching and then the other end of him come up and he acted like he wanted to set down on the singletree!" "Why did he do that?" asked Custer. "Well, I guess you've got some few things to learn, Custer;" said Mr. Shrimplin indulgently. "He smelt blood--that's what he smelt!" "Oh!" gasped Custer. "I've knowed it to happen before. It's instinct," explained Shrimplin. "'Singular,' says I, and out I jumps to have a look about. I walked to the lamp-post, and then I seen what I hadn't seen before, that old man McBride's store door was open, so I stepped on to the sidewalk intending to close it, but as I put my hand on the knob I seen where the snow had drifted into the room, so I knew the door must have been open some little time. That's mighty odd, I thinks, and then it sort of come over me the way Bill had acted, and I went along into the store in pretty considerable of a hurry." "Were you afraid?" demanded Custer in an awe-struck whisper. "I'll tell you the truth, Custer, I wasn't. I own I'd drawed my gun, wishing to be on the safe side. First thing I noticed was that the lamps hadn't been turned up, though they was all lit. I got back to the end of the counter when I came to a halt, for there in a heap on the floor was old man McBride, with his head mashed in where some one had hit him with a sledge. There was blood all over the floor, and it was a mighty sickenin' spectacle. I sort of looked around hoping I'd see the murderer, but he'd lit out, and then I went back to the front of the store, where I seen Colonel Harbison coming across the Square. I told him what I'd seen and he went inside to look; while he was looking, along come Andy Gilmore and I told him, too, and he went in. They knowed the murderer wasn't there, that I'd been in ahead of them. After, that the people seemed to come from every direction; then presently some one started to ring the town bell and that fetched more people, until the Square in front of the store was packed and jammed with 'em. Everybody' wanted to hear about it first-hand from me; they wanted the _full particulars_ from the only one who knowed 'em." Mr. Shrimplin paused for breath. The recollection of his splendid publicity was dazzling. He imagined the morrow with its possibility of social triumph; he went as far as to feel that Mrs. Shrimplin now had a certain sneaking respect for him. "Did you see tracks in the snow?" demanded Custer. "No, I didn't see nothing," declared Mr. Shrimplin. "You seen young John North." It was Mrs. Shrimplin who spoke. "Well, yes, I seen young John North--I said I seen him!" CHAPTER SIX PUTTING ON THE SCREWS A score of men and boys followed the undertaker's wagon to the small frame cottage that had been Archibald McBride's home for half a century, and a group of these assembled about the gate as the wagon drew up before it. Along the quiet street, windows were raised and doors were opened. It was perhaps the first time, as it was to be the last, that Archibald McBride's neighbors took note of his home-coming. His keys had been found and intrusted to one of the policemen who accompanied the undertaker and his men; now, as the wagon came to a stand, this officer sprang to the ground, and pushing open the gate went quickly up the path to the front door. There in the shelter of the porch he paused to light a lantern, then he tried key after key until he found the one that fitted the lock; he opened the door and entered the house, the undertaker following him. A second officer stationed himself at the door and kept back the crowd. Their preparations were soon made and the two men reappeared on the porch. "It's all right," the undertaker said, and four men raised the stretcher again and carried the old merchant into the house. At this juncture Colonel Harbison, followed by his nephew and Gilmore, made his way through the crowd before the door. Gilmore, even, gave an involuntary shudder as they entered the small hall lighted by the single lantern, while the colonel could have wished himself anywhere else; he had come from a sense of duty; he had known McBride as well as any one in Mount Hope had known him, and it had seemed a lack of respect to the dead man to leave him to the care of the merely curious; but he was painfully conscious of the still presence in the parlor; he felt that they were unwelcome intruders in the home of that austere old man, who had made no friends, who had no intimates, but had lived according to his choice, solitary and alone. The colonel and Watt Harbison followed the gambler into what had been the old merchant's sitting-room. There were two lamps on the chimneypiece, both of which Gilmore lighted. "That's a whole lot better," he said. "Anything more we can do, gentlemen?" asked the undertaker, coming into the room. "Nothing, thank you," answered the colonel in a tone of abstraction, and he felt a sense of relief when the officials had gone their way into the night, leaving him and his two companions to their vigil. Now for the first time they had leisure and opportunity to look about them. It was a poor enough place, all things considered; the furniture was dingy with age and neglect, for Archibald McBride had kept no servant; a worn and faded carpet covered the floor; there was an engraving of Washington Crossing the Delaware and a few old-fashioned woodcuts on the wall; at one side of the room was a desk, opposite it a rusted sheet-iron stove in which Watt Harbison was already starting a fire; there was a scant assortment of uncomfortable chairs, a table, with one leg bandaged, and near the desk an old mahogany davenport. "This wouldn't have suited you, eh, Colonel?" said Gilmore at last. "He could hardly be said to live here, he merely came here to sleep," answered the colonel. "No, he couldn't have cared for anything but the one thing," said Gilmore. "Were you ever here before, Colonel?" he added. "Never." "I don't suppose half a dozen people in the town were ever inside his door until to-night," said Watt Harbison, speaking for the first time. Gilmore turned to look at the colonel's nephew as if he had only that moment become aware of his presence. What he saw did not impress him greatly, for young Watt, save for an unusually large head, was much like other young men of his class. His speech was soft, his face beardless and his gray eyes gazed steadily but without curiosity on, what was for him, an uncliented world. For the eighteen months that he had been an "attorney and counselor at law" the detail of office rent had been taken care of by the colonel. "Sort of makes the game he played seem rotten poor sport," commented Gilmore, replying to the nephew but looking at the uncle. The colonel was silent. "Rotten poor sport!" repeated Gilmore. "Who'll come in for his property?" asked Watt Harbison. "Oh, some one will claim that," said Gilmore. "They were saying down at the store, that once, years ago, a brother of his turned up, here, but McBride got rid of him." "Suppose we have a look around before we settle ourselves for the night," suggested Watt Harbison. "Will you join us, Colonel?" asked the gambler. But the colonel shook his head. Gilmore took up one of the lamps as he spoke and opened a door that led into what had evidently once been a dining-room, but it was now only partly furnished; back of this was a kitchen, and beyond the kitchen a woodshed. Returning to the front of the house, they mounted to the floor above. Here had been the old merchant's bedroom; adjoining it were two smaller rooms, one of which had been used as a place of storage for trunks and boxes and broken bits of furniture; the other room was empty. "We may as well go back down-stairs," said the gambler, halting, lamp in hand, in the center of the empty room. Harbison nodded, and leading the way to the floor below, they rejoined the colonel in the sitting-room, where they made themselves as comfortable as possible. The colonel and his nephew talked in subdued tones, principally of the murdered man; they had no desire to exclude their companion from the conversation, but Gilmore displayed no interest in what was said. He sat at the colonel's elbow, preoccupied and thoughtful, smoking cigar after cigar. Presently the colonel and his nephew lapsed into silence. Their silence seemed to rouse Gilmore to what was passing about him. He glanced at the elder Harbison. "You look tired, Colonel," he said. "Why don't you stretch out on that lounge yonder and take a nap?" "I think I shall, Andy, if you and Watt don't mind." And the colonel quitted his chair. "Better put your coat over you," advised the gambler. He watched the colonel as he made himself comfortable on the lounge, then he lighted a fresh cigar, tilted his chair against the wall and with head thrown back studied the ceiling. Watt Harbison made one or two tentative attempts at conversation, to which Gilmore briefly responded, then the young fellow also became thoughtful. He fell to watching the gambler's strong profile which the lamp silhouetted against the opposite wall; then drowsiness completely overcame him and he slept in his chair with his head fallen forward on his breast. Gilmore, alert and sleepless, smoked on; he was thinking of Evelyn Langham. After his interview with her husband that afternoon he had gone to his own apartment. His bedroom adjoined North's parlor and through the flimsy lath and plaster partition he had distinctly heard a woman's voice. The sound of that voice and the suspicion it instantly begot added to his furious hatred of North, for he had long suspected that something more than friendship existed between Marshall Langham's wife and Marshall Langham's friend. "Damn him!" thought the gambler. "I'll fix him yet!" And he puffed at his cigar viciously. He had made sure that North's mysterious visitor was Evelyn Langham, for when she left the building he himself had followed her. Out of the dregs of his nature this foolish mad passion of his had arisen to torture him; he had never spoken with Langham's wife, probably she knew him by sight, nothing more; but still his game, the waiting game he had been forced to play, was working itself out better than he had even hoped! At last he had Marshall Langham where he wanted him, where he could make him feel his power. Langham would not be able to raise the money required to cover up those forgeries, and on the basis of silence he would make his bargain with the lawyer. Gilmore pondered this problem for the better part of an hour, considering it from every conceivable angle; then suddenly the expression of his face changed, he forgot for the moment his ambitions and his desires, his hatred and his love; he thought he heard the click of the old-fashioned latch on the front gate. He remembered that it could be raised only with difficulty. Next he heard the sound of footsteps approaching the house. They seemed to come haltingly down the narrow brick path which the wind had swept clear of snow. Mr. Gilmore was blessed with a steadiness of nerve known to but few men, yet the hour and the occasion had their influence with him. He stood erect: now the steps which had paused for a moment seemed to recede; it was as if the intruder, whoever he might be, had come almost to the front door and had then, for some inexplicable reason, gone back to the street. Gilmore even imagined him as standing there with his hand on the latch of the gate. He was tempted to rouse his two companions, but he did not, and then, as he still stood with his senses tense, he heard the steps again approach the front door. With a glance in the direction of the colonel and his nephew to assure himself that they still slept, Gilmore rather shamefacedly slipped his right hand under the tails of his coat, tiptoed into the hall and paused there close by the parlor door. The steps

its

How many times the word 'its' appears in the text?

with a gasp. He collapsed again, and again the colonel, whose gloved hand still retained its hold on his collar, set him on his trembling legs with admirable expertness. "I tell you he's dead!" cried Mr. Shrimplin, lost to everything but that one dreadful fact. "Who's dead?" demanded the colonel. "Stand up, man, don't fall about like that or you may do yourself some injury!" for Mr. Shrimplin seemed about to collapse once more. "Old man McBride, Colonel--if he ain't dead I wish I may never see death!" "Dead!" cried the colonel. "Archibald McBride dead!" He released his hold on Mr. Shrimplin and took a step toward the door; Shrimplin, however, detained him with a shaking hand, though he was calmer now. "Colonel, you'd better be careful, he's lying there in a pool of blood; some one's killed him for his money! How do we know the murderer ain't there!" This conjecture was made to the empty street, for Colonel Harbison had entered the store. "Why does he want to leave me like that!" wailed Shrimplin, and his panic threatened a return. He dragged himself to the door. Here he paused, since he could not bring himself to enter, for before his eyes was the ghastly vision of that old man huddled on the blood-stained floor. He heard the colonel's steps echo down the long room, and when their sound ceased he knew he was standing beside the dead man. After what seemed an age of waiting the steps sounded again, and a moment later the colonel's tall form filled the doorway. "Andy!" said the colonel. Mr. Shrimplin turned with a start. At his back within reach of his hand stood Andy Gilmore. He had been utterly unaware of the gambler's approach, but now conscious of it he dropped in a miserable heap on the door-sill, while the white and unfamiliar world reeled before his bleached blue eyes; it was the very drunkenness of fear. "Howdy, Colonel," said the gambler, as he gave Harbison a half-military salute. He admired the colonel, who had once threatened to horsewhip him if he ever permitted his nephew, Watt, to enter his rooms. "Come here, Andy!" ordered the colonel briefly. "God's sake, Colonel!" gasped the wretched little lamplighter, struggling to his feet, "don't leave me here--" "What's wrong, Colonel?" asked Gilmore. "Archibald McBride's been murdered!" Mr. Gilmore took the butt of the half-smoked cigar from between his teeth, tossed it into the gutter, and pushing past Mr. Shrimplin entered the room. Colonel Harbison, a step or two in advance of his companion, led the way to the rear of the store. The colonel paused, and Gilmore gained a place at his elbow. "You are sure he's dead?" questioned the gambler. Kneeling beside the crumpled figure Gilmore slipped his hand in between the body and the floor; his manner was cool and businesslike. After a moment he withdrew his hand and looked, up into the colonel's face. "Well?" asked the colonel. "Oh, he's dead, all right!" Gilmore glanced about him, and the colonel's eyes following, they both discovered that the door leading into the side yard was partly open. "He went that way, eh, Colonel?" "It's altogether likely," agreed the veteran. "It's a nasty business!" said Gilmore reflectively. "Shocking!" snapped the colonel. "He took big chances," commented the gambler, "living the way he did." He spoke of the dead man. "Poor old man!" said the colonel pityingly. What had it all amounted to, those chances for the sake of gain, which Gilmore had in mind. "He can't have been dead very long," said Gilmore. "Did _you_ find him, Colonel?" he asked as he stood erect. "No, Shrimplin found him." Again the two men looked about them. On the floor by the counter at their right was a heavy sledge. Gilmore called Harbison's attention to this. "I guess the job was done with that," he said. "Possibly," agreed Harbison. Gilmore picked up the sledge and examined it narrowly. "Yes, you can see, there is blood on it." He handed it to Harbison, who stepped under the nearest lamp with the clumsy weapon in his hand. "You are right, Andy!" and he glanced at the rude instrument of death with a look of repugnance on his keen sensitive face, then he carefully, placed it under the wooden counter. "Horrible!" he muttered to himself. "It was no joke for him!" said the gambler, catching the last word. "But some one was bound to try this dodge sooner or later. Why, as far back as I can remember, people said he kept his money hidden away at the bottom of nail kegs and under heaps of scrap-iron." He took a cigar from his pocket, bit off the end, and struck a match. "Well, I wouldn't want to be the other fellow, Colonel; I'd be in all kinds of a panic; it takes nerve for a job like this." "It's a shocking circumstance," said the colonel. "I wonder if it paid!" speculated the gambler. "And I wonder who'll get what he leaves. Has he any family or relatives?" "No, not so far as any one knows. He came here many years ago, a close-mouthed Scotchman, who never had any intimates, never married, and never spoke of his private affairs." There was a slight commotion at the door. They could hear Shrimplin's agitated voice, and a moment later two men, chance passers-by with whom he had been speaking, shook themselves free of the little lamplighter and entered the room. The new-comers nodded to the colonel and Gilmore as they paused to stare mutely at the body on the floor. "He bled like a stuck pig!" said one of the men at last. He was a ragged slouching creature with a splotched and bloated face half hidden by a bristling red beard. He glanced at Gilmore for an uncertain instant out of a pair of small shifty eyes. "It's murder, ain't it, boss?" he added. "No doubt about that, Joe!" rejoined the gambler. "I suppose it was robbery?" said the other man, who had not spoken before. "Very likely," answered the colonel. "We have not examined the place, however; we shall wait for the proper officials." "Who do you want, Colonel?" "Coroner Taylor, and I suppose the sheriff," replied Harbison. The man nodded. "All right, I'll bring them; and say, what about the prosecuting attorney?" as he turned to leave. "Yes, bring Moxlow, too, if you can find him." The man hurried from the room. Gilmore leaned against the counter and smoked imperturbably. Joe Montgomery, with his great slouching shoulders arched, and his grimy hands buried deep in his trousers pockets, stared at the dead man in stolid wonder. Colonel Harbison's glance sought the same object but with a sensitive shrinking as from an ugly brutal thing. A clock ticked loudly in the office; there was the occasional fall of cinders from the grate of the rusted stove that heated the place; these were sounds that neither Gilmore nor the colonel had heard before. Presently a lean black cat stole from the office and sprang upon the counter; it purred softly. "Hello, puss!" said the gambler, putting out a hand. The cat stole closer. "I guess I'll have to take you home with me, eh? This ain't a place for unprotected females!" The cat crept back and forth under his caressing touch. At the street-door Shrimplin appeared and disappeared, now his head was thrust into the room, and now his nose was flattened against the dingy show-windows; from neither point could he quite command the view he desired nor could he bring himself to enter the building; then he vanished entirely, but after a brief interval they heard his voice. He was evidently speaking with some one in the street. A little crowd was rapidly gathering about him, but it disintegrated almost immediately, his listeners abandoning him to hurry into the store. "You must stand back, all of you!" said the colonel. "Unless you are very careful you may destroy important evidence!" The crowd assembled itself silently for the most part; here and there a man removed his hat, or made some whispered comment, or asked some eager low-voiced question of Gilmore or the colonel. Men stood on boxes, on nail kegs, and on counters. Except for the little circle left about the dead man on the floor, every vantage point of observation was soon occupied. It was scarcely half an hour since Shrimplin had fallen speechless into Colonel Harbison's arms, yet fully two hundred men had gathered in that long room or were struggling about the door to gain admittance to it. At a suggestion from Harbison, the gambler, followed by Joe, elbowed his way to the front door, which in spite of the protest of those outside, he closed and locked. A moment later, however, he opened it to admit Doctor Taylor, the coroner, and Conklin, the sheriff. The latter instantly set about clearing the room. Gilmore and the colonel remained with the officials and during the succeeding ten minutes the gambler, who had kept his post at the door, opened, it to Moxlow, young Watt Harbison and two policemen. As the coroner finished his examination of the body, the sound of wheels was heard in the Square and an undertaker's wagon drew up to the door. The murdered man was placed on a stretcher and covered with a black cloth, then four men raised the stretcher and for the last time the old merchant passed out under his creaking sign into the night. "I've agreed to watch at the house, Andy," said Colonel Harbison. "I want you and Watt to come with me." The gambler lighted a fresh cigar and the three men left the store. On the Square groups of men discussed the murder. Though none was permitted to enter the store, the windows afforded occasional glimpses of the little group of officials within, until a policeman closed and fastened the heavy wooden shutters. Then the crowd slowly and reluctantly dispersed. Meanwhile the town marshal, under cover of the excitement, had descended on the gas house where tramps congregated of winter nights for warmth and shelter. Here he found shivering over a can of beer, two homeless wretches, whom he arrested as suspicious characters. After this, official activity languished, for the official mind could think of nothing more to do. With the scattering of the crowd on the Square, Shrimplin climbed into his cart and drove off home. The smother of wind-driven snow still enveloped the, town, the very air seemed charged with mystery and horror, and before the little lamplighter's eyes was ever the haunting vision of the murdered man. He drove into the alley back of his house, unhitched Bill and led him into the barn. His torch made the gloom of the place more terrifying than utter darkness would have been. Suppose the murderer should be hiding there! Mr. Shrimplin's mind fastened on the hay-mow as the most likely place of concealment, and the cold sweat ran from him in icy streams; he could, almost see the murderer's evil eyes fixed upon him from the blackness above. But at last Bill was stripped of his harness, and the little lamplighter, escaping from the barn with its fancied terrors, hurried across his small back yard to his kitchen door. "Well!" said Mrs. Shrimplin, as he entered the room. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever think it worth your while to come home!" "What's the bell been ringing for?" asked Custer. Mrs. Shrimplin was seated by the table, which was littered with her sewing; Custer occupied his usual chair by the stove, and it was evident that they knew nothing of the tragedy in which Mr. Shrimplin had played so important, and as he now felt, so worthy a part. "I suppose I've been out quite a time, and I may say I've seen times, too! I guess there ain't no one in the town fitter to say they seen times than just me!" The light and comfort of his own pleasant kitchen had quite restored Mr. Shrimplin. "I may say I seen times!" he repeated significantly. "There's something doing in this here old town after all! I take back a heap of the hard things I've said about it; a feller can scare up a little excitement if he knows where to look for it. I ain't bragging none, but I guess you'll hear my name mentioned--I guess you'll even see it in print in the newspapers!" He warmed his cold hands over the stove. "Throw in a little more coal, sonny; I'm half froze, but I guess that's the worst any one can say of me!" "You make much of it, whatever it is," said Mrs. Shrimplin. "Maybe I do and maybe I don't," equivocated Mr. Shrimplin genially. "Maybe you're not above telling a body what kept you out half the night?" inquired his wife. "If you done and seen what I've did and saw," replied Mr. Shrimplin impressively, "you'd look for a little respect in your own home." "I'd be a heap quicker telling about it," said Mrs. Shrimplin. Mr. Shrimplin turned to Custer. "I guess, you're thinking it was a burglar; but, sonny, it wasn't no burglar--so you got another guess coming to you," he concluded benevolently. "I know!" cried Custer. "Some one's been killed!" "Exactly!" said Mr. Shrimplin with increasing benevolence. "Some one has been killed!" "You done it!" cried Custer. "I found the party," admitted Mr. Shrimplin with calm dignity. "Oh!" But perhaps Custer's first emotion was on the whole one of disappointment. "How you talk!" said Mrs. Shrimplin. "I reckon I might say more, most any one would," retorted Mr. Shrimplin quietly. "It was old man McBride--someone's murdered him for his money; I never seen the town so on end over anything before, but whoever wants to be well posted's got to come to me for the particulars. I seen the old man before Colonel Harbison seen him, I seen him before Andy Gilmore seen him, I seen him before the coroner seen him, or the sheriff or _any one_ seen him! I was on the spot ahead of 'em all. If any one wants to know how he looked just after he was killed, they got to come to me to find out. Colonel Harbison can't tell 'em, and Andy Gilmore can't tell 'em; it's only me knows them particulars!" The effect of this stirring declaration was quite all he had hoped for. Out of the tail of his eye he saw that Mrs. Shrimplin was, as she afterward freely confessed, taken aback. As for Custer, he had forgotten his disappointment that a death by violence had occurred for which his father was not directly responsible. "Did you see the man that killed old Mr. McBride?" asked Custer, breaking the breathless spell that was upon him. "No; if I'd been just about fifteen minutes sooner I'd have seen him; but I was just about that much too late, sonny. I guess he's a whole lot better off, though." "What would you have done if you'd seen him?" Custer's voice sank to a whisper. "Well, I don't pack a gun for nothing. If I'd seen him there, he'd had to go 'round to the jail with me. I guess I could have coaxed him there; I was ready for to offer extra inducements!" "And does everybody know you seen old Mr. McBride the first of any?" asked Custer. "I guess they do; I ain't afraid about that. Colonel Harbison's too much of a gentleman to claim any credit that ain't his; he'd be the first one to own up that he don't deserve no credit." "What took you into McBride's store? You hadn't no errand there." Mrs. Shrimplin was a careful and acquisitive wife. "I allow I made an errand there," said Mr. Shrimplin bridling. "I reckon many another man might have thought he hadn't no errand there either, but I feel different about them things. I was just turned into the Square when along comes young John North--" "What was he doing there?" suddenly asked Mrs. Shrimplin. "I expect he was attending strictly to his own business," retorted Mr. Shrimplin, offended by the utter irrelevancy of the question. "Go on, pal" begged Custer. He felt that his mother's interruptions were positively cruel, and--so like a woman! "Me and young John North passed the time of day," continued Mr. Shrimplin, thus abjured, "and I started around the north side of the Square to light the lamp on old man McBride's own corner. If I'd knowed then--" he paused impressively, "if I'd just knowed then, that was my time! I could have laid hands on the murderer. He was there somewheres, most likely he was watching me; well, maybe it was all for the best, I don't know as a married man's got any right to take chances. Anyway, I got to within, well--I should say, thirty feet of that lamp-post when all of a sudden Bill began to act up. You never saw a horse act up like he done! He rose in his britching and then the other end of him come up and he acted like he wanted to set down on the singletree!" "Why did he do that?" asked Custer. "Well, I guess you've got some few things to learn, Custer;" said Mr. Shrimplin indulgently. "He smelt blood--that's what he smelt!" "Oh!" gasped Custer. "I've knowed it to happen before. It's instinct," explained Shrimplin. "'Singular,' says I, and out I jumps to have a look about. I walked to the lamp-post, and then I seen what I hadn't seen before, that old man McBride's store door was open, so I stepped on to the sidewalk intending to close it, but as I put my hand on the knob I seen where the snow had drifted into the room, so I knew the door must have been open some little time. That's mighty odd, I thinks, and then it sort of come over me the way Bill had acted, and I went along into the store in pretty considerable of a hurry." "Were you afraid?" demanded Custer in an awe-struck whisper. "I'll tell you the truth, Custer, I wasn't. I own I'd drawed my gun, wishing to be on the safe side. First thing I noticed was that the lamps hadn't been turned up, though they was all lit. I got back to the end of the counter when I came to a halt, for there in a heap on the floor was old man McBride, with his head mashed in where some one had hit him with a sledge. There was blood all over the floor, and it was a mighty sickenin' spectacle. I sort of looked around hoping I'd see the murderer, but he'd lit out, and then I went back to the front of the store, where I seen Colonel Harbison coming across the Square. I told him what I'd seen and he went inside to look; while he was looking, along come Andy Gilmore and I told him, too, and he went in. They knowed the murderer wasn't there, that I'd been in ahead of them. After, that the people seemed to come from every direction; then presently some one started to ring the town bell and that fetched more people, until the Square in front of the store was packed and jammed with 'em. Everybody' wanted to hear about it first-hand from me; they wanted the _full particulars_ from the only one who knowed 'em." Mr. Shrimplin paused for breath. The recollection of his splendid publicity was dazzling. He imagined the morrow with its possibility of social triumph; he went as far as to feel that Mrs. Shrimplin now had a certain sneaking respect for him. "Did you see tracks in the snow?" demanded Custer. "No, I didn't see nothing," declared Mr. Shrimplin. "You seen young John North." It was Mrs. Shrimplin who spoke. "Well, yes, I seen young John North--I said I seen him!" CHAPTER SIX PUTTING ON THE SCREWS A score of men and boys followed the undertaker's wagon to the small frame cottage that had been Archibald McBride's home for half a century, and a group of these assembled about the gate as the wagon drew up before it. Along the quiet street, windows were raised and doors were opened. It was perhaps the first time, as it was to be the last, that Archibald McBride's neighbors took note of his home-coming. His keys had been found and intrusted to one of the policemen who accompanied the undertaker and his men; now, as the wagon came to a stand, this officer sprang to the ground, and pushing open the gate went quickly up the path to the front door. There in the shelter of the porch he paused to light a lantern, then he tried key after key until he found the one that fitted the lock; he opened the door and entered the house, the undertaker following him. A second officer stationed himself at the door and kept back the crowd. Their preparations were soon made and the two men reappeared on the porch. "It's all right," the undertaker said, and four men raised the stretcher again and carried the old merchant into the house. At this juncture Colonel Harbison, followed by his nephew and Gilmore, made his way through the crowd before the door. Gilmore, even, gave an involuntary shudder as they entered the small hall lighted by the single lantern, while the colonel could have wished himself anywhere else; he had come from a sense of duty; he had known McBride as well as any one in Mount Hope had known him, and it had seemed a lack of respect to the dead man to leave him to the care of the merely curious; but he was painfully conscious of the still presence in the parlor; he felt that they were unwelcome intruders in the home of that austere old man, who had made no friends, who had no intimates, but had lived according to his choice, solitary and alone. The colonel and Watt Harbison followed the gambler into what had been the old merchant's sitting-room. There were two lamps on the chimneypiece, both of which Gilmore lighted. "That's a whole lot better," he said. "Anything more we can do, gentlemen?" asked the undertaker, coming into the room. "Nothing, thank you," answered the colonel in a tone of abstraction, and he felt a sense of relief when the officials had gone their way into the night, leaving him and his two companions to their vigil. Now for the first time they had leisure and opportunity to look about them. It was a poor enough place, all things considered; the furniture was dingy with age and neglect, for Archibald McBride had kept no servant; a worn and faded carpet covered the floor; there was an engraving of Washington Crossing the Delaware and a few old-fashioned woodcuts on the wall; at one side of the room was a desk, opposite it a rusted sheet-iron stove in which Watt Harbison was already starting a fire; there was a scant assortment of uncomfortable chairs, a table, with one leg bandaged, and near the desk an old mahogany davenport. "This wouldn't have suited you, eh, Colonel?" said Gilmore at last. "He could hardly be said to live here, he merely came here to sleep," answered the colonel. "No, he couldn't have cared for anything but the one thing," said Gilmore. "Were you ever here before, Colonel?" he added. "Never." "I don't suppose half a dozen people in the town were ever inside his door until to-night," said Watt Harbison, speaking for the first time. Gilmore turned to look at the colonel's nephew as if he had only that moment become aware of his presence. What he saw did not impress him greatly, for young Watt, save for an unusually large head, was much like other young men of his class. His speech was soft, his face beardless and his gray eyes gazed steadily but without curiosity on, what was for him, an uncliented world. For the eighteen months that he had been an "attorney and counselor at law" the detail of office rent had been taken care of by the colonel. "Sort of makes the game he played seem rotten poor sport," commented Gilmore, replying to the nephew but looking at the uncle. The colonel was silent. "Rotten poor sport!" repeated Gilmore. "Who'll come in for his property?" asked Watt Harbison. "Oh, some one will claim that," said Gilmore. "They were saying down at the store, that once, years ago, a brother of his turned up, here, but McBride got rid of him." "Suppose we have a look around before we settle ourselves for the night," suggested Watt Harbison. "Will you join us, Colonel?" asked the gambler. But the colonel shook his head. Gilmore took up one of the lamps as he spoke and opened a door that led into what had evidently once been a dining-room, but it was now only partly furnished; back of this was a kitchen, and beyond the kitchen a woodshed. Returning to the front of the house, they mounted to the floor above. Here had been the old merchant's bedroom; adjoining it were two smaller rooms, one of which had been used as a place of storage for trunks and boxes and broken bits of furniture; the other room was empty. "We may as well go back down-stairs," said the gambler, halting, lamp in hand, in the center of the empty room. Harbison nodded, and leading the way to the floor below, they rejoined the colonel in the sitting-room, where they made themselves as comfortable as possible. The colonel and his nephew talked in subdued tones, principally of the murdered man; they had no desire to exclude their companion from the conversation, but Gilmore displayed no interest in what was said. He sat at the colonel's elbow, preoccupied and thoughtful, smoking cigar after cigar. Presently the colonel and his nephew lapsed into silence. Their silence seemed to rouse Gilmore to what was passing about him. He glanced at the elder Harbison. "You look tired, Colonel," he said. "Why don't you stretch out on that lounge yonder and take a nap?" "I think I shall, Andy, if you and Watt don't mind." And the colonel quitted his chair. "Better put your coat over you," advised the gambler. He watched the colonel as he made himself comfortable on the lounge, then he lighted a fresh cigar, tilted his chair against the wall and with head thrown back studied the ceiling. Watt Harbison made one or two tentative attempts at conversation, to which Gilmore briefly responded, then the young fellow also became thoughtful. He fell to watching the gambler's strong profile which the lamp silhouetted against the opposite wall; then drowsiness completely overcame him and he slept in his chair with his head fallen forward on his breast. Gilmore, alert and sleepless, smoked on; he was thinking of Evelyn Langham. After his interview with her husband that afternoon he had gone to his own apartment. His bedroom adjoined North's parlor and through the flimsy lath and plaster partition he had distinctly heard a woman's voice. The sound of that voice and the suspicion it instantly begot added to his furious hatred of North, for he had long suspected that something more than friendship existed between Marshall Langham's wife and Marshall Langham's friend. "Damn him!" thought the gambler. "I'll fix him yet!" And he puffed at his cigar viciously. He had made sure that North's mysterious visitor was Evelyn Langham, for when she left the building he himself had followed her. Out of the dregs of his nature this foolish mad passion of his had arisen to torture him; he had never spoken with Langham's wife, probably she knew him by sight, nothing more; but still his game, the waiting game he had been forced to play, was working itself out better than he had even hoped! At last he had Marshall Langham where he wanted him, where he could make him feel his power. Langham would not be able to raise the money required to cover up those forgeries, and on the basis of silence he would make his bargain with the lawyer. Gilmore pondered this problem for the better part of an hour, considering it from every conceivable angle; then suddenly the expression of his face changed, he forgot for the moment his ambitions and his desires, his hatred and his love; he thought he heard the click of the old-fashioned latch on the front gate. He remembered that it could be raised only with difficulty. Next he heard the sound of footsteps approaching the house. They seemed to come haltingly down the narrow brick path which the wind had swept clear of snow. Mr. Gilmore was blessed with a steadiness of nerve known to but few men, yet the hour and the occasion had their influence with him. He stood erect: now the steps which had paused for a moment seemed to recede; it was as if the intruder, whoever he might be, had come almost to the front door and had then, for some inexplicable reason, gone back to the street. Gilmore even imagined him as standing there with his hand on the latch of the gate. He was tempted to rouse his two companions, but he did not, and then, as he still stood with his senses tense, he heard the steps again approach the front door. With a glance in the direction of the colonel and his nephew to assure himself that they still slept, Gilmore rather shamefacedly slipped his right hand under the tails of his coat, tiptoed into the hall and paused there close by the parlor door. The steps

fastened

How many times the word 'fastened' appears in the text?

with a gasp. He collapsed again, and again the colonel, whose gloved hand still retained its hold on his collar, set him on his trembling legs with admirable expertness. "I tell you he's dead!" cried Mr. Shrimplin, lost to everything but that one dreadful fact. "Who's dead?" demanded the colonel. "Stand up, man, don't fall about like that or you may do yourself some injury!" for Mr. Shrimplin seemed about to collapse once more. "Old man McBride, Colonel--if he ain't dead I wish I may never see death!" "Dead!" cried the colonel. "Archibald McBride dead!" He released his hold on Mr. Shrimplin and took a step toward the door; Shrimplin, however, detained him with a shaking hand, though he was calmer now. "Colonel, you'd better be careful, he's lying there in a pool of blood; some one's killed him for his money! How do we know the murderer ain't there!" This conjecture was made to the empty street, for Colonel Harbison had entered the store. "Why does he want to leave me like that!" wailed Shrimplin, and his panic threatened a return. He dragged himself to the door. Here he paused, since he could not bring himself to enter, for before his eyes was the ghastly vision of that old man huddled on the blood-stained floor. He heard the colonel's steps echo down the long room, and when their sound ceased he knew he was standing beside the dead man. After what seemed an age of waiting the steps sounded again, and a moment later the colonel's tall form filled the doorway. "Andy!" said the colonel. Mr. Shrimplin turned with a start. At his back within reach of his hand stood Andy Gilmore. He had been utterly unaware of the gambler's approach, but now conscious of it he dropped in a miserable heap on the door-sill, while the white and unfamiliar world reeled before his bleached blue eyes; it was the very drunkenness of fear. "Howdy, Colonel," said the gambler, as he gave Harbison a half-military salute. He admired the colonel, who had once threatened to horsewhip him if he ever permitted his nephew, Watt, to enter his rooms. "Come here, Andy!" ordered the colonel briefly. "God's sake, Colonel!" gasped the wretched little lamplighter, struggling to his feet, "don't leave me here--" "What's wrong, Colonel?" asked Gilmore. "Archibald McBride's been murdered!" Mr. Gilmore took the butt of the half-smoked cigar from between his teeth, tossed it into the gutter, and pushing past Mr. Shrimplin entered the room. Colonel Harbison, a step or two in advance of his companion, led the way to the rear of the store. The colonel paused, and Gilmore gained a place at his elbow. "You are sure he's dead?" questioned the gambler. Kneeling beside the crumpled figure Gilmore slipped his hand in between the body and the floor; his manner was cool and businesslike. After a moment he withdrew his hand and looked, up into the colonel's face. "Well?" asked the colonel. "Oh, he's dead, all right!" Gilmore glanced about him, and the colonel's eyes following, they both discovered that the door leading into the side yard was partly open. "He went that way, eh, Colonel?" "It's altogether likely," agreed the veteran. "It's a nasty business!" said Gilmore reflectively. "Shocking!" snapped the colonel. "He took big chances," commented the gambler, "living the way he did." He spoke of the dead man. "Poor old man!" said the colonel pityingly. What had it all amounted to, those chances for the sake of gain, which Gilmore had in mind. "He can't have been dead very long," said Gilmore. "Did _you_ find him, Colonel?" he asked as he stood erect. "No, Shrimplin found him." Again the two men looked about them. On the floor by the counter at their right was a heavy sledge. Gilmore called Harbison's attention to this. "I guess the job was done with that," he said. "Possibly," agreed Harbison. Gilmore picked up the sledge and examined it narrowly. "Yes, you can see, there is blood on it." He handed it to Harbison, who stepped under the nearest lamp with the clumsy weapon in his hand. "You are right, Andy!" and he glanced at the rude instrument of death with a look of repugnance on his keen sensitive face, then he carefully, placed it under the wooden counter. "Horrible!" he muttered to himself. "It was no joke for him!" said the gambler, catching the last word. "But some one was bound to try this dodge sooner or later. Why, as far back as I can remember, people said he kept his money hidden away at the bottom of nail kegs and under heaps of scrap-iron." He took a cigar from his pocket, bit off the end, and struck a match. "Well, I wouldn't want to be the other fellow, Colonel; I'd be in all kinds of a panic; it takes nerve for a job like this." "It's a shocking circumstance," said the colonel. "I wonder if it paid!" speculated the gambler. "And I wonder who'll get what he leaves. Has he any family or relatives?" "No, not so far as any one knows. He came here many years ago, a close-mouthed Scotchman, who never had any intimates, never married, and never spoke of his private affairs." There was a slight commotion at the door. They could hear Shrimplin's agitated voice, and a moment later two men, chance passers-by with whom he had been speaking, shook themselves free of the little lamplighter and entered the room. The new-comers nodded to the colonel and Gilmore as they paused to stare mutely at the body on the floor. "He bled like a stuck pig!" said one of the men at last. He was a ragged slouching creature with a splotched and bloated face half hidden by a bristling red beard. He glanced at Gilmore for an uncertain instant out of a pair of small shifty eyes. "It's murder, ain't it, boss?" he added. "No doubt about that, Joe!" rejoined the gambler. "I suppose it was robbery?" said the other man, who had not spoken before. "Very likely," answered the colonel. "We have not examined the place, however; we shall wait for the proper officials." "Who do you want, Colonel?" "Coroner Taylor, and I suppose the sheriff," replied Harbison. The man nodded. "All right, I'll bring them; and say, what about the prosecuting attorney?" as he turned to leave. "Yes, bring Moxlow, too, if you can find him." The man hurried from the room. Gilmore leaned against the counter and smoked imperturbably. Joe Montgomery, with his great slouching shoulders arched, and his grimy hands buried deep in his trousers pockets, stared at the dead man in stolid wonder. Colonel Harbison's glance sought the same object but with a sensitive shrinking as from an ugly brutal thing. A clock ticked loudly in the office; there was the occasional fall of cinders from the grate of the rusted stove that heated the place; these were sounds that neither Gilmore nor the colonel had heard before. Presently a lean black cat stole from the office and sprang upon the counter; it purred softly. "Hello, puss!" said the gambler, putting out a hand. The cat stole closer. "I guess I'll have to take you home with me, eh? This ain't a place for unprotected females!" The cat crept back and forth under his caressing touch. At the street-door Shrimplin appeared and disappeared, now his head was thrust into the room, and now his nose was flattened against the dingy show-windows; from neither point could he quite command the view he desired nor could he bring himself to enter the building; then he vanished entirely, but after a brief interval they heard his voice. He was evidently speaking with some one in the street. A little crowd was rapidly gathering about him, but it disintegrated almost immediately, his listeners abandoning him to hurry into the store. "You must stand back, all of you!" said the colonel. "Unless you are very careful you may destroy important evidence!" The crowd assembled itself silently for the most part; here and there a man removed his hat, or made some whispered comment, or asked some eager low-voiced question of Gilmore or the colonel. Men stood on boxes, on nail kegs, and on counters. Except for the little circle left about the dead man on the floor, every vantage point of observation was soon occupied. It was scarcely half an hour since Shrimplin had fallen speechless into Colonel Harbison's arms, yet fully two hundred men had gathered in that long room or were struggling about the door to gain admittance to it. At a suggestion from Harbison, the gambler, followed by Joe, elbowed his way to the front door, which in spite of the protest of those outside, he closed and locked. A moment later, however, he opened it to admit Doctor Taylor, the coroner, and Conklin, the sheriff. The latter instantly set about clearing the room. Gilmore and the colonel remained with the officials and during the succeeding ten minutes the gambler, who had kept his post at the door, opened, it to Moxlow, young Watt Harbison and two policemen. As the coroner finished his examination of the body, the sound of wheels was heard in the Square and an undertaker's wagon drew up to the door. The murdered man was placed on a stretcher and covered with a black cloth, then four men raised the stretcher and for the last time the old merchant passed out under his creaking sign into the night. "I've agreed to watch at the house, Andy," said Colonel Harbison. "I want you and Watt to come with me." The gambler lighted a fresh cigar and the three men left the store. On the Square groups of men discussed the murder. Though none was permitted to enter the store, the windows afforded occasional glimpses of the little group of officials within, until a policeman closed and fastened the heavy wooden shutters. Then the crowd slowly and reluctantly dispersed. Meanwhile the town marshal, under cover of the excitement, had descended on the gas house where tramps congregated of winter nights for warmth and shelter. Here he found shivering over a can of beer, two homeless wretches, whom he arrested as suspicious characters. After this, official activity languished, for the official mind could think of nothing more to do. With the scattering of the crowd on the Square, Shrimplin climbed into his cart and drove off home. The smother of wind-driven snow still enveloped the, town, the very air seemed charged with mystery and horror, and before the little lamplighter's eyes was ever the haunting vision of the murdered man. He drove into the alley back of his house, unhitched Bill and led him into the barn. His torch made the gloom of the place more terrifying than utter darkness would have been. Suppose the murderer should be hiding there! Mr. Shrimplin's mind fastened on the hay-mow as the most likely place of concealment, and the cold sweat ran from him in icy streams; he could, almost see the murderer's evil eyes fixed upon him from the blackness above. But at last Bill was stripped of his harness, and the little lamplighter, escaping from the barn with its fancied terrors, hurried across his small back yard to his kitchen door. "Well!" said Mrs. Shrimplin, as he entered the room. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever think it worth your while to come home!" "What's the bell been ringing for?" asked Custer. Mrs. Shrimplin was seated by the table, which was littered with her sewing; Custer occupied his usual chair by the stove, and it was evident that they knew nothing of the tragedy in which Mr. Shrimplin had played so important, and as he now felt, so worthy a part. "I suppose I've been out quite a time, and I may say I've seen times, too! I guess there ain't no one in the town fitter to say they seen times than just me!" The light and comfort of his own pleasant kitchen had quite restored Mr. Shrimplin. "I may say I seen times!" he repeated significantly. "There's something doing in this here old town after all! I take back a heap of the hard things I've said about it; a feller can scare up a little excitement if he knows where to look for it. I ain't bragging none, but I guess you'll hear my name mentioned--I guess you'll even see it in print in the newspapers!" He warmed his cold hands over the stove. "Throw in a little more coal, sonny; I'm half froze, but I guess that's the worst any one can say of me!" "You make much of it, whatever it is," said Mrs. Shrimplin. "Maybe I do and maybe I don't," equivocated Mr. Shrimplin genially. "Maybe you're not above telling a body what kept you out half the night?" inquired his wife. "If you done and seen what I've did and saw," replied Mr. Shrimplin impressively, "you'd look for a little respect in your own home." "I'd be a heap quicker telling about it," said Mrs. Shrimplin. Mr. Shrimplin turned to Custer. "I guess, you're thinking it was a burglar; but, sonny, it wasn't no burglar--so you got another guess coming to you," he concluded benevolently. "I know!" cried Custer. "Some one's been killed!" "Exactly!" said Mr. Shrimplin with increasing benevolence. "Some one has been killed!" "You done it!" cried Custer. "I found the party," admitted Mr. Shrimplin with calm dignity. "Oh!" But perhaps Custer's first emotion was on the whole one of disappointment. "How you talk!" said Mrs. Shrimplin. "I reckon I might say more, most any one would," retorted Mr. Shrimplin quietly. "It was old man McBride--someone's murdered him for his money; I never seen the town so on end over anything before, but whoever wants to be well posted's got to come to me for the particulars. I seen the old man before Colonel Harbison seen him, I seen him before Andy Gilmore seen him, I seen him before the coroner seen him, or the sheriff or _any one_ seen him! I was on the spot ahead of 'em all. If any one wants to know how he looked just after he was killed, they got to come to me to find out. Colonel Harbison can't tell 'em, and Andy Gilmore can't tell 'em; it's only me knows them particulars!" The effect of this stirring declaration was quite all he had hoped for. Out of the tail of his eye he saw that Mrs. Shrimplin was, as she afterward freely confessed, taken aback. As for Custer, he had forgotten his disappointment that a death by violence had occurred for which his father was not directly responsible. "Did you see the man that killed old Mr. McBride?" asked Custer, breaking the breathless spell that was upon him. "No; if I'd been just about fifteen minutes sooner I'd have seen him; but I was just about that much too late, sonny. I guess he's a whole lot better off, though." "What would you have done if you'd seen him?" Custer's voice sank to a whisper. "Well, I don't pack a gun for nothing. If I'd seen him there, he'd had to go 'round to the jail with me. I guess I could have coaxed him there; I was ready for to offer extra inducements!" "And does everybody know you seen old Mr. McBride the first of any?" asked Custer. "I guess they do; I ain't afraid about that. Colonel Harbison's too much of a gentleman to claim any credit that ain't his; he'd be the first one to own up that he don't deserve no credit." "What took you into McBride's store? You hadn't no errand there." Mrs. Shrimplin was a careful and acquisitive wife. "I allow I made an errand there," said Mr. Shrimplin bridling. "I reckon many another man might have thought he hadn't no errand there either, but I feel different about them things. I was just turned into the Square when along comes young John North--" "What was he doing there?" suddenly asked Mrs. Shrimplin. "I expect he was attending strictly to his own business," retorted Mr. Shrimplin, offended by the utter irrelevancy of the question. "Go on, pal" begged Custer. He felt that his mother's interruptions were positively cruel, and--so like a woman! "Me and young John North passed the time of day," continued Mr. Shrimplin, thus abjured, "and I started around the north side of the Square to light the lamp on old man McBride's own corner. If I'd knowed then--" he paused impressively, "if I'd just knowed then, that was my time! I could have laid hands on the murderer. He was there somewheres, most likely he was watching me; well, maybe it was all for the best, I don't know as a married man's got any right to take chances. Anyway, I got to within, well--I should say, thirty feet of that lamp-post when all of a sudden Bill began to act up. You never saw a horse act up like he done! He rose in his britching and then the other end of him come up and he acted like he wanted to set down on the singletree!" "Why did he do that?" asked Custer. "Well, I guess you've got some few things to learn, Custer;" said Mr. Shrimplin indulgently. "He smelt blood--that's what he smelt!" "Oh!" gasped Custer. "I've knowed it to happen before. It's instinct," explained Shrimplin. "'Singular,' says I, and out I jumps to have a look about. I walked to the lamp-post, and then I seen what I hadn't seen before, that old man McBride's store door was open, so I stepped on to the sidewalk intending to close it, but as I put my hand on the knob I seen where the snow had drifted into the room, so I knew the door must have been open some little time. That's mighty odd, I thinks, and then it sort of come over me the way Bill had acted, and I went along into the store in pretty considerable of a hurry." "Were you afraid?" demanded Custer in an awe-struck whisper. "I'll tell you the truth, Custer, I wasn't. I own I'd drawed my gun, wishing to be on the safe side. First thing I noticed was that the lamps hadn't been turned up, though they was all lit. I got back to the end of the counter when I came to a halt, for there in a heap on the floor was old man McBride, with his head mashed in where some one had hit him with a sledge. There was blood all over the floor, and it was a mighty sickenin' spectacle. I sort of looked around hoping I'd see the murderer, but he'd lit out, and then I went back to the front of the store, where I seen Colonel Harbison coming across the Square. I told him what I'd seen and he went inside to look; while he was looking, along come Andy Gilmore and I told him, too, and he went in. They knowed the murderer wasn't there, that I'd been in ahead of them. After, that the people seemed to come from every direction; then presently some one started to ring the town bell and that fetched more people, until the Square in front of the store was packed and jammed with 'em. Everybody' wanted to hear about it first-hand from me; they wanted the _full particulars_ from the only one who knowed 'em." Mr. Shrimplin paused for breath. The recollection of his splendid publicity was dazzling. He imagined the morrow with its possibility of social triumph; he went as far as to feel that Mrs. Shrimplin now had a certain sneaking respect for him. "Did you see tracks in the snow?" demanded Custer. "No, I didn't see nothing," declared Mr. Shrimplin. "You seen young John North." It was Mrs. Shrimplin who spoke. "Well, yes, I seen young John North--I said I seen him!" CHAPTER SIX PUTTING ON THE SCREWS A score of men and boys followed the undertaker's wagon to the small frame cottage that had been Archibald McBride's home for half a century, and a group of these assembled about the gate as the wagon drew up before it. Along the quiet street, windows were raised and doors were opened. It was perhaps the first time, as it was to be the last, that Archibald McBride's neighbors took note of his home-coming. His keys had been found and intrusted to one of the policemen who accompanied the undertaker and his men; now, as the wagon came to a stand, this officer sprang to the ground, and pushing open the gate went quickly up the path to the front door. There in the shelter of the porch he paused to light a lantern, then he tried key after key until he found the one that fitted the lock; he opened the door and entered the house, the undertaker following him. A second officer stationed himself at the door and kept back the crowd. Their preparations were soon made and the two men reappeared on the porch. "It's all right," the undertaker said, and four men raised the stretcher again and carried the old merchant into the house. At this juncture Colonel Harbison, followed by his nephew and Gilmore, made his way through the crowd before the door. Gilmore, even, gave an involuntary shudder as they entered the small hall lighted by the single lantern, while the colonel could have wished himself anywhere else; he had come from a sense of duty; he had known McBride as well as any one in Mount Hope had known him, and it had seemed a lack of respect to the dead man to leave him to the care of the merely curious; but he was painfully conscious of the still presence in the parlor; he felt that they were unwelcome intruders in the home of that austere old man, who had made no friends, who had no intimates, but had lived according to his choice, solitary and alone. The colonel and Watt Harbison followed the gambler into what had been the old merchant's sitting-room. There were two lamps on the chimneypiece, both of which Gilmore lighted. "That's a whole lot better," he said. "Anything more we can do, gentlemen?" asked the undertaker, coming into the room. "Nothing, thank you," answered the colonel in a tone of abstraction, and he felt a sense of relief when the officials had gone their way into the night, leaving him and his two companions to their vigil. Now for the first time they had leisure and opportunity to look about them. It was a poor enough place, all things considered; the furniture was dingy with age and neglect, for Archibald McBride had kept no servant; a worn and faded carpet covered the floor; there was an engraving of Washington Crossing the Delaware and a few old-fashioned woodcuts on the wall; at one side of the room was a desk, opposite it a rusted sheet-iron stove in which Watt Harbison was already starting a fire; there was a scant assortment of uncomfortable chairs, a table, with one leg bandaged, and near the desk an old mahogany davenport. "This wouldn't have suited you, eh, Colonel?" said Gilmore at last. "He could hardly be said to live here, he merely came here to sleep," answered the colonel. "No, he couldn't have cared for anything but the one thing," said Gilmore. "Were you ever here before, Colonel?" he added. "Never." "I don't suppose half a dozen people in the town were ever inside his door until to-night," said Watt Harbison, speaking for the first time. Gilmore turned to look at the colonel's nephew as if he had only that moment become aware of his presence. What he saw did not impress him greatly, for young Watt, save for an unusually large head, was much like other young men of his class. His speech was soft, his face beardless and his gray eyes gazed steadily but without curiosity on, what was for him, an uncliented world. For the eighteen months that he had been an "attorney and counselor at law" the detail of office rent had been taken care of by the colonel. "Sort of makes the game he played seem rotten poor sport," commented Gilmore, replying to the nephew but looking at the uncle. The colonel was silent. "Rotten poor sport!" repeated Gilmore. "Who'll come in for his property?" asked Watt Harbison. "Oh, some one will claim that," said Gilmore. "They were saying down at the store, that once, years ago, a brother of his turned up, here, but McBride got rid of him." "Suppose we have a look around before we settle ourselves for the night," suggested Watt Harbison. "Will you join us, Colonel?" asked the gambler. But the colonel shook his head. Gilmore took up one of the lamps as he spoke and opened a door that led into what had evidently once been a dining-room, but it was now only partly furnished; back of this was a kitchen, and beyond the kitchen a woodshed. Returning to the front of the house, they mounted to the floor above. Here had been the old merchant's bedroom; adjoining it were two smaller rooms, one of which had been used as a place of storage for trunks and boxes and broken bits of furniture; the other room was empty. "We may as well go back down-stairs," said the gambler, halting, lamp in hand, in the center of the empty room. Harbison nodded, and leading the way to the floor below, they rejoined the colonel in the sitting-room, where they made themselves as comfortable as possible. The colonel and his nephew talked in subdued tones, principally of the murdered man; they had no desire to exclude their companion from the conversation, but Gilmore displayed no interest in what was said. He sat at the colonel's elbow, preoccupied and thoughtful, smoking cigar after cigar. Presently the colonel and his nephew lapsed into silence. Their silence seemed to rouse Gilmore to what was passing about him. He glanced at the elder Harbison. "You look tired, Colonel," he said. "Why don't you stretch out on that lounge yonder and take a nap?" "I think I shall, Andy, if you and Watt don't mind." And the colonel quitted his chair. "Better put your coat over you," advised the gambler. He watched the colonel as he made himself comfortable on the lounge, then he lighted a fresh cigar, tilted his chair against the wall and with head thrown back studied the ceiling. Watt Harbison made one or two tentative attempts at conversation, to which Gilmore briefly responded, then the young fellow also became thoughtful. He fell to watching the gambler's strong profile which the lamp silhouetted against the opposite wall; then drowsiness completely overcame him and he slept in his chair with his head fallen forward on his breast. Gilmore, alert and sleepless, smoked on; he was thinking of Evelyn Langham. After his interview with her husband that afternoon he had gone to his own apartment. His bedroom adjoined North's parlor and through the flimsy lath and plaster partition he had distinctly heard a woman's voice. The sound of that voice and the suspicion it instantly begot added to his furious hatred of North, for he had long suspected that something more than friendship existed between Marshall Langham's wife and Marshall Langham's friend. "Damn him!" thought the gambler. "I'll fix him yet!" And he puffed at his cigar viciously. He had made sure that North's mysterious visitor was Evelyn Langham, for when she left the building he himself had followed her. Out of the dregs of his nature this foolish mad passion of his had arisen to torture him; he had never spoken with Langham's wife, probably she knew him by sight, nothing more; but still his game, the waiting game he had been forced to play, was working itself out better than he had even hoped! At last he had Marshall Langham where he wanted him, where he could make him feel his power. Langham would not be able to raise the money required to cover up those forgeries, and on the basis of silence he would make his bargain with the lawyer. Gilmore pondered this problem for the better part of an hour, considering it from every conceivable angle; then suddenly the expression of his face changed, he forgot for the moment his ambitions and his desires, his hatred and his love; he thought he heard the click of the old-fashioned latch on the front gate. He remembered that it could be raised only with difficulty. Next he heard the sound of footsteps approaching the house. They seemed to come haltingly down the narrow brick path which the wind had swept clear of snow. Mr. Gilmore was blessed with a steadiness of nerve known to but few men, yet the hour and the occasion had their influence with him. He stood erect: now the steps which had paused for a moment seemed to recede; it was as if the intruder, whoever he might be, had come almost to the front door and had then, for some inexplicable reason, gone back to the street. Gilmore even imagined him as standing there with his hand on the latch of the gate. He was tempted to rouse his two companions, but he did not, and then, as he still stood with his senses tense, he heard the steps again approach the front door. With a glance in the direction of the colonel and his nephew to assure himself that they still slept, Gilmore rather shamefacedly slipped his right hand under the tails of his coat, tiptoed into the hall and paused there close by the parlor door. The steps

light

How many times the word 'light' appears in the text?

with a gasp. He collapsed again, and again the colonel, whose gloved hand still retained its hold on his collar, set him on his trembling legs with admirable expertness. "I tell you he's dead!" cried Mr. Shrimplin, lost to everything but that one dreadful fact. "Who's dead?" demanded the colonel. "Stand up, man, don't fall about like that or you may do yourself some injury!" for Mr. Shrimplin seemed about to collapse once more. "Old man McBride, Colonel--if he ain't dead I wish I may never see death!" "Dead!" cried the colonel. "Archibald McBride dead!" He released his hold on Mr. Shrimplin and took a step toward the door; Shrimplin, however, detained him with a shaking hand, though he was calmer now. "Colonel, you'd better be careful, he's lying there in a pool of blood; some one's killed him for his money! How do we know the murderer ain't there!" This conjecture was made to the empty street, for Colonel Harbison had entered the store. "Why does he want to leave me like that!" wailed Shrimplin, and his panic threatened a return. He dragged himself to the door. Here he paused, since he could not bring himself to enter, for before his eyes was the ghastly vision of that old man huddled on the blood-stained floor. He heard the colonel's steps echo down the long room, and when their sound ceased he knew he was standing beside the dead man. After what seemed an age of waiting the steps sounded again, and a moment later the colonel's tall form filled the doorway. "Andy!" said the colonel. Mr. Shrimplin turned with a start. At his back within reach of his hand stood Andy Gilmore. He had been utterly unaware of the gambler's approach, but now conscious of it he dropped in a miserable heap on the door-sill, while the white and unfamiliar world reeled before his bleached blue eyes; it was the very drunkenness of fear. "Howdy, Colonel," said the gambler, as he gave Harbison a half-military salute. He admired the colonel, who had once threatened to horsewhip him if he ever permitted his nephew, Watt, to enter his rooms. "Come here, Andy!" ordered the colonel briefly. "God's sake, Colonel!" gasped the wretched little lamplighter, struggling to his feet, "don't leave me here--" "What's wrong, Colonel?" asked Gilmore. "Archibald McBride's been murdered!" Mr. Gilmore took the butt of the half-smoked cigar from between his teeth, tossed it into the gutter, and pushing past Mr. Shrimplin entered the room. Colonel Harbison, a step or two in advance of his companion, led the way to the rear of the store. The colonel paused, and Gilmore gained a place at his elbow. "You are sure he's dead?" questioned the gambler. Kneeling beside the crumpled figure Gilmore slipped his hand in between the body and the floor; his manner was cool and businesslike. After a moment he withdrew his hand and looked, up into the colonel's face. "Well?" asked the colonel. "Oh, he's dead, all right!" Gilmore glanced about him, and the colonel's eyes following, they both discovered that the door leading into the side yard was partly open. "He went that way, eh, Colonel?" "It's altogether likely," agreed the veteran. "It's a nasty business!" said Gilmore reflectively. "Shocking!" snapped the colonel. "He took big chances," commented the gambler, "living the way he did." He spoke of the dead man. "Poor old man!" said the colonel pityingly. What had it all amounted to, those chances for the sake of gain, which Gilmore had in mind. "He can't have been dead very long," said Gilmore. "Did _you_ find him, Colonel?" he asked as he stood erect. "No, Shrimplin found him." Again the two men looked about them. On the floor by the counter at their right was a heavy sledge. Gilmore called Harbison's attention to this. "I guess the job was done with that," he said. "Possibly," agreed Harbison. Gilmore picked up the sledge and examined it narrowly. "Yes, you can see, there is blood on it." He handed it to Harbison, who stepped under the nearest lamp with the clumsy weapon in his hand. "You are right, Andy!" and he glanced at the rude instrument of death with a look of repugnance on his keen sensitive face, then he carefully, placed it under the wooden counter. "Horrible!" he muttered to himself. "It was no joke for him!" said the gambler, catching the last word. "But some one was bound to try this dodge sooner or later. Why, as far back as I can remember, people said he kept his money hidden away at the bottom of nail kegs and under heaps of scrap-iron." He took a cigar from his pocket, bit off the end, and struck a match. "Well, I wouldn't want to be the other fellow, Colonel; I'd be in all kinds of a panic; it takes nerve for a job like this." "It's a shocking circumstance," said the colonel. "I wonder if it paid!" speculated the gambler. "And I wonder who'll get what he leaves. Has he any family or relatives?" "No, not so far as any one knows. He came here many years ago, a close-mouthed Scotchman, who never had any intimates, never married, and never spoke of his private affairs." There was a slight commotion at the door. They could hear Shrimplin's agitated voice, and a moment later two men, chance passers-by with whom he had been speaking, shook themselves free of the little lamplighter and entered the room. The new-comers nodded to the colonel and Gilmore as they paused to stare mutely at the body on the floor. "He bled like a stuck pig!" said one of the men at last. He was a ragged slouching creature with a splotched and bloated face half hidden by a bristling red beard. He glanced at Gilmore for an uncertain instant out of a pair of small shifty eyes. "It's murder, ain't it, boss?" he added. "No doubt about that, Joe!" rejoined the gambler. "I suppose it was robbery?" said the other man, who had not spoken before. "Very likely," answered the colonel. "We have not examined the place, however; we shall wait for the proper officials." "Who do you want, Colonel?" "Coroner Taylor, and I suppose the sheriff," replied Harbison. The man nodded. "All right, I'll bring them; and say, what about the prosecuting attorney?" as he turned to leave. "Yes, bring Moxlow, too, if you can find him." The man hurried from the room. Gilmore leaned against the counter and smoked imperturbably. Joe Montgomery, with his great slouching shoulders arched, and his grimy hands buried deep in his trousers pockets, stared at the dead man in stolid wonder. Colonel Harbison's glance sought the same object but with a sensitive shrinking as from an ugly brutal thing. A clock ticked loudly in the office; there was the occasional fall of cinders from the grate of the rusted stove that heated the place; these were sounds that neither Gilmore nor the colonel had heard before. Presently a lean black cat stole from the office and sprang upon the counter; it purred softly. "Hello, puss!" said the gambler, putting out a hand. The cat stole closer. "I guess I'll have to take you home with me, eh? This ain't a place for unprotected females!" The cat crept back and forth under his caressing touch. At the street-door Shrimplin appeared and disappeared, now his head was thrust into the room, and now his nose was flattened against the dingy show-windows; from neither point could he quite command the view he desired nor could he bring himself to enter the building; then he vanished entirely, but after a brief interval they heard his voice. He was evidently speaking with some one in the street. A little crowd was rapidly gathering about him, but it disintegrated almost immediately, his listeners abandoning him to hurry into the store. "You must stand back, all of you!" said the colonel. "Unless you are very careful you may destroy important evidence!" The crowd assembled itself silently for the most part; here and there a man removed his hat, or made some whispered comment, or asked some eager low-voiced question of Gilmore or the colonel. Men stood on boxes, on nail kegs, and on counters. Except for the little circle left about the dead man on the floor, every vantage point of observation was soon occupied. It was scarcely half an hour since Shrimplin had fallen speechless into Colonel Harbison's arms, yet fully two hundred men had gathered in that long room or were struggling about the door to gain admittance to it. At a suggestion from Harbison, the gambler, followed by Joe, elbowed his way to the front door, which in spite of the protest of those outside, he closed and locked. A moment later, however, he opened it to admit Doctor Taylor, the coroner, and Conklin, the sheriff. The latter instantly set about clearing the room. Gilmore and the colonel remained with the officials and during the succeeding ten minutes the gambler, who had kept his post at the door, opened, it to Moxlow, young Watt Harbison and two policemen. As the coroner finished his examination of the body, the sound of wheels was heard in the Square and an undertaker's wagon drew up to the door. The murdered man was placed on a stretcher and covered with a black cloth, then four men raised the stretcher and for the last time the old merchant passed out under his creaking sign into the night. "I've agreed to watch at the house, Andy," said Colonel Harbison. "I want you and Watt to come with me." The gambler lighted a fresh cigar and the three men left the store. On the Square groups of men discussed the murder. Though none was permitted to enter the store, the windows afforded occasional glimpses of the little group of officials within, until a policeman closed and fastened the heavy wooden shutters. Then the crowd slowly and reluctantly dispersed. Meanwhile the town marshal, under cover of the excitement, had descended on the gas house where tramps congregated of winter nights for warmth and shelter. Here he found shivering over a can of beer, two homeless wretches, whom he arrested as suspicious characters. After this, official activity languished, for the official mind could think of nothing more to do. With the scattering of the crowd on the Square, Shrimplin climbed into his cart and drove off home. The smother of wind-driven snow still enveloped the, town, the very air seemed charged with mystery and horror, and before the little lamplighter's eyes was ever the haunting vision of the murdered man. He drove into the alley back of his house, unhitched Bill and led him into the barn. His torch made the gloom of the place more terrifying than utter darkness would have been. Suppose the murderer should be hiding there! Mr. Shrimplin's mind fastened on the hay-mow as the most likely place of concealment, and the cold sweat ran from him in icy streams; he could, almost see the murderer's evil eyes fixed upon him from the blackness above. But at last Bill was stripped of his harness, and the little lamplighter, escaping from the barn with its fancied terrors, hurried across his small back yard to his kitchen door. "Well!" said Mrs. Shrimplin, as he entered the room. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever think it worth your while to come home!" "What's the bell been ringing for?" asked Custer. Mrs. Shrimplin was seated by the table, which was littered with her sewing; Custer occupied his usual chair by the stove, and it was evident that they knew nothing of the tragedy in which Mr. Shrimplin had played so important, and as he now felt, so worthy a part. "I suppose I've been out quite a time, and I may say I've seen times, too! I guess there ain't no one in the town fitter to say they seen times than just me!" The light and comfort of his own pleasant kitchen had quite restored Mr. Shrimplin. "I may say I seen times!" he repeated significantly. "There's something doing in this here old town after all! I take back a heap of the hard things I've said about it; a feller can scare up a little excitement if he knows where to look for it. I ain't bragging none, but I guess you'll hear my name mentioned--I guess you'll even see it in print in the newspapers!" He warmed his cold hands over the stove. "Throw in a little more coal, sonny; I'm half froze, but I guess that's the worst any one can say of me!" "You make much of it, whatever it is," said Mrs. Shrimplin. "Maybe I do and maybe I don't," equivocated Mr. Shrimplin genially. "Maybe you're not above telling a body what kept you out half the night?" inquired his wife. "If you done and seen what I've did and saw," replied Mr. Shrimplin impressively, "you'd look for a little respect in your own home." "I'd be a heap quicker telling about it," said Mrs. Shrimplin. Mr. Shrimplin turned to Custer. "I guess, you're thinking it was a burglar; but, sonny, it wasn't no burglar--so you got another guess coming to you," he concluded benevolently. "I know!" cried Custer. "Some one's been killed!" "Exactly!" said Mr. Shrimplin with increasing benevolence. "Some one has been killed!" "You done it!" cried Custer. "I found the party," admitted Mr. Shrimplin with calm dignity. "Oh!" But perhaps Custer's first emotion was on the whole one of disappointment. "How you talk!" said Mrs. Shrimplin. "I reckon I might say more, most any one would," retorted Mr. Shrimplin quietly. "It was old man McBride--someone's murdered him for his money; I never seen the town so on end over anything before, but whoever wants to be well posted's got to come to me for the particulars. I seen the old man before Colonel Harbison seen him, I seen him before Andy Gilmore seen him, I seen him before the coroner seen him, or the sheriff or _any one_ seen him! I was on the spot ahead of 'em all. If any one wants to know how he looked just after he was killed, they got to come to me to find out. Colonel Harbison can't tell 'em, and Andy Gilmore can't tell 'em; it's only me knows them particulars!" The effect of this stirring declaration was quite all he had hoped for. Out of the tail of his eye he saw that Mrs. Shrimplin was, as she afterward freely confessed, taken aback. As for Custer, he had forgotten his disappointment that a death by violence had occurred for which his father was not directly responsible. "Did you see the man that killed old Mr. McBride?" asked Custer, breaking the breathless spell that was upon him. "No; if I'd been just about fifteen minutes sooner I'd have seen him; but I was just about that much too late, sonny. I guess he's a whole lot better off, though." "What would you have done if you'd seen him?" Custer's voice sank to a whisper. "Well, I don't pack a gun for nothing. If I'd seen him there, he'd had to go 'round to the jail with me. I guess I could have coaxed him there; I was ready for to offer extra inducements!" "And does everybody know you seen old Mr. McBride the first of any?" asked Custer. "I guess they do; I ain't afraid about that. Colonel Harbison's too much of a gentleman to claim any credit that ain't his; he'd be the first one to own up that he don't deserve no credit." "What took you into McBride's store? You hadn't no errand there." Mrs. Shrimplin was a careful and acquisitive wife. "I allow I made an errand there," said Mr. Shrimplin bridling. "I reckon many another man might have thought he hadn't no errand there either, but I feel different about them things. I was just turned into the Square when along comes young John North--" "What was he doing there?" suddenly asked Mrs. Shrimplin. "I expect he was attending strictly to his own business," retorted Mr. Shrimplin, offended by the utter irrelevancy of the question. "Go on, pal" begged Custer. He felt that his mother's interruptions were positively cruel, and--so like a woman! "Me and young John North passed the time of day," continued Mr. Shrimplin, thus abjured, "and I started around the north side of the Square to light the lamp on old man McBride's own corner. If I'd knowed then--" he paused impressively, "if I'd just knowed then, that was my time! I could have laid hands on the murderer. He was there somewheres, most likely he was watching me; well, maybe it was all for the best, I don't know as a married man's got any right to take chances. Anyway, I got to within, well--I should say, thirty feet of that lamp-post when all of a sudden Bill began to act up. You never saw a horse act up like he done! He rose in his britching and then the other end of him come up and he acted like he wanted to set down on the singletree!" "Why did he do that?" asked Custer. "Well, I guess you've got some few things to learn, Custer;" said Mr. Shrimplin indulgently. "He smelt blood--that's what he smelt!" "Oh!" gasped Custer. "I've knowed it to happen before. It's instinct," explained Shrimplin. "'Singular,' says I, and out I jumps to have a look about. I walked to the lamp-post, and then I seen what I hadn't seen before, that old man McBride's store door was open, so I stepped on to the sidewalk intending to close it, but as I put my hand on the knob I seen where the snow had drifted into the room, so I knew the door must have been open some little time. That's mighty odd, I thinks, and then it sort of come over me the way Bill had acted, and I went along into the store in pretty considerable of a hurry." "Were you afraid?" demanded Custer in an awe-struck whisper. "I'll tell you the truth, Custer, I wasn't. I own I'd drawed my gun, wishing to be on the safe side. First thing I noticed was that the lamps hadn't been turned up, though they was all lit. I got back to the end of the counter when I came to a halt, for there in a heap on the floor was old man McBride, with his head mashed in where some one had hit him with a sledge. There was blood all over the floor, and it was a mighty sickenin' spectacle. I sort of looked around hoping I'd see the murderer, but he'd lit out, and then I went back to the front of the store, where I seen Colonel Harbison coming across the Square. I told him what I'd seen and he went inside to look; while he was looking, along come Andy Gilmore and I told him, too, and he went in. They knowed the murderer wasn't there, that I'd been in ahead of them. After, that the people seemed to come from every direction; then presently some one started to ring the town bell and that fetched more people, until the Square in front of the store was packed and jammed with 'em. Everybody' wanted to hear about it first-hand from me; they wanted the _full particulars_ from the only one who knowed 'em." Mr. Shrimplin paused for breath. The recollection of his splendid publicity was dazzling. He imagined the morrow with its possibility of social triumph; he went as far as to feel that Mrs. Shrimplin now had a certain sneaking respect for him. "Did you see tracks in the snow?" demanded Custer. "No, I didn't see nothing," declared Mr. Shrimplin. "You seen young John North." It was Mrs. Shrimplin who spoke. "Well, yes, I seen young John North--I said I seen him!" CHAPTER SIX PUTTING ON THE SCREWS A score of men and boys followed the undertaker's wagon to the small frame cottage that had been Archibald McBride's home for half a century, and a group of these assembled about the gate as the wagon drew up before it. Along the quiet street, windows were raised and doors were opened. It was perhaps the first time, as it was to be the last, that Archibald McBride's neighbors took note of his home-coming. His keys had been found and intrusted to one of the policemen who accompanied the undertaker and his men; now, as the wagon came to a stand, this officer sprang to the ground, and pushing open the gate went quickly up the path to the front door. There in the shelter of the porch he paused to light a lantern, then he tried key after key until he found the one that fitted the lock; he opened the door and entered the house, the undertaker following him. A second officer stationed himself at the door and kept back the crowd. Their preparations were soon made and the two men reappeared on the porch. "It's all right," the undertaker said, and four men raised the stretcher again and carried the old merchant into the house. At this juncture Colonel Harbison, followed by his nephew and Gilmore, made his way through the crowd before the door. Gilmore, even, gave an involuntary shudder as they entered the small hall lighted by the single lantern, while the colonel could have wished himself anywhere else; he had come from a sense of duty; he had known McBride as well as any one in Mount Hope had known him, and it had seemed a lack of respect to the dead man to leave him to the care of the merely curious; but he was painfully conscious of the still presence in the parlor; he felt that they were unwelcome intruders in the home of that austere old man, who had made no friends, who had no intimates, but had lived according to his choice, solitary and alone. The colonel and Watt Harbison followed the gambler into what had been the old merchant's sitting-room. There were two lamps on the chimneypiece, both of which Gilmore lighted. "That's a whole lot better," he said. "Anything more we can do, gentlemen?" asked the undertaker, coming into the room. "Nothing, thank you," answered the colonel in a tone of abstraction, and he felt a sense of relief when the officials had gone their way into the night, leaving him and his two companions to their vigil. Now for the first time they had leisure and opportunity to look about them. It was a poor enough place, all things considered; the furniture was dingy with age and neglect, for Archibald McBride had kept no servant; a worn and faded carpet covered the floor; there was an engraving of Washington Crossing the Delaware and a few old-fashioned woodcuts on the wall; at one side of the room was a desk, opposite it a rusted sheet-iron stove in which Watt Harbison was already starting a fire; there was a scant assortment of uncomfortable chairs, a table, with one leg bandaged, and near the desk an old mahogany davenport. "This wouldn't have suited you, eh, Colonel?" said Gilmore at last. "He could hardly be said to live here, he merely came here to sleep," answered the colonel. "No, he couldn't have cared for anything but the one thing," said Gilmore. "Were you ever here before, Colonel?" he added. "Never." "I don't suppose half a dozen people in the town were ever inside his door until to-night," said Watt Harbison, speaking for the first time. Gilmore turned to look at the colonel's nephew as if he had only that moment become aware of his presence. What he saw did not impress him greatly, for young Watt, save for an unusually large head, was much like other young men of his class. His speech was soft, his face beardless and his gray eyes gazed steadily but without curiosity on, what was for him, an uncliented world. For the eighteen months that he had been an "attorney and counselor at law" the detail of office rent had been taken care of by the colonel. "Sort of makes the game he played seem rotten poor sport," commented Gilmore, replying to the nephew but looking at the uncle. The colonel was silent. "Rotten poor sport!" repeated Gilmore. "Who'll come in for his property?" asked Watt Harbison. "Oh, some one will claim that," said Gilmore. "They were saying down at the store, that once, years ago, a brother of his turned up, here, but McBride got rid of him." "Suppose we have a look around before we settle ourselves for the night," suggested Watt Harbison. "Will you join us, Colonel?" asked the gambler. But the colonel shook his head. Gilmore took up one of the lamps as he spoke and opened a door that led into what had evidently once been a dining-room, but it was now only partly furnished; back of this was a kitchen, and beyond the kitchen a woodshed. Returning to the front of the house, they mounted to the floor above. Here had been the old merchant's bedroom; adjoining it were two smaller rooms, one of which had been used as a place of storage for trunks and boxes and broken bits of furniture; the other room was empty. "We may as well go back down-stairs," said the gambler, halting, lamp in hand, in the center of the empty room. Harbison nodded, and leading the way to the floor below, they rejoined the colonel in the sitting-room, where they made themselves as comfortable as possible. The colonel and his nephew talked in subdued tones, principally of the murdered man; they had no desire to exclude their companion from the conversation, but Gilmore displayed no interest in what was said. He sat at the colonel's elbow, preoccupied and thoughtful, smoking cigar after cigar. Presently the colonel and his nephew lapsed into silence. Their silence seemed to rouse Gilmore to what was passing about him. He glanced at the elder Harbison. "You look tired, Colonel," he said. "Why don't you stretch out on that lounge yonder and take a nap?" "I think I shall, Andy, if you and Watt don't mind." And the colonel quitted his chair. "Better put your coat over you," advised the gambler. He watched the colonel as he made himself comfortable on the lounge, then he lighted a fresh cigar, tilted his chair against the wall and with head thrown back studied the ceiling. Watt Harbison made one or two tentative attempts at conversation, to which Gilmore briefly responded, then the young fellow also became thoughtful. He fell to watching the gambler's strong profile which the lamp silhouetted against the opposite wall; then drowsiness completely overcame him and he slept in his chair with his head fallen forward on his breast. Gilmore, alert and sleepless, smoked on; he was thinking of Evelyn Langham. After his interview with her husband that afternoon he had gone to his own apartment. His bedroom adjoined North's parlor and through the flimsy lath and plaster partition he had distinctly heard a woman's voice. The sound of that voice and the suspicion it instantly begot added to his furious hatred of North, for he had long suspected that something more than friendship existed between Marshall Langham's wife and Marshall Langham's friend. "Damn him!" thought the gambler. "I'll fix him yet!" And he puffed at his cigar viciously. He had made sure that North's mysterious visitor was Evelyn Langham, for when she left the building he himself had followed her. Out of the dregs of his nature this foolish mad passion of his had arisen to torture him; he had never spoken with Langham's wife, probably she knew him by sight, nothing more; but still his game, the waiting game he had been forced to play, was working itself out better than he had even hoped! At last he had Marshall Langham where he wanted him, where he could make him feel his power. Langham would not be able to raise the money required to cover up those forgeries, and on the basis of silence he would make his bargain with the lawyer. Gilmore pondered this problem for the better part of an hour, considering it from every conceivable angle; then suddenly the expression of his face changed, he forgot for the moment his ambitions and his desires, his hatred and his love; he thought he heard the click of the old-fashioned latch on the front gate. He remembered that it could be raised only with difficulty. Next he heard the sound of footsteps approaching the house. They seemed to come haltingly down the narrow brick path which the wind had swept clear of snow. Mr. Gilmore was blessed with a steadiness of nerve known to but few men, yet the hour and the occasion had their influence with him. He stood erect: now the steps which had paused for a moment seemed to recede; it was as if the intruder, whoever he might be, had come almost to the front door and had then, for some inexplicable reason, gone back to the street. Gilmore even imagined him as standing there with his hand on the latch of the gate. He was tempted to rouse his two companions, but he did not, and then, as he still stood with his senses tense, he heard the steps again approach the front door. With a glance in the direction of the colonel and his nephew to assure himself that they still slept, Gilmore rather shamefacedly slipped his right hand under the tails of his coat, tiptoed into the hall and paused there close by the parlor door. The steps

kegs

How many times the word 'kegs' appears in the text?

with me! exclaimed Lord Glenvarloch. Yes, she said, I will persuade my father to leave this murdering den. But, as she spoke, the more perfect recollection of what had passed crowded on her mind. She hid her face in her hands, and burst out into a dreadful fit of sobs, moans, and lamentations, which terminated in hysterics, violent in proportion to the uncommon strength of her body and mind. Lord Glenvarloch, shocked, confused, and inexperienced, was about to leave the house in quest of medical, or at least female assistance; but the patient, when the paroxysm had somewhat spent its force, held him fast by the sleeve with one hand, covering her face with the other, while a copious flood of tears came to relieve the emotions of grief by which she had been so violently agitated. Do not leave me, she said-- do not leave me, and call no one. I have never been in this way before, and would not now, she said, sitting upright, and wiping her eyes with her apron,-- would not now--but that--but that he loved _me_. if he loved nothing else that was human--To die so, and by such hands! And again the unhappy woman gave way to a paroxysm of sorrow, mingling her tears with sobbing, wailing, and all the abandonment of female grief, when at its utmost height. At length, she gradually recovered the austerity of her natural composure, and maintained it as if by a forcible exertion of resolution, repelling, as she spoke, the repeated returns of the hysterical affection, by such an effort as that by which epileptic patients are known to suspend the recurrence of their fits. Yet her mind, however resolved, could not so absolutely overcome the affection of her nerves, but that she was agitated by strong fits of trembling, which, for a minute or two at a time, shook her whole frame in a manner frightful to witness. Nigel forgot his own situation, and, indeed, every thing else, in the interest inspired by the unhappy woman before him--an interest which affected a proud spirit the more deeply, that she herself, with correspondent highness of mind, seemed determined to owe as little as possible either to the humanity or the pity of others. I am not wont to be in this way, she said,-- but--but--Nature will have power over the frail beings it has made. Over you, sir, I have some right; for, without you, I had not survived this awful night. I wish your aid had been either earlier or later--but you have saved my life, and you are bound to assist in making it endurable to me. If you will show me how it is possible, answered Nigel. You are going hence, you say, instantly--carry me with you, said the unhappy woman. By my own efforts, I shall never escape from this wilderness of guilt and misery. Alas! what can I do for you? replied Nigel. My own way, and I must not deviate from it, leads me, in all probability, to a dungeon. I might, indeed, transport you from hence with me, if you could afterwards bestow yourself with any friend. Friend! she exclaimed-- I have no friend--they have long since discarded us. A spectre arising from the dead were more welcome than I should be at the doors of those who have disclaimed us; and, if they were willing to restore their friendship to me now, I would despise it, because they withdrew it from him--from him --(here she underwent strong but suppressed agitation, and then added firmly)-- from _him_ who lies yonder.--I have no friend. Here she paused; and then suddenly, as if recollecting herself, added, I have no friend, but I have that will purchase many--I have that which will purchase both friends and avengers.--It is well thought of; I must not leave it for a prey to cheats and ruffians.--Stranger, you must return to yonder room. Pass through it boldly to his--that is, to the sleeping apartment; push the bedstead aside; beneath each of the posts is a brass plate, as if to support the weight, but it is that upon the left, nearest to the wall, which must serve your turn--press the corner of the plate, and it will spring up and show a keyhole, which this key will open. You will then lift a concealed trap-door, and in a cavity of the floor you will discover a small chest. Bring it hither; it shall accompany our journey, and it will be hard if the contents cannot purchase me a place of refuge. But the door communicating with the kitchen has been locked by these people, said Nigel. True, I had forgot; they had their reasons for that, doubtless, answered she. But the secret passage from your apartment is open, and you may go that way. Lord Glenvarloch took the key, and, as he lighted a lamp to show him the way, she read in his countenance some unwillingness to the task imposed. You fear? said she-- there is no cause; the murderer and his victim are both at rest. Take courage, I will go with you myself--you cannot know the trick of the spring, and the chest will be too heavy for you. No fear, no fear, answered Lord Glenvarloch, ashamed of the construction she put upon a momentary hesitation, arising from a dislike to look upon what is horrible, often connected with those high-wrought minds which are the last to fear what is merely dangerous-- I will do your errand as you desire; but for you, you must not--cannot go yonder. I can--I will, she said. I am composed. You shall see that I am so. She took from the table a piece of unfinished sewing-work, and, with steadiness and composure, passed a silken thread into the eye of a fine needle.-- Could I have done that, she said, with a smile yet more ghastly than her previous look of fixed despair, had not my heart and hand been both steady? She then led the way rapidly up stairs to Nigel's chamber, and proceeded through the secret passage with the same haste, as if she had feared her resolution might have failed her ere her purpose was executed. At the bottom of the stairs she paused a moment, before entering the fatal apartment, then hurried through with a rapid step to the sleeping chamber beyond, followed closely by Lord Glenvarloch, whose reluctance to approach the scene of butchery was altogether lost in the anxiety which he felt on account of the survivor of the tragedy. Her first action was to pull aside the curtains of her father's bed. The bed-clothes were thrown aside in confusion, doubtless in the action of his starting from sleep to oppose the entrance of the villains into the next apartment. The hard mattress scarcely showed the slight pressure where the emaciated body of the old miser had been deposited. His daughter sank beside the bed, clasped her hands, and prayed to heaven, in a short and affectionate manner, for support in her affliction, and for vengeance on the villains who had made her fatherless. A low-muttered and still more brief petition recommended to Heaven the soul of the sufferer, and invoked pardon for his sins, in virtue of the great Christian atonement. This duty of piety performed, she signed to Nigel to aid her; and, having pushed aside the heavy bedstead, they saw the brass plate which Martha had described. She pressed the spring, and, at once, the plate starting up, showed the keyhole, and a large iron ring used in lifting the trap-door, which, when raised, displayed the strong box, or small chest, she had mentioned, and which proved indeed so very weighty, that it might perhaps have been scarcely possible for Nigel, though a very strong man, to have raised it without assistance. Having replaced everything as they had found it, Nigel, with such help as his companion was able to afford, assumed his load, and made a shift to carry it into the next apartment, where lay the miserable owner, insensible to sounds and circumstances, which, if any thing could have broken his long last slumber, would certainly have done so. His unfortunate daughter went up to his body, and had even the courage to remove the sheet which had been decently disposed over it. She put her hand on the heart, but there was no throb--held a feather to the lips, but there was no motion--then kissed with deep reverence the starting veins of the pale forehead, and then the emaciated hand. I would you could hear me, she said,-- Father! I would you could hear me swear, that, if I now save what you most valued on earth, it is only to assist me in obtaining vengeance for your death. She replaced the covering, and, without a tear, a sigh, or an additional word of any kind, renewed her efforts, until they conveyed the strong-box betwixt them into Lord Glenvarloch's sleeping apartment. It must pass, she said, as part of your baggage. I will be in readiness so soon as the waterman calls. She retired; and Lord Glenvarloch, who saw the hour of their departure approach, tore down a part of the old hanging to make a covering, which he corded upon the trunk, lest the peculiarity of its shape, and the care with which it was banded and counterbanded with bars of steel, might afford suspicions respecting the treasure which it contained. Having taken this measure of precaution, he changed the rascally disguise, which he had assumed on entering Whitefriars, into a suit becoming his quality, and then, unable to sleep, though exhausted with the events of the night, he threw himself on his bed to await the summons of the waterman. CHAPTER XXVI Give us good voyage, gentle stream--we stun not Thy sober ear with sounds of revelry; Wake not the slumbering echoes of thy banks With voice of flute and horn--we do but seek On the broad pathway of thy swelling bosom To glide in silent safety. _The Double Bridal._ Grey, or rather yellow light, was beginning to twinkle through the fogs of Whitefriars, when a low tap at the door of the unhappy miser announced to Lord Glenvarloch the summons of the boatman. He found at the door the man whom he had seen the night before, with a companion. Come, come, master, let us get afloat, said one of them, in a rough impressive whisper, time and tide wait for no man. They shall not wait for me, said Lord Glenvarloch; but I have some things to carry with me. Ay, ay--no man will take a pair of oars now, Jack, unless he means to load the wherry like a six-horse waggon. When they don't want to shift the whole kitt, they take a sculler, and be d--d to them. Come, come, where be your rattle-traps? One of the men was soon sufficiently loaded, in his own estimation at least, with Lord Glenvarloch's mail and its accompaniments, with which burden he began to trudge towards the Temple Stairs. His comrade, who seemed the principal, began to handle the trunk which contained the miser's treasure, but pitched it down again in an instant, declaring, with a great oath, that it was as reasonable to expect a man to carry Paul's on his back. The daughter of Trapbois, who had by this time joined them, muffled up in a long dark hood and mantle, exclaimed to Lord Glenvarloch-- Let them leave it if they will, let them leave it all; let us but escape from this horrible place. We have mentioned elsewhere, that Nigel was a very athletic young man, and, impelled by a strong feeling of compassion and indignation, he showed his bodily strength singularly on this occasion, by seizing on the ponderous strong-box, and, by means of the rope he had cast around it, throwing it on his shoulders, and marching resolutely forward under a weight, which would have sunk to the earth three young gallants, at the least, of our degenerate day. The waterman followed him in amazement, calling out, Why, master, master, you might as well gie me t'other end on't! and anon offered his assistance to support it in some degree behind, which after the first minute or two Nigel was fain to accept. His strength was almost exhausted when he reached the wherry, which was lying at the Temple Stairs according to appointment; and, when he pitched the trunk into it, the weight sank the bow of the boat so low in the water as well-nigh to overset it. We shall have as hard a fare of it, said the waterman to his companion, as if we were ferrying over an honest bankrupt with all his secreted goods--Ho, ho! good woman, what, are you stepping in for?--our gunwale lies deep enough in the water without live lumber to boot. This person comes with me, said Lord Glenvarloch; she is for the present under my protection. Come, come, master, rejoined the fellow, that is out of my commission. You must not double my freight on me--she may go by land--and, as for protection, her face will protect her from Berwick to the Land's End. You will not except at my doubling the loading, if I double the fare? said Nigel, determined on no account to relinquish the protection of this unhappy woman, for which he had already devised some sort of plan, likely now to be baffled by the characteristic rudeness of the Thames watermen. Ay, by G----, but I will except, though, said the fellow with the green plush jacket: I will overload my wherry neither for love nor money--I love my boat as well as my wife, and a thought better. Nay, nay, comrade, said his mate, that is speaking no true water language. For double fare we are bound to row a witch in her eggshell if she bid us; and so pull away, Jack, and let us have no more prating. They got into the stream-way accordingly, and, although heavily laden, began to move down the river with reasonable speed. The lighter vessels which passed, overtook, or crossed them, in their course, failed not to assail them with their boisterous raillery, which was then called water-wit; for which the extreme plainness of Mistress Martha's features, contrasted with the youth, handsome figure, and good looks of Nigel, furnished the principal topics; while the circumstance of the boat being somewhat overloaded, did not escape their notice. They were hailed successively, as a grocer's wife upon a party of pleasure with her eldest apprentice--as an old woman carrying her grandson to school--and as a young strapping Irishman, conveying an ancient maiden to Dr. Rigmarole's, at Redriffe, who buckles beggars for a tester and a dram of Geneva. All this abuse was retorted in a similar strain of humour by Greenjacket and his companion, who maintained the war of wit with the same alacrity with which they were assailed. Meanwhile, Lord Glenvarloch asked his desolate companion if she had thought on any place where she could remain in safety with her property. She confessed, in more detail than formerly, that her father's character had left her no friends; and that, from the time he had betaken himself to Whitefriars, to escape certain legal consequences of his eager pursuit of gain, she had lived a life of total seclusion; not associating with the society which the place afforded, and, by her residence there, as well as her father's parsimony, effectually cut off from all other company. What she now wished, was, in the first place, to obtain the shelter of a decent lodging, and the countenance of honest people, however low in life, until she should obtain legal advice as to the mode of obtaining justice on her father's murderer. She had no hesitation to charge the guilt upon Colepepper, (commonly called Peppercull,) whom she knew to be as capable of any act of treacherous cruelty, as he was cowardly, where actual manhood was required. He had been strongly suspected of two robberies before, one of which was coupled with an atrocious murder. He had, she intimated, made pretensions to her hand as the easiest and safest way of obtaining possession of her father's wealth; and, on her refusing his addresses, if they could be termed so, in the most positive terms, he had thrown out such obscure hints of vengeance, as, joined with some imperfect assaults upon the house, had kept her in frequent alarm, both on her father's account and her own. Nigel, but that his feeling of respectful delicacy to the unfortunate woman forebade him to do so, could here have communicated a circumstance corroborative of her suspicions, which had already occurred to his own mind. He recollected the hint that old Hildebrod threw forth on the preceding night, that some communication betwixt himself and Colepepper had hastened the catastrophe. As this communication related to the plan which Hildebrod had been pleased to form, of promoting a marriage betwixt Nigel himself and the rich heiress of Trapbois, the fear of losing an opportunity not to be regained, together with the mean malignity of a low-bred ruffian, disappointed in a favourite scheme, was most likely to instigate the bravo to the deed of violence which had been committed. The reflection that his own name was in some degree implicated with the causes of this horrid tragedy, doubled Lord Glenvarloch's anxiety in behalf of the victim whom he had rescued, while at the same time he formed the tacit resolution, that, so soon as his own affairs were put upon some footing, he would contribute all in his power towards the investigation of this bloody affair. After ascertaining from his companion that she could form no better plan of her own, he recommended to her to take up her lodging for the time, at the house of his old landlord, Christie the ship-chandler, at Paul's Wharf, describing the decency and honesty of that worthy couple, and expressing his hopes that they would receive her into their own house, or recommend her at least to that of some person for whom they would be responsible, until she should have time to enter upon other arrangements for herself. The poor woman received advice so grateful to her in her desolate condition, with an expression of thanks, brief indeed, but deeper than any thing had yet extracted from the austerity of her natural disposition. Lord Glenvarloch then proceeded to inform Martha, that certain reasons, connected with his personal safety, called him immediately to Greenwich, and, therefore, it would not be in his power to accompany her to Christie's house, which he would otherwise have done with pleasure: but, tearing a leaf from his tablet, he wrote on it a few lines, addressed to his landlord, as a man of honesty and humanity, in which he described the bearer as a person who stood in singular necessity of temporary protection and good advice, for which her circumstances enabled her to make ample acknowledgment. He therefore requested John Christie, as his old and good friend, to afford her the shelter of his roof for a short time; or, if that might not be consistent with his convenience, at least to direct her to a proper lodging-and, finally, he imposed on him the additional, and somewhat more difficult commission, to recommend her to the counsel and services of an honest, at least a reputable and skilful attorney, for the transacting some law business of importance. The note he subscribed with his real name, and, delivering it to his _protegee_, who received it with another deeply uttered I thank you, which spoke the sterling feelings of her gratitude better than a thousand combined phrases, he commanded the watermen to pull in for Paul's Wharf, which they were now approaching. We have not time, said Green-jacket; we cannot be stopping every instant. But, upon Nigel insisting upon his commands being obeyed, and adding, that it was for the purpose of putting the lady ashore, the waterman declared that he would rather have her room than her company, and put the wherry alongside the wharf accordingly. Here two of the porters, who ply in such places, were easily induced to undertake the charge of the ponderous strong-box, and at the same time to guide the owner to the well-known mansion of John Christie, with whom all who lived in that neighbourhood were perfectly acquainted. The boat, much lightened of its load, went down the Thames at a rate increased in proportion. But we must forbear to pursue her in her voyage for a few minutes, since we have previously to mention the issue of Lord Glenvarloch's recommendation. Mistress Martha Trapbois reached the shop in perfect safety, and was about to enter it, when a sickening sense of the uncertainty of her situation, and of the singularly painful task of telling her story, came over her so strongly, that she paused a moment at the very threshold of her proposed place of refuge, to think in what manner she could best second the recommendation of the friend whom Providence had raised up to her. Had she possessed that knowledge of the world, from which her habits of life had completely excluded her, she might have known that the large sum of money which she brought along with her, might, judiciously managed, have been a passport to her into the mansions of nobles, and the palaces of princes. But, however conscious of its general power, which assumes so many forms and complexions, she was so inexperienced as to be most unnecessarily afraid that the means by which the wealth had been acquired, might exclude its inheretrix from shelter even in the house of a humble tradesman. While she thus delayed, a more reasonable cause for hesitation arose, in a considerable noise and altercation within the house, which grew louder and louder as the disputants issued forth upon the street or lane before the door. The first who entered upon the scene was a tall raw-boned hard-favoured man, who stalked out of the shop hastily, with a gait like that of a Spaniard in a passion, who, disdaining to add speed to his locomotion by running, only condescends, in the utmost extremity of his angry haste, to add length to his stride. He faced about, so soon as he was out of the house, upon his pursuer, a decent-looking, elderly, plain tradesman--no other than John Christie himself, the owner of the shop and tenement, by whom he seemed to be followed, and who was in a state of agitation more than is usually expressed by such a person. I'll hear no more on't, said the personage who first appeared on the scene.-- Sir, I will hear no more on it. Besides being a most false and impudent figment, as I can testify--it is _Scandaalum Magnaatum_, sir--_Scandaalum Magnaatum_ he reiterated with a broad accentuation of the first vowel, well known in the colleges of Edinburgh and Glasgow, which we can only express in print by doubling the said first of letters and of vowels, and which would have cheered the cockles of the reigning monarch had he been within hearing,--as he was a severer stickler for what he deemed the genuine pronunciation of the Roman tongue, than for any of the royal prerogatives, for which he was at times disposed to insist so strenuously in his speeches to Parliament. I care not an ounce of rotten cheese, said John Christie in reply, what you call it--but it is TRUE; and I am a free Englishman, and have right to speak the truth in my own concerns; and your master is little better than a villain, and you no more than a swaggering coxcomb, whose head I will presently break, as I have known it well broken before on lighter occasion. And, so saying, he flourished the paring-shovel which usually made clean the steps of his little shop, and which he had caught up as the readiest weapon of working his foeman damage, and advanced therewith upon him. The cautious Scot (for such our readers must have already pronounced him, from his language and pedantry) drew back as the enraged ship-chandler approached, but in a surly manner, and bearing his hand on his sword-hilt rather in the act of one who was losing habitual forbearance and caution of deportment, than as alarmed by the attack of an antagonist inferior to himself in youth, strength, and weapons. Bide back, he said, Maister Christie--I say bide back, and consult your safety, man. I have evited striking you in your ain house under muckle provocation, because I am ignorant how the laws here may pronounce respecting burglary and hamesucken, and such matters; and, besides, I would not willingly hurt ye, man, e'en on the causeway, that is free to us baith, because I mind your kindness of lang syne, and partly consider ye as a poor deceived creature. But deil d--n me, sir, and I am not wont to swear, but if you touch my Scotch shouther with that shule of yours, I will make six inches of my Andrew Ferrara deevilish intimate with your guts, neighbour. And therewithal, though still retreating from the brandished shovel, he made one-third of the basket-hilled broadsword which he wore, visible from the sheath. The wrath of John Christie was abated, either by his natural temperance of disposition, or perhaps in part by the glimmer of cold steel, which flashed on him from his adversary's last action. I would do well to cry clubs on thee, and have thee ducked at the wharf, he said, grounding his shovel, however, at the same time, for a paltry swaggerer, that would draw thy bit of iron there on an honest citizen before his own door; but get thee gone, and reckon on a salt eel for thy supper, if thou shouldst ever come near my house again. I wish it had been at the bottom of the Thames when it first gave the use of its roof to smooth-faced, oily-tongued, double-minded Scots thieves! It's an ill bird that fouls its own nest, replied his adversary, not perhaps the less bold that he saw matters were taking the turn of a pacific debate; and a pity it is that a kindly Scot should ever have married in foreign parts, and given life to a purse-proud, pudding-headed, fat-gutted, lean-brained Southron, e'en such as you, Maister Christie. But fare ye weel--fare ye weel, for ever and a day; and, if you quarrel wi' a Scot again, man, say as mickle ill o' himsell as ye like, but say nane of his patron or of his countrymen, or it will scarce be your flat cap that will keep your lang lugs from the sharp abridgement of a Highland whinger, man. And, if you continue your insolence to me before my own door, were it but two minutes longer, retorted John Christie, I will call the constable, and make your Scottish ankles acquainted with an English pair of stocks! So saying, he turned to retire into his shop with some show of victory; for his enemy, whatever might be his innate valour, manifested no desire to drive matters to extremity--conscious, perhaps, that whatever advantage he might gain in single combat with Jonn Christie, would be more than overbalanced by incurring an affair with the constituted authorities of Old England, not at that time apt to be particularly favourable to their new fellow-subjects, in the various successive broils which were then constantly taking place between the individuals of two proud nations, who still retained a stronger sense of their national animosity during centuries, than of their late union for a few years under the government of the same prince. Mrs. Martha Trapbois had dwelt too long in Alsatia, to be either surprised or terrified at the altercation she had witnessed. Indeed, she only wondered that the debate did not end in some of those acts of violence by which they were usually terminated in the Sanctuary. As the disputants separated from each other, she, who had no idea that the cause of the quarrel was more deeply rooted than in the daily scenes of the same nature which she had heard of or witnessed, did not hesitate to stop Master Christie in his return to his shop, and present to him the letter which Lord Glenvarloch had given to her. Had she been better acquainted with life and its business, she would certainly have waited for a more temperate moment; and she had reason to repent of her precipitation, when, without saying a single word, or taking the trouble to gather more of the information contained in the letter than was expressed in the subscription, the incensed ship chandler threw it down on the ground, trampled it in high disdain, and, without addressing a single word to the bearer, except, indeed, something much more like a hearty curse than was perfectly consistent with his own grave appearance, he retired into his shop, and shut the hatch-door. It was with the most inexpressible anguish that the desolate, friendless and unhappy female, thus beheld her sole hope of succour, countenance, and protection, vanish at once, without being able to conceive a reason; for, to do her justice, the idea that her friend, whom she knew by the name of Nigel Grahame, had imposed on her, a solution which might readily have occurred to many in her situation, never once entered her mind. Although it was not her temper easily to bend her mind to entreaty, she could not help exclaiming after the ireful and retreating ship-chandler,-- Good Master, hear me but a moment! for mercy's sake, for honesty's sake! Mercy and honesty from him, mistress! said the Scot, who, though he essayed not to interrupt the retreat of his antagonist,

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with me! exclaimed Lord Glenvarloch. Yes, she said, I will persuade my father to leave this murdering den. But, as she spoke, the more perfect recollection of what had passed crowded on her mind. She hid her face in her hands, and burst out into a dreadful fit of sobs, moans, and lamentations, which terminated in hysterics, violent in proportion to the uncommon strength of her body and mind. Lord Glenvarloch, shocked, confused, and inexperienced, was about to leave the house in quest of medical, or at least female assistance; but the patient, when the paroxysm had somewhat spent its force, held him fast by the sleeve with one hand, covering her face with the other, while a copious flood of tears came to relieve the emotions of grief by which she had been so violently agitated. Do not leave me, she said-- do not leave me, and call no one. I have never been in this way before, and would not now, she said, sitting upright, and wiping her eyes with her apron,-- would not now--but that--but that he loved _me_. if he loved nothing else that was human--To die so, and by such hands! And again the unhappy woman gave way to a paroxysm of sorrow, mingling her tears with sobbing, wailing, and all the abandonment of female grief, when at its utmost height. At length, she gradually recovered the austerity of her natural composure, and maintained it as if by a forcible exertion of resolution, repelling, as she spoke, the repeated returns of the hysterical affection, by such an effort as that by which epileptic patients are known to suspend the recurrence of their fits. Yet her mind, however resolved, could not so absolutely overcome the affection of her nerves, but that she was agitated by strong fits of trembling, which, for a minute or two at a time, shook her whole frame in a manner frightful to witness. Nigel forgot his own situation, and, indeed, every thing else, in the interest inspired by the unhappy woman before him--an interest which affected a proud spirit the more deeply, that she herself, with correspondent highness of mind, seemed determined to owe as little as possible either to the humanity or the pity of others. I am not wont to be in this way, she said,-- but--but--Nature will have power over the frail beings it has made. Over you, sir, I have some right; for, without you, I had not survived this awful night. I wish your aid had been either earlier or later--but you have saved my life, and you are bound to assist in making it endurable to me. If you will show me how it is possible, answered Nigel. You are going hence, you say, instantly--carry me with you, said the unhappy woman. By my own efforts, I shall never escape from this wilderness of guilt and misery. Alas! what can I do for you? replied Nigel. My own way, and I must not deviate from it, leads me, in all probability, to a dungeon. I might, indeed, transport you from hence with me, if you could afterwards bestow yourself with any friend. Friend! she exclaimed-- I have no friend--they have long since discarded us. A spectre arising from the dead were more welcome than I should be at the doors of those who have disclaimed us; and, if they were willing to restore their friendship to me now, I would despise it, because they withdrew it from him--from him --(here she underwent strong but suppressed agitation, and then added firmly)-- from _him_ who lies yonder.--I have no friend. Here she paused; and then suddenly, as if recollecting herself, added, I have no friend, but I have that will purchase many--I have that which will purchase both friends and avengers.--It is well thought of; I must not leave it for a prey to cheats and ruffians.--Stranger, you must return to yonder room. Pass through it boldly to his--that is, to the sleeping apartment; push the bedstead aside; beneath each of the posts is a brass plate, as if to support the weight, but it is that upon the left, nearest to the wall, which must serve your turn--press the corner of the plate, and it will spring up and show a keyhole, which this key will open. You will then lift a concealed trap-door, and in a cavity of the floor you will discover a small chest. Bring it hither; it shall accompany our journey, and it will be hard if the contents cannot purchase me a place of refuge. But the door communicating with the kitchen has been locked by these people, said Nigel. True, I had forgot; they had their reasons for that, doubtless, answered she. But the secret passage from your apartment is open, and you may go that way. Lord Glenvarloch took the key, and, as he lighted a lamp to show him the way, she read in his countenance some unwillingness to the task imposed. You fear? said she-- there is no cause; the murderer and his victim are both at rest. Take courage, I will go with you myself--you cannot know the trick of the spring, and the chest will be too heavy for you. No fear, no fear, answered Lord Glenvarloch, ashamed of the construction she put upon a momentary hesitation, arising from a dislike to look upon what is horrible, often connected with those high-wrought minds which are the last to fear what is merely dangerous-- I will do your errand as you desire; but for you, you must not--cannot go yonder. I can--I will, she said. I am composed. You shall see that I am so. She took from the table a piece of unfinished sewing-work, and, with steadiness and composure, passed a silken thread into the eye of a fine needle.-- Could I have done that, she said, with a smile yet more ghastly than her previous look of fixed despair, had not my heart and hand been both steady? She then led the way rapidly up stairs to Nigel's chamber, and proceeded through the secret passage with the same haste, as if she had feared her resolution might have failed her ere her purpose was executed. At the bottom of the stairs she paused a moment, before entering the fatal apartment, then hurried through with a rapid step to the sleeping chamber beyond, followed closely by Lord Glenvarloch, whose reluctance to approach the scene of butchery was altogether lost in the anxiety which he felt on account of the survivor of the tragedy. Her first action was to pull aside the curtains of her father's bed. The bed-clothes were thrown aside in confusion, doubtless in the action of his starting from sleep to oppose the entrance of the villains into the next apartment. The hard mattress scarcely showed the slight pressure where the emaciated body of the old miser had been deposited. His daughter sank beside the bed, clasped her hands, and prayed to heaven, in a short and affectionate manner, for support in her affliction, and for vengeance on the villains who had made her fatherless. A low-muttered and still more brief petition recommended to Heaven the soul of the sufferer, and invoked pardon for his sins, in virtue of the great Christian atonement. This duty of piety performed, she signed to Nigel to aid her; and, having pushed aside the heavy bedstead, they saw the brass plate which Martha had described. She pressed the spring, and, at once, the plate starting up, showed the keyhole, and a large iron ring used in lifting the trap-door, which, when raised, displayed the strong box, or small chest, she had mentioned, and which proved indeed so very weighty, that it might perhaps have been scarcely possible for Nigel, though a very strong man, to have raised it without assistance. Having replaced everything as they had found it, Nigel, with such help as his companion was able to afford, assumed his load, and made a shift to carry it into the next apartment, where lay the miserable owner, insensible to sounds and circumstances, which, if any thing could have broken his long last slumber, would certainly have done so. His unfortunate daughter went up to his body, and had even the courage to remove the sheet which had been decently disposed over it. She put her hand on the heart, but there was no throb--held a feather to the lips, but there was no motion--then kissed with deep reverence the starting veins of the pale forehead, and then the emaciated hand. I would you could hear me, she said,-- Father! I would you could hear me swear, that, if I now save what you most valued on earth, it is only to assist me in obtaining vengeance for your death. She replaced the covering, and, without a tear, a sigh, or an additional word of any kind, renewed her efforts, until they conveyed the strong-box betwixt them into Lord Glenvarloch's sleeping apartment. It must pass, she said, as part of your baggage. I will be in readiness so soon as the waterman calls. She retired; and Lord Glenvarloch, who saw the hour of their departure approach, tore down a part of the old hanging to make a covering, which he corded upon the trunk, lest the peculiarity of its shape, and the care with which it was banded and counterbanded with bars of steel, might afford suspicions respecting the treasure which it contained. Having taken this measure of precaution, he changed the rascally disguise, which he had assumed on entering Whitefriars, into a suit becoming his quality, and then, unable to sleep, though exhausted with the events of the night, he threw himself on his bed to await the summons of the waterman. CHAPTER XXVI Give us good voyage, gentle stream--we stun not Thy sober ear with sounds of revelry; Wake not the slumbering echoes of thy banks With voice of flute and horn--we do but seek On the broad pathway of thy swelling bosom To glide in silent safety. _The Double Bridal._ Grey, or rather yellow light, was beginning to twinkle through the fogs of Whitefriars, when a low tap at the door of the unhappy miser announced to Lord Glenvarloch the summons of the boatman. He found at the door the man whom he had seen the night before, with a companion. Come, come, master, let us get afloat, said one of them, in a rough impressive whisper, time and tide wait for no man. They shall not wait for me, said Lord Glenvarloch; but I have some things to carry with me. Ay, ay--no man will take a pair of oars now, Jack, unless he means to load the wherry like a six-horse waggon. When they don't want to shift the whole kitt, they take a sculler, and be d--d to them. Come, come, where be your rattle-traps? One of the men was soon sufficiently loaded, in his own estimation at least, with Lord Glenvarloch's mail and its accompaniments, with which burden he began to trudge towards the Temple Stairs. His comrade, who seemed the principal, began to handle the trunk which contained the miser's treasure, but pitched it down again in an instant, declaring, with a great oath, that it was as reasonable to expect a man to carry Paul's on his back. The daughter of Trapbois, who had by this time joined them, muffled up in a long dark hood and mantle, exclaimed to Lord Glenvarloch-- Let them leave it if they will, let them leave it all; let us but escape from this horrible place. We have mentioned elsewhere, that Nigel was a very athletic young man, and, impelled by a strong feeling of compassion and indignation, he showed his bodily strength singularly on this occasion, by seizing on the ponderous strong-box, and, by means of the rope he had cast around it, throwing it on his shoulders, and marching resolutely forward under a weight, which would have sunk to the earth three young gallants, at the least, of our degenerate day. The waterman followed him in amazement, calling out, Why, master, master, you might as well gie me t'other end on't! and anon offered his assistance to support it in some degree behind, which after the first minute or two Nigel was fain to accept. His strength was almost exhausted when he reached the wherry, which was lying at the Temple Stairs according to appointment; and, when he pitched the trunk into it, the weight sank the bow of the boat so low in the water as well-nigh to overset it. We shall have as hard a fare of it, said the waterman to his companion, as if we were ferrying over an honest bankrupt with all his secreted goods--Ho, ho! good woman, what, are you stepping in for?--our gunwale lies deep enough in the water without live lumber to boot. This person comes with me, said Lord Glenvarloch; she is for the present under my protection. Come, come, master, rejoined the fellow, that is out of my commission. You must not double my freight on me--she may go by land--and, as for protection, her face will protect her from Berwick to the Land's End. You will not except at my doubling the loading, if I double the fare? said Nigel, determined on no account to relinquish the protection of this unhappy woman, for which he had already devised some sort of plan, likely now to be baffled by the characteristic rudeness of the Thames watermen. Ay, by G----, but I will except, though, said the fellow with the green plush jacket: I will overload my wherry neither for love nor money--I love my boat as well as my wife, and a thought better. Nay, nay, comrade, said his mate, that is speaking no true water language. For double fare we are bound to row a witch in her eggshell if she bid us; and so pull away, Jack, and let us have no more prating. They got into the stream-way accordingly, and, although heavily laden, began to move down the river with reasonable speed. The lighter vessels which passed, overtook, or crossed them, in their course, failed not to assail them with their boisterous raillery, which was then called water-wit; for which the extreme plainness of Mistress Martha's features, contrasted with the youth, handsome figure, and good looks of Nigel, furnished the principal topics; while the circumstance of the boat being somewhat overloaded, did not escape their notice. They were hailed successively, as a grocer's wife upon a party of pleasure with her eldest apprentice--as an old woman carrying her grandson to school--and as a young strapping Irishman, conveying an ancient maiden to Dr. Rigmarole's, at Redriffe, who buckles beggars for a tester and a dram of Geneva. All this abuse was retorted in a similar strain of humour by Greenjacket and his companion, who maintained the war of wit with the same alacrity with which they were assailed. Meanwhile, Lord Glenvarloch asked his desolate companion if she had thought on any place where she could remain in safety with her property. She confessed, in more detail than formerly, that her father's character had left her no friends; and that, from the time he had betaken himself to Whitefriars, to escape certain legal consequences of his eager pursuit of gain, she had lived a life of total seclusion; not associating with the society which the place afforded, and, by her residence there, as well as her father's parsimony, effectually cut off from all other company. What she now wished, was, in the first place, to obtain the shelter of a decent lodging, and the countenance of honest people, however low in life, until she should obtain legal advice as to the mode of obtaining justice on her father's murderer. She had no hesitation to charge the guilt upon Colepepper, (commonly called Peppercull,) whom she knew to be as capable of any act of treacherous cruelty, as he was cowardly, where actual manhood was required. He had been strongly suspected of two robberies before, one of which was coupled with an atrocious murder. He had, she intimated, made pretensions to her hand as the easiest and safest way of obtaining possession of her father's wealth; and, on her refusing his addresses, if they could be termed so, in the most positive terms, he had thrown out such obscure hints of vengeance, as, joined with some imperfect assaults upon the house, had kept her in frequent alarm, both on her father's account and her own. Nigel, but that his feeling of respectful delicacy to the unfortunate woman forebade him to do so, could here have communicated a circumstance corroborative of her suspicions, which had already occurred to his own mind. He recollected the hint that old Hildebrod threw forth on the preceding night, that some communication betwixt himself and Colepepper had hastened the catastrophe. As this communication related to the plan which Hildebrod had been pleased to form, of promoting a marriage betwixt Nigel himself and the rich heiress of Trapbois, the fear of losing an opportunity not to be regained, together with the mean malignity of a low-bred ruffian, disappointed in a favourite scheme, was most likely to instigate the bravo to the deed of violence which had been committed. The reflection that his own name was in some degree implicated with the causes of this horrid tragedy, doubled Lord Glenvarloch's anxiety in behalf of the victim whom he had rescued, while at the same time he formed the tacit resolution, that, so soon as his own affairs were put upon some footing, he would contribute all in his power towards the investigation of this bloody affair. After ascertaining from his companion that she could form no better plan of her own, he recommended to her to take up her lodging for the time, at the house of his old landlord, Christie the ship-chandler, at Paul's Wharf, describing the decency and honesty of that worthy couple, and expressing his hopes that they would receive her into their own house, or recommend her at least to that of some person for whom they would be responsible, until she should have time to enter upon other arrangements for herself. The poor woman received advice so grateful to her in her desolate condition, with an expression of thanks, brief indeed, but deeper than any thing had yet extracted from the austerity of her natural disposition. Lord Glenvarloch then proceeded to inform Martha, that certain reasons, connected with his personal safety, called him immediately to Greenwich, and, therefore, it would not be in his power to accompany her to Christie's house, which he would otherwise have done with pleasure: but, tearing a leaf from his tablet, he wrote on it a few lines, addressed to his landlord, as a man of honesty and humanity, in which he described the bearer as a person who stood in singular necessity of temporary protection and good advice, for which her circumstances enabled her to make ample acknowledgment. He therefore requested John Christie, as his old and good friend, to afford her the shelter of his roof for a short time; or, if that might not be consistent with his convenience, at least to direct her to a proper lodging-and, finally, he imposed on him the additional, and somewhat more difficult commission, to recommend her to the counsel and services of an honest, at least a reputable and skilful attorney, for the transacting some law business of importance. The note he subscribed with his real name, and, delivering it to his _protegee_, who received it with another deeply uttered I thank you, which spoke the sterling feelings of her gratitude better than a thousand combined phrases, he commanded the watermen to pull in for Paul's Wharf, which they were now approaching. We have not time, said Green-jacket; we cannot be stopping every instant. But, upon Nigel insisting upon his commands being obeyed, and adding, that it was for the purpose of putting the lady ashore, the waterman declared that he would rather have her room than her company, and put the wherry alongside the wharf accordingly. Here two of the porters, who ply in such places, were easily induced to undertake the charge of the ponderous strong-box, and at the same time to guide the owner to the well-known mansion of John Christie, with whom all who lived in that neighbourhood were perfectly acquainted. The boat, much lightened of its load, went down the Thames at a rate increased in proportion. But we must forbear to pursue her in her voyage for a few minutes, since we have previously to mention the issue of Lord Glenvarloch's recommendation. Mistress Martha Trapbois reached the shop in perfect safety, and was about to enter it, when a sickening sense of the uncertainty of her situation, and of the singularly painful task of telling her story, came over her so strongly, that she paused a moment at the very threshold of her proposed place of refuge, to think in what manner she could best second the recommendation of the friend whom Providence had raised up to her. Had she possessed that knowledge of the world, from which her habits of life had completely excluded her, she might have known that the large sum of money which she brought along with her, might, judiciously managed, have been a passport to her into the mansions of nobles, and the palaces of princes. But, however conscious of its general power, which assumes so many forms and complexions, she was so inexperienced as to be most unnecessarily afraid that the means by which the wealth had been acquired, might exclude its inheretrix from shelter even in the house of a humble tradesman. While she thus delayed, a more reasonable cause for hesitation arose, in a considerable noise and altercation within the house, which grew louder and louder as the disputants issued forth upon the street or lane before the door. The first who entered upon the scene was a tall raw-boned hard-favoured man, who stalked out of the shop hastily, with a gait like that of a Spaniard in a passion, who, disdaining to add speed to his locomotion by running, only condescends, in the utmost extremity of his angry haste, to add length to his stride. He faced about, so soon as he was out of the house, upon his pursuer, a decent-looking, elderly, plain tradesman--no other than John Christie himself, the owner of the shop and tenement, by whom he seemed to be followed, and who was in a state of agitation more than is usually expressed by such a person. I'll hear no more on't, said the personage who first appeared on the scene.-- Sir, I will hear no more on it. Besides being a most false and impudent figment, as I can testify--it is _Scandaalum Magnaatum_, sir--_Scandaalum Magnaatum_ he reiterated with a broad accentuation of the first vowel, well known in the colleges of Edinburgh and Glasgow, which we can only express in print by doubling the said first of letters and of vowels, and which would have cheered the cockles of the reigning monarch had he been within hearing,--as he was a severer stickler for what he deemed the genuine pronunciation of the Roman tongue, than for any of the royal prerogatives, for which he was at times disposed to insist so strenuously in his speeches to Parliament. I care not an ounce of rotten cheese, said John Christie in reply, what you call it--but it is TRUE; and I am a free Englishman, and have right to speak the truth in my own concerns; and your master is little better than a villain, and you no more than a swaggering coxcomb, whose head I will presently break, as I have known it well broken before on lighter occasion. And, so saying, he flourished the paring-shovel which usually made clean the steps of his little shop, and which he had caught up as the readiest weapon of working his foeman damage, and advanced therewith upon him. The cautious Scot (for such our readers must have already pronounced him, from his language and pedantry) drew back as the enraged ship-chandler approached, but in a surly manner, and bearing his hand on his sword-hilt rather in the act of one who was losing habitual forbearance and caution of deportment, than as alarmed by the attack of an antagonist inferior to himself in youth, strength, and weapons. Bide back, he said, Maister Christie--I say bide back, and consult your safety, man. I have evited striking you in your ain house under muckle provocation, because I am ignorant how the laws here may pronounce respecting burglary and hamesucken, and such matters; and, besides, I would not willingly hurt ye, man, e'en on the causeway, that is free to us baith, because I mind your kindness of lang syne, and partly consider ye as a poor deceived creature. But deil d--n me, sir, and I am not wont to swear, but if you touch my Scotch shouther with that shule of yours, I will make six inches of my Andrew Ferrara deevilish intimate with your guts, neighbour. And therewithal, though still retreating from the brandished shovel, he made one-third of the basket-hilled broadsword which he wore, visible from the sheath. The wrath of John Christie was abated, either by his natural temperance of disposition, or perhaps in part by the glimmer of cold steel, which flashed on him from his adversary's last action. I would do well to cry clubs on thee, and have thee ducked at the wharf, he said, grounding his shovel, however, at the same time, for a paltry swaggerer, that would draw thy bit of iron there on an honest citizen before his own door; but get thee gone, and reckon on a salt eel for thy supper, if thou shouldst ever come near my house again. I wish it had been at the bottom of the Thames when it first gave the use of its roof to smooth-faced, oily-tongued, double-minded Scots thieves! It's an ill bird that fouls its own nest, replied his adversary, not perhaps the less bold that he saw matters were taking the turn of a pacific debate; and a pity it is that a kindly Scot should ever have married in foreign parts, and given life to a purse-proud, pudding-headed, fat-gutted, lean-brained Southron, e'en such as you, Maister Christie. But fare ye weel--fare ye weel, for ever and a day; and, if you quarrel wi' a Scot again, man, say as mickle ill o' himsell as ye like, but say nane of his patron or of his countrymen, or it will scarce be your flat cap that will keep your lang lugs from the sharp abridgement of a Highland whinger, man. And, if you continue your insolence to me before my own door, were it but two minutes longer, retorted John Christie, I will call the constable, and make your Scottish ankles acquainted with an English pair of stocks! So saying, he turned to retire into his shop with some show of victory; for his enemy, whatever might be his innate valour, manifested no desire to drive matters to extremity--conscious, perhaps, that whatever advantage he might gain in single combat with Jonn Christie, would be more than overbalanced by incurring an affair with the constituted authorities of Old England, not at that time apt to be particularly favourable to their new fellow-subjects, in the various successive broils which were then constantly taking place between the individuals of two proud nations, who still retained a stronger sense of their national animosity during centuries, than of their late union for a few years under the government of the same prince. Mrs. Martha Trapbois had dwelt too long in Alsatia, to be either surprised or terrified at the altercation she had witnessed. Indeed, she only wondered that the debate did not end in some of those acts of violence by which they were usually terminated in the Sanctuary. As the disputants separated from each other, she, who had no idea that the cause of the quarrel was more deeply rooted than in the daily scenes of the same nature which she had heard of or witnessed, did not hesitate to stop Master Christie in his return to his shop, and present to him the letter which Lord Glenvarloch had given to her. Had she been better acquainted with life and its business, she would certainly have waited for a more temperate moment; and she had reason to repent of her precipitation, when, without saying a single word, or taking the trouble to gather more of the information contained in the letter than was expressed in the subscription, the incensed ship chandler threw it down on the ground, trampled it in high disdain, and, without addressing a single word to the bearer, except, indeed, something much more like a hearty curse than was perfectly consistent with his own grave appearance, he retired into his shop, and shut the hatch-door. It was with the most inexpressible anguish that the desolate, friendless and unhappy female, thus beheld her sole hope of succour, countenance, and protection, vanish at once, without being able to conceive a reason; for, to do her justice, the idea that her friend, whom she knew by the name of Nigel Grahame, had imposed on her, a solution which might readily have occurred to many in her situation, never once entered her mind. Although it was not her temper easily to bend her mind to entreaty, she could not help exclaiming after the ireful and retreating ship-chandler,-- Good Master, hear me but a moment! for mercy's sake, for honesty's sake! Mercy and honesty from him, mistress! said the Scot, who, though he essayed not to interrupt the retreat of his antagonist,

revolver

How many times the word 'revolver' appears in the text?

with me! exclaimed Lord Glenvarloch. Yes, she said, I will persuade my father to leave this murdering den. But, as she spoke, the more perfect recollection of what had passed crowded on her mind. She hid her face in her hands, and burst out into a dreadful fit of sobs, moans, and lamentations, which terminated in hysterics, violent in proportion to the uncommon strength of her body and mind. Lord Glenvarloch, shocked, confused, and inexperienced, was about to leave the house in quest of medical, or at least female assistance; but the patient, when the paroxysm had somewhat spent its force, held him fast by the sleeve with one hand, covering her face with the other, while a copious flood of tears came to relieve the emotions of grief by which she had been so violently agitated. Do not leave me, she said-- do not leave me, and call no one. I have never been in this way before, and would not now, she said, sitting upright, and wiping her eyes with her apron,-- would not now--but that--but that he loved _me_. if he loved nothing else that was human--To die so, and by such hands! And again the unhappy woman gave way to a paroxysm of sorrow, mingling her tears with sobbing, wailing, and all the abandonment of female grief, when at its utmost height. At length, she gradually recovered the austerity of her natural composure, and maintained it as if by a forcible exertion of resolution, repelling, as she spoke, the repeated returns of the hysterical affection, by such an effort as that by which epileptic patients are known to suspend the recurrence of their fits. Yet her mind, however resolved, could not so absolutely overcome the affection of her nerves, but that she was agitated by strong fits of trembling, which, for a minute or two at a time, shook her whole frame in a manner frightful to witness. Nigel forgot his own situation, and, indeed, every thing else, in the interest inspired by the unhappy woman before him--an interest which affected a proud spirit the more deeply, that she herself, with correspondent highness of mind, seemed determined to owe as little as possible either to the humanity or the pity of others. I am not wont to be in this way, she said,-- but--but--Nature will have power over the frail beings it has made. Over you, sir, I have some right; for, without you, I had not survived this awful night. I wish your aid had been either earlier or later--but you have saved my life, and you are bound to assist in making it endurable to me. If you will show me how it is possible, answered Nigel. You are going hence, you say, instantly--carry me with you, said the unhappy woman. By my own efforts, I shall never escape from this wilderness of guilt and misery. Alas! what can I do for you? replied Nigel. My own way, and I must not deviate from it, leads me, in all probability, to a dungeon. I might, indeed, transport you from hence with me, if you could afterwards bestow yourself with any friend. Friend! she exclaimed-- I have no friend--they have long since discarded us. A spectre arising from the dead were more welcome than I should be at the doors of those who have disclaimed us; and, if they were willing to restore their friendship to me now, I would despise it, because they withdrew it from him--from him --(here she underwent strong but suppressed agitation, and then added firmly)-- from _him_ who lies yonder.--I have no friend. Here she paused; and then suddenly, as if recollecting herself, added, I have no friend, but I have that will purchase many--I have that which will purchase both friends and avengers.--It is well thought of; I must not leave it for a prey to cheats and ruffians.--Stranger, you must return to yonder room. Pass through it boldly to his--that is, to the sleeping apartment; push the bedstead aside; beneath each of the posts is a brass plate, as if to support the weight, but it is that upon the left, nearest to the wall, which must serve your turn--press the corner of the plate, and it will spring up and show a keyhole, which this key will open. You will then lift a concealed trap-door, and in a cavity of the floor you will discover a small chest. Bring it hither; it shall accompany our journey, and it will be hard if the contents cannot purchase me a place of refuge. But the door communicating with the kitchen has been locked by these people, said Nigel. True, I had forgot; they had their reasons for that, doubtless, answered she. But the secret passage from your apartment is open, and you may go that way. Lord Glenvarloch took the key, and, as he lighted a lamp to show him the way, she read in his countenance some unwillingness to the task imposed. You fear? said she-- there is no cause; the murderer and his victim are both at rest. Take courage, I will go with you myself--you cannot know the trick of the spring, and the chest will be too heavy for you. No fear, no fear, answered Lord Glenvarloch, ashamed of the construction she put upon a momentary hesitation, arising from a dislike to look upon what is horrible, often connected with those high-wrought minds which are the last to fear what is merely dangerous-- I will do your errand as you desire; but for you, you must not--cannot go yonder. I can--I will, she said. I am composed. You shall see that I am so. She took from the table a piece of unfinished sewing-work, and, with steadiness and composure, passed a silken thread into the eye of a fine needle.-- Could I have done that, she said, with a smile yet more ghastly than her previous look of fixed despair, had not my heart and hand been both steady? She then led the way rapidly up stairs to Nigel's chamber, and proceeded through the secret passage with the same haste, as if she had feared her resolution might have failed her ere her purpose was executed. At the bottom of the stairs she paused a moment, before entering the fatal apartment, then hurried through with a rapid step to the sleeping chamber beyond, followed closely by Lord Glenvarloch, whose reluctance to approach the scene of butchery was altogether lost in the anxiety which he felt on account of the survivor of the tragedy. Her first action was to pull aside the curtains of her father's bed. The bed-clothes were thrown aside in confusion, doubtless in the action of his starting from sleep to oppose the entrance of the villains into the next apartment. The hard mattress scarcely showed the slight pressure where the emaciated body of the old miser had been deposited. His daughter sank beside the bed, clasped her hands, and prayed to heaven, in a short and affectionate manner, for support in her affliction, and for vengeance on the villains who had made her fatherless. A low-muttered and still more brief petition recommended to Heaven the soul of the sufferer, and invoked pardon for his sins, in virtue of the great Christian atonement. This duty of piety performed, she signed to Nigel to aid her; and, having pushed aside the heavy bedstead, they saw the brass plate which Martha had described. She pressed the spring, and, at once, the plate starting up, showed the keyhole, and a large iron ring used in lifting the trap-door, which, when raised, displayed the strong box, or small chest, she had mentioned, and which proved indeed so very weighty, that it might perhaps have been scarcely possible for Nigel, though a very strong man, to have raised it without assistance. Having replaced everything as they had found it, Nigel, with such help as his companion was able to afford, assumed his load, and made a shift to carry it into the next apartment, where lay the miserable owner, insensible to sounds and circumstances, which, if any thing could have broken his long last slumber, would certainly have done so. His unfortunate daughter went up to his body, and had even the courage to remove the sheet which had been decently disposed over it. She put her hand on the heart, but there was no throb--held a feather to the lips, but there was no motion--then kissed with deep reverence the starting veins of the pale forehead, and then the emaciated hand. I would you could hear me, she said,-- Father! I would you could hear me swear, that, if I now save what you most valued on earth, it is only to assist me in obtaining vengeance for your death. She replaced the covering, and, without a tear, a sigh, or an additional word of any kind, renewed her efforts, until they conveyed the strong-box betwixt them into Lord Glenvarloch's sleeping apartment. It must pass, she said, as part of your baggage. I will be in readiness so soon as the waterman calls. She retired; and Lord Glenvarloch, who saw the hour of their departure approach, tore down a part of the old hanging to make a covering, which he corded upon the trunk, lest the peculiarity of its shape, and the care with which it was banded and counterbanded with bars of steel, might afford suspicions respecting the treasure which it contained. Having taken this measure of precaution, he changed the rascally disguise, which he had assumed on entering Whitefriars, into a suit becoming his quality, and then, unable to sleep, though exhausted with the events of the night, he threw himself on his bed to await the summons of the waterman. CHAPTER XXVI Give us good voyage, gentle stream--we stun not Thy sober ear with sounds of revelry; Wake not the slumbering echoes of thy banks With voice of flute and horn--we do but seek On the broad pathway of thy swelling bosom To glide in silent safety. _The Double Bridal._ Grey, or rather yellow light, was beginning to twinkle through the fogs of Whitefriars, when a low tap at the door of the unhappy miser announced to Lord Glenvarloch the summons of the boatman. He found at the door the man whom he had seen the night before, with a companion. Come, come, master, let us get afloat, said one of them, in a rough impressive whisper, time and tide wait for no man. They shall not wait for me, said Lord Glenvarloch; but I have some things to carry with me. Ay, ay--no man will take a pair of oars now, Jack, unless he means to load the wherry like a six-horse waggon. When they don't want to shift the whole kitt, they take a sculler, and be d--d to them. Come, come, where be your rattle-traps? One of the men was soon sufficiently loaded, in his own estimation at least, with Lord Glenvarloch's mail and its accompaniments, with which burden he began to trudge towards the Temple Stairs. His comrade, who seemed the principal, began to handle the trunk which contained the miser's treasure, but pitched it down again in an instant, declaring, with a great oath, that it was as reasonable to expect a man to carry Paul's on his back. The daughter of Trapbois, who had by this time joined them, muffled up in a long dark hood and mantle, exclaimed to Lord Glenvarloch-- Let them leave it if they will, let them leave it all; let us but escape from this horrible place. We have mentioned elsewhere, that Nigel was a very athletic young man, and, impelled by a strong feeling of compassion and indignation, he showed his bodily strength singularly on this occasion, by seizing on the ponderous strong-box, and, by means of the rope he had cast around it, throwing it on his shoulders, and marching resolutely forward under a weight, which would have sunk to the earth three young gallants, at the least, of our degenerate day. The waterman followed him in amazement, calling out, Why, master, master, you might as well gie me t'other end on't! and anon offered his assistance to support it in some degree behind, which after the first minute or two Nigel was fain to accept. His strength was almost exhausted when he reached the wherry, which was lying at the Temple Stairs according to appointment; and, when he pitched the trunk into it, the weight sank the bow of the boat so low in the water as well-nigh to overset it. We shall have as hard a fare of it, said the waterman to his companion, as if we were ferrying over an honest bankrupt with all his secreted goods--Ho, ho! good woman, what, are you stepping in for?--our gunwale lies deep enough in the water without live lumber to boot. This person comes with me, said Lord Glenvarloch; she is for the present under my protection. Come, come, master, rejoined the fellow, that is out of my commission. You must not double my freight on me--she may go by land--and, as for protection, her face will protect her from Berwick to the Land's End. You will not except at my doubling the loading, if I double the fare? said Nigel, determined on no account to relinquish the protection of this unhappy woman, for which he had already devised some sort of plan, likely now to be baffled by the characteristic rudeness of the Thames watermen. Ay, by G----, but I will except, though, said the fellow with the green plush jacket: I will overload my wherry neither for love nor money--I love my boat as well as my wife, and a thought better. Nay, nay, comrade, said his mate, that is speaking no true water language. For double fare we are bound to row a witch in her eggshell if she bid us; and so pull away, Jack, and let us have no more prating. They got into the stream-way accordingly, and, although heavily laden, began to move down the river with reasonable speed. The lighter vessels which passed, overtook, or crossed them, in their course, failed not to assail them with their boisterous raillery, which was then called water-wit; for which the extreme plainness of Mistress Martha's features, contrasted with the youth, handsome figure, and good looks of Nigel, furnished the principal topics; while the circumstance of the boat being somewhat overloaded, did not escape their notice. They were hailed successively, as a grocer's wife upon a party of pleasure with her eldest apprentice--as an old woman carrying her grandson to school--and as a young strapping Irishman, conveying an ancient maiden to Dr. Rigmarole's, at Redriffe, who buckles beggars for a tester and a dram of Geneva. All this abuse was retorted in a similar strain of humour by Greenjacket and his companion, who maintained the war of wit with the same alacrity with which they were assailed. Meanwhile, Lord Glenvarloch asked his desolate companion if she had thought on any place where she could remain in safety with her property. She confessed, in more detail than formerly, that her father's character had left her no friends; and that, from the time he had betaken himself to Whitefriars, to escape certain legal consequences of his eager pursuit of gain, she had lived a life of total seclusion; not associating with the society which the place afforded, and, by her residence there, as well as her father's parsimony, effectually cut off from all other company. What she now wished, was, in the first place, to obtain the shelter of a decent lodging, and the countenance of honest people, however low in life, until she should obtain legal advice as to the mode of obtaining justice on her father's murderer. She had no hesitation to charge the guilt upon Colepepper, (commonly called Peppercull,) whom she knew to be as capable of any act of treacherous cruelty, as he was cowardly, where actual manhood was required. He had been strongly suspected of two robberies before, one of which was coupled with an atrocious murder. He had, she intimated, made pretensions to her hand as the easiest and safest way of obtaining possession of her father's wealth; and, on her refusing his addresses, if they could be termed so, in the most positive terms, he had thrown out such obscure hints of vengeance, as, joined with some imperfect assaults upon the house, had kept her in frequent alarm, both on her father's account and her own. Nigel, but that his feeling of respectful delicacy to the unfortunate woman forebade him to do so, could here have communicated a circumstance corroborative of her suspicions, which had already occurred to his own mind. He recollected the hint that old Hildebrod threw forth on the preceding night, that some communication betwixt himself and Colepepper had hastened the catastrophe. As this communication related to the plan which Hildebrod had been pleased to form, of promoting a marriage betwixt Nigel himself and the rich heiress of Trapbois, the fear of losing an opportunity not to be regained, together with the mean malignity of a low-bred ruffian, disappointed in a favourite scheme, was most likely to instigate the bravo to the deed of violence which had been committed. The reflection that his own name was in some degree implicated with the causes of this horrid tragedy, doubled Lord Glenvarloch's anxiety in behalf of the victim whom he had rescued, while at the same time he formed the tacit resolution, that, so soon as his own affairs were put upon some footing, he would contribute all in his power towards the investigation of this bloody affair. After ascertaining from his companion that she could form no better plan of her own, he recommended to her to take up her lodging for the time, at the house of his old landlord, Christie the ship-chandler, at Paul's Wharf, describing the decency and honesty of that worthy couple, and expressing his hopes that they would receive her into their own house, or recommend her at least to that of some person for whom they would be responsible, until she should have time to enter upon other arrangements for herself. The poor woman received advice so grateful to her in her desolate condition, with an expression of thanks, brief indeed, but deeper than any thing had yet extracted from the austerity of her natural disposition. Lord Glenvarloch then proceeded to inform Martha, that certain reasons, connected with his personal safety, called him immediately to Greenwich, and, therefore, it would not be in his power to accompany her to Christie's house, which he would otherwise have done with pleasure: but, tearing a leaf from his tablet, he wrote on it a few lines, addressed to his landlord, as a man of honesty and humanity, in which he described the bearer as a person who stood in singular necessity of temporary protection and good advice, for which her circumstances enabled her to make ample acknowledgment. He therefore requested John Christie, as his old and good friend, to afford her the shelter of his roof for a short time; or, if that might not be consistent with his convenience, at least to direct her to a proper lodging-and, finally, he imposed on him the additional, and somewhat more difficult commission, to recommend her to the counsel and services of an honest, at least a reputable and skilful attorney, for the transacting some law business of importance. The note he subscribed with his real name, and, delivering it to his _protegee_, who received it with another deeply uttered I thank you, which spoke the sterling feelings of her gratitude better than a thousand combined phrases, he commanded the watermen to pull in for Paul's Wharf, which they were now approaching. We have not time, said Green-jacket; we cannot be stopping every instant. But, upon Nigel insisting upon his commands being obeyed, and adding, that it was for the purpose of putting the lady ashore, the waterman declared that he would rather have her room than her company, and put the wherry alongside the wharf accordingly. Here two of the porters, who ply in such places, were easily induced to undertake the charge of the ponderous strong-box, and at the same time to guide the owner to the well-known mansion of John Christie, with whom all who lived in that neighbourhood were perfectly acquainted. The boat, much lightened of its load, went down the Thames at a rate increased in proportion. But we must forbear to pursue her in her voyage for a few minutes, since we have previously to mention the issue of Lord Glenvarloch's recommendation. Mistress Martha Trapbois reached the shop in perfect safety, and was about to enter it, when a sickening sense of the uncertainty of her situation, and of the singularly painful task of telling her story, came over her so strongly, that she paused a moment at the very threshold of her proposed place of refuge, to think in what manner she could best second the recommendation of the friend whom Providence had raised up to her. Had she possessed that knowledge of the world, from which her habits of life had completely excluded her, she might have known that the large sum of money which she brought along with her, might, judiciously managed, have been a passport to her into the mansions of nobles, and the palaces of princes. But, however conscious of its general power, which assumes so many forms and complexions, she was so inexperienced as to be most unnecessarily afraid that the means by which the wealth had been acquired, might exclude its inheretrix from shelter even in the house of a humble tradesman. While she thus delayed, a more reasonable cause for hesitation arose, in a considerable noise and altercation within the house, which grew louder and louder as the disputants issued forth upon the street or lane before the door. The first who entered upon the scene was a tall raw-boned hard-favoured man, who stalked out of the shop hastily, with a gait like that of a Spaniard in a passion, who, disdaining to add speed to his locomotion by running, only condescends, in the utmost extremity of his angry haste, to add length to his stride. He faced about, so soon as he was out of the house, upon his pursuer, a decent-looking, elderly, plain tradesman--no other than John Christie himself, the owner of the shop and tenement, by whom he seemed to be followed, and who was in a state of agitation more than is usually expressed by such a person. I'll hear no more on't, said the personage who first appeared on the scene.-- Sir, I will hear no more on it. Besides being a most false and impudent figment, as I can testify--it is _Scandaalum Magnaatum_, sir--_Scandaalum Magnaatum_ he reiterated with a broad accentuation of the first vowel, well known in the colleges of Edinburgh and Glasgow, which we can only express in print by doubling the said first of letters and of vowels, and which would have cheered the cockles of the reigning monarch had he been within hearing,--as he was a severer stickler for what he deemed the genuine pronunciation of the Roman tongue, than for any of the royal prerogatives, for which he was at times disposed to insist so strenuously in his speeches to Parliament. I care not an ounce of rotten cheese, said John Christie in reply, what you call it--but it is TRUE; and I am a free Englishman, and have right to speak the truth in my own concerns; and your master is little better than a villain, and you no more than a swaggering coxcomb, whose head I will presently break, as I have known it well broken before on lighter occasion. And, so saying, he flourished the paring-shovel which usually made clean the steps of his little shop, and which he had caught up as the readiest weapon of working his foeman damage, and advanced therewith upon him. The cautious Scot (for such our readers must have already pronounced him, from his language and pedantry) drew back as the enraged ship-chandler approached, but in a surly manner, and bearing his hand on his sword-hilt rather in the act of one who was losing habitual forbearance and caution of deportment, than as alarmed by the attack of an antagonist inferior to himself in youth, strength, and weapons. Bide back, he said, Maister Christie--I say bide back, and consult your safety, man. I have evited striking you in your ain house under muckle provocation, because I am ignorant how the laws here may pronounce respecting burglary and hamesucken, and such matters; and, besides, I would not willingly hurt ye, man, e'en on the causeway, that is free to us baith, because I mind your kindness of lang syne, and partly consider ye as a poor deceived creature. But deil d--n me, sir, and I am not wont to swear, but if you touch my Scotch shouther with that shule of yours, I will make six inches of my Andrew Ferrara deevilish intimate with your guts, neighbour. And therewithal, though still retreating from the brandished shovel, he made one-third of the basket-hilled broadsword which he wore, visible from the sheath. The wrath of John Christie was abated, either by his natural temperance of disposition, or perhaps in part by the glimmer of cold steel, which flashed on him from his adversary's last action. I would do well to cry clubs on thee, and have thee ducked at the wharf, he said, grounding his shovel, however, at the same time, for a paltry swaggerer, that would draw thy bit of iron there on an honest citizen before his own door; but get thee gone, and reckon on a salt eel for thy supper, if thou shouldst ever come near my house again. I wish it had been at the bottom of the Thames when it first gave the use of its roof to smooth-faced, oily-tongued, double-minded Scots thieves! It's an ill bird that fouls its own nest, replied his adversary, not perhaps the less bold that he saw matters were taking the turn of a pacific debate; and a pity it is that a kindly Scot should ever have married in foreign parts, and given life to a purse-proud, pudding-headed, fat-gutted, lean-brained Southron, e'en such as you, Maister Christie. But fare ye weel--fare ye weel, for ever and a day; and, if you quarrel wi' a Scot again, man, say as mickle ill o' himsell as ye like, but say nane of his patron or of his countrymen, or it will scarce be your flat cap that will keep your lang lugs from the sharp abridgement of a Highland whinger, man. And, if you continue your insolence to me before my own door, were it but two minutes longer, retorted John Christie, I will call the constable, and make your Scottish ankles acquainted with an English pair of stocks! So saying, he turned to retire into his shop with some show of victory; for his enemy, whatever might be his innate valour, manifested no desire to drive matters to extremity--conscious, perhaps, that whatever advantage he might gain in single combat with Jonn Christie, would be more than overbalanced by incurring an affair with the constituted authorities of Old England, not at that time apt to be particularly favourable to their new fellow-subjects, in the various successive broils which were then constantly taking place between the individuals of two proud nations, who still retained a stronger sense of their national animosity during centuries, than of their late union for a few years under the government of the same prince. Mrs. Martha Trapbois had dwelt too long in Alsatia, to be either surprised or terrified at the altercation she had witnessed. Indeed, she only wondered that the debate did not end in some of those acts of violence by which they were usually terminated in the Sanctuary. As the disputants separated from each other, she, who had no idea that the cause of the quarrel was more deeply rooted than in the daily scenes of the same nature which she had heard of or witnessed, did not hesitate to stop Master Christie in his return to his shop, and present to him the letter which Lord Glenvarloch had given to her. Had she been better acquainted with life and its business, she would certainly have waited for a more temperate moment; and she had reason to repent of her precipitation, when, without saying a single word, or taking the trouble to gather more of the information contained in the letter than was expressed in the subscription, the incensed ship chandler threw it down on the ground, trampled it in high disdain, and, without addressing a single word to the bearer, except, indeed, something much more like a hearty curse than was perfectly consistent with his own grave appearance, he retired into his shop, and shut the hatch-door. It was with the most inexpressible anguish that the desolate, friendless and unhappy female, thus beheld her sole hope of succour, countenance, and protection, vanish at once, without being able to conceive a reason; for, to do her justice, the idea that her friend, whom she knew by the name of Nigel Grahame, had imposed on her, a solution which might readily have occurred to many in her situation, never once entered her mind. Although it was not her temper easily to bend her mind to entreaty, she could not help exclaiming after the ireful and retreating ship-chandler,-- Good Master, hear me but a moment! for mercy's sake, for honesty's sake! Mercy and honesty from him, mistress! said the Scot, who, though he essayed not to interrupt the retreat of his antagonist,

seed

How many times the word 'seed' appears in the text?

with me! exclaimed Lord Glenvarloch. Yes, she said, I will persuade my father to leave this murdering den. But, as she spoke, the more perfect recollection of what had passed crowded on her mind. She hid her face in her hands, and burst out into a dreadful fit of sobs, moans, and lamentations, which terminated in hysterics, violent in proportion to the uncommon strength of her body and mind. Lord Glenvarloch, shocked, confused, and inexperienced, was about to leave the house in quest of medical, or at least female assistance; but the patient, when the paroxysm had somewhat spent its force, held him fast by the sleeve with one hand, covering her face with the other, while a copious flood of tears came to relieve the emotions of grief by which she had been so violently agitated. Do not leave me, she said-- do not leave me, and call no one. I have never been in this way before, and would not now, she said, sitting upright, and wiping her eyes with her apron,-- would not now--but that--but that he loved _me_. if he loved nothing else that was human--To die so, and by such hands! And again the unhappy woman gave way to a paroxysm of sorrow, mingling her tears with sobbing, wailing, and all the abandonment of female grief, when at its utmost height. At length, she gradually recovered the austerity of her natural composure, and maintained it as if by a forcible exertion of resolution, repelling, as she spoke, the repeated returns of the hysterical affection, by such an effort as that by which epileptic patients are known to suspend the recurrence of their fits. Yet her mind, however resolved, could not so absolutely overcome the affection of her nerves, but that she was agitated by strong fits of trembling, which, for a minute or two at a time, shook her whole frame in a manner frightful to witness. Nigel forgot his own situation, and, indeed, every thing else, in the interest inspired by the unhappy woman before him--an interest which affected a proud spirit the more deeply, that she herself, with correspondent highness of mind, seemed determined to owe as little as possible either to the humanity or the pity of others. I am not wont to be in this way, she said,-- but--but--Nature will have power over the frail beings it has made. Over you, sir, I have some right; for, without you, I had not survived this awful night. I wish your aid had been either earlier or later--but you have saved my life, and you are bound to assist in making it endurable to me. If you will show me how it is possible, answered Nigel. You are going hence, you say, instantly--carry me with you, said the unhappy woman. By my own efforts, I shall never escape from this wilderness of guilt and misery. Alas! what can I do for you? replied Nigel. My own way, and I must not deviate from it, leads me, in all probability, to a dungeon. I might, indeed, transport you from hence with me, if you could afterwards bestow yourself with any friend. Friend! she exclaimed-- I have no friend--they have long since discarded us. A spectre arising from the dead were more welcome than I should be at the doors of those who have disclaimed us; and, if they were willing to restore their friendship to me now, I would despise it, because they withdrew it from him--from him --(here she underwent strong but suppressed agitation, and then added firmly)-- from _him_ who lies yonder.--I have no friend. Here she paused; and then suddenly, as if recollecting herself, added, I have no friend, but I have that will purchase many--I have that which will purchase both friends and avengers.--It is well thought of; I must not leave it for a prey to cheats and ruffians.--Stranger, you must return to yonder room. Pass through it boldly to his--that is, to the sleeping apartment; push the bedstead aside; beneath each of the posts is a brass plate, as if to support the weight, but it is that upon the left, nearest to the wall, which must serve your turn--press the corner of the plate, and it will spring up and show a keyhole, which this key will open. You will then lift a concealed trap-door, and in a cavity of the floor you will discover a small chest. Bring it hither; it shall accompany our journey, and it will be hard if the contents cannot purchase me a place of refuge. But the door communicating with the kitchen has been locked by these people, said Nigel. True, I had forgot; they had their reasons for that, doubtless, answered she. But the secret passage from your apartment is open, and you may go that way. Lord Glenvarloch took the key, and, as he lighted a lamp to show him the way, she read in his countenance some unwillingness to the task imposed. You fear? said she-- there is no cause; the murderer and his victim are both at rest. Take courage, I will go with you myself--you cannot know the trick of the spring, and the chest will be too heavy for you. No fear, no fear, answered Lord Glenvarloch, ashamed of the construction she put upon a momentary hesitation, arising from a dislike to look upon what is horrible, often connected with those high-wrought minds which are the last to fear what is merely dangerous-- I will do your errand as you desire; but for you, you must not--cannot go yonder. I can--I will, she said. I am composed. You shall see that I am so. She took from the table a piece of unfinished sewing-work, and, with steadiness and composure, passed a silken thread into the eye of a fine needle.-- Could I have done that, she said, with a smile yet more ghastly than her previous look of fixed despair, had not my heart and hand been both steady? She then led the way rapidly up stairs to Nigel's chamber, and proceeded through the secret passage with the same haste, as if she had feared her resolution might have failed her ere her purpose was executed. At the bottom of the stairs she paused a moment, before entering the fatal apartment, then hurried through with a rapid step to the sleeping chamber beyond, followed closely by Lord Glenvarloch, whose reluctance to approach the scene of butchery was altogether lost in the anxiety which he felt on account of the survivor of the tragedy. Her first action was to pull aside the curtains of her father's bed. The bed-clothes were thrown aside in confusion, doubtless in the action of his starting from sleep to oppose the entrance of the villains into the next apartment. The hard mattress scarcely showed the slight pressure where the emaciated body of the old miser had been deposited. His daughter sank beside the bed, clasped her hands, and prayed to heaven, in a short and affectionate manner, for support in her affliction, and for vengeance on the villains who had made her fatherless. A low-muttered and still more brief petition recommended to Heaven the soul of the sufferer, and invoked pardon for his sins, in virtue of the great Christian atonement. This duty of piety performed, she signed to Nigel to aid her; and, having pushed aside the heavy bedstead, they saw the brass plate which Martha had described. She pressed the spring, and, at once, the plate starting up, showed the keyhole, and a large iron ring used in lifting the trap-door, which, when raised, displayed the strong box, or small chest, she had mentioned, and which proved indeed so very weighty, that it might perhaps have been scarcely possible for Nigel, though a very strong man, to have raised it without assistance. Having replaced everything as they had found it, Nigel, with such help as his companion was able to afford, assumed his load, and made a shift to carry it into the next apartment, where lay the miserable owner, insensible to sounds and circumstances, which, if any thing could have broken his long last slumber, would certainly have done so. His unfortunate daughter went up to his body, and had even the courage to remove the sheet which had been decently disposed over it. She put her hand on the heart, but there was no throb--held a feather to the lips, but there was no motion--then kissed with deep reverence the starting veins of the pale forehead, and then the emaciated hand. I would you could hear me, she said,-- Father! I would you could hear me swear, that, if I now save what you most valued on earth, it is only to assist me in obtaining vengeance for your death. She replaced the covering, and, without a tear, a sigh, or an additional word of any kind, renewed her efforts, until they conveyed the strong-box betwixt them into Lord Glenvarloch's sleeping apartment. It must pass, she said, as part of your baggage. I will be in readiness so soon as the waterman calls. She retired; and Lord Glenvarloch, who saw the hour of their departure approach, tore down a part of the old hanging to make a covering, which he corded upon the trunk, lest the peculiarity of its shape, and the care with which it was banded and counterbanded with bars of steel, might afford suspicions respecting the treasure which it contained. Having taken this measure of precaution, he changed the rascally disguise, which he had assumed on entering Whitefriars, into a suit becoming his quality, and then, unable to sleep, though exhausted with the events of the night, he threw himself on his bed to await the summons of the waterman. CHAPTER XXVI Give us good voyage, gentle stream--we stun not Thy sober ear with sounds of revelry; Wake not the slumbering echoes of thy banks With voice of flute and horn--we do but seek On the broad pathway of thy swelling bosom To glide in silent safety. _The Double Bridal._ Grey, or rather yellow light, was beginning to twinkle through the fogs of Whitefriars, when a low tap at the door of the unhappy miser announced to Lord Glenvarloch the summons of the boatman. He found at the door the man whom he had seen the night before, with a companion. Come, come, master, let us get afloat, said one of them, in a rough impressive whisper, time and tide wait for no man. They shall not wait for me, said Lord Glenvarloch; but I have some things to carry with me. Ay, ay--no man will take a pair of oars now, Jack, unless he means to load the wherry like a six-horse waggon. When they don't want to shift the whole kitt, they take a sculler, and be d--d to them. Come, come, where be your rattle-traps? One of the men was soon sufficiently loaded, in his own estimation at least, with Lord Glenvarloch's mail and its accompaniments, with which burden he began to trudge towards the Temple Stairs. His comrade, who seemed the principal, began to handle the trunk which contained the miser's treasure, but pitched it down again in an instant, declaring, with a great oath, that it was as reasonable to expect a man to carry Paul's on his back. The daughter of Trapbois, who had by this time joined them, muffled up in a long dark hood and mantle, exclaimed to Lord Glenvarloch-- Let them leave it if they will, let them leave it all; let us but escape from this horrible place. We have mentioned elsewhere, that Nigel was a very athletic young man, and, impelled by a strong feeling of compassion and indignation, he showed his bodily strength singularly on this occasion, by seizing on the ponderous strong-box, and, by means of the rope he had cast around it, throwing it on his shoulders, and marching resolutely forward under a weight, which would have sunk to the earth three young gallants, at the least, of our degenerate day. The waterman followed him in amazement, calling out, Why, master, master, you might as well gie me t'other end on't! and anon offered his assistance to support it in some degree behind, which after the first minute or two Nigel was fain to accept. His strength was almost exhausted when he reached the wherry, which was lying at the Temple Stairs according to appointment; and, when he pitched the trunk into it, the weight sank the bow of the boat so low in the water as well-nigh to overset it. We shall have as hard a fare of it, said the waterman to his companion, as if we were ferrying over an honest bankrupt with all his secreted goods--Ho, ho! good woman, what, are you stepping in for?--our gunwale lies deep enough in the water without live lumber to boot. This person comes with me, said Lord Glenvarloch; she is for the present under my protection. Come, come, master, rejoined the fellow, that is out of my commission. You must not double my freight on me--she may go by land--and, as for protection, her face will protect her from Berwick to the Land's End. You will not except at my doubling the loading, if I double the fare? said Nigel, determined on no account to relinquish the protection of this unhappy woman, for which he had already devised some sort of plan, likely now to be baffled by the characteristic rudeness of the Thames watermen. Ay, by G----, but I will except, though, said the fellow with the green plush jacket: I will overload my wherry neither for love nor money--I love my boat as well as my wife, and a thought better. Nay, nay, comrade, said his mate, that is speaking no true water language. For double fare we are bound to row a witch in her eggshell if she bid us; and so pull away, Jack, and let us have no more prating. They got into the stream-way accordingly, and, although heavily laden, began to move down the river with reasonable speed. The lighter vessels which passed, overtook, or crossed them, in their course, failed not to assail them with their boisterous raillery, which was then called water-wit; for which the extreme plainness of Mistress Martha's features, contrasted with the youth, handsome figure, and good looks of Nigel, furnished the principal topics; while the circumstance of the boat being somewhat overloaded, did not escape their notice. They were hailed successively, as a grocer's wife upon a party of pleasure with her eldest apprentice--as an old woman carrying her grandson to school--and as a young strapping Irishman, conveying an ancient maiden to Dr. Rigmarole's, at Redriffe, who buckles beggars for a tester and a dram of Geneva. All this abuse was retorted in a similar strain of humour by Greenjacket and his companion, who maintained the war of wit with the same alacrity with which they were assailed. Meanwhile, Lord Glenvarloch asked his desolate companion if she had thought on any place where she could remain in safety with her property. She confessed, in more detail than formerly, that her father's character had left her no friends; and that, from the time he had betaken himself to Whitefriars, to escape certain legal consequences of his eager pursuit of gain, she had lived a life of total seclusion; not associating with the society which the place afforded, and, by her residence there, as well as her father's parsimony, effectually cut off from all other company. What she now wished, was, in the first place, to obtain the shelter of a decent lodging, and the countenance of honest people, however low in life, until she should obtain legal advice as to the mode of obtaining justice on her father's murderer. She had no hesitation to charge the guilt upon Colepepper, (commonly called Peppercull,) whom she knew to be as capable of any act of treacherous cruelty, as he was cowardly, where actual manhood was required. He had been strongly suspected of two robberies before, one of which was coupled with an atrocious murder. He had, she intimated, made pretensions to her hand as the easiest and safest way of obtaining possession of her father's wealth; and, on her refusing his addresses, if they could be termed so, in the most positive terms, he had thrown out such obscure hints of vengeance, as, joined with some imperfect assaults upon the house, had kept her in frequent alarm, both on her father's account and her own. Nigel, but that his feeling of respectful delicacy to the unfortunate woman forebade him to do so, could here have communicated a circumstance corroborative of her suspicions, which had already occurred to his own mind. He recollected the hint that old Hildebrod threw forth on the preceding night, that some communication betwixt himself and Colepepper had hastened the catastrophe. As this communication related to the plan which Hildebrod had been pleased to form, of promoting a marriage betwixt Nigel himself and the rich heiress of Trapbois, the fear of losing an opportunity not to be regained, together with the mean malignity of a low-bred ruffian, disappointed in a favourite scheme, was most likely to instigate the bravo to the deed of violence which had been committed. The reflection that his own name was in some degree implicated with the causes of this horrid tragedy, doubled Lord Glenvarloch's anxiety in behalf of the victim whom he had rescued, while at the same time he formed the tacit resolution, that, so soon as his own affairs were put upon some footing, he would contribute all in his power towards the investigation of this bloody affair. After ascertaining from his companion that she could form no better plan of her own, he recommended to her to take up her lodging for the time, at the house of his old landlord, Christie the ship-chandler, at Paul's Wharf, describing the decency and honesty of that worthy couple, and expressing his hopes that they would receive her into their own house, or recommend her at least to that of some person for whom they would be responsible, until she should have time to enter upon other arrangements for herself. The poor woman received advice so grateful to her in her desolate condition, with an expression of thanks, brief indeed, but deeper than any thing had yet extracted from the austerity of her natural disposition. Lord Glenvarloch then proceeded to inform Martha, that certain reasons, connected with his personal safety, called him immediately to Greenwich, and, therefore, it would not be in his power to accompany her to Christie's house, which he would otherwise have done with pleasure: but, tearing a leaf from his tablet, he wrote on it a few lines, addressed to his landlord, as a man of honesty and humanity, in which he described the bearer as a person who stood in singular necessity of temporary protection and good advice, for which her circumstances enabled her to make ample acknowledgment. He therefore requested John Christie, as his old and good friend, to afford her the shelter of his roof for a short time; or, if that might not be consistent with his convenience, at least to direct her to a proper lodging-and, finally, he imposed on him the additional, and somewhat more difficult commission, to recommend her to the counsel and services of an honest, at least a reputable and skilful attorney, for the transacting some law business of importance. The note he subscribed with his real name, and, delivering it to his _protegee_, who received it with another deeply uttered I thank you, which spoke the sterling feelings of her gratitude better than a thousand combined phrases, he commanded the watermen to pull in for Paul's Wharf, which they were now approaching. We have not time, said Green-jacket; we cannot be stopping every instant. But, upon Nigel insisting upon his commands being obeyed, and adding, that it was for the purpose of putting the lady ashore, the waterman declared that he would rather have her room than her company, and put the wherry alongside the wharf accordingly. Here two of the porters, who ply in such places, were easily induced to undertake the charge of the ponderous strong-box, and at the same time to guide the owner to the well-known mansion of John Christie, with whom all who lived in that neighbourhood were perfectly acquainted. The boat, much lightened of its load, went down the Thames at a rate increased in proportion. But we must forbear to pursue her in her voyage for a few minutes, since we have previously to mention the issue of Lord Glenvarloch's recommendation. Mistress Martha Trapbois reached the shop in perfect safety, and was about to enter it, when a sickening sense of the uncertainty of her situation, and of the singularly painful task of telling her story, came over her so strongly, that she paused a moment at the very threshold of her proposed place of refuge, to think in what manner she could best second the recommendation of the friend whom Providence had raised up to her. Had she possessed that knowledge of the world, from which her habits of life had completely excluded her, she might have known that the large sum of money which she brought along with her, might, judiciously managed, have been a passport to her into the mansions of nobles, and the palaces of princes. But, however conscious of its general power, which assumes so many forms and complexions, she was so inexperienced as to be most unnecessarily afraid that the means by which the wealth had been acquired, might exclude its inheretrix from shelter even in the house of a humble tradesman. While she thus delayed, a more reasonable cause for hesitation arose, in a considerable noise and altercation within the house, which grew louder and louder as the disputants issued forth upon the street or lane before the door. The first who entered upon the scene was a tall raw-boned hard-favoured man, who stalked out of the shop hastily, with a gait like that of a Spaniard in a passion, who, disdaining to add speed to his locomotion by running, only condescends, in the utmost extremity of his angry haste, to add length to his stride. He faced about, so soon as he was out of the house, upon his pursuer, a decent-looking, elderly, plain tradesman--no other than John Christie himself, the owner of the shop and tenement, by whom he seemed to be followed, and who was in a state of agitation more than is usually expressed by such a person. I'll hear no more on't, said the personage who first appeared on the scene.-- Sir, I will hear no more on it. Besides being a most false and impudent figment, as I can testify--it is _Scandaalum Magnaatum_, sir--_Scandaalum Magnaatum_ he reiterated with a broad accentuation of the first vowel, well known in the colleges of Edinburgh and Glasgow, which we can only express in print by doubling the said first of letters and of vowels, and which would have cheered the cockles of the reigning monarch had he been within hearing,--as he was a severer stickler for what he deemed the genuine pronunciation of the Roman tongue, than for any of the royal prerogatives, for which he was at times disposed to insist so strenuously in his speeches to Parliament. I care not an ounce of rotten cheese, said John Christie in reply, what you call it--but it is TRUE; and I am a free Englishman, and have right to speak the truth in my own concerns; and your master is little better than a villain, and you no more than a swaggering coxcomb, whose head I will presently break, as I have known it well broken before on lighter occasion. And, so saying, he flourished the paring-shovel which usually made clean the steps of his little shop, and which he had caught up as the readiest weapon of working his foeman damage, and advanced therewith upon him. The cautious Scot (for such our readers must have already pronounced him, from his language and pedantry) drew back as the enraged ship-chandler approached, but in a surly manner, and bearing his hand on his sword-hilt rather in the act of one who was losing habitual forbearance and caution of deportment, than as alarmed by the attack of an antagonist inferior to himself in youth, strength, and weapons. Bide back, he said, Maister Christie--I say bide back, and consult your safety, man. I have evited striking you in your ain house under muckle provocation, because I am ignorant how the laws here may pronounce respecting burglary and hamesucken, and such matters; and, besides, I would not willingly hurt ye, man, e'en on the causeway, that is free to us baith, because I mind your kindness of lang syne, and partly consider ye as a poor deceived creature. But deil d--n me, sir, and I am not wont to swear, but if you touch my Scotch shouther with that shule of yours, I will make six inches of my Andrew Ferrara deevilish intimate with your guts, neighbour. And therewithal, though still retreating from the brandished shovel, he made one-third of the basket-hilled broadsword which he wore, visible from the sheath. The wrath of John Christie was abated, either by his natural temperance of disposition, or perhaps in part by the glimmer of cold steel, which flashed on him from his adversary's last action. I would do well to cry clubs on thee, and have thee ducked at the wharf, he said, grounding his shovel, however, at the same time, for a paltry swaggerer, that would draw thy bit of iron there on an honest citizen before his own door; but get thee gone, and reckon on a salt eel for thy supper, if thou shouldst ever come near my house again. I wish it had been at the bottom of the Thames when it first gave the use of its roof to smooth-faced, oily-tongued, double-minded Scots thieves! It's an ill bird that fouls its own nest, replied his adversary, not perhaps the less bold that he saw matters were taking the turn of a pacific debate; and a pity it is that a kindly Scot should ever have married in foreign parts, and given life to a purse-proud, pudding-headed, fat-gutted, lean-brained Southron, e'en such as you, Maister Christie. But fare ye weel--fare ye weel, for ever and a day; and, if you quarrel wi' a Scot again, man, say as mickle ill o' himsell as ye like, but say nane of his patron or of his countrymen, or it will scarce be your flat cap that will keep your lang lugs from the sharp abridgement of a Highland whinger, man. And, if you continue your insolence to me before my own door, were it but two minutes longer, retorted John Christie, I will call the constable, and make your Scottish ankles acquainted with an English pair of stocks! So saying, he turned to retire into his shop with some show of victory; for his enemy, whatever might be his innate valour, manifested no desire to drive matters to extremity--conscious, perhaps, that whatever advantage he might gain in single combat with Jonn Christie, would be more than overbalanced by incurring an affair with the constituted authorities of Old England, not at that time apt to be particularly favourable to their new fellow-subjects, in the various successive broils which were then constantly taking place between the individuals of two proud nations, who still retained a stronger sense of their national animosity during centuries, than of their late union for a few years under the government of the same prince. Mrs. Martha Trapbois had dwelt too long in Alsatia, to be either surprised or terrified at the altercation she had witnessed. Indeed, she only wondered that the debate did not end in some of those acts of violence by which they were usually terminated in the Sanctuary. As the disputants separated from each other, she, who had no idea that the cause of the quarrel was more deeply rooted than in the daily scenes of the same nature which she had heard of or witnessed, did not hesitate to stop Master Christie in his return to his shop, and present to him the letter which Lord Glenvarloch had given to her. Had she been better acquainted with life and its business, she would certainly have waited for a more temperate moment; and she had reason to repent of her precipitation, when, without saying a single word, or taking the trouble to gather more of the information contained in the letter than was expressed in the subscription, the incensed ship chandler threw it down on the ground, trampled it in high disdain, and, without addressing a single word to the bearer, except, indeed, something much more like a hearty curse than was perfectly consistent with his own grave appearance, he retired into his shop, and shut the hatch-door. It was with the most inexpressible anguish that the desolate, friendless and unhappy female, thus beheld her sole hope of succour, countenance, and protection, vanish at once, without being able to conceive a reason; for, to do her justice, the idea that her friend, whom she knew by the name of Nigel Grahame, had imposed on her, a solution which might readily have occurred to many in her situation, never once entered her mind. Although it was not her temper easily to bend her mind to entreaty, she could not help exclaiming after the ireful and retreating ship-chandler,-- Good Master, hear me but a moment! for mercy's sake, for honesty's sake! Mercy and honesty from him, mistress! said the Scot, who, though he essayed not to interrupt the retreat of his antagonist,

head

How many times the word 'head' appears in the text?

with me! exclaimed Lord Glenvarloch. Yes, she said, I will persuade my father to leave this murdering den. But, as she spoke, the more perfect recollection of what had passed crowded on her mind. She hid her face in her hands, and burst out into a dreadful fit of sobs, moans, and lamentations, which terminated in hysterics, violent in proportion to the uncommon strength of her body and mind. Lord Glenvarloch, shocked, confused, and inexperienced, was about to leave the house in quest of medical, or at least female assistance; but the patient, when the paroxysm had somewhat spent its force, held him fast by the sleeve with one hand, covering her face with the other, while a copious flood of tears came to relieve the emotions of grief by which she had been so violently agitated. Do not leave me, she said-- do not leave me, and call no one. I have never been in this way before, and would not now, she said, sitting upright, and wiping her eyes with her apron,-- would not now--but that--but that he loved _me_. if he loved nothing else that was human--To die so, and by such hands! And again the unhappy woman gave way to a paroxysm of sorrow, mingling her tears with sobbing, wailing, and all the abandonment of female grief, when at its utmost height. At length, she gradually recovered the austerity of her natural composure, and maintained it as if by a forcible exertion of resolution, repelling, as she spoke, the repeated returns of the hysterical affection, by such an effort as that by which epileptic patients are known to suspend the recurrence of their fits. Yet her mind, however resolved, could not so absolutely overcome the affection of her nerves, but that she was agitated by strong fits of trembling, which, for a minute or two at a time, shook her whole frame in a manner frightful to witness. Nigel forgot his own situation, and, indeed, every thing else, in the interest inspired by the unhappy woman before him--an interest which affected a proud spirit the more deeply, that she herself, with correspondent highness of mind, seemed determined to owe as little as possible either to the humanity or the pity of others. I am not wont to be in this way, she said,-- but--but--Nature will have power over the frail beings it has made. Over you, sir, I have some right; for, without you, I had not survived this awful night. I wish your aid had been either earlier or later--but you have saved my life, and you are bound to assist in making it endurable to me. If you will show me how it is possible, answered Nigel. You are going hence, you say, instantly--carry me with you, said the unhappy woman. By my own efforts, I shall never escape from this wilderness of guilt and misery. Alas! what can I do for you? replied Nigel. My own way, and I must not deviate from it, leads me, in all probability, to a dungeon. I might, indeed, transport you from hence with me, if you could afterwards bestow yourself with any friend. Friend! she exclaimed-- I have no friend--they have long since discarded us. A spectre arising from the dead were more welcome than I should be at the doors of those who have disclaimed us; and, if they were willing to restore their friendship to me now, I would despise it, because they withdrew it from him--from him --(here she underwent strong but suppressed agitation, and then added firmly)-- from _him_ who lies yonder.--I have no friend. Here she paused; and then suddenly, as if recollecting herself, added, I have no friend, but I have that will purchase many--I have that which will purchase both friends and avengers.--It is well thought of; I must not leave it for a prey to cheats and ruffians.--Stranger, you must return to yonder room. Pass through it boldly to his--that is, to the sleeping apartment; push the bedstead aside; beneath each of the posts is a brass plate, as if to support the weight, but it is that upon the left, nearest to the wall, which must serve your turn--press the corner of the plate, and it will spring up and show a keyhole, which this key will open. You will then lift a concealed trap-door, and in a cavity of the floor you will discover a small chest. Bring it hither; it shall accompany our journey, and it will be hard if the contents cannot purchase me a place of refuge. But the door communicating with the kitchen has been locked by these people, said Nigel. True, I had forgot; they had their reasons for that, doubtless, answered she. But the secret passage from your apartment is open, and you may go that way. Lord Glenvarloch took the key, and, as he lighted a lamp to show him the way, she read in his countenance some unwillingness to the task imposed. You fear? said she-- there is no cause; the murderer and his victim are both at rest. Take courage, I will go with you myself--you cannot know the trick of the spring, and the chest will be too heavy for you. No fear, no fear, answered Lord Glenvarloch, ashamed of the construction she put upon a momentary hesitation, arising from a dislike to look upon what is horrible, often connected with those high-wrought minds which are the last to fear what is merely dangerous-- I will do your errand as you desire; but for you, you must not--cannot go yonder. I can--I will, she said. I am composed. You shall see that I am so. She took from the table a piece of unfinished sewing-work, and, with steadiness and composure, passed a silken thread into the eye of a fine needle.-- Could I have done that, she said, with a smile yet more ghastly than her previous look of fixed despair, had not my heart and hand been both steady? She then led the way rapidly up stairs to Nigel's chamber, and proceeded through the secret passage with the same haste, as if she had feared her resolution might have failed her ere her purpose was executed. At the bottom of the stairs she paused a moment, before entering the fatal apartment, then hurried through with a rapid step to the sleeping chamber beyond, followed closely by Lord Glenvarloch, whose reluctance to approach the scene of butchery was altogether lost in the anxiety which he felt on account of the survivor of the tragedy. Her first action was to pull aside the curtains of her father's bed. The bed-clothes were thrown aside in confusion, doubtless in the action of his starting from sleep to oppose the entrance of the villains into the next apartment. The hard mattress scarcely showed the slight pressure where the emaciated body of the old miser had been deposited. His daughter sank beside the bed, clasped her hands, and prayed to heaven, in a short and affectionate manner, for support in her affliction, and for vengeance on the villains who had made her fatherless. A low-muttered and still more brief petition recommended to Heaven the soul of the sufferer, and invoked pardon for his sins, in virtue of the great Christian atonement. This duty of piety performed, she signed to Nigel to aid her; and, having pushed aside the heavy bedstead, they saw the brass plate which Martha had described. She pressed the spring, and, at once, the plate starting up, showed the keyhole, and a large iron ring used in lifting the trap-door, which, when raised, displayed the strong box, or small chest, she had mentioned, and which proved indeed so very weighty, that it might perhaps have been scarcely possible for Nigel, though a very strong man, to have raised it without assistance. Having replaced everything as they had found it, Nigel, with such help as his companion was able to afford, assumed his load, and made a shift to carry it into the next apartment, where lay the miserable owner, insensible to sounds and circumstances, which, if any thing could have broken his long last slumber, would certainly have done so. His unfortunate daughter went up to his body, and had even the courage to remove the sheet which had been decently disposed over it. She put her hand on the heart, but there was no throb--held a feather to the lips, but there was no motion--then kissed with deep reverence the starting veins of the pale forehead, and then the emaciated hand. I would you could hear me, she said,-- Father! I would you could hear me swear, that, if I now save what you most valued on earth, it is only to assist me in obtaining vengeance for your death. She replaced the covering, and, without a tear, a sigh, or an additional word of any kind, renewed her efforts, until they conveyed the strong-box betwixt them into Lord Glenvarloch's sleeping apartment. It must pass, she said, as part of your baggage. I will be in readiness so soon as the waterman calls. She retired; and Lord Glenvarloch, who saw the hour of their departure approach, tore down a part of the old hanging to make a covering, which he corded upon the trunk, lest the peculiarity of its shape, and the care with which it was banded and counterbanded with bars of steel, might afford suspicions respecting the treasure which it contained. Having taken this measure of precaution, he changed the rascally disguise, which he had assumed on entering Whitefriars, into a suit becoming his quality, and then, unable to sleep, though exhausted with the events of the night, he threw himself on his bed to await the summons of the waterman. CHAPTER XXVI Give us good voyage, gentle stream--we stun not Thy sober ear with sounds of revelry; Wake not the slumbering echoes of thy banks With voice of flute and horn--we do but seek On the broad pathway of thy swelling bosom To glide in silent safety. _The Double Bridal._ Grey, or rather yellow light, was beginning to twinkle through the fogs of Whitefriars, when a low tap at the door of the unhappy miser announced to Lord Glenvarloch the summons of the boatman. He found at the door the man whom he had seen the night before, with a companion. Come, come, master, let us get afloat, said one of them, in a rough impressive whisper, time and tide wait for no man. They shall not wait for me, said Lord Glenvarloch; but I have some things to carry with me. Ay, ay--no man will take a pair of oars now, Jack, unless he means to load the wherry like a six-horse waggon. When they don't want to shift the whole kitt, they take a sculler, and be d--d to them. Come, come, where be your rattle-traps? One of the men was soon sufficiently loaded, in his own estimation at least, with Lord Glenvarloch's mail and its accompaniments, with which burden he began to trudge towards the Temple Stairs. His comrade, who seemed the principal, began to handle the trunk which contained the miser's treasure, but pitched it down again in an instant, declaring, with a great oath, that it was as reasonable to expect a man to carry Paul's on his back. The daughter of Trapbois, who had by this time joined them, muffled up in a long dark hood and mantle, exclaimed to Lord Glenvarloch-- Let them leave it if they will, let them leave it all; let us but escape from this horrible place. We have mentioned elsewhere, that Nigel was a very athletic young man, and, impelled by a strong feeling of compassion and indignation, he showed his bodily strength singularly on this occasion, by seizing on the ponderous strong-box, and, by means of the rope he had cast around it, throwing it on his shoulders, and marching resolutely forward under a weight, which would have sunk to the earth three young gallants, at the least, of our degenerate day. The waterman followed him in amazement, calling out, Why, master, master, you might as well gie me t'other end on't! and anon offered his assistance to support it in some degree behind, which after the first minute or two Nigel was fain to accept. His strength was almost exhausted when he reached the wherry, which was lying at the Temple Stairs according to appointment; and, when he pitched the trunk into it, the weight sank the bow of the boat so low in the water as well-nigh to overset it. We shall have as hard a fare of it, said the waterman to his companion, as if we were ferrying over an honest bankrupt with all his secreted goods--Ho, ho! good woman, what, are you stepping in for?--our gunwale lies deep enough in the water without live lumber to boot. This person comes with me, said Lord Glenvarloch; she is for the present under my protection. Come, come, master, rejoined the fellow, that is out of my commission. You must not double my freight on me--she may go by land--and, as for protection, her face will protect her from Berwick to the Land's End. You will not except at my doubling the loading, if I double the fare? said Nigel, determined on no account to relinquish the protection of this unhappy woman, for which he had already devised some sort of plan, likely now to be baffled by the characteristic rudeness of the Thames watermen. Ay, by G----, but I will except, though, said the fellow with the green plush jacket: I will overload my wherry neither for love nor money--I love my boat as well as my wife, and a thought better. Nay, nay, comrade, said his mate, that is speaking no true water language. For double fare we are bound to row a witch in her eggshell if she bid us; and so pull away, Jack, and let us have no more prating. They got into the stream-way accordingly, and, although heavily laden, began to move down the river with reasonable speed. The lighter vessels which passed, overtook, or crossed them, in their course, failed not to assail them with their boisterous raillery, which was then called water-wit; for which the extreme plainness of Mistress Martha's features, contrasted with the youth, handsome figure, and good looks of Nigel, furnished the principal topics; while the circumstance of the boat being somewhat overloaded, did not escape their notice. They were hailed successively, as a grocer's wife upon a party of pleasure with her eldest apprentice--as an old woman carrying her grandson to school--and as a young strapping Irishman, conveying an ancient maiden to Dr. Rigmarole's, at Redriffe, who buckles beggars for a tester and a dram of Geneva. All this abuse was retorted in a similar strain of humour by Greenjacket and his companion, who maintained the war of wit with the same alacrity with which they were assailed. Meanwhile, Lord Glenvarloch asked his desolate companion if she had thought on any place where she could remain in safety with her property. She confessed, in more detail than formerly, that her father's character had left her no friends; and that, from the time he had betaken himself to Whitefriars, to escape certain legal consequences of his eager pursuit of gain, she had lived a life of total seclusion; not associating with the society which the place afforded, and, by her residence there, as well as her father's parsimony, effectually cut off from all other company. What she now wished, was, in the first place, to obtain the shelter of a decent lodging, and the countenance of honest people, however low in life, until she should obtain legal advice as to the mode of obtaining justice on her father's murderer. She had no hesitation to charge the guilt upon Colepepper, (commonly called Peppercull,) whom she knew to be as capable of any act of treacherous cruelty, as he was cowardly, where actual manhood was required. He had been strongly suspected of two robberies before, one of which was coupled with an atrocious murder. He had, she intimated, made pretensions to her hand as the easiest and safest way of obtaining possession of her father's wealth; and, on her refusing his addresses, if they could be termed so, in the most positive terms, he had thrown out such obscure hints of vengeance, as, joined with some imperfect assaults upon the house, had kept her in frequent alarm, both on her father's account and her own. Nigel, but that his feeling of respectful delicacy to the unfortunate woman forebade him to do so, could here have communicated a circumstance corroborative of her suspicions, which had already occurred to his own mind. He recollected the hint that old Hildebrod threw forth on the preceding night, that some communication betwixt himself and Colepepper had hastened the catastrophe. As this communication related to the plan which Hildebrod had been pleased to form, of promoting a marriage betwixt Nigel himself and the rich heiress of Trapbois, the fear of losing an opportunity not to be regained, together with the mean malignity of a low-bred ruffian, disappointed in a favourite scheme, was most likely to instigate the bravo to the deed of violence which had been committed. The reflection that his own name was in some degree implicated with the causes of this horrid tragedy, doubled Lord Glenvarloch's anxiety in behalf of the victim whom he had rescued, while at the same time he formed the tacit resolution, that, so soon as his own affairs were put upon some footing, he would contribute all in his power towards the investigation of this bloody affair. After ascertaining from his companion that she could form no better plan of her own, he recommended to her to take up her lodging for the time, at the house of his old landlord, Christie the ship-chandler, at Paul's Wharf, describing the decency and honesty of that worthy couple, and expressing his hopes that they would receive her into their own house, or recommend her at least to that of some person for whom they would be responsible, until she should have time to enter upon other arrangements for herself. The poor woman received advice so grateful to her in her desolate condition, with an expression of thanks, brief indeed, but deeper than any thing had yet extracted from the austerity of her natural disposition. Lord Glenvarloch then proceeded to inform Martha, that certain reasons, connected with his personal safety, called him immediately to Greenwich, and, therefore, it would not be in his power to accompany her to Christie's house, which he would otherwise have done with pleasure: but, tearing a leaf from his tablet, he wrote on it a few lines, addressed to his landlord, as a man of honesty and humanity, in which he described the bearer as a person who stood in singular necessity of temporary protection and good advice, for which her circumstances enabled her to make ample acknowledgment. He therefore requested John Christie, as his old and good friend, to afford her the shelter of his roof for a short time; or, if that might not be consistent with his convenience, at least to direct her to a proper lodging-and, finally, he imposed on him the additional, and somewhat more difficult commission, to recommend her to the counsel and services of an honest, at least a reputable and skilful attorney, for the transacting some law business of importance. The note he subscribed with his real name, and, delivering it to his _protegee_, who received it with another deeply uttered I thank you, which spoke the sterling feelings of her gratitude better than a thousand combined phrases, he commanded the watermen to pull in for Paul's Wharf, which they were now approaching. We have not time, said Green-jacket; we cannot be stopping every instant. But, upon Nigel insisting upon his commands being obeyed, and adding, that it was for the purpose of putting the lady ashore, the waterman declared that he would rather have her room than her company, and put the wherry alongside the wharf accordingly. Here two of the porters, who ply in such places, were easily induced to undertake the charge of the ponderous strong-box, and at the same time to guide the owner to the well-known mansion of John Christie, with whom all who lived in that neighbourhood were perfectly acquainted. The boat, much lightened of its load, went down the Thames at a rate increased in proportion. But we must forbear to pursue her in her voyage for a few minutes, since we have previously to mention the issue of Lord Glenvarloch's recommendation. Mistress Martha Trapbois reached the shop in perfect safety, and was about to enter it, when a sickening sense of the uncertainty of her situation, and of the singularly painful task of telling her story, came over her so strongly, that she paused a moment at the very threshold of her proposed place of refuge, to think in what manner she could best second the recommendation of the friend whom Providence had raised up to her. Had she possessed that knowledge of the world, from which her habits of life had completely excluded her, she might have known that the large sum of money which she brought along with her, might, judiciously managed, have been a passport to her into the mansions of nobles, and the palaces of princes. But, however conscious of its general power, which assumes so many forms and complexions, she was so inexperienced as to be most unnecessarily afraid that the means by which the wealth had been acquired, might exclude its inheretrix from shelter even in the house of a humble tradesman. While she thus delayed, a more reasonable cause for hesitation arose, in a considerable noise and altercation within the house, which grew louder and louder as the disputants issued forth upon the street or lane before the door. The first who entered upon the scene was a tall raw-boned hard-favoured man, who stalked out of the shop hastily, with a gait like that of a Spaniard in a passion, who, disdaining to add speed to his locomotion by running, only condescends, in the utmost extremity of his angry haste, to add length to his stride. He faced about, so soon as he was out of the house, upon his pursuer, a decent-looking, elderly, plain tradesman--no other than John Christie himself, the owner of the shop and tenement, by whom he seemed to be followed, and who was in a state of agitation more than is usually expressed by such a person. I'll hear no more on't, said the personage who first appeared on the scene.-- Sir, I will hear no more on it. Besides being a most false and impudent figment, as I can testify--it is _Scandaalum Magnaatum_, sir--_Scandaalum Magnaatum_ he reiterated with a broad accentuation of the first vowel, well known in the colleges of Edinburgh and Glasgow, which we can only express in print by doubling the said first of letters and of vowels, and which would have cheered the cockles of the reigning monarch had he been within hearing,--as he was a severer stickler for what he deemed the genuine pronunciation of the Roman tongue, than for any of the royal prerogatives, for which he was at times disposed to insist so strenuously in his speeches to Parliament. I care not an ounce of rotten cheese, said John Christie in reply, what you call it--but it is TRUE; and I am a free Englishman, and have right to speak the truth in my own concerns; and your master is little better than a villain, and you no more than a swaggering coxcomb, whose head I will presently break, as I have known it well broken before on lighter occasion. And, so saying, he flourished the paring-shovel which usually made clean the steps of his little shop, and which he had caught up as the readiest weapon of working his foeman damage, and advanced therewith upon him. The cautious Scot (for such our readers must have already pronounced him, from his language and pedantry) drew back as the enraged ship-chandler approached, but in a surly manner, and bearing his hand on his sword-hilt rather in the act of one who was losing habitual forbearance and caution of deportment, than as alarmed by the attack of an antagonist inferior to himself in youth, strength, and weapons. Bide back, he said, Maister Christie--I say bide back, and consult your safety, man. I have evited striking you in your ain house under muckle provocation, because I am ignorant how the laws here may pronounce respecting burglary and hamesucken, and such matters; and, besides, I would not willingly hurt ye, man, e'en on the causeway, that is free to us baith, because I mind your kindness of lang syne, and partly consider ye as a poor deceived creature. But deil d--n me, sir, and I am not wont to swear, but if you touch my Scotch shouther with that shule of yours, I will make six inches of my Andrew Ferrara deevilish intimate with your guts, neighbour. And therewithal, though still retreating from the brandished shovel, he made one-third of the basket-hilled broadsword which he wore, visible from the sheath. The wrath of John Christie was abated, either by his natural temperance of disposition, or perhaps in part by the glimmer of cold steel, which flashed on him from his adversary's last action. I would do well to cry clubs on thee, and have thee ducked at the wharf, he said, grounding his shovel, however, at the same time, for a paltry swaggerer, that would draw thy bit of iron there on an honest citizen before his own door; but get thee gone, and reckon on a salt eel for thy supper, if thou shouldst ever come near my house again. I wish it had been at the bottom of the Thames when it first gave the use of its roof to smooth-faced, oily-tongued, double-minded Scots thieves! It's an ill bird that fouls its own nest, replied his adversary, not perhaps the less bold that he saw matters were taking the turn of a pacific debate; and a pity it is that a kindly Scot should ever have married in foreign parts, and given life to a purse-proud, pudding-headed, fat-gutted, lean-brained Southron, e'en such as you, Maister Christie. But fare ye weel--fare ye weel, for ever and a day; and, if you quarrel wi' a Scot again, man, say as mickle ill o' himsell as ye like, but say nane of his patron or of his countrymen, or it will scarce be your flat cap that will keep your lang lugs from the sharp abridgement of a Highland whinger, man. And, if you continue your insolence to me before my own door, were it but two minutes longer, retorted John Christie, I will call the constable, and make your Scottish ankles acquainted with an English pair of stocks! So saying, he turned to retire into his shop with some show of victory; for his enemy, whatever might be his innate valour, manifested no desire to drive matters to extremity--conscious, perhaps, that whatever advantage he might gain in single combat with Jonn Christie, would be more than overbalanced by incurring an affair with the constituted authorities of Old England, not at that time apt to be particularly favourable to their new fellow-subjects, in the various successive broils which were then constantly taking place between the individuals of two proud nations, who still retained a stronger sense of their national animosity during centuries, than of their late union for a few years under the government of the same prince. Mrs. Martha Trapbois had dwelt too long in Alsatia, to be either surprised or terrified at the altercation she had witnessed. Indeed, she only wondered that the debate did not end in some of those acts of violence by which they were usually terminated in the Sanctuary. As the disputants separated from each other, she, who had no idea that the cause of the quarrel was more deeply rooted than in the daily scenes of the same nature which she had heard of or witnessed, did not hesitate to stop Master Christie in his return to his shop, and present to him the letter which Lord Glenvarloch had given to her. Had she been better acquainted with life and its business, she would certainly have waited for a more temperate moment; and she had reason to repent of her precipitation, when, without saying a single word, or taking the trouble to gather more of the information contained in the letter than was expressed in the subscription, the incensed ship chandler threw it down on the ground, trampled it in high disdain, and, without addressing a single word to the bearer, except, indeed, something much more like a hearty curse than was perfectly consistent with his own grave appearance, he retired into his shop, and shut the hatch-door. It was with the most inexpressible anguish that the desolate, friendless and unhappy female, thus beheld her sole hope of succour, countenance, and protection, vanish at once, without being able to conceive a reason; for, to do her justice, the idea that her friend, whom she knew by the name of Nigel Grahame, had imposed on her, a solution which might readily have occurred to many in her situation, never once entered her mind. Although it was not her temper easily to bend her mind to entreaty, she could not help exclaiming after the ireful and retreating ship-chandler,-- Good Master, hear me but a moment! for mercy's sake, for honesty's sake! Mercy and honesty from him, mistress! said the Scot, who, though he essayed not to interrupt the retreat of his antagonist,

delivering

How many times the word 'delivering' appears in the text?

with me! exclaimed Lord Glenvarloch. Yes, she said, I will persuade my father to leave this murdering den. But, as she spoke, the more perfect recollection of what had passed crowded on her mind. She hid her face in her hands, and burst out into a dreadful fit of sobs, moans, and lamentations, which terminated in hysterics, violent in proportion to the uncommon strength of her body and mind. Lord Glenvarloch, shocked, confused, and inexperienced, was about to leave the house in quest of medical, or at least female assistance; but the patient, when the paroxysm had somewhat spent its force, held him fast by the sleeve with one hand, covering her face with the other, while a copious flood of tears came to relieve the emotions of grief by which she had been so violently agitated. Do not leave me, she said-- do not leave me, and call no one. I have never been in this way before, and would not now, she said, sitting upright, and wiping her eyes with her apron,-- would not now--but that--but that he loved _me_. if he loved nothing else that was human--To die so, and by such hands! And again the unhappy woman gave way to a paroxysm of sorrow, mingling her tears with sobbing, wailing, and all the abandonment of female grief, when at its utmost height. At length, she gradually recovered the austerity of her natural composure, and maintained it as if by a forcible exertion of resolution, repelling, as she spoke, the repeated returns of the hysterical affection, by such an effort as that by which epileptic patients are known to suspend the recurrence of their fits. Yet her mind, however resolved, could not so absolutely overcome the affection of her nerves, but that she was agitated by strong fits of trembling, which, for a minute or two at a time, shook her whole frame in a manner frightful to witness. Nigel forgot his own situation, and, indeed, every thing else, in the interest inspired by the unhappy woman before him--an interest which affected a proud spirit the more deeply, that she herself, with correspondent highness of mind, seemed determined to owe as little as possible either to the humanity or the pity of others. I am not wont to be in this way, she said,-- but--but--Nature will have power over the frail beings it has made. Over you, sir, I have some right; for, without you, I had not survived this awful night. I wish your aid had been either earlier or later--but you have saved my life, and you are bound to assist in making it endurable to me. If you will show me how it is possible, answered Nigel. You are going hence, you say, instantly--carry me with you, said the unhappy woman. By my own efforts, I shall never escape from this wilderness of guilt and misery. Alas! what can I do for you? replied Nigel. My own way, and I must not deviate from it, leads me, in all probability, to a dungeon. I might, indeed, transport you from hence with me, if you could afterwards bestow yourself with any friend. Friend! she exclaimed-- I have no friend--they have long since discarded us. A spectre arising from the dead were more welcome than I should be at the doors of those who have disclaimed us; and, if they were willing to restore their friendship to me now, I would despise it, because they withdrew it from him--from him --(here she underwent strong but suppressed agitation, and then added firmly)-- from _him_ who lies yonder.--I have no friend. Here she paused; and then suddenly, as if recollecting herself, added, I have no friend, but I have that will purchase many--I have that which will purchase both friends and avengers.--It is well thought of; I must not leave it for a prey to cheats and ruffians.--Stranger, you must return to yonder room. Pass through it boldly to his--that is, to the sleeping apartment; push the bedstead aside; beneath each of the posts is a brass plate, as if to support the weight, but it is that upon the left, nearest to the wall, which must serve your turn--press the corner of the plate, and it will spring up and show a keyhole, which this key will open. You will then lift a concealed trap-door, and in a cavity of the floor you will discover a small chest. Bring it hither; it shall accompany our journey, and it will be hard if the contents cannot purchase me a place of refuge. But the door communicating with the kitchen has been locked by these people, said Nigel. True, I had forgot; they had their reasons for that, doubtless, answered she. But the secret passage from your apartment is open, and you may go that way. Lord Glenvarloch took the key, and, as he lighted a lamp to show him the way, she read in his countenance some unwillingness to the task imposed. You fear? said she-- there is no cause; the murderer and his victim are both at rest. Take courage, I will go with you myself--you cannot know the trick of the spring, and the chest will be too heavy for you. No fear, no fear, answered Lord Glenvarloch, ashamed of the construction she put upon a momentary hesitation, arising from a dislike to look upon what is horrible, often connected with those high-wrought minds which are the last to fear what is merely dangerous-- I will do your errand as you desire; but for you, you must not--cannot go yonder. I can--I will, she said. I am composed. You shall see that I am so. She took from the table a piece of unfinished sewing-work, and, with steadiness and composure, passed a silken thread into the eye of a fine needle.-- Could I have done that, she said, with a smile yet more ghastly than her previous look of fixed despair, had not my heart and hand been both steady? She then led the way rapidly up stairs to Nigel's chamber, and proceeded through the secret passage with the same haste, as if she had feared her resolution might have failed her ere her purpose was executed. At the bottom of the stairs she paused a moment, before entering the fatal apartment, then hurried through with a rapid step to the sleeping chamber beyond, followed closely by Lord Glenvarloch, whose reluctance to approach the scene of butchery was altogether lost in the anxiety which he felt on account of the survivor of the tragedy. Her first action was to pull aside the curtains of her father's bed. The bed-clothes were thrown aside in confusion, doubtless in the action of his starting from sleep to oppose the entrance of the villains into the next apartment. The hard mattress scarcely showed the slight pressure where the emaciated body of the old miser had been deposited. His daughter sank beside the bed, clasped her hands, and prayed to heaven, in a short and affectionate manner, for support in her affliction, and for vengeance on the villains who had made her fatherless. A low-muttered and still more brief petition recommended to Heaven the soul of the sufferer, and invoked pardon for his sins, in virtue of the great Christian atonement. This duty of piety performed, she signed to Nigel to aid her; and, having pushed aside the heavy bedstead, they saw the brass plate which Martha had described. She pressed the spring, and, at once, the plate starting up, showed the keyhole, and a large iron ring used in lifting the trap-door, which, when raised, displayed the strong box, or small chest, she had mentioned, and which proved indeed so very weighty, that it might perhaps have been scarcely possible for Nigel, though a very strong man, to have raised it without assistance. Having replaced everything as they had found it, Nigel, with such help as his companion was able to afford, assumed his load, and made a shift to carry it into the next apartment, where lay the miserable owner, insensible to sounds and circumstances, which, if any thing could have broken his long last slumber, would certainly have done so. His unfortunate daughter went up to his body, and had even the courage to remove the sheet which had been decently disposed over it. She put her hand on the heart, but there was no throb--held a feather to the lips, but there was no motion--then kissed with deep reverence the starting veins of the pale forehead, and then the emaciated hand. I would you could hear me, she said,-- Father! I would you could hear me swear, that, if I now save what you most valued on earth, it is only to assist me in obtaining vengeance for your death. She replaced the covering, and, without a tear, a sigh, or an additional word of any kind, renewed her efforts, until they conveyed the strong-box betwixt them into Lord Glenvarloch's sleeping apartment. It must pass, she said, as part of your baggage. I will be in readiness so soon as the waterman calls. She retired; and Lord Glenvarloch, who saw the hour of their departure approach, tore down a part of the old hanging to make a covering, which he corded upon the trunk, lest the peculiarity of its shape, and the care with which it was banded and counterbanded with bars of steel, might afford suspicions respecting the treasure which it contained. Having taken this measure of precaution, he changed the rascally disguise, which he had assumed on entering Whitefriars, into a suit becoming his quality, and then, unable to sleep, though exhausted with the events of the night, he threw himself on his bed to await the summons of the waterman. CHAPTER XXVI Give us good voyage, gentle stream--we stun not Thy sober ear with sounds of revelry; Wake not the slumbering echoes of thy banks With voice of flute and horn--we do but seek On the broad pathway of thy swelling bosom To glide in silent safety. _The Double Bridal._ Grey, or rather yellow light, was beginning to twinkle through the fogs of Whitefriars, when a low tap at the door of the unhappy miser announced to Lord Glenvarloch the summons of the boatman. He found at the door the man whom he had seen the night before, with a companion. Come, come, master, let us get afloat, said one of them, in a rough impressive whisper, time and tide wait for no man. They shall not wait for me, said Lord Glenvarloch; but I have some things to carry with me. Ay, ay--no man will take a pair of oars now, Jack, unless he means to load the wherry like a six-horse waggon. When they don't want to shift the whole kitt, they take a sculler, and be d--d to them. Come, come, where be your rattle-traps? One of the men was soon sufficiently loaded, in his own estimation at least, with Lord Glenvarloch's mail and its accompaniments, with which burden he began to trudge towards the Temple Stairs. His comrade, who seemed the principal, began to handle the trunk which contained the miser's treasure, but pitched it down again in an instant, declaring, with a great oath, that it was as reasonable to expect a man to carry Paul's on his back. The daughter of Trapbois, who had by this time joined them, muffled up in a long dark hood and mantle, exclaimed to Lord Glenvarloch-- Let them leave it if they will, let them leave it all; let us but escape from this horrible place. We have mentioned elsewhere, that Nigel was a very athletic young man, and, impelled by a strong feeling of compassion and indignation, he showed his bodily strength singularly on this occasion, by seizing on the ponderous strong-box, and, by means of the rope he had cast around it, throwing it on his shoulders, and marching resolutely forward under a weight, which would have sunk to the earth three young gallants, at the least, of our degenerate day. The waterman followed him in amazement, calling out, Why, master, master, you might as well gie me t'other end on't! and anon offered his assistance to support it in some degree behind, which after the first minute or two Nigel was fain to accept. His strength was almost exhausted when he reached the wherry, which was lying at the Temple Stairs according to appointment; and, when he pitched the trunk into it, the weight sank the bow of the boat so low in the water as well-nigh to overset it. We shall have as hard a fare of it, said the waterman to his companion, as if we were ferrying over an honest bankrupt with all his secreted goods--Ho, ho! good woman, what, are you stepping in for?--our gunwale lies deep enough in the water without live lumber to boot. This person comes with me, said Lord Glenvarloch; she is for the present under my protection. Come, come, master, rejoined the fellow, that is out of my commission. You must not double my freight on me--she may go by land--and, as for protection, her face will protect her from Berwick to the Land's End. You will not except at my doubling the loading, if I double the fare? said Nigel, determined on no account to relinquish the protection of this unhappy woman, for which he had already devised some sort of plan, likely now to be baffled by the characteristic rudeness of the Thames watermen. Ay, by G----, but I will except, though, said the fellow with the green plush jacket: I will overload my wherry neither for love nor money--I love my boat as well as my wife, and a thought better. Nay, nay, comrade, said his mate, that is speaking no true water language. For double fare we are bound to row a witch in her eggshell if she bid us; and so pull away, Jack, and let us have no more prating. They got into the stream-way accordingly, and, although heavily laden, began to move down the river with reasonable speed. The lighter vessels which passed, overtook, or crossed them, in their course, failed not to assail them with their boisterous raillery, which was then called water-wit; for which the extreme plainness of Mistress Martha's features, contrasted with the youth, handsome figure, and good looks of Nigel, furnished the principal topics; while the circumstance of the boat being somewhat overloaded, did not escape their notice. They were hailed successively, as a grocer's wife upon a party of pleasure with her eldest apprentice--as an old woman carrying her grandson to school--and as a young strapping Irishman, conveying an ancient maiden to Dr. Rigmarole's, at Redriffe, who buckles beggars for a tester and a dram of Geneva. All this abuse was retorted in a similar strain of humour by Greenjacket and his companion, who maintained the war of wit with the same alacrity with which they were assailed. Meanwhile, Lord Glenvarloch asked his desolate companion if she had thought on any place where she could remain in safety with her property. She confessed, in more detail than formerly, that her father's character had left her no friends; and that, from the time he had betaken himself to Whitefriars, to escape certain legal consequences of his eager pursuit of gain, she had lived a life of total seclusion; not associating with the society which the place afforded, and, by her residence there, as well as her father's parsimony, effectually cut off from all other company. What she now wished, was, in the first place, to obtain the shelter of a decent lodging, and the countenance of honest people, however low in life, until she should obtain legal advice as to the mode of obtaining justice on her father's murderer. She had no hesitation to charge the guilt upon Colepepper, (commonly called Peppercull,) whom she knew to be as capable of any act of treacherous cruelty, as he was cowardly, where actual manhood was required. He had been strongly suspected of two robberies before, one of which was coupled with an atrocious murder. He had, she intimated, made pretensions to her hand as the easiest and safest way of obtaining possession of her father's wealth; and, on her refusing his addresses, if they could be termed so, in the most positive terms, he had thrown out such obscure hints of vengeance, as, joined with some imperfect assaults upon the house, had kept her in frequent alarm, both on her father's account and her own. Nigel, but that his feeling of respectful delicacy to the unfortunate woman forebade him to do so, could here have communicated a circumstance corroborative of her suspicions, which had already occurred to his own mind. He recollected the hint that old Hildebrod threw forth on the preceding night, that some communication betwixt himself and Colepepper had hastened the catastrophe. As this communication related to the plan which Hildebrod had been pleased to form, of promoting a marriage betwixt Nigel himself and the rich heiress of Trapbois, the fear of losing an opportunity not to be regained, together with the mean malignity of a low-bred ruffian, disappointed in a favourite scheme, was most likely to instigate the bravo to the deed of violence which had been committed. The reflection that his own name was in some degree implicated with the causes of this horrid tragedy, doubled Lord Glenvarloch's anxiety in behalf of the victim whom he had rescued, while at the same time he formed the tacit resolution, that, so soon as his own affairs were put upon some footing, he would contribute all in his power towards the investigation of this bloody affair. After ascertaining from his companion that she could form no better plan of her own, he recommended to her to take up her lodging for the time, at the house of his old landlord, Christie the ship-chandler, at Paul's Wharf, describing the decency and honesty of that worthy couple, and expressing his hopes that they would receive her into their own house, or recommend her at least to that of some person for whom they would be responsible, until she should have time to enter upon other arrangements for herself. The poor woman received advice so grateful to her in her desolate condition, with an expression of thanks, brief indeed, but deeper than any thing had yet extracted from the austerity of her natural disposition. Lord Glenvarloch then proceeded to inform Martha, that certain reasons, connected with his personal safety, called him immediately to Greenwich, and, therefore, it would not be in his power to accompany her to Christie's house, which he would otherwise have done with pleasure: but, tearing a leaf from his tablet, he wrote on it a few lines, addressed to his landlord, as a man of honesty and humanity, in which he described the bearer as a person who stood in singular necessity of temporary protection and good advice, for which her circumstances enabled her to make ample acknowledgment. He therefore requested John Christie, as his old and good friend, to afford her the shelter of his roof for a short time; or, if that might not be consistent with his convenience, at least to direct her to a proper lodging-and, finally, he imposed on him the additional, and somewhat more difficult commission, to recommend her to the counsel and services of an honest, at least a reputable and skilful attorney, for the transacting some law business of importance. The note he subscribed with his real name, and, delivering it to his _protegee_, who received it with another deeply uttered I thank you, which spoke the sterling feelings of her gratitude better than a thousand combined phrases, he commanded the watermen to pull in for Paul's Wharf, which they were now approaching. We have not time, said Green-jacket; we cannot be stopping every instant. But, upon Nigel insisting upon his commands being obeyed, and adding, that it was for the purpose of putting the lady ashore, the waterman declared that he would rather have her room than her company, and put the wherry alongside the wharf accordingly. Here two of the porters, who ply in such places, were easily induced to undertake the charge of the ponderous strong-box, and at the same time to guide the owner to the well-known mansion of John Christie, with whom all who lived in that neighbourhood were perfectly acquainted. The boat, much lightened of its load, went down the Thames at a rate increased in proportion. But we must forbear to pursue her in her voyage for a few minutes, since we have previously to mention the issue of Lord Glenvarloch's recommendation. Mistress Martha Trapbois reached the shop in perfect safety, and was about to enter it, when a sickening sense of the uncertainty of her situation, and of the singularly painful task of telling her story, came over her so strongly, that she paused a moment at the very threshold of her proposed place of refuge, to think in what manner she could best second the recommendation of the friend whom Providence had raised up to her. Had she possessed that knowledge of the world, from which her habits of life had completely excluded her, she might have known that the large sum of money which she brought along with her, might, judiciously managed, have been a passport to her into the mansions of nobles, and the palaces of princes. But, however conscious of its general power, which assumes so many forms and complexions, she was so inexperienced as to be most unnecessarily afraid that the means by which the wealth had been acquired, might exclude its inheretrix from shelter even in the house of a humble tradesman. While she thus delayed, a more reasonable cause for hesitation arose, in a considerable noise and altercation within the house, which grew louder and louder as the disputants issued forth upon the street or lane before the door. The first who entered upon the scene was a tall raw-boned hard-favoured man, who stalked out of the shop hastily, with a gait like that of a Spaniard in a passion, who, disdaining to add speed to his locomotion by running, only condescends, in the utmost extremity of his angry haste, to add length to his stride. He faced about, so soon as he was out of the house, upon his pursuer, a decent-looking, elderly, plain tradesman--no other than John Christie himself, the owner of the shop and tenement, by whom he seemed to be followed, and who was in a state of agitation more than is usually expressed by such a person. I'll hear no more on't, said the personage who first appeared on the scene.-- Sir, I will hear no more on it. Besides being a most false and impudent figment, as I can testify--it is _Scandaalum Magnaatum_, sir--_Scandaalum Magnaatum_ he reiterated with a broad accentuation of the first vowel, well known in the colleges of Edinburgh and Glasgow, which we can only express in print by doubling the said first of letters and of vowels, and which would have cheered the cockles of the reigning monarch had he been within hearing,--as he was a severer stickler for what he deemed the genuine pronunciation of the Roman tongue, than for any of the royal prerogatives, for which he was at times disposed to insist so strenuously in his speeches to Parliament. I care not an ounce of rotten cheese, said John Christie in reply, what you call it--but it is TRUE; and I am a free Englishman, and have right to speak the truth in my own concerns; and your master is little better than a villain, and you no more than a swaggering coxcomb, whose head I will presently break, as I have known it well broken before on lighter occasion. And, so saying, he flourished the paring-shovel which usually made clean the steps of his little shop, and which he had caught up as the readiest weapon of working his foeman damage, and advanced therewith upon him. The cautious Scot (for such our readers must have already pronounced him, from his language and pedantry) drew back as the enraged ship-chandler approached, but in a surly manner, and bearing his hand on his sword-hilt rather in the act of one who was losing habitual forbearance and caution of deportment, than as alarmed by the attack of an antagonist inferior to himself in youth, strength, and weapons. Bide back, he said, Maister Christie--I say bide back, and consult your safety, man. I have evited striking you in your ain house under muckle provocation, because I am ignorant how the laws here may pronounce respecting burglary and hamesucken, and such matters; and, besides, I would not willingly hurt ye, man, e'en on the causeway, that is free to us baith, because I mind your kindness of lang syne, and partly consider ye as a poor deceived creature. But deil d--n me, sir, and I am not wont to swear, but if you touch my Scotch shouther with that shule of yours, I will make six inches of my Andrew Ferrara deevilish intimate with your guts, neighbour. And therewithal, though still retreating from the brandished shovel, he made one-third of the basket-hilled broadsword which he wore, visible from the sheath. The wrath of John Christie was abated, either by his natural temperance of disposition, or perhaps in part by the glimmer of cold steel, which flashed on him from his adversary's last action. I would do well to cry clubs on thee, and have thee ducked at the wharf, he said, grounding his shovel, however, at the same time, for a paltry swaggerer, that would draw thy bit of iron there on an honest citizen before his own door; but get thee gone, and reckon on a salt eel for thy supper, if thou shouldst ever come near my house again. I wish it had been at the bottom of the Thames when it first gave the use of its roof to smooth-faced, oily-tongued, double-minded Scots thieves! It's an ill bird that fouls its own nest, replied his adversary, not perhaps the less bold that he saw matters were taking the turn of a pacific debate; and a pity it is that a kindly Scot should ever have married in foreign parts, and given life to a purse-proud, pudding-headed, fat-gutted, lean-brained Southron, e'en such as you, Maister Christie. But fare ye weel--fare ye weel, for ever and a day; and, if you quarrel wi' a Scot again, man, say as mickle ill o' himsell as ye like, but say nane of his patron or of his countrymen, or it will scarce be your flat cap that will keep your lang lugs from the sharp abridgement of a Highland whinger, man. And, if you continue your insolence to me before my own door, were it but two minutes longer, retorted John Christie, I will call the constable, and make your Scottish ankles acquainted with an English pair of stocks! So saying, he turned to retire into his shop with some show of victory; for his enemy, whatever might be his innate valour, manifested no desire to drive matters to extremity--conscious, perhaps, that whatever advantage he might gain in single combat with Jonn Christie, would be more than overbalanced by incurring an affair with the constituted authorities of Old England, not at that time apt to be particularly favourable to their new fellow-subjects, in the various successive broils which were then constantly taking place between the individuals of two proud nations, who still retained a stronger sense of their national animosity during centuries, than of their late union for a few years under the government of the same prince. Mrs. Martha Trapbois had dwelt too long in Alsatia, to be either surprised or terrified at the altercation she had witnessed. Indeed, she only wondered that the debate did not end in some of those acts of violence by which they were usually terminated in the Sanctuary. As the disputants separated from each other, she, who had no idea that the cause of the quarrel was more deeply rooted than in the daily scenes of the same nature which she had heard of or witnessed, did not hesitate to stop Master Christie in his return to his shop, and present to him the letter which Lord Glenvarloch had given to her. Had she been better acquainted with life and its business, she would certainly have waited for a more temperate moment; and she had reason to repent of her precipitation, when, without saying a single word, or taking the trouble to gather more of the information contained in the letter than was expressed in the subscription, the incensed ship chandler threw it down on the ground, trampled it in high disdain, and, without addressing a single word to the bearer, except, indeed, something much more like a hearty curse than was perfectly consistent with his own grave appearance, he retired into his shop, and shut the hatch-door. It was with the most inexpressible anguish that the desolate, friendless and unhappy female, thus beheld her sole hope of succour, countenance, and protection, vanish at once, without being able to conceive a reason; for, to do her justice, the idea that her friend, whom she knew by the name of Nigel Grahame, had imposed on her, a solution which might readily have occurred to many in her situation, never once entered her mind. Although it was not her temper easily to bend her mind to entreaty, she could not help exclaiming after the ireful and retreating ship-chandler,-- Good Master, hear me but a moment! for mercy's sake, for honesty's sake! Mercy and honesty from him, mistress! said the Scot, who, though he essayed not to interrupt the retreat of his antagonist,

hailed

How many times the word 'hailed' appears in the text?

with me! exclaimed Lord Glenvarloch. Yes, she said, I will persuade my father to leave this murdering den. But, as she spoke, the more perfect recollection of what had passed crowded on her mind. She hid her face in her hands, and burst out into a dreadful fit of sobs, moans, and lamentations, which terminated in hysterics, violent in proportion to the uncommon strength of her body and mind. Lord Glenvarloch, shocked, confused, and inexperienced, was about to leave the house in quest of medical, or at least female assistance; but the patient, when the paroxysm had somewhat spent its force, held him fast by the sleeve with one hand, covering her face with the other, while a copious flood of tears came to relieve the emotions of grief by which she had been so violently agitated. Do not leave me, she said-- do not leave me, and call no one. I have never been in this way before, and would not now, she said, sitting upright, and wiping her eyes with her apron,-- would not now--but that--but that he loved _me_. if he loved nothing else that was human--To die so, and by such hands! And again the unhappy woman gave way to a paroxysm of sorrow, mingling her tears with sobbing, wailing, and all the abandonment of female grief, when at its utmost height. At length, she gradually recovered the austerity of her natural composure, and maintained it as if by a forcible exertion of resolution, repelling, as she spoke, the repeated returns of the hysterical affection, by such an effort as that by which epileptic patients are known to suspend the recurrence of their fits. Yet her mind, however resolved, could not so absolutely overcome the affection of her nerves, but that she was agitated by strong fits of trembling, which, for a minute or two at a time, shook her whole frame in a manner frightful to witness. Nigel forgot his own situation, and, indeed, every thing else, in the interest inspired by the unhappy woman before him--an interest which affected a proud spirit the more deeply, that she herself, with correspondent highness of mind, seemed determined to owe as little as possible either to the humanity or the pity of others. I am not wont to be in this way, she said,-- but--but--Nature will have power over the frail beings it has made. Over you, sir, I have some right; for, without you, I had not survived this awful night. I wish your aid had been either earlier or later--but you have saved my life, and you are bound to assist in making it endurable to me. If you will show me how it is possible, answered Nigel. You are going hence, you say, instantly--carry me with you, said the unhappy woman. By my own efforts, I shall never escape from this wilderness of guilt and misery. Alas! what can I do for you? replied Nigel. My own way, and I must not deviate from it, leads me, in all probability, to a dungeon. I might, indeed, transport you from hence with me, if you could afterwards bestow yourself with any friend. Friend! she exclaimed-- I have no friend--they have long since discarded us. A spectre arising from the dead were more welcome than I should be at the doors of those who have disclaimed us; and, if they were willing to restore their friendship to me now, I would despise it, because they withdrew it from him--from him --(here she underwent strong but suppressed agitation, and then added firmly)-- from _him_ who lies yonder.--I have no friend. Here she paused; and then suddenly, as if recollecting herself, added, I have no friend, but I have that will purchase many--I have that which will purchase both friends and avengers.--It is well thought of; I must not leave it for a prey to cheats and ruffians.--Stranger, you must return to yonder room. Pass through it boldly to his--that is, to the sleeping apartment; push the bedstead aside; beneath each of the posts is a brass plate, as if to support the weight, but it is that upon the left, nearest to the wall, which must serve your turn--press the corner of the plate, and it will spring up and show a keyhole, which this key will open. You will then lift a concealed trap-door, and in a cavity of the floor you will discover a small chest. Bring it hither; it shall accompany our journey, and it will be hard if the contents cannot purchase me a place of refuge. But the door communicating with the kitchen has been locked by these people, said Nigel. True, I had forgot; they had their reasons for that, doubtless, answered she. But the secret passage from your apartment is open, and you may go that way. Lord Glenvarloch took the key, and, as he lighted a lamp to show him the way, she read in his countenance some unwillingness to the task imposed. You fear? said she-- there is no cause; the murderer and his victim are both at rest. Take courage, I will go with you myself--you cannot know the trick of the spring, and the chest will be too heavy for you. No fear, no fear, answered Lord Glenvarloch, ashamed of the construction she put upon a momentary hesitation, arising from a dislike to look upon what is horrible, often connected with those high-wrought minds which are the last to fear what is merely dangerous-- I will do your errand as you desire; but for you, you must not--cannot go yonder. I can--I will, she said. I am composed. You shall see that I am so. She took from the table a piece of unfinished sewing-work, and, with steadiness and composure, passed a silken thread into the eye of a fine needle.-- Could I have done that, she said, with a smile yet more ghastly than her previous look of fixed despair, had not my heart and hand been both steady? She then led the way rapidly up stairs to Nigel's chamber, and proceeded through the secret passage with the same haste, as if she had feared her resolution might have failed her ere her purpose was executed. At the bottom of the stairs she paused a moment, before entering the fatal apartment, then hurried through with a rapid step to the sleeping chamber beyond, followed closely by Lord Glenvarloch, whose reluctance to approach the scene of butchery was altogether lost in the anxiety which he felt on account of the survivor of the tragedy. Her first action was to pull aside the curtains of her father's bed. The bed-clothes were thrown aside in confusion, doubtless in the action of his starting from sleep to oppose the entrance of the villains into the next apartment. The hard mattress scarcely showed the slight pressure where the emaciated body of the old miser had been deposited. His daughter sank beside the bed, clasped her hands, and prayed to heaven, in a short and affectionate manner, for support in her affliction, and for vengeance on the villains who had made her fatherless. A low-muttered and still more brief petition recommended to Heaven the soul of the sufferer, and invoked pardon for his sins, in virtue of the great Christian atonement. This duty of piety performed, she signed to Nigel to aid her; and, having pushed aside the heavy bedstead, they saw the brass plate which Martha had described. She pressed the spring, and, at once, the plate starting up, showed the keyhole, and a large iron ring used in lifting the trap-door, which, when raised, displayed the strong box, or small chest, she had mentioned, and which proved indeed so very weighty, that it might perhaps have been scarcely possible for Nigel, though a very strong man, to have raised it without assistance. Having replaced everything as they had found it, Nigel, with such help as his companion was able to afford, assumed his load, and made a shift to carry it into the next apartment, where lay the miserable owner, insensible to sounds and circumstances, which, if any thing could have broken his long last slumber, would certainly have done so. His unfortunate daughter went up to his body, and had even the courage to remove the sheet which had been decently disposed over it. She put her hand on the heart, but there was no throb--held a feather to the lips, but there was no motion--then kissed with deep reverence the starting veins of the pale forehead, and then the emaciated hand. I would you could hear me, she said,-- Father! I would you could hear me swear, that, if I now save what you most valued on earth, it is only to assist me in obtaining vengeance for your death. She replaced the covering, and, without a tear, a sigh, or an additional word of any kind, renewed her efforts, until they conveyed the strong-box betwixt them into Lord Glenvarloch's sleeping apartment. It must pass, she said, as part of your baggage. I will be in readiness so soon as the waterman calls. She retired; and Lord Glenvarloch, who saw the hour of their departure approach, tore down a part of the old hanging to make a covering, which he corded upon the trunk, lest the peculiarity of its shape, and the care with which it was banded and counterbanded with bars of steel, might afford suspicions respecting the treasure which it contained. Having taken this measure of precaution, he changed the rascally disguise, which he had assumed on entering Whitefriars, into a suit becoming his quality, and then, unable to sleep, though exhausted with the events of the night, he threw himself on his bed to await the summons of the waterman. CHAPTER XXVI Give us good voyage, gentle stream--we stun not Thy sober ear with sounds of revelry; Wake not the slumbering echoes of thy banks With voice of flute and horn--we do but seek On the broad pathway of thy swelling bosom To glide in silent safety. _The Double Bridal._ Grey, or rather yellow light, was beginning to twinkle through the fogs of Whitefriars, when a low tap at the door of the unhappy miser announced to Lord Glenvarloch the summons of the boatman. He found at the door the man whom he had seen the night before, with a companion. Come, come, master, let us get afloat, said one of them, in a rough impressive whisper, time and tide wait for no man. They shall not wait for me, said Lord Glenvarloch; but I have some things to carry with me. Ay, ay--no man will take a pair of oars now, Jack, unless he means to load the wherry like a six-horse waggon. When they don't want to shift the whole kitt, they take a sculler, and be d--d to them. Come, come, where be your rattle-traps? One of the men was soon sufficiently loaded, in his own estimation at least, with Lord Glenvarloch's mail and its accompaniments, with which burden he began to trudge towards the Temple Stairs. His comrade, who seemed the principal, began to handle the trunk which contained the miser's treasure, but pitched it down again in an instant, declaring, with a great oath, that it was as reasonable to expect a man to carry Paul's on his back. The daughter of Trapbois, who had by this time joined them, muffled up in a long dark hood and mantle, exclaimed to Lord Glenvarloch-- Let them leave it if they will, let them leave it all; let us but escape from this horrible place. We have mentioned elsewhere, that Nigel was a very athletic young man, and, impelled by a strong feeling of compassion and indignation, he showed his bodily strength singularly on this occasion, by seizing on the ponderous strong-box, and, by means of the rope he had cast around it, throwing it on his shoulders, and marching resolutely forward under a weight, which would have sunk to the earth three young gallants, at the least, of our degenerate day. The waterman followed him in amazement, calling out, Why, master, master, you might as well gie me t'other end on't! and anon offered his assistance to support it in some degree behind, which after the first minute or two Nigel was fain to accept. His strength was almost exhausted when he reached the wherry, which was lying at the Temple Stairs according to appointment; and, when he pitched the trunk into it, the weight sank the bow of the boat so low in the water as well-nigh to overset it. We shall have as hard a fare of it, said the waterman to his companion, as if we were ferrying over an honest bankrupt with all his secreted goods--Ho, ho! good woman, what, are you stepping in for?--our gunwale lies deep enough in the water without live lumber to boot. This person comes with me, said Lord Glenvarloch; she is for the present under my protection. Come, come, master, rejoined the fellow, that is out of my commission. You must not double my freight on me--she may go by land--and, as for protection, her face will protect her from Berwick to the Land's End. You will not except at my doubling the loading, if I double the fare? said Nigel, determined on no account to relinquish the protection of this unhappy woman, for which he had already devised some sort of plan, likely now to be baffled by the characteristic rudeness of the Thames watermen. Ay, by G----, but I will except, though, said the fellow with the green plush jacket: I will overload my wherry neither for love nor money--I love my boat as well as my wife, and a thought better. Nay, nay, comrade, said his mate, that is speaking no true water language. For double fare we are bound to row a witch in her eggshell if she bid us; and so pull away, Jack, and let us have no more prating. They got into the stream-way accordingly, and, although heavily laden, began to move down the river with reasonable speed. The lighter vessels which passed, overtook, or crossed them, in their course, failed not to assail them with their boisterous raillery, which was then called water-wit; for which the extreme plainness of Mistress Martha's features, contrasted with the youth, handsome figure, and good looks of Nigel, furnished the principal topics; while the circumstance of the boat being somewhat overloaded, did not escape their notice. They were hailed successively, as a grocer's wife upon a party of pleasure with her eldest apprentice--as an old woman carrying her grandson to school--and as a young strapping Irishman, conveying an ancient maiden to Dr. Rigmarole's, at Redriffe, who buckles beggars for a tester and a dram of Geneva. All this abuse was retorted in a similar strain of humour by Greenjacket and his companion, who maintained the war of wit with the same alacrity with which they were assailed. Meanwhile, Lord Glenvarloch asked his desolate companion if she had thought on any place where she could remain in safety with her property. She confessed, in more detail than formerly, that her father's character had left her no friends; and that, from the time he had betaken himself to Whitefriars, to escape certain legal consequences of his eager pursuit of gain, she had lived a life of total seclusion; not associating with the society which the place afforded, and, by her residence there, as well as her father's parsimony, effectually cut off from all other company. What she now wished, was, in the first place, to obtain the shelter of a decent lodging, and the countenance of honest people, however low in life, until she should obtain legal advice as to the mode of obtaining justice on her father's murderer. She had no hesitation to charge the guilt upon Colepepper, (commonly called Peppercull,) whom she knew to be as capable of any act of treacherous cruelty, as he was cowardly, where actual manhood was required. He had been strongly suspected of two robberies before, one of which was coupled with an atrocious murder. He had, she intimated, made pretensions to her hand as the easiest and safest way of obtaining possession of her father's wealth; and, on her refusing his addresses, if they could be termed so, in the most positive terms, he had thrown out such obscure hints of vengeance, as, joined with some imperfect assaults upon the house, had kept her in frequent alarm, both on her father's account and her own. Nigel, but that his feeling of respectful delicacy to the unfortunate woman forebade him to do so, could here have communicated a circumstance corroborative of her suspicions, which had already occurred to his own mind. He recollected the hint that old Hildebrod threw forth on the preceding night, that some communication betwixt himself and Colepepper had hastened the catastrophe. As this communication related to the plan which Hildebrod had been pleased to form, of promoting a marriage betwixt Nigel himself and the rich heiress of Trapbois, the fear of losing an opportunity not to be regained, together with the mean malignity of a low-bred ruffian, disappointed in a favourite scheme, was most likely to instigate the bravo to the deed of violence which had been committed. The reflection that his own name was in some degree implicated with the causes of this horrid tragedy, doubled Lord Glenvarloch's anxiety in behalf of the victim whom he had rescued, while at the same time he formed the tacit resolution, that, so soon as his own affairs were put upon some footing, he would contribute all in his power towards the investigation of this bloody affair. After ascertaining from his companion that she could form no better plan of her own, he recommended to her to take up her lodging for the time, at the house of his old landlord, Christie the ship-chandler, at Paul's Wharf, describing the decency and honesty of that worthy couple, and expressing his hopes that they would receive her into their own house, or recommend her at least to that of some person for whom they would be responsible, until she should have time to enter upon other arrangements for herself. The poor woman received advice so grateful to her in her desolate condition, with an expression of thanks, brief indeed, but deeper than any thing had yet extracted from the austerity of her natural disposition. Lord Glenvarloch then proceeded to inform Martha, that certain reasons, connected with his personal safety, called him immediately to Greenwich, and, therefore, it would not be in his power to accompany her to Christie's house, which he would otherwise have done with pleasure: but, tearing a leaf from his tablet, he wrote on it a few lines, addressed to his landlord, as a man of honesty and humanity, in which he described the bearer as a person who stood in singular necessity of temporary protection and good advice, for which her circumstances enabled her to make ample acknowledgment. He therefore requested John Christie, as his old and good friend, to afford her the shelter of his roof for a short time; or, if that might not be consistent with his convenience, at least to direct her to a proper lodging-and, finally, he imposed on him the additional, and somewhat more difficult commission, to recommend her to the counsel and services of an honest, at least a reputable and skilful attorney, for the transacting some law business of importance. The note he subscribed with his real name, and, delivering it to his _protegee_, who received it with another deeply uttered I thank you, which spoke the sterling feelings of her gratitude better than a thousand combined phrases, he commanded the watermen to pull in for Paul's Wharf, which they were now approaching. We have not time, said Green-jacket; we cannot be stopping every instant. But, upon Nigel insisting upon his commands being obeyed, and adding, that it was for the purpose of putting the lady ashore, the waterman declared that he would rather have her room than her company, and put the wherry alongside the wharf accordingly. Here two of the porters, who ply in such places, were easily induced to undertake the charge of the ponderous strong-box, and at the same time to guide the owner to the well-known mansion of John Christie, with whom all who lived in that neighbourhood were perfectly acquainted. The boat, much lightened of its load, went down the Thames at a rate increased in proportion. But we must forbear to pursue her in her voyage for a few minutes, since we have previously to mention the issue of Lord Glenvarloch's recommendation. Mistress Martha Trapbois reached the shop in perfect safety, and was about to enter it, when a sickening sense of the uncertainty of her situation, and of the singularly painful task of telling her story, came over her so strongly, that she paused a moment at the very threshold of her proposed place of refuge, to think in what manner she could best second the recommendation of the friend whom Providence had raised up to her. Had she possessed that knowledge of the world, from which her habits of life had completely excluded her, she might have known that the large sum of money which she brought along with her, might, judiciously managed, have been a passport to her into the mansions of nobles, and the palaces of princes. But, however conscious of its general power, which assumes so many forms and complexions, she was so inexperienced as to be most unnecessarily afraid that the means by which the wealth had been acquired, might exclude its inheretrix from shelter even in the house of a humble tradesman. While she thus delayed, a more reasonable cause for hesitation arose, in a considerable noise and altercation within the house, which grew louder and louder as the disputants issued forth upon the street or lane before the door. The first who entered upon the scene was a tall raw-boned hard-favoured man, who stalked out of the shop hastily, with a gait like that of a Spaniard in a passion, who, disdaining to add speed to his locomotion by running, only condescends, in the utmost extremity of his angry haste, to add length to his stride. He faced about, so soon as he was out of the house, upon his pursuer, a decent-looking, elderly, plain tradesman--no other than John Christie himself, the owner of the shop and tenement, by whom he seemed to be followed, and who was in a state of agitation more than is usually expressed by such a person. I'll hear no more on't, said the personage who first appeared on the scene.-- Sir, I will hear no more on it. Besides being a most false and impudent figment, as I can testify--it is _Scandaalum Magnaatum_, sir--_Scandaalum Magnaatum_ he reiterated with a broad accentuation of the first vowel, well known in the colleges of Edinburgh and Glasgow, which we can only express in print by doubling the said first of letters and of vowels, and which would have cheered the cockles of the reigning monarch had he been within hearing,--as he was a severer stickler for what he deemed the genuine pronunciation of the Roman tongue, than for any of the royal prerogatives, for which he was at times disposed to insist so strenuously in his speeches to Parliament. I care not an ounce of rotten cheese, said John Christie in reply, what you call it--but it is TRUE; and I am a free Englishman, and have right to speak the truth in my own concerns; and your master is little better than a villain, and you no more than a swaggering coxcomb, whose head I will presently break, as I have known it well broken before on lighter occasion. And, so saying, he flourished the paring-shovel which usually made clean the steps of his little shop, and which he had caught up as the readiest weapon of working his foeman damage, and advanced therewith upon him. The cautious Scot (for such our readers must have already pronounced him, from his language and pedantry) drew back as the enraged ship-chandler approached, but in a surly manner, and bearing his hand on his sword-hilt rather in the act of one who was losing habitual forbearance and caution of deportment, than as alarmed by the attack of an antagonist inferior to himself in youth, strength, and weapons. Bide back, he said, Maister Christie--I say bide back, and consult your safety, man. I have evited striking you in your ain house under muckle provocation, because I am ignorant how the laws here may pronounce respecting burglary and hamesucken, and such matters; and, besides, I would not willingly hurt ye, man, e'en on the causeway, that is free to us baith, because I mind your kindness of lang syne, and partly consider ye as a poor deceived creature. But deil d--n me, sir, and I am not wont to swear, but if you touch my Scotch shouther with that shule of yours, I will make six inches of my Andrew Ferrara deevilish intimate with your guts, neighbour. And therewithal, though still retreating from the brandished shovel, he made one-third of the basket-hilled broadsword which he wore, visible from the sheath. The wrath of John Christie was abated, either by his natural temperance of disposition, or perhaps in part by the glimmer of cold steel, which flashed on him from his adversary's last action. I would do well to cry clubs on thee, and have thee ducked at the wharf, he said, grounding his shovel, however, at the same time, for a paltry swaggerer, that would draw thy bit of iron there on an honest citizen before his own door; but get thee gone, and reckon on a salt eel for thy supper, if thou shouldst ever come near my house again. I wish it had been at the bottom of the Thames when it first gave the use of its roof to smooth-faced, oily-tongued, double-minded Scots thieves! It's an ill bird that fouls its own nest, replied his adversary, not perhaps the less bold that he saw matters were taking the turn of a pacific debate; and a pity it is that a kindly Scot should ever have married in foreign parts, and given life to a purse-proud, pudding-headed, fat-gutted, lean-brained Southron, e'en such as you, Maister Christie. But fare ye weel--fare ye weel, for ever and a day; and, if you quarrel wi' a Scot again, man, say as mickle ill o' himsell as ye like, but say nane of his patron or of his countrymen, or it will scarce be your flat cap that will keep your lang lugs from the sharp abridgement of a Highland whinger, man. And, if you continue your insolence to me before my own door, were it but two minutes longer, retorted John Christie, I will call the constable, and make your Scottish ankles acquainted with an English pair of stocks! So saying, he turned to retire into his shop with some show of victory; for his enemy, whatever might be his innate valour, manifested no desire to drive matters to extremity--conscious, perhaps, that whatever advantage he might gain in single combat with Jonn Christie, would be more than overbalanced by incurring an affair with the constituted authorities of Old England, not at that time apt to be particularly favourable to their new fellow-subjects, in the various successive broils which were then constantly taking place between the individuals of two proud nations, who still retained a stronger sense of their national animosity during centuries, than of their late union for a few years under the government of the same prince. Mrs. Martha Trapbois had dwelt too long in Alsatia, to be either surprised or terrified at the altercation she had witnessed. Indeed, she only wondered that the debate did not end in some of those acts of violence by which they were usually terminated in the Sanctuary. As the disputants separated from each other, she, who had no idea that the cause of the quarrel was more deeply rooted than in the daily scenes of the same nature which she had heard of or witnessed, did not hesitate to stop Master Christie in his return to his shop, and present to him the letter which Lord Glenvarloch had given to her. Had she been better acquainted with life and its business, she would certainly have waited for a more temperate moment; and she had reason to repent of her precipitation, when, without saying a single word, or taking the trouble to gather more of the information contained in the letter than was expressed in the subscription, the incensed ship chandler threw it down on the ground, trampled it in high disdain, and, without addressing a single word to the bearer, except, indeed, something much more like a hearty curse than was perfectly consistent with his own grave appearance, he retired into his shop, and shut the hatch-door. It was with the most inexpressible anguish that the desolate, friendless and unhappy female, thus beheld her sole hope of succour, countenance, and protection, vanish at once, without being able to conceive a reason; for, to do her justice, the idea that her friend, whom she knew by the name of Nigel Grahame, had imposed on her, a solution which might readily have occurred to many in her situation, never once entered her mind. Although it was not her temper easily to bend her mind to entreaty, she could not help exclaiming after the ireful and retreating ship-chandler,-- Good Master, hear me but a moment! for mercy's sake, for honesty's sake! Mercy and honesty from him, mistress! said the Scot, who, though he essayed not to interrupt the retreat of his antagonist,

dreadful

How many times the word 'dreadful' appears in the text?

with me! exclaimed Lord Glenvarloch. Yes, she said, I will persuade my father to leave this murdering den. But, as she spoke, the more perfect recollection of what had passed crowded on her mind. She hid her face in her hands, and burst out into a dreadful fit of sobs, moans, and lamentations, which terminated in hysterics, violent in proportion to the uncommon strength of her body and mind. Lord Glenvarloch, shocked, confused, and inexperienced, was about to leave the house in quest of medical, or at least female assistance; but the patient, when the paroxysm had somewhat spent its force, held him fast by the sleeve with one hand, covering her face with the other, while a copious flood of tears came to relieve the emotions of grief by which she had been so violently agitated. Do not leave me, she said-- do not leave me, and call no one. I have never been in this way before, and would not now, she said, sitting upright, and wiping her eyes with her apron,-- would not now--but that--but that he loved _me_. if he loved nothing else that was human--To die so, and by such hands! And again the unhappy woman gave way to a paroxysm of sorrow, mingling her tears with sobbing, wailing, and all the abandonment of female grief, when at its utmost height. At length, she gradually recovered the austerity of her natural composure, and maintained it as if by a forcible exertion of resolution, repelling, as she spoke, the repeated returns of the hysterical affection, by such an effort as that by which epileptic patients are known to suspend the recurrence of their fits. Yet her mind, however resolved, could not so absolutely overcome the affection of her nerves, but that she was agitated by strong fits of trembling, which, for a minute or two at a time, shook her whole frame in a manner frightful to witness. Nigel forgot his own situation, and, indeed, every thing else, in the interest inspired by the unhappy woman before him--an interest which affected a proud spirit the more deeply, that she herself, with correspondent highness of mind, seemed determined to owe as little as possible either to the humanity or the pity of others. I am not wont to be in this way, she said,-- but--but--Nature will have power over the frail beings it has made. Over you, sir, I have some right; for, without you, I had not survived this awful night. I wish your aid had been either earlier or later--but you have saved my life, and you are bound to assist in making it endurable to me. If you will show me how it is possible, answered Nigel. You are going hence, you say, instantly--carry me with you, said the unhappy woman. By my own efforts, I shall never escape from this wilderness of guilt and misery. Alas! what can I do for you? replied Nigel. My own way, and I must not deviate from it, leads me, in all probability, to a dungeon. I might, indeed, transport you from hence with me, if you could afterwards bestow yourself with any friend. Friend! she exclaimed-- I have no friend--they have long since discarded us. A spectre arising from the dead were more welcome than I should be at the doors of those who have disclaimed us; and, if they were willing to restore their friendship to me now, I would despise it, because they withdrew it from him--from him --(here she underwent strong but suppressed agitation, and then added firmly)-- from _him_ who lies yonder.--I have no friend. Here she paused; and then suddenly, as if recollecting herself, added, I have no friend, but I have that will purchase many--I have that which will purchase both friends and avengers.--It is well thought of; I must not leave it for a prey to cheats and ruffians.--Stranger, you must return to yonder room. Pass through it boldly to his--that is, to the sleeping apartment; push the bedstead aside; beneath each of the posts is a brass plate, as if to support the weight, but it is that upon the left, nearest to the wall, which must serve your turn--press the corner of the plate, and it will spring up and show a keyhole, which this key will open. You will then lift a concealed trap-door, and in a cavity of the floor you will discover a small chest. Bring it hither; it shall accompany our journey, and it will be hard if the contents cannot purchase me a place of refuge. But the door communicating with the kitchen has been locked by these people, said Nigel. True, I had forgot; they had their reasons for that, doubtless, answered she. But the secret passage from your apartment is open, and you may go that way. Lord Glenvarloch took the key, and, as he lighted a lamp to show him the way, she read in his countenance some unwillingness to the task imposed. You fear? said she-- there is no cause; the murderer and his victim are both at rest. Take courage, I will go with you myself--you cannot know the trick of the spring, and the chest will be too heavy for you. No fear, no fear, answered Lord Glenvarloch, ashamed of the construction she put upon a momentary hesitation, arising from a dislike to look upon what is horrible, often connected with those high-wrought minds which are the last to fear what is merely dangerous-- I will do your errand as you desire; but for you, you must not--cannot go yonder. I can--I will, she said. I am composed. You shall see that I am so. She took from the table a piece of unfinished sewing-work, and, with steadiness and composure, passed a silken thread into the eye of a fine needle.-- Could I have done that, she said, with a smile yet more ghastly than her previous look of fixed despair, had not my heart and hand been both steady? She then led the way rapidly up stairs to Nigel's chamber, and proceeded through the secret passage with the same haste, as if she had feared her resolution might have failed her ere her purpose was executed. At the bottom of the stairs she paused a moment, before entering the fatal apartment, then hurried through with a rapid step to the sleeping chamber beyond, followed closely by Lord Glenvarloch, whose reluctance to approach the scene of butchery was altogether lost in the anxiety which he felt on account of the survivor of the tragedy. Her first action was to pull aside the curtains of her father's bed. The bed-clothes were thrown aside in confusion, doubtless in the action of his starting from sleep to oppose the entrance of the villains into the next apartment. The hard mattress scarcely showed the slight pressure where the emaciated body of the old miser had been deposited. His daughter sank beside the bed, clasped her hands, and prayed to heaven, in a short and affectionate manner, for support in her affliction, and for vengeance on the villains who had made her fatherless. A low-muttered and still more brief petition recommended to Heaven the soul of the sufferer, and invoked pardon for his sins, in virtue of the great Christian atonement. This duty of piety performed, she signed to Nigel to aid her; and, having pushed aside the heavy bedstead, they saw the brass plate which Martha had described. She pressed the spring, and, at once, the plate starting up, showed the keyhole, and a large iron ring used in lifting the trap-door, which, when raised, displayed the strong box, or small chest, she had mentioned, and which proved indeed so very weighty, that it might perhaps have been scarcely possible for Nigel, though a very strong man, to have raised it without assistance. Having replaced everything as they had found it, Nigel, with such help as his companion was able to afford, assumed his load, and made a shift to carry it into the next apartment, where lay the miserable owner, insensible to sounds and circumstances, which, if any thing could have broken his long last slumber, would certainly have done so. His unfortunate daughter went up to his body, and had even the courage to remove the sheet which had been decently disposed over it. She put her hand on the heart, but there was no throb--held a feather to the lips, but there was no motion--then kissed with deep reverence the starting veins of the pale forehead, and then the emaciated hand. I would you could hear me, she said,-- Father! I would you could hear me swear, that, if I now save what you most valued on earth, it is only to assist me in obtaining vengeance for your death. She replaced the covering, and, without a tear, a sigh, or an additional word of any kind, renewed her efforts, until they conveyed the strong-box betwixt them into Lord Glenvarloch's sleeping apartment. It must pass, she said, as part of your baggage. I will be in readiness so soon as the waterman calls. She retired; and Lord Glenvarloch, who saw the hour of their departure approach, tore down a part of the old hanging to make a covering, which he corded upon the trunk, lest the peculiarity of its shape, and the care with which it was banded and counterbanded with bars of steel, might afford suspicions respecting the treasure which it contained. Having taken this measure of precaution, he changed the rascally disguise, which he had assumed on entering Whitefriars, into a suit becoming his quality, and then, unable to sleep, though exhausted with the events of the night, he threw himself on his bed to await the summons of the waterman. CHAPTER XXVI Give us good voyage, gentle stream--we stun not Thy sober ear with sounds of revelry; Wake not the slumbering echoes of thy banks With voice of flute and horn--we do but seek On the broad pathway of thy swelling bosom To glide in silent safety. _The Double Bridal._ Grey, or rather yellow light, was beginning to twinkle through the fogs of Whitefriars, when a low tap at the door of the unhappy miser announced to Lord Glenvarloch the summons of the boatman. He found at the door the man whom he had seen the night before, with a companion. Come, come, master, let us get afloat, said one of them, in a rough impressive whisper, time and tide wait for no man. They shall not wait for me, said Lord Glenvarloch; but I have some things to carry with me. Ay, ay--no man will take a pair of oars now, Jack, unless he means to load the wherry like a six-horse waggon. When they don't want to shift the whole kitt, they take a sculler, and be d--d to them. Come, come, where be your rattle-traps? One of the men was soon sufficiently loaded, in his own estimation at least, with Lord Glenvarloch's mail and its accompaniments, with which burden he began to trudge towards the Temple Stairs. His comrade, who seemed the principal, began to handle the trunk which contained the miser's treasure, but pitched it down again in an instant, declaring, with a great oath, that it was as reasonable to expect a man to carry Paul's on his back. The daughter of Trapbois, who had by this time joined them, muffled up in a long dark hood and mantle, exclaimed to Lord Glenvarloch-- Let them leave it if they will, let them leave it all; let us but escape from this horrible place. We have mentioned elsewhere, that Nigel was a very athletic young man, and, impelled by a strong feeling of compassion and indignation, he showed his bodily strength singularly on this occasion, by seizing on the ponderous strong-box, and, by means of the rope he had cast around it, throwing it on his shoulders, and marching resolutely forward under a weight, which would have sunk to the earth three young gallants, at the least, of our degenerate day. The waterman followed him in amazement, calling out, Why, master, master, you might as well gie me t'other end on't! and anon offered his assistance to support it in some degree behind, which after the first minute or two Nigel was fain to accept. His strength was almost exhausted when he reached the wherry, which was lying at the Temple Stairs according to appointment; and, when he pitched the trunk into it, the weight sank the bow of the boat so low in the water as well-nigh to overset it. We shall have as hard a fare of it, said the waterman to his companion, as if we were ferrying over an honest bankrupt with all his secreted goods--Ho, ho! good woman, what, are you stepping in for?--our gunwale lies deep enough in the water without live lumber to boot. This person comes with me, said Lord Glenvarloch; she is for the present under my protection. Come, come, master, rejoined the fellow, that is out of my commission. You must not double my freight on me--she may go by land--and, as for protection, her face will protect her from Berwick to the Land's End. You will not except at my doubling the loading, if I double the fare? said Nigel, determined on no account to relinquish the protection of this unhappy woman, for which he had already devised some sort of plan, likely now to be baffled by the characteristic rudeness of the Thames watermen. Ay, by G----, but I will except, though, said the fellow with the green plush jacket: I will overload my wherry neither for love nor money--I love my boat as well as my wife, and a thought better. Nay, nay, comrade, said his mate, that is speaking no true water language. For double fare we are bound to row a witch in her eggshell if she bid us; and so pull away, Jack, and let us have no more prating. They got into the stream-way accordingly, and, although heavily laden, began to move down the river with reasonable speed. The lighter vessels which passed, overtook, or crossed them, in their course, failed not to assail them with their boisterous raillery, which was then called water-wit; for which the extreme plainness of Mistress Martha's features, contrasted with the youth, handsome figure, and good looks of Nigel, furnished the principal topics; while the circumstance of the boat being somewhat overloaded, did not escape their notice. They were hailed successively, as a grocer's wife upon a party of pleasure with her eldest apprentice--as an old woman carrying her grandson to school--and as a young strapping Irishman, conveying an ancient maiden to Dr. Rigmarole's, at Redriffe, who buckles beggars for a tester and a dram of Geneva. All this abuse was retorted in a similar strain of humour by Greenjacket and his companion, who maintained the war of wit with the same alacrity with which they were assailed. Meanwhile, Lord Glenvarloch asked his desolate companion if she had thought on any place where she could remain in safety with her property. She confessed, in more detail than formerly, that her father's character had left her no friends; and that, from the time he had betaken himself to Whitefriars, to escape certain legal consequences of his eager pursuit of gain, she had lived a life of total seclusion; not associating with the society which the place afforded, and, by her residence there, as well as her father's parsimony, effectually cut off from all other company. What she now wished, was, in the first place, to obtain the shelter of a decent lodging, and the countenance of honest people, however low in life, until she should obtain legal advice as to the mode of obtaining justice on her father's murderer. She had no hesitation to charge the guilt upon Colepepper, (commonly called Peppercull,) whom she knew to be as capable of any act of treacherous cruelty, as he was cowardly, where actual manhood was required. He had been strongly suspected of two robberies before, one of which was coupled with an atrocious murder. He had, she intimated, made pretensions to her hand as the easiest and safest way of obtaining possession of her father's wealth; and, on her refusing his addresses, if they could be termed so, in the most positive terms, he had thrown out such obscure hints of vengeance, as, joined with some imperfect assaults upon the house, had kept her in frequent alarm, both on her father's account and her own. Nigel, but that his feeling of respectful delicacy to the unfortunate woman forebade him to do so, could here have communicated a circumstance corroborative of her suspicions, which had already occurred to his own mind. He recollected the hint that old Hildebrod threw forth on the preceding night, that some communication betwixt himself and Colepepper had hastened the catastrophe. As this communication related to the plan which Hildebrod had been pleased to form, of promoting a marriage betwixt Nigel himself and the rich heiress of Trapbois, the fear of losing an opportunity not to be regained, together with the mean malignity of a low-bred ruffian, disappointed in a favourite scheme, was most likely to instigate the bravo to the deed of violence which had been committed. The reflection that his own name was in some degree implicated with the causes of this horrid tragedy, doubled Lord Glenvarloch's anxiety in behalf of the victim whom he had rescued, while at the same time he formed the tacit resolution, that, so soon as his own affairs were put upon some footing, he would contribute all in his power towards the investigation of this bloody affair. After ascertaining from his companion that she could form no better plan of her own, he recommended to her to take up her lodging for the time, at the house of his old landlord, Christie the ship-chandler, at Paul's Wharf, describing the decency and honesty of that worthy couple, and expressing his hopes that they would receive her into their own house, or recommend her at least to that of some person for whom they would be responsible, until she should have time to enter upon other arrangements for herself. The poor woman received advice so grateful to her in her desolate condition, with an expression of thanks, brief indeed, but deeper than any thing had yet extracted from the austerity of her natural disposition. Lord Glenvarloch then proceeded to inform Martha, that certain reasons, connected with his personal safety, called him immediately to Greenwich, and, therefore, it would not be in his power to accompany her to Christie's house, which he would otherwise have done with pleasure: but, tearing a leaf from his tablet, he wrote on it a few lines, addressed to his landlord, as a man of honesty and humanity, in which he described the bearer as a person who stood in singular necessity of temporary protection and good advice, for which her circumstances enabled her to make ample acknowledgment. He therefore requested John Christie, as his old and good friend, to afford her the shelter of his roof for a short time; or, if that might not be consistent with his convenience, at least to direct her to a proper lodging-and, finally, he imposed on him the additional, and somewhat more difficult commission, to recommend her to the counsel and services of an honest, at least a reputable and skilful attorney, for the transacting some law business of importance. The note he subscribed with his real name, and, delivering it to his _protegee_, who received it with another deeply uttered I thank you, which spoke the sterling feelings of her gratitude better than a thousand combined phrases, he commanded the watermen to pull in for Paul's Wharf, which they were now approaching. We have not time, said Green-jacket; we cannot be stopping every instant. But, upon Nigel insisting upon his commands being obeyed, and adding, that it was for the purpose of putting the lady ashore, the waterman declared that he would rather have her room than her company, and put the wherry alongside the wharf accordingly. Here two of the porters, who ply in such places, were easily induced to undertake the charge of the ponderous strong-box, and at the same time to guide the owner to the well-known mansion of John Christie, with whom all who lived in that neighbourhood were perfectly acquainted. The boat, much lightened of its load, went down the Thames at a rate increased in proportion. But we must forbear to pursue her in her voyage for a few minutes, since we have previously to mention the issue of Lord Glenvarloch's recommendation. Mistress Martha Trapbois reached the shop in perfect safety, and was about to enter it, when a sickening sense of the uncertainty of her situation, and of the singularly painful task of telling her story, came over her so strongly, that she paused a moment at the very threshold of her proposed place of refuge, to think in what manner she could best second the recommendation of the friend whom Providence had raised up to her. Had she possessed that knowledge of the world, from which her habits of life had completely excluded her, she might have known that the large sum of money which she brought along with her, might, judiciously managed, have been a passport to her into the mansions of nobles, and the palaces of princes. But, however conscious of its general power, which assumes so many forms and complexions, she was so inexperienced as to be most unnecessarily afraid that the means by which the wealth had been acquired, might exclude its inheretrix from shelter even in the house of a humble tradesman. While she thus delayed, a more reasonable cause for hesitation arose, in a considerable noise and altercation within the house, which grew louder and louder as the disputants issued forth upon the street or lane before the door. The first who entered upon the scene was a tall raw-boned hard-favoured man, who stalked out of the shop hastily, with a gait like that of a Spaniard in a passion, who, disdaining to add speed to his locomotion by running, only condescends, in the utmost extremity of his angry haste, to add length to his stride. He faced about, so soon as he was out of the house, upon his pursuer, a decent-looking, elderly, plain tradesman--no other than John Christie himself, the owner of the shop and tenement, by whom he seemed to be followed, and who was in a state of agitation more than is usually expressed by such a person. I'll hear no more on't, said the personage who first appeared on the scene.-- Sir, I will hear no more on it. Besides being a most false and impudent figment, as I can testify--it is _Scandaalum Magnaatum_, sir--_Scandaalum Magnaatum_ he reiterated with a broad accentuation of the first vowel, well known in the colleges of Edinburgh and Glasgow, which we can only express in print by doubling the said first of letters and of vowels, and which would have cheered the cockles of the reigning monarch had he been within hearing,--as he was a severer stickler for what he deemed the genuine pronunciation of the Roman tongue, than for any of the royal prerogatives, for which he was at times disposed to insist so strenuously in his speeches to Parliament. I care not an ounce of rotten cheese, said John Christie in reply, what you call it--but it is TRUE; and I am a free Englishman, and have right to speak the truth in my own concerns; and your master is little better than a villain, and you no more than a swaggering coxcomb, whose head I will presently break, as I have known it well broken before on lighter occasion. And, so saying, he flourished the paring-shovel which usually made clean the steps of his little shop, and which he had caught up as the readiest weapon of working his foeman damage, and advanced therewith upon him. The cautious Scot (for such our readers must have already pronounced him, from his language and pedantry) drew back as the enraged ship-chandler approached, but in a surly manner, and bearing his hand on his sword-hilt rather in the act of one who was losing habitual forbearance and caution of deportment, than as alarmed by the attack of an antagonist inferior to himself in youth, strength, and weapons. Bide back, he said, Maister Christie--I say bide back, and consult your safety, man. I have evited striking you in your ain house under muckle provocation, because I am ignorant how the laws here may pronounce respecting burglary and hamesucken, and such matters; and, besides, I would not willingly hurt ye, man, e'en on the causeway, that is free to us baith, because I mind your kindness of lang syne, and partly consider ye as a poor deceived creature. But deil d--n me, sir, and I am not wont to swear, but if you touch my Scotch shouther with that shule of yours, I will make six inches of my Andrew Ferrara deevilish intimate with your guts, neighbour. And therewithal, though still retreating from the brandished shovel, he made one-third of the basket-hilled broadsword which he wore, visible from the sheath. The wrath of John Christie was abated, either by his natural temperance of disposition, or perhaps in part by the glimmer of cold steel, which flashed on him from his adversary's last action. I would do well to cry clubs on thee, and have thee ducked at the wharf, he said, grounding his shovel, however, at the same time, for a paltry swaggerer, that would draw thy bit of iron there on an honest citizen before his own door; but get thee gone, and reckon on a salt eel for thy supper, if thou shouldst ever come near my house again. I wish it had been at the bottom of the Thames when it first gave the use of its roof to smooth-faced, oily-tongued, double-minded Scots thieves! It's an ill bird that fouls its own nest, replied his adversary, not perhaps the less bold that he saw matters were taking the turn of a pacific debate; and a pity it is that a kindly Scot should ever have married in foreign parts, and given life to a purse-proud, pudding-headed, fat-gutted, lean-brained Southron, e'en such as you, Maister Christie. But fare ye weel--fare ye weel, for ever and a day; and, if you quarrel wi' a Scot again, man, say as mickle ill o' himsell as ye like, but say nane of his patron or of his countrymen, or it will scarce be your flat cap that will keep your lang lugs from the sharp abridgement of a Highland whinger, man. And, if you continue your insolence to me before my own door, were it but two minutes longer, retorted John Christie, I will call the constable, and make your Scottish ankles acquainted with an English pair of stocks! So saying, he turned to retire into his shop with some show of victory; for his enemy, whatever might be his innate valour, manifested no desire to drive matters to extremity--conscious, perhaps, that whatever advantage he might gain in single combat with Jonn Christie, would be more than overbalanced by incurring an affair with the constituted authorities of Old England, not at that time apt to be particularly favourable to their new fellow-subjects, in the various successive broils which were then constantly taking place between the individuals of two proud nations, who still retained a stronger sense of their national animosity during centuries, than of their late union for a few years under the government of the same prince. Mrs. Martha Trapbois had dwelt too long in Alsatia, to be either surprised or terrified at the altercation she had witnessed. Indeed, she only wondered that the debate did not end in some of those acts of violence by which they were usually terminated in the Sanctuary. As the disputants separated from each other, she, who had no idea that the cause of the quarrel was more deeply rooted than in the daily scenes of the same nature which she had heard of or witnessed, did not hesitate to stop Master Christie in his return to his shop, and present to him the letter which Lord Glenvarloch had given to her. Had she been better acquainted with life and its business, she would certainly have waited for a more temperate moment; and she had reason to repent of her precipitation, when, without saying a single word, or taking the trouble to gather more of the information contained in the letter than was expressed in the subscription, the incensed ship chandler threw it down on the ground, trampled it in high disdain, and, without addressing a single word to the bearer, except, indeed, something much more like a hearty curse than was perfectly consistent with his own grave appearance, he retired into his shop, and shut the hatch-door. It was with the most inexpressible anguish that the desolate, friendless and unhappy female, thus beheld her sole hope of succour, countenance, and protection, vanish at once, without being able to conceive a reason; for, to do her justice, the idea that her friend, whom she knew by the name of Nigel Grahame, had imposed on her, a solution which might readily have occurred to many in her situation, never once entered her mind. Although it was not her temper easily to bend her mind to entreaty, she could not help exclaiming after the ireful and retreating ship-chandler,-- Good Master, hear me but a moment! for mercy's sake, for honesty's sake! Mercy and honesty from him, mistress! said the Scot, who, though he essayed not to interrupt the retreat of his antagonist,

hence

How many times the word 'hence' appears in the text?

with me! exclaimed Lord Glenvarloch. Yes, she said, I will persuade my father to leave this murdering den. But, as she spoke, the more perfect recollection of what had passed crowded on her mind. She hid her face in her hands, and burst out into a dreadful fit of sobs, moans, and lamentations, which terminated in hysterics, violent in proportion to the uncommon strength of her body and mind. Lord Glenvarloch, shocked, confused, and inexperienced, was about to leave the house in quest of medical, or at least female assistance; but the patient, when the paroxysm had somewhat spent its force, held him fast by the sleeve with one hand, covering her face with the other, while a copious flood of tears came to relieve the emotions of grief by which she had been so violently agitated. Do not leave me, she said-- do not leave me, and call no one. I have never been in this way before, and would not now, she said, sitting upright, and wiping her eyes with her apron,-- would not now--but that--but that he loved _me_. if he loved nothing else that was human--To die so, and by such hands! And again the unhappy woman gave way to a paroxysm of sorrow, mingling her tears with sobbing, wailing, and all the abandonment of female grief, when at its utmost height. At length, she gradually recovered the austerity of her natural composure, and maintained it as if by a forcible exertion of resolution, repelling, as she spoke, the repeated returns of the hysterical affection, by such an effort as that by which epileptic patients are known to suspend the recurrence of their fits. Yet her mind, however resolved, could not so absolutely overcome the affection of her nerves, but that she was agitated by strong fits of trembling, which, for a minute or two at a time, shook her whole frame in a manner frightful to witness. Nigel forgot his own situation, and, indeed, every thing else, in the interest inspired by the unhappy woman before him--an interest which affected a proud spirit the more deeply, that she herself, with correspondent highness of mind, seemed determined to owe as little as possible either to the humanity or the pity of others. I am not wont to be in this way, she said,-- but--but--Nature will have power over the frail beings it has made. Over you, sir, I have some right; for, without you, I had not survived this awful night. I wish your aid had been either earlier or later--but you have saved my life, and you are bound to assist in making it endurable to me. If you will show me how it is possible, answered Nigel. You are going hence, you say, instantly--carry me with you, said the unhappy woman. By my own efforts, I shall never escape from this wilderness of guilt and misery. Alas! what can I do for you? replied Nigel. My own way, and I must not deviate from it, leads me, in all probability, to a dungeon. I might, indeed, transport you from hence with me, if you could afterwards bestow yourself with any friend. Friend! she exclaimed-- I have no friend--they have long since discarded us. A spectre arising from the dead were more welcome than I should be at the doors of those who have disclaimed us; and, if they were willing to restore their friendship to me now, I would despise it, because they withdrew it from him--from him --(here she underwent strong but suppressed agitation, and then added firmly)-- from _him_ who lies yonder.--I have no friend. Here she paused; and then suddenly, as if recollecting herself, added, I have no friend, but I have that will purchase many--I have that which will purchase both friends and avengers.--It is well thought of; I must not leave it for a prey to cheats and ruffians.--Stranger, you must return to yonder room. Pass through it boldly to his--that is, to the sleeping apartment; push the bedstead aside; beneath each of the posts is a brass plate, as if to support the weight, but it is that upon the left, nearest to the wall, which must serve your turn--press the corner of the plate, and it will spring up and show a keyhole, which this key will open. You will then lift a concealed trap-door, and in a cavity of the floor you will discover a small chest. Bring it hither; it shall accompany our journey, and it will be hard if the contents cannot purchase me a place of refuge. But the door communicating with the kitchen has been locked by these people, said Nigel. True, I had forgot; they had their reasons for that, doubtless, answered she. But the secret passage from your apartment is open, and you may go that way. Lord Glenvarloch took the key, and, as he lighted a lamp to show him the way, she read in his countenance some unwillingness to the task imposed. You fear? said she-- there is no cause; the murderer and his victim are both at rest. Take courage, I will go with you myself--you cannot know the trick of the spring, and the chest will be too heavy for you. No fear, no fear, answered Lord Glenvarloch, ashamed of the construction she put upon a momentary hesitation, arising from a dislike to look upon what is horrible, often connected with those high-wrought minds which are the last to fear what is merely dangerous-- I will do your errand as you desire; but for you, you must not--cannot go yonder. I can--I will, she said. I am composed. You shall see that I am so. She took from the table a piece of unfinished sewing-work, and, with steadiness and composure, passed a silken thread into the eye of a fine needle.-- Could I have done that, she said, with a smile yet more ghastly than her previous look of fixed despair, had not my heart and hand been both steady? She then led the way rapidly up stairs to Nigel's chamber, and proceeded through the secret passage with the same haste, as if she had feared her resolution might have failed her ere her purpose was executed. At the bottom of the stairs she paused a moment, before entering the fatal apartment, then hurried through with a rapid step to the sleeping chamber beyond, followed closely by Lord Glenvarloch, whose reluctance to approach the scene of butchery was altogether lost in the anxiety which he felt on account of the survivor of the tragedy. Her first action was to pull aside the curtains of her father's bed. The bed-clothes were thrown aside in confusion, doubtless in the action of his starting from sleep to oppose the entrance of the villains into the next apartment. The hard mattress scarcely showed the slight pressure where the emaciated body of the old miser had been deposited. His daughter sank beside the bed, clasped her hands, and prayed to heaven, in a short and affectionate manner, for support in her affliction, and for vengeance on the villains who had made her fatherless. A low-muttered and still more brief petition recommended to Heaven the soul of the sufferer, and invoked pardon for his sins, in virtue of the great Christian atonement. This duty of piety performed, she signed to Nigel to aid her; and, having pushed aside the heavy bedstead, they saw the brass plate which Martha had described. She pressed the spring, and, at once, the plate starting up, showed the keyhole, and a large iron ring used in lifting the trap-door, which, when raised, displayed the strong box, or small chest, she had mentioned, and which proved indeed so very weighty, that it might perhaps have been scarcely possible for Nigel, though a very strong man, to have raised it without assistance. Having replaced everything as they had found it, Nigel, with such help as his companion was able to afford, assumed his load, and made a shift to carry it into the next apartment, where lay the miserable owner, insensible to sounds and circumstances, which, if any thing could have broken his long last slumber, would certainly have done so. His unfortunate daughter went up to his body, and had even the courage to remove the sheet which had been decently disposed over it. She put her hand on the heart, but there was no throb--held a feather to the lips, but there was no motion--then kissed with deep reverence the starting veins of the pale forehead, and then the emaciated hand. I would you could hear me, she said,-- Father! I would you could hear me swear, that, if I now save what you most valued on earth, it is only to assist me in obtaining vengeance for your death. She replaced the covering, and, without a tear, a sigh, or an additional word of any kind, renewed her efforts, until they conveyed the strong-box betwixt them into Lord Glenvarloch's sleeping apartment. It must pass, she said, as part of your baggage. I will be in readiness so soon as the waterman calls. She retired; and Lord Glenvarloch, who saw the hour of their departure approach, tore down a part of the old hanging to make a covering, which he corded upon the trunk, lest the peculiarity of its shape, and the care with which it was banded and counterbanded with bars of steel, might afford suspicions respecting the treasure which it contained. Having taken this measure of precaution, he changed the rascally disguise, which he had assumed on entering Whitefriars, into a suit becoming his quality, and then, unable to sleep, though exhausted with the events of the night, he threw himself on his bed to await the summons of the waterman. CHAPTER XXVI Give us good voyage, gentle stream--we stun not Thy sober ear with sounds of revelry; Wake not the slumbering echoes of thy banks With voice of flute and horn--we do but seek On the broad pathway of thy swelling bosom To glide in silent safety. _The Double Bridal._ Grey, or rather yellow light, was beginning to twinkle through the fogs of Whitefriars, when a low tap at the door of the unhappy miser announced to Lord Glenvarloch the summons of the boatman. He found at the door the man whom he had seen the night before, with a companion. Come, come, master, let us get afloat, said one of them, in a rough impressive whisper, time and tide wait for no man. They shall not wait for me, said Lord Glenvarloch; but I have some things to carry with me. Ay, ay--no man will take a pair of oars now, Jack, unless he means to load the wherry like a six-horse waggon. When they don't want to shift the whole kitt, they take a sculler, and be d--d to them. Come, come, where be your rattle-traps? One of the men was soon sufficiently loaded, in his own estimation at least, with Lord Glenvarloch's mail and its accompaniments, with which burden he began to trudge towards the Temple Stairs. His comrade, who seemed the principal, began to handle the trunk which contained the miser's treasure, but pitched it down again in an instant, declaring, with a great oath, that it was as reasonable to expect a man to carry Paul's on his back. The daughter of Trapbois, who had by this time joined them, muffled up in a long dark hood and mantle, exclaimed to Lord Glenvarloch-- Let them leave it if they will, let them leave it all; let us but escape from this horrible place. We have mentioned elsewhere, that Nigel was a very athletic young man, and, impelled by a strong feeling of compassion and indignation, he showed his bodily strength singularly on this occasion, by seizing on the ponderous strong-box, and, by means of the rope he had cast around it, throwing it on his shoulders, and marching resolutely forward under a weight, which would have sunk to the earth three young gallants, at the least, of our degenerate day. The waterman followed him in amazement, calling out, Why, master, master, you might as well gie me t'other end on't! and anon offered his assistance to support it in some degree behind, which after the first minute or two Nigel was fain to accept. His strength was almost exhausted when he reached the wherry, which was lying at the Temple Stairs according to appointment; and, when he pitched the trunk into it, the weight sank the bow of the boat so low in the water as well-nigh to overset it. We shall have as hard a fare of it, said the waterman to his companion, as if we were ferrying over an honest bankrupt with all his secreted goods--Ho, ho! good woman, what, are you stepping in for?--our gunwale lies deep enough in the water without live lumber to boot. This person comes with me, said Lord Glenvarloch; she is for the present under my protection. Come, come, master, rejoined the fellow, that is out of my commission. You must not double my freight on me--she may go by land--and, as for protection, her face will protect her from Berwick to the Land's End. You will not except at my doubling the loading, if I double the fare? said Nigel, determined on no account to relinquish the protection of this unhappy woman, for which he had already devised some sort of plan, likely now to be baffled by the characteristic rudeness of the Thames watermen. Ay, by G----, but I will except, though, said the fellow with the green plush jacket: I will overload my wherry neither for love nor money--I love my boat as well as my wife, and a thought better. Nay, nay, comrade, said his mate, that is speaking no true water language. For double fare we are bound to row a witch in her eggshell if she bid us; and so pull away, Jack, and let us have no more prating. They got into the stream-way accordingly, and, although heavily laden, began to move down the river with reasonable speed. The lighter vessels which passed, overtook, or crossed them, in their course, failed not to assail them with their boisterous raillery, which was then called water-wit; for which the extreme plainness of Mistress Martha's features, contrasted with the youth, handsome figure, and good looks of Nigel, furnished the principal topics; while the circumstance of the boat being somewhat overloaded, did not escape their notice. They were hailed successively, as a grocer's wife upon a party of pleasure with her eldest apprentice--as an old woman carrying her grandson to school--and as a young strapping Irishman, conveying an ancient maiden to Dr. Rigmarole's, at Redriffe, who buckles beggars for a tester and a dram of Geneva. All this abuse was retorted in a similar strain of humour by Greenjacket and his companion, who maintained the war of wit with the same alacrity with which they were assailed. Meanwhile, Lord Glenvarloch asked his desolate companion if she had thought on any place where she could remain in safety with her property. She confessed, in more detail than formerly, that her father's character had left her no friends; and that, from the time he had betaken himself to Whitefriars, to escape certain legal consequences of his eager pursuit of gain, she had lived a life of total seclusion; not associating with the society which the place afforded, and, by her residence there, as well as her father's parsimony, effectually cut off from all other company. What she now wished, was, in the first place, to obtain the shelter of a decent lodging, and the countenance of honest people, however low in life, until she should obtain legal advice as to the mode of obtaining justice on her father's murderer. She had no hesitation to charge the guilt upon Colepepper, (commonly called Peppercull,) whom she knew to be as capable of any act of treacherous cruelty, as he was cowardly, where actual manhood was required. He had been strongly suspected of two robberies before, one of which was coupled with an atrocious murder. He had, she intimated, made pretensions to her hand as the easiest and safest way of obtaining possession of her father's wealth; and, on her refusing his addresses, if they could be termed so, in the most positive terms, he had thrown out such obscure hints of vengeance, as, joined with some imperfect assaults upon the house, had kept her in frequent alarm, both on her father's account and her own. Nigel, but that his feeling of respectful delicacy to the unfortunate woman forebade him to do so, could here have communicated a circumstance corroborative of her suspicions, which had already occurred to his own mind. He recollected the hint that old Hildebrod threw forth on the preceding night, that some communication betwixt himself and Colepepper had hastened the catastrophe. As this communication related to the plan which Hildebrod had been pleased to form, of promoting a marriage betwixt Nigel himself and the rich heiress of Trapbois, the fear of losing an opportunity not to be regained, together with the mean malignity of a low-bred ruffian, disappointed in a favourite scheme, was most likely to instigate the bravo to the deed of violence which had been committed. The reflection that his own name was in some degree implicated with the causes of this horrid tragedy, doubled Lord Glenvarloch's anxiety in behalf of the victim whom he had rescued, while at the same time he formed the tacit resolution, that, so soon as his own affairs were put upon some footing, he would contribute all in his power towards the investigation of this bloody affair. After ascertaining from his companion that she could form no better plan of her own, he recommended to her to take up her lodging for the time, at the house of his old landlord, Christie the ship-chandler, at Paul's Wharf, describing the decency and honesty of that worthy couple, and expressing his hopes that they would receive her into their own house, or recommend her at least to that of some person for whom they would be responsible, until she should have time to enter upon other arrangements for herself. The poor woman received advice so grateful to her in her desolate condition, with an expression of thanks, brief indeed, but deeper than any thing had yet extracted from the austerity of her natural disposition. Lord Glenvarloch then proceeded to inform Martha, that certain reasons, connected with his personal safety, called him immediately to Greenwich, and, therefore, it would not be in his power to accompany her to Christie's house, which he would otherwise have done with pleasure: but, tearing a leaf from his tablet, he wrote on it a few lines, addressed to his landlord, as a man of honesty and humanity, in which he described the bearer as a person who stood in singular necessity of temporary protection and good advice, for which her circumstances enabled her to make ample acknowledgment. He therefore requested John Christie, as his old and good friend, to afford her the shelter of his roof for a short time; or, if that might not be consistent with his convenience, at least to direct her to a proper lodging-and, finally, he imposed on him the additional, and somewhat more difficult commission, to recommend her to the counsel and services of an honest, at least a reputable and skilful attorney, for the transacting some law business of importance. The note he subscribed with his real name, and, delivering it to his _protegee_, who received it with another deeply uttered I thank you, which spoke the sterling feelings of her gratitude better than a thousand combined phrases, he commanded the watermen to pull in for Paul's Wharf, which they were now approaching. We have not time, said Green-jacket; we cannot be stopping every instant. But, upon Nigel insisting upon his commands being obeyed, and adding, that it was for the purpose of putting the lady ashore, the waterman declared that he would rather have her room than her company, and put the wherry alongside the wharf accordingly. Here two of the porters, who ply in such places, were easily induced to undertake the charge of the ponderous strong-box, and at the same time to guide the owner to the well-known mansion of John Christie, with whom all who lived in that neighbourhood were perfectly acquainted. The boat, much lightened of its load, went down the Thames at a rate increased in proportion. But we must forbear to pursue her in her voyage for a few minutes, since we have previously to mention the issue of Lord Glenvarloch's recommendation. Mistress Martha Trapbois reached the shop in perfect safety, and was about to enter it, when a sickening sense of the uncertainty of her situation, and of the singularly painful task of telling her story, came over her so strongly, that she paused a moment at the very threshold of her proposed place of refuge, to think in what manner she could best second the recommendation of the friend whom Providence had raised up to her. Had she possessed that knowledge of the world, from which her habits of life had completely excluded her, she might have known that the large sum of money which she brought along with her, might, judiciously managed, have been a passport to her into the mansions of nobles, and the palaces of princes. But, however conscious of its general power, which assumes so many forms and complexions, she was so inexperienced as to be most unnecessarily afraid that the means by which the wealth had been acquired, might exclude its inheretrix from shelter even in the house of a humble tradesman. While she thus delayed, a more reasonable cause for hesitation arose, in a considerable noise and altercation within the house, which grew louder and louder as the disputants issued forth upon the street or lane before the door. The first who entered upon the scene was a tall raw-boned hard-favoured man, who stalked out of the shop hastily, with a gait like that of a Spaniard in a passion, who, disdaining to add speed to his locomotion by running, only condescends, in the utmost extremity of his angry haste, to add length to his stride. He faced about, so soon as he was out of the house, upon his pursuer, a decent-looking, elderly, plain tradesman--no other than John Christie himself, the owner of the shop and tenement, by whom he seemed to be followed, and who was in a state of agitation more than is usually expressed by such a person. I'll hear no more on't, said the personage who first appeared on the scene.-- Sir, I will hear no more on it. Besides being a most false and impudent figment, as I can testify--it is _Scandaalum Magnaatum_, sir--_Scandaalum Magnaatum_ he reiterated with a broad accentuation of the first vowel, well known in the colleges of Edinburgh and Glasgow, which we can only express in print by doubling the said first of letters and of vowels, and which would have cheered the cockles of the reigning monarch had he been within hearing,--as he was a severer stickler for what he deemed the genuine pronunciation of the Roman tongue, than for any of the royal prerogatives, for which he was at times disposed to insist so strenuously in his speeches to Parliament. I care not an ounce of rotten cheese, said John Christie in reply, what you call it--but it is TRUE; and I am a free Englishman, and have right to speak the truth in my own concerns; and your master is little better than a villain, and you no more than a swaggering coxcomb, whose head I will presently break, as I have known it well broken before on lighter occasion. And, so saying, he flourished the paring-shovel which usually made clean the steps of his little shop, and which he had caught up as the readiest weapon of working his foeman damage, and advanced therewith upon him. The cautious Scot (for such our readers must have already pronounced him, from his language and pedantry) drew back as the enraged ship-chandler approached, but in a surly manner, and bearing his hand on his sword-hilt rather in the act of one who was losing habitual forbearance and caution of deportment, than as alarmed by the attack of an antagonist inferior to himself in youth, strength, and weapons. Bide back, he said, Maister Christie--I say bide back, and consult your safety, man. I have evited striking you in your ain house under muckle provocation, because I am ignorant how the laws here may pronounce respecting burglary and hamesucken, and such matters; and, besides, I would not willingly hurt ye, man, e'en on the causeway, that is free to us baith, because I mind your kindness of lang syne, and partly consider ye as a poor deceived creature. But deil d--n me, sir, and I am not wont to swear, but if you touch my Scotch shouther with that shule of yours, I will make six inches of my Andrew Ferrara deevilish intimate with your guts, neighbour. And therewithal, though still retreating from the brandished shovel, he made one-third of the basket-hilled broadsword which he wore, visible from the sheath. The wrath of John Christie was abated, either by his natural temperance of disposition, or perhaps in part by the glimmer of cold steel, which flashed on him from his adversary's last action. I would do well to cry clubs on thee, and have thee ducked at the wharf, he said, grounding his shovel, however, at the same time, for a paltry swaggerer, that would draw thy bit of iron there on an honest citizen before his own door; but get thee gone, and reckon on a salt eel for thy supper, if thou shouldst ever come near my house again. I wish it had been at the bottom of the Thames when it first gave the use of its roof to smooth-faced, oily-tongued, double-minded Scots thieves! It's an ill bird that fouls its own nest, replied his adversary, not perhaps the less bold that he saw matters were taking the turn of a pacific debate; and a pity it is that a kindly Scot should ever have married in foreign parts, and given life to a purse-proud, pudding-headed, fat-gutted, lean-brained Southron, e'en such as you, Maister Christie. But fare ye weel--fare ye weel, for ever and a day; and, if you quarrel wi' a Scot again, man, say as mickle ill o' himsell as ye like, but say nane of his patron or of his countrymen, or it will scarce be your flat cap that will keep your lang lugs from the sharp abridgement of a Highland whinger, man. And, if you continue your insolence to me before my own door, were it but two minutes longer, retorted John Christie, I will call the constable, and make your Scottish ankles acquainted with an English pair of stocks! So saying, he turned to retire into his shop with some show of victory; for his enemy, whatever might be his innate valour, manifested no desire to drive matters to extremity--conscious, perhaps, that whatever advantage he might gain in single combat with Jonn Christie, would be more than overbalanced by incurring an affair with the constituted authorities of Old England, not at that time apt to be particularly favourable to their new fellow-subjects, in the various successive broils which were then constantly taking place between the individuals of two proud nations, who still retained a stronger sense of their national animosity during centuries, than of their late union for a few years under the government of the same prince. Mrs. Martha Trapbois had dwelt too long in Alsatia, to be either surprised or terrified at the altercation she had witnessed. Indeed, she only wondered that the debate did not end in some of those acts of violence by which they were usually terminated in the Sanctuary. As the disputants separated from each other, she, who had no idea that the cause of the quarrel was more deeply rooted than in the daily scenes of the same nature which she had heard of or witnessed, did not hesitate to stop Master Christie in his return to his shop, and present to him the letter which Lord Glenvarloch had given to her. Had she been better acquainted with life and its business, she would certainly have waited for a more temperate moment; and she had reason to repent of her precipitation, when, without saying a single word, or taking the trouble to gather more of the information contained in the letter than was expressed in the subscription, the incensed ship chandler threw it down on the ground, trampled it in high disdain, and, without addressing a single word to the bearer, except, indeed, something much more like a hearty curse than was perfectly consistent with his own grave appearance, he retired into his shop, and shut the hatch-door. It was with the most inexpressible anguish that the desolate, friendless and unhappy female, thus beheld her sole hope of succour, countenance, and protection, vanish at once, without being able to conceive a reason; for, to do her justice, the idea that her friend, whom she knew by the name of Nigel Grahame, had imposed on her, a solution which might readily have occurred to many in her situation, never once entered her mind. Although it was not her temper easily to bend her mind to entreaty, she could not help exclaiming after the ireful and retreating ship-chandler,-- Good Master, hear me but a moment! for mercy's sake, for honesty's sake! Mercy and honesty from him, mistress! said the Scot, who, though he essayed not to interrupt the retreat of his antagonist,

tear

How many times the word 'tear' appears in the text?

with me! exclaimed Lord Glenvarloch. Yes, she said, I will persuade my father to leave this murdering den. But, as she spoke, the more perfect recollection of what had passed crowded on her mind. She hid her face in her hands, and burst out into a dreadful fit of sobs, moans, and lamentations, which terminated in hysterics, violent in proportion to the uncommon strength of her body and mind. Lord Glenvarloch, shocked, confused, and inexperienced, was about to leave the house in quest of medical, or at least female assistance; but the patient, when the paroxysm had somewhat spent its force, held him fast by the sleeve with one hand, covering her face with the other, while a copious flood of tears came to relieve the emotions of grief by which she had been so violently agitated. Do not leave me, she said-- do not leave me, and call no one. I have never been in this way before, and would not now, she said, sitting upright, and wiping her eyes with her apron,-- would not now--but that--but that he loved _me_. if he loved nothing else that was human--To die so, and by such hands! And again the unhappy woman gave way to a paroxysm of sorrow, mingling her tears with sobbing, wailing, and all the abandonment of female grief, when at its utmost height. At length, she gradually recovered the austerity of her natural composure, and maintained it as if by a forcible exertion of resolution, repelling, as she spoke, the repeated returns of the hysterical affection, by such an effort as that by which epileptic patients are known to suspend the recurrence of their fits. Yet her mind, however resolved, could not so absolutely overcome the affection of her nerves, but that she was agitated by strong fits of trembling, which, for a minute or two at a time, shook her whole frame in a manner frightful to witness. Nigel forgot his own situation, and, indeed, every thing else, in the interest inspired by the unhappy woman before him--an interest which affected a proud spirit the more deeply, that she herself, with correspondent highness of mind, seemed determined to owe as little as possible either to the humanity or the pity of others. I am not wont to be in this way, she said,-- but--but--Nature will have power over the frail beings it has made. Over you, sir, I have some right; for, without you, I had not survived this awful night. I wish your aid had been either earlier or later--but you have saved my life, and you are bound to assist in making it endurable to me. If you will show me how it is possible, answered Nigel. You are going hence, you say, instantly--carry me with you, said the unhappy woman. By my own efforts, I shall never escape from this wilderness of guilt and misery. Alas! what can I do for you? replied Nigel. My own way, and I must not deviate from it, leads me, in all probability, to a dungeon. I might, indeed, transport you from hence with me, if you could afterwards bestow yourself with any friend. Friend! she exclaimed-- I have no friend--they have long since discarded us. A spectre arising from the dead were more welcome than I should be at the doors of those who have disclaimed us; and, if they were willing to restore their friendship to me now, I would despise it, because they withdrew it from him--from him --(here she underwent strong but suppressed agitation, and then added firmly)-- from _him_ who lies yonder.--I have no friend. Here she paused; and then suddenly, as if recollecting herself, added, I have no friend, but I have that will purchase many--I have that which will purchase both friends and avengers.--It is well thought of; I must not leave it for a prey to cheats and ruffians.--Stranger, you must return to yonder room. Pass through it boldly to his--that is, to the sleeping apartment; push the bedstead aside; beneath each of the posts is a brass plate, as if to support the weight, but it is that upon the left, nearest to the wall, which must serve your turn--press the corner of the plate, and it will spring up and show a keyhole, which this key will open. You will then lift a concealed trap-door, and in a cavity of the floor you will discover a small chest. Bring it hither; it shall accompany our journey, and it will be hard if the contents cannot purchase me a place of refuge. But the door communicating with the kitchen has been locked by these people, said Nigel. True, I had forgot; they had their reasons for that, doubtless, answered she. But the secret passage from your apartment is open, and you may go that way. Lord Glenvarloch took the key, and, as he lighted a lamp to show him the way, she read in his countenance some unwillingness to the task imposed. You fear? said she-- there is no cause; the murderer and his victim are both at rest. Take courage, I will go with you myself--you cannot know the trick of the spring, and the chest will be too heavy for you. No fear, no fear, answered Lord Glenvarloch, ashamed of the construction she put upon a momentary hesitation, arising from a dislike to look upon what is horrible, often connected with those high-wrought minds which are the last to fear what is merely dangerous-- I will do your errand as you desire; but for you, you must not--cannot go yonder. I can--I will, she said. I am composed. You shall see that I am so. She took from the table a piece of unfinished sewing-work, and, with steadiness and composure, passed a silken thread into the eye of a fine needle.-- Could I have done that, she said, with a smile yet more ghastly than her previous look of fixed despair, had not my heart and hand been both steady? She then led the way rapidly up stairs to Nigel's chamber, and proceeded through the secret passage with the same haste, as if she had feared her resolution might have failed her ere her purpose was executed. At the bottom of the stairs she paused a moment, before entering the fatal apartment, then hurried through with a rapid step to the sleeping chamber beyond, followed closely by Lord Glenvarloch, whose reluctance to approach the scene of butchery was altogether lost in the anxiety which he felt on account of the survivor of the tragedy. Her first action was to pull aside the curtains of her father's bed. The bed-clothes were thrown aside in confusion, doubtless in the action of his starting from sleep to oppose the entrance of the villains into the next apartment. The hard mattress scarcely showed the slight pressure where the emaciated body of the old miser had been deposited. His daughter sank beside the bed, clasped her hands, and prayed to heaven, in a short and affectionate manner, for support in her affliction, and for vengeance on the villains who had made her fatherless. A low-muttered and still more brief petition recommended to Heaven the soul of the sufferer, and invoked pardon for his sins, in virtue of the great Christian atonement. This duty of piety performed, she signed to Nigel to aid her; and, having pushed aside the heavy bedstead, they saw the brass plate which Martha had described. She pressed the spring, and, at once, the plate starting up, showed the keyhole, and a large iron ring used in lifting the trap-door, which, when raised, displayed the strong box, or small chest, she had mentioned, and which proved indeed so very weighty, that it might perhaps have been scarcely possible for Nigel, though a very strong man, to have raised it without assistance. Having replaced everything as they had found it, Nigel, with such help as his companion was able to afford, assumed his load, and made a shift to carry it into the next apartment, where lay the miserable owner, insensible to sounds and circumstances, which, if any thing could have broken his long last slumber, would certainly have done so. His unfortunate daughter went up to his body, and had even the courage to remove the sheet which had been decently disposed over it. She put her hand on the heart, but there was no throb--held a feather to the lips, but there was no motion--then kissed with deep reverence the starting veins of the pale forehead, and then the emaciated hand. I would you could hear me, she said,-- Father! I would you could hear me swear, that, if I now save what you most valued on earth, it is only to assist me in obtaining vengeance for your death. She replaced the covering, and, without a tear, a sigh, or an additional word of any kind, renewed her efforts, until they conveyed the strong-box betwixt them into Lord Glenvarloch's sleeping apartment. It must pass, she said, as part of your baggage. I will be in readiness so soon as the waterman calls. She retired; and Lord Glenvarloch, who saw the hour of their departure approach, tore down a part of the old hanging to make a covering, which he corded upon the trunk, lest the peculiarity of its shape, and the care with which it was banded and counterbanded with bars of steel, might afford suspicions respecting the treasure which it contained. Having taken this measure of precaution, he changed the rascally disguise, which he had assumed on entering Whitefriars, into a suit becoming his quality, and then, unable to sleep, though exhausted with the events of the night, he threw himself on his bed to await the summons of the waterman. CHAPTER XXVI Give us good voyage, gentle stream--we stun not Thy sober ear with sounds of revelry; Wake not the slumbering echoes of thy banks With voice of flute and horn--we do but seek On the broad pathway of thy swelling bosom To glide in silent safety. _The Double Bridal._ Grey, or rather yellow light, was beginning to twinkle through the fogs of Whitefriars, when a low tap at the door of the unhappy miser announced to Lord Glenvarloch the summons of the boatman. He found at the door the man whom he had seen the night before, with a companion. Come, come, master, let us get afloat, said one of them, in a rough impressive whisper, time and tide wait for no man. They shall not wait for me, said Lord Glenvarloch; but I have some things to carry with me. Ay, ay--no man will take a pair of oars now, Jack, unless he means to load the wherry like a six-horse waggon. When they don't want to shift the whole kitt, they take a sculler, and be d--d to them. Come, come, where be your rattle-traps? One of the men was soon sufficiently loaded, in his own estimation at least, with Lord Glenvarloch's mail and its accompaniments, with which burden he began to trudge towards the Temple Stairs. His comrade, who seemed the principal, began to handle the trunk which contained the miser's treasure, but pitched it down again in an instant, declaring, with a great oath, that it was as reasonable to expect a man to carry Paul's on his back. The daughter of Trapbois, who had by this time joined them, muffled up in a long dark hood and mantle, exclaimed to Lord Glenvarloch-- Let them leave it if they will, let them leave it all; let us but escape from this horrible place. We have mentioned elsewhere, that Nigel was a very athletic young man, and, impelled by a strong feeling of compassion and indignation, he showed his bodily strength singularly on this occasion, by seizing on the ponderous strong-box, and, by means of the rope he had cast around it, throwing it on his shoulders, and marching resolutely forward under a weight, which would have sunk to the earth three young gallants, at the least, of our degenerate day. The waterman followed him in amazement, calling out, Why, master, master, you might as well gie me t'other end on't! and anon offered his assistance to support it in some degree behind, which after the first minute or two Nigel was fain to accept. His strength was almost exhausted when he reached the wherry, which was lying at the Temple Stairs according to appointment; and, when he pitched the trunk into it, the weight sank the bow of the boat so low in the water as well-nigh to overset it. We shall have as hard a fare of it, said the waterman to his companion, as if we were ferrying over an honest bankrupt with all his secreted goods--Ho, ho! good woman, what, are you stepping in for?--our gunwale lies deep enough in the water without live lumber to boot. This person comes with me, said Lord Glenvarloch; she is for the present under my protection. Come, come, master, rejoined the fellow, that is out of my commission. You must not double my freight on me--she may go by land--and, as for protection, her face will protect her from Berwick to the Land's End. You will not except at my doubling the loading, if I double the fare? said Nigel, determined on no account to relinquish the protection of this unhappy woman, for which he had already devised some sort of plan, likely now to be baffled by the characteristic rudeness of the Thames watermen. Ay, by G----, but I will except, though, said the fellow with the green plush jacket: I will overload my wherry neither for love nor money--I love my boat as well as my wife, and a thought better. Nay, nay, comrade, said his mate, that is speaking no true water language. For double fare we are bound to row a witch in her eggshell if she bid us; and so pull away, Jack, and let us have no more prating. They got into the stream-way accordingly, and, although heavily laden, began to move down the river with reasonable speed. The lighter vessels which passed, overtook, or crossed them, in their course, failed not to assail them with their boisterous raillery, which was then called water-wit; for which the extreme plainness of Mistress Martha's features, contrasted with the youth, handsome figure, and good looks of Nigel, furnished the principal topics; while the circumstance of the boat being somewhat overloaded, did not escape their notice. They were hailed successively, as a grocer's wife upon a party of pleasure with her eldest apprentice--as an old woman carrying her grandson to school--and as a young strapping Irishman, conveying an ancient maiden to Dr. Rigmarole's, at Redriffe, who buckles beggars for a tester and a dram of Geneva. All this abuse was retorted in a similar strain of humour by Greenjacket and his companion, who maintained the war of wit with the same alacrity with which they were assailed. Meanwhile, Lord Glenvarloch asked his desolate companion if she had thought on any place where she could remain in safety with her property. She confessed, in more detail than formerly, that her father's character had left her no friends; and that, from the time he had betaken himself to Whitefriars, to escape certain legal consequences of his eager pursuit of gain, she had lived a life of total seclusion; not associating with the society which the place afforded, and, by her residence there, as well as her father's parsimony, effectually cut off from all other company. What she now wished, was, in the first place, to obtain the shelter of a decent lodging, and the countenance of honest people, however low in life, until she should obtain legal advice as to the mode of obtaining justice on her father's murderer. She had no hesitation to charge the guilt upon Colepepper, (commonly called Peppercull,) whom she knew to be as capable of any act of treacherous cruelty, as he was cowardly, where actual manhood was required. He had been strongly suspected of two robberies before, one of which was coupled with an atrocious murder. He had, she intimated, made pretensions to her hand as the easiest and safest way of obtaining possession of her father's wealth; and, on her refusing his addresses, if they could be termed so, in the most positive terms, he had thrown out such obscure hints of vengeance, as, joined with some imperfect assaults upon the house, had kept her in frequent alarm, both on her father's account and her own. Nigel, but that his feeling of respectful delicacy to the unfortunate woman forebade him to do so, could here have communicated a circumstance corroborative of her suspicions, which had already occurred to his own mind. He recollected the hint that old Hildebrod threw forth on the preceding night, that some communication betwixt himself and Colepepper had hastened the catastrophe. As this communication related to the plan which Hildebrod had been pleased to form, of promoting a marriage betwixt Nigel himself and the rich heiress of Trapbois, the fear of losing an opportunity not to be regained, together with the mean malignity of a low-bred ruffian, disappointed in a favourite scheme, was most likely to instigate the bravo to the deed of violence which had been committed. The reflection that his own name was in some degree implicated with the causes of this horrid tragedy, doubled Lord Glenvarloch's anxiety in behalf of the victim whom he had rescued, while at the same time he formed the tacit resolution, that, so soon as his own affairs were put upon some footing, he would contribute all in his power towards the investigation of this bloody affair. After ascertaining from his companion that she could form no better plan of her own, he recommended to her to take up her lodging for the time, at the house of his old landlord, Christie the ship-chandler, at Paul's Wharf, describing the decency and honesty of that worthy couple, and expressing his hopes that they would receive her into their own house, or recommend her at least to that of some person for whom they would be responsible, until she should have time to enter upon other arrangements for herself. The poor woman received advice so grateful to her in her desolate condition, with an expression of thanks, brief indeed, but deeper than any thing had yet extracted from the austerity of her natural disposition. Lord Glenvarloch then proceeded to inform Martha, that certain reasons, connected with his personal safety, called him immediately to Greenwich, and, therefore, it would not be in his power to accompany her to Christie's house, which he would otherwise have done with pleasure: but, tearing a leaf from his tablet, he wrote on it a few lines, addressed to his landlord, as a man of honesty and humanity, in which he described the bearer as a person who stood in singular necessity of temporary protection and good advice, for which her circumstances enabled her to make ample acknowledgment. He therefore requested John Christie, as his old and good friend, to afford her the shelter of his roof for a short time; or, if that might not be consistent with his convenience, at least to direct her to a proper lodging-and, finally, he imposed on him the additional, and somewhat more difficult commission, to recommend her to the counsel and services of an honest, at least a reputable and skilful attorney, for the transacting some law business of importance. The note he subscribed with his real name, and, delivering it to his _protegee_, who received it with another deeply uttered I thank you, which spoke the sterling feelings of her gratitude better than a thousand combined phrases, he commanded the watermen to pull in for Paul's Wharf, which they were now approaching. We have not time, said Green-jacket; we cannot be stopping every instant. But, upon Nigel insisting upon his commands being obeyed, and adding, that it was for the purpose of putting the lady ashore, the waterman declared that he would rather have her room than her company, and put the wherry alongside the wharf accordingly. Here two of the porters, who ply in such places, were easily induced to undertake the charge of the ponderous strong-box, and at the same time to guide the owner to the well-known mansion of John Christie, with whom all who lived in that neighbourhood were perfectly acquainted. The boat, much lightened of its load, went down the Thames at a rate increased in proportion. But we must forbear to pursue her in her voyage for a few minutes, since we have previously to mention the issue of Lord Glenvarloch's recommendation. Mistress Martha Trapbois reached the shop in perfect safety, and was about to enter it, when a sickening sense of the uncertainty of her situation, and of the singularly painful task of telling her story, came over her so strongly, that she paused a moment at the very threshold of her proposed place of refuge, to think in what manner she could best second the recommendation of the friend whom Providence had raised up to her. Had she possessed that knowledge of the world, from which her habits of life had completely excluded her, she might have known that the large sum of money which she brought along with her, might, judiciously managed, have been a passport to her into the mansions of nobles, and the palaces of princes. But, however conscious of its general power, which assumes so many forms and complexions, she was so inexperienced as to be most unnecessarily afraid that the means by which the wealth had been acquired, might exclude its inheretrix from shelter even in the house of a humble tradesman. While she thus delayed, a more reasonable cause for hesitation arose, in a considerable noise and altercation within the house, which grew louder and louder as the disputants issued forth upon the street or lane before the door. The first who entered upon the scene was a tall raw-boned hard-favoured man, who stalked out of the shop hastily, with a gait like that of a Spaniard in a passion, who, disdaining to add speed to his locomotion by running, only condescends, in the utmost extremity of his angry haste, to add length to his stride. He faced about, so soon as he was out of the house, upon his pursuer, a decent-looking, elderly, plain tradesman--no other than John Christie himself, the owner of the shop and tenement, by whom he seemed to be followed, and who was in a state of agitation more than is usually expressed by such a person. I'll hear no more on't, said the personage who first appeared on the scene.-- Sir, I will hear no more on it. Besides being a most false and impudent figment, as I can testify--it is _Scandaalum Magnaatum_, sir--_Scandaalum Magnaatum_ he reiterated with a broad accentuation of the first vowel, well known in the colleges of Edinburgh and Glasgow, which we can only express in print by doubling the said first of letters and of vowels, and which would have cheered the cockles of the reigning monarch had he been within hearing,--as he was a severer stickler for what he deemed the genuine pronunciation of the Roman tongue, than for any of the royal prerogatives, for which he was at times disposed to insist so strenuously in his speeches to Parliament. I care not an ounce of rotten cheese, said John Christie in reply, what you call it--but it is TRUE; and I am a free Englishman, and have right to speak the truth in my own concerns; and your master is little better than a villain, and you no more than a swaggering coxcomb, whose head I will presently break, as I have known it well broken before on lighter occasion. And, so saying, he flourished the paring-shovel which usually made clean the steps of his little shop, and which he had caught up as the readiest weapon of working his foeman damage, and advanced therewith upon him. The cautious Scot (for such our readers must have already pronounced him, from his language and pedantry) drew back as the enraged ship-chandler approached, but in a surly manner, and bearing his hand on his sword-hilt rather in the act of one who was losing habitual forbearance and caution of deportment, than as alarmed by the attack of an antagonist inferior to himself in youth, strength, and weapons. Bide back, he said, Maister Christie--I say bide back, and consult your safety, man. I have evited striking you in your ain house under muckle provocation, because I am ignorant how the laws here may pronounce respecting burglary and hamesucken, and such matters; and, besides, I would not willingly hurt ye, man, e'en on the causeway, that is free to us baith, because I mind your kindness of lang syne, and partly consider ye as a poor deceived creature. But deil d--n me, sir, and I am not wont to swear, but if you touch my Scotch shouther with that shule of yours, I will make six inches of my Andrew Ferrara deevilish intimate with your guts, neighbour. And therewithal, though still retreating from the brandished shovel, he made one-third of the basket-hilled broadsword which he wore, visible from the sheath. The wrath of John Christie was abated, either by his natural temperance of disposition, or perhaps in part by the glimmer of cold steel, which flashed on him from his adversary's last action. I would do well to cry clubs on thee, and have thee ducked at the wharf, he said, grounding his shovel, however, at the same time, for a paltry swaggerer, that would draw thy bit of iron there on an honest citizen before his own door; but get thee gone, and reckon on a salt eel for thy supper, if thou shouldst ever come near my house again. I wish it had been at the bottom of the Thames when it first gave the use of its roof to smooth-faced, oily-tongued, double-minded Scots thieves! It's an ill bird that fouls its own nest, replied his adversary, not perhaps the less bold that he saw matters were taking the turn of a pacific debate; and a pity it is that a kindly Scot should ever have married in foreign parts, and given life to a purse-proud, pudding-headed, fat-gutted, lean-brained Southron, e'en such as you, Maister Christie. But fare ye weel--fare ye weel, for ever and a day; and, if you quarrel wi' a Scot again, man, say as mickle ill o' himsell as ye like, but say nane of his patron or of his countrymen, or it will scarce be your flat cap that will keep your lang lugs from the sharp abridgement of a Highland whinger, man. And, if you continue your insolence to me before my own door, were it but two minutes longer, retorted John Christie, I will call the constable, and make your Scottish ankles acquainted with an English pair of stocks! So saying, he turned to retire into his shop with some show of victory; for his enemy, whatever might be his innate valour, manifested no desire to drive matters to extremity--conscious, perhaps, that whatever advantage he might gain in single combat with Jonn Christie, would be more than overbalanced by incurring an affair with the constituted authorities of Old England, not at that time apt to be particularly favourable to their new fellow-subjects, in the various successive broils which were then constantly taking place between the individuals of two proud nations, who still retained a stronger sense of their national animosity during centuries, than of their late union for a few years under the government of the same prince. Mrs. Martha Trapbois had dwelt too long in Alsatia, to be either surprised or terrified at the altercation she had witnessed. Indeed, she only wondered that the debate did not end in some of those acts of violence by which they were usually terminated in the Sanctuary. As the disputants separated from each other, she, who had no idea that the cause of the quarrel was more deeply rooted than in the daily scenes of the same nature which she had heard of or witnessed, did not hesitate to stop Master Christie in his return to his shop, and present to him the letter which Lord Glenvarloch had given to her. Had she been better acquainted with life and its business, she would certainly have waited for a more temperate moment; and she had reason to repent of her precipitation, when, without saying a single word, or taking the trouble to gather more of the information contained in the letter than was expressed in the subscription, the incensed ship chandler threw it down on the ground, trampled it in high disdain, and, without addressing a single word to the bearer, except, indeed, something much more like a hearty curse than was perfectly consistent with his own grave appearance, he retired into his shop, and shut the hatch-door. It was with the most inexpressible anguish that the desolate, friendless and unhappy female, thus beheld her sole hope of succour, countenance, and protection, vanish at once, without being able to conceive a reason; for, to do her justice, the idea that her friend, whom she knew by the name of Nigel Grahame, had imposed on her, a solution which might readily have occurred to many in her situation, never once entered her mind. Although it was not her temper easily to bend her mind to entreaty, she could not help exclaiming after the ireful and retreating ship-chandler,-- Good Master, hear me but a moment! for mercy's sake, for honesty's sake! Mercy and honesty from him, mistress! said the Scot, who, though he essayed not to interrupt the retreat of his antagonist,

emilia

How many times the word 'emilia' appears in the text?

with me! exclaimed Lord Glenvarloch. Yes, she said, I will persuade my father to leave this murdering den. But, as she spoke, the more perfect recollection of what had passed crowded on her mind. She hid her face in her hands, and burst out into a dreadful fit of sobs, moans, and lamentations, which terminated in hysterics, violent in proportion to the uncommon strength of her body and mind. Lord Glenvarloch, shocked, confused, and inexperienced, was about to leave the house in quest of medical, or at least female assistance; but the patient, when the paroxysm had somewhat spent its force, held him fast by the sleeve with one hand, covering her face with the other, while a copious flood of tears came to relieve the emotions of grief by which she had been so violently agitated. Do not leave me, she said-- do not leave me, and call no one. I have never been in this way before, and would not now, she said, sitting upright, and wiping her eyes with her apron,-- would not now--but that--but that he loved _me_. if he loved nothing else that was human--To die so, and by such hands! And again the unhappy woman gave way to a paroxysm of sorrow, mingling her tears with sobbing, wailing, and all the abandonment of female grief, when at its utmost height. At length, she gradually recovered the austerity of her natural composure, and maintained it as if by a forcible exertion of resolution, repelling, as she spoke, the repeated returns of the hysterical affection, by such an effort as that by which epileptic patients are known to suspend the recurrence of their fits. Yet her mind, however resolved, could not so absolutely overcome the affection of her nerves, but that she was agitated by strong fits of trembling, which, for a minute or two at a time, shook her whole frame in a manner frightful to witness. Nigel forgot his own situation, and, indeed, every thing else, in the interest inspired by the unhappy woman before him--an interest which affected a proud spirit the more deeply, that she herself, with correspondent highness of mind, seemed determined to owe as little as possible either to the humanity or the pity of others. I am not wont to be in this way, she said,-- but--but--Nature will have power over the frail beings it has made. Over you, sir, I have some right; for, without you, I had not survived this awful night. I wish your aid had been either earlier or later--but you have saved my life, and you are bound to assist in making it endurable to me. If you will show me how it is possible, answered Nigel. You are going hence, you say, instantly--carry me with you, said the unhappy woman. By my own efforts, I shall never escape from this wilderness of guilt and misery. Alas! what can I do for you? replied Nigel. My own way, and I must not deviate from it, leads me, in all probability, to a dungeon. I might, indeed, transport you from hence with me, if you could afterwards bestow yourself with any friend. Friend! she exclaimed-- I have no friend--they have long since discarded us. A spectre arising from the dead were more welcome than I should be at the doors of those who have disclaimed us; and, if they were willing to restore their friendship to me now, I would despise it, because they withdrew it from him--from him --(here she underwent strong but suppressed agitation, and then added firmly)-- from _him_ who lies yonder.--I have no friend. Here she paused; and then suddenly, as if recollecting herself, added, I have no friend, but I have that will purchase many--I have that which will purchase both friends and avengers.--It is well thought of; I must not leave it for a prey to cheats and ruffians.--Stranger, you must return to yonder room. Pass through it boldly to his--that is, to the sleeping apartment; push the bedstead aside; beneath each of the posts is a brass plate, as if to support the weight, but it is that upon the left, nearest to the wall, which must serve your turn--press the corner of the plate, and it will spring up and show a keyhole, which this key will open. You will then lift a concealed trap-door, and in a cavity of the floor you will discover a small chest. Bring it hither; it shall accompany our journey, and it will be hard if the contents cannot purchase me a place of refuge. But the door communicating with the kitchen has been locked by these people, said Nigel. True, I had forgot; they had their reasons for that, doubtless, answered she. But the secret passage from your apartment is open, and you may go that way. Lord Glenvarloch took the key, and, as he lighted a lamp to show him the way, she read in his countenance some unwillingness to the task imposed. You fear? said she-- there is no cause; the murderer and his victim are both at rest. Take courage, I will go with you myself--you cannot know the trick of the spring, and the chest will be too heavy for you. No fear, no fear, answered Lord Glenvarloch, ashamed of the construction she put upon a momentary hesitation, arising from a dislike to look upon what is horrible, often connected with those high-wrought minds which are the last to fear what is merely dangerous-- I will do your errand as you desire; but for you, you must not--cannot go yonder. I can--I will, she said. I am composed. You shall see that I am so. She took from the table a piece of unfinished sewing-work, and, with steadiness and composure, passed a silken thread into the eye of a fine needle.-- Could I have done that, she said, with a smile yet more ghastly than her previous look of fixed despair, had not my heart and hand been both steady? She then led the way rapidly up stairs to Nigel's chamber, and proceeded through the secret passage with the same haste, as if she had feared her resolution might have failed her ere her purpose was executed. At the bottom of the stairs she paused a moment, before entering the fatal apartment, then hurried through with a rapid step to the sleeping chamber beyond, followed closely by Lord Glenvarloch, whose reluctance to approach the scene of butchery was altogether lost in the anxiety which he felt on account of the survivor of the tragedy. Her first action was to pull aside the curtains of her father's bed. The bed-clothes were thrown aside in confusion, doubtless in the action of his starting from sleep to oppose the entrance of the villains into the next apartment. The hard mattress scarcely showed the slight pressure where the emaciated body of the old miser had been deposited. His daughter sank beside the bed, clasped her hands, and prayed to heaven, in a short and affectionate manner, for support in her affliction, and for vengeance on the villains who had made her fatherless. A low-muttered and still more brief petition recommended to Heaven the soul of the sufferer, and invoked pardon for his sins, in virtue of the great Christian atonement. This duty of piety performed, she signed to Nigel to aid her; and, having pushed aside the heavy bedstead, they saw the brass plate which Martha had described. She pressed the spring, and, at once, the plate starting up, showed the keyhole, and a large iron ring used in lifting the trap-door, which, when raised, displayed the strong box, or small chest, she had mentioned, and which proved indeed so very weighty, that it might perhaps have been scarcely possible for Nigel, though a very strong man, to have raised it without assistance. Having replaced everything as they had found it, Nigel, with such help as his companion was able to afford, assumed his load, and made a shift to carry it into the next apartment, where lay the miserable owner, insensible to sounds and circumstances, which, if any thing could have broken his long last slumber, would certainly have done so. His unfortunate daughter went up to his body, and had even the courage to remove the sheet which had been decently disposed over it. She put her hand on the heart, but there was no throb--held a feather to the lips, but there was no motion--then kissed with deep reverence the starting veins of the pale forehead, and then the emaciated hand. I would you could hear me, she said,-- Father! I would you could hear me swear, that, if I now save what you most valued on earth, it is only to assist me in obtaining vengeance for your death. She replaced the covering, and, without a tear, a sigh, or an additional word of any kind, renewed her efforts, until they conveyed the strong-box betwixt them into Lord Glenvarloch's sleeping apartment. It must pass, she said, as part of your baggage. I will be in readiness so soon as the waterman calls. She retired; and Lord Glenvarloch, who saw the hour of their departure approach, tore down a part of the old hanging to make a covering, which he corded upon the trunk, lest the peculiarity of its shape, and the care with which it was banded and counterbanded with bars of steel, might afford suspicions respecting the treasure which it contained. Having taken this measure of precaution, he changed the rascally disguise, which he had assumed on entering Whitefriars, into a suit becoming his quality, and then, unable to sleep, though exhausted with the events of the night, he threw himself on his bed to await the summons of the waterman. CHAPTER XXVI Give us good voyage, gentle stream--we stun not Thy sober ear with sounds of revelry; Wake not the slumbering echoes of thy banks With voice of flute and horn--we do but seek On the broad pathway of thy swelling bosom To glide in silent safety. _The Double Bridal._ Grey, or rather yellow light, was beginning to twinkle through the fogs of Whitefriars, when a low tap at the door of the unhappy miser announced to Lord Glenvarloch the summons of the boatman. He found at the door the man whom he had seen the night before, with a companion. Come, come, master, let us get afloat, said one of them, in a rough impressive whisper, time and tide wait for no man. They shall not wait for me, said Lord Glenvarloch; but I have some things to carry with me. Ay, ay--no man will take a pair of oars now, Jack, unless he means to load the wherry like a six-horse waggon. When they don't want to shift the whole kitt, they take a sculler, and be d--d to them. Come, come, where be your rattle-traps? One of the men was soon sufficiently loaded, in his own estimation at least, with Lord Glenvarloch's mail and its accompaniments, with which burden he began to trudge towards the Temple Stairs. His comrade, who seemed the principal, began to handle the trunk which contained the miser's treasure, but pitched it down again in an instant, declaring, with a great oath, that it was as reasonable to expect a man to carry Paul's on his back. The daughter of Trapbois, who had by this time joined them, muffled up in a long dark hood and mantle, exclaimed to Lord Glenvarloch-- Let them leave it if they will, let them leave it all; let us but escape from this horrible place. We have mentioned elsewhere, that Nigel was a very athletic young man, and, impelled by a strong feeling of compassion and indignation, he showed his bodily strength singularly on this occasion, by seizing on the ponderous strong-box, and, by means of the rope he had cast around it, throwing it on his shoulders, and marching resolutely forward under a weight, which would have sunk to the earth three young gallants, at the least, of our degenerate day. The waterman followed him in amazement, calling out, Why, master, master, you might as well gie me t'other end on't! and anon offered his assistance to support it in some degree behind, which after the first minute or two Nigel was fain to accept. His strength was almost exhausted when he reached the wherry, which was lying at the Temple Stairs according to appointment; and, when he pitched the trunk into it, the weight sank the bow of the boat so low in the water as well-nigh to overset it. We shall have as hard a fare of it, said the waterman to his companion, as if we were ferrying over an honest bankrupt with all his secreted goods--Ho, ho! good woman, what, are you stepping in for?--our gunwale lies deep enough in the water without live lumber to boot. This person comes with me, said Lord Glenvarloch; she is for the present under my protection. Come, come, master, rejoined the fellow, that is out of my commission. You must not double my freight on me--she may go by land--and, as for protection, her face will protect her from Berwick to the Land's End. You will not except at my doubling the loading, if I double the fare? said Nigel, determined on no account to relinquish the protection of this unhappy woman, for which he had already devised some sort of plan, likely now to be baffled by the characteristic rudeness of the Thames watermen. Ay, by G----, but I will except, though, said the fellow with the green plush jacket: I will overload my wherry neither for love nor money--I love my boat as well as my wife, and a thought better. Nay, nay, comrade, said his mate, that is speaking no true water language. For double fare we are bound to row a witch in her eggshell if she bid us; and so pull away, Jack, and let us have no more prating. They got into the stream-way accordingly, and, although heavily laden, began to move down the river with reasonable speed. The lighter vessels which passed, overtook, or crossed them, in their course, failed not to assail them with their boisterous raillery, which was then called water-wit; for which the extreme plainness of Mistress Martha's features, contrasted with the youth, handsome figure, and good looks of Nigel, furnished the principal topics; while the circumstance of the boat being somewhat overloaded, did not escape their notice. They were hailed successively, as a grocer's wife upon a party of pleasure with her eldest apprentice--as an old woman carrying her grandson to school--and as a young strapping Irishman, conveying an ancient maiden to Dr. Rigmarole's, at Redriffe, who buckles beggars for a tester and a dram of Geneva. All this abuse was retorted in a similar strain of humour by Greenjacket and his companion, who maintained the war of wit with the same alacrity with which they were assailed. Meanwhile, Lord Glenvarloch asked his desolate companion if she had thought on any place where she could remain in safety with her property. She confessed, in more detail than formerly, that her father's character had left her no friends; and that, from the time he had betaken himself to Whitefriars, to escape certain legal consequences of his eager pursuit of gain, she had lived a life of total seclusion; not associating with the society which the place afforded, and, by her residence there, as well as her father's parsimony, effectually cut off from all other company. What she now wished, was, in the first place, to obtain the shelter of a decent lodging, and the countenance of honest people, however low in life, until she should obtain legal advice as to the mode of obtaining justice on her father's murderer. She had no hesitation to charge the guilt upon Colepepper, (commonly called Peppercull,) whom she knew to be as capable of any act of treacherous cruelty, as he was cowardly, where actual manhood was required. He had been strongly suspected of two robberies before, one of which was coupled with an atrocious murder. He had, she intimated, made pretensions to her hand as the easiest and safest way of obtaining possession of her father's wealth; and, on her refusing his addresses, if they could be termed so, in the most positive terms, he had thrown out such obscure hints of vengeance, as, joined with some imperfect assaults upon the house, had kept her in frequent alarm, both on her father's account and her own. Nigel, but that his feeling of respectful delicacy to the unfortunate woman forebade him to do so, could here have communicated a circumstance corroborative of her suspicions, which had already occurred to his own mind. He recollected the hint that old Hildebrod threw forth on the preceding night, that some communication betwixt himself and Colepepper had hastened the catastrophe. As this communication related to the plan which Hildebrod had been pleased to form, of promoting a marriage betwixt Nigel himself and the rich heiress of Trapbois, the fear of losing an opportunity not to be regained, together with the mean malignity of a low-bred ruffian, disappointed in a favourite scheme, was most likely to instigate the bravo to the deed of violence which had been committed. The reflection that his own name was in some degree implicated with the causes of this horrid tragedy, doubled Lord Glenvarloch's anxiety in behalf of the victim whom he had rescued, while at the same time he formed the tacit resolution, that, so soon as his own affairs were put upon some footing, he would contribute all in his power towards the investigation of this bloody affair. After ascertaining from his companion that she could form no better plan of her own, he recommended to her to take up her lodging for the time, at the house of his old landlord, Christie the ship-chandler, at Paul's Wharf, describing the decency and honesty of that worthy couple, and expressing his hopes that they would receive her into their own house, or recommend her at least to that of some person for whom they would be responsible, until she should have time to enter upon other arrangements for herself. The poor woman received advice so grateful to her in her desolate condition, with an expression of thanks, brief indeed, but deeper than any thing had yet extracted from the austerity of her natural disposition. Lord Glenvarloch then proceeded to inform Martha, that certain reasons, connected with his personal safety, called him immediately to Greenwich, and, therefore, it would not be in his power to accompany her to Christie's house, which he would otherwise have done with pleasure: but, tearing a leaf from his tablet, he wrote on it a few lines, addressed to his landlord, as a man of honesty and humanity, in which he described the bearer as a person who stood in singular necessity of temporary protection and good advice, for which her circumstances enabled her to make ample acknowledgment. He therefore requested John Christie, as his old and good friend, to afford her the shelter of his roof for a short time; or, if that might not be consistent with his convenience, at least to direct her to a proper lodging-and, finally, he imposed on him the additional, and somewhat more difficult commission, to recommend her to the counsel and services of an honest, at least a reputable and skilful attorney, for the transacting some law business of importance. The note he subscribed with his real name, and, delivering it to his _protegee_, who received it with another deeply uttered I thank you, which spoke the sterling feelings of her gratitude better than a thousand combined phrases, he commanded the watermen to pull in for Paul's Wharf, which they were now approaching. We have not time, said Green-jacket; we cannot be stopping every instant. But, upon Nigel insisting upon his commands being obeyed, and adding, that it was for the purpose of putting the lady ashore, the waterman declared that he would rather have her room than her company, and put the wherry alongside the wharf accordingly. Here two of the porters, who ply in such places, were easily induced to undertake the charge of the ponderous strong-box, and at the same time to guide the owner to the well-known mansion of John Christie, with whom all who lived in that neighbourhood were perfectly acquainted. The boat, much lightened of its load, went down the Thames at a rate increased in proportion. But we must forbear to pursue her in her voyage for a few minutes, since we have previously to mention the issue of Lord Glenvarloch's recommendation. Mistress Martha Trapbois reached the shop in perfect safety, and was about to enter it, when a sickening sense of the uncertainty of her situation, and of the singularly painful task of telling her story, came over her so strongly, that she paused a moment at the very threshold of her proposed place of refuge, to think in what manner she could best second the recommendation of the friend whom Providence had raised up to her. Had she possessed that knowledge of the world, from which her habits of life had completely excluded her, she might have known that the large sum of money which she brought along with her, might, judiciously managed, have been a passport to her into the mansions of nobles, and the palaces of princes. But, however conscious of its general power, which assumes so many forms and complexions, she was so inexperienced as to be most unnecessarily afraid that the means by which the wealth had been acquired, might exclude its inheretrix from shelter even in the house of a humble tradesman. While she thus delayed, a more reasonable cause for hesitation arose, in a considerable noise and altercation within the house, which grew louder and louder as the disputants issued forth upon the street or lane before the door. The first who entered upon the scene was a tall raw-boned hard-favoured man, who stalked out of the shop hastily, with a gait like that of a Spaniard in a passion, who, disdaining to add speed to his locomotion by running, only condescends, in the utmost extremity of his angry haste, to add length to his stride. He faced about, so soon as he was out of the house, upon his pursuer, a decent-looking, elderly, plain tradesman--no other than John Christie himself, the owner of the shop and tenement, by whom he seemed to be followed, and who was in a state of agitation more than is usually expressed by such a person. I'll hear no more on't, said the personage who first appeared on the scene.-- Sir, I will hear no more on it. Besides being a most false and impudent figment, as I can testify--it is _Scandaalum Magnaatum_, sir--_Scandaalum Magnaatum_ he reiterated with a broad accentuation of the first vowel, well known in the colleges of Edinburgh and Glasgow, which we can only express in print by doubling the said first of letters and of vowels, and which would have cheered the cockles of the reigning monarch had he been within hearing,--as he was a severer stickler for what he deemed the genuine pronunciation of the Roman tongue, than for any of the royal prerogatives, for which he was at times disposed to insist so strenuously in his speeches to Parliament. I care not an ounce of rotten cheese, said John Christie in reply, what you call it--but it is TRUE; and I am a free Englishman, and have right to speak the truth in my own concerns; and your master is little better than a villain, and you no more than a swaggering coxcomb, whose head I will presently break, as I have known it well broken before on lighter occasion. And, so saying, he flourished the paring-shovel which usually made clean the steps of his little shop, and which he had caught up as the readiest weapon of working his foeman damage, and advanced therewith upon him. The cautious Scot (for such our readers must have already pronounced him, from his language and pedantry) drew back as the enraged ship-chandler approached, but in a surly manner, and bearing his hand on his sword-hilt rather in the act of one who was losing habitual forbearance and caution of deportment, than as alarmed by the attack of an antagonist inferior to himself in youth, strength, and weapons. Bide back, he said, Maister Christie--I say bide back, and consult your safety, man. I have evited striking you in your ain house under muckle provocation, because I am ignorant how the laws here may pronounce respecting burglary and hamesucken, and such matters; and, besides, I would not willingly hurt ye, man, e'en on the causeway, that is free to us baith, because I mind your kindness of lang syne, and partly consider ye as a poor deceived creature. But deil d--n me, sir, and I am not wont to swear, but if you touch my Scotch shouther with that shule of yours, I will make six inches of my Andrew Ferrara deevilish intimate with your guts, neighbour. And therewithal, though still retreating from the brandished shovel, he made one-third of the basket-hilled broadsword which he wore, visible from the sheath. The wrath of John Christie was abated, either by his natural temperance of disposition, or perhaps in part by the glimmer of cold steel, which flashed on him from his adversary's last action. I would do well to cry clubs on thee, and have thee ducked at the wharf, he said, grounding his shovel, however, at the same time, for a paltry swaggerer, that would draw thy bit of iron there on an honest citizen before his own door; but get thee gone, and reckon on a salt eel for thy supper, if thou shouldst ever come near my house again. I wish it had been at the bottom of the Thames when it first gave the use of its roof to smooth-faced, oily-tongued, double-minded Scots thieves! It's an ill bird that fouls its own nest, replied his adversary, not perhaps the less bold that he saw matters were taking the turn of a pacific debate; and a pity it is that a kindly Scot should ever have married in foreign parts, and given life to a purse-proud, pudding-headed, fat-gutted, lean-brained Southron, e'en such as you, Maister Christie. But fare ye weel--fare ye weel, for ever and a day; and, if you quarrel wi' a Scot again, man, say as mickle ill o' himsell as ye like, but say nane of his patron or of his countrymen, or it will scarce be your flat cap that will keep your lang lugs from the sharp abridgement of a Highland whinger, man. And, if you continue your insolence to me before my own door, were it but two minutes longer, retorted John Christie, I will call the constable, and make your Scottish ankles acquainted with an English pair of stocks! So saying, he turned to retire into his shop with some show of victory; for his enemy, whatever might be his innate valour, manifested no desire to drive matters to extremity--conscious, perhaps, that whatever advantage he might gain in single combat with Jonn Christie, would be more than overbalanced by incurring an affair with the constituted authorities of Old England, not at that time apt to be particularly favourable to their new fellow-subjects, in the various successive broils which were then constantly taking place between the individuals of two proud nations, who still retained a stronger sense of their national animosity during centuries, than of their late union for a few years under the government of the same prince. Mrs. Martha Trapbois had dwelt too long in Alsatia, to be either surprised or terrified at the altercation she had witnessed. Indeed, she only wondered that the debate did not end in some of those acts of violence by which they were usually terminated in the Sanctuary. As the disputants separated from each other, she, who had no idea that the cause of the quarrel was more deeply rooted than in the daily scenes of the same nature which she had heard of or witnessed, did not hesitate to stop Master Christie in his return to his shop, and present to him the letter which Lord Glenvarloch had given to her. Had she been better acquainted with life and its business, she would certainly have waited for a more temperate moment; and she had reason to repent of her precipitation, when, without saying a single word, or taking the trouble to gather more of the information contained in the letter than was expressed in the subscription, the incensed ship chandler threw it down on the ground, trampled it in high disdain, and, without addressing a single word to the bearer, except, indeed, something much more like a hearty curse than was perfectly consistent with his own grave appearance, he retired into his shop, and shut the hatch-door. It was with the most inexpressible anguish that the desolate, friendless and unhappy female, thus beheld her sole hope of succour, countenance, and protection, vanish at once, without being able to conceive a reason; for, to do her justice, the idea that her friend, whom she knew by the name of Nigel Grahame, had imposed on her, a solution which might readily have occurred to many in her situation, never once entered her mind. Although it was not her temper easily to bend her mind to entreaty, she could not help exclaiming after the ireful and retreating ship-chandler,-- Good Master, hear me but a moment! for mercy's sake, for honesty's sake! Mercy and honesty from him, mistress! said the Scot, who, though he essayed not to interrupt the retreat of his antagonist,

throat

How many times the word 'throat' appears in the text?

with me! exclaimed Lord Glenvarloch. Yes, she said, I will persuade my father to leave this murdering den. But, as she spoke, the more perfect recollection of what had passed crowded on her mind. She hid her face in her hands, and burst out into a dreadful fit of sobs, moans, and lamentations, which terminated in hysterics, violent in proportion to the uncommon strength of her body and mind. Lord Glenvarloch, shocked, confused, and inexperienced, was about to leave the house in quest of medical, or at least female assistance; but the patient, when the paroxysm had somewhat spent its force, held him fast by the sleeve with one hand, covering her face with the other, while a copious flood of tears came to relieve the emotions of grief by which she had been so violently agitated. Do not leave me, she said-- do not leave me, and call no one. I have never been in this way before, and would not now, she said, sitting upright, and wiping her eyes with her apron,-- would not now--but that--but that he loved _me_. if he loved nothing else that was human--To die so, and by such hands! And again the unhappy woman gave way to a paroxysm of sorrow, mingling her tears with sobbing, wailing, and all the abandonment of female grief, when at its utmost height. At length, she gradually recovered the austerity of her natural composure, and maintained it as if by a forcible exertion of resolution, repelling, as she spoke, the repeated returns of the hysterical affection, by such an effort as that by which epileptic patients are known to suspend the recurrence of their fits. Yet her mind, however resolved, could not so absolutely overcome the affection of her nerves, but that she was agitated by strong fits of trembling, which, for a minute or two at a time, shook her whole frame in a manner frightful to witness. Nigel forgot his own situation, and, indeed, every thing else, in the interest inspired by the unhappy woman before him--an interest which affected a proud spirit the more deeply, that she herself, with correspondent highness of mind, seemed determined to owe as little as possible either to the humanity or the pity of others. I am not wont to be in this way, she said,-- but--but--Nature will have power over the frail beings it has made. Over you, sir, I have some right; for, without you, I had not survived this awful night. I wish your aid had been either earlier or later--but you have saved my life, and you are bound to assist in making it endurable to me. If you will show me how it is possible, answered Nigel. You are going hence, you say, instantly--carry me with you, said the unhappy woman. By my own efforts, I shall never escape from this wilderness of guilt and misery. Alas! what can I do for you? replied Nigel. My own way, and I must not deviate from it, leads me, in all probability, to a dungeon. I might, indeed, transport you from hence with me, if you could afterwards bestow yourself with any friend. Friend! she exclaimed-- I have no friend--they have long since discarded us. A spectre arising from the dead were more welcome than I should be at the doors of those who have disclaimed us; and, if they were willing to restore their friendship to me now, I would despise it, because they withdrew it from him--from him --(here she underwent strong but suppressed agitation, and then added firmly)-- from _him_ who lies yonder.--I have no friend. Here she paused; and then suddenly, as if recollecting herself, added, I have no friend, but I have that will purchase many--I have that which will purchase both friends and avengers.--It is well thought of; I must not leave it for a prey to cheats and ruffians.--Stranger, you must return to yonder room. Pass through it boldly to his--that is, to the sleeping apartment; push the bedstead aside; beneath each of the posts is a brass plate, as if to support the weight, but it is that upon the left, nearest to the wall, which must serve your turn--press the corner of the plate, and it will spring up and show a keyhole, which this key will open. You will then lift a concealed trap-door, and in a cavity of the floor you will discover a small chest. Bring it hither; it shall accompany our journey, and it will be hard if the contents cannot purchase me a place of refuge. But the door communicating with the kitchen has been locked by these people, said Nigel. True, I had forgot; they had their reasons for that, doubtless, answered she. But the secret passage from your apartment is open, and you may go that way. Lord Glenvarloch took the key, and, as he lighted a lamp to show him the way, she read in his countenance some unwillingness to the task imposed. You fear? said she-- there is no cause; the murderer and his victim are both at rest. Take courage, I will go with you myself--you cannot know the trick of the spring, and the chest will be too heavy for you. No fear, no fear, answered Lord Glenvarloch, ashamed of the construction she put upon a momentary hesitation, arising from a dislike to look upon what is horrible, often connected with those high-wrought minds which are the last to fear what is merely dangerous-- I will do your errand as you desire; but for you, you must not--cannot go yonder. I can--I will, she said. I am composed. You shall see that I am so. She took from the table a piece of unfinished sewing-work, and, with steadiness and composure, passed a silken thread into the eye of a fine needle.-- Could I have done that, she said, with a smile yet more ghastly than her previous look of fixed despair, had not my heart and hand been both steady? She then led the way rapidly up stairs to Nigel's chamber, and proceeded through the secret passage with the same haste, as if she had feared her resolution might have failed her ere her purpose was executed. At the bottom of the stairs she paused a moment, before entering the fatal apartment, then hurried through with a rapid step to the sleeping chamber beyond, followed closely by Lord Glenvarloch, whose reluctance to approach the scene of butchery was altogether lost in the anxiety which he felt on account of the survivor of the tragedy. Her first action was to pull aside the curtains of her father's bed. The bed-clothes were thrown aside in confusion, doubtless in the action of his starting from sleep to oppose the entrance of the villains into the next apartment. The hard mattress scarcely showed the slight pressure where the emaciated body of the old miser had been deposited. His daughter sank beside the bed, clasped her hands, and prayed to heaven, in a short and affectionate manner, for support in her affliction, and for vengeance on the villains who had made her fatherless. A low-muttered and still more brief petition recommended to Heaven the soul of the sufferer, and invoked pardon for his sins, in virtue of the great Christian atonement. This duty of piety performed, she signed to Nigel to aid her; and, having pushed aside the heavy bedstead, they saw the brass plate which Martha had described. She pressed the spring, and, at once, the plate starting up, showed the keyhole, and a large iron ring used in lifting the trap-door, which, when raised, displayed the strong box, or small chest, she had mentioned, and which proved indeed so very weighty, that it might perhaps have been scarcely possible for Nigel, though a very strong man, to have raised it without assistance. Having replaced everything as they had found it, Nigel, with such help as his companion was able to afford, assumed his load, and made a shift to carry it into the next apartment, where lay the miserable owner, insensible to sounds and circumstances, which, if any thing could have broken his long last slumber, would certainly have done so. His unfortunate daughter went up to his body, and had even the courage to remove the sheet which had been decently disposed over it. She put her hand on the heart, but there was no throb--held a feather to the lips, but there was no motion--then kissed with deep reverence the starting veins of the pale forehead, and then the emaciated hand. I would you could hear me, she said,-- Father! I would you could hear me swear, that, if I now save what you most valued on earth, it is only to assist me in obtaining vengeance for your death. She replaced the covering, and, without a tear, a sigh, or an additional word of any kind, renewed her efforts, until they conveyed the strong-box betwixt them into Lord Glenvarloch's sleeping apartment. It must pass, she said, as part of your baggage. I will be in readiness so soon as the waterman calls. She retired; and Lord Glenvarloch, who saw the hour of their departure approach, tore down a part of the old hanging to make a covering, which he corded upon the trunk, lest the peculiarity of its shape, and the care with which it was banded and counterbanded with bars of steel, might afford suspicions respecting the treasure which it contained. Having taken this measure of precaution, he changed the rascally disguise, which he had assumed on entering Whitefriars, into a suit becoming his quality, and then, unable to sleep, though exhausted with the events of the night, he threw himself on his bed to await the summons of the waterman. CHAPTER XXVI Give us good voyage, gentle stream--we stun not Thy sober ear with sounds of revelry; Wake not the slumbering echoes of thy banks With voice of flute and horn--we do but seek On the broad pathway of thy swelling bosom To glide in silent safety. _The Double Bridal._ Grey, or rather yellow light, was beginning to twinkle through the fogs of Whitefriars, when a low tap at the door of the unhappy miser announced to Lord Glenvarloch the summons of the boatman. He found at the door the man whom he had seen the night before, with a companion. Come, come, master, let us get afloat, said one of them, in a rough impressive whisper, time and tide wait for no man. They shall not wait for me, said Lord Glenvarloch; but I have some things to carry with me. Ay, ay--no man will take a pair of oars now, Jack, unless he means to load the wherry like a six-horse waggon. When they don't want to shift the whole kitt, they take a sculler, and be d--d to them. Come, come, where be your rattle-traps? One of the men was soon sufficiently loaded, in his own estimation at least, with Lord Glenvarloch's mail and its accompaniments, with which burden he began to trudge towards the Temple Stairs. His comrade, who seemed the principal, began to handle the trunk which contained the miser's treasure, but pitched it down again in an instant, declaring, with a great oath, that it was as reasonable to expect a man to carry Paul's on his back. The daughter of Trapbois, who had by this time joined them, muffled up in a long dark hood and mantle, exclaimed to Lord Glenvarloch-- Let them leave it if they will, let them leave it all; let us but escape from this horrible place. We have mentioned elsewhere, that Nigel was a very athletic young man, and, impelled by a strong feeling of compassion and indignation, he showed his bodily strength singularly on this occasion, by seizing on the ponderous strong-box, and, by means of the rope he had cast around it, throwing it on his shoulders, and marching resolutely forward under a weight, which would have sunk to the earth three young gallants, at the least, of our degenerate day. The waterman followed him in amazement, calling out, Why, master, master, you might as well gie me t'other end on't! and anon offered his assistance to support it in some degree behind, which after the first minute or two Nigel was fain to accept. His strength was almost exhausted when he reached the wherry, which was lying at the Temple Stairs according to appointment; and, when he pitched the trunk into it, the weight sank the bow of the boat so low in the water as well-nigh to overset it. We shall have as hard a fare of it, said the waterman to his companion, as if we were ferrying over an honest bankrupt with all his secreted goods--Ho, ho! good woman, what, are you stepping in for?--our gunwale lies deep enough in the water without live lumber to boot. This person comes with me, said Lord Glenvarloch; she is for the present under my protection. Come, come, master, rejoined the fellow, that is out of my commission. You must not double my freight on me--she may go by land--and, as for protection, her face will protect her from Berwick to the Land's End. You will not except at my doubling the loading, if I double the fare? said Nigel, determined on no account to relinquish the protection of this unhappy woman, for which he had already devised some sort of plan, likely now to be baffled by the characteristic rudeness of the Thames watermen. Ay, by G----, but I will except, though, said the fellow with the green plush jacket: I will overload my wherry neither for love nor money--I love my boat as well as my wife, and a thought better. Nay, nay, comrade, said his mate, that is speaking no true water language. For double fare we are bound to row a witch in her eggshell if she bid us; and so pull away, Jack, and let us have no more prating. They got into the stream-way accordingly, and, although heavily laden, began to move down the river with reasonable speed. The lighter vessels which passed, overtook, or crossed them, in their course, failed not to assail them with their boisterous raillery, which was then called water-wit; for which the extreme plainness of Mistress Martha's features, contrasted with the youth, handsome figure, and good looks of Nigel, furnished the principal topics; while the circumstance of the boat being somewhat overloaded, did not escape their notice. They were hailed successively, as a grocer's wife upon a party of pleasure with her eldest apprentice--as an old woman carrying her grandson to school--and as a young strapping Irishman, conveying an ancient maiden to Dr. Rigmarole's, at Redriffe, who buckles beggars for a tester and a dram of Geneva. All this abuse was retorted in a similar strain of humour by Greenjacket and his companion, who maintained the war of wit with the same alacrity with which they were assailed. Meanwhile, Lord Glenvarloch asked his desolate companion if she had thought on any place where she could remain in safety with her property. She confessed, in more detail than formerly, that her father's character had left her no friends; and that, from the time he had betaken himself to Whitefriars, to escape certain legal consequences of his eager pursuit of gain, she had lived a life of total seclusion; not associating with the society which the place afforded, and, by her residence there, as well as her father's parsimony, effectually cut off from all other company. What she now wished, was, in the first place, to obtain the shelter of a decent lodging, and the countenance of honest people, however low in life, until she should obtain legal advice as to the mode of obtaining justice on her father's murderer. She had no hesitation to charge the guilt upon Colepepper, (commonly called Peppercull,) whom she knew to be as capable of any act of treacherous cruelty, as he was cowardly, where actual manhood was required. He had been strongly suspected of two robberies before, one of which was coupled with an atrocious murder. He had, she intimated, made pretensions to her hand as the easiest and safest way of obtaining possession of her father's wealth; and, on her refusing his addresses, if they could be termed so, in the most positive terms, he had thrown out such obscure hints of vengeance, as, joined with some imperfect assaults upon the house, had kept her in frequent alarm, both on her father's account and her own. Nigel, but that his feeling of respectful delicacy to the unfortunate woman forebade him to do so, could here have communicated a circumstance corroborative of her suspicions, which had already occurred to his own mind. He recollected the hint that old Hildebrod threw forth on the preceding night, that some communication betwixt himself and Colepepper had hastened the catastrophe. As this communication related to the plan which Hildebrod had been pleased to form, of promoting a marriage betwixt Nigel himself and the rich heiress of Trapbois, the fear of losing an opportunity not to be regained, together with the mean malignity of a low-bred ruffian, disappointed in a favourite scheme, was most likely to instigate the bravo to the deed of violence which had been committed. The reflection that his own name was in some degree implicated with the causes of this horrid tragedy, doubled Lord Glenvarloch's anxiety in behalf of the victim whom he had rescued, while at the same time he formed the tacit resolution, that, so soon as his own affairs were put upon some footing, he would contribute all in his power towards the investigation of this bloody affair. After ascertaining from his companion that she could form no better plan of her own, he recommended to her to take up her lodging for the time, at the house of his old landlord, Christie the ship-chandler, at Paul's Wharf, describing the decency and honesty of that worthy couple, and expressing his hopes that they would receive her into their own house, or recommend her at least to that of some person for whom they would be responsible, until she should have time to enter upon other arrangements for herself. The poor woman received advice so grateful to her in her desolate condition, with an expression of thanks, brief indeed, but deeper than any thing had yet extracted from the austerity of her natural disposition. Lord Glenvarloch then proceeded to inform Martha, that certain reasons, connected with his personal safety, called him immediately to Greenwich, and, therefore, it would not be in his power to accompany her to Christie's house, which he would otherwise have done with pleasure: but, tearing a leaf from his tablet, he wrote on it a few lines, addressed to his landlord, as a man of honesty and humanity, in which he described the bearer as a person who stood in singular necessity of temporary protection and good advice, for which her circumstances enabled her to make ample acknowledgment. He therefore requested John Christie, as his old and good friend, to afford her the shelter of his roof for a short time; or, if that might not be consistent with his convenience, at least to direct her to a proper lodging-and, finally, he imposed on him the additional, and somewhat more difficult commission, to recommend her to the counsel and services of an honest, at least a reputable and skilful attorney, for the transacting some law business of importance. The note he subscribed with his real name, and, delivering it to his _protegee_, who received it with another deeply uttered I thank you, which spoke the sterling feelings of her gratitude better than a thousand combined phrases, he commanded the watermen to pull in for Paul's Wharf, which they were now approaching. We have not time, said Green-jacket; we cannot be stopping every instant. But, upon Nigel insisting upon his commands being obeyed, and adding, that it was for the purpose of putting the lady ashore, the waterman declared that he would rather have her room than her company, and put the wherry alongside the wharf accordingly. Here two of the porters, who ply in such places, were easily induced to undertake the charge of the ponderous strong-box, and at the same time to guide the owner to the well-known mansion of John Christie, with whom all who lived in that neighbourhood were perfectly acquainted. The boat, much lightened of its load, went down the Thames at a rate increased in proportion. But we must forbear to pursue her in her voyage for a few minutes, since we have previously to mention the issue of Lord Glenvarloch's recommendation. Mistress Martha Trapbois reached the shop in perfect safety, and was about to enter it, when a sickening sense of the uncertainty of her situation, and of the singularly painful task of telling her story, came over her so strongly, that she paused a moment at the very threshold of her proposed place of refuge, to think in what manner she could best second the recommendation of the friend whom Providence had raised up to her. Had she possessed that knowledge of the world, from which her habits of life had completely excluded her, she might have known that the large sum of money which she brought along with her, might, judiciously managed, have been a passport to her into the mansions of nobles, and the palaces of princes. But, however conscious of its general power, which assumes so many forms and complexions, she was so inexperienced as to be most unnecessarily afraid that the means by which the wealth had been acquired, might exclude its inheretrix from shelter even in the house of a humble tradesman. While she thus delayed, a more reasonable cause for hesitation arose, in a considerable noise and altercation within the house, which grew louder and louder as the disputants issued forth upon the street or lane before the door. The first who entered upon the scene was a tall raw-boned hard-favoured man, who stalked out of the shop hastily, with a gait like that of a Spaniard in a passion, who, disdaining to add speed to his locomotion by running, only condescends, in the utmost extremity of his angry haste, to add length to his stride. He faced about, so soon as he was out of the house, upon his pursuer, a decent-looking, elderly, plain tradesman--no other than John Christie himself, the owner of the shop and tenement, by whom he seemed to be followed, and who was in a state of agitation more than is usually expressed by such a person. I'll hear no more on't, said the personage who first appeared on the scene.-- Sir, I will hear no more on it. Besides being a most false and impudent figment, as I can testify--it is _Scandaalum Magnaatum_, sir--_Scandaalum Magnaatum_ he reiterated with a broad accentuation of the first vowel, well known in the colleges of Edinburgh and Glasgow, which we can only express in print by doubling the said first of letters and of vowels, and which would have cheered the cockles of the reigning monarch had he been within hearing,--as he was a severer stickler for what he deemed the genuine pronunciation of the Roman tongue, than for any of the royal prerogatives, for which he was at times disposed to insist so strenuously in his speeches to Parliament. I care not an ounce of rotten cheese, said John Christie in reply, what you call it--but it is TRUE; and I am a free Englishman, and have right to speak the truth in my own concerns; and your master is little better than a villain, and you no more than a swaggering coxcomb, whose head I will presently break, as I have known it well broken before on lighter occasion. And, so saying, he flourished the paring-shovel which usually made clean the steps of his little shop, and which he had caught up as the readiest weapon of working his foeman damage, and advanced therewith upon him. The cautious Scot (for such our readers must have already pronounced him, from his language and pedantry) drew back as the enraged ship-chandler approached, but in a surly manner, and bearing his hand on his sword-hilt rather in the act of one who was losing habitual forbearance and caution of deportment, than as alarmed by the attack of an antagonist inferior to himself in youth, strength, and weapons. Bide back, he said, Maister Christie--I say bide back, and consult your safety, man. I have evited striking you in your ain house under muckle provocation, because I am ignorant how the laws here may pronounce respecting burglary and hamesucken, and such matters; and, besides, I would not willingly hurt ye, man, e'en on the causeway, that is free to us baith, because I mind your kindness of lang syne, and partly consider ye as a poor deceived creature. But deil d--n me, sir, and I am not wont to swear, but if you touch my Scotch shouther with that shule of yours, I will make six inches of my Andrew Ferrara deevilish intimate with your guts, neighbour. And therewithal, though still retreating from the brandished shovel, he made one-third of the basket-hilled broadsword which he wore, visible from the sheath. The wrath of John Christie was abated, either by his natural temperance of disposition, or perhaps in part by the glimmer of cold steel, which flashed on him from his adversary's last action. I would do well to cry clubs on thee, and have thee ducked at the wharf, he said, grounding his shovel, however, at the same time, for a paltry swaggerer, that would draw thy bit of iron there on an honest citizen before his own door; but get thee gone, and reckon on a salt eel for thy supper, if thou shouldst ever come near my house again. I wish it had been at the bottom of the Thames when it first gave the use of its roof to smooth-faced, oily-tongued, double-minded Scots thieves! It's an ill bird that fouls its own nest, replied his adversary, not perhaps the less bold that he saw matters were taking the turn of a pacific debate; and a pity it is that a kindly Scot should ever have married in foreign parts, and given life to a purse-proud, pudding-headed, fat-gutted, lean-brained Southron, e'en such as you, Maister Christie. But fare ye weel--fare ye weel, for ever and a day; and, if you quarrel wi' a Scot again, man, say as mickle ill o' himsell as ye like, but say nane of his patron or of his countrymen, or it will scarce be your flat cap that will keep your lang lugs from the sharp abridgement of a Highland whinger, man. And, if you continue your insolence to me before my own door, were it but two minutes longer, retorted John Christie, I will call the constable, and make your Scottish ankles acquainted with an English pair of stocks! So saying, he turned to retire into his shop with some show of victory; for his enemy, whatever might be his innate valour, manifested no desire to drive matters to extremity--conscious, perhaps, that whatever advantage he might gain in single combat with Jonn Christie, would be more than overbalanced by incurring an affair with the constituted authorities of Old England, not at that time apt to be particularly favourable to their new fellow-subjects, in the various successive broils which were then constantly taking place between the individuals of two proud nations, who still retained a stronger sense of their national animosity during centuries, than of their late union for a few years under the government of the same prince. Mrs. Martha Trapbois had dwelt too long in Alsatia, to be either surprised or terrified at the altercation she had witnessed. Indeed, she only wondered that the debate did not end in some of those acts of violence by which they were usually terminated in the Sanctuary. As the disputants separated from each other, she, who had no idea that the cause of the quarrel was more deeply rooted than in the daily scenes of the same nature which she had heard of or witnessed, did not hesitate to stop Master Christie in his return to his shop, and present to him the letter which Lord Glenvarloch had given to her. Had she been better acquainted with life and its business, she would certainly have waited for a more temperate moment; and she had reason to repent of her precipitation, when, without saying a single word, or taking the trouble to gather more of the information contained in the letter than was expressed in the subscription, the incensed ship chandler threw it down on the ground, trampled it in high disdain, and, without addressing a single word to the bearer, except, indeed, something much more like a hearty curse than was perfectly consistent with his own grave appearance, he retired into his shop, and shut the hatch-door. It was with the most inexpressible anguish that the desolate, friendless and unhappy female, thus beheld her sole hope of succour, countenance, and protection, vanish at once, without being able to conceive a reason; for, to do her justice, the idea that her friend, whom she knew by the name of Nigel Grahame, had imposed on her, a solution which might readily have occurred to many in her situation, never once entered her mind. Although it was not her temper easily to bend her mind to entreaty, she could not help exclaiming after the ireful and retreating ship-chandler,-- Good Master, hear me but a moment! for mercy's sake, for honesty's sake! Mercy and honesty from him, mistress! said the Scot, who, though he essayed not to interrupt the retreat of his antagonist,

battle

How many times the word 'battle' appears in the text?

with me! exclaimed Lord Glenvarloch. Yes, she said, I will persuade my father to leave this murdering den. But, as she spoke, the more perfect recollection of what had passed crowded on her mind. She hid her face in her hands, and burst out into a dreadful fit of sobs, moans, and lamentations, which terminated in hysterics, violent in proportion to the uncommon strength of her body and mind. Lord Glenvarloch, shocked, confused, and inexperienced, was about to leave the house in quest of medical, or at least female assistance; but the patient, when the paroxysm had somewhat spent its force, held him fast by the sleeve with one hand, covering her face with the other, while a copious flood of tears came to relieve the emotions of grief by which she had been so violently agitated. Do not leave me, she said-- do not leave me, and call no one. I have never been in this way before, and would not now, she said, sitting upright, and wiping her eyes with her apron,-- would not now--but that--but that he loved _me_. if he loved nothing else that was human--To die so, and by such hands! And again the unhappy woman gave way to a paroxysm of sorrow, mingling her tears with sobbing, wailing, and all the abandonment of female grief, when at its utmost height. At length, she gradually recovered the austerity of her natural composure, and maintained it as if by a forcible exertion of resolution, repelling, as she spoke, the repeated returns of the hysterical affection, by such an effort as that by which epileptic patients are known to suspend the recurrence of their fits. Yet her mind, however resolved, could not so absolutely overcome the affection of her nerves, but that she was agitated by strong fits of trembling, which, for a minute or two at a time, shook her whole frame in a manner frightful to witness. Nigel forgot his own situation, and, indeed, every thing else, in the interest inspired by the unhappy woman before him--an interest which affected a proud spirit the more deeply, that she herself, with correspondent highness of mind, seemed determined to owe as little as possible either to the humanity or the pity of others. I am not wont to be in this way, she said,-- but--but--Nature will have power over the frail beings it has made. Over you, sir, I have some right; for, without you, I had not survived this awful night. I wish your aid had been either earlier or later--but you have saved my life, and you are bound to assist in making it endurable to me. If you will show me how it is possible, answered Nigel. You are going hence, you say, instantly--carry me with you, said the unhappy woman. By my own efforts, I shall never escape from this wilderness of guilt and misery. Alas! what can I do for you? replied Nigel. My own way, and I must not deviate from it, leads me, in all probability, to a dungeon. I might, indeed, transport you from hence with me, if you could afterwards bestow yourself with any friend. Friend! she exclaimed-- I have no friend--they have long since discarded us. A spectre arising from the dead were more welcome than I should be at the doors of those who have disclaimed us; and, if they were willing to restore their friendship to me now, I would despise it, because they withdrew it from him--from him --(here she underwent strong but suppressed agitation, and then added firmly)-- from _him_ who lies yonder.--I have no friend. Here she paused; and then suddenly, as if recollecting herself, added, I have no friend, but I have that will purchase many--I have that which will purchase both friends and avengers.--It is well thought of; I must not leave it for a prey to cheats and ruffians.--Stranger, you must return to yonder room. Pass through it boldly to his--that is, to the sleeping apartment; push the bedstead aside; beneath each of the posts is a brass plate, as if to support the weight, but it is that upon the left, nearest to the wall, which must serve your turn--press the corner of the plate, and it will spring up and show a keyhole, which this key will open. You will then lift a concealed trap-door, and in a cavity of the floor you will discover a small chest. Bring it hither; it shall accompany our journey, and it will be hard if the contents cannot purchase me a place of refuge. But the door communicating with the kitchen has been locked by these people, said Nigel. True, I had forgot; they had their reasons for that, doubtless, answered she. But the secret passage from your apartment is open, and you may go that way. Lord Glenvarloch took the key, and, as he lighted a lamp to show him the way, she read in his countenance some unwillingness to the task imposed. You fear? said she-- there is no cause; the murderer and his victim are both at rest. Take courage, I will go with you myself--you cannot know the trick of the spring, and the chest will be too heavy for you. No fear, no fear, answered Lord Glenvarloch, ashamed of the construction she put upon a momentary hesitation, arising from a dislike to look upon what is horrible, often connected with those high-wrought minds which are the last to fear what is merely dangerous-- I will do your errand as you desire; but for you, you must not--cannot go yonder. I can--I will, she said. I am composed. You shall see that I am so. She took from the table a piece of unfinished sewing-work, and, with steadiness and composure, passed a silken thread into the eye of a fine needle.-- Could I have done that, she said, with a smile yet more ghastly than her previous look of fixed despair, had not my heart and hand been both steady? She then led the way rapidly up stairs to Nigel's chamber, and proceeded through the secret passage with the same haste, as if she had feared her resolution might have failed her ere her purpose was executed. At the bottom of the stairs she paused a moment, before entering the fatal apartment, then hurried through with a rapid step to the sleeping chamber beyond, followed closely by Lord Glenvarloch, whose reluctance to approach the scene of butchery was altogether lost in the anxiety which he felt on account of the survivor of the tragedy. Her first action was to pull aside the curtains of her father's bed. The bed-clothes were thrown aside in confusion, doubtless in the action of his starting from sleep to oppose the entrance of the villains into the next apartment. The hard mattress scarcely showed the slight pressure where the emaciated body of the old miser had been deposited. His daughter sank beside the bed, clasped her hands, and prayed to heaven, in a short and affectionate manner, for support in her affliction, and for vengeance on the villains who had made her fatherless. A low-muttered and still more brief petition recommended to Heaven the soul of the sufferer, and invoked pardon for his sins, in virtue of the great Christian atonement. This duty of piety performed, she signed to Nigel to aid her; and, having pushed aside the heavy bedstead, they saw the brass plate which Martha had described. She pressed the spring, and, at once, the plate starting up, showed the keyhole, and a large iron ring used in lifting the trap-door, which, when raised, displayed the strong box, or small chest, she had mentioned, and which proved indeed so very weighty, that it might perhaps have been scarcely possible for Nigel, though a very strong man, to have raised it without assistance. Having replaced everything as they had found it, Nigel, with such help as his companion was able to afford, assumed his load, and made a shift to carry it into the next apartment, where lay the miserable owner, insensible to sounds and circumstances, which, if any thing could have broken his long last slumber, would certainly have done so. His unfortunate daughter went up to his body, and had even the courage to remove the sheet which had been decently disposed over it. She put her hand on the heart, but there was no throb--held a feather to the lips, but there was no motion--then kissed with deep reverence the starting veins of the pale forehead, and then the emaciated hand. I would you could hear me, she said,-- Father! I would you could hear me swear, that, if I now save what you most valued on earth, it is only to assist me in obtaining vengeance for your death. She replaced the covering, and, without a tear, a sigh, or an additional word of any kind, renewed her efforts, until they conveyed the strong-box betwixt them into Lord Glenvarloch's sleeping apartment. It must pass, she said, as part of your baggage. I will be in readiness so soon as the waterman calls. She retired; and Lord Glenvarloch, who saw the hour of their departure approach, tore down a part of the old hanging to make a covering, which he corded upon the trunk, lest the peculiarity of its shape, and the care with which it was banded and counterbanded with bars of steel, might afford suspicions respecting the treasure which it contained. Having taken this measure of precaution, he changed the rascally disguise, which he had assumed on entering Whitefriars, into a suit becoming his quality, and then, unable to sleep, though exhausted with the events of the night, he threw himself on his bed to await the summons of the waterman. CHAPTER XXVI Give us good voyage, gentle stream--we stun not Thy sober ear with sounds of revelry; Wake not the slumbering echoes of thy banks With voice of flute and horn--we do but seek On the broad pathway of thy swelling bosom To glide in silent safety. _The Double Bridal._ Grey, or rather yellow light, was beginning to twinkle through the fogs of Whitefriars, when a low tap at the door of the unhappy miser announced to Lord Glenvarloch the summons of the boatman. He found at the door the man whom he had seen the night before, with a companion. Come, come, master, let us get afloat, said one of them, in a rough impressive whisper, time and tide wait for no man. They shall not wait for me, said Lord Glenvarloch; but I have some things to carry with me. Ay, ay--no man will take a pair of oars now, Jack, unless he means to load the wherry like a six-horse waggon. When they don't want to shift the whole kitt, they take a sculler, and be d--d to them. Come, come, where be your rattle-traps? One of the men was soon sufficiently loaded, in his own estimation at least, with Lord Glenvarloch's mail and its accompaniments, with which burden he began to trudge towards the Temple Stairs. His comrade, who seemed the principal, began to handle the trunk which contained the miser's treasure, but pitched it down again in an instant, declaring, with a great oath, that it was as reasonable to expect a man to carry Paul's on his back. The daughter of Trapbois, who had by this time joined them, muffled up in a long dark hood and mantle, exclaimed to Lord Glenvarloch-- Let them leave it if they will, let them leave it all; let us but escape from this horrible place. We have mentioned elsewhere, that Nigel was a very athletic young man, and, impelled by a strong feeling of compassion and indignation, he showed his bodily strength singularly on this occasion, by seizing on the ponderous strong-box, and, by means of the rope he had cast around it, throwing it on his shoulders, and marching resolutely forward under a weight, which would have sunk to the earth three young gallants, at the least, of our degenerate day. The waterman followed him in amazement, calling out, Why, master, master, you might as well gie me t'other end on't! and anon offered his assistance to support it in some degree behind, which after the first minute or two Nigel was fain to accept. His strength was almost exhausted when he reached the wherry, which was lying at the Temple Stairs according to appointment; and, when he pitched the trunk into it, the weight sank the bow of the boat so low in the water as well-nigh to overset it. We shall have as hard a fare of it, said the waterman to his companion, as if we were ferrying over an honest bankrupt with all his secreted goods--Ho, ho! good woman, what, are you stepping in for?--our gunwale lies deep enough in the water without live lumber to boot. This person comes with me, said Lord Glenvarloch; she is for the present under my protection. Come, come, master, rejoined the fellow, that is out of my commission. You must not double my freight on me--she may go by land--and, as for protection, her face will protect her from Berwick to the Land's End. You will not except at my doubling the loading, if I double the fare? said Nigel, determined on no account to relinquish the protection of this unhappy woman, for which he had already devised some sort of plan, likely now to be baffled by the characteristic rudeness of the Thames watermen. Ay, by G----, but I will except, though, said the fellow with the green plush jacket: I will overload my wherry neither for love nor money--I love my boat as well as my wife, and a thought better. Nay, nay, comrade, said his mate, that is speaking no true water language. For double fare we are bound to row a witch in her eggshell if she bid us; and so pull away, Jack, and let us have no more prating. They got into the stream-way accordingly, and, although heavily laden, began to move down the river with reasonable speed. The lighter vessels which passed, overtook, or crossed them, in their course, failed not to assail them with their boisterous raillery, which was then called water-wit; for which the extreme plainness of Mistress Martha's features, contrasted with the youth, handsome figure, and good looks of Nigel, furnished the principal topics; while the circumstance of the boat being somewhat overloaded, did not escape their notice. They were hailed successively, as a grocer's wife upon a party of pleasure with her eldest apprentice--as an old woman carrying her grandson to school--and as a young strapping Irishman, conveying an ancient maiden to Dr. Rigmarole's, at Redriffe, who buckles beggars for a tester and a dram of Geneva. All this abuse was retorted in a similar strain of humour by Greenjacket and his companion, who maintained the war of wit with the same alacrity with which they were assailed. Meanwhile, Lord Glenvarloch asked his desolate companion if she had thought on any place where she could remain in safety with her property. She confessed, in more detail than formerly, that her father's character had left her no friends; and that, from the time he had betaken himself to Whitefriars, to escape certain legal consequences of his eager pursuit of gain, she had lived a life of total seclusion; not associating with the society which the place afforded, and, by her residence there, as well as her father's parsimony, effectually cut off from all other company. What she now wished, was, in the first place, to obtain the shelter of a decent lodging, and the countenance of honest people, however low in life, until she should obtain legal advice as to the mode of obtaining justice on her father's murderer. She had no hesitation to charge the guilt upon Colepepper, (commonly called Peppercull,) whom she knew to be as capable of any act of treacherous cruelty, as he was cowardly, where actual manhood was required. He had been strongly suspected of two robberies before, one of which was coupled with an atrocious murder. He had, she intimated, made pretensions to her hand as the easiest and safest way of obtaining possession of her father's wealth; and, on her refusing his addresses, if they could be termed so, in the most positive terms, he had thrown out such obscure hints of vengeance, as, joined with some imperfect assaults upon the house, had kept her in frequent alarm, both on her father's account and her own. Nigel, but that his feeling of respectful delicacy to the unfortunate woman forebade him to do so, could here have communicated a circumstance corroborative of her suspicions, which had already occurred to his own mind. He recollected the hint that old Hildebrod threw forth on the preceding night, that some communication betwixt himself and Colepepper had hastened the catastrophe. As this communication related to the plan which Hildebrod had been pleased to form, of promoting a marriage betwixt Nigel himself and the rich heiress of Trapbois, the fear of losing an opportunity not to be regained, together with the mean malignity of a low-bred ruffian, disappointed in a favourite scheme, was most likely to instigate the bravo to the deed of violence which had been committed. The reflection that his own name was in some degree implicated with the causes of this horrid tragedy, doubled Lord Glenvarloch's anxiety in behalf of the victim whom he had rescued, while at the same time he formed the tacit resolution, that, so soon as his own affairs were put upon some footing, he would contribute all in his power towards the investigation of this bloody affair. After ascertaining from his companion that she could form no better plan of her own, he recommended to her to take up her lodging for the time, at the house of his old landlord, Christie the ship-chandler, at Paul's Wharf, describing the decency and honesty of that worthy couple, and expressing his hopes that they would receive her into their own house, or recommend her at least to that of some person for whom they would be responsible, until she should have time to enter upon other arrangements for herself. The poor woman received advice so grateful to her in her desolate condition, with an expression of thanks, brief indeed, but deeper than any thing had yet extracted from the austerity of her natural disposition. Lord Glenvarloch then proceeded to inform Martha, that certain reasons, connected with his personal safety, called him immediately to Greenwich, and, therefore, it would not be in his power to accompany her to Christie's house, which he would otherwise have done with pleasure: but, tearing a leaf from his tablet, he wrote on it a few lines, addressed to his landlord, as a man of honesty and humanity, in which he described the bearer as a person who stood in singular necessity of temporary protection and good advice, for which her circumstances enabled her to make ample acknowledgment. He therefore requested John Christie, as his old and good friend, to afford her the shelter of his roof for a short time; or, if that might not be consistent with his convenience, at least to direct her to a proper lodging-and, finally, he imposed on him the additional, and somewhat more difficult commission, to recommend her to the counsel and services of an honest, at least a reputable and skilful attorney, for the transacting some law business of importance. The note he subscribed with his real name, and, delivering it to his _protegee_, who received it with another deeply uttered I thank you, which spoke the sterling feelings of her gratitude better than a thousand combined phrases, he commanded the watermen to pull in for Paul's Wharf, which they were now approaching. We have not time, said Green-jacket; we cannot be stopping every instant. But, upon Nigel insisting upon his commands being obeyed, and adding, that it was for the purpose of putting the lady ashore, the waterman declared that he would rather have her room than her company, and put the wherry alongside the wharf accordingly. Here two of the porters, who ply in such places, were easily induced to undertake the charge of the ponderous strong-box, and at the same time to guide the owner to the well-known mansion of John Christie, with whom all who lived in that neighbourhood were perfectly acquainted. The boat, much lightened of its load, went down the Thames at a rate increased in proportion. But we must forbear to pursue her in her voyage for a few minutes, since we have previously to mention the issue of Lord Glenvarloch's recommendation. Mistress Martha Trapbois reached the shop in perfect safety, and was about to enter it, when a sickening sense of the uncertainty of her situation, and of the singularly painful task of telling her story, came over her so strongly, that she paused a moment at the very threshold of her proposed place of refuge, to think in what manner she could best second the recommendation of the friend whom Providence had raised up to her. Had she possessed that knowledge of the world, from which her habits of life had completely excluded her, she might have known that the large sum of money which she brought along with her, might, judiciously managed, have been a passport to her into the mansions of nobles, and the palaces of princes. But, however conscious of its general power, which assumes so many forms and complexions, she was so inexperienced as to be most unnecessarily afraid that the means by which the wealth had been acquired, might exclude its inheretrix from shelter even in the house of a humble tradesman. While she thus delayed, a more reasonable cause for hesitation arose, in a considerable noise and altercation within the house, which grew louder and louder as the disputants issued forth upon the street or lane before the door. The first who entered upon the scene was a tall raw-boned hard-favoured man, who stalked out of the shop hastily, with a gait like that of a Spaniard in a passion, who, disdaining to add speed to his locomotion by running, only condescends, in the utmost extremity of his angry haste, to add length to his stride. He faced about, so soon as he was out of the house, upon his pursuer, a decent-looking, elderly, plain tradesman--no other than John Christie himself, the owner of the shop and tenement, by whom he seemed to be followed, and who was in a state of agitation more than is usually expressed by such a person. I'll hear no more on't, said the personage who first appeared on the scene.-- Sir, I will hear no more on it. Besides being a most false and impudent figment, as I can testify--it is _Scandaalum Magnaatum_, sir--_Scandaalum Magnaatum_ he reiterated with a broad accentuation of the first vowel, well known in the colleges of Edinburgh and Glasgow, which we can only express in print by doubling the said first of letters and of vowels, and which would have cheered the cockles of the reigning monarch had he been within hearing,--as he was a severer stickler for what he deemed the genuine pronunciation of the Roman tongue, than for any of the royal prerogatives, for which he was at times disposed to insist so strenuously in his speeches to Parliament. I care not an ounce of rotten cheese, said John Christie in reply, what you call it--but it is TRUE; and I am a free Englishman, and have right to speak the truth in my own concerns; and your master is little better than a villain, and you no more than a swaggering coxcomb, whose head I will presently break, as I have known it well broken before on lighter occasion. And, so saying, he flourished the paring-shovel which usually made clean the steps of his little shop, and which he had caught up as the readiest weapon of working his foeman damage, and advanced therewith upon him. The cautious Scot (for such our readers must have already pronounced him, from his language and pedantry) drew back as the enraged ship-chandler approached, but in a surly manner, and bearing his hand on his sword-hilt rather in the act of one who was losing habitual forbearance and caution of deportment, than as alarmed by the attack of an antagonist inferior to himself in youth, strength, and weapons. Bide back, he said, Maister Christie--I say bide back, and consult your safety, man. I have evited striking you in your ain house under muckle provocation, because I am ignorant how the laws here may pronounce respecting burglary and hamesucken, and such matters; and, besides, I would not willingly hurt ye, man, e'en on the causeway, that is free to us baith, because I mind your kindness of lang syne, and partly consider ye as a poor deceived creature. But deil d--n me, sir, and I am not wont to swear, but if you touch my Scotch shouther with that shule of yours, I will make six inches of my Andrew Ferrara deevilish intimate with your guts, neighbour. And therewithal, though still retreating from the brandished shovel, he made one-third of the basket-hilled broadsword which he wore, visible from the sheath. The wrath of John Christie was abated, either by his natural temperance of disposition, or perhaps in part by the glimmer of cold steel, which flashed on him from his adversary's last action. I would do well to cry clubs on thee, and have thee ducked at the wharf, he said, grounding his shovel, however, at the same time, for a paltry swaggerer, that would draw thy bit of iron there on an honest citizen before his own door; but get thee gone, and reckon on a salt eel for thy supper, if thou shouldst ever come near my house again. I wish it had been at the bottom of the Thames when it first gave the use of its roof to smooth-faced, oily-tongued, double-minded Scots thieves! It's an ill bird that fouls its own nest, replied his adversary, not perhaps the less bold that he saw matters were taking the turn of a pacific debate; and a pity it is that a kindly Scot should ever have married in foreign parts, and given life to a purse-proud, pudding-headed, fat-gutted, lean-brained Southron, e'en such as you, Maister Christie. But fare ye weel--fare ye weel, for ever and a day; and, if you quarrel wi' a Scot again, man, say as mickle ill o' himsell as ye like, but say nane of his patron or of his countrymen, or it will scarce be your flat cap that will keep your lang lugs from the sharp abridgement of a Highland whinger, man. And, if you continue your insolence to me before my own door, were it but two minutes longer, retorted John Christie, I will call the constable, and make your Scottish ankles acquainted with an English pair of stocks! So saying, he turned to retire into his shop with some show of victory; for his enemy, whatever might be his innate valour, manifested no desire to drive matters to extremity--conscious, perhaps, that whatever advantage he might gain in single combat with Jonn Christie, would be more than overbalanced by incurring an affair with the constituted authorities of Old England, not at that time apt to be particularly favourable to their new fellow-subjects, in the various successive broils which were then constantly taking place between the individuals of two proud nations, who still retained a stronger sense of their national animosity during centuries, than of their late union for a few years under the government of the same prince. Mrs. Martha Trapbois had dwelt too long in Alsatia, to be either surprised or terrified at the altercation she had witnessed. Indeed, she only wondered that the debate did not end in some of those acts of violence by which they were usually terminated in the Sanctuary. As the disputants separated from each other, she, who had no idea that the cause of the quarrel was more deeply rooted than in the daily scenes of the same nature which she had heard of or witnessed, did not hesitate to stop Master Christie in his return to his shop, and present to him the letter which Lord Glenvarloch had given to her. Had she been better acquainted with life and its business, she would certainly have waited for a more temperate moment; and she had reason to repent of her precipitation, when, without saying a single word, or taking the trouble to gather more of the information contained in the letter than was expressed in the subscription, the incensed ship chandler threw it down on the ground, trampled it in high disdain, and, without addressing a single word to the bearer, except, indeed, something much more like a hearty curse than was perfectly consistent with his own grave appearance, he retired into his shop, and shut the hatch-door. It was with the most inexpressible anguish that the desolate, friendless and unhappy female, thus beheld her sole hope of succour, countenance, and protection, vanish at once, without being able to conceive a reason; for, to do her justice, the idea that her friend, whom she knew by the name of Nigel Grahame, had imposed on her, a solution which might readily have occurred to many in her situation, never once entered her mind. Although it was not her temper easily to bend her mind to entreaty, she could not help exclaiming after the ireful and retreating ship-chandler,-- Good Master, hear me but a moment! for mercy's sake, for honesty's sake! Mercy and honesty from him, mistress! said the Scot, who, though he essayed not to interrupt the retreat of his antagonist,

therefore

How many times the word 'therefore' appears in the text?

with me! exclaimed Lord Glenvarloch. Yes, she said, I will persuade my father to leave this murdering den. But, as she spoke, the more perfect recollection of what had passed crowded on her mind. She hid her face in her hands, and burst out into a dreadful fit of sobs, moans, and lamentations, which terminated in hysterics, violent in proportion to the uncommon strength of her body and mind. Lord Glenvarloch, shocked, confused, and inexperienced, was about to leave the house in quest of medical, or at least female assistance; but the patient, when the paroxysm had somewhat spent its force, held him fast by the sleeve with one hand, covering her face with the other, while a copious flood of tears came to relieve the emotions of grief by which she had been so violently agitated. Do not leave me, she said-- do not leave me, and call no one. I have never been in this way before, and would not now, she said, sitting upright, and wiping her eyes with her apron,-- would not now--but that--but that he loved _me_. if he loved nothing else that was human--To die so, and by such hands! And again the unhappy woman gave way to a paroxysm of sorrow, mingling her tears with sobbing, wailing, and all the abandonment of female grief, when at its utmost height. At length, she gradually recovered the austerity of her natural composure, and maintained it as if by a forcible exertion of resolution, repelling, as she spoke, the repeated returns of the hysterical affection, by such an effort as that by which epileptic patients are known to suspend the recurrence of their fits. Yet her mind, however resolved, could not so absolutely overcome the affection of her nerves, but that she was agitated by strong fits of trembling, which, for a minute or two at a time, shook her whole frame in a manner frightful to witness. Nigel forgot his own situation, and, indeed, every thing else, in the interest inspired by the unhappy woman before him--an interest which affected a proud spirit the more deeply, that she herself, with correspondent highness of mind, seemed determined to owe as little as possible either to the humanity or the pity of others. I am not wont to be in this way, she said,-- but--but--Nature will have power over the frail beings it has made. Over you, sir, I have some right; for, without you, I had not survived this awful night. I wish your aid had been either earlier or later--but you have saved my life, and you are bound to assist in making it endurable to me. If you will show me how it is possible, answered Nigel. You are going hence, you say, instantly--carry me with you, said the unhappy woman. By my own efforts, I shall never escape from this wilderness of guilt and misery. Alas! what can I do for you? replied Nigel. My own way, and I must not deviate from it, leads me, in all probability, to a dungeon. I might, indeed, transport you from hence with me, if you could afterwards bestow yourself with any friend. Friend! she exclaimed-- I have no friend--they have long since discarded us. A spectre arising from the dead were more welcome than I should be at the doors of those who have disclaimed us; and, if they were willing to restore their friendship to me now, I would despise it, because they withdrew it from him--from him --(here she underwent strong but suppressed agitation, and then added firmly)-- from _him_ who lies yonder.--I have no friend. Here she paused; and then suddenly, as if recollecting herself, added, I have no friend, but I have that will purchase many--I have that which will purchase both friends and avengers.--It is well thought of; I must not leave it for a prey to cheats and ruffians.--Stranger, you must return to yonder room. Pass through it boldly to his--that is, to the sleeping apartment; push the bedstead aside; beneath each of the posts is a brass plate, as if to support the weight, but it is that upon the left, nearest to the wall, which must serve your turn--press the corner of the plate, and it will spring up and show a keyhole, which this key will open. You will then lift a concealed trap-door, and in a cavity of the floor you will discover a small chest. Bring it hither; it shall accompany our journey, and it will be hard if the contents cannot purchase me a place of refuge. But the door communicating with the kitchen has been locked by these people, said Nigel. True, I had forgot; they had their reasons for that, doubtless, answered she. But the secret passage from your apartment is open, and you may go that way. Lord Glenvarloch took the key, and, as he lighted a lamp to show him the way, she read in his countenance some unwillingness to the task imposed. You fear? said she-- there is no cause; the murderer and his victim are both at rest. Take courage, I will go with you myself--you cannot know the trick of the spring, and the chest will be too heavy for you. No fear, no fear, answered Lord Glenvarloch, ashamed of the construction she put upon a momentary hesitation, arising from a dislike to look upon what is horrible, often connected with those high-wrought minds which are the last to fear what is merely dangerous-- I will do your errand as you desire; but for you, you must not--cannot go yonder. I can--I will, she said. I am composed. You shall see that I am so. She took from the table a piece of unfinished sewing-work, and, with steadiness and composure, passed a silken thread into the eye of a fine needle.-- Could I have done that, she said, with a smile yet more ghastly than her previous look of fixed despair, had not my heart and hand been both steady? She then led the way rapidly up stairs to Nigel's chamber, and proceeded through the secret passage with the same haste, as if she had feared her resolution might have failed her ere her purpose was executed. At the bottom of the stairs she paused a moment, before entering the fatal apartment, then hurried through with a rapid step to the sleeping chamber beyond, followed closely by Lord Glenvarloch, whose reluctance to approach the scene of butchery was altogether lost in the anxiety which he felt on account of the survivor of the tragedy. Her first action was to pull aside the curtains of her father's bed. The bed-clothes were thrown aside in confusion, doubtless in the action of his starting from sleep to oppose the entrance of the villains into the next apartment. The hard mattress scarcely showed the slight pressure where the emaciated body of the old miser had been deposited. His daughter sank beside the bed, clasped her hands, and prayed to heaven, in a short and affectionate manner, for support in her affliction, and for vengeance on the villains who had made her fatherless. A low-muttered and still more brief petition recommended to Heaven the soul of the sufferer, and invoked pardon for his sins, in virtue of the great Christian atonement. This duty of piety performed, she signed to Nigel to aid her; and, having pushed aside the heavy bedstead, they saw the brass plate which Martha had described. She pressed the spring, and, at once, the plate starting up, showed the keyhole, and a large iron ring used in lifting the trap-door, which, when raised, displayed the strong box, or small chest, she had mentioned, and which proved indeed so very weighty, that it might perhaps have been scarcely possible for Nigel, though a very strong man, to have raised it without assistance. Having replaced everything as they had found it, Nigel, with such help as his companion was able to afford, assumed his load, and made a shift to carry it into the next apartment, where lay the miserable owner, insensible to sounds and circumstances, which, if any thing could have broken his long last slumber, would certainly have done so. His unfortunate daughter went up to his body, and had even the courage to remove the sheet which had been decently disposed over it. She put her hand on the heart, but there was no throb--held a feather to the lips, but there was no motion--then kissed with deep reverence the starting veins of the pale forehead, and then the emaciated hand. I would you could hear me, she said,-- Father! I would you could hear me swear, that, if I now save what you most valued on earth, it is only to assist me in obtaining vengeance for your death. She replaced the covering, and, without a tear, a sigh, or an additional word of any kind, renewed her efforts, until they conveyed the strong-box betwixt them into Lord Glenvarloch's sleeping apartment. It must pass, she said, as part of your baggage. I will be in readiness so soon as the waterman calls. She retired; and Lord Glenvarloch, who saw the hour of their departure approach, tore down a part of the old hanging to make a covering, which he corded upon the trunk, lest the peculiarity of its shape, and the care with which it was banded and counterbanded with bars of steel, might afford suspicions respecting the treasure which it contained. Having taken this measure of precaution, he changed the rascally disguise, which he had assumed on entering Whitefriars, into a suit becoming his quality, and then, unable to sleep, though exhausted with the events of the night, he threw himself on his bed to await the summons of the waterman. CHAPTER XXVI Give us good voyage, gentle stream--we stun not Thy sober ear with sounds of revelry; Wake not the slumbering echoes of thy banks With voice of flute and horn--we do but seek On the broad pathway of thy swelling bosom To glide in silent safety. _The Double Bridal._ Grey, or rather yellow light, was beginning to twinkle through the fogs of Whitefriars, when a low tap at the door of the unhappy miser announced to Lord Glenvarloch the summons of the boatman. He found at the door the man whom he had seen the night before, with a companion. Come, come, master, let us get afloat, said one of them, in a rough impressive whisper, time and tide wait for no man. They shall not wait for me, said Lord Glenvarloch; but I have some things to carry with me. Ay, ay--no man will take a pair of oars now, Jack, unless he means to load the wherry like a six-horse waggon. When they don't want to shift the whole kitt, they take a sculler, and be d--d to them. Come, come, where be your rattle-traps? One of the men was soon sufficiently loaded, in his own estimation at least, with Lord Glenvarloch's mail and its accompaniments, with which burden he began to trudge towards the Temple Stairs. His comrade, who seemed the principal, began to handle the trunk which contained the miser's treasure, but pitched it down again in an instant, declaring, with a great oath, that it was as reasonable to expect a man to carry Paul's on his back. The daughter of Trapbois, who had by this time joined them, muffled up in a long dark hood and mantle, exclaimed to Lord Glenvarloch-- Let them leave it if they will, let them leave it all; let us but escape from this horrible place. We have mentioned elsewhere, that Nigel was a very athletic young man, and, impelled by a strong feeling of compassion and indignation, he showed his bodily strength singularly on this occasion, by seizing on the ponderous strong-box, and, by means of the rope he had cast around it, throwing it on his shoulders, and marching resolutely forward under a weight, which would have sunk to the earth three young gallants, at the least, of our degenerate day. The waterman followed him in amazement, calling out, Why, master, master, you might as well gie me t'other end on't! and anon offered his assistance to support it in some degree behind, which after the first minute or two Nigel was fain to accept. His strength was almost exhausted when he reached the wherry, which was lying at the Temple Stairs according to appointment; and, when he pitched the trunk into it, the weight sank the bow of the boat so low in the water as well-nigh to overset it. We shall have as hard a fare of it, said the waterman to his companion, as if we were ferrying over an honest bankrupt with all his secreted goods--Ho, ho! good woman, what, are you stepping in for?--our gunwale lies deep enough in the water without live lumber to boot. This person comes with me, said Lord Glenvarloch; she is for the present under my protection. Come, come, master, rejoined the fellow, that is out of my commission. You must not double my freight on me--she may go by land--and, as for protection, her face will protect her from Berwick to the Land's End. You will not except at my doubling the loading, if I double the fare? said Nigel, determined on no account to relinquish the protection of this unhappy woman, for which he had already devised some sort of plan, likely now to be baffled by the characteristic rudeness of the Thames watermen. Ay, by G----, but I will except, though, said the fellow with the green plush jacket: I will overload my wherry neither for love nor money--I love my boat as well as my wife, and a thought better. Nay, nay, comrade, said his mate, that is speaking no true water language. For double fare we are bound to row a witch in her eggshell if she bid us; and so pull away, Jack, and let us have no more prating. They got into the stream-way accordingly, and, although heavily laden, began to move down the river with reasonable speed. The lighter vessels which passed, overtook, or crossed them, in their course, failed not to assail them with their boisterous raillery, which was then called water-wit; for which the extreme plainness of Mistress Martha's features, contrasted with the youth, handsome figure, and good looks of Nigel, furnished the principal topics; while the circumstance of the boat being somewhat overloaded, did not escape their notice. They were hailed successively, as a grocer's wife upon a party of pleasure with her eldest apprentice--as an old woman carrying her grandson to school--and as a young strapping Irishman, conveying an ancient maiden to Dr. Rigmarole's, at Redriffe, who buckles beggars for a tester and a dram of Geneva. All this abuse was retorted in a similar strain of humour by Greenjacket and his companion, who maintained the war of wit with the same alacrity with which they were assailed. Meanwhile, Lord Glenvarloch asked his desolate companion if she had thought on any place where she could remain in safety with her property. She confessed, in more detail than formerly, that her father's character had left her no friends; and that, from the time he had betaken himself to Whitefriars, to escape certain legal consequences of his eager pursuit of gain, she had lived a life of total seclusion; not associating with the society which the place afforded, and, by her residence there, as well as her father's parsimony, effectually cut off from all other company. What she now wished, was, in the first place, to obtain the shelter of a decent lodging, and the countenance of honest people, however low in life, until she should obtain legal advice as to the mode of obtaining justice on her father's murderer. She had no hesitation to charge the guilt upon Colepepper, (commonly called Peppercull,) whom she knew to be as capable of any act of treacherous cruelty, as he was cowardly, where actual manhood was required. He had been strongly suspected of two robberies before, one of which was coupled with an atrocious murder. He had, she intimated, made pretensions to her hand as the easiest and safest way of obtaining possession of her father's wealth; and, on her refusing his addresses, if they could be termed so, in the most positive terms, he had thrown out such obscure hints of vengeance, as, joined with some imperfect assaults upon the house, had kept her in frequent alarm, both on her father's account and her own. Nigel, but that his feeling of respectful delicacy to the unfortunate woman forebade him to do so, could here have communicated a circumstance corroborative of her suspicions, which had already occurred to his own mind. He recollected the hint that old Hildebrod threw forth on the preceding night, that some communication betwixt himself and Colepepper had hastened the catastrophe. As this communication related to the plan which Hildebrod had been pleased to form, of promoting a marriage betwixt Nigel himself and the rich heiress of Trapbois, the fear of losing an opportunity not to be regained, together with the mean malignity of a low-bred ruffian, disappointed in a favourite scheme, was most likely to instigate the bravo to the deed of violence which had been committed. The reflection that his own name was in some degree implicated with the causes of this horrid tragedy, doubled Lord Glenvarloch's anxiety in behalf of the victim whom he had rescued, while at the same time he formed the tacit resolution, that, so soon as his own affairs were put upon some footing, he would contribute all in his power towards the investigation of this bloody affair. After ascertaining from his companion that she could form no better plan of her own, he recommended to her to take up her lodging for the time, at the house of his old landlord, Christie the ship-chandler, at Paul's Wharf, describing the decency and honesty of that worthy couple, and expressing his hopes that they would receive her into their own house, or recommend her at least to that of some person for whom they would be responsible, until she should have time to enter upon other arrangements for herself. The poor woman received advice so grateful to her in her desolate condition, with an expression of thanks, brief indeed, but deeper than any thing had yet extracted from the austerity of her natural disposition. Lord Glenvarloch then proceeded to inform Martha, that certain reasons, connected with his personal safety, called him immediately to Greenwich, and, therefore, it would not be in his power to accompany her to Christie's house, which he would otherwise have done with pleasure: but, tearing a leaf from his tablet, he wrote on it a few lines, addressed to his landlord, as a man of honesty and humanity, in which he described the bearer as a person who stood in singular necessity of temporary protection and good advice, for which her circumstances enabled her to make ample acknowledgment. He therefore requested John Christie, as his old and good friend, to afford her the shelter of his roof for a short time; or, if that might not be consistent with his convenience, at least to direct her to a proper lodging-and, finally, he imposed on him the additional, and somewhat more difficult commission, to recommend her to the counsel and services of an honest, at least a reputable and skilful attorney, for the transacting some law business of importance. The note he subscribed with his real name, and, delivering it to his _protegee_, who received it with another deeply uttered I thank you, which spoke the sterling feelings of her gratitude better than a thousand combined phrases, he commanded the watermen to pull in for Paul's Wharf, which they were now approaching. We have not time, said Green-jacket; we cannot be stopping every instant. But, upon Nigel insisting upon his commands being obeyed, and adding, that it was for the purpose of putting the lady ashore, the waterman declared that he would rather have her room than her company, and put the wherry alongside the wharf accordingly. Here two of the porters, who ply in such places, were easily induced to undertake the charge of the ponderous strong-box, and at the same time to guide the owner to the well-known mansion of John Christie, with whom all who lived in that neighbourhood were perfectly acquainted. The boat, much lightened of its load, went down the Thames at a rate increased in proportion. But we must forbear to pursue her in her voyage for a few minutes, since we have previously to mention the issue of Lord Glenvarloch's recommendation. Mistress Martha Trapbois reached the shop in perfect safety, and was about to enter it, when a sickening sense of the uncertainty of her situation, and of the singularly painful task of telling her story, came over her so strongly, that she paused a moment at the very threshold of her proposed place of refuge, to think in what manner she could best second the recommendation of the friend whom Providence had raised up to her. Had she possessed that knowledge of the world, from which her habits of life had completely excluded her, she might have known that the large sum of money which she brought along with her, might, judiciously managed, have been a passport to her into the mansions of nobles, and the palaces of princes. But, however conscious of its general power, which assumes so many forms and complexions, she was so inexperienced as to be most unnecessarily afraid that the means by which the wealth had been acquired, might exclude its inheretrix from shelter even in the house of a humble tradesman. While she thus delayed, a more reasonable cause for hesitation arose, in a considerable noise and altercation within the house, which grew louder and louder as the disputants issued forth upon the street or lane before the door. The first who entered upon the scene was a tall raw-boned hard-favoured man, who stalked out of the shop hastily, with a gait like that of a Spaniard in a passion, who, disdaining to add speed to his locomotion by running, only condescends, in the utmost extremity of his angry haste, to add length to his stride. He faced about, so soon as he was out of the house, upon his pursuer, a decent-looking, elderly, plain tradesman--no other than John Christie himself, the owner of the shop and tenement, by whom he seemed to be followed, and who was in a state of agitation more than is usually expressed by such a person. I'll hear no more on't, said the personage who first appeared on the scene.-- Sir, I will hear no more on it. Besides being a most false and impudent figment, as I can testify--it is _Scandaalum Magnaatum_, sir--_Scandaalum Magnaatum_ he reiterated with a broad accentuation of the first vowel, well known in the colleges of Edinburgh and Glasgow, which we can only express in print by doubling the said first of letters and of vowels, and which would have cheered the cockles of the reigning monarch had he been within hearing,--as he was a severer stickler for what he deemed the genuine pronunciation of the Roman tongue, than for any of the royal prerogatives, for which he was at times disposed to insist so strenuously in his speeches to Parliament. I care not an ounce of rotten cheese, said John Christie in reply, what you call it--but it is TRUE; and I am a free Englishman, and have right to speak the truth in my own concerns; and your master is little better than a villain, and you no more than a swaggering coxcomb, whose head I will presently break, as I have known it well broken before on lighter occasion. And, so saying, he flourished the paring-shovel which usually made clean the steps of his little shop, and which he had caught up as the readiest weapon of working his foeman damage, and advanced therewith upon him. The cautious Scot (for such our readers must have already pronounced him, from his language and pedantry) drew back as the enraged ship-chandler approached, but in a surly manner, and bearing his hand on his sword-hilt rather in the act of one who was losing habitual forbearance and caution of deportment, than as alarmed by the attack of an antagonist inferior to himself in youth, strength, and weapons. Bide back, he said, Maister Christie--I say bide back, and consult your safety, man. I have evited striking you in your ain house under muckle provocation, because I am ignorant how the laws here may pronounce respecting burglary and hamesucken, and such matters; and, besides, I would not willingly hurt ye, man, e'en on the causeway, that is free to us baith, because I mind your kindness of lang syne, and partly consider ye as a poor deceived creature. But deil d--n me, sir, and I am not wont to swear, but if you touch my Scotch shouther with that shule of yours, I will make six inches of my Andrew Ferrara deevilish intimate with your guts, neighbour. And therewithal, though still retreating from the brandished shovel, he made one-third of the basket-hilled broadsword which he wore, visible from the sheath. The wrath of John Christie was abated, either by his natural temperance of disposition, or perhaps in part by the glimmer of cold steel, which flashed on him from his adversary's last action. I would do well to cry clubs on thee, and have thee ducked at the wharf, he said, grounding his shovel, however, at the same time, for a paltry swaggerer, that would draw thy bit of iron there on an honest citizen before his own door; but get thee gone, and reckon on a salt eel for thy supper, if thou shouldst ever come near my house again. I wish it had been at the bottom of the Thames when it first gave the use of its roof to smooth-faced, oily-tongued, double-minded Scots thieves! It's an ill bird that fouls its own nest, replied his adversary, not perhaps the less bold that he saw matters were taking the turn of a pacific debate; and a pity it is that a kindly Scot should ever have married in foreign parts, and given life to a purse-proud, pudding-headed, fat-gutted, lean-brained Southron, e'en such as you, Maister Christie. But fare ye weel--fare ye weel, for ever and a day; and, if you quarrel wi' a Scot again, man, say as mickle ill o' himsell as ye like, but say nane of his patron or of his countrymen, or it will scarce be your flat cap that will keep your lang lugs from the sharp abridgement of a Highland whinger, man. And, if you continue your insolence to me before my own door, were it but two minutes longer, retorted John Christie, I will call the constable, and make your Scottish ankles acquainted with an English pair of stocks! So saying, he turned to retire into his shop with some show of victory; for his enemy, whatever might be his innate valour, manifested no desire to drive matters to extremity--conscious, perhaps, that whatever advantage he might gain in single combat with Jonn Christie, would be more than overbalanced by incurring an affair with the constituted authorities of Old England, not at that time apt to be particularly favourable to their new fellow-subjects, in the various successive broils which were then constantly taking place between the individuals of two proud nations, who still retained a stronger sense of their national animosity during centuries, than of their late union for a few years under the government of the same prince. Mrs. Martha Trapbois had dwelt too long in Alsatia, to be either surprised or terrified at the altercation she had witnessed. Indeed, she only wondered that the debate did not end in some of those acts of violence by which they were usually terminated in the Sanctuary. As the disputants separated from each other, she, who had no idea that the cause of the quarrel was more deeply rooted than in the daily scenes of the same nature which she had heard of or witnessed, did not hesitate to stop Master Christie in his return to his shop, and present to him the letter which Lord Glenvarloch had given to her. Had she been better acquainted with life and its business, she would certainly have waited for a more temperate moment; and she had reason to repent of her precipitation, when, without saying a single word, or taking the trouble to gather more of the information contained in the letter than was expressed in the subscription, the incensed ship chandler threw it down on the ground, trampled it in high disdain, and, without addressing a single word to the bearer, except, indeed, something much more like a hearty curse than was perfectly consistent with his own grave appearance, he retired into his shop, and shut the hatch-door. It was with the most inexpressible anguish that the desolate, friendless and unhappy female, thus beheld her sole hope of succour, countenance, and protection, vanish at once, without being able to conceive a reason; for, to do her justice, the idea that her friend, whom she knew by the name of Nigel Grahame, had imposed on her, a solution which might readily have occurred to many in her situation, never once entered her mind. Although it was not her temper easily to bend her mind to entreaty, she could not help exclaiming after the ireful and retreating ship-chandler,-- Good Master, hear me but a moment! for mercy's sake, for honesty's sake! Mercy and honesty from him, mistress! said the Scot, who, though he essayed not to interrupt the retreat of his antagonist,

thought

How many times the word 'thought' appears in the text?

with me! exclaimed Lord Glenvarloch. Yes, she said, I will persuade my father to leave this murdering den. But, as she spoke, the more perfect recollection of what had passed crowded on her mind. She hid her face in her hands, and burst out into a dreadful fit of sobs, moans, and lamentations, which terminated in hysterics, violent in proportion to the uncommon strength of her body and mind. Lord Glenvarloch, shocked, confused, and inexperienced, was about to leave the house in quest of medical, or at least female assistance; but the patient, when the paroxysm had somewhat spent its force, held him fast by the sleeve with one hand, covering her face with the other, while a copious flood of tears came to relieve the emotions of grief by which she had been so violently agitated. Do not leave me, she said-- do not leave me, and call no one. I have never been in this way before, and would not now, she said, sitting upright, and wiping her eyes with her apron,-- would not now--but that--but that he loved _me_. if he loved nothing else that was human--To die so, and by such hands! And again the unhappy woman gave way to a paroxysm of sorrow, mingling her tears with sobbing, wailing, and all the abandonment of female grief, when at its utmost height. At length, she gradually recovered the austerity of her natural composure, and maintained it as if by a forcible exertion of resolution, repelling, as she spoke, the repeated returns of the hysterical affection, by such an effort as that by which epileptic patients are known to suspend the recurrence of their fits. Yet her mind, however resolved, could not so absolutely overcome the affection of her nerves, but that she was agitated by strong fits of trembling, which, for a minute or two at a time, shook her whole frame in a manner frightful to witness. Nigel forgot his own situation, and, indeed, every thing else, in the interest inspired by the unhappy woman before him--an interest which affected a proud spirit the more deeply, that she herself, with correspondent highness of mind, seemed determined to owe as little as possible either to the humanity or the pity of others. I am not wont to be in this way, she said,-- but--but--Nature will have power over the frail beings it has made. Over you, sir, I have some right; for, without you, I had not survived this awful night. I wish your aid had been either earlier or later--but you have saved my life, and you are bound to assist in making it endurable to me. If you will show me how it is possible, answered Nigel. You are going hence, you say, instantly--carry me with you, said the unhappy woman. By my own efforts, I shall never escape from this wilderness of guilt and misery. Alas! what can I do for you? replied Nigel. My own way, and I must not deviate from it, leads me, in all probability, to a dungeon. I might, indeed, transport you from hence with me, if you could afterwards bestow yourself with any friend. Friend! she exclaimed-- I have no friend--they have long since discarded us. A spectre arising from the dead were more welcome than I should be at the doors of those who have disclaimed us; and, if they were willing to restore their friendship to me now, I would despise it, because they withdrew it from him--from him --(here she underwent strong but suppressed agitation, and then added firmly)-- from _him_ who lies yonder.--I have no friend. Here she paused; and then suddenly, as if recollecting herself, added, I have no friend, but I have that will purchase many--I have that which will purchase both friends and avengers.--It is well thought of; I must not leave it for a prey to cheats and ruffians.--Stranger, you must return to yonder room. Pass through it boldly to his--that is, to the sleeping apartment; push the bedstead aside; beneath each of the posts is a brass plate, as if to support the weight, but it is that upon the left, nearest to the wall, which must serve your turn--press the corner of the plate, and it will spring up and show a keyhole, which this key will open. You will then lift a concealed trap-door, and in a cavity of the floor you will discover a small chest. Bring it hither; it shall accompany our journey, and it will be hard if the contents cannot purchase me a place of refuge. But the door communicating with the kitchen has been locked by these people, said Nigel. True, I had forgot; they had their reasons for that, doubtless, answered she. But the secret passage from your apartment is open, and you may go that way. Lord Glenvarloch took the key, and, as he lighted a lamp to show him the way, she read in his countenance some unwillingness to the task imposed. You fear? said she-- there is no cause; the murderer and his victim are both at rest. Take courage, I will go with you myself--you cannot know the trick of the spring, and the chest will be too heavy for you. No fear, no fear, answered Lord Glenvarloch, ashamed of the construction she put upon a momentary hesitation, arising from a dislike to look upon what is horrible, often connected with those high-wrought minds which are the last to fear what is merely dangerous-- I will do your errand as you desire; but for you, you must not--cannot go yonder. I can--I will, she said. I am composed. You shall see that I am so. She took from the table a piece of unfinished sewing-work, and, with steadiness and composure, passed a silken thread into the eye of a fine needle.-- Could I have done that, she said, with a smile yet more ghastly than her previous look of fixed despair, had not my heart and hand been both steady? She then led the way rapidly up stairs to Nigel's chamber, and proceeded through the secret passage with the same haste, as if she had feared her resolution might have failed her ere her purpose was executed. At the bottom of the stairs she paused a moment, before entering the fatal apartment, then hurried through with a rapid step to the sleeping chamber beyond, followed closely by Lord Glenvarloch, whose reluctance to approach the scene of butchery was altogether lost in the anxiety which he felt on account of the survivor of the tragedy. Her first action was to pull aside the curtains of her father's bed. The bed-clothes were thrown aside in confusion, doubtless in the action of his starting from sleep to oppose the entrance of the villains into the next apartment. The hard mattress scarcely showed the slight pressure where the emaciated body of the old miser had been deposited. His daughter sank beside the bed, clasped her hands, and prayed to heaven, in a short and affectionate manner, for support in her affliction, and for vengeance on the villains who had made her fatherless. A low-muttered and still more brief petition recommended to Heaven the soul of the sufferer, and invoked pardon for his sins, in virtue of the great Christian atonement. This duty of piety performed, she signed to Nigel to aid her; and, having pushed aside the heavy bedstead, they saw the brass plate which Martha had described. She pressed the spring, and, at once, the plate starting up, showed the keyhole, and a large iron ring used in lifting the trap-door, which, when raised, displayed the strong box, or small chest, she had mentioned, and which proved indeed so very weighty, that it might perhaps have been scarcely possible for Nigel, though a very strong man, to have raised it without assistance. Having replaced everything as they had found it, Nigel, with such help as his companion was able to afford, assumed his load, and made a shift to carry it into the next apartment, where lay the miserable owner, insensible to sounds and circumstances, which, if any thing could have broken his long last slumber, would certainly have done so. His unfortunate daughter went up to his body, and had even the courage to remove the sheet which had been decently disposed over it. She put her hand on the heart, but there was no throb--held a feather to the lips, but there was no motion--then kissed with deep reverence the starting veins of the pale forehead, and then the emaciated hand. I would you could hear me, she said,-- Father! I would you could hear me swear, that, if I now save what you most valued on earth, it is only to assist me in obtaining vengeance for your death. She replaced the covering, and, without a tear, a sigh, or an additional word of any kind, renewed her efforts, until they conveyed the strong-box betwixt them into Lord Glenvarloch's sleeping apartment. It must pass, she said, as part of your baggage. I will be in readiness so soon as the waterman calls. She retired; and Lord Glenvarloch, who saw the hour of their departure approach, tore down a part of the old hanging to make a covering, which he corded upon the trunk, lest the peculiarity of its shape, and the care with which it was banded and counterbanded with bars of steel, might afford suspicions respecting the treasure which it contained. Having taken this measure of precaution, he changed the rascally disguise, which he had assumed on entering Whitefriars, into a suit becoming his quality, and then, unable to sleep, though exhausted with the events of the night, he threw himself on his bed to await the summons of the waterman. CHAPTER XXVI Give us good voyage, gentle stream--we stun not Thy sober ear with sounds of revelry; Wake not the slumbering echoes of thy banks With voice of flute and horn--we do but seek On the broad pathway of thy swelling bosom To glide in silent safety. _The Double Bridal._ Grey, or rather yellow light, was beginning to twinkle through the fogs of Whitefriars, when a low tap at the door of the unhappy miser announced to Lord Glenvarloch the summons of the boatman. He found at the door the man whom he had seen the night before, with a companion. Come, come, master, let us get afloat, said one of them, in a rough impressive whisper, time and tide wait for no man. They shall not wait for me, said Lord Glenvarloch; but I have some things to carry with me. Ay, ay--no man will take a pair of oars now, Jack, unless he means to load the wherry like a six-horse waggon. When they don't want to shift the whole kitt, they take a sculler, and be d--d to them. Come, come, where be your rattle-traps? One of the men was soon sufficiently loaded, in his own estimation at least, with Lord Glenvarloch's mail and its accompaniments, with which burden he began to trudge towards the Temple Stairs. His comrade, who seemed the principal, began to handle the trunk which contained the miser's treasure, but pitched it down again in an instant, declaring, with a great oath, that it was as reasonable to expect a man to carry Paul's on his back. The daughter of Trapbois, who had by this time joined them, muffled up in a long dark hood and mantle, exclaimed to Lord Glenvarloch-- Let them leave it if they will, let them leave it all; let us but escape from this horrible place. We have mentioned elsewhere, that Nigel was a very athletic young man, and, impelled by a strong feeling of compassion and indignation, he showed his bodily strength singularly on this occasion, by seizing on the ponderous strong-box, and, by means of the rope he had cast around it, throwing it on his shoulders, and marching resolutely forward under a weight, which would have sunk to the earth three young gallants, at the least, of our degenerate day. The waterman followed him in amazement, calling out, Why, master, master, you might as well gie me t'other end on't! and anon offered his assistance to support it in some degree behind, which after the first minute or two Nigel was fain to accept. His strength was almost exhausted when he reached the wherry, which was lying at the Temple Stairs according to appointment; and, when he pitched the trunk into it, the weight sank the bow of the boat so low in the water as well-nigh to overset it. We shall have as hard a fare of it, said the waterman to his companion, as if we were ferrying over an honest bankrupt with all his secreted goods--Ho, ho! good woman, what, are you stepping in for?--our gunwale lies deep enough in the water without live lumber to boot. This person comes with me, said Lord Glenvarloch; she is for the present under my protection. Come, come, master, rejoined the fellow, that is out of my commission. You must not double my freight on me--she may go by land--and, as for protection, her face will protect her from Berwick to the Land's End. You will not except at my doubling the loading, if I double the fare? said Nigel, determined on no account to relinquish the protection of this unhappy woman, for which he had already devised some sort of plan, likely now to be baffled by the characteristic rudeness of the Thames watermen. Ay, by G----, but I will except, though, said the fellow with the green plush jacket: I will overload my wherry neither for love nor money--I love my boat as well as my wife, and a thought better. Nay, nay, comrade, said his mate, that is speaking no true water language. For double fare we are bound to row a witch in her eggshell if she bid us; and so pull away, Jack, and let us have no more prating. They got into the stream-way accordingly, and, although heavily laden, began to move down the river with reasonable speed. The lighter vessels which passed, overtook, or crossed them, in their course, failed not to assail them with their boisterous raillery, which was then called water-wit; for which the extreme plainness of Mistress Martha's features, contrasted with the youth, handsome figure, and good looks of Nigel, furnished the principal topics; while the circumstance of the boat being somewhat overloaded, did not escape their notice. They were hailed successively, as a grocer's wife upon a party of pleasure with her eldest apprentice--as an old woman carrying her grandson to school--and as a young strapping Irishman, conveying an ancient maiden to Dr. Rigmarole's, at Redriffe, who buckles beggars for a tester and a dram of Geneva. All this abuse was retorted in a similar strain of humour by Greenjacket and his companion, who maintained the war of wit with the same alacrity with which they were assailed. Meanwhile, Lord Glenvarloch asked his desolate companion if she had thought on any place where she could remain in safety with her property. She confessed, in more detail than formerly, that her father's character had left her no friends; and that, from the time he had betaken himself to Whitefriars, to escape certain legal consequences of his eager pursuit of gain, she had lived a life of total seclusion; not associating with the society which the place afforded, and, by her residence there, as well as her father's parsimony, effectually cut off from all other company. What she now wished, was, in the first place, to obtain the shelter of a decent lodging, and the countenance of honest people, however low in life, until she should obtain legal advice as to the mode of obtaining justice on her father's murderer. She had no hesitation to charge the guilt upon Colepepper, (commonly called Peppercull,) whom she knew to be as capable of any act of treacherous cruelty, as he was cowardly, where actual manhood was required. He had been strongly suspected of two robberies before, one of which was coupled with an atrocious murder. He had, she intimated, made pretensions to her hand as the easiest and safest way of obtaining possession of her father's wealth; and, on her refusing his addresses, if they could be termed so, in the most positive terms, he had thrown out such obscure hints of vengeance, as, joined with some imperfect assaults upon the house, had kept her in frequent alarm, both on her father's account and her own. Nigel, but that his feeling of respectful delicacy to the unfortunate woman forebade him to do so, could here have communicated a circumstance corroborative of her suspicions, which had already occurred to his own mind. He recollected the hint that old Hildebrod threw forth on the preceding night, that some communication betwixt himself and Colepepper had hastened the catastrophe. As this communication related to the plan which Hildebrod had been pleased to form, of promoting a marriage betwixt Nigel himself and the rich heiress of Trapbois, the fear of losing an opportunity not to be regained, together with the mean malignity of a low-bred ruffian, disappointed in a favourite scheme, was most likely to instigate the bravo to the deed of violence which had been committed. The reflection that his own name was in some degree implicated with the causes of this horrid tragedy, doubled Lord Glenvarloch's anxiety in behalf of the victim whom he had rescued, while at the same time he formed the tacit resolution, that, so soon as his own affairs were put upon some footing, he would contribute all in his power towards the investigation of this bloody affair. After ascertaining from his companion that she could form no better plan of her own, he recommended to her to take up her lodging for the time, at the house of his old landlord, Christie the ship-chandler, at Paul's Wharf, describing the decency and honesty of that worthy couple, and expressing his hopes that they would receive her into their own house, or recommend her at least to that of some person for whom they would be responsible, until she should have time to enter upon other arrangements for herself. The poor woman received advice so grateful to her in her desolate condition, with an expression of thanks, brief indeed, but deeper than any thing had yet extracted from the austerity of her natural disposition. Lord Glenvarloch then proceeded to inform Martha, that certain reasons, connected with his personal safety, called him immediately to Greenwich, and, therefore, it would not be in his power to accompany her to Christie's house, which he would otherwise have done with pleasure: but, tearing a leaf from his tablet, he wrote on it a few lines, addressed to his landlord, as a man of honesty and humanity, in which he described the bearer as a person who stood in singular necessity of temporary protection and good advice, for which her circumstances enabled her to make ample acknowledgment. He therefore requested John Christie, as his old and good friend, to afford her the shelter of his roof for a short time; or, if that might not be consistent with his convenience, at least to direct her to a proper lodging-and, finally, he imposed on him the additional, and somewhat more difficult commission, to recommend her to the counsel and services of an honest, at least a reputable and skilful attorney, for the transacting some law business of importance. The note he subscribed with his real name, and, delivering it to his _protegee_, who received it with another deeply uttered I thank you, which spoke the sterling feelings of her gratitude better than a thousand combined phrases, he commanded the watermen to pull in for Paul's Wharf, which they were now approaching. We have not time, said Green-jacket; we cannot be stopping every instant. But, upon Nigel insisting upon his commands being obeyed, and adding, that it was for the purpose of putting the lady ashore, the waterman declared that he would rather have her room than her company, and put the wherry alongside the wharf accordingly. Here two of the porters, who ply in such places, were easily induced to undertake the charge of the ponderous strong-box, and at the same time to guide the owner to the well-known mansion of John Christie, with whom all who lived in that neighbourhood were perfectly acquainted. The boat, much lightened of its load, went down the Thames at a rate increased in proportion. But we must forbear to pursue her in her voyage for a few minutes, since we have previously to mention the issue of Lord Glenvarloch's recommendation. Mistress Martha Trapbois reached the shop in perfect safety, and was about to enter it, when a sickening sense of the uncertainty of her situation, and of the singularly painful task of telling her story, came over her so strongly, that she paused a moment at the very threshold of her proposed place of refuge, to think in what manner she could best second the recommendation of the friend whom Providence had raised up to her. Had she possessed that knowledge of the world, from which her habits of life had completely excluded her, she might have known that the large sum of money which she brought along with her, might, judiciously managed, have been a passport to her into the mansions of nobles, and the palaces of princes. But, however conscious of its general power, which assumes so many forms and complexions, she was so inexperienced as to be most unnecessarily afraid that the means by which the wealth had been acquired, might exclude its inheretrix from shelter even in the house of a humble tradesman. While she thus delayed, a more reasonable cause for hesitation arose, in a considerable noise and altercation within the house, which grew louder and louder as the disputants issued forth upon the street or lane before the door. The first who entered upon the scene was a tall raw-boned hard-favoured man, who stalked out of the shop hastily, with a gait like that of a Spaniard in a passion, who, disdaining to add speed to his locomotion by running, only condescends, in the utmost extremity of his angry haste, to add length to his stride. He faced about, so soon as he was out of the house, upon his pursuer, a decent-looking, elderly, plain tradesman--no other than John Christie himself, the owner of the shop and tenement, by whom he seemed to be followed, and who was in a state of agitation more than is usually expressed by such a person. I'll hear no more on't, said the personage who first appeared on the scene.-- Sir, I will hear no more on it. Besides being a most false and impudent figment, as I can testify--it is _Scandaalum Magnaatum_, sir--_Scandaalum Magnaatum_ he reiterated with a broad accentuation of the first vowel, well known in the colleges of Edinburgh and Glasgow, which we can only express in print by doubling the said first of letters and of vowels, and which would have cheered the cockles of the reigning monarch had he been within hearing,--as he was a severer stickler for what he deemed the genuine pronunciation of the Roman tongue, than for any of the royal prerogatives, for which he was at times disposed to insist so strenuously in his speeches to Parliament. I care not an ounce of rotten cheese, said John Christie in reply, what you call it--but it is TRUE; and I am a free Englishman, and have right to speak the truth in my own concerns; and your master is little better than a villain, and you no more than a swaggering coxcomb, whose head I will presently break, as I have known it well broken before on lighter occasion. And, so saying, he flourished the paring-shovel which usually made clean the steps of his little shop, and which he had caught up as the readiest weapon of working his foeman damage, and advanced therewith upon him. The cautious Scot (for such our readers must have already pronounced him, from his language and pedantry) drew back as the enraged ship-chandler approached, but in a surly manner, and bearing his hand on his sword-hilt rather in the act of one who was losing habitual forbearance and caution of deportment, than as alarmed by the attack of an antagonist inferior to himself in youth, strength, and weapons. Bide back, he said, Maister Christie--I say bide back, and consult your safety, man. I have evited striking you in your ain house under muckle provocation, because I am ignorant how the laws here may pronounce respecting burglary and hamesucken, and such matters; and, besides, I would not willingly hurt ye, man, e'en on the causeway, that is free to us baith, because I mind your kindness of lang syne, and partly consider ye as a poor deceived creature. But deil d--n me, sir, and I am not wont to swear, but if you touch my Scotch shouther with that shule of yours, I will make six inches of my Andrew Ferrara deevilish intimate with your guts, neighbour. And therewithal, though still retreating from the brandished shovel, he made one-third of the basket-hilled broadsword which he wore, visible from the sheath. The wrath of John Christie was abated, either by his natural temperance of disposition, or perhaps in part by the glimmer of cold steel, which flashed on him from his adversary's last action. I would do well to cry clubs on thee, and have thee ducked at the wharf, he said, grounding his shovel, however, at the same time, for a paltry swaggerer, that would draw thy bit of iron there on an honest citizen before his own door; but get thee gone, and reckon on a salt eel for thy supper, if thou shouldst ever come near my house again. I wish it had been at the bottom of the Thames when it first gave the use of its roof to smooth-faced, oily-tongued, double-minded Scots thieves! It's an ill bird that fouls its own nest, replied his adversary, not perhaps the less bold that he saw matters were taking the turn of a pacific debate; and a pity it is that a kindly Scot should ever have married in foreign parts, and given life to a purse-proud, pudding-headed, fat-gutted, lean-brained Southron, e'en such as you, Maister Christie. But fare ye weel--fare ye weel, for ever and a day; and, if you quarrel wi' a Scot again, man, say as mickle ill o' himsell as ye like, but say nane of his patron or of his countrymen, or it will scarce be your flat cap that will keep your lang lugs from the sharp abridgement of a Highland whinger, man. And, if you continue your insolence to me before my own door, were it but two minutes longer, retorted John Christie, I will call the constable, and make your Scottish ankles acquainted with an English pair of stocks! So saying, he turned to retire into his shop with some show of victory; for his enemy, whatever might be his innate valour, manifested no desire to drive matters to extremity--conscious, perhaps, that whatever advantage he might gain in single combat with Jonn Christie, would be more than overbalanced by incurring an affair with the constituted authorities of Old England, not at that time apt to be particularly favourable to their new fellow-subjects, in the various successive broils which were then constantly taking place between the individuals of two proud nations, who still retained a stronger sense of their national animosity during centuries, than of their late union for a few years under the government of the same prince. Mrs. Martha Trapbois had dwelt too long in Alsatia, to be either surprised or terrified at the altercation she had witnessed. Indeed, she only wondered that the debate did not end in some of those acts of violence by which they were usually terminated in the Sanctuary. As the disputants separated from each other, she, who had no idea that the cause of the quarrel was more deeply rooted than in the daily scenes of the same nature which she had heard of or witnessed, did not hesitate to stop Master Christie in his return to his shop, and present to him the letter which Lord Glenvarloch had given to her. Had she been better acquainted with life and its business, she would certainly have waited for a more temperate moment; and she had reason to repent of her precipitation, when, without saying a single word, or taking the trouble to gather more of the information contained in the letter than was expressed in the subscription, the incensed ship chandler threw it down on the ground, trampled it in high disdain, and, without addressing a single word to the bearer, except, indeed, something much more like a hearty curse than was perfectly consistent with his own grave appearance, he retired into his shop, and shut the hatch-door. It was with the most inexpressible anguish that the desolate, friendless and unhappy female, thus beheld her sole hope of succour, countenance, and protection, vanish at once, without being able to conceive a reason; for, to do her justice, the idea that her friend, whom she knew by the name of Nigel Grahame, had imposed on her, a solution which might readily have occurred to many in her situation, never once entered her mind. Although it was not her temper easily to bend her mind to entreaty, she could not help exclaiming after the ireful and retreating ship-chandler,-- Good Master, hear me but a moment! for mercy's sake, for honesty's sake! Mercy and honesty from him, mistress! said the Scot, who, though he essayed not to interrupt the retreat of his antagonist,

utterly

How many times the word 'utterly' appears in the text?

with me! exclaimed Lord Glenvarloch. Yes, she said, I will persuade my father to leave this murdering den. But, as she spoke, the more perfect recollection of what had passed crowded on her mind. She hid her face in her hands, and burst out into a dreadful fit of sobs, moans, and lamentations, which terminated in hysterics, violent in proportion to the uncommon strength of her body and mind. Lord Glenvarloch, shocked, confused, and inexperienced, was about to leave the house in quest of medical, or at least female assistance; but the patient, when the paroxysm had somewhat spent its force, held him fast by the sleeve with one hand, covering her face with the other, while a copious flood of tears came to relieve the emotions of grief by which she had been so violently agitated. Do not leave me, she said-- do not leave me, and call no one. I have never been in this way before, and would not now, she said, sitting upright, and wiping her eyes with her apron,-- would not now--but that--but that he loved _me_. if he loved nothing else that was human--To die so, and by such hands! And again the unhappy woman gave way to a paroxysm of sorrow, mingling her tears with sobbing, wailing, and all the abandonment of female grief, when at its utmost height. At length, she gradually recovered the austerity of her natural composure, and maintained it as if by a forcible exertion of resolution, repelling, as she spoke, the repeated returns of the hysterical affection, by such an effort as that by which epileptic patients are known to suspend the recurrence of their fits. Yet her mind, however resolved, could not so absolutely overcome the affection of her nerves, but that she was agitated by strong fits of trembling, which, for a minute or two at a time, shook her whole frame in a manner frightful to witness. Nigel forgot his own situation, and, indeed, every thing else, in the interest inspired by the unhappy woman before him--an interest which affected a proud spirit the more deeply, that she herself, with correspondent highness of mind, seemed determined to owe as little as possible either to the humanity or the pity of others. I am not wont to be in this way, she said,-- but--but--Nature will have power over the frail beings it has made. Over you, sir, I have some right; for, without you, I had not survived this awful night. I wish your aid had been either earlier or later--but you have saved my life, and you are bound to assist in making it endurable to me. If you will show me how it is possible, answered Nigel. You are going hence, you say, instantly--carry me with you, said the unhappy woman. By my own efforts, I shall never escape from this wilderness of guilt and misery. Alas! what can I do for you? replied Nigel. My own way, and I must not deviate from it, leads me, in all probability, to a dungeon. I might, indeed, transport you from hence with me, if you could afterwards bestow yourself with any friend. Friend! she exclaimed-- I have no friend--they have long since discarded us. A spectre arising from the dead were more welcome than I should be at the doors of those who have disclaimed us; and, if they were willing to restore their friendship to me now, I would despise it, because they withdrew it from him--from him --(here she underwent strong but suppressed agitation, and then added firmly)-- from _him_ who lies yonder.--I have no friend. Here she paused; and then suddenly, as if recollecting herself, added, I have no friend, but I have that will purchase many--I have that which will purchase both friends and avengers.--It is well thought of; I must not leave it for a prey to cheats and ruffians.--Stranger, you must return to yonder room. Pass through it boldly to his--that is, to the sleeping apartment; push the bedstead aside; beneath each of the posts is a brass plate, as if to support the weight, but it is that upon the left, nearest to the wall, which must serve your turn--press the corner of the plate, and it will spring up and show a keyhole, which this key will open. You will then lift a concealed trap-door, and in a cavity of the floor you will discover a small chest. Bring it hither; it shall accompany our journey, and it will be hard if the contents cannot purchase me a place of refuge. But the door communicating with the kitchen has been locked by these people, said Nigel. True, I had forgot; they had their reasons for that, doubtless, answered she. But the secret passage from your apartment is open, and you may go that way. Lord Glenvarloch took the key, and, as he lighted a lamp to show him the way, she read in his countenance some unwillingness to the task imposed. You fear? said she-- there is no cause; the murderer and his victim are both at rest. Take courage, I will go with you myself--you cannot know the trick of the spring, and the chest will be too heavy for you. No fear, no fear, answered Lord Glenvarloch, ashamed of the construction she put upon a momentary hesitation, arising from a dislike to look upon what is horrible, often connected with those high-wrought minds which are the last to fear what is merely dangerous-- I will do your errand as you desire; but for you, you must not--cannot go yonder. I can--I will, she said. I am composed. You shall see that I am so. She took from the table a piece of unfinished sewing-work, and, with steadiness and composure, passed a silken thread into the eye of a fine needle.-- Could I have done that, she said, with a smile yet more ghastly than her previous look of fixed despair, had not my heart and hand been both steady? She then led the way rapidly up stairs to Nigel's chamber, and proceeded through the secret passage with the same haste, as if she had feared her resolution might have failed her ere her purpose was executed. At the bottom of the stairs she paused a moment, before entering the fatal apartment, then hurried through with a rapid step to the sleeping chamber beyond, followed closely by Lord Glenvarloch, whose reluctance to approach the scene of butchery was altogether lost in the anxiety which he felt on account of the survivor of the tragedy. Her first action was to pull aside the curtains of her father's bed. The bed-clothes were thrown aside in confusion, doubtless in the action of his starting from sleep to oppose the entrance of the villains into the next apartment. The hard mattress scarcely showed the slight pressure where the emaciated body of the old miser had been deposited. His daughter sank beside the bed, clasped her hands, and prayed to heaven, in a short and affectionate manner, for support in her affliction, and for vengeance on the villains who had made her fatherless. A low-muttered and still more brief petition recommended to Heaven the soul of the sufferer, and invoked pardon for his sins, in virtue of the great Christian atonement. This duty of piety performed, she signed to Nigel to aid her; and, having pushed aside the heavy bedstead, they saw the brass plate which Martha had described. She pressed the spring, and, at once, the plate starting up, showed the keyhole, and a large iron ring used in lifting the trap-door, which, when raised, displayed the strong box, or small chest, she had mentioned, and which proved indeed so very weighty, that it might perhaps have been scarcely possible for Nigel, though a very strong man, to have raised it without assistance. Having replaced everything as they had found it, Nigel, with such help as his companion was able to afford, assumed his load, and made a shift to carry it into the next apartment, where lay the miserable owner, insensible to sounds and circumstances, which, if any thing could have broken his long last slumber, would certainly have done so. His unfortunate daughter went up to his body, and had even the courage to remove the sheet which had been decently disposed over it. She put her hand on the heart, but there was no throb--held a feather to the lips, but there was no motion--then kissed with deep reverence the starting veins of the pale forehead, and then the emaciated hand. I would you could hear me, she said,-- Father! I would you could hear me swear, that, if I now save what you most valued on earth, it is only to assist me in obtaining vengeance for your death. She replaced the covering, and, without a tear, a sigh, or an additional word of any kind, renewed her efforts, until they conveyed the strong-box betwixt them into Lord Glenvarloch's sleeping apartment. It must pass, she said, as part of your baggage. I will be in readiness so soon as the waterman calls. She retired; and Lord Glenvarloch, who saw the hour of their departure approach, tore down a part of the old hanging to make a covering, which he corded upon the trunk, lest the peculiarity of its shape, and the care with which it was banded and counterbanded with bars of steel, might afford suspicions respecting the treasure which it contained. Having taken this measure of precaution, he changed the rascally disguise, which he had assumed on entering Whitefriars, into a suit becoming his quality, and then, unable to sleep, though exhausted with the events of the night, he threw himself on his bed to await the summons of the waterman. CHAPTER XXVI Give us good voyage, gentle stream--we stun not Thy sober ear with sounds of revelry; Wake not the slumbering echoes of thy banks With voice of flute and horn--we do but seek On the broad pathway of thy swelling bosom To glide in silent safety. _The Double Bridal._ Grey, or rather yellow light, was beginning to twinkle through the fogs of Whitefriars, when a low tap at the door of the unhappy miser announced to Lord Glenvarloch the summons of the boatman. He found at the door the man whom he had seen the night before, with a companion. Come, come, master, let us get afloat, said one of them, in a rough impressive whisper, time and tide wait for no man. They shall not wait for me, said Lord Glenvarloch; but I have some things to carry with me. Ay, ay--no man will take a pair of oars now, Jack, unless he means to load the wherry like a six-horse waggon. When they don't want to shift the whole kitt, they take a sculler, and be d--d to them. Come, come, where be your rattle-traps? One of the men was soon sufficiently loaded, in his own estimation at least, with Lord Glenvarloch's mail and its accompaniments, with which burden he began to trudge towards the Temple Stairs. His comrade, who seemed the principal, began to handle the trunk which contained the miser's treasure, but pitched it down again in an instant, declaring, with a great oath, that it was as reasonable to expect a man to carry Paul's on his back. The daughter of Trapbois, who had by this time joined them, muffled up in a long dark hood and mantle, exclaimed to Lord Glenvarloch-- Let them leave it if they will, let them leave it all; let us but escape from this horrible place. We have mentioned elsewhere, that Nigel was a very athletic young man, and, impelled by a strong feeling of compassion and indignation, he showed his bodily strength singularly on this occasion, by seizing on the ponderous strong-box, and, by means of the rope he had cast around it, throwing it on his shoulders, and marching resolutely forward under a weight, which would have sunk to the earth three young gallants, at the least, of our degenerate day. The waterman followed him in amazement, calling out, Why, master, master, you might as well gie me t'other end on't! and anon offered his assistance to support it in some degree behind, which after the first minute or two Nigel was fain to accept. His strength was almost exhausted when he reached the wherry, which was lying at the Temple Stairs according to appointment; and, when he pitched the trunk into it, the weight sank the bow of the boat so low in the water as well-nigh to overset it. We shall have as hard a fare of it, said the waterman to his companion, as if we were ferrying over an honest bankrupt with all his secreted goods--Ho, ho! good woman, what, are you stepping in for?--our gunwale lies deep enough in the water without live lumber to boot. This person comes with me, said Lord Glenvarloch; she is for the present under my protection. Come, come, master, rejoined the fellow, that is out of my commission. You must not double my freight on me--she may go by land--and, as for protection, her face will protect her from Berwick to the Land's End. You will not except at my doubling the loading, if I double the fare? said Nigel, determined on no account to relinquish the protection of this unhappy woman, for which he had already devised some sort of plan, likely now to be baffled by the characteristic rudeness of the Thames watermen. Ay, by G----, but I will except, though, said the fellow with the green plush jacket: I will overload my wherry neither for love nor money--I love my boat as well as my wife, and a thought better. Nay, nay, comrade, said his mate, that is speaking no true water language. For double fare we are bound to row a witch in her eggshell if she bid us; and so pull away, Jack, and let us have no more prating. They got into the stream-way accordingly, and, although heavily laden, began to move down the river with reasonable speed. The lighter vessels which passed, overtook, or crossed them, in their course, failed not to assail them with their boisterous raillery, which was then called water-wit; for which the extreme plainness of Mistress Martha's features, contrasted with the youth, handsome figure, and good looks of Nigel, furnished the principal topics; while the circumstance of the boat being somewhat overloaded, did not escape their notice. They were hailed successively, as a grocer's wife upon a party of pleasure with her eldest apprentice--as an old woman carrying her grandson to school--and as a young strapping Irishman, conveying an ancient maiden to Dr. Rigmarole's, at Redriffe, who buckles beggars for a tester and a dram of Geneva. All this abuse was retorted in a similar strain of humour by Greenjacket and his companion, who maintained the war of wit with the same alacrity with which they were assailed. Meanwhile, Lord Glenvarloch asked his desolate companion if she had thought on any place where she could remain in safety with her property. She confessed, in more detail than formerly, that her father's character had left her no friends; and that, from the time he had betaken himself to Whitefriars, to escape certain legal consequences of his eager pursuit of gain, she had lived a life of total seclusion; not associating with the society which the place afforded, and, by her residence there, as well as her father's parsimony, effectually cut off from all other company. What she now wished, was, in the first place, to obtain the shelter of a decent lodging, and the countenance of honest people, however low in life, until she should obtain legal advice as to the mode of obtaining justice on her father's murderer. She had no hesitation to charge the guilt upon Colepepper, (commonly called Peppercull,) whom she knew to be as capable of any act of treacherous cruelty, as he was cowardly, where actual manhood was required. He had been strongly suspected of two robberies before, one of which was coupled with an atrocious murder. He had, she intimated, made pretensions to her hand as the easiest and safest way of obtaining possession of her father's wealth; and, on her refusing his addresses, if they could be termed so, in the most positive terms, he had thrown out such obscure hints of vengeance, as, joined with some imperfect assaults upon the house, had kept her in frequent alarm, both on her father's account and her own. Nigel, but that his feeling of respectful delicacy to the unfortunate woman forebade him to do so, could here have communicated a circumstance corroborative of her suspicions, which had already occurred to his own mind. He recollected the hint that old Hildebrod threw forth on the preceding night, that some communication betwixt himself and Colepepper had hastened the catastrophe. As this communication related to the plan which Hildebrod had been pleased to form, of promoting a marriage betwixt Nigel himself and the rich heiress of Trapbois, the fear of losing an opportunity not to be regained, together with the mean malignity of a low-bred ruffian, disappointed in a favourite scheme, was most likely to instigate the bravo to the deed of violence which had been committed. The reflection that his own name was in some degree implicated with the causes of this horrid tragedy, doubled Lord Glenvarloch's anxiety in behalf of the victim whom he had rescued, while at the same time he formed the tacit resolution, that, so soon as his own affairs were put upon some footing, he would contribute all in his power towards the investigation of this bloody affair. After ascertaining from his companion that she could form no better plan of her own, he recommended to her to take up her lodging for the time, at the house of his old landlord, Christie the ship-chandler, at Paul's Wharf, describing the decency and honesty of that worthy couple, and expressing his hopes that they would receive her into their own house, or recommend her at least to that of some person for whom they would be responsible, until she should have time to enter upon other arrangements for herself. The poor woman received advice so grateful to her in her desolate condition, with an expression of thanks, brief indeed, but deeper than any thing had yet extracted from the austerity of her natural disposition. Lord Glenvarloch then proceeded to inform Martha, that certain reasons, connected with his personal safety, called him immediately to Greenwich, and, therefore, it would not be in his power to accompany her to Christie's house, which he would otherwise have done with pleasure: but, tearing a leaf from his tablet, he wrote on it a few lines, addressed to his landlord, as a man of honesty and humanity, in which he described the bearer as a person who stood in singular necessity of temporary protection and good advice, for which her circumstances enabled her to make ample acknowledgment. He therefore requested John Christie, as his old and good friend, to afford her the shelter of his roof for a short time; or, if that might not be consistent with his convenience, at least to direct her to a proper lodging-and, finally, he imposed on him the additional, and somewhat more difficult commission, to recommend her to the counsel and services of an honest, at least a reputable and skilful attorney, for the transacting some law business of importance. The note he subscribed with his real name, and, delivering it to his _protegee_, who received it with another deeply uttered I thank you, which spoke the sterling feelings of her gratitude better than a thousand combined phrases, he commanded the watermen to pull in for Paul's Wharf, which they were now approaching. We have not time, said Green-jacket; we cannot be stopping every instant. But, upon Nigel insisting upon his commands being obeyed, and adding, that it was for the purpose of putting the lady ashore, the waterman declared that he would rather have her room than her company, and put the wherry alongside the wharf accordingly. Here two of the porters, who ply in such places, were easily induced to undertake the charge of the ponderous strong-box, and at the same time to guide the owner to the well-known mansion of John Christie, with whom all who lived in that neighbourhood were perfectly acquainted. The boat, much lightened of its load, went down the Thames at a rate increased in proportion. But we must forbear to pursue her in her voyage for a few minutes, since we have previously to mention the issue of Lord Glenvarloch's recommendation. Mistress Martha Trapbois reached the shop in perfect safety, and was about to enter it, when a sickening sense of the uncertainty of her situation, and of the singularly painful task of telling her story, came over her so strongly, that she paused a moment at the very threshold of her proposed place of refuge, to think in what manner she could best second the recommendation of the friend whom Providence had raised up to her. Had she possessed that knowledge of the world, from which her habits of life had completely excluded her, she might have known that the large sum of money which she brought along with her, might, judiciously managed, have been a passport to her into the mansions of nobles, and the palaces of princes. But, however conscious of its general power, which assumes so many forms and complexions, she was so inexperienced as to be most unnecessarily afraid that the means by which the wealth had been acquired, might exclude its inheretrix from shelter even in the house of a humble tradesman. While she thus delayed, a more reasonable cause for hesitation arose, in a considerable noise and altercation within the house, which grew louder and louder as the disputants issued forth upon the street or lane before the door. The first who entered upon the scene was a tall raw-boned hard-favoured man, who stalked out of the shop hastily, with a gait like that of a Spaniard in a passion, who, disdaining to add speed to his locomotion by running, only condescends, in the utmost extremity of his angry haste, to add length to his stride. He faced about, so soon as he was out of the house, upon his pursuer, a decent-looking, elderly, plain tradesman--no other than John Christie himself, the owner of the shop and tenement, by whom he seemed to be followed, and who was in a state of agitation more than is usually expressed by such a person. I'll hear no more on't, said the personage who first appeared on the scene.-- Sir, I will hear no more on it. Besides being a most false and impudent figment, as I can testify--it is _Scandaalum Magnaatum_, sir--_Scandaalum Magnaatum_ he reiterated with a broad accentuation of the first vowel, well known in the colleges of Edinburgh and Glasgow, which we can only express in print by doubling the said first of letters and of vowels, and which would have cheered the cockles of the reigning monarch had he been within hearing,--as he was a severer stickler for what he deemed the genuine pronunciation of the Roman tongue, than for any of the royal prerogatives, for which he was at times disposed to insist so strenuously in his speeches to Parliament. I care not an ounce of rotten cheese, said John Christie in reply, what you call it--but it is TRUE; and I am a free Englishman, and have right to speak the truth in my own concerns; and your master is little better than a villain, and you no more than a swaggering coxcomb, whose head I will presently break, as I have known it well broken before on lighter occasion. And, so saying, he flourished the paring-shovel which usually made clean the steps of his little shop, and which he had caught up as the readiest weapon of working his foeman damage, and advanced therewith upon him. The cautious Scot (for such our readers must have already pronounced him, from his language and pedantry) drew back as the enraged ship-chandler approached, but in a surly manner, and bearing his hand on his sword-hilt rather in the act of one who was losing habitual forbearance and caution of deportment, than as alarmed by the attack of an antagonist inferior to himself in youth, strength, and weapons. Bide back, he said, Maister Christie--I say bide back, and consult your safety, man. I have evited striking you in your ain house under muckle provocation, because I am ignorant how the laws here may pronounce respecting burglary and hamesucken, and such matters; and, besides, I would not willingly hurt ye, man, e'en on the causeway, that is free to us baith, because I mind your kindness of lang syne, and partly consider ye as a poor deceived creature. But deil d--n me, sir, and I am not wont to swear, but if you touch my Scotch shouther with that shule of yours, I will make six inches of my Andrew Ferrara deevilish intimate with your guts, neighbour. And therewithal, though still retreating from the brandished shovel, he made one-third of the basket-hilled broadsword which he wore, visible from the sheath. The wrath of John Christie was abated, either by his natural temperance of disposition, or perhaps in part by the glimmer of cold steel, which flashed on him from his adversary's last action. I would do well to cry clubs on thee, and have thee ducked at the wharf, he said, grounding his shovel, however, at the same time, for a paltry swaggerer, that would draw thy bit of iron there on an honest citizen before his own door; but get thee gone, and reckon on a salt eel for thy supper, if thou shouldst ever come near my house again. I wish it had been at the bottom of the Thames when it first gave the use of its roof to smooth-faced, oily-tongued, double-minded Scots thieves! It's an ill bird that fouls its own nest, replied his adversary, not perhaps the less bold that he saw matters were taking the turn of a pacific debate; and a pity it is that a kindly Scot should ever have married in foreign parts, and given life to a purse-proud, pudding-headed, fat-gutted, lean-brained Southron, e'en such as you, Maister Christie. But fare ye weel--fare ye weel, for ever and a day; and, if you quarrel wi' a Scot again, man, say as mickle ill o' himsell as ye like, but say nane of his patron or of his countrymen, or it will scarce be your flat cap that will keep your lang lugs from the sharp abridgement of a Highland whinger, man. And, if you continue your insolence to me before my own door, were it but two minutes longer, retorted John Christie, I will call the constable, and make your Scottish ankles acquainted with an English pair of stocks! So saying, he turned to retire into his shop with some show of victory; for his enemy, whatever might be his innate valour, manifested no desire to drive matters to extremity--conscious, perhaps, that whatever advantage he might gain in single combat with Jonn Christie, would be more than overbalanced by incurring an affair with the constituted authorities of Old England, not at that time apt to be particularly favourable to their new fellow-subjects, in the various successive broils which were then constantly taking place between the individuals of two proud nations, who still retained a stronger sense of their national animosity during centuries, than of their late union for a few years under the government of the same prince. Mrs. Martha Trapbois had dwelt too long in Alsatia, to be either surprised or terrified at the altercation she had witnessed. Indeed, she only wondered that the debate did not end in some of those acts of violence by which they were usually terminated in the Sanctuary. As the disputants separated from each other, she, who had no idea that the cause of the quarrel was more deeply rooted than in the daily scenes of the same nature which she had heard of or witnessed, did not hesitate to stop Master Christie in his return to his shop, and present to him the letter which Lord Glenvarloch had given to her. Had she been better acquainted with life and its business, she would certainly have waited for a more temperate moment; and she had reason to repent of her precipitation, when, without saying a single word, or taking the trouble to gather more of the information contained in the letter than was expressed in the subscription, the incensed ship chandler threw it down on the ground, trampled it in high disdain, and, without addressing a single word to the bearer, except, indeed, something much more like a hearty curse than was perfectly consistent with his own grave appearance, he retired into his shop, and shut the hatch-door. It was with the most inexpressible anguish that the desolate, friendless and unhappy female, thus beheld her sole hope of succour, countenance, and protection, vanish at once, without being able to conceive a reason; for, to do her justice, the idea that her friend, whom she knew by the name of Nigel Grahame, had imposed on her, a solution which might readily have occurred to many in her situation, never once entered her mind. Although it was not her temper easily to bend her mind to entreaty, she could not help exclaiming after the ireful and retreating ship-chandler,-- Good Master, hear me but a moment! for mercy's sake, for honesty's sake! Mercy and honesty from him, mistress! said the Scot, who, though he essayed not to interrupt the retreat of his antagonist,

nay

How many times the word 'nay' appears in the text?

with me! exclaimed Lord Glenvarloch. Yes, she said, I will persuade my father to leave this murdering den. But, as she spoke, the more perfect recollection of what had passed crowded on her mind. She hid her face in her hands, and burst out into a dreadful fit of sobs, moans, and lamentations, which terminated in hysterics, violent in proportion to the uncommon strength of her body and mind. Lord Glenvarloch, shocked, confused, and inexperienced, was about to leave the house in quest of medical, or at least female assistance; but the patient, when the paroxysm had somewhat spent its force, held him fast by the sleeve with one hand, covering her face with the other, while a copious flood of tears came to relieve the emotions of grief by which she had been so violently agitated. Do not leave me, she said-- do not leave me, and call no one. I have never been in this way before, and would not now, she said, sitting upright, and wiping her eyes with her apron,-- would not now--but that--but that he loved _me_. if he loved nothing else that was human--To die so, and by such hands! And again the unhappy woman gave way to a paroxysm of sorrow, mingling her tears with sobbing, wailing, and all the abandonment of female grief, when at its utmost height. At length, she gradually recovered the austerity of her natural composure, and maintained it as if by a forcible exertion of resolution, repelling, as she spoke, the repeated returns of the hysterical affection, by such an effort as that by which epileptic patients are known to suspend the recurrence of their fits. Yet her mind, however resolved, could not so absolutely overcome the affection of her nerves, but that she was agitated by strong fits of trembling, which, for a minute or two at a time, shook her whole frame in a manner frightful to witness. Nigel forgot his own situation, and, indeed, every thing else, in the interest inspired by the unhappy woman before him--an interest which affected a proud spirit the more deeply, that she herself, with correspondent highness of mind, seemed determined to owe as little as possible either to the humanity or the pity of others. I am not wont to be in this way, she said,-- but--but--Nature will have power over the frail beings it has made. Over you, sir, I have some right; for, without you, I had not survived this awful night. I wish your aid had been either earlier or later--but you have saved my life, and you are bound to assist in making it endurable to me. If you will show me how it is possible, answered Nigel. You are going hence, you say, instantly--carry me with you, said the unhappy woman. By my own efforts, I shall never escape from this wilderness of guilt and misery. Alas! what can I do for you? replied Nigel. My own way, and I must not deviate from it, leads me, in all probability, to a dungeon. I might, indeed, transport you from hence with me, if you could afterwards bestow yourself with any friend. Friend! she exclaimed-- I have no friend--they have long since discarded us. A spectre arising from the dead were more welcome than I should be at the doors of those who have disclaimed us; and, if they were willing to restore their friendship to me now, I would despise it, because they withdrew it from him--from him --(here she underwent strong but suppressed agitation, and then added firmly)-- from _him_ who lies yonder.--I have no friend. Here she paused; and then suddenly, as if recollecting herself, added, I have no friend, but I have that will purchase many--I have that which will purchase both friends and avengers.--It is well thought of; I must not leave it for a prey to cheats and ruffians.--Stranger, you must return to yonder room. Pass through it boldly to his--that is, to the sleeping apartment; push the bedstead aside; beneath each of the posts is a brass plate, as if to support the weight, but it is that upon the left, nearest to the wall, which must serve your turn--press the corner of the plate, and it will spring up and show a keyhole, which this key will open. You will then lift a concealed trap-door, and in a cavity of the floor you will discover a small chest. Bring it hither; it shall accompany our journey, and it will be hard if the contents cannot purchase me a place of refuge. But the door communicating with the kitchen has been locked by these people, said Nigel. True, I had forgot; they had their reasons for that, doubtless, answered she. But the secret passage from your apartment is open, and you may go that way. Lord Glenvarloch took the key, and, as he lighted a lamp to show him the way, she read in his countenance some unwillingness to the task imposed. You fear? said she-- there is no cause; the murderer and his victim are both at rest. Take courage, I will go with you myself--you cannot know the trick of the spring, and the chest will be too heavy for you. No fear, no fear, answered Lord Glenvarloch, ashamed of the construction she put upon a momentary hesitation, arising from a dislike to look upon what is horrible, often connected with those high-wrought minds which are the last to fear what is merely dangerous-- I will do your errand as you desire; but for you, you must not--cannot go yonder. I can--I will, she said. I am composed. You shall see that I am so. She took from the table a piece of unfinished sewing-work, and, with steadiness and composure, passed a silken thread into the eye of a fine needle.-- Could I have done that, she said, with a smile yet more ghastly than her previous look of fixed despair, had not my heart and hand been both steady? She then led the way rapidly up stairs to Nigel's chamber, and proceeded through the secret passage with the same haste, as if she had feared her resolution might have failed her ere her purpose was executed. At the bottom of the stairs she paused a moment, before entering the fatal apartment, then hurried through with a rapid step to the sleeping chamber beyond, followed closely by Lord Glenvarloch, whose reluctance to approach the scene of butchery was altogether lost in the anxiety which he felt on account of the survivor of the tragedy. Her first action was to pull aside the curtains of her father's bed. The bed-clothes were thrown aside in confusion, doubtless in the action of his starting from sleep to oppose the entrance of the villains into the next apartment. The hard mattress scarcely showed the slight pressure where the emaciated body of the old miser had been deposited. His daughter sank beside the bed, clasped her hands, and prayed to heaven, in a short and affectionate manner, for support in her affliction, and for vengeance on the villains who had made her fatherless. A low-muttered and still more brief petition recommended to Heaven the soul of the sufferer, and invoked pardon for his sins, in virtue of the great Christian atonement. This duty of piety performed, she signed to Nigel to aid her; and, having pushed aside the heavy bedstead, they saw the brass plate which Martha had described. She pressed the spring, and, at once, the plate starting up, showed the keyhole, and a large iron ring used in lifting the trap-door, which, when raised, displayed the strong box, or small chest, she had mentioned, and which proved indeed so very weighty, that it might perhaps have been scarcely possible for Nigel, though a very strong man, to have raised it without assistance. Having replaced everything as they had found it, Nigel, with such help as his companion was able to afford, assumed his load, and made a shift to carry it into the next apartment, where lay the miserable owner, insensible to sounds and circumstances, which, if any thing could have broken his long last slumber, would certainly have done so. His unfortunate daughter went up to his body, and had even the courage to remove the sheet which had been decently disposed over it. She put her hand on the heart, but there was no throb--held a feather to the lips, but there was no motion--then kissed with deep reverence the starting veins of the pale forehead, and then the emaciated hand. I would you could hear me, she said,-- Father! I would you could hear me swear, that, if I now save what you most valued on earth, it is only to assist me in obtaining vengeance for your death. She replaced the covering, and, without a tear, a sigh, or an additional word of any kind, renewed her efforts, until they conveyed the strong-box betwixt them into Lord Glenvarloch's sleeping apartment. It must pass, she said, as part of your baggage. I will be in readiness so soon as the waterman calls. She retired; and Lord Glenvarloch, who saw the hour of their departure approach, tore down a part of the old hanging to make a covering, which he corded upon the trunk, lest the peculiarity of its shape, and the care with which it was banded and counterbanded with bars of steel, might afford suspicions respecting the treasure which it contained. Having taken this measure of precaution, he changed the rascally disguise, which he had assumed on entering Whitefriars, into a suit becoming his quality, and then, unable to sleep, though exhausted with the events of the night, he threw himself on his bed to await the summons of the waterman. CHAPTER XXVI Give us good voyage, gentle stream--we stun not Thy sober ear with sounds of revelry; Wake not the slumbering echoes of thy banks With voice of flute and horn--we do but seek On the broad pathway of thy swelling bosom To glide in silent safety. _The Double Bridal._ Grey, or rather yellow light, was beginning to twinkle through the fogs of Whitefriars, when a low tap at the door of the unhappy miser announced to Lord Glenvarloch the summons of the boatman. He found at the door the man whom he had seen the night before, with a companion. Come, come, master, let us get afloat, said one of them, in a rough impressive whisper, time and tide wait for no man. They shall not wait for me, said Lord Glenvarloch; but I have some things to carry with me. Ay, ay--no man will take a pair of oars now, Jack, unless he means to load the wherry like a six-horse waggon. When they don't want to shift the whole kitt, they take a sculler, and be d--d to them. Come, come, where be your rattle-traps? One of the men was soon sufficiently loaded, in his own estimation at least, with Lord Glenvarloch's mail and its accompaniments, with which burden he began to trudge towards the Temple Stairs. His comrade, who seemed the principal, began to handle the trunk which contained the miser's treasure, but pitched it down again in an instant, declaring, with a great oath, that it was as reasonable to expect a man to carry Paul's on his back. The daughter of Trapbois, who had by this time joined them, muffled up in a long dark hood and mantle, exclaimed to Lord Glenvarloch-- Let them leave it if they will, let them leave it all; let us but escape from this horrible place. We have mentioned elsewhere, that Nigel was a very athletic young man, and, impelled by a strong feeling of compassion and indignation, he showed his bodily strength singularly on this occasion, by seizing on the ponderous strong-box, and, by means of the rope he had cast around it, throwing it on his shoulders, and marching resolutely forward under a weight, which would have sunk to the earth three young gallants, at the least, of our degenerate day. The waterman followed him in amazement, calling out, Why, master, master, you might as well gie me t'other end on't! and anon offered his assistance to support it in some degree behind, which after the first minute or two Nigel was fain to accept. His strength was almost exhausted when he reached the wherry, which was lying at the Temple Stairs according to appointment; and, when he pitched the trunk into it, the weight sank the bow of the boat so low in the water as well-nigh to overset it. We shall have as hard a fare of it, said the waterman to his companion, as if we were ferrying over an honest bankrupt with all his secreted goods--Ho, ho! good woman, what, are you stepping in for?--our gunwale lies deep enough in the water without live lumber to boot. This person comes with me, said Lord Glenvarloch; she is for the present under my protection. Come, come, master, rejoined the fellow, that is out of my commission. You must not double my freight on me--she may go by land--and, as for protection, her face will protect her from Berwick to the Land's End. You will not except at my doubling the loading, if I double the fare? said Nigel, determined on no account to relinquish the protection of this unhappy woman, for which he had already devised some sort of plan, likely now to be baffled by the characteristic rudeness of the Thames watermen. Ay, by G----, but I will except, though, said the fellow with the green plush jacket: I will overload my wherry neither for love nor money--I love my boat as well as my wife, and a thought better. Nay, nay, comrade, said his mate, that is speaking no true water language. For double fare we are bound to row a witch in her eggshell if she bid us; and so pull away, Jack, and let us have no more prating. They got into the stream-way accordingly, and, although heavily laden, began to move down the river with reasonable speed. The lighter vessels which passed, overtook, or crossed them, in their course, failed not to assail them with their boisterous raillery, which was then called water-wit; for which the extreme plainness of Mistress Martha's features, contrasted with the youth, handsome figure, and good looks of Nigel, furnished the principal topics; while the circumstance of the boat being somewhat overloaded, did not escape their notice. They were hailed successively, as a grocer's wife upon a party of pleasure with her eldest apprentice--as an old woman carrying her grandson to school--and as a young strapping Irishman, conveying an ancient maiden to Dr. Rigmarole's, at Redriffe, who buckles beggars for a tester and a dram of Geneva. All this abuse was retorted in a similar strain of humour by Greenjacket and his companion, who maintained the war of wit with the same alacrity with which they were assailed. Meanwhile, Lord Glenvarloch asked his desolate companion if she had thought on any place where she could remain in safety with her property. She confessed, in more detail than formerly, that her father's character had left her no friends; and that, from the time he had betaken himself to Whitefriars, to escape certain legal consequences of his eager pursuit of gain, she had lived a life of total seclusion; not associating with the society which the place afforded, and, by her residence there, as well as her father's parsimony, effectually cut off from all other company. What she now wished, was, in the first place, to obtain the shelter of a decent lodging, and the countenance of honest people, however low in life, until she should obtain legal advice as to the mode of obtaining justice on her father's murderer. She had no hesitation to charge the guilt upon Colepepper, (commonly called Peppercull,) whom she knew to be as capable of any act of treacherous cruelty, as he was cowardly, where actual manhood was required. He had been strongly suspected of two robberies before, one of which was coupled with an atrocious murder. He had, she intimated, made pretensions to her hand as the easiest and safest way of obtaining possession of her father's wealth; and, on her refusing his addresses, if they could be termed so, in the most positive terms, he had thrown out such obscure hints of vengeance, as, joined with some imperfect assaults upon the house, had kept her in frequent alarm, both on her father's account and her own. Nigel, but that his feeling of respectful delicacy to the unfortunate woman forebade him to do so, could here have communicated a circumstance corroborative of her suspicions, which had already occurred to his own mind. He recollected the hint that old Hildebrod threw forth on the preceding night, that some communication betwixt himself and Colepepper had hastened the catastrophe. As this communication related to the plan which Hildebrod had been pleased to form, of promoting a marriage betwixt Nigel himself and the rich heiress of Trapbois, the fear of losing an opportunity not to be regained, together with the mean malignity of a low-bred ruffian, disappointed in a favourite scheme, was most likely to instigate the bravo to the deed of violence which had been committed. The reflection that his own name was in some degree implicated with the causes of this horrid tragedy, doubled Lord Glenvarloch's anxiety in behalf of the victim whom he had rescued, while at the same time he formed the tacit resolution, that, so soon as his own affairs were put upon some footing, he would contribute all in his power towards the investigation of this bloody affair. After ascertaining from his companion that she could form no better plan of her own, he recommended to her to take up her lodging for the time, at the house of his old landlord, Christie the ship-chandler, at Paul's Wharf, describing the decency and honesty of that worthy couple, and expressing his hopes that they would receive her into their own house, or recommend her at least to that of some person for whom they would be responsible, until she should have time to enter upon other arrangements for herself. The poor woman received advice so grateful to her in her desolate condition, with an expression of thanks, brief indeed, but deeper than any thing had yet extracted from the austerity of her natural disposition. Lord Glenvarloch then proceeded to inform Martha, that certain reasons, connected with his personal safety, called him immediately to Greenwich, and, therefore, it would not be in his power to accompany her to Christie's house, which he would otherwise have done with pleasure: but, tearing a leaf from his tablet, he wrote on it a few lines, addressed to his landlord, as a man of honesty and humanity, in which he described the bearer as a person who stood in singular necessity of temporary protection and good advice, for which her circumstances enabled her to make ample acknowledgment. He therefore requested John Christie, as his old and good friend, to afford her the shelter of his roof for a short time; or, if that might not be consistent with his convenience, at least to direct her to a proper lodging-and, finally, he imposed on him the additional, and somewhat more difficult commission, to recommend her to the counsel and services of an honest, at least a reputable and skilful attorney, for the transacting some law business of importance. The note he subscribed with his real name, and, delivering it to his _protegee_, who received it with another deeply uttered I thank you, which spoke the sterling feelings of her gratitude better than a thousand combined phrases, he commanded the watermen to pull in for Paul's Wharf, which they were now approaching. We have not time, said Green-jacket; we cannot be stopping every instant. But, upon Nigel insisting upon his commands being obeyed, and adding, that it was for the purpose of putting the lady ashore, the waterman declared that he would rather have her room than her company, and put the wherry alongside the wharf accordingly. Here two of the porters, who ply in such places, were easily induced to undertake the charge of the ponderous strong-box, and at the same time to guide the owner to the well-known mansion of John Christie, with whom all who lived in that neighbourhood were perfectly acquainted. The boat, much lightened of its load, went down the Thames at a rate increased in proportion. But we must forbear to pursue her in her voyage for a few minutes, since we have previously to mention the issue of Lord Glenvarloch's recommendation. Mistress Martha Trapbois reached the shop in perfect safety, and was about to enter it, when a sickening sense of the uncertainty of her situation, and of the singularly painful task of telling her story, came over her so strongly, that she paused a moment at the very threshold of her proposed place of refuge, to think in what manner she could best second the recommendation of the friend whom Providence had raised up to her. Had she possessed that knowledge of the world, from which her habits of life had completely excluded her, she might have known that the large sum of money which she brought along with her, might, judiciously managed, have been a passport to her into the mansions of nobles, and the palaces of princes. But, however conscious of its general power, which assumes so many forms and complexions, she was so inexperienced as to be most unnecessarily afraid that the means by which the wealth had been acquired, might exclude its inheretrix from shelter even in the house of a humble tradesman. While she thus delayed, a more reasonable cause for hesitation arose, in a considerable noise and altercation within the house, which grew louder and louder as the disputants issued forth upon the street or lane before the door. The first who entered upon the scene was a tall raw-boned hard-favoured man, who stalked out of the shop hastily, with a gait like that of a Spaniard in a passion, who, disdaining to add speed to his locomotion by running, only condescends, in the utmost extremity of his angry haste, to add length to his stride. He faced about, so soon as he was out of the house, upon his pursuer, a decent-looking, elderly, plain tradesman--no other than John Christie himself, the owner of the shop and tenement, by whom he seemed to be followed, and who was in a state of agitation more than is usually expressed by such a person. I'll hear no more on't, said the personage who first appeared on the scene.-- Sir, I will hear no more on it. Besides being a most false and impudent figment, as I can testify--it is _Scandaalum Magnaatum_, sir--_Scandaalum Magnaatum_ he reiterated with a broad accentuation of the first vowel, well known in the colleges of Edinburgh and Glasgow, which we can only express in print by doubling the said first of letters and of vowels, and which would have cheered the cockles of the reigning monarch had he been within hearing,--as he was a severer stickler for what he deemed the genuine pronunciation of the Roman tongue, than for any of the royal prerogatives, for which he was at times disposed to insist so strenuously in his speeches to Parliament. I care not an ounce of rotten cheese, said John Christie in reply, what you call it--but it is TRUE; and I am a free Englishman, and have right to speak the truth in my own concerns; and your master is little better than a villain, and you no more than a swaggering coxcomb, whose head I will presently break, as I have known it well broken before on lighter occasion. And, so saying, he flourished the paring-shovel which usually made clean the steps of his little shop, and which he had caught up as the readiest weapon of working his foeman damage, and advanced therewith upon him. The cautious Scot (for such our readers must have already pronounced him, from his language and pedantry) drew back as the enraged ship-chandler approached, but in a surly manner, and bearing his hand on his sword-hilt rather in the act of one who was losing habitual forbearance and caution of deportment, than as alarmed by the attack of an antagonist inferior to himself in youth, strength, and weapons. Bide back, he said, Maister Christie--I say bide back, and consult your safety, man. I have evited striking you in your ain house under muckle provocation, because I am ignorant how the laws here may pronounce respecting burglary and hamesucken, and such matters; and, besides, I would not willingly hurt ye, man, e'en on the causeway, that is free to us baith, because I mind your kindness of lang syne, and partly consider ye as a poor deceived creature. But deil d--n me, sir, and I am not wont to swear, but if you touch my Scotch shouther with that shule of yours, I will make six inches of my Andrew Ferrara deevilish intimate with your guts, neighbour. And therewithal, though still retreating from the brandished shovel, he made one-third of the basket-hilled broadsword which he wore, visible from the sheath. The wrath of John Christie was abated, either by his natural temperance of disposition, or perhaps in part by the glimmer of cold steel, which flashed on him from his adversary's last action. I would do well to cry clubs on thee, and have thee ducked at the wharf, he said, grounding his shovel, however, at the same time, for a paltry swaggerer, that would draw thy bit of iron there on an honest citizen before his own door; but get thee gone, and reckon on a salt eel for thy supper, if thou shouldst ever come near my house again. I wish it had been at the bottom of the Thames when it first gave the use of its roof to smooth-faced, oily-tongued, double-minded Scots thieves! It's an ill bird that fouls its own nest, replied his adversary, not perhaps the less bold that he saw matters were taking the turn of a pacific debate; and a pity it is that a kindly Scot should ever have married in foreign parts, and given life to a purse-proud, pudding-headed, fat-gutted, lean-brained Southron, e'en such as you, Maister Christie. But fare ye weel--fare ye weel, for ever and a day; and, if you quarrel wi' a Scot again, man, say as mickle ill o' himsell as ye like, but say nane of his patron or of his countrymen, or it will scarce be your flat cap that will keep your lang lugs from the sharp abridgement of a Highland whinger, man. And, if you continue your insolence to me before my own door, were it but two minutes longer, retorted John Christie, I will call the constable, and make your Scottish ankles acquainted with an English pair of stocks! So saying, he turned to retire into his shop with some show of victory; for his enemy, whatever might be his innate valour, manifested no desire to drive matters to extremity--conscious, perhaps, that whatever advantage he might gain in single combat with Jonn Christie, would be more than overbalanced by incurring an affair with the constituted authorities of Old England, not at that time apt to be particularly favourable to their new fellow-subjects, in the various successive broils which were then constantly taking place between the individuals of two proud nations, who still retained a stronger sense of their national animosity during centuries, than of their late union for a few years under the government of the same prince. Mrs. Martha Trapbois had dwelt too long in Alsatia, to be either surprised or terrified at the altercation she had witnessed. Indeed, she only wondered that the debate did not end in some of those acts of violence by which they were usually terminated in the Sanctuary. As the disputants separated from each other, she, who had no idea that the cause of the quarrel was more deeply rooted than in the daily scenes of the same nature which she had heard of or witnessed, did not hesitate to stop Master Christie in his return to his shop, and present to him the letter which Lord Glenvarloch had given to her. Had she been better acquainted with life and its business, she would certainly have waited for a more temperate moment; and she had reason to repent of her precipitation, when, without saying a single word, or taking the trouble to gather more of the information contained in the letter than was expressed in the subscription, the incensed ship chandler threw it down on the ground, trampled it in high disdain, and, without addressing a single word to the bearer, except, indeed, something much more like a hearty curse than was perfectly consistent with his own grave appearance, he retired into his shop, and shut the hatch-door. It was with the most inexpressible anguish that the desolate, friendless and unhappy female, thus beheld her sole hope of succour, countenance, and protection, vanish at once, without being able to conceive a reason; for, to do her justice, the idea that her friend, whom she knew by the name of Nigel Grahame, had imposed on her, a solution which might readily have occurred to many in her situation, never once entered her mind. Although it was not her temper easily to bend her mind to entreaty, she could not help exclaiming after the ireful and retreating ship-chandler,-- Good Master, hear me but a moment! for mercy's sake, for honesty's sake! Mercy and honesty from him, mistress! said the Scot, who, though he essayed not to interrupt the retreat of his antagonist,

master

How many times the word 'master' appears in the text?

with me! exclaimed Lord Glenvarloch. Yes, she said, I will persuade my father to leave this murdering den. But, as she spoke, the more perfect recollection of what had passed crowded on her mind. She hid her face in her hands, and burst out into a dreadful fit of sobs, moans, and lamentations, which terminated in hysterics, violent in proportion to the uncommon strength of her body and mind. Lord Glenvarloch, shocked, confused, and inexperienced, was about to leave the house in quest of medical, or at least female assistance; but the patient, when the paroxysm had somewhat spent its force, held him fast by the sleeve with one hand, covering her face with the other, while a copious flood of tears came to relieve the emotions of grief by which she had been so violently agitated. Do not leave me, she said-- do not leave me, and call no one. I have never been in this way before, and would not now, she said, sitting upright, and wiping her eyes with her apron,-- would not now--but that--but that he loved _me_. if he loved nothing else that was human--To die so, and by such hands! And again the unhappy woman gave way to a paroxysm of sorrow, mingling her tears with sobbing, wailing, and all the abandonment of female grief, when at its utmost height. At length, she gradually recovered the austerity of her natural composure, and maintained it as if by a forcible exertion of resolution, repelling, as she spoke, the repeated returns of the hysterical affection, by such an effort as that by which epileptic patients are known to suspend the recurrence of their fits. Yet her mind, however resolved, could not so absolutely overcome the affection of her nerves, but that she was agitated by strong fits of trembling, which, for a minute or two at a time, shook her whole frame in a manner frightful to witness. Nigel forgot his own situation, and, indeed, every thing else, in the interest inspired by the unhappy woman before him--an interest which affected a proud spirit the more deeply, that she herself, with correspondent highness of mind, seemed determined to owe as little as possible either to the humanity or the pity of others. I am not wont to be in this way, she said,-- but--but--Nature will have power over the frail beings it has made. Over you, sir, I have some right; for, without you, I had not survived this awful night. I wish your aid had been either earlier or later--but you have saved my life, and you are bound to assist in making it endurable to me. If you will show me how it is possible, answered Nigel. You are going hence, you say, instantly--carry me with you, said the unhappy woman. By my own efforts, I shall never escape from this wilderness of guilt and misery. Alas! what can I do for you? replied Nigel. My own way, and I must not deviate from it, leads me, in all probability, to a dungeon. I might, indeed, transport you from hence with me, if you could afterwards bestow yourself with any friend. Friend! she exclaimed-- I have no friend--they have long since discarded us. A spectre arising from the dead were more welcome than I should be at the doors of those who have disclaimed us; and, if they were willing to restore their friendship to me now, I would despise it, because they withdrew it from him--from him --(here she underwent strong but suppressed agitation, and then added firmly)-- from _him_ who lies yonder.--I have no friend. Here she paused; and then suddenly, as if recollecting herself, added, I have no friend, but I have that will purchase many--I have that which will purchase both friends and avengers.--It is well thought of; I must not leave it for a prey to cheats and ruffians.--Stranger, you must return to yonder room. Pass through it boldly to his--that is, to the sleeping apartment; push the bedstead aside; beneath each of the posts is a brass plate, as if to support the weight, but it is that upon the left, nearest to the wall, which must serve your turn--press the corner of the plate, and it will spring up and show a keyhole, which this key will open. You will then lift a concealed trap-door, and in a cavity of the floor you will discover a small chest. Bring it hither; it shall accompany our journey, and it will be hard if the contents cannot purchase me a place of refuge. But the door communicating with the kitchen has been locked by these people, said Nigel. True, I had forgot; they had their reasons for that, doubtless, answered she. But the secret passage from your apartment is open, and you may go that way. Lord Glenvarloch took the key, and, as he lighted a lamp to show him the way, she read in his countenance some unwillingness to the task imposed. You fear? said she-- there is no cause; the murderer and his victim are both at rest. Take courage, I will go with you myself--you cannot know the trick of the spring, and the chest will be too heavy for you. No fear, no fear, answered Lord Glenvarloch, ashamed of the construction she put upon a momentary hesitation, arising from a dislike to look upon what is horrible, often connected with those high-wrought minds which are the last to fear what is merely dangerous-- I will do your errand as you desire; but for you, you must not--cannot go yonder. I can--I will, she said. I am composed. You shall see that I am so. She took from the table a piece of unfinished sewing-work, and, with steadiness and composure, passed a silken thread into the eye of a fine needle.-- Could I have done that, she said, with a smile yet more ghastly than her previous look of fixed despair, had not my heart and hand been both steady? She then led the way rapidly up stairs to Nigel's chamber, and proceeded through the secret passage with the same haste, as if she had feared her resolution might have failed her ere her purpose was executed. At the bottom of the stairs she paused a moment, before entering the fatal apartment, then hurried through with a rapid step to the sleeping chamber beyond, followed closely by Lord Glenvarloch, whose reluctance to approach the scene of butchery was altogether lost in the anxiety which he felt on account of the survivor of the tragedy. Her first action was to pull aside the curtains of her father's bed. The bed-clothes were thrown aside in confusion, doubtless in the action of his starting from sleep to oppose the entrance of the villains into the next apartment. The hard mattress scarcely showed the slight pressure where the emaciated body of the old miser had been deposited. His daughter sank beside the bed, clasped her hands, and prayed to heaven, in a short and affectionate manner, for support in her affliction, and for vengeance on the villains who had made her fatherless. A low-muttered and still more brief petition recommended to Heaven the soul of the sufferer, and invoked pardon for his sins, in virtue of the great Christian atonement. This duty of piety performed, she signed to Nigel to aid her; and, having pushed aside the heavy bedstead, they saw the brass plate which Martha had described. She pressed the spring, and, at once, the plate starting up, showed the keyhole, and a large iron ring used in lifting the trap-door, which, when raised, displayed the strong box, or small chest, she had mentioned, and which proved indeed so very weighty, that it might perhaps have been scarcely possible for Nigel, though a very strong man, to have raised it without assistance. Having replaced everything as they had found it, Nigel, with such help as his companion was able to afford, assumed his load, and made a shift to carry it into the next apartment, where lay the miserable owner, insensible to sounds and circumstances, which, if any thing could have broken his long last slumber, would certainly have done so. His unfortunate daughter went up to his body, and had even the courage to remove the sheet which had been decently disposed over it. She put her hand on the heart, but there was no throb--held a feather to the lips, but there was no motion--then kissed with deep reverence the starting veins of the pale forehead, and then the emaciated hand. I would you could hear me, she said,-- Father! I would you could hear me swear, that, if I now save what you most valued on earth, it is only to assist me in obtaining vengeance for your death. She replaced the covering, and, without a tear, a sigh, or an additional word of any kind, renewed her efforts, until they conveyed the strong-box betwixt them into Lord Glenvarloch's sleeping apartment. It must pass, she said, as part of your baggage. I will be in readiness so soon as the waterman calls. She retired; and Lord Glenvarloch, who saw the hour of their departure approach, tore down a part of the old hanging to make a covering, which he corded upon the trunk, lest the peculiarity of its shape, and the care with which it was banded and counterbanded with bars of steel, might afford suspicions respecting the treasure which it contained. Having taken this measure of precaution, he changed the rascally disguise, which he had assumed on entering Whitefriars, into a suit becoming his quality, and then, unable to sleep, though exhausted with the events of the night, he threw himself on his bed to await the summons of the waterman. CHAPTER XXVI Give us good voyage, gentle stream--we stun not Thy sober ear with sounds of revelry; Wake not the slumbering echoes of thy banks With voice of flute and horn--we do but seek On the broad pathway of thy swelling bosom To glide in silent safety. _The Double Bridal._ Grey, or rather yellow light, was beginning to twinkle through the fogs of Whitefriars, when a low tap at the door of the unhappy miser announced to Lord Glenvarloch the summons of the boatman. He found at the door the man whom he had seen the night before, with a companion. Come, come, master, let us get afloat, said one of them, in a rough impressive whisper, time and tide wait for no man. They shall not wait for me, said Lord Glenvarloch; but I have some things to carry with me. Ay, ay--no man will take a pair of oars now, Jack, unless he means to load the wherry like a six-horse waggon. When they don't want to shift the whole kitt, they take a sculler, and be d--d to them. Come, come, where be your rattle-traps? One of the men was soon sufficiently loaded, in his own estimation at least, with Lord Glenvarloch's mail and its accompaniments, with which burden he began to trudge towards the Temple Stairs. His comrade, who seemed the principal, began to handle the trunk which contained the miser's treasure, but pitched it down again in an instant, declaring, with a great oath, that it was as reasonable to expect a man to carry Paul's on his back. The daughter of Trapbois, who had by this time joined them, muffled up in a long dark hood and mantle, exclaimed to Lord Glenvarloch-- Let them leave it if they will, let them leave it all; let us but escape from this horrible place. We have mentioned elsewhere, that Nigel was a very athletic young man, and, impelled by a strong feeling of compassion and indignation, he showed his bodily strength singularly on this occasion, by seizing on the ponderous strong-box, and, by means of the rope he had cast around it, throwing it on his shoulders, and marching resolutely forward under a weight, which would have sunk to the earth three young gallants, at the least, of our degenerate day. The waterman followed him in amazement, calling out, Why, master, master, you might as well gie me t'other end on't! and anon offered his assistance to support it in some degree behind, which after the first minute or two Nigel was fain to accept. His strength was almost exhausted when he reached the wherry, which was lying at the Temple Stairs according to appointment; and, when he pitched the trunk into it, the weight sank the bow of the boat so low in the water as well-nigh to overset it. We shall have as hard a fare of it, said the waterman to his companion, as if we were ferrying over an honest bankrupt with all his secreted goods--Ho, ho! good woman, what, are you stepping in for?--our gunwale lies deep enough in the water without live lumber to boot. This person comes with me, said Lord Glenvarloch; she is for the present under my protection. Come, come, master, rejoined the fellow, that is out of my commission. You must not double my freight on me--she may go by land--and, as for protection, her face will protect her from Berwick to the Land's End. You will not except at my doubling the loading, if I double the fare? said Nigel, determined on no account to relinquish the protection of this unhappy woman, for which he had already devised some sort of plan, likely now to be baffled by the characteristic rudeness of the Thames watermen. Ay, by G----, but I will except, though, said the fellow with the green plush jacket: I will overload my wherry neither for love nor money--I love my boat as well as my wife, and a thought better. Nay, nay, comrade, said his mate, that is speaking no true water language. For double fare we are bound to row a witch in her eggshell if she bid us; and so pull away, Jack, and let us have no more prating. They got into the stream-way accordingly, and, although heavily laden, began to move down the river with reasonable speed. The lighter vessels which passed, overtook, or crossed them, in their course, failed not to assail them with their boisterous raillery, which was then called water-wit; for which the extreme plainness of Mistress Martha's features, contrasted with the youth, handsome figure, and good looks of Nigel, furnished the principal topics; while the circumstance of the boat being somewhat overloaded, did not escape their notice. They were hailed successively, as a grocer's wife upon a party of pleasure with her eldest apprentice--as an old woman carrying her grandson to school--and as a young strapping Irishman, conveying an ancient maiden to Dr. Rigmarole's, at Redriffe, who buckles beggars for a tester and a dram of Geneva. All this abuse was retorted in a similar strain of humour by Greenjacket and his companion, who maintained the war of wit with the same alacrity with which they were assailed. Meanwhile, Lord Glenvarloch asked his desolate companion if she had thought on any place where she could remain in safety with her property. She confessed, in more detail than formerly, that her father's character had left her no friends; and that, from the time he had betaken himself to Whitefriars, to escape certain legal consequences of his eager pursuit of gain, she had lived a life of total seclusion; not associating with the society which the place afforded, and, by her residence there, as well as her father's parsimony, effectually cut off from all other company. What she now wished, was, in the first place, to obtain the shelter of a decent lodging, and the countenance of honest people, however low in life, until she should obtain legal advice as to the mode of obtaining justice on her father's murderer. She had no hesitation to charge the guilt upon Colepepper, (commonly called Peppercull,) whom she knew to be as capable of any act of treacherous cruelty, as he was cowardly, where actual manhood was required. He had been strongly suspected of two robberies before, one of which was coupled with an atrocious murder. He had, she intimated, made pretensions to her hand as the easiest and safest way of obtaining possession of her father's wealth; and, on her refusing his addresses, if they could be termed so, in the most positive terms, he had thrown out such obscure hints of vengeance, as, joined with some imperfect assaults upon the house, had kept her in frequent alarm, both on her father's account and her own. Nigel, but that his feeling of respectful delicacy to the unfortunate woman forebade him to do so, could here have communicated a circumstance corroborative of her suspicions, which had already occurred to his own mind. He recollected the hint that old Hildebrod threw forth on the preceding night, that some communication betwixt himself and Colepepper had hastened the catastrophe. As this communication related to the plan which Hildebrod had been pleased to form, of promoting a marriage betwixt Nigel himself and the rich heiress of Trapbois, the fear of losing an opportunity not to be regained, together with the mean malignity of a low-bred ruffian, disappointed in a favourite scheme, was most likely to instigate the bravo to the deed of violence which had been committed. The reflection that his own name was in some degree implicated with the causes of this horrid tragedy, doubled Lord Glenvarloch's anxiety in behalf of the victim whom he had rescued, while at the same time he formed the tacit resolution, that, so soon as his own affairs were put upon some footing, he would contribute all in his power towards the investigation of this bloody affair. After ascertaining from his companion that she could form no better plan of her own, he recommended to her to take up her lodging for the time, at the house of his old landlord, Christie the ship-chandler, at Paul's Wharf, describing the decency and honesty of that worthy couple, and expressing his hopes that they would receive her into their own house, or recommend her at least to that of some person for whom they would be responsible, until she should have time to enter upon other arrangements for herself. The poor woman received advice so grateful to her in her desolate condition, with an expression of thanks, brief indeed, but deeper than any thing had yet extracted from the austerity of her natural disposition. Lord Glenvarloch then proceeded to inform Martha, that certain reasons, connected with his personal safety, called him immediately to Greenwich, and, therefore, it would not be in his power to accompany her to Christie's house, which he would otherwise have done with pleasure: but, tearing a leaf from his tablet, he wrote on it a few lines, addressed to his landlord, as a man of honesty and humanity, in which he described the bearer as a person who stood in singular necessity of temporary protection and good advice, for which her circumstances enabled her to make ample acknowledgment. He therefore requested John Christie, as his old and good friend, to afford her the shelter of his roof for a short time; or, if that might not be consistent with his convenience, at least to direct her to a proper lodging-and, finally, he imposed on him the additional, and somewhat more difficult commission, to recommend her to the counsel and services of an honest, at least a reputable and skilful attorney, for the transacting some law business of importance. The note he subscribed with his real name, and, delivering it to his _protegee_, who received it with another deeply uttered I thank you, which spoke the sterling feelings of her gratitude better than a thousand combined phrases, he commanded the watermen to pull in for Paul's Wharf, which they were now approaching. We have not time, said Green-jacket; we cannot be stopping every instant. But, upon Nigel insisting upon his commands being obeyed, and adding, that it was for the purpose of putting the lady ashore, the waterman declared that he would rather have her room than her company, and put the wherry alongside the wharf accordingly. Here two of the porters, who ply in such places, were easily induced to undertake the charge of the ponderous strong-box, and at the same time to guide the owner to the well-known mansion of John Christie, with whom all who lived in that neighbourhood were perfectly acquainted. The boat, much lightened of its load, went down the Thames at a rate increased in proportion. But we must forbear to pursue her in her voyage for a few minutes, since we have previously to mention the issue of Lord Glenvarloch's recommendation. Mistress Martha Trapbois reached the shop in perfect safety, and was about to enter it, when a sickening sense of the uncertainty of her situation, and of the singularly painful task of telling her story, came over her so strongly, that she paused a moment at the very threshold of her proposed place of refuge, to think in what manner she could best second the recommendation of the friend whom Providence had raised up to her. Had she possessed that knowledge of the world, from which her habits of life had completely excluded her, she might have known that the large sum of money which she brought along with her, might, judiciously managed, have been a passport to her into the mansions of nobles, and the palaces of princes. But, however conscious of its general power, which assumes so many forms and complexions, she was so inexperienced as to be most unnecessarily afraid that the means by which the wealth had been acquired, might exclude its inheretrix from shelter even in the house of a humble tradesman. While she thus delayed, a more reasonable cause for hesitation arose, in a considerable noise and altercation within the house, which grew louder and louder as the disputants issued forth upon the street or lane before the door. The first who entered upon the scene was a tall raw-boned hard-favoured man, who stalked out of the shop hastily, with a gait like that of a Spaniard in a passion, who, disdaining to add speed to his locomotion by running, only condescends, in the utmost extremity of his angry haste, to add length to his stride. He faced about, so soon as he was out of the house, upon his pursuer, a decent-looking, elderly, plain tradesman--no other than John Christie himself, the owner of the shop and tenement, by whom he seemed to be followed, and who was in a state of agitation more than is usually expressed by such a person. I'll hear no more on't, said the personage who first appeared on the scene.-- Sir, I will hear no more on it. Besides being a most false and impudent figment, as I can testify--it is _Scandaalum Magnaatum_, sir--_Scandaalum Magnaatum_ he reiterated with a broad accentuation of the first vowel, well known in the colleges of Edinburgh and Glasgow, which we can only express in print by doubling the said first of letters and of vowels, and which would have cheered the cockles of the reigning monarch had he been within hearing,--as he was a severer stickler for what he deemed the genuine pronunciation of the Roman tongue, than for any of the royal prerogatives, for which he was at times disposed to insist so strenuously in his speeches to Parliament. I care not an ounce of rotten cheese, said John Christie in reply, what you call it--but it is TRUE; and I am a free Englishman, and have right to speak the truth in my own concerns; and your master is little better than a villain, and you no more than a swaggering coxcomb, whose head I will presently break, as I have known it well broken before on lighter occasion. And, so saying, he flourished the paring-shovel which usually made clean the steps of his little shop, and which he had caught up as the readiest weapon of working his foeman damage, and advanced therewith upon him. The cautious Scot (for such our readers must have already pronounced him, from his language and pedantry) drew back as the enraged ship-chandler approached, but in a surly manner, and bearing his hand on his sword-hilt rather in the act of one who was losing habitual forbearance and caution of deportment, than as alarmed by the attack of an antagonist inferior to himself in youth, strength, and weapons. Bide back, he said, Maister Christie--I say bide back, and consult your safety, man. I have evited striking you in your ain house under muckle provocation, because I am ignorant how the laws here may pronounce respecting burglary and hamesucken, and such matters; and, besides, I would not willingly hurt ye, man, e'en on the causeway, that is free to us baith, because I mind your kindness of lang syne, and partly consider ye as a poor deceived creature. But deil d--n me, sir, and I am not wont to swear, but if you touch my Scotch shouther with that shule of yours, I will make six inches of my Andrew Ferrara deevilish intimate with your guts, neighbour. And therewithal, though still retreating from the brandished shovel, he made one-third of the basket-hilled broadsword which he wore, visible from the sheath. The wrath of John Christie was abated, either by his natural temperance of disposition, or perhaps in part by the glimmer of cold steel, which flashed on him from his adversary's last action. I would do well to cry clubs on thee, and have thee ducked at the wharf, he said, grounding his shovel, however, at the same time, for a paltry swaggerer, that would draw thy bit of iron there on an honest citizen before his own door; but get thee gone, and reckon on a salt eel for thy supper, if thou shouldst ever come near my house again. I wish it had been at the bottom of the Thames when it first gave the use of its roof to smooth-faced, oily-tongued, double-minded Scots thieves! It's an ill bird that fouls its own nest, replied his adversary, not perhaps the less bold that he saw matters were taking the turn of a pacific debate; and a pity it is that a kindly Scot should ever have married in foreign parts, and given life to a purse-proud, pudding-headed, fat-gutted, lean-brained Southron, e'en such as you, Maister Christie. But fare ye weel--fare ye weel, for ever and a day; and, if you quarrel wi' a Scot again, man, say as mickle ill o' himsell as ye like, but say nane of his patron or of his countrymen, or it will scarce be your flat cap that will keep your lang lugs from the sharp abridgement of a Highland whinger, man. And, if you continue your insolence to me before my own door, were it but two minutes longer, retorted John Christie, I will call the constable, and make your Scottish ankles acquainted with an English pair of stocks! So saying, he turned to retire into his shop with some show of victory; for his enemy, whatever might be his innate valour, manifested no desire to drive matters to extremity--conscious, perhaps, that whatever advantage he might gain in single combat with Jonn Christie, would be more than overbalanced by incurring an affair with the constituted authorities of Old England, not at that time apt to be particularly favourable to their new fellow-subjects, in the various successive broils which were then constantly taking place between the individuals of two proud nations, who still retained a stronger sense of their national animosity during centuries, than of their late union for a few years under the government of the same prince. Mrs. Martha Trapbois had dwelt too long in Alsatia, to be either surprised or terrified at the altercation she had witnessed. Indeed, she only wondered that the debate did not end in some of those acts of violence by which they were usually terminated in the Sanctuary. As the disputants separated from each other, she, who had no idea that the cause of the quarrel was more deeply rooted than in the daily scenes of the same nature which she had heard of or witnessed, did not hesitate to stop Master Christie in his return to his shop, and present to him the letter which Lord Glenvarloch had given to her. Had she been better acquainted with life and its business, she would certainly have waited for a more temperate moment; and she had reason to repent of her precipitation, when, without saying a single word, or taking the trouble to gather more of the information contained in the letter than was expressed in the subscription, the incensed ship chandler threw it down on the ground, trampled it in high disdain, and, without addressing a single word to the bearer, except, indeed, something much more like a hearty curse than was perfectly consistent with his own grave appearance, he retired into his shop, and shut the hatch-door. It was with the most inexpressible anguish that the desolate, friendless and unhappy female, thus beheld her sole hope of succour, countenance, and protection, vanish at once, without being able to conceive a reason; for, to do her justice, the idea that her friend, whom she knew by the name of Nigel Grahame, had imposed on her, a solution which might readily have occurred to many in her situation, never once entered her mind. Although it was not her temper easily to bend her mind to entreaty, she could not help exclaiming after the ireful and retreating ship-chandler,-- Good Master, hear me but a moment! for mercy's sake, for honesty's sake! Mercy and honesty from him, mistress! said the Scot, who, though he essayed not to interrupt the retreat of his antagonist,

obtaining

How many times the word 'obtaining' appears in the text?

with me! exclaimed Lord Glenvarloch. Yes, she said, I will persuade my father to leave this murdering den. But, as she spoke, the more perfect recollection of what had passed crowded on her mind. She hid her face in her hands, and burst out into a dreadful fit of sobs, moans, and lamentations, which terminated in hysterics, violent in proportion to the uncommon strength of her body and mind. Lord Glenvarloch, shocked, confused, and inexperienced, was about to leave the house in quest of medical, or at least female assistance; but the patient, when the paroxysm had somewhat spent its force, held him fast by the sleeve with one hand, covering her face with the other, while a copious flood of tears came to relieve the emotions of grief by which she had been so violently agitated. Do not leave me, she said-- do not leave me, and call no one. I have never been in this way before, and would not now, she said, sitting upright, and wiping her eyes with her apron,-- would not now--but that--but that he loved _me_. if he loved nothing else that was human--To die so, and by such hands! And again the unhappy woman gave way to a paroxysm of sorrow, mingling her tears with sobbing, wailing, and all the abandonment of female grief, when at its utmost height. At length, she gradually recovered the austerity of her natural composure, and maintained it as if by a forcible exertion of resolution, repelling, as she spoke, the repeated returns of the hysterical affection, by such an effort as that by which epileptic patients are known to suspend the recurrence of their fits. Yet her mind, however resolved, could not so absolutely overcome the affection of her nerves, but that she was agitated by strong fits of trembling, which, for a minute or two at a time, shook her whole frame in a manner frightful to witness. Nigel forgot his own situation, and, indeed, every thing else, in the interest inspired by the unhappy woman before him--an interest which affected a proud spirit the more deeply, that she herself, with correspondent highness of mind, seemed determined to owe as little as possible either to the humanity or the pity of others. I am not wont to be in this way, she said,-- but--but--Nature will have power over the frail beings it has made. Over you, sir, I have some right; for, without you, I had not survived this awful night. I wish your aid had been either earlier or later--but you have saved my life, and you are bound to assist in making it endurable to me. If you will show me how it is possible, answered Nigel. You are going hence, you say, instantly--carry me with you, said the unhappy woman. By my own efforts, I shall never escape from this wilderness of guilt and misery. Alas! what can I do for you? replied Nigel. My own way, and I must not deviate from it, leads me, in all probability, to a dungeon. I might, indeed, transport you from hence with me, if you could afterwards bestow yourself with any friend. Friend! she exclaimed-- I have no friend--they have long since discarded us. A spectre arising from the dead were more welcome than I should be at the doors of those who have disclaimed us; and, if they were willing to restore their friendship to me now, I would despise it, because they withdrew it from him--from him --(here she underwent strong but suppressed agitation, and then added firmly)-- from _him_ who lies yonder.--I have no friend. Here she paused; and then suddenly, as if recollecting herself, added, I have no friend, but I have that will purchase many--I have that which will purchase both friends and avengers.--It is well thought of; I must not leave it for a prey to cheats and ruffians.--Stranger, you must return to yonder room. Pass through it boldly to his--that is, to the sleeping apartment; push the bedstead aside; beneath each of the posts is a brass plate, as if to support the weight, but it is that upon the left, nearest to the wall, which must serve your turn--press the corner of the plate, and it will spring up and show a keyhole, which this key will open. You will then lift a concealed trap-door, and in a cavity of the floor you will discover a small chest. Bring it hither; it shall accompany our journey, and it will be hard if the contents cannot purchase me a place of refuge. But the door communicating with the kitchen has been locked by these people, said Nigel. True, I had forgot; they had their reasons for that, doubtless, answered she. But the secret passage from your apartment is open, and you may go that way. Lord Glenvarloch took the key, and, as he lighted a lamp to show him the way, she read in his countenance some unwillingness to the task imposed. You fear? said she-- there is no cause; the murderer and his victim are both at rest. Take courage, I will go with you myself--you cannot know the trick of the spring, and the chest will be too heavy for you. No fear, no fear, answered Lord Glenvarloch, ashamed of the construction she put upon a momentary hesitation, arising from a dislike to look upon what is horrible, often connected with those high-wrought minds which are the last to fear what is merely dangerous-- I will do your errand as you desire; but for you, you must not--cannot go yonder. I can--I will, she said. I am composed. You shall see that I am so. She took from the table a piece of unfinished sewing-work, and, with steadiness and composure, passed a silken thread into the eye of a fine needle.-- Could I have done that, she said, with a smile yet more ghastly than her previous look of fixed despair, had not my heart and hand been both steady? She then led the way rapidly up stairs to Nigel's chamber, and proceeded through the secret passage with the same haste, as if she had feared her resolution might have failed her ere her purpose was executed. At the bottom of the stairs she paused a moment, before entering the fatal apartment, then hurried through with a rapid step to the sleeping chamber beyond, followed closely by Lord Glenvarloch, whose reluctance to approach the scene of butchery was altogether lost in the anxiety which he felt on account of the survivor of the tragedy. Her first action was to pull aside the curtains of her father's bed. The bed-clothes were thrown aside in confusion, doubtless in the action of his starting from sleep to oppose the entrance of the villains into the next apartment. The hard mattress scarcely showed the slight pressure where the emaciated body of the old miser had been deposited. His daughter sank beside the bed, clasped her hands, and prayed to heaven, in a short and affectionate manner, for support in her affliction, and for vengeance on the villains who had made her fatherless. A low-muttered and still more brief petition recommended to Heaven the soul of the sufferer, and invoked pardon for his sins, in virtue of the great Christian atonement. This duty of piety performed, she signed to Nigel to aid her; and, having pushed aside the heavy bedstead, they saw the brass plate which Martha had described. She pressed the spring, and, at once, the plate starting up, showed the keyhole, and a large iron ring used in lifting the trap-door, which, when raised, displayed the strong box, or small chest, she had mentioned, and which proved indeed so very weighty, that it might perhaps have been scarcely possible for Nigel, though a very strong man, to have raised it without assistance. Having replaced everything as they had found it, Nigel, with such help as his companion was able to afford, assumed his load, and made a shift to carry it into the next apartment, where lay the miserable owner, insensible to sounds and circumstances, which, if any thing could have broken his long last slumber, would certainly have done so. His unfortunate daughter went up to his body, and had even the courage to remove the sheet which had been decently disposed over it. She put her hand on the heart, but there was no throb--held a feather to the lips, but there was no motion--then kissed with deep reverence the starting veins of the pale forehead, and then the emaciated hand. I would you could hear me, she said,-- Father! I would you could hear me swear, that, if I now save what you most valued on earth, it is only to assist me in obtaining vengeance for your death. She replaced the covering, and, without a tear, a sigh, or an additional word of any kind, renewed her efforts, until they conveyed the strong-box betwixt them into Lord Glenvarloch's sleeping apartment. It must pass, she said, as part of your baggage. I will be in readiness so soon as the waterman calls. She retired; and Lord Glenvarloch, who saw the hour of their departure approach, tore down a part of the old hanging to make a covering, which he corded upon the trunk, lest the peculiarity of its shape, and the care with which it was banded and counterbanded with bars of steel, might afford suspicions respecting the treasure which it contained. Having taken this measure of precaution, he changed the rascally disguise, which he had assumed on entering Whitefriars, into a suit becoming his quality, and then, unable to sleep, though exhausted with the events of the night, he threw himself on his bed to await the summons of the waterman. CHAPTER XXVI Give us good voyage, gentle stream--we stun not Thy sober ear with sounds of revelry; Wake not the slumbering echoes of thy banks With voice of flute and horn--we do but seek On the broad pathway of thy swelling bosom To glide in silent safety. _The Double Bridal._ Grey, or rather yellow light, was beginning to twinkle through the fogs of Whitefriars, when a low tap at the door of the unhappy miser announced to Lord Glenvarloch the summons of the boatman. He found at the door the man whom he had seen the night before, with a companion. Come, come, master, let us get afloat, said one of them, in a rough impressive whisper, time and tide wait for no man. They shall not wait for me, said Lord Glenvarloch; but I have some things to carry with me. Ay, ay--no man will take a pair of oars now, Jack, unless he means to load the wherry like a six-horse waggon. When they don't want to shift the whole kitt, they take a sculler, and be d--d to them. Come, come, where be your rattle-traps? One of the men was soon sufficiently loaded, in his own estimation at least, with Lord Glenvarloch's mail and its accompaniments, with which burden he began to trudge towards the Temple Stairs. His comrade, who seemed the principal, began to handle the trunk which contained the miser's treasure, but pitched it down again in an instant, declaring, with a great oath, that it was as reasonable to expect a man to carry Paul's on his back. The daughter of Trapbois, who had by this time joined them, muffled up in a long dark hood and mantle, exclaimed to Lord Glenvarloch-- Let them leave it if they will, let them leave it all; let us but escape from this horrible place. We have mentioned elsewhere, that Nigel was a very athletic young man, and, impelled by a strong feeling of compassion and indignation, he showed his bodily strength singularly on this occasion, by seizing on the ponderous strong-box, and, by means of the rope he had cast around it, throwing it on his shoulders, and marching resolutely forward under a weight, which would have sunk to the earth three young gallants, at the least, of our degenerate day. The waterman followed him in amazement, calling out, Why, master, master, you might as well gie me t'other end on't! and anon offered his assistance to support it in some degree behind, which after the first minute or two Nigel was fain to accept. His strength was almost exhausted when he reached the wherry, which was lying at the Temple Stairs according to appointment; and, when he pitched the trunk into it, the weight sank the bow of the boat so low in the water as well-nigh to overset it. We shall have as hard a fare of it, said the waterman to his companion, as if we were ferrying over an honest bankrupt with all his secreted goods--Ho, ho! good woman, what, are you stepping in for?--our gunwale lies deep enough in the water without live lumber to boot. This person comes with me, said Lord Glenvarloch; she is for the present under my protection. Come, come, master, rejoined the fellow, that is out of my commission. You must not double my freight on me--she may go by land--and, as for protection, her face will protect her from Berwick to the Land's End. You will not except at my doubling the loading, if I double the fare? said Nigel, determined on no account to relinquish the protection of this unhappy woman, for which he had already devised some sort of plan, likely now to be baffled by the characteristic rudeness of the Thames watermen. Ay, by G----, but I will except, though, said the fellow with the green plush jacket: I will overload my wherry neither for love nor money--I love my boat as well as my wife, and a thought better. Nay, nay, comrade, said his mate, that is speaking no true water language. For double fare we are bound to row a witch in her eggshell if she bid us; and so pull away, Jack, and let us have no more prating. They got into the stream-way accordingly, and, although heavily laden, began to move down the river with reasonable speed. The lighter vessels which passed, overtook, or crossed them, in their course, failed not to assail them with their boisterous raillery, which was then called water-wit; for which the extreme plainness of Mistress Martha's features, contrasted with the youth, handsome figure, and good looks of Nigel, furnished the principal topics; while the circumstance of the boat being somewhat overloaded, did not escape their notice. They were hailed successively, as a grocer's wife upon a party of pleasure with her eldest apprentice--as an old woman carrying her grandson to school--and as a young strapping Irishman, conveying an ancient maiden to Dr. Rigmarole's, at Redriffe, who buckles beggars for a tester and a dram of Geneva. All this abuse was retorted in a similar strain of humour by Greenjacket and his companion, who maintained the war of wit with the same alacrity with which they were assailed. Meanwhile, Lord Glenvarloch asked his desolate companion if she had thought on any place where she could remain in safety with her property. She confessed, in more detail than formerly, that her father's character had left her no friends; and that, from the time he had betaken himself to Whitefriars, to escape certain legal consequences of his eager pursuit of gain, she had lived a life of total seclusion; not associating with the society which the place afforded, and, by her residence there, as well as her father's parsimony, effectually cut off from all other company. What she now wished, was, in the first place, to obtain the shelter of a decent lodging, and the countenance of honest people, however low in life, until she should obtain legal advice as to the mode of obtaining justice on her father's murderer. She had no hesitation to charge the guilt upon Colepepper, (commonly called Peppercull,) whom she knew to be as capable of any act of treacherous cruelty, as he was cowardly, where actual manhood was required. He had been strongly suspected of two robberies before, one of which was coupled with an atrocious murder. He had, she intimated, made pretensions to her hand as the easiest and safest way of obtaining possession of her father's wealth; and, on her refusing his addresses, if they could be termed so, in the most positive terms, he had thrown out such obscure hints of vengeance, as, joined with some imperfect assaults upon the house, had kept her in frequent alarm, both on her father's account and her own. Nigel, but that his feeling of respectful delicacy to the unfortunate woman forebade him to do so, could here have communicated a circumstance corroborative of her suspicions, which had already occurred to his own mind. He recollected the hint that old Hildebrod threw forth on the preceding night, that some communication betwixt himself and Colepepper had hastened the catastrophe. As this communication related to the plan which Hildebrod had been pleased to form, of promoting a marriage betwixt Nigel himself and the rich heiress of Trapbois, the fear of losing an opportunity not to be regained, together with the mean malignity of a low-bred ruffian, disappointed in a favourite scheme, was most likely to instigate the bravo to the deed of violence which had been committed. The reflection that his own name was in some degree implicated with the causes of this horrid tragedy, doubled Lord Glenvarloch's anxiety in behalf of the victim whom he had rescued, while at the same time he formed the tacit resolution, that, so soon as his own affairs were put upon some footing, he would contribute all in his power towards the investigation of this bloody affair. After ascertaining from his companion that she could form no better plan of her own, he recommended to her to take up her lodging for the time, at the house of his old landlord, Christie the ship-chandler, at Paul's Wharf, describing the decency and honesty of that worthy couple, and expressing his hopes that they would receive her into their own house, or recommend her at least to that of some person for whom they would be responsible, until she should have time to enter upon other arrangements for herself. The poor woman received advice so grateful to her in her desolate condition, with an expression of thanks, brief indeed, but deeper than any thing had yet extracted from the austerity of her natural disposition. Lord Glenvarloch then proceeded to inform Martha, that certain reasons, connected with his personal safety, called him immediately to Greenwich, and, therefore, it would not be in his power to accompany her to Christie's house, which he would otherwise have done with pleasure: but, tearing a leaf from his tablet, he wrote on it a few lines, addressed to his landlord, as a man of honesty and humanity, in which he described the bearer as a person who stood in singular necessity of temporary protection and good advice, for which her circumstances enabled her to make ample acknowledgment. He therefore requested John Christie, as his old and good friend, to afford her the shelter of his roof for a short time; or, if that might not be consistent with his convenience, at least to direct her to a proper lodging-and, finally, he imposed on him the additional, and somewhat more difficult commission, to recommend her to the counsel and services of an honest, at least a reputable and skilful attorney, for the transacting some law business of importance. The note he subscribed with his real name, and, delivering it to his _protegee_, who received it with another deeply uttered I thank you, which spoke the sterling feelings of her gratitude better than a thousand combined phrases, he commanded the watermen to pull in for Paul's Wharf, which they were now approaching. We have not time, said Green-jacket; we cannot be stopping every instant. But, upon Nigel insisting upon his commands being obeyed, and adding, that it was for the purpose of putting the lady ashore, the waterman declared that he would rather have her room than her company, and put the wherry alongside the wharf accordingly. Here two of the porters, who ply in such places, were easily induced to undertake the charge of the ponderous strong-box, and at the same time to guide the owner to the well-known mansion of John Christie, with whom all who lived in that neighbourhood were perfectly acquainted. The boat, much lightened of its load, went down the Thames at a rate increased in proportion. But we must forbear to pursue her in her voyage for a few minutes, since we have previously to mention the issue of Lord Glenvarloch's recommendation. Mistress Martha Trapbois reached the shop in perfect safety, and was about to enter it, when a sickening sense of the uncertainty of her situation, and of the singularly painful task of telling her story, came over her so strongly, that she paused a moment at the very threshold of her proposed place of refuge, to think in what manner she could best second the recommendation of the friend whom Providence had raised up to her. Had she possessed that knowledge of the world, from which her habits of life had completely excluded her, she might have known that the large sum of money which she brought along with her, might, judiciously managed, have been a passport to her into the mansions of nobles, and the palaces of princes. But, however conscious of its general power, which assumes so many forms and complexions, she was so inexperienced as to be most unnecessarily afraid that the means by which the wealth had been acquired, might exclude its inheretrix from shelter even in the house of a humble tradesman. While she thus delayed, a more reasonable cause for hesitation arose, in a considerable noise and altercation within the house, which grew louder and louder as the disputants issued forth upon the street or lane before the door. The first who entered upon the scene was a tall raw-boned hard-favoured man, who stalked out of the shop hastily, with a gait like that of a Spaniard in a passion, who, disdaining to add speed to his locomotion by running, only condescends, in the utmost extremity of his angry haste, to add length to his stride. He faced about, so soon as he was out of the house, upon his pursuer, a decent-looking, elderly, plain tradesman--no other than John Christie himself, the owner of the shop and tenement, by whom he seemed to be followed, and who was in a state of agitation more than is usually expressed by such a person. I'll hear no more on't, said the personage who first appeared on the scene.-- Sir, I will hear no more on it. Besides being a most false and impudent figment, as I can testify--it is _Scandaalum Magnaatum_, sir--_Scandaalum Magnaatum_ he reiterated with a broad accentuation of the first vowel, well known in the colleges of Edinburgh and Glasgow, which we can only express in print by doubling the said first of letters and of vowels, and which would have cheered the cockles of the reigning monarch had he been within hearing,--as he was a severer stickler for what he deemed the genuine pronunciation of the Roman tongue, than for any of the royal prerogatives, for which he was at times disposed to insist so strenuously in his speeches to Parliament. I care not an ounce of rotten cheese, said John Christie in reply, what you call it--but it is TRUE; and I am a free Englishman, and have right to speak the truth in my own concerns; and your master is little better than a villain, and you no more than a swaggering coxcomb, whose head I will presently break, as I have known it well broken before on lighter occasion. And, so saying, he flourished the paring-shovel which usually made clean the steps of his little shop, and which he had caught up as the readiest weapon of working his foeman damage, and advanced therewith upon him. The cautious Scot (for such our readers must have already pronounced him, from his language and pedantry) drew back as the enraged ship-chandler approached, but in a surly manner, and bearing his hand on his sword-hilt rather in the act of one who was losing habitual forbearance and caution of deportment, than as alarmed by the attack of an antagonist inferior to himself in youth, strength, and weapons. Bide back, he said, Maister Christie--I say bide back, and consult your safety, man. I have evited striking you in your ain house under muckle provocation, because I am ignorant how the laws here may pronounce respecting burglary and hamesucken, and such matters; and, besides, I would not willingly hurt ye, man, e'en on the causeway, that is free to us baith, because I mind your kindness of lang syne, and partly consider ye as a poor deceived creature. But deil d--n me, sir, and I am not wont to swear, but if you touch my Scotch shouther with that shule of yours, I will make six inches of my Andrew Ferrara deevilish intimate with your guts, neighbour. And therewithal, though still retreating from the brandished shovel, he made one-third of the basket-hilled broadsword which he wore, visible from the sheath. The wrath of John Christie was abated, either by his natural temperance of disposition, or perhaps in part by the glimmer of cold steel, which flashed on him from his adversary's last action. I would do well to cry clubs on thee, and have thee ducked at the wharf, he said, grounding his shovel, however, at the same time, for a paltry swaggerer, that would draw thy bit of iron there on an honest citizen before his own door; but get thee gone, and reckon on a salt eel for thy supper, if thou shouldst ever come near my house again. I wish it had been at the bottom of the Thames when it first gave the use of its roof to smooth-faced, oily-tongued, double-minded Scots thieves! It's an ill bird that fouls its own nest, replied his adversary, not perhaps the less bold that he saw matters were taking the turn of a pacific debate; and a pity it is that a kindly Scot should ever have married in foreign parts, and given life to a purse-proud, pudding-headed, fat-gutted, lean-brained Southron, e'en such as you, Maister Christie. But fare ye weel--fare ye weel, for ever and a day; and, if you quarrel wi' a Scot again, man, say as mickle ill o' himsell as ye like, but say nane of his patron or of his countrymen, or it will scarce be your flat cap that will keep your lang lugs from the sharp abridgement of a Highland whinger, man. And, if you continue your insolence to me before my own door, were it but two minutes longer, retorted John Christie, I will call the constable, and make your Scottish ankles acquainted with an English pair of stocks! So saying, he turned to retire into his shop with some show of victory; for his enemy, whatever might be his innate valour, manifested no desire to drive matters to extremity--conscious, perhaps, that whatever advantage he might gain in single combat with Jonn Christie, would be more than overbalanced by incurring an affair with the constituted authorities of Old England, not at that time apt to be particularly favourable to their new fellow-subjects, in the various successive broils which were then constantly taking place between the individuals of two proud nations, who still retained a stronger sense of their national animosity during centuries, than of their late union for a few years under the government of the same prince. Mrs. Martha Trapbois had dwelt too long in Alsatia, to be either surprised or terrified at the altercation she had witnessed. Indeed, she only wondered that the debate did not end in some of those acts of violence by which they were usually terminated in the Sanctuary. As the disputants separated from each other, she, who had no idea that the cause of the quarrel was more deeply rooted than in the daily scenes of the same nature which she had heard of or witnessed, did not hesitate to stop Master Christie in his return to his shop, and present to him the letter which Lord Glenvarloch had given to her. Had she been better acquainted with life and its business, she would certainly have waited for a more temperate moment; and she had reason to repent of her precipitation, when, without saying a single word, or taking the trouble to gather more of the information contained in the letter than was expressed in the subscription, the incensed ship chandler threw it down on the ground, trampled it in high disdain, and, without addressing a single word to the bearer, except, indeed, something much more like a hearty curse than was perfectly consistent with his own grave appearance, he retired into his shop, and shut the hatch-door. It was with the most inexpressible anguish that the desolate, friendless and unhappy female, thus beheld her sole hope of succour, countenance, and protection, vanish at once, without being able to conceive a reason; for, to do her justice, the idea that her friend, whom she knew by the name of Nigel Grahame, had imposed on her, a solution which might readily have occurred to many in her situation, never once entered her mind. Although it was not her temper easily to bend her mind to entreaty, she could not help exclaiming after the ireful and retreating ship-chandler,-- Good Master, hear me but a moment! for mercy's sake, for honesty's sake! Mercy and honesty from him, mistress! said the Scot, who, though he essayed not to interrupt the retreat of his antagonist,

spoke

How many times the word 'spoke' appears in the text?

with me! exclaimed Lord Glenvarloch. Yes, she said, I will persuade my father to leave this murdering den. But, as she spoke, the more perfect recollection of what had passed crowded on her mind. She hid her face in her hands, and burst out into a dreadful fit of sobs, moans, and lamentations, which terminated in hysterics, violent in proportion to the uncommon strength of her body and mind. Lord Glenvarloch, shocked, confused, and inexperienced, was about to leave the house in quest of medical, or at least female assistance; but the patient, when the paroxysm had somewhat spent its force, held him fast by the sleeve with one hand, covering her face with the other, while a copious flood of tears came to relieve the emotions of grief by which she had been so violently agitated. Do not leave me, she said-- do not leave me, and call no one. I have never been in this way before, and would not now, she said, sitting upright, and wiping her eyes with her apron,-- would not now--but that--but that he loved _me_. if he loved nothing else that was human--To die so, and by such hands! And again the unhappy woman gave way to a paroxysm of sorrow, mingling her tears with sobbing, wailing, and all the abandonment of female grief, when at its utmost height. At length, she gradually recovered the austerity of her natural composure, and maintained it as if by a forcible exertion of resolution, repelling, as she spoke, the repeated returns of the hysterical affection, by such an effort as that by which epileptic patients are known to suspend the recurrence of their fits. Yet her mind, however resolved, could not so absolutely overcome the affection of her nerves, but that she was agitated by strong fits of trembling, which, for a minute or two at a time, shook her whole frame in a manner frightful to witness. Nigel forgot his own situation, and, indeed, every thing else, in the interest inspired by the unhappy woman before him--an interest which affected a proud spirit the more deeply, that she herself, with correspondent highness of mind, seemed determined to owe as little as possible either to the humanity or the pity of others. I am not wont to be in this way, she said,-- but--but--Nature will have power over the frail beings it has made. Over you, sir, I have some right; for, without you, I had not survived this awful night. I wish your aid had been either earlier or later--but you have saved my life, and you are bound to assist in making it endurable to me. If you will show me how it is possible, answered Nigel. You are going hence, you say, instantly--carry me with you, said the unhappy woman. By my own efforts, I shall never escape from this wilderness of guilt and misery. Alas! what can I do for you? replied Nigel. My own way, and I must not deviate from it, leads me, in all probability, to a dungeon. I might, indeed, transport you from hence with me, if you could afterwards bestow yourself with any friend. Friend! she exclaimed-- I have no friend--they have long since discarded us. A spectre arising from the dead were more welcome than I should be at the doors of those who have disclaimed us; and, if they were willing to restore their friendship to me now, I would despise it, because they withdrew it from him--from him --(here she underwent strong but suppressed agitation, and then added firmly)-- from _him_ who lies yonder.--I have no friend. Here she paused; and then suddenly, as if recollecting herself, added, I have no friend, but I have that will purchase many--I have that which will purchase both friends and avengers.--It is well thought of; I must not leave it for a prey to cheats and ruffians.--Stranger, you must return to yonder room. Pass through it boldly to his--that is, to the sleeping apartment; push the bedstead aside; beneath each of the posts is a brass plate, as if to support the weight, but it is that upon the left, nearest to the wall, which must serve your turn--press the corner of the plate, and it will spring up and show a keyhole, which this key will open. You will then lift a concealed trap-door, and in a cavity of the floor you will discover a small chest. Bring it hither; it shall accompany our journey, and it will be hard if the contents cannot purchase me a place of refuge. But the door communicating with the kitchen has been locked by these people, said Nigel. True, I had forgot; they had their reasons for that, doubtless, answered she. But the secret passage from your apartment is open, and you may go that way. Lord Glenvarloch took the key, and, as he lighted a lamp to show him the way, she read in his countenance some unwillingness to the task imposed. You fear? said she-- there is no cause; the murderer and his victim are both at rest. Take courage, I will go with you myself--you cannot know the trick of the spring, and the chest will be too heavy for you. No fear, no fear, answered Lord Glenvarloch, ashamed of the construction she put upon a momentary hesitation, arising from a dislike to look upon what is horrible, often connected with those high-wrought minds which are the last to fear what is merely dangerous-- I will do your errand as you desire; but for you, you must not--cannot go yonder. I can--I will, she said. I am composed. You shall see that I am so. She took from the table a piece of unfinished sewing-work, and, with steadiness and composure, passed a silken thread into the eye of a fine needle.-- Could I have done that, she said, with a smile yet more ghastly than her previous look of fixed despair, had not my heart and hand been both steady? She then led the way rapidly up stairs to Nigel's chamber, and proceeded through the secret passage with the same haste, as if she had feared her resolution might have failed her ere her purpose was executed. At the bottom of the stairs she paused a moment, before entering the fatal apartment, then hurried through with a rapid step to the sleeping chamber beyond, followed closely by Lord Glenvarloch, whose reluctance to approach the scene of butchery was altogether lost in the anxiety which he felt on account of the survivor of the tragedy. Her first action was to pull aside the curtains of her father's bed. The bed-clothes were thrown aside in confusion, doubtless in the action of his starting from sleep to oppose the entrance of the villains into the next apartment. The hard mattress scarcely showed the slight pressure where the emaciated body of the old miser had been deposited. His daughter sank beside the bed, clasped her hands, and prayed to heaven, in a short and affectionate manner, for support in her affliction, and for vengeance on the villains who had made her fatherless. A low-muttered and still more brief petition recommended to Heaven the soul of the sufferer, and invoked pardon for his sins, in virtue of the great Christian atonement. This duty of piety performed, she signed to Nigel to aid her; and, having pushed aside the heavy bedstead, they saw the brass plate which Martha had described. She pressed the spring, and, at once, the plate starting up, showed the keyhole, and a large iron ring used in lifting the trap-door, which, when raised, displayed the strong box, or small chest, she had mentioned, and which proved indeed so very weighty, that it might perhaps have been scarcely possible for Nigel, though a very strong man, to have raised it without assistance. Having replaced everything as they had found it, Nigel, with such help as his companion was able to afford, assumed his load, and made a shift to carry it into the next apartment, where lay the miserable owner, insensible to sounds and circumstances, which, if any thing could have broken his long last slumber, would certainly have done so. His unfortunate daughter went up to his body, and had even the courage to remove the sheet which had been decently disposed over it. She put her hand on the heart, but there was no throb--held a feather to the lips, but there was no motion--then kissed with deep reverence the starting veins of the pale forehead, and then the emaciated hand. I would you could hear me, she said,-- Father! I would you could hear me swear, that, if I now save what you most valued on earth, it is only to assist me in obtaining vengeance for your death. She replaced the covering, and, without a tear, a sigh, or an additional word of any kind, renewed her efforts, until they conveyed the strong-box betwixt them into Lord Glenvarloch's sleeping apartment. It must pass, she said, as part of your baggage. I will be in readiness so soon as the waterman calls. She retired; and Lord Glenvarloch, who saw the hour of their departure approach, tore down a part of the old hanging to make a covering, which he corded upon the trunk, lest the peculiarity of its shape, and the care with which it was banded and counterbanded with bars of steel, might afford suspicions respecting the treasure which it contained. Having taken this measure of precaution, he changed the rascally disguise, which he had assumed on entering Whitefriars, into a suit becoming his quality, and then, unable to sleep, though exhausted with the events of the night, he threw himself on his bed to await the summons of the waterman. CHAPTER XXVI Give us good voyage, gentle stream--we stun not Thy sober ear with sounds of revelry; Wake not the slumbering echoes of thy banks With voice of flute and horn--we do but seek On the broad pathway of thy swelling bosom To glide in silent safety. _The Double Bridal._ Grey, or rather yellow light, was beginning to twinkle through the fogs of Whitefriars, when a low tap at the door of the unhappy miser announced to Lord Glenvarloch the summons of the boatman. He found at the door the man whom he had seen the night before, with a companion. Come, come, master, let us get afloat, said one of them, in a rough impressive whisper, time and tide wait for no man. They shall not wait for me, said Lord Glenvarloch; but I have some things to carry with me. Ay, ay--no man will take a pair of oars now, Jack, unless he means to load the wherry like a six-horse waggon. When they don't want to shift the whole kitt, they take a sculler, and be d--d to them. Come, come, where be your rattle-traps? One of the men was soon sufficiently loaded, in his own estimation at least, with Lord Glenvarloch's mail and its accompaniments, with which burden he began to trudge towards the Temple Stairs. His comrade, who seemed the principal, began to handle the trunk which contained the miser's treasure, but pitched it down again in an instant, declaring, with a great oath, that it was as reasonable to expect a man to carry Paul's on his back. The daughter of Trapbois, who had by this time joined them, muffled up in a long dark hood and mantle, exclaimed to Lord Glenvarloch-- Let them leave it if they will, let them leave it all; let us but escape from this horrible place. We have mentioned elsewhere, that Nigel was a very athletic young man, and, impelled by a strong feeling of compassion and indignation, he showed his bodily strength singularly on this occasion, by seizing on the ponderous strong-box, and, by means of the rope he had cast around it, throwing it on his shoulders, and marching resolutely forward under a weight, which would have sunk to the earth three young gallants, at the least, of our degenerate day. The waterman followed him in amazement, calling out, Why, master, master, you might as well gie me t'other end on't! and anon offered his assistance to support it in some degree behind, which after the first minute or two Nigel was fain to accept. His strength was almost exhausted when he reached the wherry, which was lying at the Temple Stairs according to appointment; and, when he pitched the trunk into it, the weight sank the bow of the boat so low in the water as well-nigh to overset it. We shall have as hard a fare of it, said the waterman to his companion, as if we were ferrying over an honest bankrupt with all his secreted goods--Ho, ho! good woman, what, are you stepping in for?--our gunwale lies deep enough in the water without live lumber to boot. This person comes with me, said Lord Glenvarloch; she is for the present under my protection. Come, come, master, rejoined the fellow, that is out of my commission. You must not double my freight on me--she may go by land--and, as for protection, her face will protect her from Berwick to the Land's End. You will not except at my doubling the loading, if I double the fare? said Nigel, determined on no account to relinquish the protection of this unhappy woman, for which he had already devised some sort of plan, likely now to be baffled by the characteristic rudeness of the Thames watermen. Ay, by G----, but I will except, though, said the fellow with the green plush jacket: I will overload my wherry neither for love nor money--I love my boat as well as my wife, and a thought better. Nay, nay, comrade, said his mate, that is speaking no true water language. For double fare we are bound to row a witch in her eggshell if she bid us; and so pull away, Jack, and let us have no more prating. They got into the stream-way accordingly, and, although heavily laden, began to move down the river with reasonable speed. The lighter vessels which passed, overtook, or crossed them, in their course, failed not to assail them with their boisterous raillery, which was then called water-wit; for which the extreme plainness of Mistress Martha's features, contrasted with the youth, handsome figure, and good looks of Nigel, furnished the principal topics; while the circumstance of the boat being somewhat overloaded, did not escape their notice. They were hailed successively, as a grocer's wife upon a party of pleasure with her eldest apprentice--as an old woman carrying her grandson to school--and as a young strapping Irishman, conveying an ancient maiden to Dr. Rigmarole's, at Redriffe, who buckles beggars for a tester and a dram of Geneva. All this abuse was retorted in a similar strain of humour by Greenjacket and his companion, who maintained the war of wit with the same alacrity with which they were assailed. Meanwhile, Lord Glenvarloch asked his desolate companion if she had thought on any place where she could remain in safety with her property. She confessed, in more detail than formerly, that her father's character had left her no friends; and that, from the time he had betaken himself to Whitefriars, to escape certain legal consequences of his eager pursuit of gain, she had lived a life of total seclusion; not associating with the society which the place afforded, and, by her residence there, as well as her father's parsimony, effectually cut off from all other company. What she now wished, was, in the first place, to obtain the shelter of a decent lodging, and the countenance of honest people, however low in life, until she should obtain legal advice as to the mode of obtaining justice on her father's murderer. She had no hesitation to charge the guilt upon Colepepper, (commonly called Peppercull,) whom she knew to be as capable of any act of treacherous cruelty, as he was cowardly, where actual manhood was required. He had been strongly suspected of two robberies before, one of which was coupled with an atrocious murder. He had, she intimated, made pretensions to her hand as the easiest and safest way of obtaining possession of her father's wealth; and, on her refusing his addresses, if they could be termed so, in the most positive terms, he had thrown out such obscure hints of vengeance, as, joined with some imperfect assaults upon the house, had kept her in frequent alarm, both on her father's account and her own. Nigel, but that his feeling of respectful delicacy to the unfortunate woman forebade him to do so, could here have communicated a circumstance corroborative of her suspicions, which had already occurred to his own mind. He recollected the hint that old Hildebrod threw forth on the preceding night, that some communication betwixt himself and Colepepper had hastened the catastrophe. As this communication related to the plan which Hildebrod had been pleased to form, of promoting a marriage betwixt Nigel himself and the rich heiress of Trapbois, the fear of losing an opportunity not to be regained, together with the mean malignity of a low-bred ruffian, disappointed in a favourite scheme, was most likely to instigate the bravo to the deed of violence which had been committed. The reflection that his own name was in some degree implicated with the causes of this horrid tragedy, doubled Lord Glenvarloch's anxiety in behalf of the victim whom he had rescued, while at the same time he formed the tacit resolution, that, so soon as his own affairs were put upon some footing, he would contribute all in his power towards the investigation of this bloody affair. After ascertaining from his companion that she could form no better plan of her own, he recommended to her to take up her lodging for the time, at the house of his old landlord, Christie the ship-chandler, at Paul's Wharf, describing the decency and honesty of that worthy couple, and expressing his hopes that they would receive her into their own house, or recommend her at least to that of some person for whom they would be responsible, until she should have time to enter upon other arrangements for herself. The poor woman received advice so grateful to her in her desolate condition, with an expression of thanks, brief indeed, but deeper than any thing had yet extracted from the austerity of her natural disposition. Lord Glenvarloch then proceeded to inform Martha, that certain reasons, connected with his personal safety, called him immediately to Greenwich, and, therefore, it would not be in his power to accompany her to Christie's house, which he would otherwise have done with pleasure: but, tearing a leaf from his tablet, he wrote on it a few lines, addressed to his landlord, as a man of honesty and humanity, in which he described the bearer as a person who stood in singular necessity of temporary protection and good advice, for which her circumstances enabled her to make ample acknowledgment. He therefore requested John Christie, as his old and good friend, to afford her the shelter of his roof for a short time; or, if that might not be consistent with his convenience, at least to direct her to a proper lodging-and, finally, he imposed on him the additional, and somewhat more difficult commission, to recommend her to the counsel and services of an honest, at least a reputable and skilful attorney, for the transacting some law business of importance. The note he subscribed with his real name, and, delivering it to his _protegee_, who received it with another deeply uttered I thank you, which spoke the sterling feelings of her gratitude better than a thousand combined phrases, he commanded the watermen to pull in for Paul's Wharf, which they were now approaching. We have not time, said Green-jacket; we cannot be stopping every instant. But, upon Nigel insisting upon his commands being obeyed, and adding, that it was for the purpose of putting the lady ashore, the waterman declared that he would rather have her room than her company, and put the wherry alongside the wharf accordingly. Here two of the porters, who ply in such places, were easily induced to undertake the charge of the ponderous strong-box, and at the same time to guide the owner to the well-known mansion of John Christie, with whom all who lived in that neighbourhood were perfectly acquainted. The boat, much lightened of its load, went down the Thames at a rate increased in proportion. But we must forbear to pursue her in her voyage for a few minutes, since we have previously to mention the issue of Lord Glenvarloch's recommendation. Mistress Martha Trapbois reached the shop in perfect safety, and was about to enter it, when a sickening sense of the uncertainty of her situation, and of the singularly painful task of telling her story, came over her so strongly, that she paused a moment at the very threshold of her proposed place of refuge, to think in what manner she could best second the recommendation of the friend whom Providence had raised up to her. Had she possessed that knowledge of the world, from which her habits of life had completely excluded her, she might have known that the large sum of money which she brought along with her, might, judiciously managed, have been a passport to her into the mansions of nobles, and the palaces of princes. But, however conscious of its general power, which assumes so many forms and complexions, she was so inexperienced as to be most unnecessarily afraid that the means by which the wealth had been acquired, might exclude its inheretrix from shelter even in the house of a humble tradesman. While she thus delayed, a more reasonable cause for hesitation arose, in a considerable noise and altercation within the house, which grew louder and louder as the disputants issued forth upon the street or lane before the door. The first who entered upon the scene was a tall raw-boned hard-favoured man, who stalked out of the shop hastily, with a gait like that of a Spaniard in a passion, who, disdaining to add speed to his locomotion by running, only condescends, in the utmost extremity of his angry haste, to add length to his stride. He faced about, so soon as he was out of the house, upon his pursuer, a decent-looking, elderly, plain tradesman--no other than John Christie himself, the owner of the shop and tenement, by whom he seemed to be followed, and who was in a state of agitation more than is usually expressed by such a person. I'll hear no more on't, said the personage who first appeared on the scene.-- Sir, I will hear no more on it. Besides being a most false and impudent figment, as I can testify--it is _Scandaalum Magnaatum_, sir--_Scandaalum Magnaatum_ he reiterated with a broad accentuation of the first vowel, well known in the colleges of Edinburgh and Glasgow, which we can only express in print by doubling the said first of letters and of vowels, and which would have cheered the cockles of the reigning monarch had he been within hearing,--as he was a severer stickler for what he deemed the genuine pronunciation of the Roman tongue, than for any of the royal prerogatives, for which he was at times disposed to insist so strenuously in his speeches to Parliament. I care not an ounce of rotten cheese, said John Christie in reply, what you call it--but it is TRUE; and I am a free Englishman, and have right to speak the truth in my own concerns; and your master is little better than a villain, and you no more than a swaggering coxcomb, whose head I will presently break, as I have known it well broken before on lighter occasion. And, so saying, he flourished the paring-shovel which usually made clean the steps of his little shop, and which he had caught up as the readiest weapon of working his foeman damage, and advanced therewith upon him. The cautious Scot (for such our readers must have already pronounced him, from his language and pedantry) drew back as the enraged ship-chandler approached, but in a surly manner, and bearing his hand on his sword-hilt rather in the act of one who was losing habitual forbearance and caution of deportment, than as alarmed by the attack of an antagonist inferior to himself in youth, strength, and weapons. Bide back, he said, Maister Christie--I say bide back, and consult your safety, man. I have evited striking you in your ain house under muckle provocation, because I am ignorant how the laws here may pronounce respecting burglary and hamesucken, and such matters; and, besides, I would not willingly hurt ye, man, e'en on the causeway, that is free to us baith, because I mind your kindness of lang syne, and partly consider ye as a poor deceived creature. But deil d--n me, sir, and I am not wont to swear, but if you touch my Scotch shouther with that shule of yours, I will make six inches of my Andrew Ferrara deevilish intimate with your guts, neighbour. And therewithal, though still retreating from the brandished shovel, he made one-third of the basket-hilled broadsword which he wore, visible from the sheath. The wrath of John Christie was abated, either by his natural temperance of disposition, or perhaps in part by the glimmer of cold steel, which flashed on him from his adversary's last action. I would do well to cry clubs on thee, and have thee ducked at the wharf, he said, grounding his shovel, however, at the same time, for a paltry swaggerer, that would draw thy bit of iron there on an honest citizen before his own door; but get thee gone, and reckon on a salt eel for thy supper, if thou shouldst ever come near my house again. I wish it had been at the bottom of the Thames when it first gave the use of its roof to smooth-faced, oily-tongued, double-minded Scots thieves! It's an ill bird that fouls its own nest, replied his adversary, not perhaps the less bold that he saw matters were taking the turn of a pacific debate; and a pity it is that a kindly Scot should ever have married in foreign parts, and given life to a purse-proud, pudding-headed, fat-gutted, lean-brained Southron, e'en such as you, Maister Christie. But fare ye weel--fare ye weel, for ever and a day; and, if you quarrel wi' a Scot again, man, say as mickle ill o' himsell as ye like, but say nane of his patron or of his countrymen, or it will scarce be your flat cap that will keep your lang lugs from the sharp abridgement of a Highland whinger, man. And, if you continue your insolence to me before my own door, were it but two minutes longer, retorted John Christie, I will call the constable, and make your Scottish ankles acquainted with an English pair of stocks! So saying, he turned to retire into his shop with some show of victory; for his enemy, whatever might be his innate valour, manifested no desire to drive matters to extremity--conscious, perhaps, that whatever advantage he might gain in single combat with Jonn Christie, would be more than overbalanced by incurring an affair with the constituted authorities of Old England, not at that time apt to be particularly favourable to their new fellow-subjects, in the various successive broils which were then constantly taking place between the individuals of two proud nations, who still retained a stronger sense of their national animosity during centuries, than of their late union for a few years under the government of the same prince. Mrs. Martha Trapbois had dwelt too long in Alsatia, to be either surprised or terrified at the altercation she had witnessed. Indeed, she only wondered that the debate did not end in some of those acts of violence by which they were usually terminated in the Sanctuary. As the disputants separated from each other, she, who had no idea that the cause of the quarrel was more deeply rooted than in the daily scenes of the same nature which she had heard of or witnessed, did not hesitate to stop Master Christie in his return to his shop, and present to him the letter which Lord Glenvarloch had given to her. Had she been better acquainted with life and its business, she would certainly have waited for a more temperate moment; and she had reason to repent of her precipitation, when, without saying a single word, or taking the trouble to gather more of the information contained in the letter than was expressed in the subscription, the incensed ship chandler threw it down on the ground, trampled it in high disdain, and, without addressing a single word to the bearer, except, indeed, something much more like a hearty curse than was perfectly consistent with his own grave appearance, he retired into his shop, and shut the hatch-door. It was with the most inexpressible anguish that the desolate, friendless and unhappy female, thus beheld her sole hope of succour, countenance, and protection, vanish at once, without being able to conceive a reason; for, to do her justice, the idea that her friend, whom she knew by the name of Nigel Grahame, had imposed on her, a solution which might readily have occurred to many in her situation, never once entered her mind. Although it was not her temper easily to bend her mind to entreaty, she could not help exclaiming after the ireful and retreating ship-chandler,-- Good Master, hear me but a moment! for mercy's sake, for honesty's sake! Mercy and honesty from him, mistress! said the Scot, who, though he essayed not to interrupt the retreat of his antagonist,

lodging

How many times the word 'lodging' appears in the text?