And I told you I was out of the race—and that you'd better get out too, because the best man already had her. And then—and then I sensed you were going to draw, and when I had my gun out, it was empty. Clever boy! You had it fixed right. And so you plugged me square. And the moon and stars went out for me and I dropped into the black gulf. Ghost. You left me with my face to the stars for the coyotes to find. Then, very coolly, you turned the Other Man's horse toward home and sent him off cracking. And you jumped to a piñon log that led off to a ledge of lava where your footprints wouldn't show. And you turned up in half an hour with the boys in town. Then you inquired casually where the Other Man was. You knew, you devil! You knew they'd never get an alibi from him for that night, 'cause—Padie was with him. Padie had her dear arms about his neck while you, clever dog! were out fixing to put a rope there. And you done it, too! Won her? Yes, you did—like hell! After the trial was all over, and the dead buried, me and him, you passed a dirty whisper around town about her, and then married her, to save her good name. That's how you won her. Ghost. There's many a star shall jangle in the west, There's many a leaf below, There's many a damn that will light upon the man For treating a poor girl so.

Padie Monologue from A Death in Fever Flat

About this piece

Rehearse Padie's monologue

More from A Death in Fever Flat

Browse