"You'll think you know where the plot is going, but prepare for your jaw to fall to the floor in disbelief." Orangeville Banner.

 
Walter Learning & Terry Barna in Theatre Orangeville's production of Outlaw, 2004.

 

  In the year 1871 a Canadian farmer travelling far from home is accused of committing a murder in the state of Kansas. He is taken to a clearing where his accusers are bent on hanging him. Is he guilty or just in the wrong place at the wrong time?
   
  Lights up on Bob Hicks, asleep on his bedroll. His saddle sits nearby along with his boots and pants. There is a campfire as well. Will Vanhorne enters pointing his gun at Bob.
   
WILL: Mister? Mister, wake up please. (He kicks at Bobís feet.)
BOB: What? Whatís goiní on?
WILL: Youíre gonna have to get up now, Mister, and please donít make any sort of move for your weapon.
BOB: Weapon? I donít have a weapon. What is this? Who are you?
WILL: Iím Will Vanhorne outa Tuscaloosa and Iíve come to take ya back.
BOB: Will Van....what? What did you say?
WILL: Iím Will Vanhorne outa Tuscaloosa and Iíve come to take ya back.
BOB: Back where? Tusca..? I never been to Tuscaloosa.
WILL: No, Tuscaloosa is where Iím from. Itís where I was born. Itís not where Iím takiní ya back to.
BOB: Well, why are you telliní me where you was born?
WILL: Iím just announciní who I am as a courtesy. So youíll know who it is whoís captured ya.
BOB: What are you talkiní about, capture?
WILL: Iím Will Vanhorne outa Tuscaloosa and Iíve.....
BOB: All right, I know who you are. I know that. I wanna know what this capturiní talk is all about.
WILL: Well, if youíd let me finish, I was gettiní to it. Iíve come to take you back to face justice for what youíve done.
BOB: What Iíve done? What have I done? I ainít done nothiní.
WILL: Whereís your weapon?
BOB: I donít have one.
WILL: You what?
BOB: I donít have a weapon.
WILL: You donít have a gun?
BOB: Thatís right.
WILL: Whatíd ya do with it?
BOB: I never had one. I donít believe in emí.
WILL: Whatís that?
BOB: I donít believe in emí.
WILL: Whatís your name, Mister?
BOB: Bob Hicks.
WILL: Well, do ya think Iím an idiot, Mr. Hicks? Is that what ya think?
BOB: Whatís the matter?
WILL: What díya mean ya donít believe in guns? Guns ainít like Santy Claus. They ainít somethiní to be believed in or not believed in. Theyíre a fact of life. Now, where the hellís your gun?
BOB: I donít have one!
WILL: Ya gotta have one! Everybodyís got one!
BOB: Well, I donít!
WILL: All right, Bob Hicks. Shit. I donít have time to argue with ya. Pick up your saddle and your bedroll and letís get a move on. Weíve got a three hour ride ahead of us.
BOB: Where we goiní?
WILL: Youíll find out. Now, letís just shake off the moss and start travelin'.
BOB: But, I didnít do nothiní.
WILL: Nevertheless, I would appreciate it if youíd get moviní.
BOB: No, now listen here. If I didnít do nothiní, I donít know why I should be rousted out of my sleepiní place and dragged off to God knows where in the middle of the night.
WILL: Mr. Hicks? Can I call you Bob?
BOB: Sure.
WILL: Thank you. Now, Bob, get the hell moviní before I blow your head off right here and now.
   
  Copyright 2004 Norm Foster

 

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