nick sits on the bed in the back part of the trailer. his hunting gear is piled on the floor, the lights are out and he is staring at the telephone which is illuminated through the window by a street light on the corner. there is a sound outside, then the lights come on as linda enters with groceries.
nick sits in a little chair by the window, still in his hunting clothes, huddled anxiously over the receiver.
nick holds the receiver, staring into it. there is the sound of whooping, grunting, thundering hooves.
nick listens to the sound of the bugles for a moment, then puts the receiver back on the telephone. he stands, walks around in a little circle - pained, terribly upset. his eye falls on the clock. it is nearly eight o'clock. he turns, hurries out the door.
linda is asleep - lying on her back, arms flung out across the pillows, like a dancer leaping.
nick backs away from the window. for a moment he stands motionless, hardly able to believe his eyes. he looks over at linda, he looks down at a chair, then he pushes his face to the window again.
nick hesitates, then he sheds the blanket and pulls on pants, shirt, jacket and jams his sockless feet into a pair of slices.