Barbary Coast Page #3

I'm buying everything.

Do you want the fish, too?

No. Throw the fish to the Mayor's wife.

She looks hungry.

Make your plays, gentlemen.

22, even, black. You lose, sir.

I've never seen anything like it.

The black's come up six times in a row.

The red's bound to come up soon.

Sawbuck McTavish is me name

and I'm the luckiest man in the world.

I'm sure you are, sir.

Make your plays, gentlemen.

- Make your play, sir.

- Place them on the red, Sandy.

Go slow, Sawbuck.

We worked for that for a whole year.

I'm tired of bendin' over,

liftin' gold out of the ground.

I wanna pick up off the table,

standing up, let 'er go.

- How much is that?

- Weigh it when the gentleman wins.

- How about bettin' just half, Sawbuck?

- The play is made.

- All of it, sir?

- All of it, miss.

- You're daft, man.

- Daft, am I? Who found Bonanza Creek?

I'm the luckiest man in the world.

I never lose.

11, black.

- Sawbuck.

- Pull in your whiskers, Sandy.

- I want to talk to you.

- I don't want to hear no scolding.

- It isn't that, it's...

- Lost to the prettiest blue eyes I ever seen.

- Make your bet, sir, or get out.

- You were nicer to me a little while ago.

You'd better skedaddle,

while you've still got your shirt.

Sawbuck McTavish

never skedaddled from a lady yet.

Come on, let's go somewhere and celebrate.

You're drunk, sir.

I wasn't too drunk for gamblin'

and I'm no too drunk for love.

He asked for it, gentlemen.

I guess he didn't read the sign.

Go on, pick him up and take him out.

Go on, take him out.

You've no heard the last of this.

Make your plays, gentlemen.

See what he's up to.

Wait a minute, partner, where you going?

I saw the way she ran that wheel.

- How?

- Crooked!

And I'm going to tell the whole town.

I'm gonna tell 'em all.

There's your man, Sheriff.

- No Chinamen allowed in here.

- He's with us. Go ahead.

Knuckles, I'm sorry...

- What's on your mind?

- Nothing serious, Louis, I...

We'll do the talking, Sheriff.

Sandy Ferguson was murdered last night.

- Shot in the back.

- You know murder is a pretty big word.

Never mind, Joe.

All right, he was murdered. What about it?

We've sworn out a warrant

for the man that did it.

Before we're through,

he'll tell us who ordered it done.

Got a warrant?

- All printed out and everything.

- Serve it, Sheriff.

- Simply a matter of routine.

- Come on, serve it and take him along.

Not so fast, boys.

Where do you think you're taking Knuckles?

He's going to stand trial for murder.

You don't have to take him anywhere for that.

You want a trial?

All right.

Judge.

What is it? How dare you... My dear Louis.

I'm afraid it's rather late

so I think I'll go home.

- You're not going home.

- But I have things to do.

Steady, Judge.

Got a little work for you.

For me?

Seems that fellow named Ferguson

has just been killed.

Who?

- Ferguson, ain't it?

- Yeah.

- What's the matter with him?

- He's just been killed.

Ain't it a shame?

- It's appalling. Who did it?

- He's your man.

- Which one?

- Him.

Knuckles.

We've got a warrant. We're going to

put him in jail until court opens.

- Court's open now. Go ahead, Judge.

- But my dear Louis...

- This ain't no court, it's a saloon.

- It's whatever he says it is.

- But, my dear Louis...

- Go ahead, Judge, the court's open.

Hear ye.

This honorable court is now in session.

Gentlemen, I must insist upon

absolute silence. Pardon me.

And will you kindly remove your hats.

Gentlemen, Knuckles is accused of homicide.

- Who seen him do it?

- That fellow was there!

- This is the man.

- Come, gentlemen.

You can't expect me

to take the word of a Chinaman.

- Did any American witness this homicide?

- There ain't any question who did it, Judge.

Come on, get going.

Hold your horses.

This court is not going to be hurried.

Will you please stop the music

during the trial?

I can't concentrate.

- Give the Judge a drink.

- Thank you.

Fred, quiet on that noise.

That's better.

Mr. Slocum, are you prepared to

swear that these statements are true?

Sure.

You are.

Let me put it to you,

that if Knuckles did commit this crime...

...that he must have had some reason.

Of course he had a reason.

- Here you are, Judge.

- Thanks.

This man Ferguson passed a remark

about Miss Rutledge.

He was vulgar.

What? He insulted a lady?

Gentlemen, do you hear that?

He insulted a lady. A woman.

That sensitive vessel,

which from our childhood...

- Come on, hurry up.

- Yes. Of course.

- Under the evidence...

- Hurry up, Judge.

The case is dismissed. Good day, gentlemen.

Have another drink, Judge.

There's your trial.

I hate to see you fellows

make mistakes like this.

Might go bad with you sometime.

We'll be back, Chamalis.

Don't come around here

wasting my time anymore.

Get out of here. Come on, get out.

Ah Wing.

Knuckles.

I'm just going to cut your pigtail off.

What are you yelling about,

there's nothing to wash in Heaven.

What do you want to go there for? Let him go.

I'm afraid, my dear Louis,

I really must be going.

And so, I shall bid you good day, sir.

- Good day, your Honor.

- Thank you.

All right, Tim.

Easy, Mr. Peebles. Don't strain her, sir.

There she goes.

She starts, she moves.

She seems to feel the thrill

of life along her keel.

All right, that's enough.

There she is, Mr. Wigham.

The last word in human ingenuity,

the modern printing press.

She worked fine. Let's look at her insides.

- Welcome. Glad to see you all.

- We want to talk to you.

You all know Mr. Joseph Wigham?

You're just in time

to help christen our new printing press.

The beacon that is to guide

the destiny of our city.

Glad to hear you say that,

because we want your help.

Gentlemen, I'm at your service.

Go on, tell him, Jed.

We want you to write about Louis Chamalis.

- Criticizin' him.

- For being a murderer.

And running this town like a jungle.

We want to know if you have the courage

to print in your newspaper...

...exactly what's wrong with San Francisco.

That's right.

I've waited a long time for this.

She's oiled, inked and we're both ready.

The Clarion is at your service

in any cause...

...that will make San Francisco

a better city to live in.

That's fine, that's great.

If you'll just sit down,

I'll listen to your story.

All right, shut her off.

The first issue of the Clarion, Mr. Wigham.

Look at that make-up. Look at that type.

Looks mighty neat.

This is something I've dreamed of.

I'm a new man, Mr. Wigham.

Forgiven for my journalistic sins.

Restored to my profession.

There is nothing that can touch it.

One of you stay here.

What's the meaning of this?

- That your newspaper?

- Yes.

Lemme see it.

You want law and order? I'm the law

around here and I give the orders.

Why are you buttin' in for?

Did I ever do you any hurt?

This is not a personal matter,

it's much more than that.

Listen.

Everybody gets along in this town

who minds his own business.

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