Bite the Bullet

Heard your paper

was running an honest race.

You heard right, Mr. Gebhardt.

Well, who in hell handicapped

this owlhead as a favourite?

- The smart money.

- That's what we come to get.

She's all finished, boy.

Yeah, she's all finished.

Must be the dude from London.

How's he going to win a 700-mile race,

sitting on a postage stamp?

He won't win.

Wonderful journey, wonderful.

Miss Jones?

Reporter for the Western Press.

- You the one said I wouldn't show up?

- I'm pleased to be wrong.

In that case, pleased to meet you.

Don't you never touch me. Never.

Morning.

How much?

Civil War? South?

These days, medals from losers

is worth nothing. No offence, mister.

$300's a bet.

Check.

$250? Call.

Two pair.

You drew to an inside straight?

Ridiculous.

- I think it's rather sporting.

- I hope your horse doesn't run as lucky.

My horse is the luckiest horse in the West,

but he never plays cards for money.

We've had more than sixty letters to the

editor asking why is a woman in the race.

- Written by men?

- Mostly women.

They figure

you must have a special reason.

Two thousand reasons.

How about you, Mr. Carbo?

Can your horse

stand up against thoroughbreds?

My bronc only has to be

half as good as them hotbloods...

...'cause I'm twice as good

as these oldbloods.

I've never been committed to defeat

quite so tactfully.

This race will be won by a horse.

Not a mouth.

Won by a bronco.

No thoroughbred has the speed,

wind or bottom of a mustang.

Not for 700 miles,

and that includes your Arabian.

$5,000. My horse against the field.

- Even money?

- How about you?

- $3,000.

- I'll cover the rest.

There's plenty more, if you're game.

One game at a time, Mr. Parker.

Where is this great horse of his, anyway?

Coming aboard next stop.

- Good to have you with us. Mr. Parker.

- Thank you.

- Where the hell is my horse? Seen her?

- Was she here?

- She's supposed to be.

- Was I supposed to see her?

You can't miss her.

She's got "champion" written all over her.

I see. That explains everything.

I don't read.

Hold your damn horses!

We're running late.

You're not leaving without my horse.

- You know the rules, Mr. Parker.

- The hell with your rules.

Afternoon.

Can you spare some milk

for a hungry orphan?

He don't know anything

but his mom's teat.

You like horses?

You got one of your own?

You want one?

You got one, then.

- Don't I got to pay something?

- Yeah.

Don't ever treat him bad.

You're in the big time.

I'm in the shithouse.

- Out.

- For what?

- Hustling.

- That's a crime? They're all hustlers.

They work for me. You don't.

That makes it a crime.

Ride him, cowboy! Ride him!

Whiskey for me, and beer for my horse.

Cowboy always tends to his horse first.

Telegraph Chicago.

You're covered, $15,000 at 7-to-5.

$12,000 in Kansas City, even money.

- Call off all bets.

- Can't be done, baby. It's play or pay.

- Get through to my son.

- On his way. He'll be here before dark.

- Your father left about an hour ago.

- What about Tripoli? He show yet?

- No, sir.

- He's stupid.

$40,000 bet on a missing horse,

in the hands of a fool.

- Two important regulations. Rule One...

- Win!

Rule One:
Each horse

must carry no less than 160 pounds...

...including rider, saddle and extras.

Rule Two:
You'll be issued a compass

and a map for every leg of the race.

On it, you'll find the safest route.

You don't have to take it.

You do have to make every checkpoint.

Miss one, you're disqualified.

Out of the race.

Any questions?

Jump-off time:
6:00 in the morning.

Hey, British.

Drink to the winner!

Thank you. I haven't really

won the race yet. However...

Damn fine shooting, sir.

- The best, right?

- Lf you say so.

What do you say, pop?

Never saw a man yet

could hold his liquor like a bottle.

Hey, you. What's your name,

what do you say?

You're pretty good calling a poker hand.

You care to call this hand?

You going to pass?

Nobody wants to play.

Tex, fetch a jackass.

- Anybody killed?

- Just the quart.

You done right.

A boy looking for a reputation

is the most dangerous thing alive.

It certainly wasn't worth dying for.

What is?

Even if you do it, what's it going to prove?

Proves I can do it. That's what it proves.

That your jackass?

No.

Then it ain't your business!

Never heard of Sam Clayton?

Champion of dumb animals,

ladies in distress, lost kids and lost causes.

- How you been?

- Fine, till you come along.

- You want it sudden?

- Drag it out.

Palm Sunday.

Matthew 5:
44.

Just like old times.

You start trouble, and I start bleeding.

- Get up, damn it!

- Palm Sunday's over.

Hurts, don't it?

Something personal?

My eyes ain't as good as his.

I might miss. You'd be dead, and I'd be

out of the race for abusing a dumb animal.

Bad for you, worse for me.

Okay, pop.

- You look like a man of property.

- When I shook you, my luck changed.

- Big things?

- New things.

- Easy living?

- Right.

- Who wants easy living?

- I do.

You. You're fired.

Your job was to get J.B.'s horse

on the train. That was your job.

You gave all the others

a 70-mile advantage.

He was handled real easy, Mr. Parker.

Perfect condition.

Then she'll win.

If she could have won before today,

she'll still win.

- Except for one thing: Me.

- And me.

Me, too.

- You'll need moving money.

- Who said I'm moving?

Staying takes even more money.

I got a month's pay coming.

A hot bath costs $5.

I guess I just won't bathe.

It takes $15 just to get drunk.

I'm going to stay sober.

$30 for an all-night woman.

Seventy miles in six hours?

Could he go 100 miles

every day for a week?

That might be enough to win this race.

I came 5,000 miles to try it.

- Why?

- To beat the best.

You must be either rich or crazy.

A little of both, I'm afraid.

I came 3,000 miles for the Kentucky Derby.

Another 2,000

to see Joe Gans box Battling Nelson.

Forty-two fantastic rounds.

It was bloody marvellous.

- You know who won?

- I'm not interested.

Not interested in who won?

That's not only unbelievable...

...it's positively un-American.

What does interest you?

Right now? Just a job.

What did Parker pay you?

$50 a month? $60?

You win this race,

and you'll get three years' pay.

What's the horse get out of it? Colic?

Cracked bones?

You ever see a horse run himself dead just

to please the man on his back? What for?

- Get his picture in the paper? For glory?

- Some men live for it.

Horse don't give a damn who wins a race.

Me, neither.

In the interest of the West's

greatest horse, the bronco...

...and myself, who grows them,

I'm putting up an extra $1,000...

...to the bronco rider who wins!

Matthews.

I'd like a chance

to win back some of my das money.

I figured you would.

- How do you like the joint?

- It ain't Kansas City.

Would you believe so many chumps

in the middle of Nowhere, U.S. A?

Like shooting fish in a barrel.

- Nice, fat sucker fish.

- All you need is the right bait, Rosie.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes