Bite the Bullet Page #3

I know you can pull this over here.

How in the hell do I pull you over there?

Good evening.

- Good evening, gentlemen.

- Good evening.

Miss Jones.

And how was the shorter road?

Longer.

I'll go have a look.

Watch the sport.

Miss Jones, going to need a blanket.

He's crazy! He's got to be crazy.

- Is that so?

- He tried to kill me.

Well, he couldn't have tried very hard.

Son of a b*tch tried to kill me!

Why don't you tell me

the story of your life.

Just skip everything

but the last few minutes.

What the hell you doing down here?

By God, I'm shivering.

- Is it busted?

- What's busted is my pump.

- How do you know?

- Army doc. Couple of years back.

He said, "When that pain hits your arm,

that's the alarm bell.

"When it hits your pump right after,

that's it. "

Can you make it to the checkpoint?

No.

Come on, it's only a couple of hours.

Easy ride.

Let's try.

You certainly have a knack

of provoking a man to violence.

- All I said was that she was...

- It was the way you said it.

Like an insult.

- When a woman does it for money...

- A man gets the best of the bargain.

Before you take her to bed,

she's a thing of beauty.

In bed, an angel of mercy.

- Afterwards, she's a...

- Whore.

- A pillow of peace.

- A whore!

That's what Clay married in the war.

Cuba, '98.

She's the only woman Clay ever loved.

How about you?

I was never that lucky.

Let go. I don't want them to know.

I ain't run out of my string yet.

- Evening. Thank you.

- Old man, I thought sure you'd cashed it in.

- Not till I'm back in Oklahoma.

- I'd rather be in hell than Oklahoma.

Every man to his own country.

Thanks.

Why didn't you take the barge across?

Against your religion?

You know Injun ponies. Said if he couldn't

go on a canoe, he'd rather swim.

- Well, I saved you some supper.

- That's good.

I want it served by one of them nice ladies

wearing nothing but a big smile.

Done!

Why?

Why, in damn it, would a sick old man

like you get tangled up in all this?

Why, in the name of sweet Jesus?

What is so important about

this gut-twisting, back-busting...

...man-killing goddamn race?

- The money?

- The prize.

- The prize is the money.

- The prize is winning.

Lose, you're nothing.

Who remembers a loser, or even cares?

Win, you're somebody.

What you done, it's printed.

It's in a newspaper.

And when it's printed, it ain't brag.

It's real.

Suddenly, everybody knows you,

or wants to.

Strangers shaking your hand.

"Pleased to know you.

"Have a drink, have a cigar.

Meet the wife. "

Everybody's friendly and welcome.

I got a lifetime hunger for being welcome.

No family?

Him.

You know saddle tramps. They sign on...

...drive the beef 1,000 miles,

make your mark...

...draw your pay,

and move on to the next ranch.

Another round up. Another drive.

Hired, fired, and move on.

Never bothered me none.

No. Me neither,

when I was 30 years lighter.

Ever prospected?

Ever hit pay dirt?

I've dug for gold, silver, lead, mercury.

I've dug more holes than

a whole regiment of gophers.

I never dug out a decent day's wage yet.

God, what ain't I tried.

Pony Express rider, overland stage driver...

...lawman, gambler, river man, rancher...

...rodeo hand, barman...

...spittoon man. Old man.

Nothing much to remember.

Of course,

there ain't nothing much to forget, either.

Nobody's got much use for an old man.

I can't blame them much.

That's why I'm going to win me

this here newspaper race.

When I cross that finish line,

I get to be a big man.

Top man.

A man to remember.

I didn't even know your name, mister.

A couple of miles out from here,

47 miles of desert. Nothing but sand.

An ocean of it. By night, cold.

Hostile, but easier going.

By day, a blazing hellhole.

Halfway across, water stop.

The only one.

Miss that water, you're in trouble.

If you're lucky,

eight hours in the devil's own frying pan.

Railroad. We'll wait here till noon.

Can you beat the desert before sunup?

Well, how does it shape up?

Tight.

You're not worried? Who by?

An old man, a girl, a punk kid.

Where's the class?

Kids and old men don't respect class.

And don't sell the girl short.

- Lf she ever cut that brute of hers loose...

- Why would she hold back?

Probably too green to know better,

but the Mexican's not. And he's tough.

- Anytime we can't beat a Mexican...

- Horseshit.

- And that stubborn Englishman...

- He'll never keep up the lick.

Tell that to him! I lose him, I look around,

he's biting my ass.

- Sand dunes will finish him.

- The tougher it gets, the better he likes it.

The same goes for Matthews.

What he hasn't got in horse,

he makes up for in brass.

Cuts every corner,

takes a lot of chances, and he's lucky.

That cowboy you fired...

- So far, he's showed nothing.

- So far, maybe he ain't tried.

His bronc's a real stayer. Tough hide.

He's got the heart.

Cowboy's got the know-how.

He's the sleeper. The one to beat.

- We'll beat him.

- Yeah.

News. We're big news everywhere.

"Chicago. Adding $250 to purse and will

headline winner in my Wild West Show.

"Signed, 'Buffalo' Bill Cody. "

- Wasn't he the fastest gun in the West?

- Only in bed, kiddo.

"London. To Sir Harry Norfolk,"

our Englishman:

"Up the British. Signed, Prince of Wales. "

Invitations to the winner from

Rome, Paris, Moscow. All expenses paid.

And, get this.

From the President of the United States:

"To all the intrepid contestants.

Bully for you!

"To the two Rough Riders, Clayton and

Matthews, who served with me in Cuba...

"... remember San Juan Hill.

Charge, boys, charge!"

Look him over. Fast!

- What happened to the old man?

- He's dead.

Get moving. I'm going out.

- This horse is running a temperature.

- It's nothing that will bother him.

I'll be fine.

Son of a b*tch.

I'm going to catch me that champion.

Yes, sir. I'm going to catch him

before this day is done.

Salt.

Could I ask you something? Your wife...

...where is she?

I was wondering how you met.

I work for Rosie. Off and on, about a year.

I guess that don't surprise you none.

The only thing that surprises me

is the people some people marry.

Because she was a whore?

A Cuban.

Paula was a Cuban insurrecto.

Guerrillas, fighting the Spanish,

just like we was.

That's where we met. On the battlefield.

That was our wedding bed till that day.

We came out of the jungle,

and there it was, San Juan Hill.

Spanish guns looking right down our throat

and sharpshooters picking us off.

We just charged right up that hill.

That's not the way it happened at all.

It wasn't anything like it was

in San Antonio, where we did our training.

That's where I ran into Luke...

...and a lot of other men

from every other country...

...that wanted to be Rough Riders.

Bakers and barbers.

Congressmen and cattlemen.

Ballplayers, farmers, reporters, cowboys.

No, we didn't rough ride up that hill...

...'cause we didn't have any horses.

We didn't charge up there, either.

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