Forty Guns Page #3

The last I saw him,

he was headed for a drink.

He never touched the stuff.

I told you to keep an eye on him.

- Is Griff Bonell up there?

- Yeah, I'm here.

We've got your brother Chico.

Where do you want us to put the body?

We're with the First Division.

We came down here to have some fun.

But your brother here

drank up half the whiskey.

And he wrecked the whole

place doin' it.

Thank you, boys.

Thanks, Corporal. Barney.

- Thanks. Thanks.

- Good night.

I can figure a squirt like Brockie Drummond

getting liquored up.

He was born that way... scared and loud.

But you going off half-cocked

like that... Why, Chico?

- I'm old enough to drink.

- You're not old enough to hold it.

- Then I'll learn.

- Why?

That's my business.

Chico. Chico, what's bothering you?

Why do you think I came to Tombstone

with you? For the ride?

You pistol-whipped a man...

wouldn't let me be part of the play.

What if something happened to Wes?

You know you'd never make the walk

without a second gun covering you.

You rode out to the Dragoons, and

you wouldn't let me be in on the arrest.

I feel like a third leg.

- Did I hurt you, Chico?

- No.

I got no taste for farmin'.

I don't want any part of it.

Why?

You learned me to handle a gun.

You learned me too good.

Chico, you know

what happened to Chisholm.

It could happen to you,

could happen to me.

Remember when I told you how those

Roman fighters used to chop each other

up...

in some big arena, and you laughed

and called them freaks?

It won't be long now before people

will be laughing at men like me.

The last few towns we rode through,

they looked at my gun.

I know they figured I was one

of those freaks out of the past.

There's a new era coming up, Chico.

My kind of making a living

is on the way out.

- For a gunfighter, you do

an awful lot of talking.

- I'm a freak, Chico!

I just don't want you to be one.

Well, I'm tired of being wet-nosed.

I'm no agricultural cowboy.

I know.

A brand-new.45 Colt Peacemaker.

Nickel-plated, ivory stock. For me?

It's for killing rattlesnakes

and wild animals.

You'll find plenty

of both of em on the farm.

Well, you tell her this for me:

She can't buy me off like the others.

I'm not making a target

out of myself for her or anyone else.

That Griff Bonell... Do you think

he cares anything about the border?

He'd find me wherever I go...

he and his brother.

And if they didn't,

someone else would.

Swain, look, she's got influence.

You know that, don't you?

She'll pull strings for you

later on. Sure. Sure.

Later's too late.

She's getting me out of here

right away, and legally.

Tomorrow I wanna walk

the street. I'm still chief deputy.

If she can swing it, she's the boss.

And if she doesn't, remember there

isn't anything about her I don't know.

You want me to tell her that?

- You're sure?

- You heard me.

Who shot you, Swain? Who shot you?

Did you see him at all? Did you?

Who shot you in the back?

You can tell me if you saw him, 'cause

I'm your friend. You know that, don't you?

If you saw him, we'll do something about it.

Don't you know who shot you?

- Straighten out my legs.

- They are straight.

I think his spine is busted, don't you?

He-He-He's trying to say something.

D-Did you see who shot you? Did you?

If you saw him, why-why don't you tell us?

We'll... We'll find out who

did it, won't we, Mr. Bonell?

Did he... Did he whisper to you at all?

Did he... Did he tell you who did it?

Did he, Mr. Bonell?

Cut the slug out, Wes.

It's no good to us in a corpse.

Excuse me, Sheriff.

Did you ever see this slug before?

Sure. It comes from

a new high-powered rifle.

Sharps-Borchardt makes it.

- Seen any around here?

- Only one man in the territory has one like it.

- Who's that?

- The late Howard Swain.

This slug was just cut out of his spine.

Then he must've been shot with his own

gun.

Who's the best shot in the territory?

- I didn't shoot him.

- No.

After you, who's the best shot?

Charlie Savage.

You got in a panic.

But I had to act fast,

and Charlie Savage is your best shot.

- You made a decision for me?

- Sometimes, you know, a partner can't wait.

I'm your boss, not your partner.

You want me to crawl?

I didn't know you'd take it like this.

How do you think

Griff Bonell will take it?

But you're in the clear.

Everything's all been settled.

Murder never solved anything.

It was your decision, and it's your finish.

- You had Swain killed, not me.

- Yes, but I had no other choice.

You just hanged yourself.

Start running, Logan.

Start running like a feist dog

with your tail between your legs.

- Please, Jessica...

- Take your gun hawks and run!

You must feel naked without your army.

The Dragoons is at your disposal.

What name is on your warrant this time?

- One of your riders, Charlie Savage.

- Oh? What did he do?

Just damaged some federal property.

You seen him around?

I don't keep track of my men, Mr. Bonell...

and I'm not responsible

for what they do away from here.

Must be plenty of good

hiding places on your land.

- I'll be glad to show them to you.

- Can you spare the time?

I wanna see if you find him on my land.

You wanna spank him?

I just wanna see if you can take him.

There's a good hideout.

Whoa. Whoa.

Whoa!

I was bitten by a rattler

in there when I was 15.

- Bet that rattler died.

- Yeah, I bet he did.

- You don't think much of me, do you?

- No, I think a lot of you.

I think it's gonna be rough on you

if your brother's mixed up in this killing.

- Murder is not in his blood.

- With your brand on him,

anything could be in his blood.

Hyah!

Whoa. Whoa.

- What's the matter? You look upset.

- I was born upset.

Until I was eight, I thought everything

with four feet and horns was a cow...

and everything with two feet

and a gun was a man.

At nine, I learned the difference.

Not between beef and men,

but between cold blood and breeding.

At 10, I branded calves, peeled horses...

rode the range and slept on the ground.

My father was rounding up

strays when Brockie was born.

I was alone with my mother.

I was 12. I delivered him.

He was born in this shack.

My mother died giving birth.

I buried her, went out

and roped a cow, got milk for Brockie.

He lived.

When I was 15, a saddle tramp

tried to get rough with me in here.

The rattler?

My father

was no hand with a gun.

He was shot trying to

keep me from getting bit.

- Did you step on the rattler?

- Mm-hmm.

My father built this shack

with his own hands.

And you've kept it as a shrine.

No.

Just a reminder not to let go of anything.

When I was 18, I was boss of my own

spread.

I picked up Logan, a $100-a-month

sheriff in a broken-down camp.

I put him on. I got interested

in voting, taxes and silver.

I spent money for

the good of this territory...

sent lobbyists to the Prescott Council,

financed mining camps, sawmills.

- You came a long way.

- So have you.

My men talk a lot about you.

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