The Lawless Breed Page #6

---

So you never hope and you never plan

because someday you might get hurt?

If that's the way

you want to say it.

Well, I know a card game, too.

I know that if you want to win,

you've got to take a chance.

You gotta add something

to the pot.

Yeah, but you can't win, Wes,

if you're holding my kind of cards.

How do you mean?

I mean you, Wes.

Now you have to sweat from sunup

to sundown every day for a year

to earn $1,000, if you're lucky.

You used to be the kind of man

who would sit in a card game

and win that much money

in one night.

Haven't you been

thinking about that, Wes?

Sure, I've thought all about that,

but this farm is what I want.

Yeah, yeah, you want it now.

It's new, it's a toy.

And when you get tired of it, you're

gonna wander into town, pick up a hand,

and have to shoot your way

out of town again.

A man can change, can't he?

Prove it to me, Wes.

Prove it.

Because you got no right

to ask me to change

until you can prove it.

Rosie!

Rosie! Come here, quick.

What is it?

Wes.

What is it?

Come in, Parson.

Come in. Come in.

Is this the bride?

It sure is.

My, what a pretty dress.

And such a lovely bride!

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered

together here in the sight of God..."

No trace of Hardin since you let him

get away from you in Kansas City?

No, sir,

and I don't think he's in Texas.

Why?

Well, these recent killings

don't fit his pattern.

He's never been a thief

or a bandit or a bully.

I think the local officers just charge

every unsolved shooting to Hardin.

He's a killer all right,

but he's brave and...

John Wesley Hardin has made the name of

Texas stink in the nostrils of justice,

and I want him brought in

here no matter where he is.

Yes, sir.

His brother and uncle still live

up near Bonham, don't they?

Yes, sir.

Well, he's bound to get in touch with

them or drop in on them sooner or later.

Yes, sir. We have a man staked out,

checking every move and watching the mail.

I'd like to take a run

down there myself, sir.

Good. Don't get

too fond of him, Duncan.

If you want to sing his praises,

we'll give you a chance to

recite a eulogy over his grave

after we hang him.

Yes, sir.

That's all.

Yes, sir.

We'll bring him in, sir.

All right, bring him in alive,

if you can.

Hi, honey.

I'm hungrier than a bear.

Well, you ought to be.

Your food's been waiting an hour.

Now it's all cold.

Well, I'm sorry.

The buckskin mare's

been having a little trouble.

And your corn pudding's

all burned.

I always promised myself I'd

never try to tie you down,

tell you when to come

and when to go.

I act like a nagging old wife!

Well, now, what's the matter?

The corn pudding's

not that important.

The mare's about

to have her foal.

Well, horses aren't the only

thing born on a farm, Wes Hardin.

Rosie!

You mean you? Us?

If it'd been a mare,

you'd have known weeks ago.

Wes! Wes!

Wes! Wes.

"...and we expect the baby

around the end of October.

"I am sure it will be a boy and

I'm going to name him after you."

Women.

Since when is

the Good Lord letting on

whether it's boys or girls

coming into this world?

"We have a real fine farm here

"and we both wish that you and Joe

could come for a visit sometime soon."

Maybe we could, Pa.

Maybe next winter

after the boy is born.

I'll be back

day after tomorrow, Rosie.

Will you be all right?

Sure, Wes.

Oh, Wes...

Aw, there won't be

any trouble, Rosie.

I've been to

horse auctions before.

No. No, no,

it's not that, Wes.

It's something I've been wanting

to say to you for a long time.

You remember

when I was being stubborn,

when I said I didn't think

you could ever change any?

Yeah?

Well, I was wrong.

I know what's happened to me.

Nothing's gonna change me back

to the way I was, Wes, nothing.

I guess all a person needs

is half a chance.

I feel safe here, Wes,

and settled.

And I don't care if I never see to

the other side of the next mountain

because this is where I want to be,

with you.

Sure, honey.

I always heard women get nervous

and fidgety around this time.

They get their heads

full of queer ideas.

Well, you go right on talking.

Wes, hurry home.

Oh, Dan?

Will you do me a favor and take

him over to the livery stable.

Tell them I'll be back

in a couple of days.

Mr. Swain, I'll do that.

That's him.

Round-trip ticket

to Pensacola, please.

Pensacola?

Where's Dick Taylor today?

He took the day off for himself.

I'm filling in for him, Wes.

Put your hands up, Hardin.

You're under arrest.

You're making a mistake, mister.

My name's Swain. Who are you?

A Texas Ranger and I said

put your hands up!

Don't shoot!

I want him alive.

Get his gun?

He hasn't got one.

All right, take him along.

John Wesley Hardin,

the jury having found you guilty of

the murder of Sheriff Charles Webb,

it now becomes my duty

to pronounce sentence.

Frankly, there's no doubt in my mind

as to what punishment you deserve,

but this court, jealously guarding

the traditions of American justice,

refuses to sentence you in accordance

with the demands of popular opinion.

And, again,

we refuse to sentence you for other crimes

which you are alleged

to have committed,

but for which you

have not been tried.

In the matter of the murder

of Sheriff Webb,

the prosecution has failed

to bring forth any witnesses

who saw the actual commission

of this particular crime.

Some of the alleged

witnesses are dead.

Others have failed

to come forward.

Therefore, it is the sentence

of this court,

that you be confined

at hard labor

for a period of 25 years in the

State Prison at Huntsville.

Twenty-five years

in the State Prison!

Has the prisoner

anything to say?

Yes, I have, Your Honor.

If you and the jury weren't

afraid of public opinion,

I never would have

been convicted

because I shot Charlie Webb in

self-defense and you all know it.

Maybe I did wrong,

maybe I deserve to be punished,

but I'm not a murderer.

I never killed a man who

didn't try to kill me first.

Take him away.

Keep the place, Rosie,

no matter what.

I will, Wes.

I promise.

The little fellow, Rosie,

tell him.

Tell him I never...

I will, Wes.

I will.

Wes. Wes.

Wes. Wes. Wes.

Wes! Wes! Wes!

Twenty-five years!

Time enough for

a child to grow up,

time enough for a man to think,

time enough to die.

Today, on

the 20th of March, 1894,

in the 16th year

of my imprisonment,

I have received a full pardon

from Governor J. S. Hogg.

I append the document as an appropriate

note on which to end this narrative.

Henry Johnson.

I've warmed your dinner

for the last time tonight.

What's keeping you?

I was reading a story,

Amy, a true story.

What kind of a story is it?

I don't know yet, Amy,

because I don't rightly know

how this story is going to end.

Wes!

Wes!

Wes!

Why didn't you tell us

you were coming?

I wanted to come home

this way, Rosie.

Kind of like I was just coming back

from that horse auction at Pensacola,

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes