Young Guns
- R
- Year:
- 1988
- 107 min
- 4,408 Views
CHAVEZ:
You want to play games, pendejo?
STEVE:
You red-assed Mexican greaser. You do it with your
horse! Mexican greaser!
STEVE:
Greaser! Greaser... come on greaser, cut me there!
DICK:
Hey, hey! Knock it off, knock it off, hey!
STEVE:
Cut me there, Mexican!
DICK:
Knock it off! You know better, Chavez!
STEVE:
Navajo! Navajo!
DICK:
Enough. John's back. Now wash it up and in your
supper clothes! NOW! Both of you!
BILLY:
Who are them?
TUNSTALL:
They, William. Who are they. They are the boys of
the dregs...the flotsam and jetsam of frontier
society, if you will. We got room in the bunkhouse,
my young man. If you don't want to stay...the Santa
Fe runs out of Albuquerque in the morning.
DICK:
Glad you're back, Doc. Stile hold the rope, inside.
CHARLEY:
John bring another hard case in?
STEVE:
Hope it ain't another Mexican.
CHAVEZ:
Mexican-Indian, you son-of-a-b*tch!
TUNSTALL:
If you do wish to stay...well...we have just the job
for you.
STEVE:
He ain't all there is he?
CHARLEY:
Hey, did you know pigs are as smart as dogs? It's
true. I knew a fella in El Capitan... taught his pig
to bark at strangers. What you doing here, body? We
work for Mr. Tunstall as regulators. We regulate any
stealing of his property. We're damn good at it too.
Mr. Tunstall's got a soft spot for runaways---
derelicts---vagrant types... But you can't be any
geek off the street... you gotta be handy with the
steel, if you know what I mean, earn your keep.
BILLY:
Go on, go on, get!
CHARLEY:
Not that I'm a pistoleer...or a knifesmith like that
greaser... Chavez-Chavez, over there. I'm pugilist.
But then I ain't expecting... you to know the
explanation of that word... HOG BOY!
BILLY:
Sh*t, you don't even know why I'm here.
CHARLEY:
Sure I do. You're a runaway derelict, scudbottom
vagrant, ain't you, like the rest of us? Footpad,
maybe? Petty thief? Rob a bank? Kill somebody? Huh?
Huh, kill somebody.
DICK:
Regulators!
CHARLEY:
Hey, you ain't a regulator boy, you can stay here
with the pork. They're smarter than you anyway. You
might learn something!
DICK:
Cattle looks spooked in the lower forty, let's take
a look.
BILLY:
Smart ass!
TUNSTALL:
Well now, look at those appetites. William? Have
some more.
DICK:
Have you ever worked beef before, Billy?
BILLY:
Yeah... I worked a little out Fort Sumner way. Pete
Maxwell's place. Did the chow line. But, I got a way
with cattle.
TUNSTALL:
Is that so jolly funny, Master Steven? That's no
proper table manners.
CHARLEY:
Got a way with hogs.
TUNSTALL:
Congratulations, Charles... You and Steven will be
doing the dirty crockery alone this evening.
CHARLEY:
Sorry, John, it struck me funny.
TUNSTALL:
And to William. Both of you.
CHARLEY:
Apologies William. Just hacking on you, that's all.
STEVE:
Yeah, we're just hacking on you.
DICK:
Rumor has it, you killed a man, Billy? You don't
seem like the killing sort.
STEVE:
Yeah Billy, what'd you kill him for?
BILLY:
He was hacking on me.
STEVE:
There are plenty of men... who will never su-sede...
TUNSTALL:
Succeed...
STEVE:
Who will never succeed anywhere.
DICK:
Got a whole roomful of them right here.
TUNSTALL:
Well done. William?
BILLY:
Yeah, sure.
TUNSTALL:
Well, excuse me, Billy... Very sorry to offend you.
But we're congregated to learn to read and write.
You need more than the skill with the firearm to
succeed in the new world, Billy. So take up the
journal and start where the other boy left off. Or
you can go straight back to your home on the
streets.
BILLY:
'Young men who don't know how to do any kind of
business... have no energy or application... had
better stay at home near their relatives so they can
be taken care of.' 'They are not wanted here and
will only come to grief... but men of enterprise are
practically sure of success.'
TUNSTALL:
Splendid! A Splendid reading, William! Thank you.
Good-night gentlemen.
BOYS:
Good-night... Tunstall.
BRADY:
Good afternoon, gentlemen.
TUNSTALL:
Good afternoon, John.
BRADY:
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"Young Guns" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 19 Dec. 2024. <https://www.scripts.com/script/young_guns_150>.
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