You want to play games, pendejo?
You red-assed Mexican greaser. You do it with your
horse! Mexican greaser!
Greaser! Greaser... come on greaser, cut me there!
Cut me there, Mexican!
Knock it off! You know better, Chavez!
Enough. John's back. Now wash it up and in your
supper clothes! NOW! Both of you!
Who are them?
They, William. Who are they. They are the boys of
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.
Glad you're back, Doc. Stile hold the rope, inside.
Hope it ain't another Mexican.
Mexican-Indian, you son-of-a-bitch!
If you do wish to stay...well...we have just the job
He ain't all there is he?
Hey, did you know pigs are as smart as dogs? It's
to bark at strangers. What you doing here, body? We
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
steel, if you know what I mean, earn your keep.
Go on, go on, get!
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!
Shit, you don't even know why I'm here.
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.
Hey, you ain't a regulator boy, you can stay here
with the pork. They're smarter than you anyway. You
might learn something!
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