Dallas

Don Felipe. Don Felipe.

- Raiders, cutting out the cattle.

- It's the Marlows.

- Where are the vaqueros?

- Driving the other herd to town.

They are rushing them toward the Trinity.

Old Felipe Robles raises nice stock.

Won't do him no good.

How is he going to pay us the money

he owes us if we keep topping off his herd?

I don't buy mortgages to get paid back.

I buy them to foreclose.

The black soil of Dallas County

will make us rich.

We'll bleed that old buzzard broke,

huh, Cullen?

The way I say. There'll be no killing here.

Things won't be like they were in Georgia.

- We didn't do so bad in Georgia.

- Thanks to me.

Any sniping here,

I'll bust your trigger finger.

And that's for you, too, Bryant.

You're too quick on the draw.

That doesn't do my business any good.

So stay out of Dallas, understand?

Any visiting to do, I'll do it.

You boys hightail it.

I'll take care of them.

Raiders cutting out your cattle, Mr. Robles.

I tried to stop them.

They're your men, Will Marlow.

My men? You aren't blaming me

for all the war-bred scum in Texas?

Isn't my fault

Texas isn't back in the Union.

And there'll be lawlessness until she is.

The Marlow brothers and trouble

came here together.

I'm still willing to buy your land

and take my chances against the raids.

There would be no raids if you owned

the Hacienda del Norte.

Luis.

Will just got through telling you

not to do stuff like that.

Yeah. Yeah. Said to stay out

of Dallas, too...

...but I don't aim to.

Brave, strong...

...just like lizards in dark corners.

But your day of looting is almost done.

A marshal of the United States

is on his way.

Be into Springfield, Missouri

in about 10 minutes.

Folks traveling west or south

change coaches.

Yankee marshal?

United States Marshal.

United States?

- All who thinks we're united, say, "Aye. "

- Aye.

I'm inviting a lady carpetbag

to set betwixt her own breed.

With pleasure.

Cold as a witch's broomstick.

L... I'm... I'm Butterfield,

Saint Louis.

Dry goods, ladies' hose, and notions.

I'm Martin Weatherby, Boston.

- Stopping in Springfield?

- Momentarily.

- I have business with a William Hickok.

- Wild Bill?

- Greatest marshal ever lived.

- Yeah, I hear Bill's retiring.

- Ain't got no competition left.

- You say.

I saw he's scared he'll meet up

with Reb Hollister.

- That desperado?

- Desperado, you say? Patriot, say I.

Maybe Lee surrendered,

but not old Georgia Reb. No, sir.

He's a one-man war,

still marching on.

Stage for the West leaves in 30 minutes.

Them that want vittles better hurry.

Great day in the morning.

It is pleasant.

There he is, boy.

The pride of Vicksburg.

The terror of Kansas.

That's Blayde Hollister.

You mean to say that a common outlaw

can walk the streets like that?

- Is there no law enforcement here?

- There's the law, Wild Bill Hickok.

- Hickok, I have a letter to present to you...

- Duck.

Spoiled the party for you boys.

I guess that settles

who's running this town.

I'll take that.

Mister, bring his horse.

- Nice shooting, marshal.

- Yes, sir. Shot him dead.

Well, if he ain't,

we'll put the hemp to him.

Here. Take your carrion out of town.

- Well, go on. Don't stand there gawking.

- Just a minute.

- I had nothing to do with this.

- Get going.

- We heard you give that rebel yell.

- You're quite mistaken.

- I have a letter of introduction...

- Boys, you wanted a hanging party...

...here's a warm one for you.

- Good riddance.

- Just maybe the town will settle down now.

Ruined my Sunday go-to-meeting hat.

Keep going, blue-belly,

or I'll fry you for breakfast.

This may not be my official district...

...but you've fallen into the hands

of a United States Marshal.

You like your bacon lean or fat?

As soon as I've eaten, I intend to take you

back to Springfield, to the authorities.

- What's the matter?

- Like Hickok said: Duck.

Thieving varmint. That a way

to return a favor? Stealing my hat?

You dang blasted showoff,

you cost me my best six-shooter.

Now, hold on, Reb.

I wouldn't stoop to such dirty doings,

carting off your relics...

...advertising I shot them off

Reb Hollister.

Now, where's my hat?

Well, I tell you, Bill,

there's a little boy I know...

...who'd be mighty proud

to have Wild Bill Hickok's hat.

Well, now.

That's a real nice thought, Reb.

- Want me to autograph it for the kid?

- Your initials are in it. That's good enough.

- Have some vittles.

- No. I gotta be getting back to town.

- The fight look convincing?

- Whole town ate it up.

- You're dead as a doornail.

- You sure untied my hands, Bill.

It'll make life a lot easier for me,

Reb Hollister being dead.

- Aren't you going to arrest him?

- Oh, forgot about you.

I'm sorry I had to tin-can you,

mister.

I had to move Reb out of town before those

yahoos found out we was just play-acting.

Besides, I was afraid that getup

you're wearing might start more shooting.

- Preposterous.

- It sure is.

I'm speaking of your dereliction of duty.

I'm informed...

You're informed?

And who or what might you be?

- My name is Weatherby, Boston.

- He's a United States Marshal.

- It ain't possible.

- On the contrary, I have a...

- Hit something.

- Wh...? What for?

Well, Bill's a man that needs convincing.

Marshal, I'm glad I met you

while you were still with us.

You're gonna be

the shortest-lived marshal on record.

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