Dead Man Page #2

to my personal family stable.

Hell, only, a pinto ain't

rightly a horse to fret much

about, if the truth be told.

Shut up!

You three are supposed to be

the finest killers of men and Indians...

in this here

half of the world.

Cole Wilson,

your reputation is already a legend.

You I know I can trust.

Conway Twill, you're

a real good killer,

but be sure you keep

that goddamn trap shut.

And Johnny

"The Kid" Pickett.

I heard tell

you killed 14 men.

I doubt you've seen

that many years,

and I ain't even gonna tell you

what I really think of you.

- I always work alone.

- Uh, excuse me there, Mr. Dickinson,

but, uh, rightly I, I never

have worked with anyone else either.

- I never have.

- Uh, yeah, m-me neither.

Shut up!

My boy Charlie is dead!

Oh, I ain't askin' this time.

I'm tellin',

and if somebody don't

like it, I'm prepared to do

a little killin' of my own.

Now, that bastard

couldn't have got too far yet.

Well, why don't we just

say there, Mr. Dickinson, sir,

I think we oughta start

uh, fresh in the mornin'.

I mean, it's

well after noon now,

and time we get finished,

all packed up and...

I want him brought here to me...

alive or dead don't matter,

though I reckon dead

would be easier.

I'm a-hirin' you boys

on an exclusive basis,

and I'm willin' to pay more money

than you've ever seen before.

Boys,

the hunt is on.

Stupid f***ing

white man.

I want this out

over the wires.

Post a $500 reward

from here to hell and back.

Notify every marshal, deputy

and possum-skinnin' lowlife

in the goddamn territory.

Bring everybody in.

I want that bastard's head.

And make sure you include

a full description of my pinto.

I want that horse back.

Goddamn pinto is a stupid damn animal.

Stupid as the day

is long.

Got his heart so set on one.

Buy yourself a sorrel horse...

and paint some white spots on him

as far as I'm concerned.

Jesus Christ.

Course, ya can't put much stock

in a man who spends the most

part of a conversation...

talkin' to a bear.

Talkin'

to a goddamn bear.

The round stones

beneath the earth...

have spoken

through the fire.

What?

Things which are alike,

in nature, grow to look alike,

and the speaking stones have lain

a long time lookin' at the sun.

The speaking stones?

Some believe

they descend with the lightning,

but I believe they are on the ground

and are projected downward by the bolt.

Did you kill the white man

who killed you?

I'm not dead.

What name were you given

at birth, stupid white man?

Blake.

William Blake.

Is this a lie?

Or a white man's trick?

No, I'm William Blake.

Then you are a dead man.

I'm sorry. I d...

I don't understand.

Is your name really

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