Purgatory Page #2

Except for the saloon, of course.

- Of course. Thank you.

- Did you hear that?

Right this way, gentlemen.

- Come on.

- Let's go get some of that water.

The water's over here.

Well, lads, what will be your pleasure?

Bottle of whiskey.

- This is the whole bottle.

- This one's on me.

Who are these people, anyway?

What are they doing in the middle

of nowhere?

Maybe they's Mennonites.

I heard they had colonies

scattered all over the place.

- Follow me, please.

- Yes, ma'am.

So it's a beautiful little town

you got here.

Yes, it is beautiful.

How long is it that you have lived here?

Five years, one week and two days.

That's amazing how you just know

that, like, exactly to the day.

Well, I know it's silly, but I tend

to keep track of things like that.

It appears I'm back in business.

Hello, Doc.

Step inside, gentlemen.

I recognize that sheriff from somewhere,

just can't place it.

Lucky he didn't place you.

- Yeah, you notice he wasn't packing.

- Neither was the deputy.

I didn't see a gun

in the whole damn town.

You thinking what I'm thinking?

All right, you're next, son.

I think it's just a flesh wound.

I'll tell you what it is.

- Well, you're lucky.

- I don't feel lucky.

You just lost a few inches of baby fat.

What are you looking at?

- Have you ever been in Wichita?

- Why?

- Is that where you're from?

- Yeah, from just outside of there.

My mama's got a little farm.

Why, you been there?

I was there once.

It was long before you were born.

How many men have you killed?

Why would you ask me

a question like that?

Your ramrod said

you were drovers, right?

That's right.

And that your cattle was stolen

by the Indians.

That's what he said.

Did they steal your ropes too?

Our ropes?

Yeah, I see your horses,

and I only see two or three ropes.

No branding irons. Aren't cowboys

supposed to have a lot of ropes?

You sure do ask

a lot of questions yourself.

Well, I guess you wanna be

joining your friends now.

I only killed one man.

He...

He begged me to do it.

Forty-five.

Forty-four-40.

Forty-five. And...

...45.

Not many Indians use a. 45.

- Well, we knew they wasn't drovers.

- So, what are we gonna do about it?

We'll walk softly.

Give them plenty of room.

Maybe they'll leave peacefully.

And maybe they'll drop us

a thank-you note on the way out of town.

Don't work that way, sheriff.

You should've told them to keep on riding.

This job's yours if you want it, Glen.

I'd just as soon go off and sit under

a big tree. Believe me, I'd rather.

Forrest, nobody'd blame you for it either.

Look, the last man we want

handling this thing is Glen.

Why, he'd shoot the eyes out of a dove

for singing too early in the day.

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