Rango Page #4

So no, my hair shootin' rodent little friend,

I am not from around these parts.

You might say I'm from everywhere

there's trouble brewin'

and hell waiting to be raised.

You might say I'm

what hell's already raised up!

Name's...

Rango.

Are you that fella that

killed them Jenkins brothers?

Aha, killed them with one bullet.

Don't get no deader.

All seven of 'em?

That's right.

All sven of them.

Exactly how did you do that,

Mr. Rango?

Y'know I'm glad you asked me that.

And... I would be happy to tell you!

But you all gotta have to

listen up,

because this is where it gets...

complicated.

I'm about to close the account, Mrs. Goats -

two go to the swig.

Hands off, Mordekao, that's what

swept off your college education!

I don't have any other choice, Beans.

Times being so hard, we...

we just can't give no more credit.

But this here is a bank!

This is where you keep the water.

Keep the wate..

Beans, you've been like a niece to me.

Ever since your daddy...

did NOT fall drunk down a mine shaft.

And uh...I've...

I've tried to protect you and others

from certain realities.

Oh...the weight of them realities...

- G. Merrymack?

G. Merrymack?

Are you all right?

Beans, I need to

sh...show you something.

That's all that's left?

- And this here is the reserve!

I don't know if you've noticed, but folks just

ain't makin' deposits on a Wednesday no more.

If I don't get some water

I'm gonna lose my ranch,

and you're tellin' me that's all

that's left in the whole tank!

Now, that just don't make no sense.

Now, listen. Someone is

dumpin' water in the desert.

I've seen it with my own eyes!

Water in the desert! Was this durin'

one of your...special times?

No! - Well, we can all dream.

But this is the reality.

Why do you think so many people

are sellin' out? They just can't make it.

Well...I...what am I supposed to do?

Well, I suppose we could talk to the Mayor.

I hear he's been helpin'

people out in this time of crisis.

The Mayor?

- He may be...our only hope.

...bullet hits the shovel, richochets back

towards number three

and that's where the roof gave in

ingiting with a pure green alcohol

instantly vaporized his bodily form

into nothing but

a charcoal statute

and high-ptiched squeel.

Ho-hold on there. That's only six.

What happend to number seven?

Number seven? Damn...

Died of infection.

One bullet...

All seven men.

Dance for me!

Dance like a real chicken!

Dance, dance.

You got coal in your ears, mate? You don't

pay the mortgage, you don't own the land!

That's basic real estate law, my friend.

- Your broke law!

If I see you're face in this town again

I'm gonna slice it off.

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