Shoot Out Page #4

- Watch your line. I've got a gun at you!

Well now, I declare?

You've drawn your gun on me.

- Why did you do that?

- Self-defense. - He's dead!

- Not.

- Oh, yes he is.

Well, that's right Skeeter,

we are three musketeers.

- Next!

- Bobby Jay Jones, I swear...

What is that, is our blood brother

going back on his solemn word?

Get the money out of the drawer!

Do you know how to cook?

Wrong! You know to cook!

You'd just hide on. Come on.

- Trooper! - Tell clay...

- Clay is gone.

Gun... Hill.

My mom says no cowboy ever

walks when he can ride.

- Sit right there, or I'll whirl you.

- No, you won't.

It's Trooper!

- Them three kids shot him.

- Did they? - Yeah.

And then they left, took Alma with

them. Did anybody going after them?

Nobody yet.

Before he died he said your name

and something about Gun Hill.

- Gun Hill?

- Yeah.

- I'd pay a weight. - I'm sorry.

- I never had kids, never wanted none.

I'd ran away from you anyway.

It seems to me you are the right one.

She got to go to school anyhow.

I can't board any children,

all I can do to teach them.

- What do you teach them? Look out for yourself?

- Yes.

No!

But preacher you are my last hope

left in this town I can turn to.

I suggest to turn this

responsibility over to the Marshall.

To the law?

Turn her over to the law?

Preacher, you know I've done bad things

in my day but nothing that bad.

Reverend, you're harder than hard.

I'd say you are mean.

Perhaps.

But not mean enough to try to

get rid of a child in her presence.

- You've got any soap?

- No. - Well, I have.

- You stink. You got to have a bath.

- No!

- Now shove them rags. - No!

- Get them off or I'll do it for you. - I won't!

- You bastard stinkpot, it's cold!

- What did you say?

You bastard stinkpot!

You say that again and I'll

scrub your dirty little mouth!

- What about you? You stink too!

- If I've finished with you I'll take mine.

- Are you my father?

- What kind of fool's question is that?

But since you're so curious...

Me and your mama was friends

of us, a hundred years ago.

- You're not an uncle.

- No.

I sure had a lot of uncles.

But they were no good.

Mama said no man was any good.

- On the third time she came to visit.

- Visit? Where?

She lived with other ladies.

I stayed with folks.

- What folks?

- Different ones.

The last ones didn't want me to keep

my cat. They threw stones at her.

- As long as they didn't hit her...

- They did! They killed her.

The place I'm taking you to are friends

of mine, they'll let you have a cat.

- I don't want any more cats.

- The Nelsons got a nice place, a real farm.

It's still a far piece.

We better get going.

That ain't the way to Gun Hill!

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