The Furies

- Buenas noches, patrn.

- Good evening.

Gracias.

So it's you.

I might have known.

I might have known no one but you would

have bone enough to come into her room here.

I neglected to order a gown for your wedding.

I'm trying to make one of hers do.

I think a sister should favor her brother's

wedding with her best appearance, don't you?

I don't think T.C. Will like this, Vance.

You know he's been particular about

keeping her room same as before she died.

Mother had everything.

Calling cards for a woman whose

next-door neighbor was miles off.

Jewels for a woman who never

looked at herself in the mirror.

Sunshades for a woman

who never left this room.

You understood her.

I never did.

No, you never did.

I'm only surprised he hasn't

hung a sign on this.

"Beth. Wifely property ofT.C. Jeffords."

And you're T.C.'s son,

and he despises anything he can beat.

I never let him beat me.

Why do you always let him get the best of you?

Isn't it writ in the Scripture?

"Honor thy father."

Always laughing at me inside you,

aren't you, Clay?

Not always.

Why do you suppose T.C. Is coming back

from San Francisco?

- Why, for my wedding, of course.

- Ha!

I know. T.C. Wouldn't

walk across the street to my wedding.

- Then why is he coming back?

- I think he needs money.

T.C.? Oh, you must be moon-hit.

Why, he's one of the richest men

in the territory- in the whole country.

Cattle-rich. Land-rich.

I make it he's money-poor right now.

And I make it that's why

he's had Scotty taking tally.

And that's why

he's spreading these I.O.U.s.

Oh, they're easy to spread.

Less easy to pay off.

T.C.!

Patrn.! Patrn.!

Welcome home.

Had a hankerir to bed down

in my own tepee tonight.

Got the railroad to flag me

right through to The Furies.

You were in her room.

That's right.

Her gown befiits you.

Father.

Son, you make "Father" sound

just like "son of a she-fox."

Daughter, Son, meet Reynolds here.

Reynolds from

Old Anaheim's Bank in San Francisco.

Reynolds, meet my household.

Scratch my sixth lumbar vertebra.

This here is Scotty Hyslip.

Scotty keeps my accounts.

The man who made all those bear raids

on the Huron Railroad stock...

and then took to swindlir

on the sound theory...

that the things folks want most in life

is to get something for nothing.

Oh, souvenir. The time I met up

with a party of Osages...

and got an arrow

in my sixth lumbar vertebra.

The scar vexes me now and then and takes

kindly to scratchir.

This be El Tigre!

The Tiger.

- My ranch boss.

- Senor.

El Tigre won victory after victory, for his

love of his people was known to his people.

Then he hung a man.

And it was justly.

He was so taken with the dance on the air

he begun hanging his people.

And unjustly.

His people took just so many hangings.

You tell Old Anaheim I got only the best

working The Furies for me.

Marcel, my cook there, once dished up a mess

Napolon would give him a blue ribbon for.

And when I gifted my deceased wife...

with a portrait of myself, I -

Pretty good, huh?

Chiquita.

- There's dust on me.

- S, patrn. But I did not expect you until tomorrow.

Cook here will rustle up a fiine mess

for an hour from now.

Ah, vamoose, the rest of ya.

I got a hankering to be with my kin. Vamoose!

Vamoose!

- T.C., you talk too much.

- So I do, and so I will...

till I meet up with talk better than mine.

- Where is it?

- Where's what?

- The necklace you said you'd bring back.

- Clay, you got a mess of good manners.

You ought to feed your sister

some of'em.

Well, here's what you been

"peskying" me about.

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