Western Union

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We've lost him. You, men, head south.

We'll take the stage-coach trail.

What's the matter with you, Spider?

Whoa, boy.

Well, Spider, old boy.

I hate to part company but...

it's you or me.

Howdy, stranger.

Sorry, but I'm gonna have to borrow

your horse for a spell.

I reckon I'd better

borrow your gun, too.

Where does it hurt most?

My ankle.

Here and here.

Busted rib. Somebody put

the boot to you, huh?

Horse fell on me.

Take it easy.

Sit down.

Let's roll up your shirt.

Raise your hands over your head.

Feel better?

Much. Thanks.

Let's get outta here.

Well, why don't you say

what you're thinking?

I'm not thinking anything.

Come on.

Take a chew of this. It'll help

you keep your mind off the pain.

Thanks.

Come on.

Me, a Santa Claus.

-What's that?

-Nothing, nothing at all.

This is the stage depot.

They'll take care of you.

I'll still need your horse.

You're welcome to it,

and anything else I have.

Forget it.

What's going on here?

Don't look like one of them,

does he?

I never seen this fellow before.

-What do you want?

-What's your name, stranger?

-Edward Creighton.

-What you doing here?

-Surveyor.

-Surveyor?

Yes, I work for Western Union.

-What's Western Union?

-A telegraph company.

We're going through here next year

on our way to the coast.

I guess he's all right.

Anything wrong?

We had a bank holdup

at North Platte today.

We killed one of them

and the rest of them scattered.

Looks like we've lost them,

now for good.

-She's here, Mr. Creighton.

-Oh, good.

Are you ready?

I think so, Bert.

Now if I can just manage to

navigate on these things, Bert.

I reckon you'll be back this way

with that telegraph line before long.

If everything goes right, I will.

I do a little trapping now and then

so I was wondering...

how much it would cost to send

my pelts into Omaha by telegraph.

You can't send pelts by telegraph,

Bert.

-You can't?

-No. All you can send is writing.

Then the telegraph

ain't gonna do me any good.

Bert...

I can't repay you for your kindness,

but...

...this may help a little.

-Thanks.

Folding money!

Can you manage

all those things yourself?

Oh, yes, Sir.

Better let me take that, too.

Woody.

Woody, I want you to have this

along with my thanks.

Gosh, Mr. Creighton, thanks.

Goodbye, boys.

I'll see you next year.

-Get up!

-So long, Mr. Creighton.

-Nice fellow.

-Yes, Siree.

You don't believe what he said about

that telegraph coming through here...

...do you?

-Of course not.

There ain't no such thing

as a telegraph no how.

But he's a right nice fellow,

just the same.

He sure is. Look what he give me.

-His watch and chain!

-Yes.

What does a fellow

that goes to bed at sundown...

and gets up at sunup

want with a watch?

Well, it's a mighty pretty thing

to wear.

Sounds nice, too.

Yes.

Across the plains the pay

for drivers, diggers...

pole men and timber cutters

is two dollars a day.

And when we hit the Indian country,

it's three dollars....

and every man supplies

his own gun. O.K?

What do you mean O.K?

That's telegraph talk.

Means all right.

If the Doc here passes you,

you buckos have got yourself a job.

You'll do.

You'll do. Stand up, son.

-Nice withers.

-I ain't no horse.

You'll wish you were

before you're through.

Feels like you got

a slug of lead there, partner.

-Forty-four?

-Indian arrowhead.

It don't bother me none.

Some members of the medical

profession like to cut them out...

but I say let them stay

if they're that comfortable.

You know this country

we're going into?

Weren't a hundred miles from here

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