Godless

Whoa. Whoa.

Whoa.

You know this here is all bad business, don't you, boy?

Cheap spectacles.

Bunch of bullshit.

Are you really that dumb, Mr. Goode...

that you would ride yourself into a wall?

Or were you really that smart?

Either way...

they must've thought they had you cold.

The way you had to run him...

the poor animal must have bottomed out.

Wasn't no way he was gonna make it.

So you set him free.

But now it was you that had them.

Seven men down in the time it takes to spit.

And all dead before they even hit the ground.

Except one.

I imagine they became real disenchanted after all of that...

and rode off.

But of course...

they came back.

It was over... even before it started.

You saw it?

Enough of it.

Get...

Was it how it reads?

One man run off the whole bunch?

If you had seen the man shoot, you would run off, too.

They're all on the hanging road now.

What are you, Navajo?

Shoshone.

Shoshone?

The hell you doing down here?

Besides sneaking up on me.

Living.

Game's all dried up on the reservation.

And I didn't sneak up on you.

You didn't see me.

Can you even see me now?

I can see just fine.

Is that why you almost fell over that dead horse down there?

The man who did all the fancy shooting...

you recall what he looked like?

Like Death.

Could you be more specific?

Hm.

"Hm"?

"Hm," what?

You lost your shadow.

Frank Griffin was born in Arkansas,

but raised by Mormons in Utah.

He come out with the Fancher party when he was but a boy.

That's them folks who got massacred by the Indians back in '54.

Was the Mormons done it, but they laid it on the Paiutes.

Hm, so say the Paiutes.

The point is, Griffin seems to have lost all hold of hisself

ever since Roy Goode left him.

Not that he ever had that much of a grip to begin with.

Marshal...

I appreciate your concern for my well-being,

but as you might have noticed, I do got one or two good men with me.

I don't give a hoot in hell about your well-being.

It's them ladies down in La Belle that worry me.

As you know,

they only got the one law down there.

If you can call him that.

If I could ask you, sir, until I get a rope around Griffin,

to keep your men nearby,

that would sure relieve me of my concern.

You got nothing to worry about, Marshal.

Mr. Logan there, my new head of security,

is presently rounding up all the necessary men.

Looks to me like he's presently eating his breakfast.

Marshal, the Quicksilver Mining Syndicate

now has a vested interest in the La Belle claim,

which, I might add, holds a rather considerable amount of ore.

And we mean to look after it the way we do all our investments.

Same way you looked after Creede?

Good luck on your hunt, Marshal.

Two pounds of flour.

A pound of bacon.

Another pound of coffee.

Two boxes of shells for the Winchester.

Forty-four?

Fifty ninety-five, if you please.

Are you hunting buffalo?

Why? You seen any?

You break that jar, girl,

and you gonna pay for it!

Where has your brother run off to?

If he didn't tell you, I'm certainly not gonna.

Time he gave up that star, don't you think?

Goddamn it, girl!

I told you to keep your hands off!

Now, I want you...

Go ahead. Yell at her again.

She's not right in the head.

Neither will you be if you keep hauling at her like that.

We'll take the licorice, too.

Aunt Maggie,

that lady ain't got hardly any clothes on.

No, she does not.

What does she think she's doing?

Airing out her privates, looks like.

I hear she's worth a million dollars.

Husband had a brewery in Berlin.

Moved to Mexico to open another one.

She lost her mind and run off.

Her man was in beer?

So I'm told.

Too bad it wasn't mining.

Come on, kids.

What's all this, then?

W-What's all this, then?

I asked you first.

William! Jesus! Leave that man be.

Where does he live, anyways?

I don't know.

Hey! Mary-Agnes!

All right.

Pull her up.

Truckee!

Whoa.

Down.

Whoa.

Whoa.

Open the gate, boy.

What?

Open the damn gate!

Whoa.

Good to see you again, boy.

There he is!

Y'all got company.

We've come for Mr. Ward.

Wait.

The indecency of what you've done.

Breaking a man out of jail like that.

Well, it's unspeakable.

You're just mad you didn't think of it yourself.

Now don't give me no kind of fuss,

and we'll just forget what happened last night, all right?

Mr. Ward?

I'm gonna ask you real nice

to take your pick of these two wagons here and climb aboard.

Now, I ain't gonna ask you twice.

Ladies, I'll make you a deal.

Let him stay here and help me break all these horses

and I'll sell you all but six for 4,500.

That's less than 100 each.

You're only gonna keep six?

When I'm done, I'm gonna pack up and go home to Boston.

This place has never been my home, and, thanks to all of you, it never will be.

- Ma'am, I'm sorry but I can't let you... - Forty-three hundred.

- Done. - Damn it, Mary-Agnes.

Sheriff ain't gonna like this. Not at all.

Sheriff ain't here.

Whitey...

you either go along with this...

or we lock you up again.

- What, you think you're faster than me? - No, I know I am.

In a pig's ass.

You want to try again?

Can I offer you all some coffee?

That sounds right nice.

Marshal!

A word!

Son, go and get yourself a candy or something.

Go on.

You care to sit?

Please.

Now, I hear you're on your way to Olegrande to see Colonel Lowell.

If you hear it, it must be true.

He's a good man, Jeff Lowell. I interviewed him once.

Would this have anything to do with what all went on up in Creede?

Are you interviewing me now, Mr. Grigg?

If you want to find Frank Griffin...

you have to know him.

You have to know how he thinks.

And you have to know how he and Roy started.

And to know all of that...

you've got to go and talk to Sister Lucy Cole.

Sister who?

Lucy Cole.

Lives in the town of Moses,

near the Oklahoma border.

What all has she got to do with anything?

Well, she raised Roy Goode from the time he was a whelp to the time he was 15.

And you think he might go back there?

He already has.

A nun saw him up there

not more than a few weeks ago.

Jesus! How many nuns are there in Moses?

Well, Lucy's not really a nun.

Not in a spiritual sense, anyway.

She calls herself "sister" on account of her gifts have always been...

well, more sisterly,

if you know what I mean.

And you're offering up this free intelligence because...?

Oh, I offer nothing for free.