Panhandle

- You dirty, no good, backsliding sidewinder,

try to cheat me, will you?

Senorita, por favor.

Go on get over there!

Go on!

Por favor!

Now you gonna make good the loss,

or do I have to split your head open

like I did that water jug?

Well, what are you gonna do about it?

Why you low down-- - Easy, Miss.

This is my place you're shooting up.

Now if Juan cheated you--

- Cheated I'll say I've been cheated!

He liked to a charged me for a saddle I never got.

Vamoose, vamoose.

Look, Miss, this heat's enough

to make anyone short-tempered.

Do I get my saddle or not?

What saddle?

- The one that hombre was supposed

to load in my wagon and didn't.

Oh, you have a wagon?

Yes, I've got a wagon.

- Where is it? - Over there.

Mind if I take a look at it?

- Well, I don't see what business--

- You want your saddle, don't you?

Why you...

Yeah, I guess you do.

I'd like to take your word for it, Ma'am,

but I'm not in the habit of giving away saddles.

Checking your load is the only way I can tell

whether you've been short changed.

If you'll excuse me.

- I didn't expect you to take my word for it.

Do you have to walk so fast, you long-legged galoot?

Got an order?

Yeah.

- Yes, Ma'am, one saddle missing.

I don't understand it.

Juan never cheated anybody before.

You can see for yourself.

It sure ain't in the wagon.

Juan!

Juan, get over here!

Why didn't you give this lady

the saddle when she wanted it?

- She has a funny way of asking for things, Senor.

That's not the point.

She's still missing a saddle.

Now where is it?

It's in the wagon, Senor.

- It can't be I checked the load.

Where in blazes is it?

- It was such a beautiful saddle, Senorita.

I did not have the heart to put it with the rest.

It's up in front where it belongs.

- In front? - Si.

Is this it?

Sorry, Ma'am.

I guess we all make mistakes.

- I think I better go now before we make another.

You in the saddle business?

I am now.

Used to be my father's.

He did all his trading down here.

Your father?

Josh Stewart.

I'm Jean Stewart.

My friends call me Dusty.

- Yeah, I did business with your dad.

Did he get tired of pounding a wagon?

No.

He's dead.

I'm sorry to hear that.

How'd it happen?

He was shot in the back.

Dry gulched, huh?

Where was it?

In Sentinel.

Sentinel?

I know a lot of people in Sentinel.

- I hope you been getting letters from them regular.

The last time they took a census,

Boot Hill had quite a population.

Sounds rough.

- Three men in a week is rough, Mister,

Martin Anderson, Friday,

Shorty Grannis, Saturday,

and Billy Sands, Sunday.

You said Billy Sands?

- Yeah, he used to run the town's newspaper.

He was a fine...

This town is just full of gentlemen.

Going someplace, John?

Yeah, Doc.

With those?

Yeah.

You going killing, John?

Killing's what brought you here.

What made a newspaper man out of Billy

till he put a stop to it.

Killing's what made you both hang up your guns.

It was a good reason then.

There's a better one now.

Billy's been murdered.

- And you think getting the man that did it

will make up for what your brother believed in

and worked for all these years?

- All that work isn't much good now.

John,

killing's what made you an outlaw.

You started off all right.

You wore a marshal's badge.

You did a job.

You got paid for it,

but that gun grew on you,

and you used it once too often.

Now that same gun's gonna to start you all off over again.

In the end,

that gun will kill you.

No, it won't.

This time I'll use Billy's.

- There's some things a man ain't got no right butting into.

I guess this is one of them.

I'll take care of the store.

Anything else?

No, guess that's it.

Thanks, Doc.

Something for you, Senor?

A drink.

Help yourself.

Too much for me, gents.

If you feel like sitting in,

don't take this chair.

Been unlucky all day.

- Care to sit in we're shorthanded!

- Yeah, I might try my luck for a while.

I'm not superstitious.

Take a stack.

- You come through Amarillo, Mister?

Nope.

Around it.

Draw poker.

No limit.

Suits me.

Haven't played any poker in five years.

Might be a little rusty.

Poker's like drawing a gun.

Once you got the hang of it,

you never forget how.

- Looks like you fellas come a long way for a poker game.

Couldn't you find one in town?

- The community has expressed a most profound desire

that some of us move on to more fertile fields,

and rather than suffer the indignities of the tar barrel

and a rather crude means of transportation,

we decided to dispense with the amenities

of the local peasantry and to adjourn

to this annex of Mount Olympus,

to sing of our black deeds over a bowl of chili.

In reality, my friend,

we are simply awaiting the local stage.

Ham.

Shylock.

Open.

Raise you 50.

Cards?

Two.

I'll take three.

How many for you?

One.

Your bet.

Check the raise.

- I'll bet that $300 you have in front of you.

- It's too much for me, gentlemen.

Small full house.

You better draw another card.

What do you mean?

- That three of clubs you got there was in my discard.

Draw another card.

Playing poker's no fun alone, Mister.

It'd be a shame not to know whether you filled that hand.

Draw another card.

Looks like that's my pot you're sweating over, Mister.

Now relax before I cash you in with it.

Draw your gun easy with your left hand,

and throw it across the room.

Cash me in.

Yes, sir.

Magnificent.

Magnificent.

You, sir, are a poet of a sort.

How so?

- You have poetry in motion, sir.

I scarcely heard you slap leather.

- Here's your money, sir.

Si, Senor.

Thanks.