Good morning, Miss Pearson.
Good morning.
Hmm. That saving account of yours
sure mounting up, Miss Pearson.
Yes, it is.
Teller?
Be with you in a minute.
Yes. Now what can I do-
Now get around here and lay face-down
on the floor, and don't get up.
Come on, move.
Come on. Move.
Come on, we're going.
You heard him. On the floor.
Agh.
Pitiful. Absolutely pitiful.
I introduce one little element of surprise, and what happens?
Weeks of rehearsal go up in smoke.
Slade showin' up stage left
was kind of unexpected, professor.
Stage left, stage right, center-
What difference does it make?
If that had been the real West,
instead of an incompetent look-alike,
you'd have been in a lot more trouble.
Slade, on your feet.
I shall demonstrate what the real West might have done.
Slade.
He's deader than a side of beef, professor.
Whaley, give me your gun.
Mm.
You forgot to use blanks the way I asked, didn't you?
Well, I reckon I did, professor.
Whaley, carelessness like that
is not only dangerous, it's downright irritating.
I'm afraid this calls for a demotion.
Class, today's rehearsal was nothing short of disastrous-
far below the standard of perfection that I demand.
However, we will proceed
with tomorrow's field exercise as scheduled.
Poor Slade.
School term's barely started,
and already he's failed his first subject.
Oh, cheer up, Belladonna.
The Loveless Institute for Advanced Research
may have lost a marvelous copy,
but never fear,
she'll soon have the original himself.
Get around here and lay face-down on the floor.
Don't get up.
You heard him. On the floor.
Boys.
Each of these holdups is different, sir.
In McCandless, fire broke out in the bank.
All the firemen turned out to be bank robbers.
In Provo, a woman fainted.
A doctor arrived with two assistants...
all bank robbers.
The tactics may vary, sir,
but there's never any improvising or any fumbling.
Everything is beautifully timed out.
And in each case,
the gang goes to elaborate precautions
in order to make sure that someone, identity unknown,
remains unknown.
Hmm. Sounds like a very successful operation,
but it still doesn't give our department
any call to go bargin' in.
What about this, sir?
Our sincere bank robbers make withdrawals,
but never spend any of the money.
They haven't spent any of the money?
Yes, sir.
According to the bank records,
not a single stolen bill has ever turned up in circulation.
Puzzle, sir.
What happens to the money?
Just can't seem to get this little exercise
into your heads, can you, class?
Well, let me remind you again.
You are not knocking over all those banks for the money.
No, these are exercises in discipline,
in learning to work as a cohesive unit,
in acquiring a healthy respect for the value of organization.
Now, let's run through the reasons again.
Belladonna, my dear, you may start it off.
It seems that the Drover's Bank of Claiborne
has generously allowed us to withdraw a large sum
in excellent United States greenbacks.
And here we are, burning it all up. Why?
Because it's chicken feed.
You hear that? Chicken feed.
Now, feast your eyes on this, class.
It's good for your grubby, tarnished souls.
It's good for your meager little mentalities,
geared to shabby, back-alley operations.
You've gotta learn to think on a grand scale.
Not dollars, not even thousands of dollars,
but millions.
Tell them about the other reason, Belladonna.
The problem of being conspicuous, for one.
Ha, ha, ha. Excellently phrased, my dear.
Ha, ha. It seems that some of you gentlemen,
with enough greenbacks lining your pockets to buy drinks with,
become somewhat talkative.
Go on, my dear.
Then there's the nasty habit some bank tellers have
of jotting down the serial numbers of the large bills.
Ha, ha. Right.
And once money is in circulation,
it can be traced back to where it was spent.
So in order to avoid unnecessary publicity:
Burn, bank notes, burn.
Of all the thousands stolen,
only two $100 bills showed up in circulation.
It has to be a slip-up on the part of the gang, sir.
Both traced back to where they were spent.
One in a boarding house in Grover's Bend,
and the other in a saloon in Turquoise.
Two alkali-patch towns nobody ever even heard of,
only seven miles apart.
Colonel, we're only asking
to make a few discreet inquiries.
All right, all right.
Just keep me informed.
Good luck.
Well, boarding house or saloon?
Take your pick.
¶ Laurie ¶
¶ I lay me down ¶
¶ And die ¶
Is, uh-? Is the sheriff in?
He's gone, like a rat deserting a sinking ship.
Eh. You got a drink?
No, no. I'm sorry, but I'm fresh out.
Do you know where I can find him?
Oh, probably over at the Nugget.
Thank you.
Say- Heh-heh.
A-are you real sure y-you ain't got a drink?
Yes, I'm sure, but why don't you, uh-
Why don't you try the Nugget?
If a certain person it ain't necessary to name
will back away from his trough
long enough for me to make an announcement,
I'll be much obliged.
Ha. Thank you, I'm sure.
Now, for the announcement.
I have accepted another guest into our happy circle.
You mean you suckered in another boarder, don't you?
Unlike another person it is unnecessary to name,
our new border is a gentleman,
and I'd like to thank that person to remember that
when he starts telling one of those stories.
Ah.
Here's our Mr. Lindsay now.
Miss Bancroft.
Why, there you are.
You lovely lady.
Oh, Mr. Lindsay. Heh.
Oh, everyone was so interested
when I told them you are a genuine artist.
Oh, that is very kind of you to say, lovely lady,
but rather, I like to think of myself
as a humble and deeply appreciative painter,
who is enthralled by the sweep and grandeur
of your glorious countryside.
Golly, I'd sure admire to see
some of your paintings, Mr. Lindsay.
So you shall, you lovely young lady.
So you shall. Ah, ha.
Won't you sit down, Mr. Lindsay?
Thank you, my love. Thank you.
Put these pickled onions down and fetch the coffee
before it freezes over.
You were saying, Mr. Lindsay?
Well, I was just, uh, saying that, uh,
I was out today sketching your glorious countryside,
and while there I made it a point to draw
one of your sad-faced longhorn steers.
Oh.
Well, if that don't beat all.
I beg your pardon?
Why, I cashed a $100 bill like that just last week.
It was singed, just like yours.
Really?
Well, now, who besides me
would be prosperous enough to be carrying around a $100 bill?
Why, it was-
Whoa. I'm scalded.
Why, you wicked, stupid-
Oh, get outta my way.
Heh.
Speaking for my colleagues, Mr. Lindsay,
welcome to our happy, happy circle.
Why, thank you.
Thank you very much.
Howdy. The sheriff here?
No. He usually looks in a little later, if you wanna wait.
Yeah, I'll wait.
One of those bottles'll help pass the time.
Thank you.
I can't cash this, mister.
I got me a working arrangement with the bank.
They don't serve no refreshments,
and I don't cash no $100 bills.
Well, I can't say I blame you.
This, um- This $100's, uh, burnt.
Come to think of it,
maybe I can scratch up enough to cash it.
No, no. That's all right.
You know, it is kinda odd, though.
Here it is, a fresh $100, and it's all burnt.
It looks like it just came out of some- Some bank.
Oh, so you're the deputy sheriff, huh?
Yep. Afraid I'm gonna have to relieve you
of this currency, mister.
Is that so? Why?
Because it just might be stolen, that's why.
There's been a regular epidemic of bank bustings lately.
Maybe you heard.
Matter of fact, I have.
The gang wears fancy disguises and costumes.
For a fact?
That the way you heard it, boys?
Anyway, like I was saying,
as deputy sheriff of the town of Turquoise,
I hereby impound this $100 bill.
I don't think so, sheriff.
Rather impressive, isn't he?
Why, he's another Slade.
Oh, my dear,
Slade was merely a provincial copy of the real thing.
The real thing, of course, being Mr. James West.
You're cluttering my floor. Get my chair.
Uh, how do you do, Miss, um...
Never mind that. Belladonna.
So you're the sheriff.
Of course.
If I couldn't be sheriff, I wouldn't play.
Now that $100 bill, Mr. West,
do you think I could persuade you to hand it to me?
Uh, seeing as how you put it so nicely,
of course.
Now, what were you and my deputy fighting about?
Mrs. Bancroft?
Oh, there you are, my lovely lady.
Uh, howdy, Mr. Lindsay.
I'm fine.
I just came over to see how you was feeling
after your, uh, terrible accident.
Oh, I'm feeling fine now. Excuse me. I'm very busy.
'Course.
Uh, Mrs. Bancroft, you was going to tell me something
about that, uh, $100 bill, remember?
What $100 bill?
Well, the mate to this one here.
I don't even know what you're talking about.
Oh, come, Miss Bancroft.
You was going to tell me who asked you to cash it.
Huh. I don't remember.
Mrs. Bancroft...
You, uh...
had another accident, I see.
I stumbled over the cellar steps.
Like to broke my darn fool neck.
Now, that is most distressing, Mrs. Bancroft.
I'm sorry to hear that.
All right, my rough and tough friend.
I've seen how rugged you can be where landladies are concerned.
Now suppose you tell me what you know
about that $100 bill.
Simple, Mr. Lindsay. Just raise your hands.
He stole it...twice.
Once from a bank.
I know. The Drover's Bank of Claiborne, right?
And once from a bonfire,
which could turn out to be a whole lot more unhealthy
than stealing it from the bank.
I told you,
the only reason I done it was so I could buy you pretty things.
Oh, shut up.
Mr. Lindsay, or whatever your name really is,
you reckon I could trust you to take that $100 bill
from your pocket and hand it over,
without you getting all tricky and cunnin'?
Why, of course, lovely lady.
No. Put your hands back where they were.
I'll get it from ya after.
After what?
After you're dead.
But in case, uh, visions of escape
are dancing in your head...
How do I know there are men behind those guns?
That's where the fun starts, you don't.
But would you care to make a test case?
And miss the tour of your school?
I wouldn't dream of it.
Suppose we continue, then.
What, for instance, do you suppose is behind this door?
Uh, the Taj Mahal? Niagara Falls?
I wouldn't know.
Remind you of anything, by chance?
The territorial penitentiary at Fort Whipple.
It's an excellent copy.
Well, thank you. We try.
Of course, it's not the whole prison.
I'm not interested in the whole thing.
Only the murderers' row.
Whatever else around here isn't real,
those bullets certainly are.
Well, you learn very fast, Mr. West.
From now on, I think I'd better handle
the opening of doors.
Too long have we tarried in this unquiet place
where man imprisons man.
Reminiscent of anything, Mr. West?
It's an exact copy of the federal arms depot at Tyler.
Heh. Thank you.
I've gone to considerable expense to make sure
that this is an accurate copy, Mr. West.
Can you imagine why?
Yeah. If it's a great deal of arms you're after,
I can see where this would have considerable value
for your gang to do their homework.
Such as figuring out areas
for deploying troops against the guards,
or discovering the most efficient points
at which explosives should be placed to breach walls.
Things of that sort, Mr. West?
Things of that sort, Dr. Loveless.
Well, of course. The three basic ingredients
for the kind of stew you cook up so well. Manpower...
From the dregs of the territorial penitentiary.
And arms to equip them with...
And what better place than the original of this,
the federal armory at Tyler?
And the third, Mr. West. Tell us all about that.
Gold, tons of it, just waiting for you and your gang
to carry off in the sub-treasury.
But somehow, Dr. Loveless,
I feel there's more to it than just that.
Oh, really?
We must talk about that sometime,
but first...
Class, many times in our exercises
we have killed Mr. James West,
as you all fondly recall.
But now we shall have the extreme pleasure
of killing the original.
No! Down.
All of you.
No, this treat
will only go to the most attentive,
the hardest working, the most deserving of my pupils.
Stote.
Giddings.
Kirby.
Ah, he's starting to come around now.
Well, I won't say I'm disappointed,
but I could've sworn I was dead.
It's a mercy and a miracle you ain't, Mr. Lindsay.
Mercy and miracles, my foot.
Here's why you ain't.
What a terrible thing to have happen
to a perfectly good sketch pad.
Terrible thing? Why, it saved your life.
I know, but look how many wonderful sketches
it just ruined.
Pearline? She gone?
Yeah. An aunt of hers took sick.
Oh, yes. I kind of figured there'd be a whole rash
of sudden illness in her family.
Like this?
Oh, no, no, no.
Uh, no. The ones I was thinking of was a lot meaner looking,
like, uh...
Well, here, let me show ya.
They had a wider steel shank for the heel,
and a circle cutout
for the leather tie around the shoe,
and the rowels was real big.
You know? Something like that.
What you're talking about, son, is known as Sonora stompers.
Sonora stompers? Sonora-
You know anyone around here who wears anything like that?
They ain't worth a hoot in a box canyon for riding,
but when it come for- I know all that, old-timer.
What I'm saying's, you know anyone around here
who wears 'em?
Of course I do...
and the name is Fargo, sonny.
Oh, eh, excuse me, Mr. Fargo.
Well, would you mind telling me who?
The boys over at the Three-legged Fox Ranch
used to favor 'em,
and they're about as mean and ugly-
Jumping Jupiter! I just remembered.
What?
I still got a pair of them- Them spurs I made
for one of the boys at the Three-legged Fox.
And the cussed varmint
never come back to get 'em or to pay me for 'em.
Why, don't you worry about that, old-tim- Uh, Mr. Fargo.
I'll take 'em off your hands.
Three-legged Fox, huh?
Mind telling me why you're staring at me like that?
Hm? Oh, I'm sorry. I was just thinking, uh...
Would you consider lending me your mustache, Mr. Fargo?
The problem is quite simple, Mr. West.
You see, three of my best pupils are about to do
their highly-talented best to kill you.
They're armed, I suppose.
Of course. And you're not.
But then, they don't possess
your finely-honed capacity for survival.
Ho, ho. Excellently done, Mr. West.
I'm sure you'd be interested to know that Giddings
had only one bullet in his gun.
Bravo, Mr. West.
Giddings and Stote down, Kirby to go.
And now you've got a nice shiny knife.
Correction...
had a nice shiny knife.
An excellent choice, this alley.
If Kirby comes in one side,
you can always safely duck down the other, huh?
Oops, here he comes now.
What a pity, Mr. West.
If only you had a gun too.
You see what I mean about Mr. West's
amazing capacity for survival, Belladonna.
He had only a very brief moment
to size up the situation, and yet...
That was real smart.
How'd you figure out the gun shot in reverse?
I learned a long time ago
to beware of Greeks bearing gifts.
What's that mean?
Spell it out for her, Mr. West.
Well, it's not too difficult to figure out
the good doctor's sense of humor.
If he gives you a gun just at the moment you need that gun,
then you can rest assured it's gonna fire backward,
and at you.
That's brilliant, Mr. West,
but as long as you still have the gun,
why don't you shoot me?
Because it's also easy to assume
that the gun only had one bullet.
Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?
Very well, you give the order to fire.
Not so sure of yourself now, huh?
Fire when ready.
Oh, you weary me, West.
I'm sorry. Any particular reason?
Many reasons.
You weary me with the sight of your strong, straight body.
You weary me with your smug, neatly-ordered mind.
Actually, not the worst I've ever encountered.
A poor thing, but my own.
You weary me with your selfless, ant-like devotion
to a society that no longer deserves it.
You're not gonna run out of reasons now, are ya, doctor?
You weary me by being, by existing,
by your uncanny talent for appearing
at exactly the right place
at the wrongest possible time.
Belladonna, I'll trade you this gun
for one that shoots forward.
Forever and forever farewell, Cassius.
If we do meet again, why, we shall smile.
If we do not, why then...
Let go of me, you no-good,
low-down, side-winding, mangy...
You're making a big mistake, I tell ya.
Shy 6 years,
I'd laugh the lord out of both of you no-good, mangy...
Hold it.
Man comes moseying around here on business,
you treat him like he was some kind of trespasser.
What kind of business, old man?
One of your hands came over and ordered these from me.
They were short up to pay for it.
Beautiful workmanship, old man.
Who ordered them?
Well, it was, uh...
I can't recollect the polecat's name.
He was, uh...
Get out of here.
Well, thank you, sir.
Thank you.
Good day to you, sonny.
Run after him. He's getting away.
We'd like to send a telegram to Washington now.
I'd admire to oblige you, sir,
and a lot of other folks too, but...
Problems?
Well, you might say so.
Telegraph wires are down for 20 miles around.
Doggonest thing, the way they gave up the ghost
at the same time.
Yeah. They just don't build 'em like they used to anymore.
Snookered.
No way to get in touch with Colonel Crockett
or the depot in Fort Tyler,
or the bullion depository in Millbank.
Artie, there's no way for Loveless
to keep in touch, either.
Did you ever think of that?
Who would Loveless want to keep in touch with?
The good doctor is planning
three big operations simultaneously,
each miles apart from the other.
Well, each one of 'em was given the specific time to attack
well in advance.
Independent of each other?
Yeah, once it was planned.
Nah, Artie, not if I know the good doctor.
He would wanna personally supervise
every phase of each operation.
That'd call for a pretty slick,
high-powered communications setup, wouldn't it.
And that could only mean one place,
the Territorial Communications Center in Junction City.
Dr. Loveless may already be there.
Let's check and see.
Jim, Sonora stompers.
Or, roughly translated?
One of Loveless' men.
Ahh.
Wait a minute.
Oh, excuse me, sir.
Have you seen a small, freckle-faced boy around here,
answering to the name of Wesley?
Oh, he stands about, I would say,
that tall altogether.
Nice going, Wesley.
Drop your guns out the open window, gentlemen.
Oh, please, Mr. West, Mr. Gordon.
We all know there's a time for winning,
a time for losing.
You gentlemen have lost.
You can't beat logic.
I won't ask how you got through my guards.
More of your bag of amusing muscular tricks, I suppose.
The important thing is that you're here,
and more or less on schedule.
How nice knowing we were expected.
Oh, Mr. West,
I've been expecting you ever since you started
to nibble away at the edges of my project.
Over there, please.
What do you suppose
the eminent doctor's project is, Jim?
Well, that's simple, Mr. Gordon.
He's on his way to acquiring an army,
an arsenal, and a treasury.
The big project is getting them all together.
Right, doctor?
Right as can be.
I know our little friend here thinks big, Jim,
but surely not big enough
to dream he can take over the whole country.
How about a slice of it, Artie? The territory.
It's at hand, and not too heavily guarded.
That sounds reasonable. The only question is, once he takes it,
how long does he think he can hold it?
President Grant isn't gonna hold still for that.
He'll have the boys in blue coming in here so fast-
You forgot one thing.
The alliance.
You've contracted an alliance?
Oh, no, not yet.
That's the first act of my new government.
An alliance with a great power, whom we needn't mention,
but one of sufficient power
that Mr. Grant will think twice,
even thrice,
before he begins hostilities.
What do you think, gentlemen?
So the little bit of territory
becomes your own small parcel of real estate.
No.
My kingdom, Mr. Gordon.
Miguelito the first and his consort.
Actually, gentlemen,
I'm delighted that you were able to drop by and witness
this most historic occasion.
In a very few moments, I will be receiving
telegraphic signals informing me that my combat teams
are at their appointed attack points.
When I telegraph back the go-ahead,
the world shall be treated to an assault
such as it has never-
Assault team number one, combat ready.
Likewise assault team number two.
And there's team number three.
Uh, if Your Highness will permit me...
it looks very much like we've lost.
Yes, it does, doesn't it?
Well, as my old aunt Maude always used to say to me,
"Artemus, if you can't win the game,
the next best thing is to upset the chess board."
He's dead, I hope.
He'll be all right, doctor,
but what about you,
with three assault teams anxiously awaiting the signal
that won't be forthcoming, will it?
No. In the present condition of that transmitter,
no signal will be forthcoming.
As for my assault teams,
well, they will mill around for a while like ants
when their anthill has been stepped on.
And like ants, they will then just wander away, disperse.
You've lost, doctor.
We've all lost.
I've lost a skirmish, nothing more.
While you and Mr. Gordon-
One can always depend on finding a gun or two
in dear Belladonna's reticule.
A shootout, doctor?
Shoot him, Miguelito. Kill him.
Oh, no, my dear. Only a fool would try
to match reflex and aim with Mr. West.
Drop your gun, sir,
or Belladonna dies before your eyes.
Miguelito, you're joking!
Mr. West knows better. You believe me, don't you?
I believe you.
Miguelito, you'd kill me?
Only with the most sincere regret, my dear,
please believe me. You see, Mr. West,
there is always another string to my bow.
You're through, doctor.
Oh, am I?
You didn't know about the auxiliary telegraph setup,
did you?
Well, I'm going to actuate it now,
and you'll do nothing to stop me,
or Belladonna will die.
Hold it...
or you'll die.
I know you better than that, Mr. West.
You wouldn't sign Belladonna's death warrant to shoot me.
I won't have to. You'll do it yourself.
What are you babbling about?
What gun do you think the good doctor
took out of your purse, Belladonna?
The one that fires forward,
or the one that fires backward?
Oh, very neat gambit, Mr. West.
Set his mind at rest, dear.
You know, that is a very good question, Miguelito.
Belladonna.
Yes, it is an interesting problem, as you lay it out,
but do you think the possibility of death
holds such terror for me?
No, but I know what does.
No more assaults against society.
No more revenge against the world.
No striking back, right?
There is a certain tortured logic in what you say.
Go get him, will ya? I'll look after her.