- Four|- Pair of jacks.
Two sevens.
Nothing.
Jacks bet.
Call.
Play for fifteen.
I'm out.
Call.
Out.
Bust.
- Five.|- Fold.
Deal me out.|I'll be back for the next turn.
Same game, five card stud.
But...
...when I deal, I like to start|with all fifty-two cards.
There's only one thing worse|than a crook, that's a clumsy crook.
Keep the money,|just give me my horse.
- You'll get your horse and a rope.|- No, hey...!
- Who was shooting?|- It turned into a hanging party.
- Hanging who?|- The new man, for cheating.
You kick a cheat out of town,|not lynch him.
What the hell are you doing?
Hey, George.|Wake up and get out here.
Lay still, boy. Come on.
Get him up to his room. Let me know|if he needs anything, except brains.
How come you didn't hear|when they dumped me there?
I sleep pretty good sometimes.
No questions about last night?
I knew what was gonna happen,|and it did.
They weren't just five men, they|were a mob. I tried to stop them.
I believe you.
When a gambler lets his game|wind up in a killing,
pretty soon he don't have a game.
You know anything about this?
What about you?
Was there a game downstairs|after I closed up last night?
Maybe you're right at that.
But I don't know, I can't swear to it.
You know, I always wanted|to bust into that glass
to find out what your hole card was.
What do you think it was?
Ace of diamond.
I think you had your royal flush.
So did the other man.|But he folded, so he never found out.
- Where you heading?|- Anywhere, to leave this place behind.
But first I got to deliver a message.
- Finish packing for me?|- All right.
- Morning, Mr Evers.|- Hello, Van.
Stoney, Mace. How are you feeling?
- Never better.|- Same. How are you?
I'd say come and visit me,|but I know better.
- My daughter's in, go on up.|- Thank you.
What are you doing out in the sun?|You sleep all day.
- I had to get up early to pack.|- Pack?
You're always coming or going.|When will you decide to stay?
People who stay have no place to go.|Where's your brother?
If you're going to say|goodbye again, say it.
- Goodbye.|- Say it properly.
All right... There.
That was one wore-out,|no-account kiss.
How was that?
Fine, but you wasted it.|I don't plan to come back this time.
It wasn't wasted.|You enjoyed it. And you'll be back.
Nora, you're the most foolish thing|in the world, a good woman.
Why foolish?
She'll push herself up against|a man till he forgets she's good.
- Then she expects marriage.|- How else would she end up?
With me she could end up|picking hay from her dress.
Wanna bet?
Don't gamble on my better instincts.|I don't have any.
I just have instincts.
Nick!
Nick! Van wants to see you.
Here I am. How do I look?
From up here, just about right.
You two have been fighting|each other for years.
What's your reason this time?
We don't need a reason.
I got one. I don't like him.
Do you think about|that card player much?
Just all the time.
Big mistake,|getting wound up with a gambler.
- You gamble right along with him.|- But not for a living.
What do you do for a living?|Sit around till you own the ranch?
Only half of it.|The other half will go to you.
Just giving you|some brotherly advice.
You're not worried about me,|just about yourself.
If Van was my husband,|you couldn't run him. He'd run you.
No way.|I've had a gutful of that from Dad.
You could get along better with Dad|if you tried. And with Van, and everybody.
Why don't they try|to get along with me?
- Hello, Van.|- Marshal.
- Any news on the hanging?|- Nothing to hang anybody with.
- I don't even know his name.|- What do you do in a case like that?
You bury the man,|but keep him in mind.
- You're off to Denver. Going for long?|- Depends on Denver.
- Everybody in for Denver!|- Why are you going?
In my business,|you gotta follow the play. So long.
All right, Charley.
Pair of fives. Nine.
- Fives bet.|- I'll bet ten.
From what I read,|you left Rincon too soon.
I don't know. That gold strike|improves nothing to damn little.
You'll miss the easy pickings.
There's no easy pickings|till they get it out of the ground.
There's no easy pickings|in Denver, either.
Ma'am.
- Ma.|- Fred.
There's only one kind|of people I don't like: strangers.
That's not a stranger,|that's progress.
Sure. They tell me he's bringing in|a long mahogany bar.
Real long. When the front end gets here,|the rear end will still be in St Louis.
You stand to lose customers.
The ones I've been getting|I'd just as soon lose.
Whatever happens over there,|my place stays the same:
good liquor,|a few card games and no girls.
- You might lose all your customers.|- Then to hell with them.
My name is Jonathan Rudd.
I come from God's House,|just a little way up the street.
The House is ready for use,|to hear God's word.
If He's only got one, I'll be there.
First services will begin|on Sunday morning at 9 a. m.
You're all invited:
the drunk, the sober,|the big and little sinners,
the clean and the unwashed.
The many who'll come to scoff|and the few who'll come to pray.
You can count on me, Parson.
I'm the dirtiest, drunkest,|most sinful fella the Lord ever saw.
There'll be a place for you.|There was a seat for Judas.
Ma'am.
- Deal.|- Who's Judas?
Let's get to gambling.
O, come, sinner, come|there's room for thee
Hark, 'tis God's home
O, come and receive salvation free
Hark, 'tis God's home
O, come and rest, come and rest
Heavy-laden guilt oppressed
O, come and rest, come and rest
Hark, 'tis God's home
Amen
Well, I see|God's House is full today.
But I don't think I've started|any religious revival.
You came here out of curiosity,|most of you.
And your curiosity was|mainly brought on by Mr Colt.
If I hadn't fired that gun, there'd be|nobody here but me and the dog.
Before I came here,|there was nobody but the dog.
You didn't seem to think you needed|a church, just a big doghouse.
But I'm here to tell you,|you need a praying place.
You want to know why? I'll tell you why.|Because you're hell-bent for hell.
The Lord saw fit|to sprinkle gold here.
Man and his greed|is turning Paradise into a pigsty.
By day he sweats|for a pinch of yellow dust,
and at night he squanders it on lust.
But let's not blame our sins|on the gold.
There was sin here|before it was found.
Just a while ago, a man was hanged,
for no reason|that ever came to light.
Nor were his murderers|ever brought to book.
They walk the streets|as free as you and I.
But their Maker knows who they are.
They can't escape from Him,|and He will punish them.
Now I say to you, mend your ways.
Your feet are already|on the downward path.
Stop!
Before the fires below devour you.
Amen.
May God bless you all.
You plan to be the conscience|of this town?
- It could use one.|- Somebody elected you?
God.
And Mr Colt, first name Samuel.|Sort of biblical, isn't it?
Mr Colt votes a lot of people in.
- He also votes a lot of them out.|- You're forgetting about God.
Why not let God do his own work?
I'm filling in for him|till he gets around to Rincon.
Well, if either of you|needs any help... call on me.
Nick Evers.
Meet me here in an hour, Stoney,|and space out those drinks.
Yes, ma'am.
- Nora.|- Mr Hurley.
The bridle broke|going home from church.
- Dad patched it but I need a new one.|- I'll fix it in a jiffy.
Thanks. I'll be back|after I finish my trading.
Mr Hurley... What did you think|of the new preacher yesterday?
A lot more than he does of this town.|Maybe the man's right.
Fred Carson must be|keeping banking hours.
But bankers don't leave|the front doors open.
He must be in the storeroom.|I'll go see.
Stay out of there!|I'm going for help.
- What the hell is that?|- Looks like Stoney had an accident.
That's no accident.|He's been strangled.
George! Sit down.
That's right out of Rincon Creek.
Funny thing about gold, it doesn't look|like gold until it gets to be money.
- Have you read about Rincon?|- Paper's full of it.
If it ain't the strike, it's Fred Carson|being drowned in a flour barrel.
- Tomorrow it'll be Stoney Burough.|- What about Stoney Burough?
Somebody gave Stoney|a new string tie.
Only it was made of barbed wire|and a little tight.
That was some unhealthy|card party I had going.
Three men dead.
- Up to now.|- Up to now?
It looks like someone's out to kill|every man at that party.
That's a good reason to avoid Rincon,|if you planned to come back.
That's what you've come|a hundred miles to tell me?
- I'd have come further.|- Thanks.
But the night I got thrown out|in the street, you never did wake up.
- I'm woke up now.|- Stay awake. When do we go back?
Back? It's you who ought to wake up.
If a man's out to kill you,|don't let him pick the time.
You go to Rincon,|he'll even pick the place.
I won't know him|till he looks for me.
You won't know him in Rincon either,|he won't wear a sign.
But I will, and then he might just|make one bad move.
Well, I guess a man's gotta be|a damn fool once in a while.
It proves he's still alive, huh?
I've seen strikes before. They eat|a town up alive. Like a snake.
Before I go to Mama's, I'll clean up.
From what I hear,|up the street there is the place for it.
Smash your baggage, mister?
- Can you find me a room?|- Mama figured you'd be back.
You still got your old room.
Van!
Take the bag up to the room,|will you, George?
I heard about Fred. It wasn't easy,|walking into that storeroom.
Walking out was the hard part.
And now Stoney Burough.|Everybody's edgy, even my father.
He's putting up a reward|for Stoney's murderer.
Like he did for Fred Carson. He won't|let me go anywhere by myself.
And look what he makes me carry.
Well it's a sure thing|you won't kill anybody.
Unless you're that close.
I'm glad you're back.|Only you didn't learn much in Denver.
You forgot some.
- You need a shave.|- I was about to.
Not in her place!|I'd sooner shave you myself.
It happens I also need a bath.
I can't help you there.
- I'll post the notices.|- Thanks, Al.
- Hello, Van.|- Mr Evers.
What do you think|of what they're doing?
What who's doing?
I just put up another $1,000|to find out, I don't know.
Tell Nick|I'll be at Mama Malone's tonight
and to bring some good|card players, he'll know who.
I'll do that.
- I thought this was a barber shop.|- What changed your mind?
You did.
Change it back.|It is a barber shop, and I own it.
I could use a shave.
If I got you for one bell,|what do I get for two?
A barber.|Hazel, this gentleman wants a shave.
Yes, Miss Langford.
Ever give any shaves yourself?
- About once every thousand faces.|- I guess I'm the wrong number.
- Good afternoon, Miss Langford.|- Afternoon, girls.
"Miscellaneous" is $20.|What's "miscellaneous"?
Something you didn't ask for.
- Do many people ask for it?|- It sells well.
Thank you, sir.
We had a seven-man poker game|that turned into a lynching party.
Now three are dead.
We're here to talk about|those three and us four.
I care only about one of the four|live ones, and that's me.
I care about the dead ones.|There never should've been a hanging.
Fred Carson was my friend, and|I could even stand Stoney Burough.
- Not you, though.|- You bleed too easy, Joe.
The hanged man was a cheat.|Stoney was a mean drunk.
Carson got paid for his hand|when he weighed anything.
Anybody at this table|could be doing these killings.
- You're not drunk, so you must be crazy.|- Shut up.
How did you figure that?
About the lynching, you could call it|a partnership in a killing.
They all sit around|and start itching, these partners.
- They wonder who'll crack first.|- Who would? It'd be his hide, too.
He'd swap his life for all the others.
If I thought anybody'd do that,|I'd kill him myself.
Sure, so would you, even you,|that's what I'm talking about.
Van doesn't believe any of that.
He's just stirring things up,|seeing what floats to the top.
I'd say Fred and Stoney|got killed by an outsider
who got even for this hanging.
- Got any proof of that?|- A little.
Do you know what I saw|in Strangers' Corner in the cemetery?
Flowers on that card cheat's grave.|Who'd do that?
- Sure not me.|- Nobody but an outsider.
Take it that way, then.
But this outsider,|this flower-picker,
how did he find out Fred and Stoney|were in the lynching party?
There's only one way he could|find out. From someone who knew.
How'd he guess|what outsider to go to?
Maybe he did a little figuring and|tracking, like I did with the flowers.
Only better.
Maybe he even saw the man|put flowers on the grave.
We're out to save our necks,
and right now I wouldn't give|two bits for the four of them.
All I know is,|I know less than when I got here.
Come on, Mace.
- I'm sorry you came back.|- I thought we were friends.
That's why I'm sorry.
Where are you going?
When I was younger,|a shave lasted a lot longer.
Good evening, ma'am.
- This place is closed.|- Was closed.
You just opened it.
It's 2 a. m. and the girls have gone.
Not all of them.|You answer to one bell?
I'm not one of the girls, Mr Morgan.
You know my name.|We meet some place before?
No. I'd have remembered.
You're very gallant for 2 a. m.|but I'm not one of the girls.
And I don't give shaves,|especially at this hour.
How about|that one face in a thousand?
The last man I liked|is three years gone.
That's a long time.|Want to tell me about him?
What's there to say? He was a man.
Well, go on.
That covered it, Mr Morgan.|He was a man.
- How'd you know who I was?|- I inquired.
Why?
- I wanted to know who you were.|- Same question. Why?
- You're asking a lot of questions.|- I don't often hear the truth.
I'm still waiting for an answer.|Why did you find out who I was?
You're a man,|which is no recommendation.
You're a gambler, which is less.
You think you're the best gambler|in the world.
And that's no recommendation at all.
But like you said, three years|is a long time, a very long time.
That's not good enough.
All right. I like you.
That's better.
Sometimes the truth|is actions, not words.
Act!
That could've led to trouble|in this town.
Prevented it.
If I was who you're worried about,|it'd be too late. I'm Jonathan Rudd.
That's my church down the street.
Van Morgan.|Pretty late for a preacher, isn't it?
We don't keep hours.|Nor does Mr Poe, that's where I've been.
The liquor's better at Mama Malone's.
I believe you're right.|But I don't go for the liquor.
I go to get people away from it,|on Sunday mornings at least.
Wind must've blown the door open.
Hey, you!|Gimme a hand, quick. Come on.
Hold him while I cut him down.
It's Mace.
- What do you want, Dad?|- I think I'll just have some coffee.
Thank you.
I think that's all I'll have, too.
I hate funerals.
Who'd want to kill Mace Jones?
Just about anybody|who ever knew him.
What would it take|to make you lose your appetite?
A bellyful.
Sometimes you don't seem|quite human.
More like you were made|in a factory or something.
If I was made by a machine|then you made it and you ran it.
Stop it, both of you. Just once!
Now to the sin of murder|we must add sacrilege.
Since coming to this town,|I've sadly had to perform
the burial of three men|who have died violently.
For the hand that slew|Fred Carson and Stoney Burough,
I sought the Lord's forgiveness.
But for the limitless evil|of him who slew Mace Jones,
I ask for limitless punishment for|he took a man's life in God's House.
Let us pray, therefore, that heaven|receives the soul of Mace Jones,
and that the soul of his killer|wander the darkness for ever.
All men being sinful and Thou just,
I pray You regard any score|against Mace Jones as even.
Strike it from Thy books|and let him sleep. Amen.
Amen.
I didn't hear you praying,|Little George.
You never will, either.|I don't believe in it.
Hey, George.
Van called the last meeting,|I am calling this one,
while we're still alive to meet.
We've paid for that hanging|three times.
We've paid for it all right.|But anybody notice how?
Three times|by some kind of strangling.
Stoney with wire, Fred smothered,|Mace got the rope.
All three of them strangled.|Which brings to mind what?
The way the card cheat died.
I still say|it's the work of an outsider
getting even for the card cheat|and an insider telling him who did it.
I don't know why it didn't hit me before|but it sure as hell hits me now.
We want the man, but we've never|looked up from the card table.
Well, I am looking up now.
And right at me, huh?
If George was going to talk,|he'd talk to the Marshal.
He'd talk where it'd do the most good,|where we wouldn't find out.
Why?|What good would it do George?
You think George likes you, Joe?|He don't like nobody.
You're the one who found that man|and told him about the card game.
Now you just tell us who he is.
I got no use for lynchers.
They ought to get|the same thing they give out.
And if I needed any killing done,|I'd do it myself.
But you're right about one thing.
I don't cotton to most people.|Least of all to you.
Why, you...!
There's a right place to stop.
I don't know if Nick is right,
but you'd best keep|your back to the wall.
And Van had better sit|right alongside him.
'Cause if I'm wrong about George,|I just might be right about him.
Everybody ought to have somebody|to say goodbye. Even you, Mace.
That sermon over Mace, you take it|hard that he died in your church.
My church?|I don't own it, I just look after it.
That night, how long were you out|before the bell rang?
I told Marshal Dana.|Why don't you ask him?
I'd like to hear it from you.
I went up to Poe's, as I said.|I saw you on the way back.
I was gone maybe an hour.
Even if you talked some, that's a long|time. Poe's is only 100 yards away.
Suppose I said I like to walk at night.
Suppose I said that's what I was doing.|You believe me?
No reason not to.
I'm glad you take my word for it,|because that's what I was doing.
What kind of man murders|in a church?
The kind that doesn't believe in God,|the kind that God doesn't scare.
No killer is scared of God, Mr Rudd.
In a church, in an alley|or behind a rock.
Watch this, sweetheart.
Left hand.
Men talk about guns|like they're women.
"She's a beauty", they say.|What's beautiful about a gun?
If you were going to do a man in,|what weapon would you use?
- It wouldn't be a gun.|- I'll bet it wouldn't.
If he was after us, we'd be dead.
"The wicked flee|where no man pursueth. "
"The righteous don't flee,|they stand like a lion. "
Yes, ma'am. That's the right quote.|Where'd you learn about the Bible?
Where'd a preacher|learn how to shoot?
Every preacher was something else|before he became a preacher.
You know, I'm tired of shooting|at tin cans and bottles.
We still have some cartridges left.
We're not going to shoot|each other, are we? How about...?
Six out of six.|Can't do better than that.
- You can only do worse.|- My shooting was way off.
- Way off? Six out of six?|- I was aiming at the spaces.
See you in church.
If every preacher was something else|first, I wonder what he was.
Everybody was something|else first, even me.
I don't know what you are now.
You don't need that gun to find out.
But maybe I need one.
Sam! I'll bank the fire. Go on home.
- Only one rig left? I'll take care of it.|- OK, Joe.
Are you still stewing|about Mace Jones?
Stewing about how I sit down|to a drink and play some cards,
and how I get up and hang a man.
Being drunk is a poor excuse.
You weren't drinking very much,|what's your excuse?
I don't lean on excuses.
Whiskey or no whiskey,|you went along.
- With you leading.|- That makes you a sheep.
A drunk sheep maybe,|but all the same.
- You were with us on that rope.|- Three men on that rope are dead.
You don't give a damn|about anybody except yourself.
When I was ten, eleven...
...my mother died.
They laid her out in the parlour and|my old man took me in to see her.
She wasn't my mother any more.
She was something busted.
She was something|that wouldn't run any more.
My old man was crying...
...but not me.
He looked up and he said,|"Where's your heart, boy?"
I didn't say anything.
So he slapped me|right across the mouth.
I still didn't say anything.
So...
...he took me out, back of the barn,
and he beat the hell out of me.
But he never drew a tear.
I think your mother was|as dead as you.
If I am dead...
...the same man killed me.
Name of Sig Evers.
Bring a glass for your friend.|I think he'll need it.
- He won't drink with you.|- Bring the glass.
Now it's reserved|for just you and me.
That's right.|These are unlucky chairs.
Are you afraid to sit down?
You sure know where to find them.
Mace Jones in the church,|Joe Hurley in the stable.
Meaning that I could've killed|both of them.
So could you. Trouble is,|so could any other man in town.
Any one of those four guys|could've blabbed to the killer.
My guess, though,|is that it's the first, Fred Carson.
Why Carson?
Figure like the killer. First,|you get the names of everybody.
Then you kill the guy|who gave them to you.
You sure want him out of the way.
You're pretty good at that,|figuring like the killer.
- Finish your drink.|- You have to start it to finish it.
That's what this meeting's about.
You're head of the Miners'|Association, so act like it.
Tell the Marshal|to stop these killings.
- No miner has been hurt.|- Not so far.
It takes two hands to pan for gold,|and you can't shoot with your teeth.
- We gotta have protection.|- All right.
- I'll see what I can do.|- All right.
- I'm doing what I can.|- We've had killings before.
But out in the open,|and we could deal with them.
This don't make sense,|and anyone can be next.
When we had two dead,|I put up $2,000.
Now we got four dead,|I'll put up $4,000.
A thousand a head, $4,000.
That's more than you make digging|gold. I don't see anyone claiming it.
We're here to ask|what you're doing about it.
I'm just a plain town marshal.
I'm not a Pinkerton detective.
I've got one deputy to help me out.
And Otis and me,|we can't cover the ground.
You can put up $1,000 an hour,|it won't give us more eyes and ears.
We need more tin stars, not rewards.
Any one of you can be sworn in.|If you find anyone else, send them in.
If you make everyone a deputy,|you'll be swearing in the killer.
I don't want any star.|But I am serving notice.
I'm wearing my gun tied down, and|if I have to, I am going to use it.
A man'd be a fool not to wear a gun|and a bigger fool to use it too fast.
Someone who meant no harm could|die reaching for a chew of tobacco.
You listen to Nick Evers and Rincon|will have more dead than Gettysburg.
I'll tell you this:
I can't control the miners much longer,|they're rounding up hotheads.
Either you do something or they will,|and I can't say I blame them.
Nick says wear your gun|and use it fast.
Mr Morgan says wear it|and use it slow.
I say don't wear it|and you won't use it at all.
- Do you wear a gun?|- Yes.
But I'll leave it at home|if everyone else does, too.
And end up|hanging by your bell-rope?
Well...
I could tell you to pray, but I don't|believe the killer answers to prayer.
I'll remind you of another thing:|all four dead men were wearing guns.
The guns didn't save them.
Can I ask you a question?|Why does a preacher put on a gun?
People get funny ideas|about a preacher.
That when he starts pounding a Bible|he stops being a man. That's not so.
But the Book doesn't say|a man can't make himself better.
So I say, leave the guns at home.
Marshal.
I hate to go in there.
Just stay away|from the flour barrels.
Are you still mad at me, Nick?
Not you, the world.
The world?
It's flat.
- Be with you quick as I can.|- Take your time, Mrs Wells.
This will make beautiful underwear.
The Chicago people say|it's from Switzerland.
Seems a shame to cover it up.
It won't be covered up|all the time, will it?
I mean, you gotta hang it|on a line some time.
You're making this young lady blush.|Did the ribbons and elastic come?
I'll look in the storeroom,|I ain't unpacked everything yet.
- Why did you think I was blushing?|- At your age I did.
Someone like you, I...
- You belong in the storeroom.|- Why?
You were about to say women|like me always wore black lace.
Yes. How else can men tell...|who they're with?
They can tell long before|they get to the underwear.
The last thing I expected|was to like you.
Thanks. Women usually|don't like women who like men.
Here it is.
I'll wrap it for you in a jiffy,|Miss Langford.
- I hope I'm not keeping you.|- No hurry, I'm getting an education.
Hey, mister.
- Say, aren't you Nick Evers?|- Yeah.
I hear you said every man|should keep his gun handy.
- That's right.|- I agree. Handy means handy.
- Yeah.|- Come on.
What's been done, huh?|Not a damn thing.
- I say we put in a new marshal.|- Right.
If we don't do something,|no one will.
- Looking for someone?|- Making sure nobody's looking for me.
Stop waving that around. Put it away.
Make this town safe|and you can have it.
You're making it unsafe.|I'll take the gun.
Oh, no.
- What would you do if I gave it back?|- I'd load it right back up again.
- Try with that.|- That ain't gonna stop me.
- I'll get another one.|- You got another.
- Drop it or I'll throw you in jail.|- No.
- You heard me. Hand it over.|- No.
Stop it, you crazy fools.
Get down.
I don't care what side you're on,|don't take it here.
All you can shoot off is your mouth.
I can't cover the side|of the street from here.
Van, don't!
- They'll kill him.|- If you can't stand it, don't watch.
I'm glad you didn't listen to yourself|and leave that home.
Sounds like the war is over,|and without me, too.
Every player has his way of going.|Some raise, some call...
...some just pass.
I owe you something.|Say it and you got it.
Come to God's House|every Sunday for a month.
That's a steep price for just my life.
- Miss Langford, meet...|- We've met.
At the window.|We were looking at the same goods.
She means you.|We were afraid you'd get shot.
- Looks like I could still get shot.|- Not by me.
I've been put out enough to do it.
You're both lying.|You could. But you couldn't.
He thinks he knows about women.
You don't, do you?|Oh, about one little thing, maybe.
How's Al?
He isn't cold,|but he won't be warm for a while.
I'm going to move him to my place.
So now we've got a dead deputy|and a shot-up marshal.
That ain't much law.
Al knows it all right.
He said for you|to get help from Denver.
All right, I'll take the next stage out.
But we need some tin|showing around here.
Is Al up to swearing in|some deputies?
- He can do that, but not much more.|- Anyone want to volunteer?
We can't ask you, Mr Rudd,|but Van, we could use your help.
I don't think so, a gambler with a star?
Some folks think no gambler is honest,|they'd call it a stealing badge.
You know why they might say that?
Because men once gambled|for the clothes of Christ.
Putting flowers|on your brother's grave.
That's what finally|gave you away to me.
Lucky the right man|happened to see me.
It didn't just happen.|I made it happen.
I was looking for the man|who was looking for me, you.
Somebody who'd talk.|You saved me a long hunt.
What were you doing|in that street this afternoon?
You're not here to stop killing,|but to kill.
I'm particular about who gets killed.
It would've been odd,|you getting yours out there today.
All right, who's next?
George, bartender at Mama Malone's.
- He was in the card game?|- It was after hours, why not?
- He was in the hanging party?|- Right up front.
Bartender George, that makes five.
You make six,|my brother makes seven.
How many more were in that game?
- Just one.|- And when do I get that name?
- After you settle with George.|- I see.
One at a time all the way, that's it?
That's it.
This name you're keeping back.|Why save him for last?
He led the hanging.
When I tried to stop him,|he used a gun butt on me.
He's last because I want him to die|once for every man in that game,
and once for himself.
Besides,|he'll be the toughest to take out.
Wouldn't like you hurt|before your job is done.
I killed those men|because they killed my brother.
What about you?|Why did you want them dead?
Because they were alive|and I didn't want to be dead.
Any one of them could've found you.
They could be doing to me|what I'm doing to them.
I see. "Do unto others. "
I've got just one rule:
me first, nobody second.
Name me somebody|who don't feel that way.
You had to do it,|if you're to keep up with Poe.
They say competition's the life|of trade. It'll be the death of me.
Don't complain,|it's closing time and we're still full.
You'd better turn in so you can|clean up this mess in the morning.
That is if you can sleep|for the racket.
I was born in a bass drum|and raised in a brass horn.
George!
Get up! Get out here|and clean up this sinkhole!
Oh, my God!
Pete, get someone|from the Marshal's office, quick.
- What for?|- Just get him. George's room.
Stand you for a cup of coffee.
- What's the matter?|- It's George.
I found him dead when|I opened up this morning.
- Pete, will you get Dr Cooper?|- Yes, sir.
Somebody shot a hole|right through George's gut.
Must've been from close up.|There's powder burns on his vest.
What bastard would do|a thing like that?
He was a mean one.
Who'd shoot a man that|was begging for his life?
He was no beggar. He wouldn't have|said "please" to live 1,000 years.
It sure looks like he's begging,|with his hands like that.
Or maybe praying,|which comes to the same.
Praying?
Not George.
The man they dug that one for|ought to be buried over there.
- In Strangers' Corner.|- George was no stranger to you.
- He sure was a strange colour.|- We all look alike to the worms.
I took you for a fool.|I made a mistake.
Big mistake. Forty-five calibre.
There had to be trouble|before I got the last name.
Sure, once you got it,|you'd kill me before you killed him.
- So instead you're going to kill me.|- It's bite or get bit, Reverend.
And I'm biting.
There's one thing you forgot.|Who'll take care of the last man?
- Van Morgan will be my pleasure.|- Van Morgan.
I've had to believe you. But I don't|believe you tried to stop that hanging.
Stop it? Hell, I led it,|just like I've been leading you.
Any last wish?|Would you like a smoke?
Would you like to say a prayer?
I would like to pray.|Not for myself, for my brother.
Go ahead.
If you can find one|to fit that card cheat.
Oh... but first, get rid of the gun.
Unknown,|found hanged March 1, 1880.
It said that in the papers, too.|Did you know that?
Get praying.
This man was lynched in Rincon,|Colorado, that's what it said.
- Then it said what he looked like.|- He looked like every second man.
Height, weight, colour of eyes, hair.
That's not what brought me|here, though.
Marshall Dana wrote something else.
Old knife scar, right shoulder.|That made it Frankie Red.
Well, Frankie. I guess they didn't|bury you with any gospel.
I'll try to make it up to you now.|This might be good for you, too.
Oh, come on,|Frankie's waiting for you in hell.
I just had a thought.
When they find you, my old man|will offer another thousand.
Only this time it'll be for me.
- Here it is.|- Come on.
Something for you... from the Book.
"'Vengeance is mine,'|sayeth the Lord. "
But this day I am the Lord,|and I repay.
I sure wouldn't want your job.
I heard about George, Van. I'm sorry.
But we've got two US marshals coming|in a week. Anything else happen?
I've got some real bad news|for you, Mr Evers. The worst.
But I don't like to tell you|on a street corner.
I think you just told me, it's...
- It's Nick, isn't it?|- He was shot.
- Nick's dead?|- Yes, honey.
- Where is he?|- Over at Doc's house.
Come on, honey.
I talked to Mr Evers|before he went home.
He'd like you at his son's funeral.
- I'll see him at the graveyard.|- The burial's gonna be at the ranch.
I'm taking the casket out there now,|the family asked me to.
If you'd like to ride along with me,|you're welcome.
I'll go by myself later on.|Catch up with you, maybe.
One for you, Nick.
Stoney.
Tinhorn.
Carson, Mace, Hurley.
And me.
I hope you win.
Can't miss.|I'm playing with six dead men.
Where are you going?
For a horseback ride.|Wanna do me a favour, Mama?
Depends.
If I'm not back by dark,|will you flip that last chair up?
- What if you do get back?|- We'll sit down and play some cards.
About time. If a man don't work,|he ain't respectable.
- Mr Rudd.|- Mr Morgan.
Last time I came to the Evers ranch,|I thought Nick was a lucky man.
"For every beast of the forest|is mine. "
You've preached a lot of funerals|lately. Got anything new?
The funeral's for the living.
I'll say that he was a good son|and brother,
a loyal friend and a good citizen.
- Won't you gag on all that?|- Why should I?
I'm a gambler, and I don't always|bank on my cards or I'd be broke.
Like your opponents.
Every once in a while,|something comes out of the air,
and says something in your ear.
- An hour ago it landed.|- What did it say?
It said, "This is it, play it. "
Well, then, play it.
You're the killer of Nick Evers|and all the rest.
Make that executioner,|of the criminals who killed my brother.
They hanged him for just|some fast work with some cards.
George wasn't in the game.
Nick Evers swore|he held that rope and so did you.
George wasn't there,|and neither was I.
So Nick was the one who talked.
Looking back, he was due to go bad.|I thought he was too smart to get killed.
Nobody's too smart for that,|not even you.
And not even you, Mr Rudd.
You left George for dead, but he lived|to say something with his hands.
It didn't come to me till you turned|that last chair over at the card table.
George wasn't praying,|he wasn't begging.
He was trying to show|who killed him, a man who prayed.
You won't be reading over Nick|'cause I'm taking you in.
There'll be no trouble,|Mr Morgan. But...
...if you don't mind, first I'd like|to read the rest of that psalm...
...about the thousand hills.
Well, read.|Or can't you read upside down?
If that's a Bible, read it.|If not, drop it.
Mr Rudd's the man we've been|looking for, Mr Evers, the killer.
Of Nick, too? But why?
I don't know about the others, but|I think Nick got onto him like I did.
I won't see your father again,|so would you say "so long" for me?
I will, Van. But I don't think|he'll ever get over Nick.
- You'd better, though.|- I'll try.
But it's not like a bullet.|A bullet kills you or you heal up.
- It's the first time you didn't say it.|- Say what?
That I'd be back.
That's right. Do you know why?
'Cause you don't give a damn|any more.
I do. But this is the first time|I haven't been sure you'll be back.
Cards, dice and anything else,|you're never sure of it.
One thing is:|I give a damn about you.
A big damn.
Strange about Rudd.|He could've kept this place going.
So what was he|before he was a preacher?
Maybe he always was a preacher.
Lily, I'll see you in Denver|in about a week, you know where.
If I'm not coming,|I'll send you a four-flush.
Why must you be|the first to say goodbye?
I don't know if this is goodbye.
I'm used to the truth from you,|a yes or a no.
This time the truth is maybe.
Give me a kiss.|That'll last me a week.
- What if you don't show up?|- That'll mean the kiss wore off.
If you're not made of iron,|I'll see you in Denver.
You sure didn't feel like iron.