Kane: I sent a man up five years ago for murder. He was supposed to hang. But up North, they commuted it to life and now he's free. I don't know how. Anyway, it looks like he's coming back.
Amy: I still don't understand.
Kane: ...He was always wild and kind of crazy. He'll probably make trouble.
Amy: But that's no concern of yours, not anymore.
Kane: I'm the one who sent him up.
Amy: Well, that was part of your job. That's finished now. They've got a new marshal.
Kane: He won't be here until tomorrow. Seems to me I've got to stay. Anyway, I'm the same man with or without this. (He pins his badge on his vest.)
Amy: Oh, that isn't so.
Kane: I expect he'll come lookin' for me. Three of his old bunch are waiting at the depot.
Amy: That's exactly why we ought to go.
Kane: They'll just come after us, four of 'em, and we'd be all alone on the prairie.
Amy: We've got an hour.
Kane: What's an hour?...What's a hundred miles? We'd never be able to keep that store, Amy. They'd come after us and we'd have to run again, as long as we live.
Amy: No we wouldn't, not if they didn't know where to find us. Oh Will! Will, I'm begging you, please let's go.
Kane: I can't.
Amy: Don't try to be a hero. You don't have to be a hero, not for me.
Kane: I'm not trying to be a hero. If you think I like this, you're crazy.
Blackfive talks about cowboys in general and one cowboy in particular.
When I was young growing up in Oklahoma a cowboy was a good thing to be. That was before the yankees and city slickers decided to make it a bad thing, a reckless and unilateral thing. After all cowboys do not care about consensus or committees or sucking up. Once upon a time Cowboys defined what was best about America.
7 comments:
Terrye,
"Once upon a time Cowboys defined what was best about America."
Assuming they are reasonably well raised, they still do.
ed:
I should hope so. If they are not too tame.
"Once upon a time Cowboys defined what was best about America."
Well, if you ignore the holes punched in the dorm walls. Some cowboys these days are drifters, and I suspect it was always so.
But I get your point, and admit to a certain pride in a picture of three of my great uncles herding cattle in Texas back around 1900.
Not forever, Skook.
Ah, give me the Old West over this shit, anytime.
But, air conditioning, i want that. And a fridge. and a tv.
buddy,
Don't forget a good fast Internet connection.
"Didn't I tell you he'd not shoot?" the dealer pursued with complacence. "You got ready to dodge. You had no cal to be concerned. He's not the kind a man need feel anxious about."
The player looked over at the Virginian, doubtfully. "Well," he said, "I don't know what you folks would call a dangerous man."
"Not him!" exclaimed the dealer, with admiration. "He's a brave man. That's different."
The player seemed to follow this reasoning no better than I did.
"It's not a brave man that's dangerous," continued the dealer. "It's the cowards that scare me."
—Owen Wister, The Virginian
Owen's ideal, however reality-based, was born in print of the fictive variety ten or so years after "the thieves brought ruin on themselves as well" and had a good sixty year run, but then a guy named Peckinpah killed him at the end of Ride the High Country and this time, in moving pictures of the fictive variety, he wasn't resurrected (though he had a long death scene on the small screen.) Enter the Man With No Name and the Wild Bunch.
Well, sir, you are a cowardly son of a bitch! You just shot an unarmed man!
Well, he should have armed himself if he's going to decorate his saloon with my friend.
Tonight I can read The Virginian and/or Cities of the Plain and watch Ride the High Country and/or Unforgiven.
It's all good.
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