All language subtitles for Remington Steele s01e20 Steeles Gold.eng

[Laura]
Try this for a deep, dark secret...

The great detective
Remington Steele?

He doesn't exist.
I invented him.

Follow...
I always loved excitement.

So I studied and apprenticed...

and put my name on an office.

But absolutely nobody
knocked down my door.

A female private investigator
seemed so... feminine.

So I invented a superior.

A decidedly masculine superior.

Suddenly, there were cases
around the block.

It was working like a charm.

Until the day he walked in...

with his blue eyes
and mysterious past.

And before I knew it...

he assumed
Remington Steele's identity.

Now I do the work,
and he takes the bows.

It's a dangerous way to live...

but as long as people buy it...

I can get thejob done.

We never mix business
with pleasure.

Well, almost never.

I don't even know his real name.

[Coughs]

Oh, how I love a costume party, eh?

The choice of one's costume is often determined
by the true style of the inner man.

- Wouldn't you agree, Murphy?
- I'm gonna get you for this.

Now, Murphy, if something
is worth doing, it's worth doing right.

Psst. Mmm?

Excellent.
Come along, Laura. Duty awaits.

[Laura]
I'm not coming out like this.

Now, Laura, how do you propose
to guard Miss Kilbride's collection...

of Old California artifacts
hidden behind that wall?

I told you not to put him in charge
of getting the costumes, Laura.

It's all they had left in our size.

Besides, you look rather
fetching in a cottontail.

Oh, no.

It's a theme party...
Old California.

Miss Kilbride merely said
to come in costume.

We're supposed to mingle
with the guests?

Look inconspicuous?

Well, let's try not to draw
attention to ourselves, eh?

- Mr. Steele.
- Ah, Miss Kilbride.

How clever of you to know
that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle...

the creator of Sherlock Holmes,
once visited California.

- [Chuckling]
- I don't quite understand...

uh, the rabbit
and the clown however.

Uh, what most people
don't know, Miss Kilbride...

is that Sir Francis Drake's childhood fantasy
was to be a clown.

And, of course, Kit Carson often survived
in the wilderness on nothing but rabbit.

Then, Mr. Michaels is here
as Sir Francis Drake's fantasy...

and Miss Holt
as Kit Carson's lunch?

[Clears Throat]
Precisely.

- [Woman Screams]
- [Men Grunting]

Stop that Zorro!

Eight...

ty...

Ioons.

Eighty loons?

Eighty loons, indeed.

I'm most distressed, Miss Holt.
Most distressed.

Believe me, Miss Kilbride,
we at the Remington Steele Agency...

are also distressed
by what happened last night.

I don't blame you, mind.

It must have been very difficult
trying to run in those bunny shoes.

Yes. Well, won't you sit down?

[Clears Throat] We've run
an inventory on your collection...

and nothing seems
to be missing.

- Except the journal.
- What journal?

Oh, while you were so ably protecting
my collection of California artifacts...

some scoundrel
broke into my library...

and stole the journal
of a prospector named Arnold Dobbs.

- Was it valuable?
- Not at all.

Some geology students found it
in the San Jacinto Mountains and sent it to me.

Just the scratchings of a nomad.

Or something to kill for.

- Mr. Michaels and I will get right on it.
- And Mr. Steele.

I gather he's quite the cat's pajamas
at this sort of affair.

Ah, yes, of course.
That's our Mr. Steele, the cat's pajamas.

Loons.

Eighty loons.

Code perhaps?

Something like The 39 Steps?

Then again,
it could be 80 lunatics.

[Phone Ringing]

Steele here.

If you want to know more
about those 80 loons...

you'll meet me
at the Macao Bar... now.

The dead man's name
was Dan Curtin...

a drifter, in and out of jail.

Nothing very interesting
about him except his eyes.

- His eyes?
- Yeah, one green, one brown.

Laura, this is it.

According to the license plate numbers
on security's log sheet...

this car was at
Miss Kilbride's party last night.

Ah, you got your eye
on the LTD, huh?

Well, if you picked that car
out of this bunch...

I can see that I'm dealing
with a couple of crafty gringos.

It's the peach of the crop.
My name's Felix.

- Murietta?
- Junior.

- Murietta?
- Junior.

Yes, this little chiquita,
she's got everything...

power steering, power brakes,
whitewalls.

- What else do you need to know about it?
- What was she doing...

at Sylvia Kilbride's
party last night?

You the bunny rabbit?

I thought I recognized you.

And you, you the jerk
in the Sherlock Holmes outfit?

No, I was the, uh...
Never mind.

Mr. Murietta, you were an uninvited guest
at a party where a man was murdered.

- I had nothing to do with that.
- Then you won't mind telling us why you were there.

I'm interested in Old California.
My family's been here a long time...

and I just wanted
to look at the exhibit.

It'll be open to the public this weekend.
You couldn't wait?

We Latinos are a, uh,
hot-blooded, impulsive race.

That's not
a very convincing answer.

- What costume were you wearing last night?
- Why don't you get off my lot?

Uh, unless of course, uh,
you're really interested in the LTD.

I think you're a hustler.

A cheat!

And besides,
I think you talk funny.

- [Groaning]
- Oh, sorry, old chap.

All that talk
ruined my concentration.

Eighty loons?

Men's room.

Of course.

Eighty loons?

What you're looking for
belongs to me.

- Oh, oh, you own the loons.
- Stay out of it...

or you and your bunny rabbit friend
could get hurt.

You were at a party,
perhaps dressed as Zorro?

[Growls]

- Mr. Steele?
- [Whimpers]

[Irish Accent] Mr. Steele? Emmett DeVore,
sea captain, poet, barrister, retired.

It was me who called you.

I cleverly hid meself
under a table...

until he left.

Lou Cody, he's
a miserable lowlife bum...

who claims to own
what's rightfully mine.

- The loons?
- Not loons, Mr. Steele.

- Doubloons, Mr. Steele.
- Oh.

Gold doubloons.

Tut, tut, tut.

- Well, so far so good.
- What do you mean?

At least the intrepid Mr. Steele
hasn't stuck his big nose into this case yet.

Miss Holt. Mr. Michaels.
Please come in. Mr. Steele is already here.

Ah, is it the bunny rabbit and the clown?
[Laughs]

Ah, Laura, Murphy, uh, ahem,
may I present Captain Emmett DeVore.

Soldier, philanthropist,
archaeologist, C.P.A., retired.

Do sit down.

Captain DeVore has shed some light
on last night's tragedy.

Were you an invited guest,
Captain DeVore?

Uh, well, uh, not exactly.

Captain DeVore
read in the papers...

that I have in my possession
Arnold Dobbs's journal.

- So, he came to protect his interest.
- Interest in what?

- Doubloons.
- Eighteenth-century Toledo mint to be exact.

That one coin is worth
well over a thousand dollars.

I'm telling you...
Dobbs thought it would take...

at least four burros
to bring the rest in.

Emmett staked Mr. Dobbs
to his last unfortunate expedition.

In exchange,
he was given this document.

As you can see, Miss Holt, it guarantees me
one half of the treasure of the San Jacintos.

[Kilbride]
The treasure probably consists of doubloons...

robbed from a Spanish caravan
by the Muriettas in 1787.

- The Muriettas?
- [Emmett] A family ofbandidos.

They have terrorized this state for generations
with their thievin' and murderin'.

I mean, heaven knows
what they're up to now.

They own a used car lot
in the Valley.

They've stooped that low,
have they?

Felix Murietta Jr.
Was at the party last night.

He was? No doubt he was after my gold.
Do you know what I'm thinkin'?

It wouldn't surprise me
if it was him who killed Dan Curtin.

Tell me what you know
about Dan Curtin.

Dan Curtin.

Dan Curtin. Well...
Well, he was a liar and a thief.

And I always had
a great dislikin' for him.

Enough to kill him?

Mr. Michaels,
if I was a murderer...

would I make a great detective
like Remington Steele a partner in me claim?

A-A partner in your claim?

In exchange for his services.
Isn't that right?

- Of course.
- Yes, of course.

Mr. Steele, might I confer with you
for a moment?

Certainly. Certainly.
If you will excuse us both?

[Bell Ringing]

Somebody's tripped the alarm
for the collection.

Will somebody get
this clown off of me?

So, I overdid the research.
Do you have to dislocate my arm?

Since when is breaking and entering
necessary for research?

I'm a freelance writer,
working on the Zorro murder.

Sylvia Kilbride
wouldn't talk to me on the phone.

Oh, hell.

I wanted a headline so badly.

I'm really ashamed of myself.

Not bad. Schoolgirl guilt,
stammering and "blushy."

I'm telling the truth.

My name is Lois Grubaums, and my father
taught me never to lie. He was a minister.

Well then, maybe your father, the minister,
will be glad to post bail for you.

All right, I admit it.

I'm not who I pretend to be.

[Steele Clears Throat]

- God, you're good, Mr. Steele.
- Hmm?

You saw right through me,
didn't you?

[Chuckles]
A man in my business...

quickly learns
to spot a liar, hmm.

My real name is Kitty Dobbs.

Dobbs.

Arnold Dobbs was my father.

I was his illegitimate daughter.

His child from a month of passion
with my mother...

in the goldfields
of Alaska in 1953.

In the goldfields
of Alaska in 1953.

He loved me.
He sent money when he could.

When he struck it rich,
he promised to make me a queen.

But now I live in a one-bedroom
in Canoga Park.

Oh, I appeal to you, Mr. Steele.

The doubloons are rightfully mine.

Look into my eyes.

Among the Eskimos from the great north
where I was spawned...

green is the color of honesty.

All I ask is the chance
to stand before you...

stripped bare... naked.

With the truth.

I'll certainly make that
a top priority, Miss Dobbs.

So, how's her story?

Spawn of the north.
I smell fish in the air.

I came up with another one of those uninvited
license plates at Miss Kilbride's party.

Ever hear of Chance McCormick?

- Another grizzled prospector?
- Close, but no cigar.

McCormick's a professional
gold hunter, but he uses...

Computers.

Whatever happened
to the legends of strongmen...

working only with picks
and shovels, eh?

I mean, for me, McCormick's
gold-hunting computers...

lack the... the human obsession.

The obsession of men
like your Captain DeVore?

Laura, I've already told you...
my partnership with Emmett DeVore...

is merely a way for us
to keep tabs on him.

My gold-hunting days
are way in the past.

Your mysterious past
includes prospecting?

Oh, a hobby.
Nothing more.

[Computerized Voice]
Names, please.

Computer-controlled door?

[Clears Throat]
Uh, Remington Steele. Uh, Laura Holt.

[Computer] You do not have to shout.
I am not deaf. Proceed.

All these machines, it's like a...

- Metropolis?
- What?

[Computer]
Metropolis. Directed by Fritz Lang.

UFA Studios. Berlin. 1926.

The great mass of inferior humans
become slave workers...

dominated by superior machines.

- Bet you can't name the actors.
- Alfred Abel.

Gustav Frohlich.
Rudolf Klein-Rogge.

Hmm. Not bad for a computer.

[Steele]
Uh, Mr. McCormick?

Um, Chance McCormick?

- Let me try.
- Oh, go ahead.

Gold.

Joke? Inappropriate.

You're Steele. This is Holt.

My Alpha 7500 told me
you were on your way.

Alpha 7500?

Sounds like
a radioactive dog food.

The Alpha 7500 is just the best
little data exchange system west of I.B.M.

He monitored
your conversation coming here.

So, you think
I killed Dan Curtin...

with my little Zorro sword, eh?

- Foolish.
- You were at Miss Kilbride's party.

Did you know Dan Curtin?

I know everyone
who's anyone in the gold business.

Dan Curtin was a scavenger.

A dirty fingernailed gold digger.

An odd vilification,
considering your own profession.

Profession is right, Mr. Steele.

Follow me.

I've rented myself a piece
of an Italian earth survey satellite.

It sends radio beams right through
the ground right back to me.

Copper and tin, uranium,
and the big "G"...gold.

- Impressed? I'll say.
- An Italian satellite?

Hey, you gotta start somewhere.

And the doubloons
from the San Jacinto Mountains?

- I'm working on them.
- Without much success apparently.

You know, it's ironic.
All this technology...

and you're in the same boat
as everyone else.

You need the scratchings
of an old prospector to find that gold.

Show Sherlock
and the bunny rabbit out.

This interview is terminated.

[Sighs]

Senor Murietta?
Ah, buenos dias.

Uh, this is Remington Steele.

Sherlock Holmes.
That's right, yes.

Excuse me?

Gremlins?

Oh, I see. No, I'm not actually calling
about automobiles. L...

Well, that does sound
like quite a steal, but actually l...

No, racing stripes
wouldn't make a difference.

Uh, Senor Murietta,
I wish to inform you that, um...

we have recovered
the missing journal, mm-hmm.

Let me see if I understand this.
He called all the suspects...

and told them we had the journal
in the office safe?

And he expects the innocent people to try
and steal it, but not the guilty party.

Because he or she already has it.

I must admit... it does make
a peculiar kind of sense.

Don't you think he's becoming
a little too involved in this case, Laura?

Well, he does have
previous experience with... gold.

I thought as much.

Did you see the way his eyes lit up
when DeVore started talking about the gold?

Like a couple of doubloons.

How high do you think his trust quotient
is on this case, Laura?

About the same as it is
on anything else.

Oh, that bad, huh?

[Whispers]
Someone's coming.

I can't believe
this is actually working.

Oh.
[Laughs]

You know, that's a fine lock
you got there.

- Oh, yeah.
- Uh...

What I was doing, l-I, uh,
I was checking to see...

if the journal was tucked away safe and sound
from them thievin' hands.

- Oh.
- Well, I see it is.

And I'll be on me way.

Lou Cody was the only one
who didn't try to break in.

- I can't believe it actually worked.
- Ergo...

Cody has the journal.

- He's gone for the gold.
- My machete will taste his blood.

The man's a devil,
and someone should stop him.

Mm. [Clears Throat]
Miss Holt, um...

- I know what he's gonna ask.
- You do?

Mm-hmm. Now that we know
it's Cody, what do we do with them?

I was interested
in Laura's thoughts on the subject.

Let 'em go.

There you go, Murphy.
We let 'em go.

I want you to give
Miss Kilbride an update.

Tell her we've identified
the man who has the journal.

And you take me to the place
where you first bumped into Cody.

Perhaps Murphy and I should go.
It's hardly the ambience for a young...

Don't be ridiculous.
I'm a private investigator.

- It's my job to fit in everywhere.
- Mm, right.

- What a pesthole.
- Lookin' for me, honey?

If you'd feel more comfortable,
you can wait in the car.

Hey, this is Laura Holt, P.I.

Let's sweat some info
out of these turkeys and split.

Whatever you say, big fella.

We don't get
too many lookers in here.

- Do you mind?
- No.

- [Moaning]
- [Grunting]

- I'm looking for Lou Cody.
- Oh, he left a couple of hours ago.

- I'm looking for Lou Cody.
- Oh, he left a couple of hours ago.

- Did he say where he was going?
- Yeah.

- Where was that?
- How 'bout another smooch?

How 'bout a shot of bourbon, eh?

Well, if that's
the best I can promote.

Uh, bartender,
a shot of bourbon for Molly.

Thanks.

Lou Cody? Hmm?

Now, was it, um...

- Ojai or Oxnard?
- Well...

Bakersfield?

Barstow?

Burbank?

Let me get this straight.

The object of this game
is to get those balls...

into these pockets
with this little ball?

- Uh-huh.
- Okay.

[Grunts]

Last call.

Oh, thanks for the drink.

Uh-huh.

I gotta go close up now.

Uh, Lou Cody.

He went to Howardville.

Howardville.

[Steele]
Howardsville, eh?

Seems deserted.

[Rattling]

[Clears Throat]

Blood.

Never a good sign.

- [Steele] It's Lou Cody.
- And Arnold Dobbs's journal.

A contact lens.
Tinted green.

Hmm? Yes.

Shouldn't be too difficult to determine
which of our suspects fits that prescription...

once we return to civilization.

From the trail of blood,
Lou Cody was shot in here.

And once the killer was gone,
he obviously tried to make his way back...

to where he hid the journal.

Gold fever's
a frightful disease, Laura.

It can turn an honest, decent man
into a treacherous, devious animal...

bent on destroying anything
that stands in his way.

Are you speaking from experience?

Treasure of the Sierra Madre.
Uh, Humphrey Bogart, Walter Huston.

Warner Bros. Um, 1948.

What are you doing?

Just trying to make things cozy.
I, uh... [Clears Throat]

I thought we could have a relaxing evening,
and then get some rest.

After all, we have to
catch a killer in the morning.

Where's my sleeping bag?

I, um, I thought theJeep
was a trifle overcrowded...

so I only packed
one sleeping bag.

You only brought
one sleeping bag?

Yes.

Then where are you going to sleep?

Laura, the mountain air
can freeze a man to death.

We must huddle together for warmth.

Use the heat of our bodies
to ward off the bitter chill of the night air.

Well, in the interest of survival.

Yeah. Cin-cin.

- Mmm.
- Mm-hmm.

- Okay.
- Okay.

- Oh.
- Yes.

Okay.

[Zipper Zips]

[Laughs]
Close quarters.

Yes, delightfully cramped.

Our bodies should have
no trouble generating a veritable bonfire...

of live-giving heat.

There we go.

Okay.

Listen to this.

"I saw them again today.

"They are definitely after the gold...

"Red Neck and Two Eyes.

"I have never seen such as him...

"with one eye
as green as the grass...

and the other
as dark as his soul."

Dan Curtin had one green eye
and one brown eye.

- I wonder who Red Neck was.
- [Kisses]

Don't know. Skip to the part where Dobbs
tells where he hid the gold.

Just how much of a hobby
was this gold hunting of yours?

You know how I am
around shiny objects.

I can't resist them.

For instance,
your shimmering eyes.

Did gold ever turn you into a...

treacherous, devious animal?

Your glistening lips.

Bent on destroying
anything that...

stood in...

- [Wind Whistling]
- [Man Laughing Wildly]

Who is that?

It sounds like
Captain Emmett DeVore.

I've heard laughter like that
before in the jungles of the Yucatan.

It's the sound of a man made mad
with the vision of...

- Gold?
- [Man Laughing]

Then again, he could just be
remembering a good joke.

If he's the killer,
then he has a gun.

And if he's not,
why bother him? Hmm?

We've gotta take turns sleeping.

Two people have died already
for this journal.

Really? I didn't feel like in the mood
for sleep anyway.

- Good. Then you can take the first watch.
- Thank you.

[Groans]

[Man Laughing]

Well, Emmett...

it certainly sounds like you're having
a better time than I am.

What's she doing here?

I, uh, made a mistake.

I told her Lou Cody
was up here with the journal.

- Swell.
- Oh. What's she doing here?

I have come to claim the gold on behalf
of the California State Historical Society.

- Oh, swell.
- Do you have the journal, Mr. Steele?

Yes, yes, Miss Kilbride,
I have it.

Have a look, Laura.
He's wearing glasses.

We may not have to wait till
we get back to civilization to bag our killer.

You know, you drive
like a typical gringo.

Hard to keep up with, but easy to follow.
I could see your dust for miles.

And where you going in this?
A bar mitzvah?

I warn you, Senor Murietta.
That gold belongs to the State of California.

My great-great-
great-great-grandfather...

Pepe Murietta,
stole that gold.

And what my ancestor steals
is morally mine.

- Interesting logic.
- I come from a very proud family, Mr. Steele.

We were once the finest bandidos
north of Guadalajara.

Now we're reduced
to hustling used LTDs.

But with that gold, my family
could regain a piece of its noble past.

Who knows? We might even get into,
uh, Datsuns and Toyotas.

- So is she.
- What?

Wearing glasses.

You almost lost me at the fork...

but I just followed
the smell of the mules.

[Sniffs]

At least I thought
it was the mules.

[Helicopter Approaching]

They're all wearing glasses.

This isn't going to be
the ophthalmological piece of cake we thought.

Competition.
I love it.

Being the first one to the gold
wouldn't be half as much fun...

if I didn't know there was
a string of losers trailing behind.

No one is going to find that gold
without Arnold Dobbs's journal.

And I'm happy to say it safely resides
in the hands of my representative...

Mr. Remington Steele.

As long as you have that journal, Steele,
you'll have a shadow.

- Make it two.
- Tres.

Mr. Steele would rather die
than give up the journal.

Mm-hmm. Nicely put,
Miss Kilbride.

Inaccurate, but nicely put.

You rotten lowlife scum!

Don't you give me that!
You want the gold as much as I do!

I found that journal
and what it brings is mine!

I don't need no stinkin' partner!

And you watch your back, lady,
'cause I'm gonna be breathing down it.

Miss Holt?

- [Growls]
- Extraordinary performance.

The slap was inspired.
The chair was magnificent.

Murphy, of course,
well, he was a bit wooden...

but played well enough
for the provinces.

I want them to think
he's against us, so they'll confide in him...

- when we go after the gold.
- Aha.

- Now we're talking, eh?
- Only to find the murderer.

Oh, yes, of course, of course.
The gold is secondary.

Tertiary.
A mere afterthought.

For goodness sake, get a handkerchief.
You're starting to drool.

Hmm?

All right!
Who sabotaged my chopper?

His injector.

- [Clears Throat]
- [Man Laughing]

Captain DeVore,
we're leaving now.

- [Braying]
- [Engine Not Starting]

Transportation problems,
Mr. Steele?

Well, it just so happens
I have some real cream puffs for sale here.

- How much.
- Five hundred.

- Seems a little steep.
- Well, in that case...

- there's the subcompact model.
- We'll take top of the line.

Well, I think I can piece
enough together...

to get us going
in a general direction.

As long as they tag along
and Emmett isn't far behind...

we'll have all the suspects
together.

Maybe we can find out
who's missing that contact lens.

Yes, well, let's try
to do this as expeditiously as possible.

Having a determined killer at our backs
isn't the most comforting thought.

"Red Neck and Two Eyes
are closing in for the kill.

I will head due north away from our camp
so that Blackie can hide the gold."

- Who's Blackie?
- Apparently Dobbs had a friend with him on that final trek.

This Blackie is charged with secreting the gold
in an old Indian burial ground.

The gold can wait.
Right now I need a little diversion...

that only the inimitable
Remington Steele can provide.

-
- Psst.

- Psst. Miss Dobbs.
- What do you want?

- You knew I'd come.
- I did?

Oh, ever since
that first day in my office...

I've been tormented
with visions of us together.

Come.

The moment I looked
into your Eskimo green eyes...

Your Eskimo brown eyes, l...

Your one green eye,
your one brown eye.

That green contact lens was yours.

You dropped it in the saloon.

That's an unusual
genetic trait you have.

The journal speaks of someone
with one green eye and one brown eye.

All right.
I'm not Arnold Dobbs's daughter.

I'm Dan Curtin's daughter, and I want revenge
on the person who killed my father.

- Lou Cody perhaps, huh?
- No!

All I found in that saloon
was a pool of blood.

Help, thief!

Watch the food!

[Donkey Brays]

Epic battle, Mr. Steele.

Yes, it was rather
John Wayne-ish, wasn't it?

Congratulations, Duke.

You just managed to destroy
the entire camp...

chase away the pack animals
and lose all the supplies.

Oh, well then, it appears I've done
all I can for this evening.

I think I'll turn in, eh?

[Steele Groaning]

Wonder what set
Felix off like that.

I was merely reading aloud
from Mr. Dobbs's journal.

He was reminiscing in the most torrid terms
about his Mexican lady friend.

Called her his little
sierra tesora.

When Senor Murietta heard that...

he went quite bananas.

I'm afraid we'll see more of that
as we get closer to the gold.

Ouch.
Where's the journal now?

Last place
anyone would suspect...

on Miss Kilbride's gentle person.

And I'll blast the first bugger
who tries to get his thieving hands on it.

- Her too?
- Hmm.

Eventually the fever infects everyone.

- Tsk, tsk, tsk. Really.
- Come here.

- Don't spit on it, please.
- I won't.

They're gone.
They're all gone.

Sylvia too.
And Murphy.

[Man Coughing]
Help. Help.

[Coughing Continues]

Perhaps Murphy should brush up
on his Stanislavsky.

Apparently they didn't buy his performance
as the gold-crazed traitor.

[Groans]
Water! Water!

We all need water, Murphy.
Come on.

Everybody except him.

Look at him.
All he wants is the gold!

- The pressure's too much for you, Murphy.
- Too much for me!

Don't make me laugh.

You wanna leave me behind...

and keep all the gold
for yourself, don't you?

Laura, I think now would be
an appropriate time to seek some shelter.

Canadian Air Force exercises.
You watch. Hut, hut, hut!

Sugar Ray Leonard, huh?

A right.! A left.!
And a right, a left.! A right.!

[Groaning]

Champagne?

Champagne.
[Groans]

I know what you're thinking.

- Uh-huh. Where are they?
- Oh, I'm not in league with them, sir.

No, I simply went ahead, all by myself,
to scout the lay of the land.

To be your pathfinder, so to speak.
Your Hawkeye.

He's a liar.
I found this on his mule.

[Kilbride]
I don't understand.

When Captain DeVore came to me
in the night and asked me for thejournal...

he assured me that Mr. Steele simply wanted
us to be a step ahead of the others.

And it wasn't stealing,
no, no, not when the gold...

so clearly belongs
to Emmett DeVore.

Oh, sure, and now I suppose
you're gonna say you haven't even found it.

Hey, steady on, old chum.
Why don't you just take a snooze in the shade?

Why?

So you can all go on ahead
and find the gold without me?

I know you wanna bury me
out here like a dog.

Murphy, please rest!
You're not yourself.

No, not "Go get the autopsy
reports" Murphy anymore, huh?

You think I don't see through
your little scheme?

I'm wise to you guys.
I'm gonna find the gold!

- We better follow him.
- Oh, Murphy.

Oh, my God.

Dobbs's gold.

- [Clanging]
- It's mine! It's all mine!

Where's the rest of it? There's gotta be more.
This can't be all there is.

It's a trick.
It's a dirty rotten filthy trick!

- Murphy, get a grip on yourself.
- That hurt.

"The last will and testament."
The beneficiary is...

Arnold Dobbs?

He left his worldly
possessions to himself?

This isn't Dobbs's will.
"I...

Emmett DeVore,
being of sound mind"...

If that's Emmett DeVore,
then who's...

- Arnold!
- So, you're Arnold Dobbs, eh?

- [Kitty] He's Arnold Dobbs?
- He can't be Arnold Dobbs.

- Arnold Dobbs is dead.
- [No Accent] You're good, Mr. Steele.

Really good.
I'll give you that.

I see you've lost
your brogue, Mr. Dobbs.

Emmett DeVore was a son of the sod.
I, on the other hand, was born in Hackensack.

- Care to explain?
- We were out here forever.

Days were passing, provisions were scarce.
The sun was driving us mad.

And then we hit upon a plan.
Blackie, the real Emmett DeVore...

decided to stow the doubloons
in an old Indian burial ground...

while I rode hell-bent for leather
in a great cloud of dust...

leading Dan Curtin and Lou Cody
on a wild-goose chase.

Then Lou Cody was
the second man after you.

Red Neck we used to call him.
He always wore a red bandana around his neck.

That man was relentless.

And when you escaped these mountains,
you kept the name Emmett DeVore, right?

It was sure a hell of a lot safer
than being Arnold Dobbs.

I mean, they'd never
stop looking for him.

That's what Dan Curtin was trying
to tell us right before he died?

Not "80 loons,"
"A.D. Doubloons."

A.D. For Arnold Dobbs.

And so you killed my father rather than
have him expose your true identity.

No, child.
He only said A. D...

because it was such a shock
to still see me alive and kicking.

- Murderer!
- No! No! You don't...

- No, no, no, no!
- You don't understand. You don't understand.

No. Don't kill him until we find out
where the gold is.

If you're Arnold Dobbs,
then you wrote the journal?

- Yeah.
- Why does it say "sierra tesora'"?

Well, that was a nickname for a friend of mine
that I knew a long, long time ago.

It means "mountain treasure."

My mother's gringo lover
used to call her that.

- Where were you in '52?
- Sonoma.

IAy, caramba.!
I was born in Sonoma in 1952.

Son?

- Son!
- i: Papi.!

Some kids have all the luck.

Who are all these people?

Well, you see, Miss Kilbride...

Kitty Curtin assumed
the name of Dobbs...

in order to seek revenge
on her father, um, Dan Curtin's killer...

while, um, Arnold Dobbs...

took the name ofhis partner,
Emmett DeVore...

in order to avoid being killed
by Dan Curtin and Lou Cody.

Thank heavens you're who you say
you are, Mr. Steele.

[Snickers, Clears Throat]
Well, ordinarily...

the sight of a long-lost son
rushing to his father's bosom...

might reduce me to strong emotion;
however, it doesn't, uh...

bring us any closer
to finding our killer.

- Not to mention the gold.
- Let me see that bandana.

- Not to mention the gold.
- Let me see that bandana.

That's Lou Cody's bandana.

Where did you get this?

Uh, McCormick's helicopter.
I wrapped the injector in it.

Of course. The killer
obviously took it from Lou Cody's body...

probably to wipe his hands
after he searched him for the journal.

So, you killed Lou Cody.

- And my father.
- Why?

Why else?
For the gold.

I'm going broke
with those farkuckt computers.

You know how much those Italians charge
for their lousy satellite?

I haven't had a strike in six years.
I wasn't about to let this one get away.

Whoever you had to kill for it, eh?

I'm taking the mules and the water...

and thejournal
and that satchel.

Now!

It'll be a long time
before anyone finds you up here.

By then you'll just be
a bunch of bleached bones.

- Murphy, he's got the gold.
- Gold!

You murderer!

Epic battle, Miss Holt.

- Look, enough of this stupid detective business.
- Hey, hey, hey!

- Where's the gold?
- Okay, okay. It's all right, Son.

Now if my calculations are right...

that Indian burial ground
is right over that rise.

They built a shopping center
over my gold?

[Hysterical Laughing]

[Laughter Continues]

[Mews]

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