All language subtitles for S1E37-The John Wilbot Story

Oh, Mr. Booth,
was that a gunshot?

What's... what's
happened in there?

He asked me to hold his horse.

Who?

John Wilkes Booth, the actor.

Ho!

Whew.

Well, one thing, Major,
it can't get any hotter.

You hope not.

Well, I'd better get started.

Bill, get my horse, will you?

All right, sir.

What's the stop for?

Well, Flint,

I don't figure
we ought to go any further

without somebody out in front.

I'll saddle up.

No, you don't,
not with that shoulder.

Well, it's not getting any better
riding one of these flower grinders.

Now I know why it took so
long for your back to heal.

Well, maybe now you can begin to
appreciate my end of this job.

Well, from where I'm standing,

the hardest part
is the seat of that wagon.

You might find it kind of hard

hanging on the saddle
eight or ten hours a day.

Well, it won't be as hard

as running this outfit
for 24 hours a day.

Well, that depends upon
what seat you're sittin' on.

Well, Flint, old boy,

I hereby deputize you

as deputy wagon master
for the next few days.

Well, what do you think
is so all-fired funny?

Well, I'm just thinkin'
that when you get back,

you might need a little
of Charlie's snake oil there

for the seat of your britches.

Ohh!

Don't you worry
about my britches.

You just concentrate
on fillin' 'em till I get back.

Well, with plenty of
Charlie's cookin' there

and... plenty of time,

I might be able to do just that.

That'll be the day.

Here we go, Charlie.

Here we go, Bill.

Wagons, ho!

Don't worry, men.

FIELD: I tell you, he was one of
the worst presidents we ever had.

His foreign policy alone
belonged in the Dark Ages,

not to mention
the domestic situation.

He was criticized
time and time again,

a rebel who wouldn't follow
the dictates of his own party.

Why, his last speech
before the Congress

will go down in history
as one of the greatest...

Mr. Field, it's up again.

It won't be for long.

Father.

Barnes, Smothers.

Father, please be careful.

It's our duty, girl.

Take it down.

I reckon it's fine right there.

Pelham, that rebel rag's
a disgrace to this train.

I saw a lot of good men
die under that flag, Mr. Field.

I choose to call them
secessionist traitors.

Now remove it.

Maybe you'd like
to try that, huh?

We're with you, Thaddeus.
Don't let him bluff you.

Art and me aren't
exactly alone either.

One little old yell...

You know the kind I mean.

You Yanks used to skedaddle off

with your tails between
your legs when you heard it.

That might bring us
a little help.

FIELD: If you're looking for
trouble, Pelham, you'll get it.

The law's on our side in this.

How many times
have I had to tell you

that it's illegal to fly
the colors of the Confederacy

within the confines of the
United States or its territories?

Right now, that wagon's my home,

and I'll hang up
what I want in it.

I won't quibble with you,
Pelham.

In or out,
we won't stand for it.

PELHAM: We?

All right, maybe you Yanks
outnumber us some,

but that never fazed us before,

not when we got down
to the real standup fightin'.

What's all this talk
about fightin'?

He's flying
the Confederate flag.

Lee took that flag down
a long time ago, Mr. Pelham.

The South lost a lot
in the war, I know,

but it wasn't cheap
for the North.

Seems to me the thing
we've got to do now is forget it.

What we have to learn to do
is live together.

Don't you agree?

McCullough, I shut down my
newspaper and left Massachusetts

because our elected
representatives talked like that.

This nation
has wallowed in blood,

brought on it by the South.

We'll forgive and forget

when the guilty
have been punished

and the last vestige of treason

rooted out and destroyed!

I demand that flag come down!

There wouldn't
have been any bloodshed

if Lincoln had let us exercise
our constitutional right to secede.

He was responsible for the war,
not the South.

I'm acting for Major Adams
around here,

and that's enough
out of both of you.

Pelham, you were a soldier.

I rode with Jeb Stuart,

and no cold-nosed abolitionist

is gonna tell me what to do
and what not to do!

Well, then, as a soldier,
you ought to know

you don't fly any flag
after sundown.

You're right.

I should have remembered it.

Bill, give the Pelhams
a hand, huh?

Nothing personal, Mr. Pelham.

Just better for the train.

Mr. McCullough.

You surprise me.

You're a born diplomat.

Seems to me you've got to be
to keep this bunch peaceful.

Some folks go on
fightin' the war forever.

Eternity is a long time.

Even hatred and prejudice
pass away...

sometimes in a generation,
sometimes in a moment.

The only thing that endures
is guilt.

That's a pretty deep thought.

I wish they had thought more
and talked less.

That kind of talk
can lead to real trouble.

That man Field seems to get
the hottest under the collar.

You're an educated man.

If you get a chance,
why don't you talk to him?

Oh, I'm sorry, McCullough. I
hardly think I'm the man for the job.

Which side were you on?

I'm like you.

I'm trying to forget.

I know the war's
still awfully close...

and the wounds run deep.

Still, it had to be fought.

And lost.

Forgive me, sir,

but I find this subject
exceedingly painful.

Girls!

Evenin'!

Mr. Wilbot!

Evenin'.

Good evening.

Isn't it blissfully
cool tonight?

Such a welcome change.

Yes, isn't it?

Ladies.

Oh...!

Lord Byron limped too, you know.

I swear, that man takes my
breath away every time I see him.

Oh, really, Amy!

Now, Harriet Field,

you know darn well he makes
your heart beat a little faster too.

You used to say that
about Flint McCullough.

Oh, Flint.

Well, he's wonderful too,

but he's so physical.

I'll admit Mr. Wilbot's...
interesting.

"Interesting"?! He's divine.

Oh, those eyes... that voice.

Oh, you too girls are so silly,

mooning around like that.

Why don't you ask him
for a lock of his hair?

I wouldn't dare... but I'd dearly
love to ask him for something.

Oh, mercy!

Harriet.

Please, let me go.

Not till we get things straight.

There's nothing more to say.

Harriet, stop pretending.

Those evenings
after we left Independence,

where your father and I
fought, you weren't like this.

Leave me alone.

At times...
you'd let me kiss you.

I was lonely.
It didn't mean anything.

I don't believe you.

You father's got you
so under his thumb,

you can't breathe yourself.

How dare you talk about
my father that way!

He gave up everything he owned

for something
he believed was right,

and that wasn't easy at his age.

Look, you're a good
daughter. I know that.

But the time has come for
you to be a good wife too.

He needs me.
My place is with him.

So do I.

Now, don't let what he
thinks come between us.

It's your life and your
happiness, and mine too.

Now, make up your own mind.

It's made. It won't
ever be any different,

not about you, Roy.

Pelham!

If I catch you
annoying my daughter again,

I'll kill you.

Better cry it out.

For whatever reason, cry it out.

Isn't seemly
in front of a stranger.

We're not really strangers.
No one on the train is.

I suppose you're right.

I don't like weepy women,

and... I'm not usually this way.

Don't be ashamed of your tears.

Be grateful for them.

Tears, prayer, sleep...
They're priceless gifts.

Without them, we'd all
be monstrous or mad.

Most of us are
difficult enough with them.

That's better.

My name is Wilbot.

I know. I've seen you reading.

Oh?

I wasn't aware that
made me conspicuous.

There aren't many in this group

who've even opened a
book, except my father.

It was hard for him
to leave his library.

What sort of books were they?

Oh, history mostly,
and some abolitionist tracts.

I read some of them.

What's that?

Oh, Shakespeare.

Julius Caesar.

I never read that one.

Well, you'd probably be
more interested

in Romeo and Juliet,
or As You Like It.

"All the world's a stage,

"and all the men and women
merely players.

"They have their exits
and their entrances,

"and each man in his time
plays...

many parts..."

Please go on.

I... forget the rest.

Where on earth did you
learn to recite so well?

My father taught me
when I was very young.

You should be on the stage.

Should I?

Oh, I'm terribly sorry.
I offended you.

Of course, I forgot your...
Your affliction,

that terrible war.

Yes, the war.

But you mustn't be
bitter about it,

although you've more
reason to be than other people.

It was so pleasant talking of
other things for a little while.

I'm sorry I was rude.

Perhaps we can talk about
them again, some other time.

That would be a great
pleasure to me, Mr. Wilbot.

My first name is John.

Thank you.

My name is Harriet.

Good night, Miss
Harriet. Good night, John.

Good afternoon, Miss Harriet.

Good afternoon, Mr. Wilbot.

Harriet, that Mr. Wilbot
seemed unduly familiar.

Just ordinary politeness,
Father.

Have you conversed with him?

Yes, several times.

Last night. The night before.

Is there any reason
why he didn't address me?

I believe that's customary.

Oh, please, Father.
Mr. Wilbot's different.

He isn't interested
in me like that.

We just talk about books,
poetry... things I like.

Nevertheless, I prefer
to know more about him.

Whether he thinks
the way you do?

Well, I don't know if he does
or doesn't, and I don't care.

We're not serious
about each other.

It's just... he's just a friend.

He demands nothing of me
except companionship and...

Please try to understand,
Father.

Field, Miss Harriet,

we're moving out
in a few minutes.

WILBOT: Let's see,
that passage is, uh...

"Subtle as sphinx,

"as sweet and musical
as bright Apollo's lute,

"strung with his hair,

"and when love speaks,

"the voice of all the gods

make heaven drowsy
with the harmony."

I believe...

that's from Loves Labour's Lost.

It's pretty.

Pretty, but exaggerated.

You are refreshingly unromantic.

Most young women would
almost swoon at those lines.

I'm afraid I'm not
the swooning kind.

Oh, in other words...

um... how does it go...?

Oh, yes.

"Men have died, and the
worms have eaten them,

but not for love."

Very sensibly put!

Sometimes it seems as if love
is more trouble than it's worth.

Well, perhaps you feel that way

because it's yours
for the asking.

There are some not so fortunate.

When a person loves someone
who doesn't love them?

Mnh.

Even that has its own rewards.

I mean those who are doomed

never to love again...

or to be loved.

Doomed?

I don't understand.
Doomed by what?

Fate.

They must be lonely...

and I pity them.

Pity?

Do you think such men want pity?

Why, Brutus would have
scorned your easy, childish pity!

Brutus?

Oh, in the book!

You always carry that,
but you never read from it.

Pity.

Understanding, perhaps,
but not pity.

Ah, listen.

Brutus speaks as he stands
beside Caesar's body.

"If there be any
in this assembly,"

"any dear friend of Caesar,"

"to him I say that Brutus'
love to Caesar"

"was no less than his."

"If then that friend demand"

"why Brutus rose against
Caesar, this is my answer:"

"not that I loved Caesar less,"

"but that I loved Rome more."

"Would you rather
Caesar were living"

"and we all die slaves,"

"or that Caesar were dead,
and that we live free men?"

"As Caesar loved me,
I weep for him."

"As he was fortunate,
I rejoice at it,"

"as he was valiant, I honor him,"

"but as he was ambitious,
I slew him."

"There is tears for his love,"

"joy for his fortune,"

"honor for his valor,
and death for his ambition."

"Who among you is so base
that he would be a bondsman?"

"If any, speak;
for him have I offended."

"Who is so rude
that he would not be a Roman?"

"If any, speak;
for him have I offended."

"And who is so vile"

"that he would not love
his own country?"

"If any, speak;
for him have I offended.

I pause for a reply."

Then I reckon it's allowable
for me to bust in.

Flint McCullough's
asking some volunteers

to stand double watch tonight.

I'm at his service.

He'll appreciate that.

That was some performance
you were giving here.

Good night, Miss Harriet.

All that stuff
about Brutus and Caesar...

You'd think a courtin' man

would find something,
well, more fitting.

My conversation with Miss Field

is no concern of yours, sir.

How 'bout her father?

You get his permission
to spout poetry at her?

Roy!

I'm not much good at it myself.

You certainly aren't.

But there are other ways.

This, for instance.

No, John.

It really doesn't matter.

Nothing he says or does
bothers me.

Are you sure of that?

As sure as I'm... sure as...

Good night, John!

Oh, hurry up! He's coming!

Good evenin', Harriet.

Well, good evening, girls.

You finished with your chores
right quickly tonight.

Yeah. Well, they's
two of us, dear.

We like to take a little
constitutional if we can.

It's so confining,
once the train starts.

And usually so uninteresting.

Well, browsing through this
might help pass the time away.

'Least, I hope so!

Where did you get that?

Oh, from a certain individual
who shall remain nameless.

Amy, don't be a fool!

Oh, well, maybe you're not
the only one he reads to.

He values that book
a great deal.

I'm sure he didn't
give it to you.

Amy didn't say so.
It's borrowed!

You mean she filched it.

You give it to me!
I'll see it's returned to him.

Miss Harriet, how you carry on!

No, really,
I'm the one who found it.

You think he'll offer
a reward for it?

Well, I know what I'd like.

Give it to me!

Young ladies your age
scuffling like street urchins!

We're just skylarkin'
a little bit, Mr. Field.

No harm in that, is there?

Run along, you two.

Let Harriet
get on with her work.

That belongs
with the book, Father.

Same old lies.

Listen to this...

"Report of death
of John Wilkes Booth.

"April 24th, 1865.

"Reports have been received

"that the assassin
of President Lincoln,

"John Wilkes Booth,

"was killed last night
at Garrett farm

near Port Royal, Virginia."

I remember receiving
this very report at the office.

"After 13 days of the greatest
manhunt in the nation's history,

"Booth and two heavily
armed accomplices

"took refuge in a barn,
which Federal agents ignited

"after vainly calling on
the assassin to surrender.

"Booth permitted his villainous
companions to emerge,

"and then either shot himself
or was wounded

"by one of the men
surrounding the conflagration.

"The circumstances are not yet
definitely ascertained.

"He died several hours later.

"According to reputed
eyewitnesses,

"his last words were,
'Useless, useless.'

"By an odd coincidence,

"the location of the fatal wound

was identical with that
of the martyred President."

The man that was captured
at Garrett's barn

was never proven to be Booth.

To this day, the authorities
haven't revealed

where the body was buried.

Why not, Father?

Because the whole thing
was trumped up

by men hand-in-glove
with Booth and his gang...

Men in high places,
still in power.

Northerners?

In cahoots with the leaders
of the Confederacy.

Abraham Lincoln's murder

was a treacherous conspiracy

to rob us of the fruits
of victory.

Why was he left unguarded?

Why was the telegraph shut off
by official order,

and the Potomac Bridge...

The only bridge by which
he could escape...

Why was it left open?

That farce at Garrett's barn

was staged as a sop
to public opinion.

And then the trial, the trial
of his accomplices... secret.

And they were hung with hoods over
their heads and gags in their mouths.

And Booth himself?

Still alive.

There have been reports of him
from Texas to California,

places in Europe, even in China.

Did you ever see him
perform, Father?

Yes.

Once, in Boston.

He appeared with his brothers,
Edwin and Junius.

They appeared together
in Julius Caesar.

That very play.

Where did you get it?

It belongs to John Wilbot.

Why would a man keep this
particular news account in it?

I'm sure I don't know.
I'll ask him.

Harriet, you spend
considerable time with him.

Would you say he speaks like a
man connected with the stage?

Well, yes, I suppose
you could say so,

but surely there are
many cultivated people who do.

People named Wilbot?

And I believe you said
his first name was John.

John Wilbot.

Doesn't that similarity
seem strange to you?

Father, you can't be serious!

Why, such a thing
would be impossible!

Harriet... he limps!

Don't you understand?

The assassin caught
one of his spurs

on a flag draped over
the President's box!

When he jumped from it to
the stage at Ford's Theater,

it broke his leg!

Dr. Mudd, the man that was
sent to prison for setting it,

he testified
he'd be maimed for life!

Father, I can't believe it.

If you knew John Wilbot,

if you knew the kind of
person he is!

Shakespeare!

This clipping!

The resemblance, the name!

The limp! What more do you want?

Father, it's just too horrible!

He couldn't possibly be
what you...

Why not?! Why not?!

Forgive me for intruding.

I, um...

I seem to have mislaid
one of my books,

and I thought that perhaps that
Miss Harriet had inadvertently picked...

Oh, I-I think you
have it there, sir.

Well, I'd be very much
obliged if you'd return it.

I believe this is yours too.

Mine?

It's very possible.

I often keep items
of interest in my books.

What is it?

An account of your death.

Stay where you are. Father, no!

See if he's armed.

That won't be necessary.

Miss Harriet.

Now, that was a very
curious remark, Mr. Field.

Would you do me the courtesy
of explaining it?

I think you understand,
Mr. Booth...

Mr. John Wilkes Booth.

Broxton, come here.

What is it, Thaddeus? Come on!

Yanks, all of 'em.

They probably caught him
whistling "Dixie" around.

All right, round up
some of our boys.

What happened?

He quit making pretty speeches

and start lollygagging around?

What's the matter?
My father's insane!

He must be.

He's taken John Wilbot
to Flint McCullough.

He thinks he murdered
Abraham Lincoln.

And those men with him,
they think so?

Yes.

They must be crazy too.

He makes it sound so convincing.

For a moment,
I almost believed it myself.

Now I don't know what to
think! I don't know what...!

This fellow Wilbot,
he means a lot to you.

Father does too.

All right,
I'll see what I can do.

You?!

You hate them both!

Those are the facts, McCullough.

Not to my way of thinkin',
and I'm runnin' this train.

It's a fine time you picked
for this, Field.

Don't you understand we're camped
right in the middle of Shoshone country?

Get on back to your wagons,
all of you.

The welfare of this train
concerns us too,

but not more than justice
and the welfare of this country.

You want me to clap
a man in irons

because you got some
lame-brained idea in your head?

Is that what you call justice?

McCullough, we intend
to take every precaution

to see this man doesn't escape

until we can turn him over to Federal
authorities, no matter what you think.

What have you
got to say, Wilbot?

What do you want me to say?

Well, I don't expect you
to just stand there.

If you're not
who he claims, deny it.

He's Booth, and I
expect him to deny it.

All right, give him a chance.

Lies. That's all
you'll get from him.

Settle down, Broxton.

Let's get this straightened out.

If I were the fugitive
Mr. Field claims me to be,

would I call myself John Wilbot,

a name so similar to the other?

Or wouldn't it have been wiser
for a desperate, hunted man

to assume a name
completely different?

Pride. Vanity.

The vicarious contempt
of the criminal.

Does that answer your question?

Mr. Field, you say
you saw Booth once,

and that I resemble him.

When did you see him, Mr. Field?

Ten years ago.

Oh.

Has anybody else here
ever seen him?

Ten years ago.

Look, I've heard this rumor
about Booth escaping before.

Everybody has.

But we've also heard talk about
Marshal Ney and the lost Dauphin.

And what about
the Fountain of Youth?

They've been looking for it
a long time,

but I don't think
they've ever found it.

All right, now, why don't you
people get back to your wagon.

Get some rest.
We're pulling out at dawn.

Ask him to explain his
knowledge of Shakespeare.

Look, Field, I know a little
bit about Shakespeare myself!

Now, why don't you shut up!

WILBOT: Mr. Field,
any schoolmaster

can acquire an appreciation
of Shakespeare.

A schoolmaster with an account
of Booth's death in his book?

Well, the death of Caesar and
the death of Abraham Lincoln

have certain literary parallels.

Perhaps I was gathering
material for a study of them.

You're a clever man.

I expected you would be.

But not clever enough.

Explain that limp!

Congenital defect.

Childhood accident.

A war wound.

I could give you
many explanations,

but I'm sure you'd
accept none of them.

But let me ask you
a question, Mr. Field...

On which leg did Booth limp?

The right leg? The left?

Right. Left.
What difference does it make?

On which leg do I limp?

You limp. That's enough for me.

You'd have to do better than
that in a court of law, Field.

You're poisoned
with hate, old man.

You want a scapegoat,
and you're picking on him.

He's John Wilkes Booth,
and you know it.

You're protecting him because
you approve of his crime!

No, not me.

I blame Abe Lincoln too,

for the slaughter and suffering.

But I don't hold with
sneakin' up behind any man,

whoever he is
or whatever he's done,

and shootin' him in cold blood.

If I thought that man
was Lincoln's murderer,

I'd turn him over to the
Federal authorities myself.

And any man that says
I wouldn't is a liar.

All right, calm down
now, you people.

Field, Pelham,
take it easy, both of you.

The price we're paying for
not punishing insurrection.

We should have hanged
Jefferson Davis

and Robert E. Lee

and laid waste to the South
from the Potomac to the Gulf.

You're following a madman.

Even his own daughter says so.

Go on, tell 'em
what you told me.

Tell 'em what you said to me.

All right, calm down!
There's a way to settle this!

Field, as far as I'm concerned,
you haven't proven anything.

But with feeling
runnin' this high...

we'll put it to a vote.

I'll accept that, McCullough.

Yeah, but we won't.

You see, it's the same
old story.

You Yanks'll out-count us.

And outshoot you too,
if it comes to that.

Killing each other
isn't gonna settle this.

We want no killing.

PELHAM: We don't either.

McCULLOUGH: Well, you'll sure
as heaven get it if you keep this up.

All right.

Then let's split up.

You go your way, we'll go ours.

Who's secedin' now?

This train stays together.

All right, Field.

You go your way...

but who takes Wilbot?

We will.

What, so you can string him up?

You have our solemn promise,

we'll turn him over
to the proper authorities

when we reach Virginia City.

PELHAM: Your word's
no guarantee for me.

If McCullough goes with you,
I'll take his.

Use your brains, you two.

If you split up
and the Shoshones see it,

what happens then?

Two small parties...

Just half the strength
you've got now.

The Lord will strengthen
the righteous.

With His help,
we'll reach Virginia City,

Shoshones or no Shoshones.

Pelham, if he won't listen
to reason, it's up to you.

You've got to keep
this train together.

No, McCullough, I'll, uh...

I'll take my chances
with the Shoshones too,

if there are any between
here and Virginia City.

So far we've seen
no sign of 'em.

They're around, believe me.

If you separate,
you're invitin' suicide.

And if we don't, murder.

FIELD: Men coming with me,
meet at my wagon.

Rebs meet at mine.

Mr. Field, Mr. Pelham.

Roy, he wants to say somethin'.

There have been words of
great bitterness here tonight.

Hatred.

Recrimination.

Echoes of the anguish
and the pain of the past.

And perhaps there were
ghosts here too...

who were listening to us.

And if there were, one
might have had on his lips

a verse that he quoted
so often in his life,

from the Bible...

"If a house be divided
against itself,

it cannot stand."

And his name was...

Abraham Lincoln.

Mr. Pelham...

you said that if
I were his assassin,

you would turn me over
to the Federal authorities?

I would.

Then do so,
in company with Mr. Field.

I am John Wilkes Booth.

All right, you folks,
there's nothing you can do here.

Fix your supper

and then get
all the rest you can.

We want to make an early start.

Come on.

That means you too,
Miss Harriet.

You look kind of tired.

Mr. McCullough,
do you believe he did it?

The man admits it.

At first it seemed impossible,

and yet now what else
can one think?

Well, I knew a corporal once
who thought he was Napoleon.

Looking back,
many things that he said...

Things that seemed
strange at the time...

They all seem clear now.

Well, it's hard to tell
about people, Miss Harriet.

Very hard.

What made the corporal
think he was Napoleon?

I don't know, maybe Wilbot
likes the fuss he's kicking up,

or maybe he likes to go around
half-pretending he's Booth

so he can sponge off diehard
Southerners, I don't know.

Anyway, the truth will
come out in Virginia City.

But if he's Booth,
he'll be hung!

That's right.

And maybe that's what he wants.

Come to think of it, he said
something to me about...

only the guilt remained.

If a man's livin' with a crime
like that on his head, well...

But wouldn't that be
punishment enough?

Well, that's not for us to say.

But to my way of thinkin',
a man would be better off dead.

My father wants
to see you, Mr. Broxton.

Me? What for?

I don't know, except
he said it was urgent.

Better see what he wants.

Why didn't he come here
himself? I don't know.

Where is he, over with the
wagon? No, with Flint McCullough.

Well, all right,

but I don't like leaving
him alone to watch.

HARRIET: I'll stay
here with him.

Is that for me?
Sure could use it.

Your prisoner hasn't had
a thing since yesterday,

and I don't think it's right,

no matter what he's done.

All right, go on,
take it in to him.

Your coffee smells
wonderfully good.

I hope it's hot.

I can't bear
to see you like this.

Roy.

Must he have those irons on?

I'm afraid so.

Take them off.

What...?

Take them off now. Do as I say.

I'll keep him here while
you slip out of camp.

It's your last chance.

Take them off, Roy.

Unlock them.

Not me, Harriet.

You think I won't use
this? You think I'm afraid?

I will. I will.

Maybe you're not afraid.

Maybe you're as head sick
as your father.

Roy, please help him.

I'll make it up to you,
I promise.

He's suffered enough
already. Please, Roy!

You know how I feel
about you, Harriet...

I've told you that often
enough... but I can't do that.

I can't go back on my word,
even for you.

Now, go ahead. Shoot me.

I can't.

Of course you can't.

And you know why you can't?

Because you love him...

and you just pity me.

But they'll hang you, John.

Maybe.

Mr. Pelham, you know, when I
think of the years that lie ahead,

I envy no man except you.

Your life with her...

the goodness
of her gentle heart.

You almost make me feel
like doing what Harriet wants.

Oh, please, Roy, do, please.

All right, you people, get back to
your wagons and barricade them.

And keep calm.

Wooster, tell Hawks
to get the stock in.

Right.

Where's my daughter?
In there with him.

Harriet, come out of there!

We got work to do.
Leave her alone.

I want the guard doubled here.

We need every man
on the wagon line.

Broxton, turn Wilbot loose
and give him a rifle. Yes, sir.

McCullough, I'll hold you
responsible if he escapes.

Escapes? None of us will
escape if you don't stop talking,

so why don't you save it.

Harriet, go to the wagon
and get the rifles.

Come on with me, Field.

Wilbot!

You'll be needin' this.

Thank you.

MAN: All right, boys,
bring that stock in here!

Stock all set? It's all set!

Wooster, everybody's
got plenty of ammunition?

Everybody's fixed.

All right, make sure there's a
water barrel by every wagon.

Shoshones are big with arrows.

All right, hurry it up!
More sacks, men!

Build this higher.
Build it higher.

All right, you...
Block that hole over there!

It's all right, Miss Broxton.

Bring the rest of those guns,
put 'em up here.

Lots of ammunition.
You girls keep low.

Ask him!

Ask him his name!

My...

my name...

is John...

W...

Wil...

John Wilkes Booth...

or John Wilbot?

Only you know.

Anyway, Major,
that's the way it happened.

Well, McCullough,
I guess from now on

I'd better run this wagon train,

and you just stick
to your scoutin'.

Ooh.

Hey, Charlie, you got
any more of that snake oil?

I think so, Major.

Well, get it! Don't sit there!

Yes, sir!

McCullough, I know
exactly what you're thinkin',

but don't you say it!

Wagons, ho!