All language subtitles for The Wild Wild West S02E28 The Night of the Bogus Bandits

Good morning, Miss Pearson.

Good morning.

Hmm. That saving
account of yours

sure mounting up, Miss Pearson.

Yes, it is.

Teller?

Be with you in a minute.

Yes. Now what can I do...

Now get around here
and lay face-down

on the floor, and don't get up.

Come on, move.

Come on. Move.

Come on, we're going.

You heard him. On the floor.

Agh.

Pitiful. Absolutely pitiful.

I introduce one little element
of surprise, and what happens?

Weeks of rehearsal
go up in smoke.

Slade showin' up stage left

was kind of
unexpected, professor.

Stage left, stage
right, center...

What difference does it make?

If that had been the real West,

instead of an
incompetent look-alike,

you'd have been
in a lot more trouble.

Slade, on your feet.

I shall demonstrate what the
real West might have done.

Slade.

He's deader than a
side of beef, professor.

Whaley, give me your gun.

Mm.

You forgot to use blanks
the way I asked, didn't you?

Well, I reckon I did, professor.

Whaley, carelessness like that

is not only dangerous,
it's downright irritating.

I'm afraid this
calls for a demotion.

Class, today's rehearsal was
nothing short of disastrous...

Far below the standard
of perfection that I demand.

However, we will proceed

with tomorrow's field
exercise as scheduled.

Poor Slade.

School term's barely started,

and already he's
failed his first subject.

Oh, cheer up, Belladonna.

The Loveless Institute
for Advanced Research

may have lost a marvelous copy,

but never fear,

she'll soon have
the original himself.

Get around here and
lay face-down on the floor.

Don't get up.

You heard him. On the floor.

Boys.

Boys.

Each of these
holdups is different, sir.

In McCandless, fire
broke out in the bank.

All the firemen turned
out to be bank robbers.

In Provo, a woman fainted.

A doctor arrived
with two assistants...

all bank robbers.

The tactics may vary, sir,

but there's never any
improvising or any fumbling.

Everything is
beautifully timed out.

And in each case,

the gang goes to
elaborate precautions

in order to make sure that
someone, identity unknown,

remains unknown.

Hmm. Sounds like a
very successful operation,

but it still doesn't
give our department

any call to go bargin' in.

What about this, sir?

Our sincere bank
robbers make withdrawals,

but never spend
any of the money.

They haven't spent
any of the money?

Yes, sir.

According to the bank records,

not a single stolen bill has
ever turned up in circulation.

Puzzle, sir.

What happens to the money?

Just can't seem to
get this little exercise

into your heads, can you, class?

Well, let me remind you again.

You are not knocking over
all those banks for the money.

No, these are
exercises in discipline,

in learning to work
as a cohesive unit,

in acquiring a healthy respect
for the value of organization.

Now, let's run through
the reasons again.

Belladonna, my dear,
you may start it off.

It seems that the
Drover's Bank of Claiborne

has generously allowed
us to withdraw a large sum

in excellent United
States greenbacks.

And here we are,
burning it all up. Why?

Because it's chicken feed.

You hear that? Chicken feed.

Now, feast your
eyes on this, class.

It's good for your
grubby, tarnished souls.

It's good for your
meager little mentalities,

geared to shabby,
back-alley operations.

You've gotta learn to
think on a grand scale.

Not dollars, not even
thousands of dollars,

but millions.

Tell them about the
other reason, Belladonna.

The problem of being
conspicuous, for one.

Ha, ha, ha. Excellently
phrased, my dear.

Ha, ha. It seems that
some of you gentlemen,

with enough greenbacks lining
your pockets to buy drinks with,

become somewhat talkative.

Go on, my dear.

Then there's the nasty
habit some bank tellers have

of jotting down the serial
numbers of the large bills.

Ha, ha. Right.

And once money
is in circulation,

it can be traced back
to where it was spent.

So in order to avoid
unnecessary publicity:

Burn, bank notes, burn.

Of all the thousands stolen,

only two $100 bills
showed up in circulation.

It has to be a slip-up on
the part of the gang, sir.

Both traced back to
where they were spent.

One in a boarding
house in Grover's Bend,

and the other in a
saloon in Turquoise.

Two alkali-patch towns
nobody ever even heard of,

only seven miles apart.

Colonel, we're only asking

to make a few
discreet inquiries.

All right, all right.

Just keep me informed.

Good luck.

Well, boarding house or saloon?

Take your pick.

♪ Laurie ♪

♪ I lay me down ♪

♪ And die ♪

Is, uh...? Is the sheriff in?

He's gone, like a rat
deserting a sinking ship.

Eh. You got a drink?

No, no. I'm sorry,
but I'm fresh out.

Do you know
where I can find him?

Oh, probably over at the Nugget.

Thank you.

Say... Heh-heh.

A-are you real sure
y-you ain't got a drink?

Yes, I'm sure, but
why don't you, uh...

Why don't you try the Nugget?

If a certain person it
ain't necessary to name

will back away from his trough

long enough for me to
make an announcement,

I'll be much obliged.

Ha. Thank you, I'm sure.

Now, for the announcement.

I have accepted another
guest into our happy circle.

You mean you suckered in
another boarder, don't you?

Unlike another person it
is unnecessary to name,

our new border is a gentleman,

and I'd like to thank that
person to remember that

when he starts telling
one of those stories.

Ah.

Here's our Mr. Lindsay now.

Miss Bancroft.

Why, there you are.

You lovely lady.

Oh, Mr. Lindsay. Heh.

Oh, everyone was so interested

when I told them you
are a genuine artist.

Oh, that is very kind of
you to say, lovely lady,

but rather, I like
to think of myself

as a humble and deeply
appreciative painter,

who is enthralled by
the sweep and grandeur

of your glorious countryside.

Golly, I'd sure admire to see

some of your
paintings, Mr. Lindsay.

So you shall, you
lovely young lady.

So you shall. Ah, ha.

Won't you sit down, Mr. Lindsay?

Thank you, my love. Thank you.

Put these pickled onions
down and fetch the coffee

before it freezes over.

You were saying, Mr. Lindsay?

Well, I was just,
uh, saying that, uh,

I was out today sketching
your glorious countryside,

and while there I
made it a point to draw

one of your sad-faced
longhorn steers.

Oh.

Well, if that don't beat all.

I beg your pardon?

Why, I cashed a $100
bill like that just last week.

It was singed, just like yours.

Really?

Well, now, who besides me

would be prosperous enough
to be carrying around a $100 bill?

Why, it was...

Whoa. I'm scalded.

Why, you wicked, stupid...

Oh, get outta my way.

Heh.

Speaking for my
colleagues, Mr. Lindsay,

welcome to our
happy, happy circle.

Why, thank you.

Thank you very much.

Howdy. The sheriff here?

No. He usually looks in a
little later, if you wanna wait.

Yeah, I'll wait.

One of those bottles'll
help pass the time.

Thank you.

I can't cash this, mister.

I got me a working
arrangement with the bank.

They don't serve
no refreshments,

and I don't cash no $100 bills.

Well, I can't say I blame you.

This, um... This
$100's, uh, burnt.

Come to think of it,

maybe I can scratch
up enough to cash it.

No, no. That's all right.

You know, it is
kinda odd, though.

Here it is, a fresh
$100, and it's all burnt.

It looks like it just came
out of some... Some bank.

Oh, so you're the
deputy sheriff, huh?

Yep. Afraid I'm gonna
have to relieve you

of this currency, mister.

Is that so? Why?

Because it just might
be stolen, that's why.

There's been a regular
epidemic of bank bustings lately.

Maybe you heard.

Matter of fact, I have.

The gang wears fancy
disguises and costumes.

For a fact?

That the way you heard it, boys?

Anyway, like I was saying,

as deputy sheriff of
the town of Turquoise,

I hereby impound this $100 bill.

I don't think so, sheriff.

Rather impressive, isn't he?

Why, he's another Slade.

Oh, my dear,

Slade was merely a
provincial copy of the real thing.

The real thing, of course,
being Mr. James West.

You're cluttering my
floor. Get my chair.

Uh, how do you do, Miss, um...

Never mind that. Belladonna.

Belladonna.

So you're the sheriff.

Of course.

If I couldn't be
sheriff, I wouldn't play.

Now that $100 bill, Mr. West,

do you think I could
persuade you to hand it to me?

Uh, seeing as how
you put it so nicely,

of course.

Now, what were you and
my deputy fighting about?

Mrs. Bancroft?

Oh, there you
are, my lovely lady.

Uh, howdy, Mr. Lindsay.

I'm fine.

I just came over to
see how you was feeling

after your, uh,
terrible accident.

Oh, I'm feeling fine now.
Excuse me. I'm very busy.

'Course.

Uh, Mrs. Bancroft, you was
going to tell me something

about that, uh,
$100 bill, remember?

What $100 bill?

Well, the mate to this one here.

I don't even know what
you're talking about.

Oh, come, Miss Bancroft.

You was going to tell me
who asked you to cash it.

Huh. I don't remember.

Mrs. Bancroft...

You, uh...

had another accident, I see.

I stumbled over
the cellar steps.

Like to broke my darn fool neck.

Now, that is most
distressing, Mrs. Bancroft.

I'm sorry to hear that.

All right, my rough
and tough friend.

I've seen how rugged you can be
where landladies are concerned.

Now suppose you
tell me what you know

about that $100 bill.

Simple, Mr. Lindsay.
Just raise your hands.

He stole it... twice.

Once from a bank.

I know. The Drover's
Bank of Claiborne, right?

And once from a bonfire,

which could turn out to be
a whole lot more unhealthy

than stealing it from the bank.

I told you,

the only reason I done it was
so I could buy you pretty things.

Oh, shut up.

Mr. Lindsay, or whatever
your name really is,

you reckon I could trust
you to take that $100 bill

from your pocket
and hand it over,

without you getting
all tricky and cunnin'?

Why, of course, lovely lady.

No. Put your hands
back where they were.

I'll get it from ya after.

After what?

After you're dead.

But in case, uh,
visions of escape

are dancing in your head...

How do I know there are
men behind those guns?

That's where the
fun starts, you don't.

But would you care
to make a test case?

And miss the tour
of your school?

I wouldn't dream of it.

Suppose we continue, then.

What, for instance, do you
suppose is behind this door?

Uh, the Taj Mahal?
Niagara Falls?

I wouldn't know.

Remind you of
anything, by chance?

The territorial penitentiary
at Fort Whipple.

It's an excellent copy.

Well, thank you. We try.

Of course, it's not
the whole prison.

I'm not interested
in the whole thing.

Only the murderers' row.

Whatever else
around here isn't real,

those bullets certainly are.

Well, you learn
very fast, Mr. West.

From now on, I
think I'd better handle

the opening of doors.

Too long have we
tarried in this unquiet place

where man imprisons man.

Reminiscent of
anything, Mr. West?

It's an exact copy of the
federal arms depot at Tyler.

Heh. Thank you.

I've gone to considerable
expense to make sure

that this is an accurate
copy, Mr. West.

Can you imagine why?

Yeah. If it's a great
deal of arms you're after,

I can see where this would
have considerable value

for your gang to
do their homework.

Such as figuring out areas

for deploying troops
against the guards,

or discovering the
most efficient points

at which explosives should
be placed to breach walls.

Things of that sort, Mr. West?

Things of that
sort, Dr. Loveless.

Well, of course. The
three basic ingredients

for the kind of stew you
cook up so well. Manpower...

From the dregs of the
territorial penitentiary.

And arms to equip them with...

And what better place
than the original of this,

the federal armory at Tyler?

And the third, Mr. West.
Tell us all about that.

Gold, tons of it, just waiting
for you and your gang

to carry off in
the sub-treasury.

But somehow, Dr. Loveless,

I feel there's more
to it than just that.

Oh, really?

We must talk about
that sometime,

but first...

Class, many times
in our exercises

we have killed Mr. James West,

as you all fondly recall.

But now we shall have
the extreme pleasure

of killing the original.

No! Down.

All of you.

No, this treat

will only go to
the most attentive,

the hardest working, the
most deserving of my pupils.

Stote.

Giddings.

Kirby.

Ah, he's starting to
come around now.

Well, I won't say
I'm disappointed,

but I could've sworn I was dead.

It's a mercy and a miracle
you ain't, Mr. Lindsay.

Mercy and miracles, my foot.

Here's why you ain't.

What a terrible
thing to have happen

to a perfectly good sketch pad.

Terrible thing? Why,
it saved your life.

I know, but look how
many wonderful sketches

it just ruined.

Pearline? She gone?

Yeah. An aunt of hers took sick.

Oh, yes. I kind of figured
there'd be a whole rash

of sudden illness in her family.

Like this?

Oh, no, no, no.

Uh, no. The ones I was thinking
of was a lot meaner looking,

like, uh...

Well, here, let me show ya.

They had a wider
steel shank for the heel,

and a circle cutout

for the leather tie
around the shoe,

and the rowels was real big.

You know? Something like that.

What you're talking about, son,
is known as Sonora stompers.

Sonora stompers? Sonora...

You know anyone around here
who wears anything like that?

They ain't worth a hoot
in a box canyon for riding,

but when it come for... I
know all that, old-timer.

What I'm saying's, you
know anyone around here

who wears 'em?

Of course I do...

and the name is Fargo, sonny.

Oh, eh, excuse me, Mr. Fargo.

Well, would you
mind telling me who?

The boys over at the
Three-legged Fox Ranch

used to favor 'em,

and they're about
as mean and ugly...

Jumping Jupiter! I
just remembered.

What?

I still got a pair of them...
Them spurs I made

for one of the boys at
the Three-legged Fox.

And the cussed varmint

never come back to get
'em or to pay me for 'em.

Why, don't you worry about
that, old-tim... Uh, Mr. Fargo.

I'll take 'em off your hands.

Three-legged Fox, huh?

Mind telling me why you're
staring at me like that?

Hm? Oh, I'm sorry. I
was just thinking, uh...

Would you consider lending
me your mustache, Mr. Fargo?

The problem is quite
simple, Mr. West.

You see, three of my
best pupils are about to do

their highly-talented
best to kill you.

They're armed, I suppose.

Of course. And you're not.

But then, they don't possess

your finely-honed
capacity for survival.

Ho, ho. Excellently
done, Mr. West.

I'm sure you'd be interested
to know that Giddings

had only one bullet in his gun.

Bravo, Mr. West.

Giddings and Stote
down, Kirby to go.

And now you've got
a nice shiny knife.

Correction...

had a nice shiny knife.

An excellent choice, this alley.

If Kirby comes in one side,

you can always safely
duck down the other, huh?

Oops, here he comes now.

What a pity, Mr. West.

If only you had a gun too.

You see what I mean
about Mr. West's

amazing capacity for
survival, Belladonna.

He had only a very brief moment

to size up the
situation, and yet...

That was real smart.

How'd you figure out
the gun shot in reverse?

I learned a long time ago

to beware of
Greeks bearing gifts.

What's that mean?

Spell it out for her, Mr. West.

Well, it's not too
difficult to figure out

the good doctor's
sense of humor.

If he gives you a gun just at
the moment you need that gun,

then you can rest assured
it's gonna fire backward,

and at you.

That's brilliant, Mr. West,

but as long as you
still have the gun,

why don't you shoot me?

Because it's also easy to assume

that the gun only
had one bullet.

Pretty sure of
yourself, aren't you?

Very well, you give
the order to fire.

Not so sure of
yourself now, huh?

Fire when ready.

Oh, you weary me, West.

I'm sorry. Any
particular reason?

Many reasons.

You weary me with the sight
of your strong, straight body.

You weary me with your
smug, neatly-ordered mind.

Actually, not the worst
I've ever encountered.

A poor thing, but my own.

You weary me with your
selfless, ant-like devotion

to a society that no
longer deserves it.

You're not gonna run out of
reasons now, are ya, doctor?

You weary me by
being, by existing,

by your uncanny
talent for appearing

at exactly the right place

at the wrongest possible time.

Belladonna, I'll
trade you this gun

for one that shoots forward.

Forever and forever
farewell, Cassius.

If we do meet again,
why, we shall smile.

If we do not, why then...

Let go of me, you no-good,

low-down, side-winding, mangy...

You're making a
big mistake, I tell ya.

Shy 6 years,

I'd laugh the lord out of
both of you no-good, mangy...

Hold it.

Man comes moseying
around here on business,

you treat him like he was
some kind of trespasser.

What kind of business, old man?

One of your hands came over
and ordered these from me.

They were short
up to pay for it.

Beautiful workmanship, old man.

Who ordered them?

Well, it was, uh...

I can't recollect
the polecat's name.

He was, uh...

Get out of here.

Well, thank you, sir.

Thank you.

Good day to you, sonny.

Run after him.
He's getting away.

We'd like to send a
telegram to Washington now.

I'd admire to oblige you, sir,

and a lot of other
folks too, but...

Problems?

Well, you might say so.

Telegraph wires are
down for 20 miles around.

Doggonest thing, the
way they gave up the ghost

at the same time.

Yeah. They just don't build
'em like they used to anymore.

Snookered.

No way to get in touch
with Colonel Crockett

or the depot in Fort Tyler,

or the bullion
depository in Millbank.

Artie, there's no
way for Loveless

to keep in touch, either.

Did you ever think of that?

Who would Loveless
want to keep in touch with?

The good doctor is planning

three big operations
simultaneously,

each miles apart from the other.

Well, each one of 'em was
given the specific time to attack

well in advance.

Independent of each other?

Yeah, once it was planned.

Nah, Artie, not if I
know the good doctor.

He would wanna
personally supervise

every phase of each operation.

That'd call for a pretty slick,

high-powered communications
setup, wouldn't it.

And that could only
mean one place,

the Territorial Communications
Center in Junction City.

Dr. Loveless may
already be there.

Let's check and see.

Jim, Sonora stompers.

Or, roughly translated?

One of Loveless' men.

Ahh.

Wait a minute.

Oh, excuse me, sir.

Have you seen a small,
freckle-faced boy around here,

answering to the name of Wesley?

Oh, he stands
about, I would say,

that tall altogether.

Nice going, Wesley.

Drop your guns out the
open window, gentlemen.

Oh, please,
Mr. West, Mr. Gordon.

We all know there's
a time for winning,

a time for losing.

You gentlemen have lost.

You can't beat logic.

I won't ask how you
got through my guards.

More of your bag of amusing
muscular tricks, I suppose.

The important thing
is that you're here,

and more or less on schedule.

How nice knowing
we were expected.

Oh, Mr. West,

I've been expecting you
ever since you started

to nibble away at the
edges of my project.

Over there, please.

What do you suppose

the eminent doctor's
project is, Jim?

Well, that's simple, Mr. Gordon.

He's on his way to
acquiring an army,

an arsenal, and a treasury.

The big project is
getting them all together.

Right, doctor?

Right as can be.

I know our little friend
here thinks big, Jim,

but surely not big enough

to dream he can take
over the whole country.

How about a slice of
it, Artie? The territory.

It's at hand, and not
too heavily guarded.

That sounds reasonable. The
only question is, once he takes it,

how long does he
think he can hold it?

President Grant isn't
gonna hold still for that.

He'll have the boys in blue
coming in here so fast...

You forgot one thing.

The alliance.

You've contracted an alliance?

Oh, no, not yet.

That's the first act of
my new government.

An alliance with a great power,
whom we needn't mention,

but one of sufficient power

that Mr. Grant will think twice,

even thrice,

before he begins hostilities.

What do you think, gentlemen?

So the little bit of territory

becomes your own
small parcel of real estate.

No.

My kingdom, Mr. Gordon.

Miguelito the first
and his consort.

Actually, gentlemen,

I'm delighted that you were
able to drop by and witness

this most historic occasion.

In a very few moments,
I will be receiving

telegraphic signals informing
me that my combat teams

are at their appointed
attack points.

When I telegraph
back the go-ahead,

the world shall be
treated to an assault

such as it has never...

Assault team number
one, combat ready.

Likewise assault
team number two.

And there's team number three.

Uh, if Your Highness
will permit me...

it looks very much
like we've lost.

Yes, it does, doesn't it?

Well, as my old aunt Maude
always used to say to me,

"Artemus, if you
can't win the game,

the next best thing is to
upset the chess board."

He's dead, I hope.

He'll be all right, doctor,

but what about you,

with three assault teams
anxiously awaiting the signal

that won't be
forthcoming, will it?

No. In the present
condition of that transmitter,

no signal will be forthcoming.

As for my assault teams,

well, they will mill
around for a while like ants

when their anthill
has been stepped on.

And like ants, they will then
just wander away, disperse.

You've lost, doctor.

We've all lost.

I've lost a skirmish,
nothing more.

While you and Mr. Gordon...

One can always depend
on finding a gun or two

in dear Belladonna's reticule.

A shootout, doctor?

Shoot him, Miguelito. Kill him.

Oh, no, my dear.
Only a fool would try

to match reflex and
aim with Mr. West.

Drop your gun, sir,

or Belladonna dies
before your eyes.

Miguelito, you're joking!

Mr. West knows better.
You believe me, don't you?

I believe you.

Miguelito, you'd kill me?

Only with the most
sincere regret, my dear,

please believe me.
You see, Mr. West,

there is always another
string to my bow.

You're through, doctor.

Oh, am I?

You didn't know about the
auxiliary telegraph setup,

did you?

Well, I'm going
to actuate it now,

and you'll do
nothing to stop me,

or Belladonna will die.

Hold it...

or you'll die.

I know you better
than that, Mr. West.

You wouldn't sign Belladonna's
death warrant to shoot me.

I won't have to.
You'll do it yourself.

What are you babbling about?

What gun do you
think the good doctor

took out of your
purse, Belladonna?

The one that fires forward,

or the one that fires backward?

Oh, very neat gambit, Mr. West.

Set his mind at rest, dear.

You know, that is a very
good question, Miguelito.

Belladonna.

Yes, it is an interesting
problem, as you lay it out,

but do you think the
possibility of death

holds such terror for me?

No, but I know what does.

No more assaults
against society.

No more revenge
against the world.

No striking back, right?

There is a certain tortured
logic in what you say.

Go get him, will
ya? I'll look after her.