Original subtitles

There's a reason they call it the Wild West.

BAT MASTERSON: There was a stagecoach bandit in California,

gave you a few years of headaches.

BLACK BART: No sudden moves my good man.

Black Bart, the poet.

HUME: He's always alone.

Never fires his gun.

Never steals from the passengers

or the express box.

MORSE: We'll wait for him to do the one

thing he hasn't done.

Which is?

Make a mistake.

[TRAIN WHISTLES]

BAT VO: I was just a young man

when I first headed west.

In the years that followed, I became a cowboy,

a gunslinger, and even served as sheriff of Dodge City,

one of the most lawless towns in the country.

My name is Bat Masterson.

Now, I'm a reporter.

And I've come west again to chronicle

the world that I know best.

These are the incredible true tales of the Wild West.

♪ ♪

BAT: That's a beauty.

HUME: Shotgun messenger's faithful companion.

Say, thanks for taking time away

from the stage line, Mr. Hume.

Well, I don't usually ride the stage anymore if I can help it.

I've grown too brittle.

But you're still working robberies?

HUME: Yeah, train stickups

are worse than ever in Texas,

but the company's only got three detectives working

the whole region.

You've been working for Wells Fargo a long time.

You have any grievances?

No, they've done right by me, just too many miles.

I hear that.

Racked up some good stories along the way, I'd bet,

tracking down thieves, leading manhunts.

They warned me about you, Masterson.

Get any man to spill his guts in ink.

That's a way to put it.

HUME: Well, I hate to waste your time, but

I don't comment on open cases.

What about closed ones?

There was a stagecoach bandit

in California, gave you a few years of headaches.

Black Bart.

The poet highwayman.

How many coaches did Bart stickup?

HUME: Twenty-eight,

always Wells Fargo.

You know, I lost two good years chasing a ghost

all over gold country.

I finally decided I could use some help,

and then I uh...

How'd you do that?

[LAUGHING]

Well anyway, I wasn't getting anywhere on my own.

So I went to San Francisco to see a private detective,

Harry Morse.

Morse made quite a name for himself.

He brought down the mayor on fraud charges,

and exposed an opium ring in the Customs Service,

but it was his past, made him the man for the job.

LAWSON: There's nothing more I could do.

I have no idea when he returns.

Well, I want to leave a message.

It's a pressing matter.

Mr. Morse is working a case.

It could be weeks before he...

Lawson, take a letter.

LAWSON: Yes, sir.

MORSE: P.S. Wilcox, Oakland Bank of Savings:

Mr. Wilcox, you'll be pleased to know that Wright LeRoy

is among the living.

His suicide note, as I suspected, was a ruse.

He is safe and sound in San Francisco,

along with the four thousand dollars he swindled

from your business.

Yours very sincerely, etcetera, etcetera...

Who is this?

James Hume, detective for Wells Fargo and Company.

Well, If you're looking for a job, I'm only hiring clerks.

I was hoping to hire you...

When you were sheriff of Alameda County,

is it true the bandits called you "El Diablo?"

- Let me stop you right there... - HUME: Wait, wait.

What was it that Narato Ponce said?

"Better have the devil after you than Harry Morse."

Before you killed him in that quick-draw.

Take him to the precinct.

LAWSON: Yes, sir.

♪ ♪

The bandits I chase nowadays wear silk stockings.

I wish you the best of luck, Mr. Hume.

He writes poems.

Come again?

HUME: The robber.

Left two poems behind.

Signed 'em both.

♪ ♪

Tell me about the robberies.

HUME, V/O: Well,

to call him clever would be an understatement.

JOHN SHINE: Hip!

Hip!

Whoa!

♪ [TENSE] ♪

Hey!

Get outta the road!

♪ ♪

[COCKS GUN]

♪ ♪

BLACK BART: Throw the box down, if you please.

♪ ♪

Ah, uh, uh, uh.

I wouldn't try that, friend.

If he dares shoot, give him a volley, boys.

It seems the odds are against you.

♪ ♪

There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls.

WOMAN PASSENGER: Please, please...

Take what you want, just don't hurt us!

♪ ♪

BLACK BART: I have no interest in your money, madam,

only Wells Fargo and Company's.

My compliments, sir.

You have been a most gracious victim.

And let's not spoil the fun with any bravado.

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

MORSE: I've labored long and hard for bread...

For honor and for riches,

But on my corns too long you've tread.

You fine-haired sons of...

Black Bart, the poet.

HUME: He's always alone.

Never fires his gun.

Never steals from the passengers,

only the express box.

You ever see anything like this?

All right, Hume,

have Wells Fargo draw up a contract.

So where did you and Morse get started?

Well, most of Bart's stickups were in Calaveras County.

We kept our ears close to the ground.

But when the company put a thousand dollar

price on his head... - BAT: You weren't

the only ones looking for him.

Every single lawman in California was seeing

Bart in the shadows.

Too many tip-offs to count.

But then I got a wire from Chief Haskell out in San Jose.

Had a drifter in custody, matched the description.

Thought we might just have our man.

HASKELL: You got here just in time.

Couldn't hold him much longer, not on petty theft.

But this one's got history.

And he was carrying this...

Stand up, Sam.

You've got guests.

♪ ♪

How many times do I gotta say it? Until we believe you, Sam.

I don't rob stagecoaches!

Sure, I knocked over that fruit peddler.

Y'all got me there,

but runnin' around with a flour sack on my head?

You take me for a loon?

I take you for what you are, a thief.

Now tell us where you stashed the gold.

SAM: I'll swear on whatever you like.

I never stuck up no coach.

♪ ♪

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

What?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate.

Is this one touched in the head?

Chief Haskell, release this man.

No wait.

Can we discuss this?

Nothing to discuss.

He's the same build, Same area.

He's got the same weapon!

He hasn't got a lick of poetry in him.

♪ ♪

HUME: Our first real lead in months

- Wasn't a real lead. - HUME: Why?

Because the man didn't know his Shakespeare?

"Once I toiled for gold in ditches,

and now with ease I amass riches."

He's telling us who he is.

He's a working man,

not an outlaw by nature.

Why does he only target Wells Fargo?

Cause they're the fattest prey.

But why rob the company and not the passengers?

"On my corns too long you've tread...

It's not just about the money.

It's personal.

HUME: What's it matter?

Why bother analyzing a common criminal?

Because...

he's anything but common.

Who is Black Bart?

What's in his soul?

That is how we catch him.

Fine.

What do we do in the meanwhile?

We wait for him to do the one thing he hasn't done.

Which is?

Make a mistake.

Thing about outlaws, they're simple.

They want easy money, take it how they can get it.

Sounds to me like Bart had an agenda.

Wherever money's being moved, they'll be men

who scheme to take it, and that's all

I thought about Bart, at first, anyway.

BAT: What about Morse's theory?

Did Wells Fargo do something to create Black Bart?

Surprised to hear you take that line, Masterson,

being a former lawman.

BAT: I swore an oath

to serve the people, not private interests.

Well there is no West without Wells Fargo

whatever their faults.

Point taken.

Well, did you follow Morse's plan?

Wait for Bart to slip up?

HUME: Well, as luck would have it,

we didn't wait long.

JIMMY: How long till we get to Modesto?

MAC: You wanna flip the reins, Jim?

Be my guest.

I was hoping to bag some game before we get there.

Well, I hope your aim is better than it was,

cuz I ain't buying you supper.

JIMMY: Alright.

♪ ♪

♪ [SUSPENSE] ♪

BLACK BART: No sudden moves, my good man.

Is there anybody else in the coach?

MAC: No.

No one else.

BLACK BART: Could you direct me to the express box,

and we shall be on our separate ways.

Peachy.

Would you be so kind, good sir, to unhitch your team,

take them up the road a mile and don't come back.

♪ ♪

[BREAKING LOCK]

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

[COCKS GUN]

♪ ♪

[COCKS GUN]

MAC: Give it to me!

It's my coach!

Give it to me, I won't miss!

♪ ♪

[GUNSHOT]

MAC: Shoot him!

[GUNSHOT]

Shoot him now!!

[GUNSHOT]

♪ ♪

Did I get him?

I think you nicked him.

♪ ♪

HUME: Well, It was Bart.

That's for certain.

Coach was stopped up at the trail.

He ran this way.

They got him in the hand, and then he dropped

the gold over there.

Morse... look at this.

♪ ♪

Our bandit enjoys a night at the opera.

HUME: He's hiding out in San Francisco.

We check the theaters.

We get every name off the box office receipts.

And ask what?

"Did you recently lose your glasses in the woods?"

No one's gonna come forward.

HUME: What else do we have to go on?

♪ ♪

BAT: F.X.O.7.

Did it mean anything to you?

It was a laundry mark.

Meant we could trace Bart to where he did his washing.

That mark would be listed under his real name.

How many laundries in San Francisco?

Ninety-one.

Had your work cut out for you.

We had no choice but to check them one at a time.

But a week in, we had our second stroke of luck.

♪ ♪

This is intolerable.

We've been at it for a week.

He'll stick up another five coaches, and we'll still have

thirty-odd shops to go.

Oh, pardon, Sir.

♪ ♪

MORSE: Excuse me.

Do you do much business here, sir?

I've come here for years.

It's first rate service.

Might I inquire into your line of work?

I'm a mining man.

Oh, miner, I suspected as much.

Look like you've done well for yourself.

Fairly well for a small operation.

The name's Hamilton.

I myself have a small interest in a mining company.

Could you spare a moment to give me your expertise?

I'd be more than glad to, but I,

I'm afraid I haven't the time just now.

Some other time then.

BOLES: That would be most agreeable.

Good day, sir.

MORSE: Good day.

♪ ♪

LAUNDRY CLERK: Mr. Boles?

Mr. Boles, your laundry is ready!

[GUN COCKS]

HUME: Stop!!

♪ ♪

This is outrageous!

This is an invasion of privacy!

MORSE: Mr. Boles,

your handkerchief was found at the scene.

Please.

Any gentleman has a number of handkerchiefs!

You call me a stagecoach robber?

I'm a miner.

That's all.

Sit down.

I can't believe it.

There's nothing here, no shotgun, no mask,

nothing to prove it's him.

We have his name on the ledger, and that

ties him to the robbery.

You know that's circumstantial.

We need a smoking gun.

It's just not here.

MORSE: Mr. Boles,

we apologize for the intrusion.

It's right, you should.

♪ ♪

Who is Black Bart?

What's in his soul?

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

What are you doing?

Woah, woah, woah!

Those are priv-

♪ ♪

MORSE (TO HUME): You have the poem?

♪ ♪

The handwriting's an exact match.

I've labored long and hard for bread, for honor-

For honor and for riches.

What's it mean, Boles?

What did they do to you?

BOLES: It was '49.

♪ ♪

"Come West," they said.

"Pull gold out of the earth with your bare hands,"

they said.

♪ ♪

I staked my claim, and I put my blood and sweat into it.

And then the bank came, and I said I'd never sell.

They bought the next plot over, cut off my water supply,

forced me out.

I have been taking back what is mine, one express box at a time.

You have any proof?

None you'd accept.

You could have gone to the law, sought justice there.

From Wells Fargo?

Please.

Against them, there's only one kind of justice to be had.

Poetic...

HUME: Charles Boles.

You're under arrest.

♪ ♪

BAT MASTERSON: Charles Boles, alias Black Bart,

served four years in San Quentin Prison.

In twenty-eight robberies, he stole $18,000.

Harry Morse received most of the reward money.

His detective agency was destroyed in the 1906

San Francisco earthquake.

James Hume was the architect of Wells Fargo's detective unit.

He adopted scientific methods, like ballistics, to apprehend

stagecoach robbers.

I take it you didn't buy his story.

HUME: Not for a moment.

Neither should you.

Ah, you know the stage line inside and out.

You really don't think they're capable of-

Wells Fargo transports gold.

They're not in the business of buying gold claims.

BAT: Then why the tall tale?

HUME: Gain sympathy?

I mean, you said so yourself.

Outlaws are simple.

They only do what's best for them.

Now, if you'll excuse me,

I gotta go catch some more.

Now, best of luck, Mr. Hume.

Thank you, and thanks for the beer.

Oh, my pleasure.

Oh, and uh,

any of 'em turn out to be the next Shakespeare,

I'll let you know.

♪ ♪