All language subtitles for Rawhide S06E21 Incident of the Wanderer.eng

♪ Rollin', rollin', rollin' ♪

- Hyah!
-♪ Rollin', rollin', rollin' ♪

♪ Keep movin', movin', movin' ♪

♪ Though they're disapprovin' ♪

♪ Keep them dogies movin' ♪

♪ Rawhide ♪

♪ Don't try to understand them ♪

♪ Just rope and throw
and brand 'em ♪

♪ Soon we'll be livin'
high and wide ♪

♪ My heart's calculatin' ♪

♪ My true love will be waitin' ♪

♪ Be waiting at the end
of my ride ♪

♪ Move 'em on, head 'em up,
head 'em up, move 'em on ♪

♪ Move 'em on,
head 'em up, Rawhide ♪

-(whip cracks)
-♪ Cut 'em out, ride 'em in ♪

♪ Ride 'em in, let 'em out,
cut 'em out, ride 'em in ♪

-♪ Rawhide...! ♪
-♪ Rollin', rollin', rollin' ♪

♪ Rollin', rollin', rollin' ♪

- Hyah!
-♪ Rollin', rollin', rollin'. ♪

(whip cracks twice)

[THUNDER CRASHING]

All right, Les?

The herd's all right, Mr. Favor.

Can't say the same for the weather.

Looks like we're in for a little wet.

FAVOR:
Yup.

What's that?

What is it?

Only one way to find out, though.
Let's go.

Nothing here. Lightning must have
been playing tricks on our eyes.

- Yeah, that must've been it.
- Let's go.

ROWDY:
Quince, Scarlet, get out to the herd.

Those nighthawks
are gonna need help.

WISHBONE:
Somebody lend a hand over here.

Boy, that sure come up sudden.

I've seen freak storms,
but nothing like this.

Look, Wish,
I don't know if it's dry enough,

but see if you can make up a fire
and build up some coffee.

We'll feel like it.

[HORSES TROTTING]

- What's the damage?
- Just wet, mostly.

Hey, what's your trouble?

Well, I have seen something,
Señor Favor.

A strange man standing on the hill.

It could have been a man. One of them
disappeared right in front of us.

All right, that's enough of that.
Forget it.

What's this all about?

Oh, just seeing things
is bad enough.

We're really in trouble,
they start making it out to be a ghost.

WISHBONE:
Mr. Favor.

Good evening, gentlemen.

I wasn't sure,
but I thought I saw your fire.

Then in the confusion of the storm...

Is something wrong?

Where did you come from?

Over there.

A place called Homeville.

That's 50 miles from here.

Correction, sir.

It's three days, a dozen mountains
and one pair of boots from here, heh.

You walked the ways?

Only since that great beady-eyed
monster I called good friend horse

decided to part company with me
and my wagon.

And that on the open-air side
of a cliff.

Whew.

Aside from my neck,
this was all that I managed to salvage.

Who are you, anyway?

Michob by name, sir. Michob.

Entrepreneur by profession,
and footloose and footsore by choice.

Where are you headed?

Before that four-legged traitor
and I parted company,

I was trying to get to a town
called Sloan's Crossing.

That's another 50 miles from here.

Yeah.

And me with a pair of feet
that just gave up walking.

Perhaps I could ride along with you.

Yeah, well, sure. We can find room
in the supply wagon for you,

but only as far as the next town.

Fair enough?

He who is hungry
never finds the bread hard.

Eminently fair enough, sir.

Why don't you get that fire started?
You got another customer for stew.

Yeah, well, have any of you jaspers got
any dry matches? Mine got all soaked.

Got some dry ones
in the supply wagon, ain't you?

They got all dumped and wet on,
Mr. Favor.

It's a fine thing.
Everything is soaked.

It's gonna take me forever
to build a fire.

Uh, possibly I can help.

Get some fine shavings, huh?

MICHOB:
I had no idea it would really work.

How did a man make the kind of trip
he said he made

in that kind of condition?

- Wish, get him under some blankets.
- Ah, he's just tuckered out.

Nothing a little hot broth won't help.

Somebody come help carry him over
onto the wagon.

- I just thought of something.
- Yeah?

That rain we had soaked down
everything and everyone real good.

- Except him, he's bone dry.
- Hmm.

Yeah, I thought so too.

Wish, how long before
we can get packing?

Oh, it's gonna take till noon
for things to dry out.

And I'd like a chance to brew up
some cherry elixir.

Men are all gonna have colds
after that wetting they got.

Gotta have something for them.

And what about that fella?

FAVOR:
What about him?

WISHBONE:
Kind of a strange duck, isn't he?

Not strange, just different.

Michob. It sure is a queer name.

Not as queer as some names
I've come across.

For instance,
George Washington Wishbone.

- What's on your mind?
- Nothing.

Just that name keeps
teasing around in my mind

like I heard or seen it somewhere
before but can't just say when or how.

You said a couple of things.

Well, like how he come into camp
last night

bone dry in spite of all that rain.

Just like it had fallen all around him
instead of on him.

- What are you getting at?
- Nothing.

Just saying there's something mighty
strange about a fella like that.

Not strange, Wish, just different.

I heard of a man like that one time.

Yeah, where?

Down in the nations
a couple of years ago.

Only he called himself, uh,

Cartaphilus.

Something like that.

He was nothing but sore trouble,
according to the story I heard.

What kind of trouble?

[SIGHS]

Bad trouble.

Seemed like
after this fella showed up,

nothing ever went right
and everything went wrong.

You fixing to boil up some of
that wild-cherry elixir, Mr. Wishbone?

- Cartaphilus.
- I beg your pardon?

What happened to those books
I picked up in Tascosa?

- Books?
- For reading, you idiot.

I had a whole box of them.

They're in the supply wagon,
Mr. Wishbone,

under that mule harness
and sack of beans.

Hope they didn't get wet.

"Among other names adopted
by the Wanderer are Buttadeus,

Ahasverus and Michob."

Michob the Wanderer.

FAVOR: Come on, let's hustle with
that canvas so we can get out of here.

Mushy, come on, give him a hand.

MUSHY:
Yes, sir, Mr. Favor.

MICHOB:
Good morning.

Ah. What a beautiful day.

A storm brings
such freshness to the world.

FAVOR:
Hmm.

Don't you feel that way, Mr. Favor?

It cost me half a day's travel
and I'm missing some stock.

It's hardly a blessing.

That which is to be must be.

Philosophy ain't gonna get
my cattle back.

You have to admit it eliminates fear
of the future, huh?

Depends on where a man's going.

If you take, um, Sloan's Crossing,
for instance, it's a trail town,

as wide open as a place can get.

Hardly a peddler's paradise.

Especially a peddler
with nothing to peddle.

[CHUCKLES]

With nothing to peddle.

It's true that I lost my stock.

But, you see, to a man of commerce,
adversity is wedded to dame fortune.

The turn of the wheel, so to speak.

Today, disaster.
Tomorrow, the end of the rainbow.

Maybe in St. Louis
or even Homeville.

But not Sloan's Crossing.
That's an open grave.

You and I both know

the only commerce
a town like that understands

begins and ends
with a deck of cards

and a stock of
six-bit reservation firewater.

Still, I must go there.

Why?

A man with an itch
instead of a sense of security

ought to know a dead end
when he sees one.

Not an end, no, a beginning.

Not for me.

For a man whose life is at stake.

What do you mean?

A man is going to be hanged
at Sloan's Crossing

for a murder
which he did not commit.

I can prove that he is innocent.

- The man is John Slade.
- Slade?

I know, I know. A notorious criminal.

A half-breed, they tell me, damned by
the very savages that he led.

But still he's a man unjustly accused.

Oh, come on. He's not even human.

What he and his pack did
on the Pecos and the Red,

not even their grave can cover up.

Afraid the only justice he's ever
gonna see is at the end of a rope.

For what he did before,
perhaps you are right,

but not in this case,
not for this crime.

On the very night they say that he
murdered a man in Sloan's Crossing,

he occupied the hotel room
next to mine at Homeville.

He could not have
possibly committed the murder.

Slade is gonna have to balance up
the books pretty soon.

What difference does it make
whether it's today or next week?

The law is the difference.

The law of the land
that protects saints and sinners alike.

That's up to you. I'm afraid
when we get to the next town,

you're gonna have to provide
your own transportation.

Sloan's Crossing is 30 miles
out of our way.

I may be late.

That's your problem.

You'll ride in the supply wagon
with Mushy.

[MEN YELLING AND WHISTLING]

[MICHOB CHUCKLES]

- You think I'm telling you untruths?
- Think it? I know it.

Why, the way you spread the words
and sneak up on a fella,

ever so easy and polite like,

I'd have believe every word of it
if you hadn't topped it off

with the biggest whopper
ever heard of.

Why, when you said this hakim
fella came from Africa 800 years ago

and he was educated, heh,
you just gave the whole show away.

[MICHOB CHUCKLES]

Hey, look out!

Now what?

What in thunderation
are you trying to do?

Oh, perhaps this was my fault.

- You see, I was talking to him as--
FAVOR: Wish, how did it happen?

- Now, how do I know?
FAVOR: Mushy?

Well, Mr. Michob was telling me
some funny stories

about some folks
he knew 800 years ago.

Eight hundred years--?

- Wishbone, we'll noon here.
- Mr. Favor--

Keep your stories to yourself
after this, all right?

And try not to confuse him
any more than you have to, huh?

All right, Mushy.
Bring the wheel over.

Oh, you're eating.
Sit down, sit down, Mushy. I'll do it.

Oh, boy.

Whew.

I sent Quince ahead
to scout the river.

All right.

Then I figure when we get up there,
maybe we ought to lay over a few days.

Let the cattle
get some fat on them, huh?

Maybe.

Maybe? Well, what do you think?

Think about what?

About what I'm talking about.
Something the matter with you?

What do you mean,
is something the matter?

You're sitting there like a gravestone,
not listening to a thing I was saying.

Something bothering you?

It's curiosity.
Question marks always bother me.

Yeah, Mushy said
something about him

saying he knew some fella
who died 800 years ago.

- Mushy gets things all confused.
- Yeah, probably so.

Still, how'd he walk through
that rainstorm without getting wet?

It was a line squall,
came in from behind.

- Ain't no mystery about that.
- Yeah, maybe, maybe not.

You ever hear
the story of the Wanderer?

- The who?
- The Wanderer. It's a legend.

It seems when Jesus
was being taken to be crucified,

he stopped in front
of a shoemaker's shop

and asked could he rest a little bit.

And the shoemaker said, "No, tarry
not before my house, but go on."

Then Jesus said, "It is you who must
go on while others know rest.

You shall travel forever."

What's that got to do
with the peddler?

Well, one of the shoemaker's names
was Michob.

Wishbone, Michob's a name
that's as old as the Old Testament.

Nothing legendary about it.

It isn't just the name, it's the rest of it.
Here, you read this.

There's some stories
about that legend in there

that say sometimes the Wanderer
brings good luck,

but the others say
that the Wanderer was nothing

but catastrophe married to disaster
and committing bigamy with ruin.

Well, we had nothing but bad luck
since he showed up.

Bad luck had nothing to do with that
storm or the wagon breaking down.

Two coincidences don't make a legend
any more than old wives' tales

and ghosts and goblins come true.

Now, do you wanna get packed
or you want me to read you

a couple of rhymes
out of Mother Goose?

I've just had my say.

All right.

All right, now let's put her on.

No, never mind,
you stay here, it's all right.

Yup.

Eh!

On she goes.

It'll be good as new.

Mr. Michob, isn't there anything
you can't do?

QUINCE:
Mr. Favor!

Turn the herd. Point them west.

Can't use the river crossing,
Mr. Favor.

- Country's full of that stuff.
- Prairie larkspur.

There's enough of it this side
of the river to kill half the herd.

Couldn't keep them out of it.

Speaking of bad luck.

[HUMMING]

And then there were two.

It seems that for us, the wind doesn't
blow and the cradle cannot rock.

You always whittle yourself to sleep?

Only when the bough has broken
and the cradle needs repair.

Do you always
read yourself to sleep?

Oh.

Eh, not always. Depends on the book.
Take this one. Very interesting.

Hmm, Legends Old and New.

The Seven Cities of Cibola,
Jade Mines of Montezuma,

Lost City of Atlantis.
Even The Legend of The Wanderer.

Oh, the man of many faces,
Cartaphilus, Buttadeus, Ahasverus--

And Michob.

You don't think--?

By me, legends and myths are exactly
where they are belong,

between the covers of a book.

But I'm afraid
some of the men believe it.

If we have any more bad luck,
the responsibility is gonna fall on you.

[SIGHS]

That's what the people at Harts Corner
in New York said two years ago.

"An omen of death," they called me.
"Doomsday on the hoof."

I guess I've presented you
with quite a problem.

Are you gonna dump me
right here and now?

No, I wouldn't do that.

For no other reason that
I'm running this tribe, not superstition.

I'll do like I told you and
take you along to the next settlement.

Say, there, uh, is something about
The Legend of The Wanderer,

though, that piques my interest.

I understand from the book, he was
a man driven by a sense of guilt.

He was in torment trying to make
amends for an old injustice.

I can understand
that man walking a hundred miles

to save a renegade
like John Slade, but--

You question the integrity
of an itinerant man of commerce?

You sound like a cynic.

I understand a cynic is a man
who knows the price of everything,

and the value of nothing.

Unfortunately at the moment,
I happen to know both.

Now, good night, Michob.

Sleep well.

Mushy, are you gonna let
that water boil away?

- Now get it up here.
- Yes, sir.

[WISHBONE GRUNTING]

My arms.

- My arms.
MUSHY: I didn't mean it.

- Let me through.
- I didn't mean it, Mr. Wishbone.

[WISHBONE GROANS]

Better get some bandages
and plenty of lard.

I think we'll cut those sleeves off.

Get him something to sit on.

I hope you know
what you're doing.

Wait, wait, let me get that first.

MUSHY:
Sit here, Mr. Wishbone.

How is it, Wish?

I'll be back cooking
in a couple of days.

I guess we can stand
Mushy's cooking for that long.

Mushy, you'll drive the chuck wagon.

Only trouble is we'll have
to pull somebody off the herd

- for the supply wagon.
- Perhaps I can help, Mr. Favor.

What do you know
about driving a team?

I'm not an expert,
but I can follow the chuck wagon.

Well, we do need every man
we can on the herd.

- There's rough country ahead.
- All right, then.

Wish, you go in the supply wagon.

How long do you figure it will be,
Michob, before he can use his arms?

- Oh, it'll be at least a week.
- A week?

- Why, you're out of your--
- A week of Mushy's cooking?

We'll have a mutiny on our hands.

Uh, I can cook.

Is there anything he can't do?

One thing for sure, can't be
any worse than Mushy's cooking.

But, boss.

But, Mr. Favor.

Mr. Mushy,
may I have the thyme, please?

- What, Mr. Michob?
- Oh, never mind. I'll get it.

- Hey, what's going on here?
ROWDY: Ah, take a smell of this.

FAVOR:
Mm, mm, mm.

Uh-oh.

- Nice.
- Smells good.

How are you doing, Wish?

- I'm all right, I guess.
MICHOB: Everything is ready.

Oh, uh, well, you know, of course,
that Michob is just filling in for you.

Sure, he is.

MICHOB:
I hope you have good appetites.

MAN 1: You bet, yeah.
MAN 2: I'm first.

ROWDY:
Us ramrods need our energy.

MICHOB:
Okay.

Here we are.

Ah.

- I'll take a little of this stuff too.
- Okay.

Mm-hm.

Yeah.

- Mr. Michob?
- Yeah?

Here.

Out of the witch's cauldron
comes the magic

of son-of-a-gun stew, Hebrew style.

- I'm not hungry.
- Come on, eat it.

Come on.

Like it or not, it's the only way
to keep up your strength.

Hmm?

Good?

Here, put your teeth in that.

- There you are.
- Mm.

Mm, mm.

This is my second plate.
Better grab some before it's too late.

I ain't hungry enough
to eat that Jonah's grub.

That peddler is a travelling disaster.
Just mark my word.

Mr. Favor, you know it's true.
You know that man's a jinx.

[MEN YELLING AND WHISTLING]

Well, there's your crossing.

FAVOR: Looks like we go to
Sloan's Crossing after all, huh?

Turn them back!

Taking your noon break
a little bit earlier today, ain't you, huh?

Just talking to the boys.

What's so important you have to stop
working the herd to talk it over?

Mr. Favor, that peddler's a jinx.

First it was the rain.
Then the wagon broke down.

Then we run across that
prairie larkspur.

And now we can't get across the river
that break us because the river is up.

Mr. Favor, you know as well as I do,

the river ain't usually up
this time of year.

Then there was Wishbone.

You sure can't blame Michob
for what happened to Wishbone.

I can.

What made Mushy stumble when he
was carrying that hot water was a doll.

A doll that the peddler
was carving on.

Oh. Anything else?

Yes, sir.

We want you
to get rid of him right now.

After thinking it over very carefully,
this is the way it stacks up.

I run this drive and what I say goes.

And I say Michob can stay with us
until Sloan's Crossing.

Mr. Favor, you might find yourself
mighty long on cows

and mighty short on drovers
if anything else happens.

Oh, Mr. Mushy,
is there any more flour?

MUSHY: Oh, yes, sir, Mr. Michob.
- Thank you.

Mr. Wishbone,
it ain't time to sleep yet.

When a man's tired, the clock
hasn't got anything to do with it.

- Mr. Wishbone, what's wrong?
- Nothing.

Then why are you acting like this?

You wouldn't understand.

A man just isn't fit for nothing

if he don't think
he can do something real good.

- Right?
- I guess.

Even if it's just one little old thing,

he's gotta believe he can do that
better than anybody else.

- That's right too.
- Guess so.

Well, I don't think that anymore.

- What do you mean?
- My cooking.

What's the matter
with your cooking?

I used to think I was a pretty fair hand
with a pot and a skillet

and better than most
when it comes to doctoring.

Then Michob showed me
how wrong I was.

Well, you better start looking
for a new boss, Mushy.

Mr. Wishbone,
that's talking pretty foolish.

No, sir. I tasted his cooking.

I just couldn't face the men again
with that stew of mine.

But the men are always grumbling
about their food.

Well, the men got a right to grumble
on a long drive like this.

I never paid them any mind
because I knew I was good.

And I don't know that anymore.
I just don't know nothing.

You'll feel better when you get
those bandages off, Mr. Wishbone.

You'll see.

[WISHBONE SIGHS]

- Your flour, Mr. Michob.
MICHOB: Oh, thank you, Mr. Mushy.

Thank you very much.

- Anything you want?
- No.

But there's something I don't want.

You.

You're bad luck.
You're trouble and I've had my fill.

No man could run away
from trouble,

no more than he can cut off
his shadow and bury it.

I can, peddler.

All I gotta do is pack your gear
and start you running.

If you don't it, I'll do it for you.

No, not this way and not now.

Maybe you don't hear so good.

I said, you're leaving tonight,
right now.

I'll leave when Mr. Favor tells me to
and not before.

Then maybe
I can change your mind.

Get up, peddler.

I got work to do.

I said, get out!

I said, get out!

Get out!

You had enough?

Fight back, Mr. Michob.

MICHOB:
No.

[GROANING]

You force me to fight
and I don't want to.

You tell me to run and I can't.
You call me jinx and Jonah.

And then you close your mind
to reason and truth.

Now look at me.

Look past superstition and fear

and old tales of incantation
and boiling pots, and see me.

I'm a man.

I bleed, I rage, I laugh, I cry,

I see, I feel, I even pray.

But I'm still a myth, a denizen
of the dark, a harbinger of disaster.

And why?

Because I have committed
the crime of being different.

Mountains are high
and they're crooked and they're flat,

but they're still mountains.

And water is green and blue and white,
and it's still water.

And I am still a man, just like you.

I bring you no bad luck.

I bring no disaster.

And I certainly do not bring
a myth to life.

That, no man can do.

Now I will leave.

Michob.

Aren't you forgetting something?

Why, you let our stew cook too long
and you'll burn that pot midnight black.

Me, I'm gonna faint dead away,
I don't get something to eat.

Look, you walk out on us now

and we'll wind up eating steers
out of our own herd.

Come on and get it before
we throw it out to the coyotes.

- All right, Mushy, dish it up.
- Okay.

MAN 1: This is the best darn stew
I've ever eaten.

[MEN CHATTERING]

MAN 2: Good stuff. Tell you one thing.
I'd sure like to get seconds on this.

Guess that just about
wraps that up, huh?

- Except for one thing.
- Hmm?

Heh. Funny, ever since Michob
joined the drive,

one thing after another has been
pushing us toward Sloan's Crossing.

And now we're going that way.

Thirty miles out of our way,
but we're going that way.

MAN 3:
Very good.

Mr. Favor, Mr. Favor.

What are you doing, Michob?

What comes naturally to a man
with an uncontrollable itch: moving.

But why? There's no need now.

- What happened with Hunt is--
- Did not have to happen, but it did.

And what is more, I let it happen.

I let another man's fury
take the place of my reason,

and that is the cardinal act of idiocy.

- So you're running away.
- Not running, walking.

Call it the better part of wisdom.

Or perhaps insurance
against greater trouble.

You can't run from trouble any more
than you can run from a myth.

QUINCE:
Mr. Favor!

It's Hunt. Horse started running
and Hunt tried to turn him.

His horse fell right in front of him,
just nothing we could do.

[GROANING]

FAVOR: Pretty bad, huh, Wish?
- Oh, not a thing.

This is as bad as it can get.

Hopeless.

There ought to be a doctor
at Sloan's Crossing.

There's nothing a doctor can do.
There's nothing anybody can do.

There's always something
someone can do, Mr. Wishbone.

Even if it's only a word,
there's always something.

What do you want?

To help, nothing more.

I'm gonna die, ain't I?

No, you're going to live.

What?

Thanks.

I want a word with you.

[WHISPERING]
Now, what's the idea, telling him that?

He hasn't got a chance.

[WHISPERING]
I know he hasn't got a chance.

But he needs something to see him
through the difficult hours ahead.

Now, medicine won't help.
Science can't. Only faith.

That is all we can give him.

HUNT:
Peddler?

I've been dreaming,

like when I was a kid.

Feel like running forever,

racing all over the mountains.

I ain't felt that way in a long time.

What's it mean?

[IN NORMAL VOICE]
Means that you're getting better.

You wouldn't kid a fellow,
would you?

Now you get some rest.

You stick around, you hear?

MICHOB:
Now you must rest. Shh.

I'll stick around.

He's still hanging on.

How long do you figure?

He has a very strong will to live.

Well, I'll get some horses ready.

We ought to be in Sloan's Crossing
in a couple of hours.

No, no, Mr. Favor. Not yet.

Not yet?

After the stink you made
about getting to this town

and traveling a hundred miles
to save a man's life,

and you say, "Not yet"?

It's Hunt.
I can't leave him until it's over.

The most he's got to live is
a couple of hours at the outside.

A man's last hours
cannot be measured by the clock.

- What about Slade?
HUNT: Peddler?

A dying man's wish is sacred.

I would be less than a man
if I let him down.

I can do only what I have to do,
when I must do it.

No man can bend
the hands of a clock

any more than
he can control his future.

HUNT:
Peddler.

I thought you left me.

About that fight,

I reckon I was scared of you.

I'm sorry.

It's a funny thing, ain't it?

Now you're a real sight
of comfort to me.

[SPEAKS INDISTINCTLY]

Well, I think we still ought to make
Sloan's Crossing by sunup.

Michob, if you ever wanna hire on
as a permanent Jonah,

well, you got yourself a job.

Thank you, Mr. Wishbone.

- Bye, Mr. Michob.
MICHOB: Bye, Mr. Mushy.

Thank you very much.

What do you want?

Do you have a prisoner
named John Slade?

No, not anymore, I ain't.

Folks around here
got a little impatient,

busted in last night,
took him out and lynched him.

Me, well, I guess I didn't put up
much of an argument,

Slade being what he was and all.

You, uh, wouldn't be friends of his,
would you?

Oh, no, no. Uh, we just know of him.

Thanks a lot.

Strange, isn't it?

I traveled all this distance
and it didn't matter.

It didn't matter at all.

Oh, I don't know, Michob,
it mattered to Hunt.

I think it did to a few cowhands who
got their fact and fantasy mixed up.

I know it did to me.
Well, where do you go from here?

Wherever that strange little itch
of mine takes me, I guess.

As a matter of fact,

this little metropolis looks like
it could do with a bit of civilization.

You're welcome back on the drive
if you want.

Mm-mm.

Entrepreneurs and cattle don't mix.

My business is people.

Even if their business begins
and ends with a deck of cards

and a stock of reservation firewater.

Who knows? Perhaps I may even
go into the saloon-keeping business.

As a sideline, of course.

- Good luck, Michob.
- And to you, Mr. Favor.

Head them up!

Move them out!