Original subtitles

Hyah! Come on!

Sometimes a man has to lie to save his own neck,

and sometimes to save somebody else's.

Well, I had to lie once to save another man's life,

and I don't know to this day

whether I did right or wrong.

It was on the Tucson run

between Membrey Springs and Cow Creek Station.

We were a day and a half late already

and in no need to further delay.

But on a stage run in Arizona Territory,

trouble is always as close as the next bend in the road.

I'll only be a minute.

JIM: It was trouble, all right. The worst kind.

The only question was,

was it my trouble or just the other fellow's?

And I had to find out.

What's he done to earn this?

Take a look for yourself.

That's a single iron, mister.

It fits under his saddle.

Satisfied?

No. You can't hang a man for changin' a brand.

Not these days.

I can, mister.

I'm J.K. Russell, Managing Foreman,

Hash Knife Land and Cattle Company.

Now, how about you?

Well, I'll tell you about me.

I'm against hangin' a man for any reason without a fair trial.

You know him?

The kid was caught on my land.

We didn't wait on no formal introductions.

Well, I know him, and I want him.

What's more, I'm gonna take him.

And who might you be?

Name's Hardie. Jim Hardie.

Special Investigator for Wells Fargo.

This man held up one of our stages two summers ago.

I've looked for him a long time.

We're tired of chasin' him.

So?

So I'm takin' him into Tucson

where he's gonna stand trial.

You know range law. You know you have no call to mix in here.

We have the kid dead to rights.

I know range law, all right.

And I know regular law, too.

I'm turnin' this man over to Sheriff Bates in Tucson.

Now, if you want to press cow-stealin' charges against him,

that's where he'll be.

You! Get him down from there.

Tie that horse to the stage.

You better have him in the Tucson jail

when we come after him, Mr. Hardie.

He'll be there, safe and sound.

It's a long ways yet.

With him, you may never make it.

See you in Tucson, Mr. Russell.

He'll still hang.

Range law or regular, he'll end on a rope.

Remember that!

Giddy-up.

Hyah. Giddup.

JIM: We had to lay over that night at cow Creek

to reset a wheel.

I was still watchin' the boy, not able to get out of my mind

the Hash Knife foreman's warning about him.

There was something else about him

sticking in my mind, too.

I kept thinking that I ought to know him from someplace,

that I'd seen him or his face somewhere before.

After supper, I asked him if he wouldn't

like to stretch his legs before we turned in.

He said he would be mighty obliged for the opportunity.

And that's when he paid me back for savin' his life.

Hardie? You trust me long enough for one good stretch?

I give you my word.

All right, boy. I'll take you at your word.

Ahh.

Oh, that's wonderful.

Thanks.

Sorry, Hardie,

but I only gave you my word for one stretch.

Now, move steady and quiet.

I don't wanna have to shoot you.

Stand up.

Throw me your gun.

I'm beholden to you for your trouble, Hardie,

and I won't forget it.

But for your information, I didn't steal no cow.

Cause if I'm ever gonna steal something,

it's gonna be a whole lot more than a cow.

Whether you stole a cow or not,

doesn't change the fact that I gave my word

to deliver you to the Tucson jail.

You tried, but you didn't make it.

I'll make it, one way or another.

Maybe. Some other time.

I didn't catch your name.

I didn't throw it.

However, in case you want to send me

a picture postcard of that Tucson jail,

just mail it to General Delivery, Arizona Territory,

in care of Tom Horn.

JIM: Tom Horn...

one of the most fantastic men the West ever knew.

He didn't look a day over 18 years old

and already had a reputation

for cold nerve and audacity next to no one.

I'd rather have gone blindfolded into a gopher hole

after a diamondback sidewinder

than to set out after that fellow.

But I had told a deliberate lie to save his life,

and I had used Wells Fargo's name in the bargain.

It was a bad bargain,

and it was up to me, to make good on it,

all the way.

Tom Horn headed straight into Apache land,

a bad place anytime, and especially bad just then.

Broken Hand, called Manarotto by the Apaches,

and by any name, the poorest friend

the white man ever had in Arizona.

He and his Mimbreno band

were feuding with the United States Army again,

and the old chief had let it be known

that any soldier or civilian caught in his country

would be given a real welcome.

In Apache talk,

that meant that they would entertain a man all night,

then... Well, you could put it this way.

That man's first sunrise with Broken Hand

and his Mimbreno wolf pack would be his last.

Tom Horn was down there somewhere,

and that left me no choice.

In my business, a man's got to be ready

to live by his word or die by it.

Hyah!

Whoa!

You're a little bit late, mister.

So were we. I can see that.

Apaches? Apaches.

JIM: Were their mother and father killed?

They were, both of them.

What Apaches were they?

Bronco Mimbrenos.

They left that little sign.

Broken Hand's bunch.

Broken Hand?

You know him?

Somewhat.

Then you know well enough to turn right around

and follow us back to the fort.

That depends.

I'm looking for a man ridin' sorrel horse,

wearing a dark outfit with a beaded hatband.

You seen him?

We might have seen him. Why?

He's a wanted man.

You a bounty hunter?

No. Special Investigator for Wells Fargo.

We seen your man, all right,

not more than 20 minutes down the road.

I don't know what he's done,

but I hope you never catch him.

Why do you say that?

He's the one who saved the youngsters in the wagon there.

He rode right into the Apache ambush,

made his way to the house, and held 'em off

until we got there.

Then he lit out pert near as fast as the Indians

once he seen us.

Which way did he head?

A way I'd advise you not to go, Wells Fargo.

Right smack dab in the tracks of those Apaches.

Thank you, Sergeant.

You know me?

You white man, you know me?

Yes, I know you.

Broken Hand, Manarotto of the Mimbreno.

Yes... me Broken Hand.

You know how me get sick hand?

White man.

White man own store.

Him say me steal.

I say I no steal.

Apache chief no steal from white man.

White man say I lie.

He take knife.

He cut arm deep many time.

He say go.

You steal no more.

White man wrong.

I come back. I take both his hand!

Soldier find him that way.

Soldier chief say, "Death to Broken Hand."

Broken Hand say, "Kill soldier chief!"

So... long time war now.

Apache people have no peace

till last soldier gone.

Last soldier no gone till last white man gone.

So kill all white man!

Does that mean you're gonna kill me?

I can no help you.

Apache law.

You brave man, good heart, strong eye.

Mimbreno law say you die.

When?

When sun come back.

First light in day.

How?

I no cut you. You brave man.

You not afraid.

You die quick with many bullets

like soldiers do Apache warriors.

Hyah!

Uh, you figure we lost them yet?

I don't know.

We haven't seen a sign of them this morning.

If I didn't know 'em better, I'd say they quit and went home.

Yeah. We both know they never quit, and they ain't got a home.

Ah, but there's always first time for everything.

And a last. Lets get out of here.

TOM: Hold on!

Hyah.

Thanks.

Double or nothin'.

Take my horse. Try to make it back to the fort.

I'll hold 'em off till you get back.

Well, hurry up, boy! One hero is enough!

Like you said, double or nothin'.

Well, I think we lost 'em, boy.

Now I can thank you for saving my life.

Unfortunately, it can't change what I've got to do.

I'm still gonna take you to jail in Tucson.

Oh, that.

I understand.

A man's gotta stand by his word.

That's right.

Now I'm gonna ask you to give me your word again

that you're not gonna try anything if I take you back.

Well how about it? I got your word?

All right, you got my word.

And this time you can count on me all the way,

I swear it.

Good.

Give me your gun.

Won't be needing this, either.

Let's go.

Sheriff, I'm Jim Hardie from Wells Fargo.

I thought you was.

Sure pleased to meet you.

Thank you. This is Tom Horn.

I brought him in on a complaint

of the Hash Knife outfit, a cow-stealin' charge.

Tom Horn.

I've heard enough about him, too.

Well, he deserves a break.

He saved my life when he had a chance to get away

and save his own.

He promised me he'd come in without any trouble,

and he did it.

I hope you'll remember that when his trial comes up.

Don't worry, Jim. He'll get a fair trial.

Thank you.

Well, so long, Tom. Good luck to you.

Don't you believe in saying goodbye, boy?

Oh, I will, when the time comes.

Come on, boy.

Hardie, better throw me your gun.

Now, boy, you made me a promise.

I sure did, and I kept it, too.

But I didn't make no promise to that sheriff in there.

Throw me your gun.

You made a promise to bring me in, and you did.

But you didn't make no promise

to sit with me till they got here, now, did you?

No. No, I didn't.

Well, if you don't have any objections,

I'm gonna be movin' on.

I can't very well object

when you've got two guns, and I haven't got any.

However,

I said somethin' a while ago I meant, boy.

Good luck to you.

Thanks.

The same to you.

JIM: They can say what they want about Tom Horn,

and it's true, he did wind up on the end of the rope.

But that was twenty years later, and for my part,

I'll always think of Tom Horn as a...

as a fellow with a grin bright enough

to make you feel warm on a cold day,

and more pure nerve than a train robber

with a toy pistol.

I don't know for sure to this day

whether I did right or wrong

to save his life that time.

But I'll tell you one thing,

I got a pretty good idea.