Original subtitles

["Pomp and Circumstance"]

The official newspaper files of the early West record many stories of famous and notorious

characters of that period.

Among them, Billy the Kid, the terror of the old West in the 1880s.

He was the most feared gunman and outlaw in the pages of history of the old or new frontiers

of America.

Well, howdy, gents.

Hello, cowboy.

When did you get out?

Just before daybreak.

Where have you been keeping yourself?

Up front.

Care to sit in?

No, thanks.

I don't have any beans.

Don't need beans.

Money will do.

Don't have much of that either.

Let's just see how much that is.

I'm Matt Clark, railroad detective.

I used to throw hobos like this off trains, but the last thing I wanted this trip was

trouble.

Over a thousand head of cattle had been stolen from the railroad stockpiles 100 miles north

of here eight days ago.

There was another detective working the Mesilla country who was to meet me outside of town

and pass on any information as to the movement of the stolen herds.

Oh, hello, Matt.

Hello, Frankie.

I was waiting down the road where the boss told me to meet you.

Yeah, I know.

I got delayed.

Boss tells me you got a line on the stolen herd.

The trail herd came through Mascara Gap day before yesterday.

They're hidden out more than 20 miles out of Mesilla.

Are you sure about that?

The gang that brought them down has been visiting the Cantina de Oro the last two nights.

Did you...

By the sheriff?

He left down two days ago.

He's lucky.

Why?

The head of the gang is Billy the Kid.

Billy the Kid?

Wowie.

Why is everyone so afraid of him?

He's just a little runt.

He's got nice blue eyes and always smiling.

Seems to me a big fella like you ought to be able to take him over your knees, spank

him and send him back to mama.

That's not the way I heard it.

Those guns he wears makes him eight feet tall and tougher than a grizzly.

Any more good news?

He's been coming in the Cantina openly since the sheriff left town.

I got myself a job playing the piano there to keep track of him.

Good.

I hope the kid doesn't suspect you because you know how well he likes detectives.

Yeah.

You go ahead.

I'll hoof it on into town.

Okay.

See you there, Matt.

I figured if I rolled in a messiah with dust on my heels and sand in my hair, nobody would

take me for a railroad detective.

Not even Billy the Kid.

Let us first hear the honest ring of silver, stranger.

Treat her with respect, senor.

At the last of a long and noble life.

So this was the notorious Billy the Kid.

Born William H. Bonney in the slums of New York City.

If the kid's widowed mother hadn't married a man who fled west to escape the Civil War,

the kid might have become the bully of the Bowery instead of the scourge of the great

southwest.

Bartender.

Si, senor.

Some glasses and some good whiskey.

Matt Rewards hung over the kid's head, yet there wasn't a man in the place who'd dare

gamble with a fate like that.

They know about that violent temper.

They knew as well as I that he'd already pulled the trigger on some 18 victims.

And the tally would be 21 before he died.

One for every year of his hectic life.

Tell your new piano player I want to buy her a drink.

Si, senor.

The kid would like the pleasure of your company to drink with.

What if I don't care to?

Then you will have to find a pianola someplace else.

For this would put me out of business forever.

Please, senorita.

Please.

Gracias, senor.

Gracias.

You play piano real good.

Thanks.

Reminds me of when I was little.

My mother used to play the piano.

Whenever she could get close enough to one.

She was never rich enough to own one.

Why don't you buy her one?

You can afford it now, can't you?

Well, I don't know where she is.

I left home a long time ago.

Go on.

You can't be over 20.

Counting the years don't mean anything.

It's what you've seen and done.

What I've seen and done makes me older than anybody else in this bar room.

I've got to see him in a minute, Billy.

Well, let it wait.

I can't.

The old man said to tell you you've got to move those cattle tonight.

Tomorrow will be too late.

You've got word that Pat Garrett's riding.

You don't let in when I'm having a conversation with a lady.

You'll excuse us, ma'am?

Why, of course.

I hear old man stayed alive so long with you hanging around Beatsby.

Now say what you've got to say, will you?

I couldn't make out what the young fella had said to the kid, but I knew that Frankie had

heard.

Let's go, man.

We're riding.

Wait a minute.

Are these things yours, miss?

Yes.

You better put them on.

You're riding with us.

Me?

Why?

Maybe you heard, maybe you didn't.

Just to make sure, you better come along.

You can't make me go.

Keep your hands off of her.

You don't know who I am, do you, mister?

I don't care who you are, Sonny.

The lady said she didn't want to go.

Well, it's lucky for you you're not packing a gun.

Who is he, miss?

I, uh, I don't know.

It's just some saddle bum that drifted in.

Well, shooting him won't give him no manners.

Take care of him, boys.

Get out of the way, miss.

Get into your room.

Go get her on a horse.

There's a gold piece.

Go get yourself a gun.

Because the next time I see you, you're going to have to use it.

Eventually the kid rides into town and rides out, and I'm lying there flat on my face in

the street where the horses stood.

I guess luck was with me at that.

The young fellow that talked with the kid, the little thief that stole my coin, was coming

back down the street in a wagon.

It suddenly occurred to me that he might be headed for the same place as the kid.

What are you stopping me for?

I ain't done nothing.

Don't go getting excited, son.

You're just stopping everybody to wish them good morning.

What do you got under this canvas here?

Morning to you too, mister.

What are you hiding for, timid?

Just keeping out of the sun.

Talk sense.

I'm Pat Garrett, Sheriff from over in Lincoln.

Well, I'm sure glad to hear that.

I thought at first you were a holdup artist.

I'm Matt Clark, railroad detective.

Here's my credentials.

I'm after a herd Billy the Kid stole from our railroad.

He's all right.

We're looking for the kid too, for the murder of Sheriff Brady.

Kind of like to get him while we still have a few sheriffs left.

Care to throw in with us?

I'd be a fool not to.

Fact is, I stowed away in this wagon because I figured the boy hearing you were Billy was

hiding.

Tell us about the kid, sonny.

I don't know nothing about him.

What's your name?

It's Moes.

Moes Stanton.

Thanks, son.

That's all I have to know.

His old man is Jake Stanton, a middleman for stolen cattle.

It's an odds on bet we'll find the kid at his ranch now making a deal.

What do you say we get in on it?

Tim, take the boy back to town.

Organize a posse.

Get him back out of here as fast as possible.

We'll keep trailing the kid till you get here.

You can take his horse.

The kid wasn't at the Stanton ranch, but he wasn't far from it either.

We caught up with him later that day.

There he was with his gang and old man Stanton's cowhands.

Down there below us, moving the stolen herd north to meet the Colorado buyers.

It was Pat Garrett's show and he handled it well.

He decided the best place and time to strike was here and now.

Before we got time to think about it twice, we were all tearing down that slope headlong

into action.

Most of Billy's gang were cut down one by one in the stampede.

Old man Stanton, who was buying the stolen cattle, was killed in the fight.

I spotted the kid heading for the hills.

Come on, Pat!

I was worried about Frankie.

I was sure the kid hadn't harmed her, but I wondered where he had taken her.

It wasn't too long before I found out.

Joe!

Joe!

Garrett and the posse are blowing out of the hills.

They're on my trail like a hound dog.

Give me some shots.

I was going to let you go tonight, Frankie.

I can't now.

You've got to come with us.

Please, Billy, let me stay here.

I can't help or hurt you now.

You can.

You're our passport to Mexico.

For your sake, I hope they don't start shooting.

This is a good spot.

Why don't we stay here?

To get myself trapped in a Mexican standoff?

I've never seen one of those yet that work.

Sooner or later, you run out of water, grub or lead, and you've got to make a run for

it.

I'm going to get you out of here.

I'm going to get you out of here.

I'm going to get you out of here.

You stick if you want to.

I make my run now.

I'm with you, kid.

I'll take Frankie and the buckboard.

You get your horse.

Get around back.

If we have to, we'll starve him out.

All right.

There's no running time.

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Ha!

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Smart old fox, I should have known.

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We didn't want to hit Frankie by trying to plug the kid.

We made some noise just to let him know we were on his tail.

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Ah, I'm out of cartridges.

Looks like my luck's running out too.

Hyah!

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Hyah!

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I'm all right.

Well, you finally ran me down.

What pleases me most, Billy, is taking you alive.

I never thought I would.

Maybe so, Pat.

But I'll promise you one thing.

You'll never hang me.

♪♪

On the afternoon of April 28, while one of his guards was in a restaurant across the street,

Billy slugged his other guard and took his gun away,

then shot him in cold blood.

He made his way to the porch of the old building, serving as a temporary jail.

The young Bollinger heard the shots and came running out.

You know what good that'll do you now, Bob!

Hyah!

Toward the middle of July, two months later,

Lieutenant Garrett finally got a clue as to the kid's whereabouts.

He rode to Fort Sumner with John Poe, a range detective, and myself as deputy.

Toward midnight one evening, we came to the house of Pete Maxwell,

a righteous friend of both Garrett's and the kid.

Wait here, Matt. I'll go in and talk to Pete.

Pete!

Pete!

Yeah? Yeah?

Who is it?

It's me, Matt Garrett.

Come on in. The door's open.

Hiya, Pat.

Hi. I'm looking for the kid. Is he around?

He was. I don't know whether he's still here or not.

Those horses outside, whose are they?

I don't know.

I can't ask. Who's there?

There on the night of July 14, 1881, lay William H. Bonney, alias Billy the Kid.

As he had lived by the gun, so did he die.

Well, Pat, now that Billy's dead and gone, what are your plans?

I've got a nice little ranch north of here.

It'll do me just fine to sit on it and work it from now to doomsday.

I sure wasted a lot of time trying to cut the kid's trail.

Too much time, if you ask me.

I wouldn't say it was wasted, Mr. Garrett.

Most of New Mexico must be sleeping easier these nights.

I don't know. I kind of regretted having to do it.

I'd rather take him alive.

When I saw him that night, it was just a simple case of who shot first.

I happened to be the lucky one.

Could have been the other way around.

There's our train.

We better whip it up. We're going to flag it down at the junction.

Aye aye.

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