Whispering Smith

Yeah. Smith.
Maybe Blake likes to run.
Who's running'?
You are.

And that's something I've gotta see. A growed-up
running from the guy that killed his two brothers.

Why, if you had the guts of a
grasshopper, son, you'd call Smith's hand.

You're better off dead than
sweating every time a door opens.

And it's gonna open
pretty soon now,

because Smith's on his way
over here.

Where ya goin', son?

Me and Smith are gonna
need plenty of elbow room.

Say, Blake...

If you need any help...
You wait out here.
Smitty, why don't you listen to
reason? You wanna help me, don't you?

You know I do. You stay out
here and keep your eyes open.

Well, well. So here you
are. Sit you down, son.

Sit down.
Well, you see, Whitey and
me's all ready for you.

There we are.
Now then, son,
just what's on your mind?

Any favour me and Whitey
can do for ya'll be a real pleasure.

- Won't it, Whitey?
- Rebstock, I'll not waste your time,

and I'll thank you
not to waste mine.

You've got Blake Barton.
I want him.

Well, that's just fine, son,
just fine and dandy.

And how would you like him wrapped up...
fancy-like, with pink ribbons, or just plain?

Don't be a clown, Rebstock.