02x01 - Mild, Mild West

[bunniefuu]

Buffalo Bill's Western Extravaganza has rolled into town, and all your favourites are here.

Meet the world's greatest sharpsh**ter...

Annie Oakley!

Hank 'Lightning' Wilcox and Jaws McRawlins, the daring duo that tamed the wild frontier!

The most dangerous g*n in the west: Bounty hunter John Warton!

And of course, the legendary Buffalo Bill himself!

[crowd cheering]

Welcome!

Hang on to your hats, folks.

You're in for a rootin' tootin' good time!

Oh... Bollocks!

Probably the wind.

Yes.

Bloody rope's probably too short. That's what it is.

Perhaps Detective Murdoch would have better luck.

These games are all as bent as a nine-bob note anyway.

I have a good mind to charge the fellow who's running it and arrest him for making money under false pretenses.

Pardon me, Sir.

They need to have the occasional winner, Sir.

To make the game seem legitimate.

Yes, yes...

Oh.

Perhaps you should have this.

No, Murdoch, why don't you wear it?

Oh, I think it would look much better on you.

I'd need about four large scotches inside me before that came anywhere near my head, me old mucker.

It's a shame.

Hat like that cries out to be worn.

Five minutes to showtime.

Ladies and gentlemen!

Now the wild wild west was one dusty world.

And it was just crawling with every kinda scoundrel and outlaw that there was.

But the worst man the most feared man in the wild wild west, was one Chester McGee!

That's right. 'Cause he was a stone-cold k*ller!

[boo]

Now, one day this k*ller, like every k*ller, met his match.

In the persons of Lightning Wilcox and his partner, Jaws McRawlins.

Let's hear it for these boys.

Chester McGee, he was causing a lot of problems.

So that Sheriff over there in Carson City, he called out for help.

And that's when he called on us!

[cheering]

You're my hero!

So... Lightning and his partner Jaws, they just followed that Chester McGee to the ends of the earth!

And then they finally found him; coulda sh*t him right there too.

Would that have been a fair fight?

No!

So Hank 'Lightning' Wilcox took out a six-sh**t, placed it on that dusty floor, kicked it across to ol' Chester McGee.

Then he turned his back on him.

And as Chester goes down for that six-sh**t...

Lightning spun around and sh*t him right between the eyes!

So ladies and gentlemen, for you today, the most terrifying stunt ever performed in front of a live and paying audience, by Hank 'Lightning' Wilcox and his partner Jaws McRawlins, here in the flesh.

Take it away, boys!

Three b*ll*ts.

One to scare him.

Oh!

One to calm his nerves.

And one he's going to catch in his teeth!

You ready, Jaws?

Just let me have one last puff.

Now are you ready?

Nothing to worry about.

They've performed this stunt a thousand times.

Oh My goodness.

What was that, Murdoch, about 'nothing to worry about'?

Excuse us.

Jaws...

It ain't like I ain't seen a man die before.

But this here was just so...

Unexpected?

Unexpected?

Gettin' hit by lightning, that's unexpected. No, this was...

I don't understand. We travel the world with this show.

Them boys done this act at least a thousand times.

Never so much as a hitch.

Were there any problems between Mr. Wilcox and Mr. McRawlins?

Problems?

What are you saying? This mighta been intentional?

More than likely it was an accident.

But we have to make sure. Understand?

No, you understand this. Them boyz was like brothers.

They may have had their differences now and again, but who doesn't?

Naw, this is nothing but what it looks like.

Now I'm sorry, fellas, if there's nothing further I've got a show to do tomorrow and I got a lotta changes to make.

That'll be fine, thank you.

Thank you.

The show must go on.

Murdoch, this is the greatest show on earth.

There'd be uproar if it didn't.

I suppose.

Doctor Ogden, have you found anything yet?

Cursory details.

The b*llet knocked the lateral incisor out cleanly.

But it didn't pass through the back of the skull.

The tooth slowed the b*llet's velocity significantly enough to prevent it exiting.

No doubt.

I won't be able to retrieve it until I perform the post-mortem.

Oh!

Have you found something?

Wasn't so hard to retrieve after all.

No.

No visible striations. Near-perfect condition.

This b*llet hasn't been fired.

No, it hasn't.

So where is the b*llet that k*lled him?

Buried in the back of his throat or perhaps lodged in his spinal column.

And how did an unfired b*llet end up in his gob?

It's a sleight of hand. Isn't that right, Mr. Wilcox?

Mr. McRawlins no doubt had the b*llet under his tongue the whole time.

Yeah, he did.

I'd never fire a b*llet at his head.

That'd be foolish.

Yes, it would.

So where did the b*llet go?

Well, after I'd fired the first two sh*ts, put the audience on edge...

Then Jaws would take a final draw of his cigarette, like the last act of a dead man.

But he was really just filling his lungs up with smoke.

I'd fire the third b*llet wide into the hay.

Jaws would belch up the smoke, making like it come from the impact of the b*llet.

At the same time, he'd spit the b*llet up between his teeth like he caught it.

Leastways, that's what was s'posed to happen.

I see.

And how would you describe your relationship with Mr. McRawlins?

'Relationship'?

How you two interacted.

I... I know what you mean. I just never heard it put that way.

Least not by a man.

And to answer your question, we got along fine.

Did you?

That's a helluva thing to accuse a fella of.

Please answer the question, Mr. Wilcox.

I didn't sh**t Jaws.

Well, someone did.

Yeah, someone did.

And whoever they are, I'll find 'em.

And when I'm done, their boots will be pointing up toward their maker.

You mark my words.

Good day Mrs. Brackenreid.

Good day, Detective.

Sir, you have a moment to discuss the case?

Yes, yes, but let's talk in your office.

Sir, the suspect Mr. Wilcox raises an interesting point.

Someone else could have fired the sh*t.

What would you expect him to say: "I fired it"?

Nevertheless, a theory we should entertain.

I'll tell you what I think.

I think it's the smartest or stupidest plan ever conceived to get away with m*rder.

Just think... You sh**t the victim in front of a crowd and claim innocence. At worst, it's considered an accident.

Sir, why is your scotch in my desk?

The missus has joined that bloody temperance lot.

She knows all my hiding places.

I see.

"Lips that touch alcohol shall not touch mine," she says.

And she's been keeping her word, I promise you.

Most unfortunate.

Very.

But... I promised her I'd quit, and by god I'll give it a go.

That's very commendable, Sir.

However, I'm not sure I'm entirely committed.

So how shall we proceed?

Well, I believe the simplest way to determine if Mr. Wilcox is in fact telling the truth is to search the hay bales and if we do find three slugs, we know he did miss his target.

And if we find two, we know where to find the other one, don't we?

Any luck finding those slugs, George?

Oh, Sir, just the one so far.

It's like trying to find a needle in a haystack, literally.

We thought about burning the hay away, Sir...

But thought the fire would ruin the evidentiary value of the slugs.

Wise decision.

Then we thought about letting one of the bisons from the show eat the hay.

But of course, we'd have to sort through the excretion.

And we just watched one excrete.

Bloody hell, this is going to take awhile.

Perhaps this is a good time to enquire about motive, Sir.

Bisons.

Excuse me.

We were told we could find Mr. Cody here.

I expected him to be here now too.

He's very particular about his horse.

And who might you be?

Oh, sorry. Rude of me. Uh, name's Teddy Jones Jr.

You two are...... lawmen, ain't you?

Ah, Detective William Murdoch.

Inspector Thomas Brackenreid.

I sure hope you find whoever sh*t Jaws.

Oh, what makes you think it wasn't Mr. Wilcox?

Well, I may have only been working here for a few months, but I know Lightning would never do that to his pal.

Stranger things have happened than two men falling out, son.

There's a code, Sir.

You don't double-cross your partner.

You got that coat looking pretty good there, young Theodore.

Shiny as a new dime, Sir.

Shiny as a new dime, huh?

Pretty nice work there, son.

Why don't you go get yourself a sarsaparilla and tell them it's on me?

Thank you very much, Sir.

Gentlemen.

Ain't he a beauty?

It's a fine animal, Sir.

Yes Sir, he sure is.

D'you ever ride?

I'm strictly an infantryman myself.

I did a bit of time as a ranch hand.

Well then, you know there's no place I'd rather be than on the back of this horse skipping across them plains.

I wish I was back in them days. But, guess them days is gone, huh?

So what can I do for you two?

We'd like to make a few enquiries about Mr. Wilcox and Mr. McRawlins.

You still thinking that weren't an accident?

We're treating it as suspicious.

Could I offer a suggestion?

Of course.

Start with the headliners.

They've been here the longest.

Anybody knows anything about them two guys, it would be one of the headliners.

Come on you shiney new dime, let's go.

I didn't really know him.

It's my understanding that you've been travelling together for some time now.

I keep to myself.

I see.

Any particular reason?

Nope.

A man of few words.

Yep.

Mr. Warton, do you know of any reason that Mr. Wilcox might have had to k*ll Jaws?

Nope.

If you could spare just a few more words, Mr. Warton, it might help expedite matters.

Just because I don't know a reason why Wilcox might have k*lled Jaws doesn't mean he didn't have one.

Oh?

A lot of things happened out west.

Things better left forgotten.

So they coulda had their reasons but they weren't telling.

And I didn't ask.

That's pretty impressive sh**ting there, Miss Oakley.

I'm just getting started there, Inspector.

Would you hold this for me?

Of course.

Miss Oakley. About Mr. Wilcox and Mr. McRawlins...

I didn't have too much to do with them.

They weren't the swiftest dogies in the herd, if you catch my meaning.

I think so.

Miss Oakley, would I be right in assuming that you're going to sh**t at this card while I hold it like this?

No.

Oh good.

Turn it sideways. I like a challenge.

Now, Inspector, you're shaking.

Don't you trust me?

Course I do.

Oh bloody hell! Hooo!

Now you're shaking even more!

Perhaps a drink would steady your nerves.

I'm on duty.

You sure?

Quite.

Suit yourself.

Did you ever see any bad blood between the two gentlemen?

No.

Sorry I can't be more help.

That's all for now. If... if you remember anything...

I like your accent, copper.

It's q*eer.

Funny-like.

Well, ta very much.

You, uh... need any more help, you just stop on by.

There'll be a drink waiting for you if you change your mind.

I'll be sure to remember that.

And you found nothing out of the ordinary at the show?

Oh, on the contrary. Everything about the show is extraordinary.

Well, that's what makes the Buffalo Bill show so compelling, isn't it?

All the mystery and adventure.

Yes, well, for the audience.

But I need to know the truth.

Right. Well, you're in luck.

I have some very real and interesting findings for you.

A slug, I presume.

Well, the b*llet that k*lled Mr. McRawlins had indeed lodged in his spine.

And as I was retrieving it, I discovered that he has only one real tooth in his head.

All the others were false?

Not just... false. Gold.

Crowns, filling, flake, you name it.

That's rather fancy for a man earning only forty dollars a week.

My sentiments exactly.

However, there was something even more curious about the slug I found.

A hollow-point.

More commonly found in a r*fle than a six sh**t.

Precisely.

Ah, Sir.

We found the second slug.

And... here's the third.

You're good luck, Sir.

This means that Wilcox didn't sh**t Jaws.

Yes, I already knew that.

So you didn't need this?

After all. That's correct.

The victim was sh*t with a r*fle, not a handgun.

So I need to determine where that sh*t was fired from.

Constable Higgins, can you stand where the victim was standing?

George. Can you stand where Wilcox fired from?

One to scare him.

One to calm his nerves.

And one he's going to catch in his teeth!

Here.

k*ller stood here and steadied his aim, then fired at the exact instant Wilcox did.

From here, Sir? That... that must be a good fifty yards.

And to sh**t a man's tooth out from that distance, the gunman was either very lucky or...

Or a very good sh*t!

And unfortunately, we have an abundance of qualified K*llers.

So the sh*t was fired from here and the k*ller slips away without leaving so much as a trace.

He slipped away, but clearly he left a trace.

It was a figure of speech, Murdoch.

You've told me about traces of evidence many times.

(mimicking Murdoch) "Any place the k*ller came in contact with will yield evidence, no matter how slight."

Is that me, Sir?

(clears his throat)

But look around; it could be anything.

Actually, no Sir, it can't.

Sir, your m*rder bag.

Thank you, George.

You see, the problem is there's too much evidence.

We don't need all of it, so we need only collect what we need. George, a sheet of wax paper please.

And how do you propose to do that?

Glue.

Glue, Sir?

Yes.

Since the k*ller was here only a few hours ago, we need to collect only what was left most recently, whether it be dust, air, particles.

George, make careful note of each sheet of paper and its corresponding surface.

Sir.

Well, it's ingenious. I'll give you that.

If a tad complicated.

I do have a simpler approach in mind as well, Sir.

All right, boys bring your wives, bring your sweethearts.

Hell, you can bring your wife and your sweetheart, because you are not going to believe your eyes.

I guarantee you are going to see some amazing things.

Sir, Sir, um, Mr. Bill...

Bill, just Bill...

Mr. Bill, Sir, uh, could I have your autograph, please?

The name's Higgins, Sir.

Higgins?

Yeah, yes, please.

To Sheriff Higgins.

Gosh, maybe one day, Sir.

Oy! You lot!

Get back to work, you bunch of brown-nosing layabouts!

Here you go, Mr. Higgins.

Thank you, Sir.

It's a pleasure.

Mr. Cody, please join me in my office.

Well, gentlemen, I'm afraid duty calls.

See ya at the show.

Yep, this here is some nasty business, ain't it?

And I know what you're thinking.

You do?

Buffalo Bill, he's seen things that you just can't even imagine...

Actually, Sir...

Been around the world and then back again.

But let me tell ya, it all means nothing when it comes down to losing one of your best hands.

Sir, where were you when Jaws was sh*t?

Where was I?

Wha... what are you suggesting?

Jaws McRawlins was not sh*t by Lightning Wilcox.

In fact, the sh*t came from almost directly behind Wilcox at a distance of approximately fifty yards.

Fifty yards?

Yes. So whoever fired the sh*t would've been very good.

Now I'm assuming you are the best marksman in your show, are you not?

Well, I don't know about that.

Come, come Mr. Cody.

You reputedly sh*t some 4280 buffalo in a single season.

If that were true, it would have more to do with stamina than it would have to do with skill.

Them bison is a docile bunch.

Don't get me wrong. I was a cr*ck sh*t in my day.

But them days is gone. My eyesight just ain't what it was.

So you're saying you couldn't have done it.

Not hardly.

Well, then who?

Well, Sir, there's only two g*ns in my show that could pull off a sh*t like that.

And they are?

Well, one would be John Warton.

And the other would be, uh...

Annie Oakley?!

What reason would she have to k*ll?

Mr. Cody wasn't sure, but he had heard rumours of bad blood between the two.

Funny he didn't mention that earlier.

Apparently his memory is as bad as his eyesight.

Protecting the reputation of his show that's what he's doing.

That's to be expected.

Bloody carnies. Trouble. That's what they are.

I've established a... a rapport with Miss Oakley, so let me call on her.

Right. I'll speak with Mr. Warton.

Mr. Warton?

I'm ponderin'

Pondering?

All the different ways I know to have k*lled Jaws McRawlins, had I put my mind to it.

And?

That's the w*apon I'da used.

Check the b*ll*ts against the one you dug outta Jaws.

And I'm to believe you have only one r*fle?

If I had wanted him dead, I wouldn't have waited to do it in front of a packed house and a half a dozen lawmen.

I understand the two of you had words.

Probably very few words, but words nonetheless.

He needed a talking-to.

Why?

Because he was getting a bit too big for his britches.

Don't you mean that he and Wilcox had supplanted you in the show?

Something that would have cost you roughly twenty-five dollars a week in salary.

"Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall."

Proverbs 16:18.

Jaws was gloating, rubbing it in?

He was.

But I don't abide anyone disrespecting a lady.

So I had a little chat with him.

That's all?

That's all.

And this lady who might she be?

BANG!

Jaws... certainly did have a bad case of wandering hands.

But as you may have guessed, I can take of myself.

Sure didn't need John Warton gettin' all chivalrous.

Now you sure I can't tempt you?

Hundred percent Kentucky mash, smooth as silk.

I'm still on duty, Miss Oakley.

Suit yourself.

So you confronted Mr. McRawlins?

Well, if putting my boot up his backside is considered a confrontation...

He never so much as looked sideways at me again.

I see.

Miss Oakley.

Inspector.

I have to ask you where you were when the sh*t was fired.

Why, I was in my tent.

Alone.

But I didn't sh**t Jaws.

Oh, if I'da sh*t him, I'da aimed a lot lower than his teeth.

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

Two world-class marksmen.

Three, if you include Buffalo Bill.

Each with motive, and none with a decent alibi.

So what's our next move?

I'll do some ballistics work comparing their r*fles to the slug that k*lled the victim.

I think they're too cagey a lot to be tripped up like that.

There's no shortage of r*fles to check.

We're going to need another clue, Murdoch.

Well then, Inspector.

I believe I may have what you're looking for.

It's most disconcerting.

Disconcerting?

The audacity... to walk into my morgue and to take such liberties!

I must say, I feel absolutely violated!

Dr. Ogden, what on earth has happened?

It's Mr. McRawlins' head.

What about it?

It's gone.

His head... just sliced off?

Sawed off actually.

Whoever it was left the bone saw in the sink.

Well, that was obliging of him.

Probably after that mouth full of gold.

Probably worth a few sheckles.

Yes, but why take the whole head?

Unless it too was of value.

You think Jaws McRawlins had a bounty on him?

Someone removed his head, Mr. Cody.

I can't help but think that it's because there was a price on it.

Was there a bounty on Jaws McRawlins?

Well, everybody in this show has some kinda history.

Not all of it's wholesome.

It's my understanding that removal of the head is the bounty hunter's hallmark.

Yes, it is.

And how many bounty hunters do you have in the show?

Just got the one, John Warton.

Yep.

I'm starting to think we'd be better off if we were armed.

Given Mr. Warton's talents, Sir, I'm sure it wouldn't help.

Warton?!

Bloody hell. He's skedaddled.

Pardon?

Gone.

Teddy!

Have you seen Mr. Warton?

Sure did, Detective. Uh, he ran right past me, carrying his bag.

Fact, there he is now.

Whoa, whoa, whoa.

John Warton!

Stop!

Murdoch, you're just one surprise after another, me old mucker.

He k*lled a card cheat in Kansas City.

He was worth two thousand dollars.

A thousand dollars in Kansas City, Kansas...

And a thousand dollars in Kansas City, Missouri, yes, but you're not in Kansas City anymore, Mr. Warton.

You can't just come to this country and sh**t a man.

No matter what the bounty is on his head.

I didn't sh**t him.

I was just collecting the bounty.

You knew who he was all along.

I seen his rat-face on a hundred posters.

Gold choppers didn't fool me none.

I knew it was One-Tooth Ackerson.

I'm sorry, "One-Tooth"...

Ackerson.

Lost his teeth in a bar fight in Cheyenne.

Am I to believe that you travelled with this man for years and never tried to collect the price on his head until now?

You think I'm just going to throw him into a sack and cart him off to Kansas kicking and screaming?

He was wanted dead or alive.

You ever k*lled a man, Detective?

I have.

More times than I care to count.

They say it gets easier with time, but that wasn't my experience.

I put those days behind me.

Why should I believe you?

I'm not above turning a dead man in for a thousand dollars.

I'm not above stealing his gold teeth.

But I didn't k*ll One-Tooth.

That's my word.

One-Tooth, you say?

I heard tell of a One-Eyed Ackerson.

You had no idea who your partner really was?

None.

I find that hard to believe.

He pulled the wool over my eyes real good.

Corker, ain't it?

Mr. Wilcox.

How many men have you k*lled?

Countin' Indians?

Beats me.

Somewhere between plenty and too many, I guess.

What's one more, eh?

You still think I k*lled Jaws?

I thought I was the one guy that couldna done it.

You could have had an accomplice.

A man don't turn on his partner, Detective.

Mr. Wilcox.

There is another way of looking at this.

Yeah, and how's that?

One-Tooth's past caught up to him.

Yours could also.

Perhaps you should be looking over your shoulder, Mr. Wilcox.

Am I free to go now?

So you believe Warton was just capitalizing on opportunity?

I'm inclined to, yes.

And his partner?

I'm sure he knew Jaws was really One-Tooth, but I don't think he k*lled him.

Bunch of cutthroats, the lot of them.

I'm surprised no one sawed off his head even earlier.

So what's our plan?

Clearly, someone else in Buffalo Bill's show knew of One-Tooth's secret.

And whoever that person was was also an excellent sh*t.

So Jaws McRawlins was ol' One-Tooth, ol' One-Tooth Ackerson?

You didn't know?

Well, I had my suspicions.

After all, the man just had the one real tooth.

But that's in the past, and a man's past, that's his business.

That's becoming a tiresome refrain around here.

It's the way of the west.

Sir, the west is dead and gone.

There's nothing left of it now but a carnival show.

Uh, Mr. Cody, I believe that man is trying to get your attention.

What man?

He's holding up a message for you?

How does that idiot expect me to read something from that kind of distance to here?

"I am fifty yards from the spot where Jaws McRawlins was sh*t."

Oh, I get this.

You were testin' ol' Buffalo Bill, weren't you?

You told me your eyesight wasn't up to making the sh*t.

And you thought I was lying?

With all due respect, Mr. Cody, you've built a whole show around lies.

People don't want the truth.

No, Sir, they want something else.

They want a good story.

And a good story told often enough, that can become the truth.

Like the story of Jaws McRawlins and Lightning Wilcox?

Well, I may have embellished that a little bit.

I'd settle for the truth.

All right, all right.

Chester McGee weren't no k*ller.

But he was a troublemaker.

He caused a lot of problems for the railroads.

So they deputized Hank and Jaws to deal with him.

You mean k*ll him.

No. Deal with him, one way or t'other.

Let me guess, they didn't turn their back on him.

Only a fool would do that.

But they did kick that g*n over.

They did give him a fair fight.

Or gave themselves a reason to sh**t him.

Well, nobody made Chester pick up that g*n.

One-Tooth?

I never would have guessed that in a million years.

Why's that?

The way I heard it, One-Tooth could freeze a man's blood with his grin.

That sure as sh**t' wouldn't have been my description of Jaws McRawlins.

Another tall tale from the west, I suppose.

Still, there was his bounty.

That must have interested you.

Two thousand dollars?

Ain't nothing to spit at. But I don't need the money.

Not bad enough to sh**t a man over.

Then who did?

Well, you throw a stone around here, you'd hit somebody willing to k*ll him for it.

Now Inspector, are you ready for that drink?

No, thank you.

What sort of lawman doesn't drink?

Well, I...

You're not a religious man, are you?

No, no, well, I attend, but...

You fruity?

No, of course not.

Well then, why are you on the wagon?

I ain't never met a copper didn't enjoy a swaller.

Truth is, my wife has joined the Temperance League.

Oh. Temperance League.

Right.

No, I couldn't.

What your wife don't know won't hurt her, will it?

Well...

One little drink won't do any harm, I suppose.

Take that, you bunch of Temperance bastards!

(Laughing)

They'd never let me do this back in England.

It looks good in your hands.

(g*n sh*t)

(The sound of g*n sh*ts in the distance)

(howls into the night)

Oh, wait wait wait, Sherlock, you're holding it wrong.

All right. Now... now that's better.

(coughs and drunkenly)

Just relax.

I'm trying, darling, I'm trying.

Who's there?

What do you want, friend?

(g*n fires)

Mr. Wilcox d*ed of massive internal hemorrhaging caused by a single g*nsh*t wound.

There were no powder marks.

So the k*ller was some distance away from his victim?

What's odd is the b*llet's path?

Oh? How so?

Well, it entered just above the left clavicle, pierced the deltoid muscle, then shattered the scapula before heading deeper toward the heart.

As if the sh*t was fired from above and then travelled down the length of the body.

Are you suggesting the k*ller was overhead?

That seems unlikely.

(g*n fires)

The k*ller wasn't overhead.

The victim was bent forward.

Well, that would be consistent with the b*llet's angle of entry.

But what was he doing bent over?

A very good question, Doctor.

That's the only b*llet casing we found.

45 calibre, I believe.

A handgun.

So the k*ller stood here and deliberately emptied the chamber of his g*n.

Just like a wild west sh**t.

What do we have here?

It appears to be a skid mark.

We're interviewing the show's crew but nobody seems to have seen anything.

No one?

No.

However, sh*ts were heard.

sh*ts?

But the victim was sh*t once and we only found one casing.

Yes, but there were numerous sh*ts heard in the vicinity of Miss Oakley's tent.

However, we believe it was just some drunken lout who got his hands on a r*fle.

I see.

The marks stop here.

The victim was bent over.

Why?

A g*n.

He bent down to pick up a g*n.

So the k*ller enters, Wilcox drops his g*n, bends over to pick it up?

The k*ller kicked over a g*n.

Well, that sounds familiar.

Doesn't it?

Mrs. Brackenreid, always a pleasure.

(firm) Detective Murdoch.

I just want to say how terribly, terribly disappointed I am in you.

Me?

Those liquor bottles in your office.

Ah, but...

Leading Thomas into temptation like that.

I'm very sorry.

And he's trying so hard to be good.

Yes, he is.

(door slams open)

Murdoch, what is it?

(speaking loudly) I've just received this.

Just... just read it.

(loudly) It's a telegram from the Marshal in Rio Grande confirming...

Shhh. Shhh.

Confirming a suspicion I had about Lightning Wilcox.

His real name is Harry 'The g*n' Bowler, partner of One-Tooth Ackerson.

Two dead gunmen.

It would seem their pasts are coming back to haunt them.

Yeah, but which part of it?

They did a lot of bad things in their day.

I suspect it has something to do with k*lling Chester McGee.

Just another one of Buffalo Bill's legends.

Every myth has a basis in reality.

True enough.

I suggest we contact Carson City where the event allegedly took place.

I'll get the desk sergeant to send a telegram.

Right then.

(door slams)

It's my understanding that there was a lot of nasty business associated with the railroads.

What makes you think I'd know anything about that?

g*n for hire, were you not?

Might know a thing or two, I suppose.

Such as?

Sometimes there was trouble.

People didn't take kindly to track getting laid through their land.

People like Chester McGee.

If there was a fuss, the railroad would... mount an appropriate response.

Like hiring One-Tooth Ackerson and Harry Bowler?

Or some other saddle tramp without a conscience.

And they would convince the landowner to sell?

Like I said, they mount an appropriate response.

Ah, Sir, I'm glad you're here.

I've amassed all the trace evidence from the two crime scenes.

Yes, I see that. Very good, George.

How did you get it to stay up like that?

Well actually, Sir, this little invention of yours has proven quite useful.

I can see real potential for household use here.

It's a little sticky to use, but I think if we devised some sort of dispensing device, we could be on to something.

Geroge...

Sir I've... I've already come up with quite a good name for it.

Really?

"Constable Crabtree's Household Adhesive Strips."

Oh, George.

"Crabtree and Murdoch's Household Adhesive Strips"

Well, that's a lovely collection of dirt you've got there.

Ah, thank you, Sir. It's a bit overwhelming right now.

Yes, what we need is something to help narrow our field of search.

Well, this might be of help.

It's from the Sheriff of Carson County.

Looks like there was quite a few railroad land sh**t.

And there's one name that is of definite interest to us.

Indeed.

What is it, Sir?

A horse hair.

Oh, well, there are dozens of horses in the show.

Yes, but only one white one.

Gentlemen I believe we'll need to break out the armoury.

Gentlemen, what can we do for you?

Mr. Cody, we're here to make an arrest.

Well, that's great news. Ain't that great news, Theodore?

Yes, Sir.

So who's the dirty dog, then?

Someone who wanted revenge on Lightning and Jaws.

Someone who had access to your horse.

My horse?

Someone who...

Whoa, Theodore, what you doin'?

Shut up, Cody.

Take it easy, son.

Teddy, put the g*n down.

Whatever you've done, we can settle it reasonably.

Too late to talk now, isn't it? Don't even try it!

Drop them sh**t too.

Drop them sh**t? What are you talking about, Theodore?

Okay, all right, okay, all right.

Teddy, we know about Chester.

Chester McGee?

His name wasn't McGee?

It was Jones.

Theodore Chester Jones, Sr.

And he wasn't a bad man, was he?

He was just a farmer.

Who happened to own some land that the railways wanted.

All my pa ever wanted was to raise a few head of cattle.

Then one day those two showed up, sent to drive us off our land.

They were looking for a reason to sh**t him.

Daring him.

But my father never took to v*olence. Never!

He tried to walk away.

They sh*t him in the back.

Left him to die in front of me!

Twelve years I've been looking to put it right.

Twelve years I've been practicing my sh*t.

And then one day, I saw their faces on a poster for your show.

Theodore, I had no idea.

Yeah, I don't suppose you did.

But then again, how could you?

You never were much on asking questions.

Teddy, what happened to your father was a terrible crime.

But Buffalo Bill had nothing to do with it.

He used my father's death to make heroes out of two cowardly murderers.

Teddy, your father was a good man.

A peaceful man.

He never would have wanted things to end this way.

For his son to give rise to another wild west story.

One where a young man would sh**t and k*ll Buffalo Bill Cody in cold blood.

Because that's all anyone would ever remember.

The myth would last much longer than the truth.

Give me the g*n.

Give me the g*n.

Well, I have to admit, this might just be my favourite part: when the whole thing comes down.

Oh?

I should think the end would be somewhat tinged with disappointment.

Well, the wild west ended a long time ago, Mr. Murdoch.

But people still want to know what it was like.

So every time we pull up like this and move on, it gives me a chance to bring a little bit of it to 'em, and that's what gives me my pleasure now.

Going to New York and Chicago and Boston, the entire continent of Europe.

If I want to, I can go back to London and drop in on my old friend Victoria.

Mr. Cody, it's been a pleasure.

If you'll excuse me?

All right, Inspector.

Mr. Murdoch, what do you think's gonna become of that boy?

Well, he'll stand trial for the crimes he's committed, receive the appropriate punishment.

Same old thing. Another life wasted.

And who will replace Hank and Jaws?

Well, perhaps it's best if some stories from the wild west are left untold.

Thank you, Sir.

Inspector.

You know, last night was the most fun I had since Bill Hickock and I cracked a bottle back in Tucson.

The pleasure was all mine.

Perhaps a farewell drink is in order.

While I am sorely tempted, I'm afraid the answer must be no.

(disappointed) Oh.

A friend of mine once gave me a piece of advice.

He said, Don't try to be good; Try not to be bad.

Sage advice indeed. Miss Oakley.

Say Hi to the missus for me.

You should have seen the look in his eyes.

Like he was possessed with a bravery from the great beyond.

With no g*n, no night stick; armed only with his quick wits, a silver tongue, and a firm belief in the law; he faced the lone gunman.

They called him Murdoch.

George, that's quite enough.