The derby hat comes out first, and then Butterfield stands up and has his hands in the air (looking entirely pathetic as he does so) and can't believe what he's looking at.
Ben Wade.
Ben Wade is supposed to be in Yuma, in prison, rotting away in a sun baked, rock walled, iron barred desert hell. Not here just north of Bisbee and certainly not smiling at him with that God damn gun pointed in his direction.
"Ben Wade," he says, trying to be brave, despite the shake in his voice. "I thought we'd taken care of you."
Dan's climbing off his horse. Butterfield doesn't recognize him.
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The derby hat comes out first, and then Butterfield stands up and has his hands in the air (looking entirely pathetic as he does so) and can't believe what he's looking at.
Ben Wade.
Ben Wade is supposed to be in Yuma, in prison, rotting away in a sun baked, rock walled, iron barred desert hell. Not here just north of Bisbee and certainly not smiling at him with that God damn gun pointed in his direction.
"Ben Wade," he says, trying to be brave, despite the shake in his voice. "I thought we'd taken care of you."
Dan's climbing off his horse. Butterfield doesn't recognize him.
Yet.