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Симаррон

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petticoat.
But you didn't. They can't say so.
You shot him very nicely
in the ear, darling.
Well, you shouldn't interfere when men
are having a little friendly shooting.
Friendly?
A bullet within an inch of your head?
He knew where it was going.
Well, come on, sugar.
I think we better find that house
we're gonna live in, don't you?
Come on.
Down a little. A little more.
Now a little more. Hold!
Just nail it.
I'll bushwhack her.
- Well, honey, we're here.
- Yes, we're here.
We're getting started, too.
You know, when I think of those five years
in Wichita...
- I thought you liked it in Wichita.
- A prison cell, my pet.
Five years in one place,
that's the longest stretch I've ever done.
Five years.
Back and forth like a trail horse.
House, office, Venables, vegetables.
A little while, I'd have turned into either
a Venable or a vegetable, one or the other.
Well.
We better get this office
and print shop settled...
if you're ever gonna get out an issue
of that newspaper.
I guess Rickey can attend to it.
He's a printer and a darn good one.
I gotta see
about these real-estate transfers...
and write up some editorials and news...
and we got a clue
to the Paigler killer last night.
- I wanna follow it up.
- I wish you wouldn't.
If I can find out who killed Paigler...
I'm gonna print it in the first edition
of the Oklahoma Wigwam.
Well, did you see the...
Well, we got the shingle hung out all right,
Mrs. Cravat.
- Look fine, Miss Sabra.
- Come on, now, colored boy.
We'd better pitch in and unsnarl things.
Never mind, Rickey.
I'll straighten this room.
- You go on into the print shop with Isaiah.
- Yes, ma'am.
Well, we'll unmantle the printing press...
and dust off the adjectives.
Thank you.
Look, Mama,
see what an Indian just gave me.
Cim, how many times have I told you
not to talk to those dirty, filthy Indians?
Here, take this into the kitchen.
Be careful, now.
Don't drop it, and come back
and help Mother.
All right, Mama.
Safety pins, collar buttons...
needles, thread, thimbles,
crochet cotton...
celluloid collars, safety pins,
crochet cotton, needles.
Here comes that little shrimp again.
Let's see how he feels today.
Hey, Sol! Come here!
I wanna buy a little fancy lace!
Come on over here. Come on.
...cotton, needles, thread...
Come on, Sol,
I wanna buy my gal a bustle.
- How much for a bustle cover?
- Bring me a pair of tights.
Safety pins, cotton gloves, needles.
Please, don't start, please.
Please don't, mister. Please don't.
Please, mister. Please, don't.
- Bring him here.
- Please. Please. Please don't.
- Well, howdy, Mr. Levy.
- Please don't do it, mister.
- Please, mister, don't...
- That's all right. That's all right.
- Let's you and me have a drink.
- No, thank you. No.
Please don't do it, mister.
I don't want any. Thanks.
- What? You don't want it?
- No.
Be a real pal and have a drink. Come on.
No.
- What do you think about...
- Where you going, there?
Where you going, there?
Come here, you little runt, and have a...
Come up here.
Please, mister.
Take a drink.
Please don't, mister. Please.
When I tell them to take a drink,
they drink, don't they?
Well, they better.
You're a rough, eh, Yountis?
Just whip your weight on wildcats, huh?
Who asked you?
Come on, Sol. You're all right, huh? Sure.
That's their idea of a joke.
You go ahead about your business.
- They won't be bothering you none, now.
- Thanks, Mr. Cravat.
Thank you.
Threatening to make Osage
the terror of the Southwest...
as in the old days of the Cimarron, huh?
- Now, you as the editor...
- Yeah, me as editor...
I'm interviewing citizens of note
regarding their sentiments.
- What's yours?
- Stick to your lawn.
Come on, Yountis. You know
what I'm aiming at. Who killed Paigler?
I'm advising you to keep your mouth shut.
Or the next time,
it won't be your sombrero.
Thanks for the sentiment. Mine is...
Cherokee death cry. Means, you
Симаррон Симаррон

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