SS (ANNC): The Lives of the Cowboys. Brought to you by Cowhand Cologne (PFFFT). So people know who you are and where you come from. Cowhand Cologne (PFFT). When the myth is ready to find a mythus. And now, the Lives of the Cowboys.
(HORSES HOOVES)
GK: Well, here we are in Yellow Gulch, Dusty. Wonder what they're doing for the 4th of July. Doesn't look like there's a parade. Probably fireworks though. Maybe we could look it up on their website.
TR: I don't think Yellow Gulch has a website. From the look of things, they don't even have a dumpsite.
GK: Hey-- here's a clown up yonder. I'll ask him. Hey
FN: sir? (HONK) Can you tell me if there's a parade? (HONKS) Oh. So it was yesterday? (HONKS) Darn. A day late. Was it good? (HONKS) So-so, huh? Okay. Thanks.
TR: So it isn't July Fourth, huh? Darn. That's the problem with being out on the trail. Nowhere to hang a calendar. You lose track of time.
GK: Darn, I was hoping to see the parade.
TR: Oh? Somebody you know in the parade?
GK: No, I just like marching bands and floats and all. Horses. Drum majors.
TR: And how about queens?
GK: Queen s are okay.
TR: You were hoping to see your old heart-throb Yvonne Beebalo, weren't you?
GK: Naw. Besides her name was Evelyn Beebalo.
TR: She told me Yvonne. Anyway she's still here in Yellow Gulch, isn't she.
GK: I have no idea. Haven't talked to her in a long time.
TR: She was probably riding in a convertible, in a white organdy dress, waving to people with her long milk-white arms
FN:
GK: Evelyn? No. Much too shy for that.
TR: That's why I go for the floozies. Not a lot of shyness there.
GK: I don't want to hear about it, okay?
TR: Still carrying a torch for her, aren't you.
GK: Let's go to the saloon, Dusty. Right here. Whoa--(HORSES PULL UP) (THEY DISMOUNT)
TR: Didn't mean to touch a nerve there.
GK: You didn't.
TR: Hope you're not going to be all wistful and moody the rest of the day.
GK: Let's go in.
(DOORS OPEN, 'CAMPTOWN RACES', WHOOPS AND LOOSE WOMEN)
TR: Yep. Here's the real celebration of freedom, Lefty. Come on, get a drink.
SS (DEEP): Howdy, boys. What can I bring you?
TR: I'd like a shot of whiskey.
SS (DEEP): What kind of whiskey? You want sittin-down whiskey? Or fallin' down, whiskey?
TR: Let's start with the sittin-down.
SS (DEEP): How you want that? In a glass? With ice? (ROOM GETS QUIET)
(FOOTSTEPS ACROSS ROOM)
(STOP)
FN (DEEP): Where you fellers ride in from? Don't believe I laid eyes on you before?
TR: I'm Dusty, this here is my pardner Lefty. We just come in off the trail from Laramie.
FN (DEEP): What brings you to Yellow Gulch?
TR: We were thirsty.
FN (DEEP): Good enough. Woman here asked you if you wanted ice in your whiskey.
TR: I heard her. Any man who needs ice to water down his whiskey has no business in a serious drinking establishment.
FN (DEEP): Just makin' sure, mister. Cause if you'd asked for ice, I was gonna have to gouge your eyes out and that's all there is to it.
TR: Lemme buy you a drink.
FN (DEEP): Don't mind if I do.
SS (DEEP): Two whiskeys coming up. How about you, mister?
GK: Me?
SS (DEEP): I'm looking at you, mister.
GK: I'd like a sarsaparilla.
FN (DEEP): What you say?
GK: I said I'd like a sarsaparilla.
TR: My pardner got shot in the stomach and doctors don't give him long to live so he can't drink whiskey, he's gotta drink sarsaparilla.
FN (DEEP): Well, that's different.
SS (DEEP): One sarsaparilla coming up.
(PIANO STARTS UP AGAIN)
HL: HEY! (FOUR GUNSHOTS AND SIMULTANEOUS RANDOM CHORDS, REPRESENTING STRINGS THAT WERE SHOT)
FN (DEEP): Hey!!!!
HL: What?
FN (DEEP): What you shootin the piano for?
HL: Cause it's outta tune.
FN (DEEP): Outta tune with what?
HL: Outta tune with me. (BLOWS CHORD ON HARP)
FN (DEEP): You think you're pretty handy with that there harp, huh?
HL: I been practicing in prison. Did three years for assault and it was a good three years.
FN (DEEP): Well, let me hear you play something then. Put your music where your mouth is.
HL: That's how it's done all right. (HARMONICA SOLO, APPLAUSE)
GK: That was pretty good harmonica playing.
TR: Makes you think maybe our prison system ain't so bad after all.
RD: You call that harmonica playing? Ha. (HAWKS AND SPITS) (CROWD GASPS)
GK: Uh oh.
(SLOW FOOTSTEPS APPROACH)
HL: Who are you, ya little sawed-off punk?
RD: They call me The Blower.
HL: Oh yeah? Where'd you get that harp? Santa leave it in your stocking?
RD: I got it off a dead man.
HL: Oh? How'd he die?
RD: He died from envy.
HL: Oh yeah. Well, let me hear you.
(RD HARMONIUM SOLO)(CROWD GASPS, APPLAUSE)
JS: Ha! And double ha! That's the most pitiful harp I've heard in my life. That sounds like the second runner up in the Camp Fire Girls Talent Show!
RD: Who're you, Mister?
JS: They call me Savage. Joe Savage. I can beat any harpist around. I can play faster than them who can play better and I can play better than them who can play faster.
HL: Talk is cheap, Savage. Put some money down. Winner takes all. I'll put down a thousand.
JS: And I'll raise you a thousand.
HL: And I'll raise that a thousand. Three thousand bucks apiece. On the table. (SLAPS OF MONEY)
FN (DEEP): If you're gonna have prize money, you're gonna need to have a winner, and that means you're gonna need a judge.
JS: How about we just play until those two guys collapse?
FN (DEEP): Let's have a judge. Somebody who isn't a friend of any of you fellers. How about you, Mister?
GK: Me?
FN (DEEP): You're the only sober one in the room
FN:
GK: I'd rather not, if you don't mind. I don't particularly care about music. (GUN CARTRIDGE SPINS)
FN (DEEP): Mister Samuel Colt here says you are hereby appointed a judge.
GK: I was just about to accept with pleasure.
JS: Okay, I'll go first and save you two the trouble of having to play. (HE DOES A QUICK SOLO)
HL: Sounded like you got something stuck in your harp, mister. From the sound of it, I'd say cow manure. (LOUD LAUGHING)
FN (DEEP): Okay, your turn.
RD: My pleasure. Easiest six grand I ever earned in my life. (HE DOES A QUICK SOLO)
JS: Sorry but I didn't recognize the tune. Was that "Old MacDonald" or was that "The Wheels On The Bus Go Round and Round"
FN: ? (LAUGHTER)
HL: Okay. Step aside, amateurs. Make way for the master. And prepare to weep. I hate to humiliate grown men in public but you brought this on yourselves. And if you want to toss in the towel right now and not go through the humiliatio, just say the word.
FN (DEEP): Shuddup and play.
HL: (HE DOES A QUICK SOLO)
JS: You know, for a beginner, that wasn't bad. Got most of the notes right. I'd be happy to take you on as a student
FN:
HL: Ha! What you know about harmonica you could put in a flea's navel and still have room for what you know about women.
RD: Just gimme the money.
FN (DEEP): Who's the winner, Mr. Sarsaparilla?
GK: Well, I thought all three of them were quite good. Excellent. I congratulate all three of you.
(GUN CYLINDER SPIN, COCKS)
FN (DEEP): Skip the folderol and the foofaraw and just give us a winner, Mister.
(FOOTSTEPS)
SS: Lefty?
GK: Evelyn
FN: -
SS: I saw you ride into town. What's wrong? Why didn't you come see me? Is there someone else, Lefty?
FN (DEEP): Make your choice, mister.
TR: C'mon, Lefty.
SS: Answer me, Lefty
FN:
GK: You know, at a time like this
FN: a man just naturally turns to music for solace
FN: (GUITAR CHORD)
FN (DEEP): Hey. How about a verdict?
TR: Leave him be, mister.
GK (SINGS):
I rode into Yellow Gulch this morning
Feeling just as calm as I could be
Sat down in a bar and without warning
Suddenly they're all upset at me.
How I wish that I were in Chicago
With a dish on Michigan Avenue
And everything is AOK and socko
Because the dish I'm walking with is you.
We'll look at Degas, and eat some foie gras
And see La Sonnambula at the Lyric Opera
How I wish that I were in Chicago
Walking down the Avenue with you.
FN (DEEP): That's enough, mister. Tell us who the winner is.
HL: Hey, I like this song.
RD: Me too.
JS: Mind if we join you, mister?
GK: Be my guests. (SINGS)
I'm sitting here and looking at a pistol
That is aimed, O sacre bleu, straight at moi
And I'm wishing that a woman I once kissed'll
Distract him, then I'll punch him in the jaw
FN (DEEP): Huh? What? (KONK, FN GROAN)
GK (SINGS):
How I wish that I were in Chicago
Riding through the Loop aboard the El
And everything is AOK and socko
and if it isn't, hey, then what the heck?
We'll shout hurrah for the state of llinois,
Where our j'es nais c'est quoi is to play harmonica
How I wish that I were in Chicago
Walking down the Avenue with you.
(GUITAR INST, WITH HARMONICA SOLOS)
SS: Hey, you got em to all play together.
GK: Yeah.
SS: They never did that before in their lives.
GK: Well, there's a first time for anything.
SS: How long you planning to stay in town, Lefty?
GK: Gotta leave in the morning, Evelyn.
TR: Could stay longer
FN:
GK: Gotta leave in the morning.
SS: Where you headed for?
GK: Won't know until we get there.
SS: You ever think of settling down?
TR: He talks about it all the time.
SS: So how about it, Lefty?
GK: I'm a cowboy, Evelyn. Gotta keep riding so my regrets can't catch up with me. Seems like there are more and more of them every year and they get faster and faster. Just trying to stay ahead of them, that's all.
(THEME)
SS (ANNC): The Lives of the Cowboys. Brought to you by Hot Dog Jerky. For when you want to be at a 4th of July Picnic, but you're stuck on the trail. Hot Dog Jerky. It's a picnic in your pocket.