Rawhide (1959–1965): Season 5, Episode 28 - Incident at Rio Doloroso - full transcript

Rowdy and Wishbone are warned the herd is crossing private land but Rowdy neglects to give Favor the details. When the locals try to stampede the herd, their leader is killed by the cattle but Favor and Rowdy are sentenced to die for it.

♪ Rollin', rollin', rollin' ♪

- Hyah!
-♪ Rollin', rollin', rollin' ♪

♪ Keep movin', movin', movin' ♪

♪ Though they're disapprovin' ♪

♪ Keep them dogies movin' ♪

♪ Rawhide! ♪

♪ Don't try to understand them ♪

♪ Just rope and throw
and brand 'em ♪

♪ Soon we'll be livin'
high and wide ♪

♪ My heart's calculatin' ♪

♪ My true love will be waitin' ♪



♪ Be waiting at the end
of my ride ♪

♪ Move 'em on, head 'em up,
head 'em up, move 'em on ♪

♪ Move 'em on,
head 'em up, Rawhide! ♪

-(whip cracks)
-♪ Cut 'em out, ride 'em in ♪

♪ Ride 'em in, let 'em out,
cut 'em out, ride 'em in ♪

-♪ Rawhide...! ♪
-♪ Rollin', rollin', rollin' ♪

♪ Rollin', rollin', rollin' ♪

- Hyah!
-♪ Rollin', rollin', rollin'. ♪

(whip cracks twice)

♪ ♪

Dry as a 50-year-old skillet.

Swear, boy, next year,

I'm going to up and drive
around New Mexico altogether.

Por supuesto.



The only water we will find
around here is straight down.

Do you think maybe we should go
back to the herd?

No, not until we make sure.

(approaching hoof beats)

Señor Favor, the wagon?

That sounds maybe like a stage.

Señor Favor, it's a runaway.

I

Whoa! Hold it.

Are you trying
to get yourself killed?

No wonder he lost control.

We were riding with a dead man.

Well, don't blame yourself,
Beaumont.

How could you have known,

hiding under the seat
as you were?

Canteen on the saddle.

In, uh, country like this,
only a fool would waste water

on a man who's already
in his grave.

Put it inside the poor man,
Lieutenant.

He doesn't need a bath.

FAVOR:
What happened?

Uh, there were Indians.

Uh, they hit us
about four miles back.

Mister...

Gil Favor.

Trail boss on a cattle drive

a mile or two
back down the road.

Uh-huh.

Well, I'm not sure, Mr. Favor,

but, uh, I think
they were Apaches.

Apaches, this far north?

The only boundary
an Apache knows

is that set by his own shadow.

You sound like you know them
pretty good.

Every time Señor Domingo
opens his mouth,

out rolls a pearl of wisdom.

(grunts)

Take it easy.

Got a couple of bullets in you.

You know who did it?

Ghosts.

Some sort of heathens.

They weren't like any Indians
I've ever known.

They came at us in the shadows,

as if killing was the only thing
they'd ever known.

Ghosts, like from the dead.

Like from the...

He a friend of yours?

Any man who dies as a stranger
is a friend.

Or should be.

HEY SOOS:
Señor Favor.

About the one
who calls himself Domingo.

In my country, it is said
a man who walks alone

is only half a man.

Oh, a ghost, Hey Soos?

I'll tell you what.

When he stands
in front of the sun

and don't cast no shadow,

then I will start worrying,
I promise you.

FAVOR:
Uh, good luck.

Uh, Mr. Favor.

We, uh...
we seem to find ourselves

in something of a predicament.

You do?

Well, I should think
that would be obvious.

Well, depends on what
you're planning to do,

doesn't it, Lieutenant?

(chuckles)

You know, Mr. Favor,
you sound just like my superior

on the teaching staff
at West Point.

The only thing missing
is the blue uniform.

Wrong color.

I did wear a pair of bars

couple years back
under General Lee.

Uh-huh.

Well, let me put it this way.

I could drive this stage
if I had to,

but I don't know
the country ahead.

You know the country behind.

We can't turn back, Mr. Favor.

My husband and I
are already overdue

for an engagement
in San Francisco.

A very important engagement.

Mr. and Mrs. Butler are actors,
and Miss Shay is...

is due for a job in, uh,
Sacramento, and...

and I'm expected
at the Presidio.

Uh, it's my first
frontier assignment.

I see.

And you, sir?

You have a, uh,
pressing engagement?

The only engagement I have
is with the man

who has the horns
and the long, pointed tail.

Mr. Favor, are you familiar
with the trail ahead?

I do know that Caribou Station
is about 12 miles due north.

Well, after we got there, the...
the men there could take over.

I'm sure we could make it
worth your while.

Yes, think it over, Mr. Favor.

Beaumont may offer you
as much as ten dollars

to afford us safe-conduct.

Of course,
that's about all he can offer,

since he allowed
a mealymouthed stage manager

to take most of the profits
from our last performance.

Hang on to your money.

Only thing I'm interested in
at the moment is water.

Hey Soos.

Skeleton Lake's
just above Caribou.

Looks like it's going to be
our closest water anyway.

You want me to go back
to the herd?

Yeah.
Tell Rowdy what's happening.

Tell him to keep the herd moving
until I catch up.

Señor Favor, this Domingo
may throw a shadow,

but his eyes, they stopped
living a long time ago.

Tenga cuidado.

Lieutenant,
you'd better ride topside.

Keep your eyes open.

Señor, since you're
so interested in the trail,

maybe you'd better ride
up in the boot.

You can get a real good view
from there.

That's very good reasoning.

With four eyes up there
instead of two,

we may even be able to see
what a ghost looks like.

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

Well, may not have
all the comforts of home,

but at least it doesn't bounce.

Get those horses unhooked.

Lieutenant, you start moving
those animals out of the corral.

What's the rush, Mr. Favor?

Just because it's a little quiet

doesn't mean they're going
to start the Civil War again.

The foster child of silence
is death, Lieutenant.

Not every battle is fought
with bugle and cavalry charges.

Come on, let's get moving.

Mr. Favor,
just what is this all about?

Butler, you keep them here.

(bird cooing)

(bird squawking)

Butler? Butler!

Take the ladies inside
and stay away from the windows.

Is something wrong?

Shut up and get inside.

We may be leaving here
in a hurry.

(gunfire)

(horses neighing)

Let those horses go!
Get inside!

(gunfire)

Take the rifle.

I'm all right.

(yelling angrily)

(gunshot)

Hey, Domingo, thanks.

To me, you're just another gun.

Better in here than laying
out there in the dust.

- Here, you take that window.
-(Mrs. Butler whimpers)

Shoot anything that moves.

But, uh, I'm no fighter.

You will be before this is over.

You will be.

You, look after him.

He came at you with a knife
against your rifle.

Still, it took three bullets
to bring him down.

Lieutenant, that's the first
lesson you learn out here:

things just don't
go by the book.

Domingo, how many
you figure there were?

Oh, ten, 12, no more.

Ten or 12 what?

Who are they?

What do they want of us?

Jicarillas don't need
a reason to fight, señor.

Blood is their wine of life.

Jicarillas?

It's supposed to be
the oldest Apache tribe.

Been living up in
the Sangre de Cristo Range

since Montezuma's time.

Story goes, no white man's ever
seen them and kept his eyes.

They the ones
that hit you this morning?

They're the same.

Don't worry, my dear.

When the man who owns
this place comes back,

-those savages will vanish,
-(snaps fingers)

just like that.

I'm afraid the station keeper
won't be back.

He's out in the well,
what's left of him.

Certainly you aren't
going to be intimidated

by a pack of filthy savages.

Now that's really amazing,
Mrs. Butler.

You haven't been within 50 feet
of those savages,

and already you know
they're filthy.

Well, I'd say you have
a fair and working nose there.

Delilah, my dear,
we're doing all we can.

(sighs)

You are doing all you can?

How?

By trying to play
the wronged Romeo to an audience

of over-painted Juliets
with rifles in their hands?

This is life or death, Beau,

not one of your cheap
vaudeville circuits.

Delilah, please.

Lieutenant, either you
do something right now or...!

Or what?

You will report him
to your authorities?

Perhaps one of those filthy
savages will carry your message.

Mrs. Butler, we have one rifle
and three revolvers.

We can't run,

and to make a frontal assault
would be suicide.

But we can't just sit here!

I'm afraid that's
what we're gonna do.

Least ways, till it gets dark.

(sighs)

Mr. Favor, what I can't
understand is why Apaches,

or especially these Jicarillas,
would raid this far north.

Lesson number two, Lieutenant:

an Indian has a set of values
all his own.

They could've run
your stage down this morning,

but they decided
to double back here

and spring this little trap.

Set us up like fish in a barrel.

(chuckles)

It just doesn't make any sense.

Oh, it makes sense, all right.

Providing they want
to take one of us alive.

But why?

What do they want of us?

You might try asking the man
who knew they were Jicarillas.

Well, Domingo?

Como no...

like Jonah in the belly
of the whale,

you're entitled to some answers.

Until two months ago,
the Jicarilla called me hermano,

one of their own.

Oh, yes.

For 16 years,
I put on their paints,

shared their lodging,
killed their enemies.

They called me White Eyes,

the warrior who come to them
from the setting sun.

You mean...

...you actually lived with them?

Yes.

Contempt, señora,
is the vice of fools.

There's a great deal that the
Apache can offer your people.

But because of
his pride and honor,

and because of his rifle,

there will never be eyes to see
or ears to hear.

I taught them new ways
to outwit (speaks Spanish).

And in return, they gave me
sanctuary and peace.

Sanctuary? From what?

From the voices of angry men.

From the stench of a disease
called hate.

Perhaps even from myself.

What does it matter?

If you felt that way,
why did you leave the Apaches?

Man is not master
of his own fate.

There was a girl.

A Mexican captive.

I fought for her freedom.

In order to do that,
I had to kill a chief.

And your brothers outside
took it wrong, huh?

The man I just killed
is the chief's son.

The mind of a Jicarilla
is like the point of an arrow.

Once it is set in motion, it is
impossible to change the way.

Why didn't you tell us
this morning,

when we still had a chance
to outrun them?

Because once the Jicarilla found
the trail of the stage coach,

there was no chance.

Maybe not for you.

But what about us?

What right did you have
to pull us down

into your own private hell?

The descent to hell
is very simple,

especially for those
who do not have eyes to see.

The next time you travel, señor,

take more care in choosing
your travel companions.

What next time?

Because of you, none of us
will get out of this alive.

Mr. Favor, I see only
one way out of this.

A way that Mr. Domingo himself
pointed out.

From the Book of Jonah.

"And he said to them,
'What shall we do unto thee

“that the sea may be
calm to us?*

"And Jonah said unto them,

'Take me up and cast me forth
into the sea...'"

"So they took up Jonah

and cast him forth,
and the sea ceased its raging.”

At your service, señor,
if you think you're man enough.

I say throw him back
to his Apache friends.

The sooner, the better.

And what does the military mind
have to say, Lieutenant?

Well, if it was up to me,
Mr. Butler, I would say

that it is better to lose
one life than to lose six.

But it's not up to me.

It isn't up to any of us.

You accuse a man
of condemning us

and then turn around
and condemn him.

We're all in this together.

And besides,
whatever Domingo is,

he's another gun--
one we need.

But they want him not us.

What about your driver,
Miss Butler?

And the gentleman outside
in the well?

To Jicarillas,

life is but a cloud that appears
and then disappears.

It has no meaning.
It means nothing.

Even if they get him
there's no guarantee

they'll let it go at that.

Then it's hopeless.

Oh, not as long
as we can hold 'em off.

Not as long as there's
a chance I can reach my men.

Words cannot put out
the moon, señor Favor.

Nor can they create life
where there is only death.

Look at their faces
and you will see what I see.

A cemetery of hope.

♪ ♪

(coyote howls)

(metallic thud)

It was just a coyote, ma'am.

You sit down.
I'll finish this.

(coyote howls)

This may not chase away
those Indians, my dear,

but it might make living
with them a little easier.

It's always been the easy way,
hasn't it, Beau?

Even now you're on stage.

A make believe man

in a cardboard world.

A coward dies many times
before his death, Delilah.

This and recreating
the lives of better men,

however trimmed with tinsel
and artificial theatrics,

only makes what I am
a little less painful.

It might help.

The only thing that'll help me

is a one way ticket
back to civilization,

without the pleasure of your
company or your flask.

(bird cooing)

- Mr. Favor...
- Hmm.

You still think you've
got a chance?

Well, as long as a man
believes he's got a chance

he always has one.

I won't have to wait
much longer-- it's getting

about as dark
as it's gonna get.

What about your shoulder?

Well, I don't know what
they're teaching at the point

these days, but me,
I don't ride on my shoulder.

(approaching footsteps)

It doesn't look very good,
but it'll keep us going.

Best looking mess of beans
I ever seen. Just fine.

Mr. Domingo,
you better eat something.

Oh, gracias, no.

Mr. Domingo...

-.--would you mind
if I asked you a question?

Would it matter if I did?

The bible tells us that
Ruth went to live

among a strange people,

but only because she had to.

What was your reason?

What gods did
your Indians have

that gave you peace?

Man gives himself peace,
muchacha,

not painted idols
from a forgotten world.

Then why search for it there?

Why not among your own kind?

Because I have no kind.

(coyote howls)

Kill that light!

(gunshot)

Maria!

I'm sorry that was,

that was stupid.
I, I didn't think.

Next time use a gun.

It's much less painful.

Get on back to the window.

You all right?

Yes, I, I think so.

(coyote howls)

Anything?

Nothing.

Not even a shadow.

That's the way it's
gonna stay until they think

the fruit is ripe
enough to pick.

And then they're rifles
won't miss.

señor Domingo just gave you
lesson number four, Lieutenant.

The Apache technique
of taking an objective...

by waiting.

Only sure way to beat 'em
is to make sure

you don't give 'em any target.

Until I get back you make
sure it stays that way.

señor, your life means nothing
to me, but your revolver does.

Take my word-- you try to ride
through and you will lose both.

If I don't?

Doesn't seem
like there's much choice.

You're wrong, Mr. Favor,
you can stay here.

Lesson number five-- that's one
I did learn at the point--

never attempt a mission
the enemy expects

unless you have everything
possible in your favor.

I don't think I'd call
that shoulder of yours a factor

in our favor.

And like I said,
I don't ride on my shoulder.

You don't ride at all,

and since our friend here is not
exactly the type to volunteer,

I guess I win the strawberries.

You win the strawberr...?

Look, Lieutenant,
those are Apaches out there,

not pictures in a textbook,

and to them those gold bars
only mean one thing--

a target they can't miss.

Now, my arm may be messed up,

but at least I know
what I'm doing.

You haven't got a chance.

This Colt says
I have six chances.

I read that as pretty good odds.

In a classroom maybe,
not out there.

Step away from the door.

- Lieutenant. -Mr. Favor,
I don't want to waste a bullet.

I might need it.

Ma'am, Mr. Butler.

Good luck, Lieutenant.

All right, head...
head southeast, then.

Don't stop for nothing
till you get to the herd.

Don't worry, Mr. Favor,

even a second lieutenant
couldn't miss 3,000 cows.

All right, let's cover him.

(dog barks)

(horse neighing)

(dog barks)

Better get some rest.

It's going to be a long night.

(dog barking)

Uh, this herd of yours, Mr.
Favor, just how far away is it?

Ten, 12 miles.

Well, then, if the, uh,
lieutenant gets through,

he could be back
with help by sunup.

Give, take an hour or two.

Well, uh, if he, uh,

if he doesn't make it,
what then?

Then we have another day
and a longer night.

We'll worry about sunup
when it gets here.

You'd better get back
to your window, Butler.

(dog barks)

(dog barks)

Here, let me do that.

I can manage.

No man can manage
a woman's world, Mr. Domingo,

and I consider a can of beans
to be a woman's world.

(Domingo mumbles)

Please.

Besides, being busy helps.

You're going to California,
muchacha.

Why?

'Cause I've never
been there before

and because there maybe...

Maybe you will find peace?

Am I glass to be looked through
so easily?

Loneliness wears its own face,
muchacha,

for everyone to see
if they look.

You have no one, huh?

Like you, Mr. Domingo,
I have no kind.

There was a home once--
an Irish home,

which meant it was filled
with the wonders of Brian Boru,

the mountains of the Mourne,
and good brown whiskey.

And then...
it wasn't a home anymore.

My father and my brother joined
the Irish Republican Brotherhood

and started a fight

not even the legendary
Finn McCool could finish.

They brought their bodies home
in a wheelbarrow.

Iron wheels on cobblestones.

A sound I'll hear
every day of my life.

Better than the sound
of Don Quixote's lance

breaking against the windmill
of hopeless causes.

Your father and your brother
were fools, muchacha.

A fool walks in darkness,
Mr. Domingo,

buried in his forgotten world
with his painted idols.

No, only a brave man has

the courage to face his world...

...and to face himself.

There are no mirrors
in a coffin.

I will keep my painted idols

and you keep your illusions,
muchacha.

Where you're going,
you will need them.

Where I'm going?

The golden promise
of California--

a rich land

made richer with the blood
of the Mejicano--

the Mejicano who sought
only to understand

the meaning of the lash
and the iron heel.

You speak of California,
Mr. Domingo,

as if you knew it well.

I once lived in California.

With a girl named Maria?

Maria?

Well, that's what you called
Miss Shay

when her skirt caught fire.

Oh, a quirk of memory.

Something like that happened
a long time ago.

To a girl named Maria?

What is it you fear?

Your enemies are outside,
not in here.

You have something to say,
say it.

Well, you said you became
a Jicarillo 16 years ago,

that you came to them
from the setting sun.

That would be California
in the year of 1853.

Oh, for heaven's sakes, Beau,

can't you ever climb down
off that stage?

Why don't you go
back to your window

and play your scene
for the savages out there?

If nothing else works,
maybe that'll drive them away.

Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no.

The play actor has something
to say, let him say it,

but I warn you, señor...

I am not a very good audience.

Hey, let's take it easy, huh?

We got more than enough
to fight outside.

What's it all about, Butler?

A legend, Mr. Favor,

a legend that may be
more fact than fantasy.

The only fantasy
that you understand, señor,

is this.

God offers to every mind

his choice
between repose and truth.

This is my compromise, sir,

a compromise of cowardice.

And what is your choice?

Repose or truth?

Yeah, well, uh,
maybe you'd better go back

to your window, Butler.

No, no, no,
not until I've solved

my little riddle, Mr. Favor.

Call it the perverse last wish
of a dying man.

Delilah, my dear, do you recall

our last three performances
in Santa Fe?

How could I ever forget
such a smashing triumph?

We played to an audience
of 20 people,

ten of whom could speak English.

And who sat front row center
on each of these nights?

DELILAH:
The charming Mr. Domingo.

Watching a couple
of your performances

doesn't elevate him to a legend.

Hmm, not in itself, it doesn't,

but coupled with the things
that he has said and done

since we first climbed
into the stage

to be rattled about
like pennies in a poor box,

might make
a most interesting story.

This play you were doing--
what was it called?

Oh, it was a brilliant piece
of work, my dear--

uh, I might add,
written by myself.

Its title:
The Legend of Joaquin Murrieta.

Murrieta-- who was he?

An outlaw-- he ran all over
California a few years back.

Oh, you don't do him justice,
Mr. Favor.

Murrieta was more
than just an outlaw.

He was 3, he was a tradition,
an enigma,

a legend in his own time.

He's a man that was called

Robin Hood and butcher,

savior and Satan.

So what?
Murrieta is dead.

You're right, Mr. Favor,
Murrieta is dead.

The posse even cut off his head
as evidence of their victory,

but whose head was it?

As I recall, at one time
there were seven Californios

who raided
under the name of Murrieta.

Still doesn't prove anything.

Well, not in itself, it doesn't,
but consider this possibility--

one, incidentally,
which has become

still another legend
about Joaquin.

Suppose he escaped, suppose
the posse killed the wrong man.

Where could Murrieta go?

Not back to Mexico where
there was a price on his head,

and certainly there was
no haven in California.

There could only be
one real sanctuary--

the mountain wilderness
east of California.

Where an isolated Indian tribe
gave him peace

that the world could not offer.

All right, is that all?

No, just two more things,
Mr. Domingo.

Murrieta's wife was
a girl called Maria,

and when he first came
to California,

the miners called him
White Eyes.

It's not bad enough
that we have to die.

Now it seems we'll have
to die for a ghost.

Many men have known Marias.

Many men were called White Eyes.

Some of them have even found
a new life among the savages.

All right, suppose I am a
reincarnation of a legend, huh?

Suppose I am
Joaquin Murrieta.

Suppose I am a legend
of flesh, and blood, and bones.

Would that change anything?

Huh?

Would that make your
dying any easier?

You want to know
if I'm Murrieta?

There's only one way to know.

When they come you look at me,

and if I'm smiling

then you know
that I'm Murrieta.

Because he would love
to see the blood

flow out of your veins.

Because only your screams
can blot out the cry...

the scream of his Maria
when you killed her.

It was you and your people...

and your kind that did it.

It was your kind

that destroyed Joaquin Murrieta,

and molded him as an animal...

without dignity,
without honor.

Anyways...

whatever Domingo is
or isn't,

it just doesn't matter.

We're all in this together
like it or not.

Butler.

(coyote howls)

(approaching hoof beats)

Domingo, come here.

It's Carter.

Butler, you cover.
Shoot anything that moves.

(groans)

The last lesson, Mr. Favor,

if you...

(exhales)

...if you,

if you can't get through...

get...

get back to your command

at, at any cost.

I..

(coyote howls)

(bird cawing)

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

Try this, Delilah.

It won't, uh, kick back.

Being kicked around

is the story of my life, Beau.

(sighs)

It's thick enough
to think for itself,

but at least it's hot.

How much is left?

Uh, that's about it.

Any other provisions?

Two cans of beans,
a little flour,

and about a quart of water.

It'll do.

For how long, Mr. Favor?

As long as it takes.

BUTLER:
Two days, three?

We'll be out of here by then.

The place where optimism
best flourishes, Mr. Favor,

is in the mind of a fool.

The logic in me argues
that what food you have

will last longer if there's
one less mouth to feed.

Mr. Domingo,
my apologies, sir,

for the theatrics of last night.

Call it the prerogative
of an actor.

A bad one at that.

Hey, Butler, what do you
think you're doing?

The only thing I can do...

play a scene.

The most important of my life.

Beau...

Even a failure, my dear,

is entitled to his one moment.

Butler, get back in here!

Ah, don't be a fool.

- Butler!
-(gunshot)

Put down your firearms!

A wise man once said,

I have come here
not to bury you,

but to praise you."

BUTLER:
I am not wise.

Nor have I come

to bury or praise.

I am here only to reason.

Do you hear?

Do you understand?

Please, you must listen.

There are two women in there.

They mean nothing to you.

Let them go.

Here, here, there is money here.

Enough money to buy anything...

(gunshot)

Please, there must be some way

I can make you understand...

(gunshot)

- Please...
-(gunshot)

You did that.
You killed him.

You sent him out there to die...

Nah!

No man can force
a corpse to walk.

Your husband wanted to die.

Why?

Why?

It says right there in your
eyes, lady.

They're stone dry.

Maybe we should all go out there
and end this.

No, no, no, not like that.

What difference
does it make how,

as long as it has to be?

The difference between iron
wheels, and cobblestones,

and painted idols
in a forgotten world...

only a coward
sneaks to his death.

Longer we stay in here,
the better chance we got.

I stopped believing
in miracles years ago.

I just can't fight anymore.

You don't have to, muchacha.

They want to take me alive.

And for that, they would
follow me all the way

to the river Styx.

You give me one hour.

By that time
I will lead them halfway

Sangre de Cristo.

When they have what they want,

they will not take the time
to double back.

If you stay here
you still got a chance.

You're wrong, amigo.

I never had a chance.
Not up on the mountains,

and not down here.

Mr. Domingo...

You're right, señorita.

No man can run away
from himself.

Nor can he give himself peace...

not alone.

One hour?

I'll give you some cover.

Earth has no sorrows, señora,

that heaven cannot cure.

If you cannot cry for him,

cry for yourself.

You know how to use
one of these things?

I know which end goes off.

Well, you start firing
when I do.

Just give me time to make 'em
keep their heads down.

Good luck.

Man makes his own luck, amigo.

Mr. Domingo...

I only wish
there was another way.

For White Eyes there's
only one way.

♪ ♪

(gunshot)

(gunshot)

♪ ♪

What he said,

the last thing we saw him do
was smile...

then he really was
Joaquin Murrieta.

When he left me, Mr. Favor...

he was smiling.

Head 'em up!

Move 'em out!

♪ Rollin', rollin', rollin' ♪

♪ Keep movin', movin', movin' ♪

♪ Though they're disapprovin' ♪

♪ Keep them dogies movin' ♪

♪ Rawhide! ♪

♪ Rawhide...! ♪

Hyah!

(whip cracks twice)