(Knocking at the door of the sheriff's office, Paladin has the barrel of a gun shoved in his face.)
Sheriff: State yer business!
Paladin: I want to see the sheriff?
Sheriff: Hand me your gunbelt. (Paladin does so, and enters to find another man aiming a gun at him.)
Fitzgerald: Ah, could be one of them.
Sheriff: What do you want?
Paladin: I want to see about one of your prisoners.
Sheriff: Yeah, I suspected that. Who are ya?
Paladin: My name's Paladin. (Reaches inside his jacket; Fitzgerald jerks up his gun. Paladin gingerly extracts his billfold and hands it to the sheriff)
Sheriff: These are all letters of credit. San Francisco banks seem to trust you. Guess I can, too.
Paladin: Thank you, Sheriff.
Sheriff: Our, uh, welcome mat must have seemed full of cockleburs, but, we gotta be very careful.