Paladin: The old man's dead.
Bartlett: For how long?
Paladin: Two months.
Bartlett: How many men did he hire to kill me?
Paladin: Five, I think. He left all his money to his nephew in New Hampshire. Stated that he didn't have any living sons. Also in the will, he bequeathed this to you, with the provision that I deliver it. (Tosses Bartlett a leather pouch)
Bartlett: (Pours out a handful of bullets) Yeah. A Winchester Model 76, a Remington Keen, and a brass 10-gauge shotgun shell. That's the three we met in town.
Paladin: That short one's a flat .44 for a Henry rifle.
Bartlett: Yeah, I've used them. But I don't recognize this.
Paladin: That's a Walker Colt. 1838 model. Most powerful hand weapon ever built.
Bartlett: They used that in the war of the Texas liberation, didn't they?
Bartlett: Forty years. You think that thing'll still shoot?
Paladin: Somebody thinks it will.
Bartlett: I want some buckwheat cakes smothered in fresh butter and drowned in sugar syrup. I wonder if Emmy can still cook? I think so. I swear I can smell that pot roast for supper.
Paladin: From here?
Bartlett: Why, sure. God gave me a good nose to smell with. A large one. (Pause) He didn't slight you none, neither, come to think of it. (Paladin bursts out laughing)
Bartlett: Hello, Emmy.
Emmy: My husband's ten feet tall. You wanna kiss me, Mister, you stand that high.
Bartlett: I'm home, Emmy. (they kiss) It's been a long time. I love you, Emmy.
Emmy: I love you, Mr. Bartlett. (they kiss, and then she kicks him in the shin) That's for riding in here like a wild man, and scaring the chickens out of a week's layin'. And scarin' me out of my wits, an', an', an' raising the dust all over my new wash. And losing your temper and almost gettin' yourself killed. And bein' put away for eight years.
Bartlett: I'm home.
Bartlett: I've made up my mind about you, Paladin.
Paladin: Well, now, that is interesting.
Bartlett: You'll do, friend. When Doomsday comes, you'll do. That's my way of saying thanks.
Emmy: Sometime come back.
Paladin: Sometime, perhaps. When the name and the face no longer invoke the sting of memory. Only the knowledge of a pledge, long broken, has finally been healed.