Wagon Train

Slaughter's my name. Luke Slaughter. Cattle's my business. It's a tough business. It's big business. I've got a big stake in it. And there's no man west to the Rio Grande big enough to take it from me.

Look slaughter of tombstone. Look slaughter of tombstone. Civil war cavalryman turned Arizona cattleman. Across the territory from Yuma to Fort Defiance, From Flagstaff to the Wachukas and below the border through Chihuahua and Sonora, his name was respected.

Or feared, depending on which side of the law you were on. Man of Vision, Man of Legend, Luke Sloughter of Tombstone. How Justice Was Dead. Bushwacked in the Chiracalas for the $10,000 he was carrying.

But Justice wasn't dead. The Pussy from the Cattleman's Association had seen a date if we had to cover every half section between the petrified forest and the Mexican border. And it looked like we might.

At least the first day in the saddle we didn't find a trace of Justice's killer or the gold. We were a tired bunch of run-a-hands when we came back to town that afternoon. Alright boys, get yourselves a good night's rest.

Be ready to ride again at Sunup. Well, howdy, Luke. Hello, Wichita. You look like you've been eating a lot of dust. I have. You turn up anything? Nothing. Not a single sign. The killer's got to leave a sign.

This one didn't. Sure is a shame. Carl ought to know better than to try carrying all that money over the bizbee by itself. But he didn't. Oh, man, I'm tired. I'm going to go out to the ranch tonight.

No, I'll grab some shut-eye over at the office. over at the office. Let's go. Hold up a minute. You can't get by this outfit. O'Lagans. It's a pretty small train to be traveling along. Keep it moving.