The Homesteaders

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 of the Rio Grande big enough to take it from me.

Luke Slaughter of Tombstone. Luke Slaughter of Tombstone. Civil War cavalry man turned Arizona cattle man. 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're on.

Man of Vision, Man of Legend, Luke Slutter of Tombstone. You get used to all kinds of people in Tombstone, miners from above and below the border, cowboys legitimate and illegitimate. Chinese cook your meals or your shirts.

All kinds. But one afternoon Wichita and I spotted a new brand. Say, well, you look at that dude with a white hair and goatee. If he ain't a high-mucky monk of something, I miss my guess.

Looks more to me like a traveling preacher. Yeah, but the other ain't no deacon from his roaks. Ah, good afternoon, gentlemen. Afternoon. I wonder if you could give us a direction, sir. I'm not too familiar in these parts, and let me introduce myself.

I'm Colonel Everett. This is my business associate, Mr. Grandby. Howdy. Howdy. Slaughter's my name. This is Wichita. Howdy. What is it you're looking for, Colonel? Well, we're heading for the meaker place. I believe it's just outside of Tombstone somewhere.

That's right. Cal meaker spreads about three miles north. The lazy M. You can't miss it. Oh, thank you. Thank you for your courtesy, sir. Not at all. Oh, uh, Mr. Grandby. Yeah? How do we met somewhere before?