Now what the hell do you think you're doin' with that tin star, boy? Watch that "boy"...

Taggart: Now what the hell do you think you're doin' with that tin star, boy? Bart: Watch that "boy" shit, redneck. You talkin' to the sheriff of Rock Ridge. Taggart: Well, now if that don't beat all. Here we take the good time and trouble to slaughter every last Indian in the West, and for what? So they can appoint a sheriff that's blacker'n any Indian! I am depressed. Lyle: Excuse me, Mr. Taggart, sir, but I sure do hate to see you like this. What if me and the boys was to shoot that nigger dead? Would that pep you up some? Taggart: That might help. Lyle: All right, boys! On the count of three! Jim: I wouldn't do that if I were you. Lyle: Don't pay no attention to that alkie. He can't even hold a gun, much less shoot it. [Jim blows on his fingertips] Lyle: Like I said, on the count of three. One... two... three! [Jim draws. The cowboys' guns are suddenly shot of their hands in quick succession. Cut back to Jim, his arms folded, smoke pouring from his holsters] Bart: Well, don't just sit there lookin' stupid, graspin' your hands in pain. How 'bout a little... [he draws his own gun] Bart: ... applause for the Waco Kid? [dumbfounded, Taggart and his men start clapping]