The fire burns, night falls, and the brothers are still talking. They ponder over the beauty of the sky. I'm really feeling ill from a) the déjà vu from recapping the other Texas Rangers and b) the hammer slowly burrowing its way into my brain. Blah the beautiful sky, blah someone looking down, blah dee blah. Why does every single modern-day Western need to talk about the beauty of the damn sky? Why do we need introspection? Honestly. It's just silly. Harmon says, and I quote: "I look at my boy and I say the same thing." Oh dear. Harmon, you're days are numbered. I should say, your hours are numbered. Luke says, "Sometimes I think my heart's just going to burst out and go flying around, making a big mess." He asks Harmon, "You ever feel like that?" Oh. Lord. They're still talking about the SKY. Blah brotherly bonding blah. Harmon's making sure no one gets railroaded by the railroad. Luke tells his brother he wants to reach up and mix around the stars. Honestly. Who the hell talks like this? People in the Wild West didn't bond. Has no one ever seen a bloody Western before? Is no one familiar with Unforgiven? No one's read All the Pretty Horses? Cowboys ride. Cowboys shoot. Cowboys make one good friend. Cowboys compare shots. Cowboys do not, under any circumstances, talk about reaching up and mixing up the stars in the freaking sky.
Twigs snap. The strumming music turns ominous. Harmon screams, "Kansas? You watering the desert again?" Because all the lush green trees and green, green grass really spell "desert." Yawn. Harmon grabs his gun. He tells Luke to wake up the boys. Kansas comes into the firelight. Harmon lowers his gun: "Damn, Kansas, you scared me!" Kansas replies, "That's 'cause your momma didn't raise no fool." Then he shoots him. Luke screams: "No-o-o-o-o-o-o!" So, Kansas shoots him too, right in the gut, and damn -- that would be painful. The rest of the Regulators come out from the bush and finish off the entire gang of Texas Rangers. Where's Dylan McDermott when you need him? It's a bloody massacre. Kansas says, "Brave. Stupid and dead. That should make things easier." One of the Regulators speaks out: "But there's a problem?" Kansas: "What's that?" Well, thirteen rode out, including the kid, and there are only twelve bodies. Of course, Kansas shoots him. He don't tolerate any backtalk: "Let's ride." They don't check to make sure everyone is dead. They don't see if they've left anyone breathing. They just ride off assuming they're all dead. Stupid Regulators -- always check to make sure you didn't leave a man alive! Luke writhes in pain; he's got a huge, gaping, bloody hole in his gut. He raises himself up and looks at his brother, mumbling, "Harmon." He tries to jiggle him awake and yells, "Harmon." Then he starts to cry. But wait! Tonto rises from the smoke of the fire. He comes and stands over Luke. Luke whispers, "My brother." And then he passes out.
Morning. Tonto has worked hard throughout the night burying the bodies and building makeshift crosses. He's just wearing his brushed leather pants. He's all sweaty. Where did the shovel come from? Luke comes around and says, "You followed me?" Tonto says, "Yes." He bangs a cross into a grave. Luke says, "You saved my life." He's very pale, and he's still bleeding. Well, he's still got a gaping bullet hole in his stomach. Tonto reminds him that he's still in danger, that if the Regulators find out that he's still alive, they'll kill him. Then Luke groans and passes out again.