[last lines] Monco: [counting reward sums of outlaws he just killed] Ten thousand... twelve thousand... fifteen... sixteen... seventeen... twenty-two. Twenty-two? [a wounded Groggy comes from behind and raises his gun; Monco whirls and shoots him dead] Monco: ...Twenty-seven. Col. Douglas Mortimer: Any trouble, boy? Monco: No, old man. Thought I was having trouble with my adding. It's all right now.|