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[Wyatt has patiently watched a blustery faro dealer belittle a group of players for several seconds. The dealer finally notices Wyatt's presence and looks up at him.]
Johnny Tyler: Somethin' on your mind?
Wyatt: Yeah, I'd just like to let you know that you're sitting at my seat.
Johnny Tyler: Is that a fact? You run your mouth awful reckless for a man that don't go heeled.
Wyatt: Oh, no need to go heeled to get the bulge on a tub like you.
Johnny Tyler: Is that a fact?
Wyatt: Hmm...that's a fact.
Johnny Tyler: [stands up] Well, gee, mister, I'm real scared.
Wyatt: Damn right you're scared, I can see that in your eyes.
[Tyler reaches for his pistol]
Wyatt: Go ahead, skin it! Skin that smokewagon and see what happens. [backhands Tyler]
Johnny Tyler: [tearing up] Look mister, I'm gettin' tired of your...
Wyatt: [backhands Tyler again] I'm gettin' about sick of your gas, now jerk that pistol and go to work! [backhands Tyler, who's mouth has started to bleed, yet again] I said throw down, boy. You gonna do something, or just stand there and bleed?
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