(Irish is talking to himself)
Irish: That's a mighty fine corset you got there, young lady. Let Uncle Irish untie them strings.
(John kicks Irish to wake him up, Irish stands up but is confused and stumbles around)
Irish: Where are ya? Who do ya want? I see ya! Get away from me!
John: Right here.
(Irish settles down and focuses on John)
John: Where's that machine gun, Irish?
Irish: Aah, Mr. Marston. I found you one.
John: Found us one, Irish. We're in this together. You, me and an assault on Fort Mercer. I'm the guy that saved you from getting killed back there and who you owe your life to, remember?
Irish: (Laughs) Not really, happens to me all the time.
John: You don't want it to happen to you again, do you, Irish?
Irish: No, friend, I wants to buy you a drink. I wants to tell you how much you means to me. How special you is.
John: And I want to tell you, that if you don't produce a gatling gun within the hour, you'll wish you'd been killed back there.
Irish: It's the whiskey, sir...
(Irish takes a sip of the whiskey bottle)
Irish: It gives me the memory of a new born babe. As innocent as can be.
(John takes the bottle and takes a sip)
John: And it makes me violently angry. Shall we go look for that gun, sir?
Irish: Yes, let's do that.
(John and Irish head towards their horses)
Irish: Come on, then. We'll find your precious gun.
(John and Irish mount their horses)
Irish: (Singing) I love me faithless Flora, the Lily of the West.
John: You're not gonna pass out on me are you, Irish?
Irish: Me? No, I'm right as rain. Or at least somewhere stuck between fair and middlin'.
John: Well, you're gonna be stuck somewhere between dyin' and dead if you try to cross me again.
Irish: It weren't like that at all, fella. Me intentions were pure. I swear it on me poor Mother's life. I just gets a tad confused from time to time. Honest mistake.
John: If there's any more confusion, I'll finish what your friends in Armadillo started.
Irish: Jesus, you're an impatient bastard aren't you?
John: Where's the gun, Irish?
Irish: I hear some miners been blabbin' about a machine gun they found. Apparently, they got it stashed up at Gaptooth Breach.
John: What do miners want with a machine gun?
Irish: Shoot it at somebody, I suppose. Or sell it. I don't know. I never been down a mine in all me life.
John: Sounds real fishy to me, Irish. I've just about had it with you and your games. You and West Dickens are so crooked, you could swallow nails and spit out corkscrews.
Irish: Maybe if you was more cordial with folks, they'd be better inclined to help you.
John: I saved your life and you repay me by lyin', nearly gettin' me killed.
Irish: Not far now, Johnny. We should go around the side of Gaptooth so the miners don't see us coming.
John: I still don't know what miners would want with a machine gun.
Irish: Miners are always flighty bastards. Spend to long without daylight and doxies and it starts playin' with your mind.
John: I've never heard so much shit come out of one mouth.
Irish: Only tellin' you what I heard. Oh, and we'll need to get a wagon or somethin' to get it out of there. That gun's heavier than sin!
John: So how was I supposed to move it by myself last time? Two-faced little bastard.
Irish: Here we are. Let's stop here a moment and get a lie of the land.
(John and Irish stop just outside the mining camp)
Irish: The entrance is plain to see and there's a shaft them bastards use to haul out heavy ore. We, I mean you, can use that lift to get you and the gun to the surface. I'd do it all meself, but the mines play havoc with me sinuses. I'll find us a fine place to hide these horses and then return with a borrowed flat wagon.
John: I'll meet you at the mouth of the mine shaft, and Irish - I strongly advise you don't run off this time.
(John dismounts his horse and Irish leaves. Two miners approach him)
Miner: You're trespassing. State your business or move along.
(John draws his weapon)
Miner: Open fire!
(John kills the miners, then moves into the camp and later, the mine tunnel. After fighting his way to the gun, and pushes the cart over to the lift)
Irish: I thought I'd be looking at your corpse being hauled up this lift! Load up and I'll engage the gears.
(John loads the gun into the lift and then climbs in. Irish pulls the lever, and the lift carries John and the gun up to the surface, while Irish anxiously waits)
Irish: Ah, there she is, what a beautiful weapon... God's own gun, ain't that the truth... I got us a borrowed flatbed parked below. Meet me at the bottom of the hill!
(John rides the cart with the gun in it to the bottom of the hill, where Irish waits with the wagon)
Irish: What did I tell you? Piece of cake!
John: Let's go!
(John loads the gun into the wagon)
Irish: A short wee ride now, and we'll have this executive peacemaker delivered to West Dickens.
John: Just make sure it doesn't fall off along the way.