human
Well, he remarked grimly one morning, when the boys asked him at breakfast about his plans,
gpt
What day uh the month is this?
human
The twentieth day of March,
gpt
Twentieth uh March--hm-mm? We-ell, now, I have knowed it to storm, and storm hard, after this time uh year. But comin' the way she did last fall, 'n' all this here wind 'n' bluster 'n' snowin' on the Zandias and never comin' no further down, I calc'late the chances is slim, boy--'n' gittin' slimmer every day, now I'm tellin' yuh!
human
Well, say! Ain't yuh got a purty fair pitcher the way she stands? Big Medicine inquired aggressively.
gpt
Seems t' me we've done enough ridin' and actin', by cripes, t' make half a dozen pitchers better'n what I've ever saw.
human
That isn't the point. Luck's voice was lifeless, with a certain dogged combativeness that had come into it during the last two months.
gpt
We've got to have that storm. This isn't going to be any make-shift affair. We've got some good film, yes. But it's like starting a funny story and being choked off before you get to the laugh in it. We've got to have that storm, I tell you!
human
Well, darn it, have your storm, then. I'm willin', Big Medicine bellowed with ill-timed facetiousness.
gpt
Pink, you run and git Luck a storm; git him a good big one, guaranteed to last 'im four days or money refunded. You git one--
human
Listen, Bud. Luck stood suddenly before Big Medicine, quivering with nervous rage.
gpt
Don't joke about this. There's no joke in this at all. No one with any brains can see anything funny in having failure stare him in the face. Twelve of us have put every ounce of our best work and our best patience and every dollar we possess in the world into this venture. I've worked day and night on this picture. I've worked you boys in weather that wasn't fit for a dog to be out in. I've seen Rosemary Green slaving in this dark little hole of a kitchen because we can't afford a cook for the outfit. You've all been dead game--I'll hand it to you for that--every white chip has gone into the pot. If we fail we'll have to borrow carfare to get outa here. And here's Applehead. We've used his ranch, we've used his house and his horses and himself; we've killed his cattle for beef, by ----! And we've got just that one chance--the chance of a storm--for winning out. One chance, and that chance getting slimmer every day, as he says. No--there's no joke in this; or if there is, I've lost my appetite for comedy. I can't laugh.