 Now, what would folks say if I ran around with a 10-gallon hat and three-cornered pants? I could answer that, but it would only lead to bloodshed. Hey, Deadeye, Three-Fingered Charlie's on his way over to Rick Calamity's newspaper office. Come on, gang. That's all I gotta hear. I'm gonna take care of that Three-Fingered Charlie right now. Giddyup! Whoa! Whoa! Oh, come on, horse. Whoa! Hey, if you whoa, I'll give you a lump of sugar.