MANCO: (Loads Indio's body onto the cart with the rest of the dead gang.) Ten thousand, twelve thousand, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, twenty-two... Twenty two. (Hears man moving behind him, turns and shoots him.) Twenty-seven.

MORTIMER: Any trouble, boy?

MANCO: No old man. Thought I was having trouble with my adding. It's all right now.

-For a Few Dollars More