In his haste to get to the man who he had just gunned down, Brisco County, Jr. dropped too early and skidded the last few feet on his knees, babbling a litany of "I- I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, not like this, not like this," and awkwardly dragging the bleeding man up into his lap with one arm while trying to staunch the flow from an obviously fatal wound with the other while Brisco County, Sr. approached at a more sedate pace with his famous gun still held at the ready in case the dying man had one last act of defiance left in him before the end.

"That man had already hurt and killed a lot of good people and was about to do it all over again to other good folks, and you stopped him in probably the only way that anyone could," the elder County said, finally holstering his gun and crouching down next to the pair after the life faded from their fugitive's eyes. "I know it doesn't feel like it right now, son," he said, placing a hand on the seventeen year old's shoulder, "but you'll get better at this," which would have been more comforting if he had specified whether he meant that Brisco would get better at keeping people alive or at watching them die by his hand.