Esau: You prefer bein’ a daddy to puttin’ daddys in the grave.
Bass: The boy ain’t mine.
Esau: Could be, though. It’s all there for the takin’ now. Another man’s cradle, another man’s bride. You returned to the wild, Bass. Freedom’s a good color on you.
Bass: I reckon it would be for anyone.
Esau: Surprisingly, no. You’d think a man gifted freedom would walk pin his own accord, but most prefer the comfort of the master’s leash to liberty and justice. If I was not in these irons, I’d be happy to oblige them, Lincoln or no.
Bass: Union won?
Esau: God damn. No news here, I see. This faraway rock you crawled under got a name?
Bass: Turkey Creek.
Esau: Well, gobble, gobble. You best hurry up, Bass. Collect your wealth and take flight. Hell is coming on wings of its own.
