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Bad Day At Black Rock Movie Script

Writer(s) : Don McGuire, Millard Kaufman, Howard Breslin

Genres : Drama, Thriller, Western

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                                  BAD DAY AT BLACK ROCK




                                       Written by

                             Don McGuire and Millard Kaufman




                                    Based on the story

                                    "Bad Day At Hondo"

                                    by Howard Breslin



                                                             SHOOTING DRAFT

                

               FADE IN BEFORE MAIN TITLE

               BAD DAY AT BLACK ROCK

               ESTABLISHING SHOT - BLACK ROCK - PART OF TOWN: FOCAL POINT: 
               RAILROAD STATION

               abandoned, in an extreme state of dilapidation. The structure 
               is blistered by the resolute sun, the roof is weather-warped. 
               Dry rot and mildew wage a relentless battle against the 
               foundation. Between the building and the tracks is a long, 
               somewhat narrow platform, its floorboards twisted by time, 
               termites and the elements. The match-board overhang of the 
               building, throwing some little shade to a portion of the 
               platform, sags and bellies. From the overhang is appended a 
               rectangular panel on which, in flaky paint, the town is 
               identified:

               BLACK ROCK

               One of the broken wires holding the panel is longer than the 
               other, cocking the sign irregularly.

               The railroad tracks reach endlessly into the horizon. Past 
               the town on each side stretches the ocean-like prairie, with 
               sand dunes rising and falling monotonously, shouldering each 
               other toward infinity. The morning sun lays over this 
               wasteland of the American Southwest, a gigantic yellow bruise 
               from which heat waves like bloodshot arteries spread 
               themselves over the poisoned sky.

               A small shack stands next to the station, separated from it 
               by a narrow alleyway and leaning toward the larger building, 
               as if for support. The words POSTAL TELEGRAPH are arced across 
               its dusty vitrine. An old straight-backed chair, reinforced 
               with twisted wire, is tilted against the north-west corner 
               of the shack. In it is Mr. Hastings, the postal telegraph 
               agent, a man of middle years and exorbitant mediocrity. He 
               sits there spinelessly, fingering a wart on his receding 
               chin and, once in a while, for variety, rubbing a knuckle 
               under his watery nose.

               FULL SHOT - BLACK ROCK

               The town is minute, dismal and forgotten, crouching in 
               isolation where the single line of railroad track intersects 
               a secondary dirt road. The twin strips of steel glisten in 
               the fierce sunlight, fencing the dreary plain from the false 
               fronts of the town. In b.g. is the bluff of a black stony 
               mountain. Against this ancient mass the houses of Black Rock's 
               single street*** (See map, P.2A) are scanty in number and 
               insignificant in architecture, a conglomerate paint-peeled 
               modern trussed together with rusty nails and battered tin 
               strips torn from signs.

               The town and the terrain surrounding it have, if nothing 
               else, the quality of inertia and immutibility -- nothing 
               moves, not even an insect; nothing breathes, not even the 
               wind. Town and terrain seem to be trapped, caught and held 
               forever in the sullen, abrasive earth.

               OUT

               Sequence omitted from original script.

               STRAIGHT SHOT - STREAMLINER

               jarring in its power as it ramrods across the desert, its 
               diesel engines pounding. Its horn "WONKS" twice, blasting 
               the shatterable air.

               FULL SHOT - BLACK ROCK - ANOTHER ANGLE

               Nothing is changed, nothing is altered. But look close and 
               you will see a small shallow current of wind sweeping lazily 
               across the dirt and dust of the single street. HOLD for a 
               beat, then MAIN TITLE appears. Between the ensuing credits 
               INTERCUT a series of sharp LONG SHOTS. The composition of 
               each shot has that hard, sun-beaten texture of American 
               primitive painting -- pressurized in its simplicity -- best 
               exemplified, perhaps, by the work of Grant Wood.

               EXT. SAM'S SANITARY BAR AND GRILL - ANGLE ON DOC VELIE

               assayer and notary public, mortician to the citizens of Black 
               Rock who have departed to a better place, and veterinarian 
               to its lesser animals. An elderly, somewhat untidy gentleman, 
               he sits nonchalantly on a chair outside the Bar & Grill. 
               Idling with him are three or four other loafers, among them 
               Sam, the middle-aged proprietor of the restaurant. Doc glances 
               casually at his watch; no one else moves. The hot wind 
               continues listlessly down the empty street.

               OUT

               Sequence omitted from original script.

               EXT. GARAGE - LIZ BROOKS

               A tall, attractive girl of twenty in dungarees and cotton 
               shirt. She stands just outside the open barn-like door of 
               the garage, staring, from the compulsive force of habit, at 
               the endlessly receding tracks. The sultry wind, its gustiness 
               slightly increased, blows through her fine dark hair.

               OUT

               Sequence omitted from original script.

               EXT. PORCH OF HOTEL - COLEY TRIMBLE AND HECTOR DAVID

               two enormous men. HECTOR is tall, and there is about him a 
               nasty, raw-boned tautness; COLEY is more the anthropoid type -- 
               long thick arms and a round, iron casing of a belly. They 
               glance down the street, watching incuriously a dust devil 
               swirling in the wind.

               Now the CAMERA has completed its probe of the town and its 
               denizens. MAIN TITLE and CREDITS are completed...

               CLOSE SHOT - MR. HASTINGS

               still spineless in his chair, the chair still tilted against 
               the shack. From o.s. and far away, we hear the horn of the 
               streamliner -- two long "WONKS", a short and a long (engine 
               whistle signal for approach to bridge crossing). Hastings 
               straightens up ever so slightly as he reacts to the oncoming 
               train.

               STRAIGHT SHOT - STREAMLINER

               moving at tremendous speed.

               BRIDGE

               with train barrelling toward it. The horn BLASTS -- three 
               short WONKS (engine whistle signal for stopping at next 
               station).

               CLOSE SHOT - HASTINGS

               getting jerkily to his feet, as though charged by a galvanic 
               current. The uncharacteristic speed of his movements throws 
               the tilted chair to the station platform. He raises an arm 
               to shield his watery eyes from the sun...

                                     HASTINGS
                              (almost inaudible, as 
                              if to himself)
                         Stopping...?

               SHOT - TRAIN

               heading toward CAMERA, churning across the desert like a 
               juggernaut. It PANS past CAMERA in a blur of speed. CAMERA 
               SWINGS UP on a level with the great iron wheels as the brakes 
               are applied. The wheels shriek agonizingly against the rails, 
               kicking up cinders and a wild flurry of dust. She cuts speed, 
               brakes hissing, and starts to slow down.

               LONG SHOT MAIN STREET - BLACK ROCK

               SHOOTING from rear of town, toward the railroad tracks. The 
               townspeople step out, frowning, cautious, disturbed. The 
               secure ritual of the train passing through, never stopping, 
               has somehow, for some unknown reason, been violated.

               CLOSE SHOT - DOC VELIE

               as his mouth tightens. His air of placidity vanishes, leaving 
               his features disturbed.

               CLOSE SHOT - LIZ BROOKS

               Her fine young face stiffens almost imperceptibly. Her eyes 
               are coated with a vague emptiness. She seems confused as she 
               halfturns toward the hotel.

               REVERSE SHOT - WHAT SHE SEES

               Coley Trimble and Hector David, standing on the porch of the 
               hotel. They seem tense, responding variously to what might 
               be fear. Coley's nostrils flare, his flat ugly mouth 
               compresses. He looks profoundly serious. Hector wipes a glob 
               of dusty sweat from the socket of an eye and blinks rapidly.

               CLOSE SHOT - HASTINGS

               as he stands in surprise, nervously alert, watching the train 
               as it comes to a complete stop. His jaw droops with the 
               slackness of fear.

               OUT

               Sequence omitted from original script.

               EXT. STATION PLATFORM

               with the train stationary before it. A sleek steel door of a 
               pullman clangs open. A colored porter carrying a suitcase 
               walks down the wrought-iron steps. He is stately, gray-haired 
               and lean, with the almost finical tidiness travelers associate 
               with trainmen. The man behind him is big-shouldered, a granite-
               like wedge of a man with calm, piercing eyes. There is about 
               him an air of monumental dependability and quiet humor, but 
               his eyes are those of a man who has lately lived in somber 
               familiarity with pain. His left arm hangs from his shoulder 
               with that lifeless rigidity of paralysis, while the hand is 
               hidden in his pocket.

               ANOTHER ANGLE - MACREEDY AND PORTER

               The porter puts the suitcase on the platform. In the distance 
               the town and its people are seen staring silently, 
               motionlessly. The big man glances toward them. He smiles a 
               sad, distasteful greeting to the town, its wretched dust. 
               its mean, modest buildings. The porter disappears into the 
               train as the conductor enters scene. He turns slowly, 
               following Macreedy's gaze...

                                     CONDUCTOR
                              (softly, staring at 
                              the towns people)
                         Man. They look woebegone and far 
                         away.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (looking around)
                         I'll only be here twenty-four hours.

                                     CONDUCTOR
                         In a place like this, it could be a 
                         lifetime.
                              (turning to face 
                              Macreedy)
                         Good luck, Mr. Macreedy.

               Macreedy nods his thanks. The conductor signals the engineer 
               (o.s.) and steps on the train. The diesel's claxon blasts 
               the torrid air ominously. The train slowly, smoothly, begins 
               to move, picking up speed. The cars slip past until, quite 
               suddenly, the Streamliner is gone. For a moment Macreedy 
               watches it. Then, quite unconsciously, he takes a package of 
               cigarettes from his left hand pocket, taps the last one free 
               of the pack, sticks it between his lips and, crumpling the 
               empty pack, drops it beside the tracks. He takes a cardboard 
               book of matches, flicks it open, bends a match in half with 
               agile fingers, and with a sure frictional motion scrapes the 
               head against the sandpaper guard. The match flares, the 
               cigarette is lit. Macreedy inhales, exhales deeply, and turns 
               to pick up his suitcase. Then he sees Hastings, who walks 
               slowly, almost painfully, to him. His Adam's apple grapples 
               protestingly with his collar. After a moment he controls it 
               sufficiently to talk...

                                     HASTINGS
                         You for Black Rock?

                                     MACREEDY
                              (easily)
                         That's right.

                                     HASTINGS
                              (uneasily)
                         There must be some mistake. I'm 
                         Hastings, the telegraph agent. Nobody 
                         told me the train was stopping.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (with a ghost of a 
                              grin)
                         They didn't?

                                     HASTINGS
                              (upset)
                         I just said they didn't, and they 
                         ought to. What I -- want to know, 
                         why didn't they?

                                     MACREEDY
                              (shrugging)
                         Probably didn't think it was 
                         important.

                                     HASTINGS
                         Important?! It's the first time the 
                         streamliner stopped here in four 
                         years.
                              (swallowing nervously)
                         You being met? You visiting folks or 
                         something? I mean, whatd'ya want?

                                     MACREEDY
                         I want to go to Adobe Flat. Any cabs 
                         available?

                                     HASTINGS
                              (as if he hadn't heard 
                              right; as if he wanted 
                              everyone in town to 
                              know)
                         Adobe Flat?!
                              (he gulps, recovers 
                              slightly)
                         No cabs.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Where's the hotel?

               Hastings looks at him blankly. The thousand-yard stare of a 
               hypnotic glazes his features.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (patiently)
                         I asked where's the hotel?

               Hastings points.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Thanks.

               With his suitcase, he cuts across a weedy path, running into 
               Black Rock's single street. For a moment, Hastings stares 
               after him; then he breaks hurriedly, entering telegraph 
               agent's shack.

               INT. POSTAL TELEGRAPH OFFICE

               as Hastings, fumbling, picks up the phone...

                                     HASTINGS
                              (into mouthpiece)
                         Hello, Pete? Now, listen...

               REVERSE SHOT - MAIN STREET - BLACK ROCK

               SHOOTING down the street as Macreedy slowly walks toward the 
               hotel. Not a person has moved, each eye is glued on the 
               stranger.

               The hollow rasp of Macreedy's tread on the wooden platform 
               of the "pavement" seems shatteringly loud in the enveloping 
               silence...

               CLOSE SHOT - LIZ

               as she follows the man's movement.

               OUT

               Sequence omitted from original script.

               CLOSE ANGLE - ON MACREEDY

               as he walks along. He feels the eyes of everyone following 
               him, glaring at him. He halts, looks around. The townspeople 
               continue to eye him brazenly, yet with an almost animal 
               incuriosity. He grins and walks on past a cluster of five or 
               six RFD mail boxes and a road sign [1], its paint peeling, 
               its face punctured by three or four bullets from a drunk's 
               pistol long ago.

               SHOT - MACREEDY

               heading toward the hotel. In b.g. is a relatively small farm 
               equipment yard compressed between a general store (which 
               Macreedy has just passed) and the hotel just ahead. In the 
               yard are a few tractors, and among them huddles a tiny office. 
               It is empty; the front window is thick with dust. On it, 
               etched by an anonymous, childish finger, is a skull and 
               crossbones. Running diagonally across is the printed legend:

               T.J. HATES J.S.

               Macreedy notes the inscription with a sort of wry bemusement. 
               He walks on, reaching the facade of the weather-beaten hotel. 
               A gust of wind swirls down the street, momentarily engulfing 
               Macreedy and the entire area in a sudden eddying whirlpool. 
               As it subsides...

               ANOTHER ANGLE - MACREEDY

               As he peers through the dust toward the dingy hotel. It has 
               a narrow stoop and outsize bay windows on each side. Macreedy 
               mounts the hotel steps. At the top of the steps Coley Trimble 
               and Hector David watch him silently. Hector is large and 
               leanly muscular, yet Coley looms over him like a battleship. 
               He is a gross behemoth of a man, with sharp flinty eyes the 
               size of glistening pinpoints and a slack, oversized jaw. 
               Both men wear modern Western work clothes, but there is one 
               incongruous accessory which Hector affects. Around his thick 
               wrist is a watch with a large flat face and an elaborately 
               tooled leather strap -- a cheap reproduction of one of those 
               expensive Swiss timepieces which, among many distinguished 
               accomplishments, tells the day of the week, the month of the 
               year, the phase of the moon, etc., etc.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (slowing up)
                         'Afternoon.

               No reaction from Hector.

                                     COLEY
                              (blocking doorway)
                         Anything I can do for you?

                                     MACREEDY
                         You run this hotel?

                                     COLEY
                         No.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (pleasantly)
                         Then there's nothing you can do for 
                         me.

               He brushes past Coley and enters.

                                     HECTOR
                              (turning to Coley)
                         Find Smith!

               Coley nods and heads down the street. Hector enters the hotel.

               OUT

               Sequence omitted from original script.

               INT. HOTEL

               It is a typical small town hotel, but crummier, with a tiny 
               lobby. Macreedy is waiting at the empty desk as Hector strolls 
               in, flopping his enormous bulk into a nicked and mothy chair. 
               He picks up a newspaper, but his eyes remain on Macreedy. 
               Macreedy waits patiently for the absent clerk. For a moment, 
               he studies the open registration ledger; his eyes rove from 
               the ink-splotched blotter up over the desk to one of those 
               World War II banners, the imitation silk now stained and 
               faded. It depicts a shrieking eagle rampant, clutching The 
               Flag in a claw. Under it, the legend:

                                   "GOD BLESS AMERICA"

               Near it, a tacky placard proclaims:

               DO ALL THE GOOD YOU CAN, 
               BY ALL THE MEANS YOU CAN, 
               IN ALL THE WAYS YOU CAN, 
               AT ALL THE TIMES YOU CAN, 
               TO ALL THE PEOPLE YOU CAN, 
               AS LONG AS EVER YOU CAN.

               Feeling the eyes of Hector on him, Macreedy turns. Hector 
               meets his gaze with bland, insolent interest. Now a young 
               man (his name is PETE) comes out of a small room behind the 
               registration desk and walks up to it. There is a softness 
               about his regular features, a certain indefinable sugariness 
               about his mouth. He seems tight-lipped, for lorn and uneasy 
               as he faces Macreedy across the counter.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (pleasantly)
                         I'd like a room.

                                     PETE
                         All filled up.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (a beat)
                         Got any idea where I might --

                                     PETE
                              (stiffly, shaking his 
                              head)
                         This is 1945, mister. There's been a 
                         war on.

               Macreedy looks at the young man with impeccable tolerance. 
               Without shifting his gaze, he slowly lets fall his small 
               suitcase. It thuds softly on the frayed carpet.

                                     MACREEDY
                         I thought it ended a couple of months 
                         ago.

                                     PETE
                         Yeah, but the O.P.A. lingers on.

               Macreedy looks down at the open ledger on the desk before 
               him. The clerk reaches out to close it. Gently, yet firmly, 
               Macreedy stops him, reopening the big book. He studies it, a 
               finger straying unconsciously inside his collar. He [...] on 
               it to relieve the starchy stiffness.

               Pete begins to fidget...

                                     PETE
                         You don't know about the O.P.A...

                                     MACREEDY
                              (without looking up)
                         Tell me.

                                     PETE
                         Well, for establishments with less'n 
                         fifty rooms hotel keepers got to 
                         report regularly about...

               His voice fades desperately.

                                     PETE
                         ...about tenants and... and... 
                         registration...
                              (drawing himself up)
                         There are penalties imposed...

               Again his voice trails off.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (eyes still on the 
                              ledger)
                         You seem to have lots of vacancies.

                                     PETE
                              (uncomfortable)
                         Well... as I said...

               Macreedy leans over the counter to a rack of keys. He runs 
               his splayed fingers over the key rack as...

                                     MACREEDY
                         Lots of vacancies.

                                     PETE
                         They're everyone of 'em locked up. 
                         Some are show rooms...

                                     MACREEDY
                         Yes...?

                                     PETE
                              (with touching 
                              sincerity)
                         ...for cattle buyers, feed salesmen. 
                         The others -- they're spoken for, 
                         rented to cowboys, ranch hands...
                              (Macreedy listens 
                              respectfully)
                         They pay by the month. For when they 
                         come into town. We provide for their 
                         every wish and comfort.
                              (weakly)
                         You understand...?

                                     MACREEDY
                         Not really. But while I'm pondering 
                         it, get a room ready. Just for 
                         tonight.
                              (picking key from 
                              rack at random)
                         This one.

               Pete opens his mouth but no sound comes out. [...] at Hector.

               CLOSE SHOT - HECTOR

               glowering at Pete.

               TWO SHOT - MACREEDY AND PETE

               as Macreedy signs the ledger.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (signing)
                         Sure could use a bath. Where is it?

               He picks up the key.

                                     PETE
                         Head of the stairs.

               Macreedy nods, reaches for the bag at his feet. Then he 
               hesitates, looks at Hector.

                                     MACREEDY
                         I don't know just why you're 
                         interested -- but the name's Macreedy. 
                         I'm...
                              (grins)
                         It's all in the ledger.

                                     HECTOR
                              (slowly, his eyes 
                              glued to Macreedy's 
                              stiff arm)
                         You look like you need a hand.

               Macreedy says nothing. The wales along his face harden. He 
               picks up his bag and climbs the stairs. As he disappears, 
               Hector lumbers to the desk and grabs the ledger.

                                     HECTOR
                              (reading aloud)
                         John J. Macreedy. From Los Angeles.
                              (looking up)
                         I wanna know everything he does, 
                         Pete. Check every call -- any mail.

                                     PETE
                              (nodding)
                         And in the meantime...?

                                     HECTOR
                              (grinning harshly)
                         In the meantime, I'll crowd him a 
                         little...
                              (looking up the stairs)
                         ...see if he's got any iron in his 
                         blood...

               As Pete bites his lower lip thoughtfully,

                                                                  DISSOLVE:

               OUT

               Sequence omitted from original script.

               INT. BATHROOM - DAY - MACREEDY

               in a new bathrobe, before a cracked, discolored mirror. He 
               draws a safety razor down his face, completing his shave; 
               then he wipes a hand over the mirror, which clouds with steam 
               almost as fast as he can clear it. o.s., the SOUND of bath 
               water gurgling down the tub drain. He runs a tentative finger 
               inside the collar of his robe, pulling loose a price tag. He 
               drops it carefully into a wastebasket. He turns on the faucet 
               at the sink to rinse his shaving brush. The rusty pipes cough 
               and rumble, roaring as a trickle of water arrives while the 
               drain sucks loudly at its departure. He dries the razor, 
               turns off the faucet and exits.

               INT. HOTEL CORRIDOR - ANGLE ON MACREEDY 

               As he walks down the dark, narrow hall. He wears the bathrobe 
               and slippers; a large towel is draped over his head, like a 
               prize fighter. He stops outside a door, pushes the towel 
               from his head to his neck and puts his hand on the knob. He 
               is about to insert the key when he tenses. Slowly, silently, 
               he turns the knob and throws open the door.

               INT. HOTEL ROOM

               Next to the door, in the corner of the small, sparsely 
               furnished room is Macreedy's suitcase, open, its contents 
               askew and scattered over the dusty floor. On the bed sprawls 
               Hector David, his gigantic body straining the springs. He 
               lies on his back, hands clasped easily under his head, thick 
               legs crossed, his Stetson tilted over his low forehead. He 
               is completely unconcerned by Macreedy's entrance. For a moment 
               Macreedy stares at him. Then...

                                     MACREEDY
                              (slightly amused)
                         I think you have the wrong room.

                                     HECTOR
                              (not budging)
                         You think so?

               Slowly, his eyes still on Macreedy, Hector takes off his 
               elaborate wrist watch and slides it gently into his pants 
               pocket.

                                     HECTOR
                         What else you got on your mind?

               Macreedy pauses and takes in the situation. He refuses to be 
               baited.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Nothing, I guess.

                                     HECTOR
                         If you had a mind, boy, you'd of 
                         heard what Pete downstairs said. He 
                         said these here rooms are for us 
                         cowboys. For our every wish and 
                         comfort.

                                     MACREEDY
                         And this, I guess, is yours?

                                     HECTOR
                         When I'm in town. And I'm in town, 
                         as any fool can see. You see that, 
                         don't you, boy?

                                     MACREEDY
                         I guess I do. Would you mind very 
                         much if I sort of...
                              (he gestures toward 
                              his suitcase and 
                              clothing)
                         ...clean up this mess and get another 
                         room?

                                     HECTOR
                         Not at all. But if you want this 
                         room real bad...
                              (he raises his enormous 
                              bulk to a sitting 
                              position, rubbing 
                              the knuckles of one 
                              big fist with the 
                              palm of his other 
                              hand)
                         ...we could maybe settle your claim 
                         without all this talk.
                              (no answer from 
                              Macreedy)
                         If a man don't claim what's rightfully 
                         his'n, he's nuthin'. What do you 
                         think?

                                     MACREEDY
                         I guess so.

                                     HECTOR
                         You guess so. But still you ain't 
                         claimin' this room?

                                     MACREEDY
                         I guess not.

                                     HECTOR
                         You're all the time guessin', boy. 
                         Don't you ever know anything?

                                     MACREEDY
                         One thing I know. Since I got off 
                         the train, I've been needled. Why?

                                     HECTOR
                              (after a beat, slowly)
                         I guess I don't rightly know.

               For a moment their eyes lock. Then Macreedy goes to his 
               suitcase and throws his clothes in it. As he goes out the 
               door...

                                                               DISSOLVE TO:

               OUT

               Sequence omitted from original script.

               INT. HOTEL LOBBY - DAY - FULL SHOT - SAM AND THE LOAFERS

               They sit around, each with his own thoughts. They are 
               generally stolid; only Sam seems nervous. He looks up eagerly 
               as Doc Velie enters the lobby. As he joins Sam...

               Sam walks light for a big man, Doc.

                                     DOC
                              (straight)
                         Who?

                                     SAM
                              (irritated)
                         You know who!
                              (Doc grins impishly; 
                              Sam's anger subsides)
                         What do you think, Doc?

                                     DOC
                         Why ask me? He's no salesman, that's 
                         sure.
                              (again the impish 
                              grin)
                         Unless he's peddling dynamite.

                                     SAM
                              (squirming visibly)
                         Maybe he's a cop, or something...

                                     DOC
                         Ever see a cop with a stiff arm?

                                     SAM
                              (squinting thoughtfully)
                         Maybe his arm's all right. Maybe 
                         he's just holding tight to something 
                         in his pocket...

                                     DOC
                              (scoffing)
                         Like what? A pistol? A stick of T-N-
                         T?
                              (gleefully)
                         To blow up this whole mangy, miserable 
                         town!
                              (with sudden, almost 
                              naive, seriousness)
                         Why are you so interested, Sam?

                                     SAM
                         Who, me?

                                     DOC
                         I mean, if I was that interested...
                              (his eyes look up 
                              toward the hotel 
                              stairs o.s.)
                         ...I'd ask him.

               Sam follows Doc's gaze...

               REVERSE SHOT - WHAT THEY SEE 35X1

               Macreedy walks down the stairs. Pete looks up from the desk. 
               He is about to dart behind the partition when...

                                     MACREEDY
                         Hey! Hold it!

               He walks to the desk, smiling at Pete. In b.g., Doc, Sam and 
               the loafers watch.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Got any cigarettes?

               Pete studies him, then bends under the counter, coming up 
               with a pack. Doc leaves Sam and is slowly walking toward the 
               stranger, eyeing him curiously.

                                     PETE
                         This is all.

               Macreedy throws the money on the desk and opens the pack, 
               dexterously using the fingers of his left hand.

                                     PETE
                         How long you staying?

                                     MACREEDY
                         In my new room, you mean?
                              (flatly)
                         I'm staying.

                                     PETE
                         I mean, in the hotel.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Just about twenty-four hours.
                              (sharply)
                         Why?

                                     PETE
                              (flustered)
                         I... I was just askin'.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (evenly)
                         Why? You expecting a convention?

                                     PETE
                              (doggedly)
                         I was just askin'.

               Macreedy looks at him, inhales deeply on his cigarette then, 
               as he slowly lets the smoke out, removes the cigarette and 
               looks at it.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Stale.

               Now Doc is at the desk not far from Macreedy. Macreedy starts 
               out, then turns to Pete.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Where can I rent a car?

                                     PETE
                         I don't know.

               Macreedy smiles and sighs tiredly. Then...

                                     MACREEDY
                              (as to a child)
                         Let's put it this way -- if I had a 
                         car and if I wanted to put gas in 
                         it, where would I go?

                                     PETE
                              (refusing to cooperate)
                         But you don't have a car.

                                     DOC
                              (to Macreedy)
                         You might try the garage at the end 
                         of the street.

               Macreedy pauses, looking at Doc, who blandly returns his 
               stare.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Thanks.

               Doc nods. Macreedy smiles and walks toward the door; Pete, 
               Doc et al watching him. He goes out.

               EXT. STREET

               As Macreedy walks down hotel steps, a station wagon pulls up 
               just before him. Tied with a rope to the right front fender 
               is a magnificent eight-point buck. A stain of dry blood weaves 
               an uneven course down his glossy flank from an unmistakable 
               bullet hole in his shoulder. Two men get out of the car; one 
               of them is Coley Trimble. He sees Macreedy coming toward 
               him. He stands motionless in the center of the narrow 
               pavement, picking at his nose with the detachment of a child. 
               The other man is broad and excessively masculine as he swings 
               out from behind the wheel. He walks around the car, joining 
               Coley at the curb. Macreedy comes on. The man with Coley 
               looks at the stranger with colossal indifference, as 
               expressionless as the soil of Black Rock. His handsome face, 
               under a dusty hunting cap, is taut and hard and wind-shaven. 
               Next to Coley he stands motionless, except for the wisp of 
               smoke from a black Cuban cigarette between his thin lips. In 
               b.g., the loafers who had been ensconced in the hotel lobby 
               move out the door and stand on the porch. They watch Macreedy, 
               Coley and Reno Smith, the handsome, taut-faced man. Silence 
               soems to settle over everything. It is Macreedy who breaks 
               it...

                                     MACREEDY
                              (grinning wearily at 
                              Coley)
                         Here we go again.

               Gently he walks around Coley and Reno Smith and continues 
               down the street. Coley's eyes follow him. Smith goes up the 
               steps of the hotel and enters the lobby. Coley quickly follows 
               him. The loafers on the porch go back inside.

               INT. HOTEL LOBBY

               The loafers resume their familiar places as Smith walks 
               briskly to the clerk's desk. Pete, in anticipation, opens 
               the hotel register, places it before Smith

                                     PETE
                              (deferentially, 
                              gesturing toward the 
                              open register)
                         That's all I know about him, Mr. 
                         Smith.

               Smith doesn't answer; he looks up thoughtfully. His eyes 
               harden almost imperceptibly as he sees Coley, across the 
               narrow room, looking out the window after Macreedy.

                                     SMITH
                              (to Coley's back)
                         Sit down.

                                     COLEY
                              (spinning to face him)
                         I was only...

                                     SMITH
                              (interrupting)
                         Sit down.

               Coley sits in the nearest chair. Beyond Smith, still resting 
               easily against the high counter of Pete's desk, the gigantic 
               figure of Hector appears at the top of the stairs. He comes 
               down and joins Smith.

                                     HECTOR
                              (after a pause)
                         Pretty cool guy.

                                     SMITH
                         Doesn't push easy?

                                     HECTOR
                              (frowning)
                         That's it -- that's just it. He pushes 
                         too easy. Maybe we oughtta...

               He hesitates as Doc Velie sidles amiably into earshot.

                                     SMITH
                         What do you want, Doc?

                                     DOC
                         Nothing.
                              (archly)
                         I was just wondering what all you 
                         people were worrying about.
                              (Smith looks at him 
                              coldly)
                         Not that I have the slightest idea.

                                     SMITH
                         You wonder too much, and you talk 
                         too much.
                              (pauses)
                         It's a bad parlay, Doc.

                                     DOC
                         I hold no truck with silence.
                              (impishly)
                         I got nothing to hide.

                                     HECTOR
                              (suddenly towering 
                              over Doc)
                         What're you tryin' to say?

                                     DOC
                         Nothing, man. It's just, you worry 
                         about the stranger only if you look 
                         at him...
                              (slowly)
                         ...from a certain aspect.

                                     SMITH
                         How do you look at him, Doc?

                                     DOC
                              (firmly)
                         With the innocence of a fresh-laid 
                         egg.

                                     SMITH
                              (after a pause)
                         Keep it up, Doc. Be funny. Make bad 
                         jokes.
                              (he starts to walk 
                              toward the window, 
                              Doc and Hector 
                              following him)
                         And some day I'll have Coley wash 
                         out your mouth with lye.

               Smith looks thoughtfully out the window.

               REVERSE SHOT - WHAT HE SEES

               Macreedy, down the end of the block, saunters easily up to 
               Liz's garage.

               EXT. LIZ'S GARAGE - FULL SHOT

               The garage, without a door, opens on the street. Against the 
               front of the building is parked a battered bicycle. On one 
               of the barnlike walls a boy of nine is drawing laboriously 
               with a piece of chalk. He puts the last flourish to a skull 
               and crossbones identical with that seen earlier on the window 
               of the equipment yard office. Macreedy stops a few feet from 
               him, waiting until the boy prints "T.J.". As he steps back 
               to admire his handiwork...

                                     MACREEDY
                         Hi, T.J.

               T.J. nods. He approaches the wall, raising his chalk.

                                     MACREEDY
                         This your garage?

                                     T.J.
                         Nope.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (a beat)
                         Where's the man it belongs to?

                                     T.J.
                         Ain't a man.

               He pauses. As Macreedy opens his mouth to interrogate 
               further...

                                     T.J.
                         Lady runs this garage.

               Again a pause. T.J. has just completed the final letter of 
               the word "HATES". And again as Macreedy opens his mouth...

                                     T.J.
                         She's not here.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Where'd she go?

                                     T.J.
                              (shrugging)
                         I dunno. Somewhere.

                                     MACREEDY
                         When will she be back?

                                     T.J.
                         I dunno. Sometime.

               Again the pause. T.J. steps back, having completed his work, 
               which, of course, broadcasts the fact that "T.J. HATES J.S.". 
               And again as Macreedy begins to speak...

                                     T.J.
                         In about ten minutes.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (with a grin)
                         Thanks.

               T.J. turns, pulls the bike away from the building, completes 
               a fastidious "pony express" and peddles furiously out of 
               scene.

               EXT. STREET - FULL SHOT

               as Macreedy, after a moment's hesitation, starts down it. 
               From the far end, at the telegraph agent's shack, a figure 
               starts running toward Macreedy. It is Hastings. INTERCUT 
               between the two men. Hastings, in his concentration, doesn't 
               see the stranger until he is almost upon him. He slows down, 
               suddenly, awkwardly, to a self-conscious walk. Macreedy grins 
               at him, passes on, shaking his head speculatively. Hastings, 
               with a parting glance, gallops up the hotel steps.

               INT. HOTEL LOBBY - FULL SHOT

               Smith, Coley, Hector, Pete, Doc, Sam et al are still in 
               evidence. Smith is in a tight little group at the desk with 
               Coley, Hector and Pete. Doc has taken a position at the 
               window, looking out. Hastings bursts in and half-runs to 
               Smith...

               ANGLE FAVORING SMITH AND HASTINGS 

               as the excited telegraph agent speaks.

                                     HASTINGS
                         I called the Circle T. He ain't got 
                         business there -- not if they don't 
                         know him. Right, Mr. Smith?

               Smith ignores him, thinking. Hastings breathes heavily. 
               Finally...

                                     SMITH
                              (to Hastings)
                         Send a wire to Nick Gandi in Los 
                         Angeles. Tell him to find out all he 
                         can about John J. Macreedy. Tell him 
                         I want to know fast. Sign my name.

               Hastings nods, scribbling on a pad.

                                     HASTINGS
                         What was that?

                                     SMITH
                         Nick Gandi. G-A-N-D-I. Care of the 
                         Blake Hotel.

               Hastings nods and hurriedly exits.

                                     COLEY
                              (after a beat)
                         Who's Gandi?

               Smith looks at Coley, trying to decide if the question in 
               any way challenges his authority. He concludes not...

                                     SMITH
                         He's a private detective.
                              (beat)
                         I drive to L.A. now and then.

                                     HECTOR
                              (slightly worried)
                         He'll get us the dope?

                                     SMITH
                         He'll get us anything, for twenty 
                         bucks a day and expenses.
                              (Hector frowns)
                         Hector, you worry too fast and too 
                         easy.

                                     HECTOR
                         It's just, I don't like it.

                                     COLEY
                         Maybe he's just passing through.

                                     HECTOR
                         Don't bet on it. He can only mean 
                         trouble.

                                     SMITH
                              (smiles faintly)
                         Hector, you're jumpy as a stall horse.

                                     HECTOR
                              (doggedly)
                         We oughtta see him... talk to him.

                                     SMITH
                              (quietly)
                         About what?
                              (Hector doesn't answer)
                         What'll we talk to him about? The 
                         birds, the bees? The weather? The 
                         crops?
                              (pauses)
                         You tried -- where'd it get you?

                                     HECTOR
                              (uncomfortably)
                         I only thought...

                                     SMITH
                         Sure. You only thought.

                                     COLEY
                              (after a beat)
                         What do we do?

                                     SMITH
                         What do you do? You wait. Like Pete 
                         here. Right, Pete?

               Pete nods, his brow furrowed uncomfortably in a frown.

                                     SMITH
                         That's all you do. But while you 
                         wait... I talk to him.

               At this point the brittle silence is cracked by...

                                     DOC
                              (o.s.)
                         Hey!

               Smith and those around him look off in the direction of Doc.

               DOC VELIE - AT THE WINDOW

               peering out. He turns in the direction of Smith and the 
               others.

                                     DOC
                         Now what do you know?
                              (beaming)
                         Mr. Macreedy seems to be heading for 
                         the jail.
                              (impishly)
                         Now what do you suppose he'd want to 
                         see the Sheriff about?

               Smith goes to the window, edging Doc to one side with a 
               shoulder. He looks out grimly.

               REVERSE SHOT - WHAT HE SEES

               Macreedy, down the street, cuts up the steps of the jail.

               BACK TO SCENE

               Smith staring out the window with a frown. Doc watching him 
               out of the corner of his eye, a bemused expression crossing 
               his puckish features.

               OUT

               Sequence omitted from original script.

               INT. JAIL

               ANGLE on Macreedy as he enters the jail. It is small and 
               dirty, with only a tired desk, two chairs and the usual police 
               posters on the wall. One side leads to the cell block and 
               Macreedy heads for it.

               ANGLE from interior of cell block comprising two cells, both 
               of which are open. A man is asleep in the lower bunk of the 
               front cell. The keys are in the lock. Macreedy shakes his 
               head and starts to close the creaking cell door. Sheriff TIM 
               HORN, the man in the bunk, lifts his head, blinking his bleary 
               eyes. He is in terrible shape.

                                     TIM
                         Hold it, friend.

               He manages to crawl off the bunk and out toward Macreedy.

                                     TIM
                              (grinning)
                         I ain't hankerin' to get locked in 
                         my own jail.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Sorry. I thought you were a guest.

                                     TIM
                         As it happens, I'm the host.

               He walks out of the cell, Macreedy following him into the 
               office.

               SHOT - OF THE TWO

               Tim breaks out a bottle of booze, starts to take a snort, 
               then stops, offers it to Macreedy.

                                     TIM
                         Snort?

                                     MACREEDY
                         No, thanks.

                                     TIM
                         Don't blame you. It's awful.

               He takes a belt that would incapacitate half the county. He 
               finishes, smacks his lips, lays the bottle down, and falls 
               into a chair. He looks up at Macreedy.

                                     TIM
                              (suddenly mean)
                         What're you lookin' at?

                                     MACREEDY
                              (easy)
                         You tell me.

                                     TIM
                              (after a beat, relaxing)
                         I ain't always this bad -- just that 
                         last night me and my pal Doc Velie, 
                         we did a little celebratin'. At least 
                         I did.

                                     MACREEDY
                         What were you celebrating?

                                     TIM
                              (shrugs)
                         You name it.
                              (studies Macreedy)
                         What do you want?

                                     MACREEDY
                         My name's Macreedy. I came in on the 
                         Streamliner.

               Tim studies him, trying to focus.

                                     TIM
                         You what?

                                     MACREEDY
                         I said I came in...

                                     TIM
                              (interrupting)
                         You ain't from around here. Up Tucson 
                         way -- Phoenix? Mesa? You ain't 
                         sellin' cattle nor seed nor nothin' 
                         like that?

                                     MACREEDY
                         No.
                              (sighs, then distinctly 
                              as to a child)
                         All I want from you is a little 
                         information. I've got to get to a 
                         place called Adobe Flat.

                                     TIM
                              (reacts; then, tight-
                              lipped)
                         This ain't no information bureau.

               Macreedy starts to say something, then stops. Reconsidering...

                                     MACREEDY
                         One thing about Black Rock -- 
                         everybody's polite. Makes for gracious 
                         living.

                                     TIM
                         Nobody asked you here.

                                     MACREEDY
                         How do you know?
                              (he moves toward the 
                              door, with a rueful 
                              grin)

                                     TIM
                              (starting after him)
                         What about Adobe Flat?

                                     MACREEDY
                         I'm looking for a man named Komako.

               The Sheriff reaches for his bottle. In his haste he drops 
               it. Macreedy's hand moves quickly, catching the bottle before 
               it hits the floor.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Almost a disaster.

                                     TIM
                              (sinking back in his 
                              chair)
                         A fate worse'n death.
                              (he takes the bottle 
                              from Macreedy)
                         You move fast for a crip... for a 
                         big man.

               For a moment heavy silence. Finally...

                                     MACREEDY
                         What about Komako?

                                     TIM
                              (slowly)
                         If there's no further questions...

               Macreedy grins harshly and exits. Tim watches him go, then 
               slowly reaches for the bottle. He pauses, looks at his shaking 
               hand. Then he withdraws it and just sits in the chair staring 
               blindly ahead, seeing nothing.

               EXT. STREET

               Frowning, deep in thought, Macreedy walks down the dusty 
               street. As he reaches the hotel...

                                     SMITH
                              (o.s.)
                         Mr. Macreedy.

               Macreedy stops, looks toward Smith as he walks out to meet 
               him.

                                     MACREEDY
                         That's the friendliest word I've 
                         heard since I got here.

               As Smith joins him, he walks on. Smith falls in step beside 
               him. GO WITH THEM.

                                     SMITH
                              (grins boyishly)
                         My name is Smith. I own the Triple-
                         Bar ranch.
                              (holds out his hand; 
                              Macreedy shakes it)
                         I want to apologize for some of the 
                         folks in town.

                                     MACREEDY
                         They act like they're sitting on a 
                         keg.

                                     SMITH
                         A keg...? Of what?

                                     MACREEDY
                         I don't know. Maybe diamonds. Maybe 
                         gunpowder.

                                     SMITH
                              (disarmingly)
                         No. Nothing like that. We're a little 
                         suspicious of strangers is all. 
                         Hangover from the old days. The old 
                         West.

                                     MACREEDY
                         I thought the tradition of the old 
                         West was hospitality.

                                     SMITH
                              (with a sincere smile)
                         I'm trying to be hospitable, Mr. 
                         Macreedy.
                              (boyishly pushes his 
                              dusty cap back on 
                              his head)
                         Going to be around for a while?

                                     MACREEDY
                         Could be.

                                     SMITH
                         How would you like to go hunting 
                         tomorrow? I'd be proud to have you 
                         as my guest.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Thanks, but I'm afraid not.

                                     SMITH
                              (with admirable candor)
                         You mean, because of your arm?
                              (slaps Macreedy's 
                              shoulder in a 
                              friendly, 
                              understanding gesture)
                         I knew a man once, lost an arm in a 
                         threshing accident. Used to hunt all 
                         the time.
                              (almost too blandly)
                         But he was quite a man. He...
                              (pauses; then, with 
                              discreet and charming 
                              gravity)
                         I'm sorry. I... What I mean is -- if 
                         there's anything I can do while you're 
                         around...

                                     MACREEDY
                         I'm looking for...
                              (sighs)
                         Never mind. Thanks, anyway.

                                     SMITH
                              (quietly)
                         You're looking for what, Mr. Macreedy?

                                     MACREEDY
                              (eyeing him)
                         A man named Komako.

                                     SMITH
                              (no hesitation)
                         Komako -- Sure, I remember him -- 
                         Japanese farmer. Never had a chance.

                                     MACREEDY
                         No?

                                     SMITH
                         He got here in '41 -- just before 
                         Pearl Harbor. Three months later he 
                         was shipped to one of those relocation 
                         centers.
                              (shaking his head)
                         Tough.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Which one did he go to?

                                     SMITH
                         Who knows?

                                     MACREEDY
                         You think maybe if I wrote him, the 
                         letter would be forwarded?

                                     SMITH
                         I'm sure it would. Write your letter. 
                         I'll see it gets out tonight.

                                     MACREEDY
                         It wouldn't be too much trouble?

                                     SMITH
                         No trouble at all.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Funny. Because I think it would be a 
                         great deal of trouble for you. It's 
                         been a great deal of trouble for me.

               At this point they are in front of...

               EXT. LIZ'S GARAGE

               Macreedy stops, as does Smith. He looks keenly at Smith as 
               he takes from his inner jacket pocket a half-dozen letters...

                                     MACREEDY
                         I wrote these letters to Komako. 
                         They weren't forwarded. They were 
                         returned -- address unknown.
                              (he smiles grimly at 
                              Smith)
                         So I guess there's nothing you can 
                         do for me, after all.

               Smith opens his mouth to reply when the NOISE of a jeep o.s. 
               interrupts him. The jeep comes INTO SHOT. Liz Brooks, at the 
               wheel, cuts the engine and jumps out. Smith ambles silently 
               to a wall and leans against it. Liz reaches behind the 
               driver's seat and hoists, with both hands and some effort, a 
               five-gallon drum of axle grease from the floor of the jeep. 
               As she rests it on the rear fender...

                                     MACREEDY
                              (going to her)
                         Need a little help?

               The girl looks at Smith, who has made no attempt to help 
               her.

                                     LIZ
                         I can manage.

               She lifts the drum to the ground.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Well, I need a little help.
                              (she looks at him 
                              questioningly)
                         I'd like to rent your jeep.

                                     LIZ
                         It'll be two dollars an hour, gas 
                         extra, and ten dollars for my time.

                                     SMITH
                              (to Liz)
                         Aren't you going to ask him where he 
                         wants to go?

               Liz looks from Smith to Macreedy, puzzled.

                                     SMITH
                         He wants to go to Adobe Flat.

               Liz hesitates. Macreedy notes her confusion as her eyes seek 
               Smith's for instructions. Quickly he moves in...

                                     MACREEDY
                         The road's marked?

                                     LIZ
                              (nodding)
                         Yeah. It's about six -- seven miles 
                         down...

                                     MACREEDY
                         Then I won't need your time.

               Macreedy hands her a bill. She fumbles with it, not knowing 
               what else to do. Her eyes drift to Macreedy's stiff arm...

                                     LIZ
                              (uneasily)
                         I thought you might... need a little 
                         help.

                                     MACREEDY
                         I can manage.

               He steps toward the jeep as...

                                     SMITH
                         Liz. Do you have a license to rent 
                         cars? You could get into trouble.

                                     MACREEDY
                         It's all right. I won't mention it 
                         to the Sheriff.

               He steps into jeep and, with one hand expertly manipulating 
               the controls, drives off.

               MED. SHOT - SMITH AND LIZ

               Smith turns his attention to the girl...

                                     SMITH
                              (slowly)
                         You shouldn't have done that.

                                     LIZ
                         I thought it would be better if he 
                         went out there and got done with it.
                              (Smith looks at her 
                              sharply)
                         I mean, what could he find out?

               For a moment Smith doesn't answer. Instead, with a half frown, 
               he lifts the bill Macreedy had given her from Liz's hand.

                                     SMITH
                              (as he studies it)
                         This is liable to be the hardest ten 
                         dollars you ever earned in your life.

               He crumples it, pokes the wad in her hand and walks off down 
               the street as...

                                                            QUICK DISSOLVE:

               OUT

               Sequence omitted from original script.

               INT. JAIL - FULL SHOT - DAY

               Tim sits in his chair, still staring sightlessly at the 
               whiskey bottle. Smith enters. He looks from Tim to the bottle 
               on the table, then back to Tim.

                                     SMITH
                              (after a beat, 
                              disinterestedly)
                         What did he want -- the stranger?

                                     TIM
                              (abstractedly)
                         He asked about Komako.
                              (looking up at Smith)
                         You think he'll kick up a storm?

                                     SMITH
                              (easily)
                         A storm? About what?

                                     TIM
                         I don't know. All I know, I don't 
                         want trouble around here.
                              (pauses awkwardly, 
                              then)
                         Never again.

                                     SMITH
                         Trouble? You don't know anything 
                         about Komako, now do you, Tim?

                                     TIM
                         I do not. That's the point.

                                     SMITH
                         The point is, what you don't know 
                         can't hurt you.

                                     TIM
                         Maybe there's something I ought to 
                         know. Maybe I ought to ask you... 
                         before the stranger comes back and 
                         starts breathing down my neck.

                                     SMITH
                              (a faint smile)
                         Tim, you're a lost ball in the high 
                         weeds. I told you a long time ago, 
                         nothing happened for you to worry 
                         about.

                                     TIM
                              (stands up, facing 
                              Smith)
                         Thing is, I do worry. Maybe I ain't 
                         much else, but I'm sure a worrier.
                              (beat, then with soft 
                              emphasis)
                         And I'm still the law.

                                     SMITH
                         Then do your job, Tim.

                                     TIM
                         What is my job, Mr. Smith? Maybe I'd 
                         better find out before Macreedy does 
                         it for me.

                                     SMITH
                              (evenly)
                         Macreedy'll do nothing, Tim. And 
                         neither will you.

                                     TIM
                         Suppose I decide to try?

                                     SMITH
                         That would be dangerous. You got the 
                         body of a hippo, Tim, but the brain 
                         of a rabbit. Don't overtax it.

               He stares harshly at the Sheriff. Tim tries unsuccessfully 
               to meet his gaze. Then, slowly, he sits down.

                                     TIM
                              (lowering his eyes, 
                              mumbling)
                         Yes, Mr. Smith.

               Smith slowly walks behind Tim's chair and silently, 
               patronizingly pats the Sheriff's slack shoulder...

               INT. TELEGRAPH AGENT'S OFFICE - FULL SHOT

               Hastings is sitting at his desk. The telegraph ticker starts 
               to splutter. Hastings rushes to it. He listens, and starts 
               to scribble. Then he gulps nervously, a confused expression 
               on his face. As the telegraph key stops as suddenly as it 
               had begun, Hastings jumps up frantically and, holding the 
               sheet of paper, runs out of the shack.

               EXT. STREET

               as he runs toward hotel.

               EXT. HOTEL - LONG SHOT 

               with Doc, Sam, Coley, Hector and Pete on the porch. Hastings 
               runs up the steps, pausing momentarily. His jaws move, but 
               CAMERA is too far away to pick up his obvious question. Coley 
               gestures toward the jail; then Hastings turns and runs down 
               the steps followed by Doc et al.

               EXT. STREET - FULL SHOT

               Hastings runs down the street toward the jail followed by 
               Doc et al.

               EXT. JAIL

               as Hastings runs up the steps with a hobnailed clatter. Smith 
               comes out to investigate, followed by Tim. Doc, et al are 
               congregated at the foot of the steps. Hastings slaps the 
               sheet of paper in front of Smith. Utter quiet. Everyone stares 
               at Smith, waiting for a reaction -- everyone except Tim, who 
               stares straight ahead, seeing nothing, and Doc, whose eyes 
               are locked sympathetically on Tim. Smith finishes reading 
               the wire. His face is expressionless. After a moment...

                                     HECTOR
                              (to Smith)
                         From L.A.?

               Smith doesn't answer but...

                                     HASTINGS
                         Yeah! From that private detective!

                                     HECTOR
                              (to Smith)
                         What does he say? Who is this guy?

                                     HASTINGS
                         Never heard of him, that's what he 
                         says! He checked and there's no John 
                         J. Macreedy. No listing -- no record -- 
                         no information. Nothing.

                                     PETE
                              (quietly, after a 
                              beat, to Smith)
                         Where does that leave us?

                                     COLEY
                         I'll tell you where...

                                     SMITH
                         Shut up!

               He folds the message carefully, puts it in his pocket. 
               Abruptly Tim turns and disappears inside his office. Smith, 
               with some restraint, walks down the steps to the street.

               MOVING SHOT - SMITH

               as he takes Coley's arm, and Pete's. The trio moves away, 
               taking a position perhaps 15 feet from Doc. Hector, Sam and 
               Hastings move toward them.

               OUT

               Sequence omitted from original script.

               EXT. RAILROAD TRACKS - SMITH, COLEY AND PETE

               In b.g. at a respectful distance are Hector, Sam and Hastings. 
               SHOOT parallel to tracks, which disappear far into the 
               horizon.

               The following dialogue is delivered in an undertone...

                                     SMITH
                              (turning to Coley)
                         Now, Coley...?

                                     COLEY
                              (takes a breath, then)
                         I think Macreedy's a nothing. A 
                         nobody.

                                     SMITH
                         Is he?

                                     COLEY
                         So there's nothing to worry about.

                                     SMITH
                         Isn't there?
                              (a beat)
                         You got brains, you have.

                                     COLEY
                              (squirming)
                         But what can he find out? That Komako 
                         was...?
                              (Smith glares at him)
                         Suppose he finds out?

                                     SMITH
                         A nobody like Macreedy can raise a 
                         pretty big stink. The point is... 
                         who would miss a nobody like Macreedy 
                         if he just, say, disappeared? Who, 
                         Coley?

               Coley is terribly preoccupied, balances himself, like a child, 
               on a steel rail.

                                     SMITH
                              (exasperated)
                         Coley!

                                     COLEY
                              (galvanized from the 
                              rail)
                         Huh?

                                     PETE
                         Why don't we wait...

                                     SMITH
                         Wait for what?

                                     PETE
                         I mean, maybe he won't find anything. 
                         Maybe he'll just go away.

                                     SMITH
                         Not Macreedy. I know those maimed 
                         guys. Their minds get twisted. They 
                         put on hair shirts and act like 
                         martyrs. They're all of 'em do-
                         gooders, trouble makers, freaks.

                                     PETE
                         But there's no danger yet. Let's 
                         wait and see.

                                     SMITH
                              (interrupting, 
                              appealing to Coley 
                              as an equal)
                         No danger, he says. This guy's like 
                         a carrier of small pox. Since he 
                         arrives, there's been a fever in 
                         this town, an infection. And it's 
                         spreading.
                              (he glances from Coley 
                              to Pete)
                         Hastings has been in a sick sweat, 
                         running around, shooting off his 
                         face. Doc, for the first time in 
                         four years, gets snotty with me. 
                         Liz...
                              (to Pete)
                         ...your own sister -- acts like a 
                         fool.

                                     PETE
                              (hotly)
                         She's just a kid.

                                     SMITH
                              (scoffing)
                         Kid! She must have strained every 
                         muscle in her head to get so stupid! 
                         Renting him a jeep! And Tim -- Tim, 
                         the rum-dum. Tim suddenly decides 
                         he's gotta act like a Sheriff.
                              (to Coley, gesturing 
                              at Pete)
                         And he says what's the danger.

               Brittle silence for a moment. Then...

                                     SMITH
                              (easily)
                         Of course, if you want to take the 
                         chance...

               Pete doesn't answer.

                                     COLEY
                              (grimly)
                         Not me.

                                     SMITH
                         All right, then...

                                     PETE
                         It's not all right! You're so mighty 
                         quick to kill -- he's not an animal!

                                     SMITH
                              (to Coley, with mock 
                              surprise)
                         Well, listen to little spitfire...
                              (turning slowly on 
                              Pete)
                         You sniveling toad! I'm saving your 
                         neck! If I don't, who will?

                                     PETE
                              (squirming)
                         All I said...

                                     SMITH
                         Who will?! Doc? Tim? Your sister, 
                         with the rocks in her head?

               Pete is silent.

                                     SMITH
                         One thing about your sister -- she's 
                         got twice the guts you have. You're 
                         only fit for running away.

                                     COLEY
                         It's too late for that.
                              (belligerently, slowly, 
                              at Pete)
                         He's in this, and he ain't running 
                         no place.

               There is a long, electric silence. Pete is defeated.

                                     SMITH
                              (finally)
                         All right, then...

               He pauses for emphasis. Then, as he starts to talk again...

               INT. JAIL

               Tim stands facing the wall, shoulders hunched, suffering. 
               Doc comes in and watches him silently, Tim turns, facing 
               Doc, turns again to concentrate on a faded newspaper 
               photograph framed and hanging on the wall.

               ANOTHER ANGLE - TIM

               SHOOTING over his shoulder. Focal point: the "photograph". 
               It shows a widly grinning, moderately alert and healthy Tim 
               of perhaps five years ago. He is wearing, proudly, his badge 
               of office, and behind him, mildly interested in the 
               proceedings, is Reno Smith, his erstwhile sponsor. The heading 
               on the photo reads: DEPUTY SHERIFF NAMED FOR BLACK ROCK.

               MED. SHOT - TIM AND DOC

               Tim takes the photo off the wall and, holding it, turns to 
               face Doc...

                                     TIM
                         Let Smith find himself a new boy. I 
                         can't take it another day.
                              (pauses, looks at Doc)
                         If you're a sheriff, they gotta 
                         respect you, otherwise you can't do 
                         your job.
                              (shakes his head)
                         They just laugh.

                                     DOC
                         I don't laugh, Tim.

                                     TIM
                         Why don't you?

                                     DOC
                         Cut it out, Tim.

                                     TIM
                         You should!

                                     DOC
                         In the name of well-adjusted manhood, 
                         snap out of it. You're going to get 
                         a complex or something.

                                     TIM
                         Four years ago if I'd of done my 
                         job... if I'd of checked up and found 
                         out what happened. But I didn't! 
                         Just like Smith figured.

                                     DOC
                         What could you have found out? They 
                         told you a story. You had to believe 
                         it.

                                     TIM
                         Do you believe it?

               Doc squirms but doesn't answer.

                                     TIM
                         Do you know what happened?

                                     DOC
                         I don't know.
                              (ironically)
                         I lead a quiet, contemplative life.

                                     TIM
                         Me, I didn't even try to find out.
                              (a beat)
                         Don't you understand?
                              (he taps the badge on 
                              his chest)
                         When you wear that badge, you're the 
                         Law. And when something happens, 
                         against the Law, you're supposed to 
                         do something about it. It's your 
                         job.
                              (simply)
                         Me... I did nothin'. And that's what's 
                         eatin' me. What kind of prescription 
                         you got for that?

                                     DOC
                         I don't know. I've never been able 
                         to find one for myself.

               Tim takes off his badge and throws it on the desk.

                                     DOC
                         Only one thing -- don't quit, Tim.

                                     TIM
                         Why not?

                                     DOC
                         Maybe this feller Macreedy has the 
                         prescription.

               They look at each other. Slowly Tim picks up his badge and 
               pins it back on.

               OUT

               Sequence omitted from original script.

               EXT. DESERT ROAD

               An old marker, jutting on an angle at the side of the road, 
               reads: ADOBE FLAT. Beneath it an arrow points ahead. Macreedy 
               steers the jeep up the narrow, rutted trail between a serious 
               of enormous boulders.

               ANOTHER ANGLE

               as he drives to the far end of the boulders, reaching a flat 
               piece of land completely surrounded by rocks. Beyond the 
               rocks is what remains of a burned-out ranch house, and an 
               abandoned well.

               OUT

               Sequence omitted from original script.

               MED. SHOT - MACREEDY

               in the wreckage. The remains of an iron bed. The burned-out 
               shell of a pick-up truck. Part of a stove. A morass of 
               bottles, all sizes and shapes, some of them broken. Macreedy 
               halts momentarily beside the well. Reaching out he touches 
               the warped sun-beaten boards that cover the mouth. He removes 
               one, and, picking up a pebble, drops it through the opening. 
               There is a long beat and then, from far, far below we HEAR a 
               faint PLUNK (o.s.). He replaces the board and walks to a 
               broken wall. He touches the burned out frame of a picture. 
               The frame falls to the ground, leaving an un-scorched square 
               on the surface of the wall. He goes past a solitary standing 
               stone chimney. Suddenly he halts, arrested by something among 
               the rubble, the rottenness and the ashes.

               REVERSE ANGLE - WHAT HE SEES

               Surrounded by the seared and blackened earth is a rectangular 
               patch of lovely wild flowers.

               BACK TO MACREEDY

               studying the brightly colored flowers. His face is lined in 
               thought. He stoops, gathers a few buds in his hand. He 
               examines them, his brow furrowed. As he slowly twirls a flower 
               between thumb and forefinger, CAMERA PANS from Macreedy in a 
               long slow arc, taking in miles and miles of barren wasteland. 
               CAMERA RISES, TILTING UPWARD to a cliff far away and shielded 
               from Macreedy's view by the intervening rocks and ridges.

               EXTREME LONG SHOT - CLIFF 

               and on it the outline of an automobile.

               MED. SHOT - THE CAR 

               empty. It is parked on a narrow dirt road. On one side of 
               the road the cliff falls abruptly to the valley far below; 
               on the other, the steep, shaly outcropping continues to rise. 
               For a moment CAMERA HOLDS on the car. Then it PANS SLOWLY 
               upward about fifty feet, HOLDING this time on...

               PINNACLE OF CLIFF 

               where a man is looking off toward Adobe Flat through a pair 
               of high-powered glasses. The man is Coley Trimble.

               ADOBE WELLS - MACREEDY

               Grimly he walks toward the jeep, still holding the wild 
               flowers. Now he pockets them, jumps into the vehicle and 
               drives off.

               THE CLIFF - COLEY

               continues to train his glasses on Macreedy far below in the 
               moving jeep.

               THE JEEP - MACREEDY

               driving steadily over rough, rocky terrain.

               COLEY

               climbs down from the pinnacle of the cliff and enters a big, 
               powerful '36 Packard sedan.

               MACREEDY

               shifts to low gear as the jeep presses into hilly country.

               COLEY - IN HIS CAR

               turns on the ignition.

               MACREEDY - IN THE JEEP

               as it winds along a road with the cliff rising on one side 
               and falling off steeply on the other. He rounds a curve, 
               passes an insignificant side road, drives on.

               THE SIDE ROAD

               The car with Coley at the wheel pulls out, follows Macreedy.

               INTERCUT between the two cars, with the distance between 
               them constantly diminishing.

               OUT

               Sequence omitted from original script.

               EXT. - FLAT ROAD

               a straightaway, cutting through rocky outcroppings on both 
               sides. Macreedy's jeep roars by, pursued by the gaining 
               Packard.

               CLOSE SHOT - MACREEDY IN JEEP - (PROCESS)

               For the first time he is aware that he is being followed, 
               and that the man at the wheel of the big Packard is Coley.

               SHOT - PACKARD

               picking up tremendous speed.

               EXT. - ROAD BED

               proceeding over a series of turns, inclines, declivities 
               (according to location terrain). Engines roar, brakes whinny, 
               tires scream, skidding on the turns.

               ANOTHER ANGLE - ROAD BED 

               as Coley overtakes Macreedy. He steers the big car within a 
               foot or two of the jeep. The terrain has steepened; on the 
               right there is nothing between the road and the valley floor 
               far below but a few inches of soft shoulder.

               As Macreedy pulls wide on a razor turn, Coley tries to come 
               inside him. Macreedy, fighting for control of the veering 
               jeep, succeeds in cutting him off.

               CURVE IN ROAD

               In the approach, Coley cuts sharp into the jeep. The jeep 
               seems to roll with the blow, then leaps ahead, maneuvering 
               the turn.

               CLOSE SHOT COLEY IN CAR (PROCESS)

               Coley is flustered, his face blood-shot with fury. He seems 
               to generate an atmosphere of vicious, cruel craziness; the 
               wild smile across his mouth is almost sensual, obscene. He 
               floorboards the Packard. Like some monstrous battering ram, 
               the heavy car smashes into the jeep's rear bumper, kicking 
               the smaller vehicle jerkily ahead. Coley floorboards the gas 
               pedal, again. Each time he slams into the jeep with sickening 
               force, with the brutal abrasion of metal pounding metal.

               CLOSE SHOT - MACREEDY - (PROCESS)

               With one arm he works frantically to keep his under-sized 
               car on the twisty road. He sees ahead a precipitous cliff 
               falling off on an impossibly sharp curve. He makes a 
               decision...

               Just ahead the gradient is comparatively gradual, however 
               steep by normal standards. He swings the jeep off the road, 
               onto the declivity. The car plunges downward, miraculously 
               upright. Macreedy jockeys it to a whirring, shuddering halt 
               in the soft sand at the bottom of a draw.

               Macreedy turns slightly and looks up the mountain-side with 
               the road at its summit...

               WHAT HE SEES: EXTREME LONG SHOT - COLEY

               standing at the edge of the road, peering down at him. In 
               b.g., the Packard. Coley turns emphatically, gets into car, 
               drives off.

               BACK TO MACREEDY

               His face is caked with the sweat of his exertions and dust 
               kicked up by the grinding wheels. He exhales heavily and 
               runs a shaky hand across the side of his head. He becomes 
               aware suddenly of a NOISE, a trickling, an unmistakable tinkle 
               as of running water. He frowns, opens the jeep door...

               MEDIUM SHOT - JEEP 

               as Macreedy unlatches the hood and throws it open. The NOISE 
               continues. Macreedy examines the engine and finds the 
               difficulty...

               INSERT - ENGINE 

               focal point: the nut joining the gas line with the carburetor 
               has worked loose in the jouncing the car has taken. With his 
               hand Macreedy screws it tight.

               MEDIUM SHOT - JEEP 

               as Macreedy lowers the hood, re-enters jeep. He turns on 
               ignition. The engine fires. As he drives slowly out of the 
               ravine...

                                                                  DISSOLVE:

               EXT. BLACK ROCK - MAIN STREET CLOSE SHOT - HECTOR 

               his long face even more horsey than usual, with half an apple 
               in his mouth. He stands in front of the grocery store, with 
               the baskets of fruit on the sidewalk. He looks up, stops 
               crunching.

               CLOSE SHOT - SAM 

               at the window of the Bar & Grill, cleaning an ear with a 
               toothpick. He looks out. The toothpick is motionless.

               CLOSE SHOT - HASTINGS 

               fidgeting outside his shack. He looks up. His Adam's apple 
               turns completely over.

               OUT

               Sequence omitted from original script.

               REVERSE SHOT - WHAT THEY SEE

               Macreedy slowly driving the jeep toward Liz's garage. He 
               looks neither to the right nor left.

               GROUP SHOT - FAVORING SMITH AND COLEY

               Standing on the porch of the hotel, watching. Smith's face 
               compresses, and his eyes swivel to rest on Coley's with cold, 
               contemptuous anger. Coley licks his lips uneasily. Smith 
               turns and enters the hotel. Coley meekly follows.

               FULL SHOT - MACREEDY

               He brakes the jeep before the garage. No one is there. He 
               parks the vehicle, gets out and heads down the street.

               EXT. HOTEL

               Macreedy is about to go up the steps when he sees Coley's 
               car at the curb. Both right fenders are creased. An ugly, 
               jagged break has split the front bumper almost in half, one 
               part angling crazily toward the sky, the other drooping in 
               the dust of the road. Smith and Coley come out of the hotel. 
               They stand on the porch, watching Macreedy as he in turn 
               watches the car. They exchange a glance. Smith nods, so...

                                     COLEY
                         Well, if it's not Macreedy - the 
                         world's champion road hog.

               He walks down the steps to the street, joining Macreedy. 
               Smith remains on the porch.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Yeah. It's a small world.

                                     COLEY
                         But such an unfriendly one. Now why 
                         did you want to crowd me off the 
                         road?

                                     MACREEDY
                              (with a slow grin)
                         I'm kind of sorry if I've incurred 
                         your displeasure.

                                     COLEY
                         Look what you did to my car.

                                     MACREEDY
                         If there's anything I can do to make 
                         up for it...

                                     COLEY
                         You ought to be careful, man -- all 
                         that one-arm driving.

                                     MACREEDY
                         I'd be glad to pay the damages.

                                     COLEY
                         It's a threat to life and limb.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Fortunately no one was hurt.

                                     COLEY
                         You could get yourself killed that 
                         way -- nosin' all over the 
                         countryside.

                                     MACREEDY
                         That's the real danger, I can see 
                         that.

                                     COLEY
                         Why that's pretty smart of you. How 
                         long you intend to keep it up?

                                     MACREEDY
                         I'm getting out of here, right now.

               He walks up the steps, past Smith, and into the hotel. Coley 
               glances up at Smith, grinning with self-satisfaction, like a 
               small boy who has carried out perfectly the instructions of 
               his teacher.

               INT. HOTEL

               The lobby empty except for Pete behind the desk. Macreedy 
               goes to him. Pete seems elaborately occupied arranging and 
               re-arranging a few file cards. Smith enters the lobby. He 
               stands in b.g. watching Macreedy and the desk clerk.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (to Pete)
                         Still expecting that convention?

                                     PETE
                              (looking up)
                         What...?

                                     MACREEDY
                         If you're expecting any extra cowboys, 
                         my room is available.

                                     PETE
                         You're checking out?

                                     MACREEDY
                              (nodding)
                         Is there a train through here tonight?

                                     PETE
                         Nothing till tomorrow morning. The 
                         streamliner.

                                     MACREEDY
                         I know that. How about freights?
                              (Pete shakes his head)
                         Milk train?

                                     PETE
                         Tomorrow. After the streamliner.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Busses?

                                     PETE
                         Closest stop is Sand City -- thirty-
                         two miles away.
                              (a beat)
                         You're in such a hurry, you should 
                         have never got off here.

                                     MACREEDY
                         I'm inclined to agree with you.

               He turns, walks toward porch. Pete looks at Smith. Smith's 
               eyes follow Macreedy.

               OUT

               Sequence omitted from original script.

               INT. LIZ'S GARAGE - FULL SHOT

               In the gloom of the lube pit, Liz's mechanic, a dirty old 
               man, is draining the oil out of the crankcase of the car on 
               the rack. The girl stands beside the pit, silently watching 
               the old man. Now she pauses, looks o.s. toward the open garage 
               doors...

               WHAT SHE SEES - MACREEDY 

               entering the scene, stopping to look at Liz's jeep parked in 
               front of the wide doors. He turns his eyes vaguely in the 
               direction of Liz, but he doesn't see her in the shadows behind 
               the car on the rack, He advances a step, pausing...

                                     MACREEDY
                         Anybody home?

               OUT

               Sequence omitted from original script.

               EXT. LUBE PIT - LIZ

               She does not answer. Instead, she silently twists the 
               crankcase petcock, stopping the flow of oil. She watches 
               Macreedy closely.

               INT. GARAGE

               Macreedy again shifts his eyes to the jeep, then, with 
               decision, he goes to a work bench, opening the drawers and 
               rummaging among the contents.

                                     LIZ
                              (o.s.)
                         If you're looking for the jeep key...

               Macreedy turns as Liz comes toward him. She gestures toward 
               the open drawers.

                                     LIZ
                         ...it's not there...

               Macreedy waits for her to go on. She doesn't. She stands 
               there, staring at him.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (after a beat)
                         In that case, where do you suggest I 
                         look?

               She turns, walks back toward the lube pit.

                                     LIZ
                              (over her shoulders)
                         The jeep's not for rent.

                                     MACREEDY
                         It was, just a few hours ago.

                                     LIZ
                              (flatly)
                         Things change.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (with grim amusement)
                         Sure. And Smith is the kid who changes 
                         'em.

               She doesn't answer. Macreedy goes to her.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Miss Brooks.
                              (softly)
                         What's the matter with this town of 
                         yours?

                                     LIZ
                         Nothing. It's none of your concern.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Then why are they all so concerned 
                         about me?

                                     LIZ
                         Am I concerned?

                                     MACREEDY
                         No, you're not. But...

                                     LIZ
                         But what?

                                     MACREEDY
                              (easily)
                         But it strikes me you're a little 
                         too unconcerned. So unconcerned you 
                         won't even rent me a jeep.

                                     LIZ
                              (flaring)
                         I don't run a taxi service. I don't 
                         have a license.

                                     MACREEDY
                         I wish others in this town were as 
                         scrupulously devoted to law and order 
                         as you are.

                                     LIZ
                              (hotly)
                         Why don't you lay off! If you don't 
                         like it here, go back where you came 
                         from!

                                     MACREEDY
                         Funny thing. They try to kill me, 
                         and you feel persecuted.

                                     LIZ
                         I don't want to get involved.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Involved in what?

                                     LIZ
                              (retreating)
                         Whatever you're up to. Whatever 
                         happens, I've got to go on living 
                         here. These people are my neighbors, 
                         my friends.

                                     MACREEDY
                         All of them?

                                     LIZ
                              (slowly)
                         This is my town, Mr. Macreedy, like 
                         it or not. Whatever happened here, 
                         it was long ago, now it's... it's...

                                     MACREEDY
                              (evenly)
                         Dead and buried?
                              (a beat)
                         Whatever did happen, you don't seem 
                         to like it. Why do you stick around?

                                     LIZ
                              (after a beat)
                         Because of my brother. Pete. He'd 
                         never leave.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Didn't you ever think of going without 
                         him. You're sort of independent and 
                         he's... he's...

                                     LIZ
                         Weak. I know. That's why I couldn't 
                         leave him.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (softly)
                         What did your brother do?

                                     LIZ
                         He... I...
                              (flaring again)
                         What do you care? What do you care 
                         about Black Rock?

                                     MACREEDY
                         Nothing much. Only, there're not 
                         many places like this in America -- 
                         but even one is too many. Because I 
                         think something sort of bad happened 
                         here.
                              (frowning)
                         Something I can't find the handle 
                         to...

                                     LIZ
                         You just think so. You don't know.

                                     MACREEDY
                         This much I know -- the rule of law 
                         has been suspended in this town. The 
                         gorillas have taken over.

                                     LIZ
                         You're a fine one to talk! You come 
                         in here, sneaking around, trying to 
                         steal the key to my jeep.

                                     MACREEDY
                         I kind of had a notion that was the 
                         only way I could get it.

               She opens her mouth to answer, but she doesn't know what to 
               say.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (simply)
                         Was I wrong, Miss Brooks?

               He waits as she tries to answer, and again she can't. For a 
               moment he watches her struggle in anguished silence with 
               herself. Then he turns and goes out.

               EXT. MAIN STREET - MACREEDY

               walks thoughtfully down street. He comes abreast of hotel.

               EXT. PORCH OF HOTEL

               where Smith is still sitting. For a moment he watches Macreedy 
               speculatively, then...

                                     SMITH
                              (calling)
                         Mr. Macreedy.
                              (reasonably, as 
                              Macreedy turns toward 
                              him)
                         I'd like to ask you a few questions... 
                         as long as you're around...

                                     MACREEDY
                              (walking up steps)
                         I'm around all right.

               He stands facing Smith on the porch, then...

                                     MACREEDY
                              (with just a touch of 
                              wryness)
                         You probably know that Miss Brooks 
                         is no longer in the car rental 
                         business?

                                     SMITH
                              (solemnly)
                         Good. I wouldn't want to see that 
                         girl get into trouble...

                                     MACREEDY
                         You wouldn't?

                                     SMITH
                         ...what with rental permits, gas 
                         rationing... you know what I mean.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Sure. I admire your sturdy sense of 
                         responsibility.

                                     SMITH
                              (dismissively)
                         It's just, a girl like that has a 
                         future.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Let's talk about my future.

                                     SMITH
                              (almost slyly)
                         Do you have the time?

                                     MACREEDY
                         I don't seem to be going any place.

               He takes the other chair.

                                     SMITH
                              (after a pause)
                         I hear you handle a jeep real well.

                                     MACREEDY
                         I have a way with jeeps. A certain 
                         familiarity.

                                     SMITH
                         I think I understand. You're an Army 
                         man.
                              (looking at Macreedy's 
                              stiff arm)
                         Where'd you get it?

                                     MACREEDY
                         Italy.

                                     SMITH
                              (sincerely)
                         Tough. I tried to get in myself, the 
                         day after those rats bombed Pearl 
                         Harbor.

                                     MACREEDY
                         What stopped you?

                                     SMITH
                         The physical. They wouldn't take me. 
                         The morning after Pearl, I was the 
                         first man in line at Marine recruiting 
                         in Sand City. And they wouldn't take 
                         me.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (flatly)
                         Tough.

                                     SMITH
                         What do you do in Los Angeles, Mr. 
                         Macreedy?

                                     MACREEDY
                         I'm retired.

                                     SMITH
                         You're a pretty young man...

                                     MACREEDY
                         You might say I was forced into 
                         retirement.

                                     SMITH
                         What were you looking for in Adobe 
                         Flat?

                                     MACREEDY
                         Komako, like I told you. Like you 
                         told me, he wasn't there.

               Smith laughs quietly.

                                     MACREEDY
                         What's so funny?

                                     SMITH
                         Nothing. It's just -- I don't believe 
                         you. I believe a man is as big as 
                         what he seeks. I believe you're a 
                         big man, Mr. Macreedy.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Flattery will get you nowhere.

                                     SMITH
                         Why would a man like you be looking 
                         for a lousy Jap farmer?

                                     MACREEDY
                         Maybe I'm not so big.

                                     SMITH
                         Yes, you are.
                              (a beat; looking hard 
                              at Macreedy)
                         I believe that a man is as big as 
                         the things that make him mad. Nobody 
                         around here has been big enough to 
                         make you mad.

                                     MACREEDY
                         What makes you mad, Mr. Smith?

                                     SMITH
                         Me...? Nothing in particular.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (bemused)
                         I see. You're a big man, too. Only...
                              (calmly)
                         ...the Japanese make you mad...

                                     SMITH
                         That's different. After the sneak 
                         attack on Pearl Harbor... after 
                         Bataan...

                                     MACREEDY
                         ...and Komako made you mad.

                                     SMITH
                         It's the same thing.
                              (scoffing)
                         Loyal Japanese-Americans -- that's a 
                         laugh. They're mad dogs. Look at 
                         Corregidor, the death march.

                                     MACREEDY
                         What did Komako have to do with 
                         Corregidor?

                                     SMITH
                         Wasn't he a Jap? Look, Macreedy, 
                         there's a law in this county against 
                         shooting dogs. But if I see a mad 
                         dog loose, I don't wait for him to 
                         bite me.
                              (exhales sharply, 
                              shaking his head 
                              with irritation)
                         I swear, you're beginning to make me 
                         mad.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (calmly)
                         All strangers do.

                                     SMITH
                         Not all. Some of 'em. When they come 
                         here snooping.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Snooping for what?

                                     SMITH
                         I mean, outsiders coming around, 
                         looking for something.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (pressing)
                         For what?

                                     SMITH
                         I don't know. People are always 
                         looking for something in this part 
                         of the West. To the historian, it's 
                         the "Old West." To the book writers, 
                         it's the "Wild West." To the 
                         businessmen, it's the "Undeveloped 
                         West." They all say we're backward 
                         and poor, and I guess we are.
                              (snorts)
                         We don't even have enough water.
                              (a beat)
                         But this place, to us, is our West.
                              (heatedly)
                         I just wish they'd leave us alone.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Leave you alone to do what?

                                     SMITH
                              (coldly)
                         I don't know what you mean.

                                     MACREEDY
                         What happened to Komako?

                                     SMITH
                         He went away, I told you. Shortly 
                         after he left, a bunch of kids got 
                         fooling around out his place. They 
                         burned it down. It was one of those 
                         things -- you know how kids are.

               Macreedy laughs quietly.

                                     SMITH
                         What's funny?

                                     MACREEDY
                         Nothing. Only -- I don't believe 
                         you. Any more than I believed you 
                         about the letters.

                                     SMITH
                              (smiling)
                         You don't seem to believe anything I 
                         say.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (vaguely)
                         Yes, I do -- about businessmen, for 
                         instance. I think a businessman would 
                         be interested in Adobe Flat.

                                     SMITH
                         Why?

                                     MACREEDY
                         All that land lying fallow. Could be 
                         put to some use. Like a graveyard.
                              (Smith opens his mouth 
                              to speak but Macreedy 
                              goes on)
                         A historian might be interested, 
                         too. Because of the strange customs 
                         around here, such as burying cattle...

                                     SMITH
                         Burying cattle...?

                                     MACREEDY
                              (calmly)
                         Something's buried out there.

               He takes the wild flowers from his pocket, holding them in 
               front of Smith.

                                     MACREEDY
                         See these wild flowers? That means a 
                         grave. I've seen it overseas. I figure 
                         it isn't a man's grave or someone 
                         would have marked it. Sort of a 
                         mystery, isn't it?

                                     SMITH
                         Sort of. Maybe you can figure it 
                         out.

               Macreedy gets up, half turns to Smith.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Maybe.

               He starts down the steps.

                                     SMITH
                         Why not give it a whirl?
                              (Macreedy turns)
                         It'll help you pass the time...
                              (continued; 
                              meaningfully)
                         ...for a while.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Not interested. I got other things 
                         to do.

               He turns and walks down the street.

               EXT. MAIN STREET - MACREEDY

               headed towards Doc's establishment. The building, which serves 
               Doc as home, office and laboratory, has centered on a pane 
               of glass:

               T.R. VELIE, JR. UNDERTAKER AND VETERINARY

               And in the lower right hand corner:

               ASSAYER NOTARY PUBLIC

               A few of the peeled gold and black letters are completely 
               missing.

               The building is separated from the structure next to it by 
               an alleyway. Filling the narrow passage is Hector David, his 
               long massive body wedged against the wall like an unkempt 
               monument. His little pig eyes meet Macreedy's. Hector spits 
               in the dust with bland insolence.

               EXT. DOC'S OFFICE - MACREEDY

               walks up the steps and enters.

               INT. DOC'S OFFICE

               Dark and shadowy. At the far end of a hallway an insipid 
               light bulb burns. Macreedy goes toward it, entering...

               INT. DOC'S LAB

               devoted to the care and preservation of the Dear Departed. 
               In the center of the room is a long rectangular slab stained 
               with the juices of those unfortunates who have had occasion 
               to rest thereon. The walls are lined with rickety bookcases 
               jammed, not with volumes, but with the jugs and jars, the 
               chemicals and unguents of Doc's multiple callings. In a corner 
               three or four neat pine boxes are stacked one on the other.

               Doc sits at a cluttered desk feeding a large bowl of goldfish 
               and sipping a glass of milk. He looks up as Macreedy enters.

                                     DOC
                         Hi. Pull up a chair.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (nodding)
                         Can I use your phone?

                                     DOC
                         Help yourself.
                              (chuckles)
                         You know, you're one of the few people 
                         who's ever been back here I can say 
                         that to.

               Macreedy reaches for the phone book.

                                     DOC
                         It's 4-2-4.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (pausing)
                         What's 4-2-4?

                                     DOC
                         If I've got you pegged -- and I think 
                         I have -- you're calling the State 
                         Police. But if I was you -- and I'm 
                         purely glad I'm not -- I'd look it 
                         up myself.
                              (emphatically)
                         I wouldn't trust anybody around here, 
                         including me.

               Macreedy thinks it over and comes to a swift decision. He 
               checks the phone book. Then, picking up phone...

                                     MACREEDY
                              (to Doc)
                         Thanks.
                              (into receiver)
                         4-2-4.

               INT. TELEPHONE OPERATOR'S OFFICE

               a cubbyhole behind the hotel clerk's desk in the lobby. At 
               the switchboard is Pete, and above him tacked on the wall is 
               the sign:

               SMILE

                                     PETE
                              (into phone)
                         4-2-4...?
                              (he looks up)

               CAMERA PULLS BACK revealing Smith standing beside him. The 
               two men exchange a nod.

                                     PETE
                              (into phone)
                         Lines 're busy.
                              (he clicks off the 
                              instrument)

               INT. DOC'S LAB

               Macreedy slowly puts down the phone. Doc sips his milk, all 
               the while staring queasily over the glass at Macreedy. He 
               puts it down, his gaze still fixed on the stranger...

                                     DOC
                              (sing-song)
                         I know -- don't tell me -- lines all 
                         busy. They'll be busy all day.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (after a beat, 
                              grimacing)
                         Don't look at me like that.

                                     DOC
                         Like what?

                                     MACREEDY
                         Like I'm a potential customer.

                                     DOC
                         Everybody is -- and I get 'em coming 
                         and going.

               He goes to a topographic map hanging on the wall -- a large, 
               impressive map -- faded, fly-blown and divided into sections.

                                     DOC
                              (gesturing toward it)
                         First I sell 'em a piece of land. 
                         Think they farm it? Nope. They dig 
                         for gold.

               He moves to photograph beside the map on the wall -- a large, 
               impressive photograph of a placer mine in operation.

                                     DOC
                         They rip off the top soil of ten 
                         winding hills. They sprint in here, 
                         fog-heaved with excitement, lugging 
                         nuggets, big and bright and shiny.

               He moves to his desk, picks up a glistening blob of stone, 
               resting next to an assayer's scales, and examines it...

                                     DOC
                              (rhetorically)
                         Is it gold?

               He bangs the rock down next to the scales.

                                     DOC
                         It is not! Do they quit? They do 
                         not!

               He moves to a third illustration -- a colored reproduction, 
               large and impressive -- of acres upon green acres of produce 
               in bloom; the kind of picture Southern Pacific places above 
               its calendars.

                                     DOC
                              (with theatrical 
                              gesture toward 
                              reproduction)
                         Then they decide to farm. Farm! In 
                         country so dry you have to prime a 
                         man before he can spit, and before 
                         you can say "Fat Sam" they're stalled, 
                         stranded and starving. They get weevil-
                         brained and buttsprung...

               He moves to the coffins piled in a corner and runs his hand 
               down the smooth pine sides with loving tenderness.

                                     DOC
                              (simply)
                         So I bury 'em.
                              (a beat, as he rejoins 
                              Macreedy in the center 
                              of the room)
                         But why should I bore you with my 
                         triumphs?

                                     MACREEDY
                         Yeah. I've got a problem of my own.

               Doc nods; he points vaguely toward the street...

                                     DOC
                              (like an old testament 
                              prophet)
                         They're going to kill you with no 
                         hard feelings.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (nastily)
                         And you'll just sit on your hands 
                         and let them.

                                     DOC
                         Don't get waspish with me, young 
                         feller.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Sorry.

                                     DOC
                         I feel for you, but I'm consumed 
                         with apathy. Why should I mix in?

                                     MACREEDY
                         To save a life.

                                     DOC
                         I got enough trouble saving my own.
                              (he refills his glass 
                              from a milk bottle 
                              on the desk)
                         I try to live right and drink my 
                         orange juice every day. But mostly I 
                         try to mind my own business. Which 
                         is something I'd advise you to do.

                                     MACREEDY
                         It's a little late for that...

                                     DOC
                         You can still get out of town. And 
                         you'd better get out like a whisper.

                                     MACREEDY
                         How can I?

                                     DOC
                              (taking a key ring 
                              from his pocket)
                         I got sort of a limousine at your 
                         disposal.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Where is it?

                                     DOC
                              (tossing him the key)
                         Out back.

               Macreedy snares the key and walks out. Doc gets up to follow 
               him.

               EXT. REAR OF DOC'S OFFICE

               An old-fashioned hearse, with plate glass sides and elaborate 
               lead candelabra -- Doc's "limousine" -- is parked a few steps 
               from the door. Macreedy climbs in behind the wheel as Doc 
               comes out and stands on the small back porch.

               Macreedy turns on the ignition switch. His foot kicks over 
               the starter, but the spark doesn't catch. He tries again, 
               then again. He pauses, frowns, as Doc comes down from the 
               porch and joins him.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (concentrating on the 
                              dashboard)
                         Won't start.

                                     DOC
                              (nervously, to Macreedy)
                         Something wrong?

                                     MACREEDY
                         Just won't start...

               Again he presses the ignition switch. Nothing. And suddenly, 
               in b.g., the great bulk of Hector David looms up, leaning 
               against the porch pillar at the corner of the alleyway. His 
               expression is almost dreamy. For a moment he stands there 
               while Macreedy toys with the ignition and the sick engine 
               wheezes and grinds. Then he ambles up to the hearse...

                                     HECTOR
                              (gratuitously)
                         Could be the wirin'. Why don't you 
                         look under the hood?

                                     MACREEDY
                         For that I thank you.
                              (pause)
                         How much time you think I've got 
                         before...?

                                     DOC
                         They'll wait at least till dark.
                              (angrily)
                         They'd be afraid to see each other's 
                         faces.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (slapping Doc's 
                              shoulder lightly)
                         Well, so long, Doc. I can't say it's 
                         been charming but...

                                     DOC
                         Where are you going?

                                     MACREEDY
                         I don't know. But I'm going on foot.

                                     DOC
                         That's no good. You stray ten yards 
                         off Main Street, and you'll be stone, 
                         cold dead.
                              (offers Macreedy a 
                              cigarette)
                         That's the situation, in a nut.

               Macreedy takes the cigarette, lighting a match with one hand. 
               He puts the fire to Doc's smoke and then lights his own. He 
               inhales, exhales, thinking. Finally...

               Macreedy gets out of the car. Hector has already opened the 
               hood. Doc peers nervously over his shoulder. As they study 
               the engine, Hector's horsey face appears behind them. He 
               gestures toward the engine.

               INSERT - THE ENGINE

               Focal point: a hopeless snarl of ignition wires.

               BACK TO SCENE

                                     HECTOR
                         It's the wirin', like I said. Now 
                         wasn't that a good guess?

               Slowly he takes off his wrist watch and puts it in his pants 
               pocket.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (quietly)
                         It can be fixed.

               Ignoring Hector, he bends over the engine, controlling his 
               obvious awareness that Hector has fouled up the ignition.

                                     HECTOR
                         Easy. Unless, of course, this here 
                         wire...
                              (reaching inside the 
                              hood, pointing)
                         ...got broke or something.

                                     DOC
                              (suddenly, heatedly, 
                              turning on Hector)
                         Do the nice little things, like keep 
                         your big fat nose out of my business.

               Hector's eyes go hard. He reaches out suddenly, one great 
               hand closing over the distributor cap. He yanks, ripping the 
               feed wires out of their sockets.

                                     HECTOR
                              (triumphantly, holding 
                              up the wires)
                         Yep. It's the wirin'.

               Still gripping the wires, he walks off. Doc simmers down. He 
               turns to face Macreedy, who hasn't moved. Now Macreedy slowly 
               lowers the hood of the car.

                                     DOC
                              (softly, after a beat)
                         I'm sorry, son. You got to admit, I 
                         tried.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (as if to himself)
                         Maybe...

                                     DOC
                         Maybe what?

                                     MACREEDY
                         If I can't get out of town, maybe I 
                         can get the state cops in.

                                     DOC
                              (irritably)
                         You tried the phone, didn't you? You 
                         know what happened, don't you?

                                     MACREEDY
                         There's another way. I'll be seeing 
                         you, Doc.

               He walks off. Doc looks after him grimly.

                                     DOC
                              (calling)
                         I hope you'll be seeing me.

                                                            QUICK DISSOLVE:

               INT. TELEGRAPH AGENT'S OFFICE

               Macreedy stands at the high counter, writing on a Postal 
               Telegraph blank. Behind the counter, watching him nervously, 
               is Hastings. At the agent's elbow is a big pitcher with dew 
               on the glass. It holds a pale liquid and a chunk of ice. His 
               eyes on Macreedy, Hastings refills a glass tumbler. He takes 
               a gulp as Macreedy puts down the pencil and pushes the message 
               toward him. Now Hastings puts down his glass, picks up the 
               form and scans it hurriedly. He looks at Macreedy, eyes glazed 
               with anxiety...

                                     HASTINGS
                         You notifyin' the state po-lice?

                                     MACREEDY
                              (putting a bill on 
                              the counter)
                         That's what it says.

               Hastings again refills his glass, slopping the liquid over 
               on the counter. He picks up the glass, hesitates, offers it 
               awkwardly to Macreedy.

                                     HASTINGS
                              (plaintively)
                         Lemonade?

               Macreedy shakes his head. No.

                                     HASTINGS
                              (mopping his forehead)
                         It's hot as Billy-be-durned.

               He drinks, puts down the glass. Macreedy pushes the bill 
               across the counter toward him. Hastings picks it up gingerly 
               then pauses...

                                     HASTINGS
                         Don't you like lemonade?

                                     MACREEDY
                         I never thought much about it.

                                     HASTINGS
                         It don't have the muzzle velocity of 
                         some other drinks drunk around here, 
                         but it's good for what ails you.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (after a beat)
                         What ails you, Mr. Hastings?

                                     HASTINGS
                         Me...?

                                     MACREEDY
                         Why are you so upset about...
                              (points)
                         ...this wire?

                                     HASTINGS
                         Me...?

                                     MACREEDY
                         Are you afraid, Mr. Hastings?

                                     HASTINGS
                         Me...?
                              (a beat, then softly)
                         I guess I am.
                              (awkwardly he puts 
                              Macreedy's bill back 
                              on the counter)
                         But what's the use talkin'...?
                              (with grudging respect)
                         You don't know what it's like, being 
                         scared.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (not unsympathetically)
                         You want me to describe the symptoms? 
                         Right this minute I'm scared half to 
                         death.

                                     HASTINGS
                              (simply)
                         You should be.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Yeah. But not of the state police.

                                     HASTINGS
                              (stonily)
                         Neither am I.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Then what are you afraid of? The 
                         grave at Adobe Flat? A grave nobody 
                         marked, nobody knows anything about.

                                     HASTINGS
                         That ain't it, either.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Is it Smith?
                              (no answer)
                         Is it?!

                                     HASTINGS
                              (squirming)
                         Look, Mr. Macreedy. I'm just a good 
                         neighbor...

                                     MACREEDY
                         To Smith you are. How about to Komako?

                                     HASTINGS
                              (meeting Macreedy's 
                              eyes)
                         I never seen Komako in my life. 
                         Honest.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (again pushes the 
                              bill toward Hastings)
                         Then send that wire, and bring me 
                         the answer. You'll do that, won't 
                         you?

                                     HASTINGS
                              (pauses, then worriedly 
                              picking up the bill)
                         Yes, sir.

               Macreedy turns and walks out. Hastings stands sweating, 
               staring hard at the message in his hand as...

                                                            QUICK DISSOLVE:

               OUT

               Sequence omitted from original script.

               INT. SAM'S BAR & GRILL

               A few loafers are at the bar, draped bonelessly on high 
               stools. There is the usual array of bottles and glasses 
               aligned before a cracked, discolored mirror. In the corner 
               is a jukebox. Along the opposite wall is a line of low stools 
               facing a counter covered with oil-cloth thumb-tacked in place. 
               Behind it is a greasy hot plate and a couple of soiled 
               displays -- breakfast food, soft drinks, etc. At the grill 
               counter is Sam, cleaning his finger-nails with a toothpick. 
               At the bar, engaged in a worrisome conversation, are four 
               loafers, FRANKLIN KROOL, WALT MURTRY, RON BENTHAM and STERLING 
               LENARD.

                                     KROOL
                         I tell you, I won't have anything to 
                         do with it.

                                     MURTRY
                              (nodding emphatically)
                         Live and let live, that's what I 
                         say.

                                     BENTHAM
                              (frowning)
                         I don't know. I just don't know.

                                     LENARD
                              (to Bentham)
                         You gonna brood about it? Or you 
                         want another beer?

                                     BENTHAM
                         A beer, I guess. Only...

               He looks up, and something makes him hesitate...

               WHAT HE SEES -- EXT. BAR & GRILL - MACREEDY 

               stopping in front of the restaurant. On the window large, 
               rough capital letters in water paint proclaim:

               SAM'S SANITARY BAR & GRILL

               Macreedy pauses, shrugs and then enters.

               INT. BAR & GRILL

               Sam is still working on his finger nails. He evidences little 
               interest in the stranger, but at the bar in b.g. the loafers 
               stiffen. Macreedy takes a stool in front of Sam.

                                     SAM
                         What'll you have?

                                     MACREEDY
                         What have you got?

                                     SAM
                         Chili wit' beans.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Anything else?

                                     SAM
                         Chili wit'out beans.

               Macreedy winces.

                                     SAM
                         You don't like the taste, that's 
                         what they make ketchup for.

                                     MACREEDY
                         In that case, I'll have it. And a 
                         cup of coffee.

               The door of the Bar & Grill opens. Smith and Coley enter. 
               They walk to Macreedy, stopping just a few feet behind him.

                                     COLEY
                              (to Macreedy, with 
                              menacing friendliness)
                         You still around? I thought you didn't 
                         like this place.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (pleasantly)
                         Going to, or coming from?

                                     COLEY
                         Staying put.

                                     MACREEDY
                         No comment.

               He turns again as Sam plops an unseasonable mess of chili in 
               front of him.

                                     COLEY
                              (to Smith, gesturing 
                              a thumb toward 
                              Macreedy)
                         No comment, he says. No comment, and 
                         all the time he's got my chair.

               Macreedy smiles tiredly. He half turns toward Coley.

                                     MACREEDY
                         I always seem to be taking somebody's 
                         place around here.

               He gets up, with his chili, and sits down three stools away. 
               Coley straddles the stool Macreedy has vacated. He squirms 
               on it, his movements exaggerated. Now he spins to face Smith.

                                     COLEY
                         This seat ain't comfortable.

                                     MACREEDY
                         I was afraid of that.

                                     COLEY
                         I think I'd like the seat you're on.

                                     SMITH
                              (to Macreedy, mildly)
                         He's as changeable as a prairie fire.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (to Coley)
                         Suppose you tell me where to sit.

               Coley opens his mouth but, realizing he has been 
               outmaneuvered, closes it again. The loafers in b.g. are 
               silent, watching. Sam, seemingly oblivious to Coley's pressure 
               on Macreedy, places a bottle of ketchup in front of the 
               stranger. Coley gets up slowly and walks stiff-legged to 
               Macreedy. He takes the bottle of ketchup and, without removing 
               the cap, upends it over Macreedy's plate. The cap is drowned 
               in a deluge of ketchup which overflows the plate and runs 
               onto the counter.

                                     COLEY
                              (to Macreedy)
                         I hope that ain't too much.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (to Smith, gesturing 
                              toward Coley)
                         Your friend's a very [...] fellow.

                                     SMITH
                              (nodding)
                         Sort of unpredictable, too. Got a 
                         temper like a rattlesnake.

                                     COLEY
                         That's me all over. I'm half hoss, 
                         half alligator. Mess with me, I'll 
                         kick a lung outta you. What do you 
                         think of that?

                                     MACREEDY
                         No comment.

                                     COLEY
                         Talking to you is like pulling teeth. 
                         You wear me out.
                              (loudly, after a beat)
                         You're a yellow-bellied Jap lover. 
                         Am I right or wrong?

                                     MACREEDY
                         You're not only wrong -- you're wrong 
                         at the top of your voice.

                                     COLEY
                         You don't like my voice?

                                     MACREEDY
                              (again turning to 
                              Smith)
                         I think your friend's trying to start 
                         something.

                                     SMITH
                         Now why-ever would he want to do 
                         that?

                                     MACREEDY
                         I don't know. Maybe he figures, needle 
                         me enough and I'll crack. Maybe I'll 
                         even fight back. Then he or Hector -- 
                         your other ape -- would beat me to 
                         death and cop a plea of self-defense.

                                     SMITH
                         I don't think that'll be necessary. 
                         You're so scared now you'll probably 
                         drown in your own sweat.

                                     COLEY
                         Before that happens, couldn't I pick 
                         a fight with you if I tied one hand 
                         behind me...?

               Macreedy rises to go out. As he passes Coley, Coley takes 
               his limp left arm and spins him slowly but firmly around. 
               The two men face each other.

                                     COLEY
                         If I tied both hands...?

               Macreedy shakes free of Coley's grasp. Coley lunges. His big 
               right fist streaks toward Macreedy's face. Macreedy ducks, 
               weaving with the punch. He grabs Coley's belt, twisting 
               Coley's body. The momentum of the swing throws Coley off 
               balance. As he goes past Macreedy, the stranger tugs at his 
               belt, twisting him to one side. He plants his left foot firmly 
               on the toes of Coley's left boot, for a split second anchoring 
               Coley in place. He chops the under side of his open hand in 
               a short, vicious arc that lands solidly under Coley's ear. 
               With the same motion, he brings the heel of his hand hard 
               against and slightly under the tip of Coley's nose. The 
               cartilage shatters. Blood spills down his face. Following 
               through, Macreedy's elbow smashes beneath Coley's cheekbone. 
               Macreedy's arm goes past the astonished, wind-burned face, 
               finding Coley's right wrist. He jerks the wrist out and 
               backward. It snaps. Coley whimpers, his face twisted in pain 
               and perplexity. His body lolls forward. Macreedy steps back. 
               He raises his right shoulder a few inches. His bent right 
               arm drives up like a piston attached to the shoulder's lift. 
               Fist and arm seem all one rigid piece with only the limber 
               shoulder giving them motion. The fist strikes Coley's face, 
               covering for a moment one side of his chin and a corner of 
               his mouth between cheekbone and jawbone. Coley shuts his 
               eyes and falls unconscious.

               Smith, a puzzled expression on his face, watches Coley fall. 
               He takes half a step toward him. Macreedy looks at Smith. 
               Smith stops. Macreedy's face is wooden, with a trace of 
               sullenness around the hard lines of his mouth. Working 
               methodically, Macreedy frisks Coley. He takes from a pocket 
               a long, ugly knife. He snaps the spring and the four-inch 
               blade leaps into place. He looks at the knife in his hand 
               and then at Smith. He smiles gently, even dreamily.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (to Smith)
                         Wouldn't it be easier if you just 
                         waited till I turned my back?
                              (looking toward the 
                              loafers at the bar, 
                              then back at Smith)
                         Or are there too many witnesses 
                         present?

               Macreedy walks slowly toward him, holding the knife. The are 
               only three feet apart. Smith's hand goes to a pocket, closes 
               inside over the outline of a pistol. Sam glances from Macreedy 
               to Smith to the unconscious Coley. He sidles toward the door 
               and runs out fast. (NOTE: From this point to end of scene 
               INTERCUT from Macreedy and Smith to exploit the reactions of 
               the loafers at the bar.)

                                     SMITH
                              (with effortless 
                              ferocity)
                         You're still in trouble.

                                     MACREEDY
                         So are you.
                              (Smith snorts)
                         Whatever happens -- you're lost.

                                     SMITH
                         You got things a bit twisted...

                                     MACREEDY
                         You killed Komako. Sooner or later 
                         you'll go up for it. Not because you 
                         killed him -- in this town you 
                         probably could have gotten away with 
                         it -- but because you didn't even 
                         have the guts to do it alone. You 
                         put your trust in guys like him...
                              (gesturing toward the 
                              unconscious Coley)
                         ...and Hector -- they're not the 
                         most dependable of God's creatures. 
                         Sooner or later they'll get the idea 
                         you're playing them for saps. What'll 
                         you do then -- peel them off, one by 
                         one? And in the meantime if any one 
                         of them breaks, you'll go down hard. 
                         Because they got something on you. 
                         Something to use when things get 
                         tough.

               With a quick motion, he tosses the knife to Smith. Smith 
               catches it.

                                     MACREEDY
                         And they're getting tougher every 
                         minute.

               He walks past Smith and goes out the door. Self-consciously 
               holding the knife, Smith turns to face the loafers at the 
               bar. They say nothing; they stare at him, through him, like 
               a panel of ghouls. The door opens, admitting Sam and Doc, 
               who carries his little black medical bag. Doc looks at Coley.

                                     DOC
                              (softly, full of awe)
                         Man... man-oh-man.

               He goes to Coley, bending down over him. Smith has remained 
               motionless as a monument. Now he doubles shut the knife in 
               his hand. He pockets it, and without even glancing at Coley, 
               turns quickly and goes out.

                                                            QUICK DISSOLVE:

               INT. HOTEL LOBBY

               Doc sits deep in the battered upholstery of one of the chairs. 
               He stares fiercely across the room at Smith who is on the 
               couch, reading a neatly folded newspaper. Behind him at the 
               clerk's desk, Pete is fitfully involved in a game of 
               solitaire. At the foot of the stairs Hector is pouring change 
               into a slot machine. It whines, grinds, and clicks with 
               rhythmic monotony, but it never seems to pay off. In the 
               chair nearest Doc is Tim, with one of his boots off. He works 
               hard and with some concentration, removing the other. Then 
               he places them neatly at the foot of his chair. He wiggles 
               his toes -- watching them with some interest.

               The wheeze and whir of the slot machine stops. The sudden 
               silence turns the eyes of the men toward Hector and the one-
               arm bandit. They follow his gaze up the steps.

               STAIRWAY - MACREEDY

               walks down, carrying his suitcase. He goes to Pete at the 
               clerk's desk.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Anything for me?

                                     PETE
                         Nothing.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Any message -- a telegram?

                                     PETE
                              (returning to his 
                              cards)
                         Nothing.

               As Macreedy turns from the desk, Doc joins him.

                                     DOC
                              (to Macreedy, shrilly, 
                              gruffly)
                         In case you're interested, Coley'll 
                         live.
                              (glaring at Smith and 
                              Hector)
                         I'm truly sorry to say.

               Smith coolly continues to read his paper. It is Hector who 
               turns toward Doc...

                                     HECTOR
                              (to Doc, jerking a 
                              fat hand toward 
                              Macreedy)
                         Your friend's pretty tough.

                                     DOC
                         Yeah. He's wicked. He defends himself 
                         when he's attacked.

               Macreedy ignores the exchange of words. He walks across the 
               frayed carpet to the nearest chair and drops into it. Doc, 
               who has followed him, stands looking down at Macreedy for a 
               long moment. Then...

                                     DOC
                              (with some irritation)
                         Well...? You going to just sit here 
                         and let time run out?

                                     MACREEDY
                         I'm waiting for a wire. From the 
                         state cops.

                                     DOC
                         You sent it through Hastings?
                              (an audible sigh)
                         Just don't expect an answer, if that's 
                         the way you sent it.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (looking toward the 
                              door)
                         No?
                              (he rises)

               Doc follows his gaze as Hastings enters the lobby and looks 
               around. He sees Macreedy coming toward him. He walks rigidly 
               in an arc past Macreedy to Smith. He holds out a Postal 
               Telegraph form. Smith puts down his paper and takes it. 
               Macreedy, followed by Doc, goes over to Smith. Tim in his 
               stockinged feet joins them.

               Smith scans the message. He looks up to meet Macreedy's gaze. 
               Smith rises. Hector swaggers over from the slot machine. 
               Hastings slips around the back of the couch, protected by 
               the barricade of Hector's great body.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (evenly, to Smith)
                         I think that's for me.
                              (he takes the message 
                              from Smith's hand 
                              and quickly glances 
                              at it. Looking up at 
                              Hastings)
                         Where's the answer?

               Hastings is silent. A brittle expression of bemusement crosses 
               Smith's features.

                                     SMITH
                         You expect an answer -- to a wire 
                         that's never sent?

               Macreedy's mouth compresses in a harsh grin.

                                     SMITH
                         What's so funny?

                                     MACREEDY
                         Nothing. Just a thought --
                              (his eyes turn to 
                              Hastings. Hastings 
                              wilts)
                         -- a thought dazzling in its purity...

               Macreedy takes a step toward Hastings. The telegraph agent 
               bounces away.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (slowly)
                         You're in a jam, Hastings. You gave 
                         my telegram to Smith.

                                     DOC
                              (excitedly)
                         You warty wretch! That's a federal 
                         offense!

                                     MACREEDY
                              (to Smith)
                         You're in deep, too.
                              (grins hard)
                         Like I said, it's getting tougher 
                         and tougher.
                              (to Tim)
                         Sheriff, you'd better do something 
                         about this.

               Tim hesitates, blinking his eyes worriedly, shifting from 
               one stockinged foot to the other. Smith watches him insolently 
               as he takes the message from Macreedy and gestures with it 
               vaguely...

                                     TIM
                              (to Smith)
                         I reckon that's right, Mr. Smith...

                                     HECTOR
                         Don't be a jerk, Tim.

                                     TIM
                              (to Smith, seriously)
                         Divulging information -- there's a 
                         law...

                                     SMITH
                         Tim, you're pathetic.

                                     TIM
                              (doggedly)
                         Could be. But I'm still Sheriff.

                                     SMITH
                         That's the point. You're not Sheriff 
                         any more. You just lost a job, you're 
                         so pathetic.

               He reaches out, clawing the badge from Tim's chest. He jabs 
               it on Hector's vest.

                                     SMITH
                              (to Hector)
                         All right, Sheriff. Take over.

                                     DOC
                         You can't do that!

                                     SMITH
                         Can't I? I put him in office. Now I 
                         take him out.

               Hector moves his elephantine bulk within inches of Macreedy...

                                     HECTOR
                         Now. You want to register a complaint?

               Macreedy doesn't answer. Hector takes the message from Tim's 
               limp hand and tears it into little pieces.

                                     HECTOR
                         To register a complaint, boy, you've 
                         got to have evidence. You got 
                         evidence?

               Macreedy doesn't answer.

                                     HECTOR
                         You got a big mouth, boy, makin' 
                         accusations, disturbin' the peace. 
                         There's laws in this county protectin' 
                         innocent folks from big mouths. Why, 
                         I'd just hate to...

                                     SMITH
                              (interrupting)
                         Hector...
                              (wearily)
                         Come on, Hector.

               He walks out, the new Sheriff strutting beside him, with 
               Hastings in their wake. For a moment Macreedy, Doc and Tim 
               stand in the center of the lobby. Pete eyes them non-
               committally and goes back to his solitaire. He glances up 
               now and then, moving the cards with a purposeful sort of 
               slowness, as of a more natural swiftness restrained by his 
               preoccupation with the three men in the lobby.

               Macreedy is deep in thought. Abstractedly he tugs at his 
               collar and then repeats the ritual of lighting a cigarette. 
               Tim's shoulders are slumped. Humiliation has corroded him, 
               flesh and soul. Even Doc is momentarily subdued; he too, 
               feels degraded, unclean. Macreedy looks from one to the other 
               of the good, ineffectual companions that circumstance has so 
               haphazardly tossed his way. He takes a few steps to his 
               suitcase, Doc and Tim trailing him; Doc, for want of something 
               better to do; Tim, out of his deep, inexpressible need for 
               support. Macreedy takes an untapped bottle of whiskey from 
               his bag. He thumbs the cork loose and holds the bottle out 
               to Tim. Tim takes a drink.

               The light on the clerk's desk goes on, and we are aware that 
               day has gone and that night is falling. The pressing, fierce 
               light has drained from the lobby, leaving a shadowy, silvery 
               dreariness. The shadows have lengthened and the silver has 
               tarnished with the darkness.

                                     DOC
                              (hopefully)
                         It's all right, Tim. We're not licked 
                         yet.

                                     TIM
                              (numbly)
                         Ain't we? I am.

                                     DOC
                         There comes a time, Tim, when a man's 
                         just got to do something.

                                     TIM
                         Not me. I'm useless, and I know it.

                                     DOC
                              (imploring)
                         No man is useless, if he's got a 
                         friend...

               Pete comes out from behind the desk, walking from one lamp 
               in the lobby to another, turning them on.

                                     DOC
                         I'm your friend, Tim.

                                     TIM
                         Then let me alone.

               He hands Doc the whiskey bottle.

                                     DOC
                              (jabbing at Macreedy 
                              with a thumb)
                         He's going to need you before the 
                         night is over.

               He downs a snort, then looks at Pete, who approaches them.

                                     DOC
                              (contemptuously)
                         And all the useful men are on the 
                         other side.

               As Pete turns on the lamp behind Doc, he reacts ever so 
               slightly to Doc's words. His almost imperceptible grimace is 
               not lost on Macreedy. Macreedy watches the young man as he 
               continues to light the lamps...

                                     TIM
                              (angrily)
                         Lemme alone, I tell ya!

               Doc slams the whiskey bottle down on a nearby table.

                                     DOC
                         I can't let you alone! I can't let 
                         myself alone! Don't you understand 
                         that?
                              (he turns from Tim to 
                              Pete, who is unable 
                              to shake his gaze. 
                              Then, sadly, fiercely)
                         Four years ago something terrible 
                         happened here. We did nothing about 
                         it. Nothing. The whole town fell 
                         into a sort of settled melancholy, 
                         and the people in it closed their 
                         eyes and held their tongues and failed 
                         the test with a whimper.

               Self-consciously Pete has backed off until now he leans 
               against the outside of the clerk's desk. But he still can't 
               shut his ears to what Doc is saying...

                                     DOC
                         Now something terrible is going to 
                         happen again, and in a way we're 
                         lucky because we've been given a 
                         second chance. And this time I won't 
                         close my eyes, I won't hold my tongue, 
                         and if I'm needed I won't fail.
                              (almost harshly, again 
                              facing Tim)
                         And neither will you!

               Tim sighs, running a thick hand over his forehead...

                                     TIM
                         I got such a headache, I'm bewildered. 
                         I hurt all over.

                                     MACREEDY
                         I know --
                              (unconsciously his 
                              right arm strays to 
                              massage the paralyzed 
                              left)
                         -- pain is bewildering. I came here 
                         bewildered, full of self-pity, afraid 
                         to fight back.
                              (gesturing with his 
                              hand to Pete)
                         And then your friend Smith tried to 
                         kill me.
                              (the muscles around 
                              Pete's mouth tighten)
                         Funny, how a man clings to the earth 
                         when he feels there's a chance he 
                         may never see it again.

                                     DOC
                         There's a difference between clinging 
                         to the earth...
                              (eyeing Tim almost 
                              contemptuously)
                         ...and crawling on it. You going to 
                         stand by and watch forever?

                                     TIM
                              (flatly)
                         I ain't gonna watch, and I ain't 
                         gonna get into it, either.

               There is a moment of crashing silence. Then...

                                     TIM
                         I'm gettin' out. I'm sorry, Mr. 
                         Macreedy.

               Slowly he lumbers out of the lobby. Doc watches him go. Again 
               the benumbing silence, cut finally, unexpectedly by...

                                     PETE
                              (to Doc)
                         You'd be smart to get out, too.

                                     DOC
                              (angrily turning to 
                              Pete)
                         There's too many smart guys around 
                         here. I'm glad I'm a dummy.

                                     PETE
                         You're a troublesome dummy. You're 
                         liable to end up on your own slab...

                                     DOC
                              (heatedly)
                         I expect to be in a lot more trouble 
                         before I die...

                                     PETE
                         Go home, Doc.
                              (he jerks his head 
                              toward Macreedy, and 
                              with mock bravado...)
                         He's all washed up.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (grinning harshly at 
                              him)
                         You think so?

               His right hand closes over the neck of the whiskey bottle on 
               the end table. Abstractedly fingering it, he walks with tense, 
               deliberate steps toward Pete at the desk.

                                     MACREEDY
                         I was washed up when I got off that 
                         train...

               He continues to advance inexorably toward Pete.

                                     PETE
                              (flatly)
                         You shouldn' of got off.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Had to. I had one last duty to perform 
                         before I resigned from the human 
                         race.

                                     DOC
                              (quizzically)
                         I thought you were going to Los 
                         Angeles, that hot-bed of pomp and 
                         vanity. Is that resigning from the 
                         human race?

                                     MACREEDY
                              (shrugging)
                         L.A.'s a good jumping off place -- 
                         for the Islands, for Mexico, Central 
                         America.

                                     DOC
                         Why?

                                     MACREEDY
                              (again shrugs)
                         I don't know. I was looking for a 
                         place to get lost, I guess.

                                     DOC
                         Why?

                                     MACREEDY
                              (slapping his paralyzed 
                              arm with the whisky 
                              bottle)
                         Because of this. I thought I'd never 
                         be able to function again.
                              (turning to Pete)
                         Thanks to your friend Smith, I found 
                         I was wrong.

               He is now within a couple of yards of Pete.

                                     PETE
                              (drily)
                         Sure. You're a man of action.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (slowly)
                         I know your problem.
                              (with mounting vigor)
                         You'd like me to die quickly, without 
                         wasting too much of your time...
                              (Pete opens his mouth 
                              to say something, 
                              but Macreedy presses 
                              on)
                         ...or silently, without making you 
                         feel too uncomfortable... or 
                         thankfully, without making your 
                         memories of the occasion too 
                         unpleasant.

               For a moment Pete stares at Macreedy, terribly disturbed by 
               the incisiveness of Macreedy's analysis. Then...

                                     PETE
                              (bitterly)
                         My memories are so pleasant as it 
                         is...

               In sudden frustration, Pete grabs the deck of cards on the 
               clerk's desk and slams them down hard. They scatter. He turns, 
               stares blankly [...] between Doc and Macreedy.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (quietly pressing his 
                              advantage)
                         What happened, Pete?

               Pete doesn't answer.

                                     DOC
                         Are you going to tell him -- or you 
                         want me to?
                              (beat)
                         Smith owns Adobe Flat. He leased it 
                         to Komako -- thought he had cheated 
                         him, thought Komako could never even 
                         run stock without water. There was 
                         never any water on Adobe Flat. Komako 
                         dug a well, by hand. He must have 
                         went down one hundred and fifty feet.

                                     PETE
                         He got water, plenty. Smith was pretty 
                         sore. He didn't like Japs anyway.

                                     DOC
                         That's an understatement.

                                     PETE
                         The day after Pearl Harbor, Smith 
                         went to Sand City.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (interrupting)
                         I know. To enlist. He was turned 
                         down.

                                     PETE
                         He was sore when he got back. About 
                         ten o'clock he started drinking.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Ten o'clock in the morning.

                                     PETE
                         Yeah. Hector joined him, and Coley. 
                         Then Sam, and about nine p.m. -- me. 
                         We were all drunk -- patriotic drunk. 
                         We went out to Komako's for a little 
                         fun, I guess -- scare him a little.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Did you know him?

                                     PETE
                         We'd seen him around some, but none 
                         of us knew him. When he heard us 
                         coming, he locked the door. Smith 
                         started a fire. The Jap came running 
                         out. His clothes were burning. Smith 
                         shot him. I didn't even know Smith 
                         had a gun.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Then you all got scared, buried him, 
                         kept quiet.

               Pete nods helplessly, bowing his head. Macreedy sighs, looks 
               down at the bottle in his hand, slowly puts it on the table...

                                     MACREEDY
                              (softly)
                         Did Komako have any family besides 
                         his son Joe?

                                     DOC
                              (puzzled)
                         His son...? Nobody around here knew 
                         he had a son.

                                     MACREEDY
                         He had one. But he's dead, too. He's 
                         buried in Italy.

                                     DOC
                         What are you doing here, Mr. Macreedy?

                                     MACREEDY
                         Joe Komako died in Italy, saving my 
                         life. They gave him a medal. I came 
                         here to give it to his father.

               Silence. Doc, realizing the enormity of Macreedy's admission, 
               frowns, rubs a hand across his tired eyes. Pete looks at 
               Macreedy for a long, shocked moment. He shivers.

                                     PETE
                              (awfully)
                         God forgive me...

               He takes the bottle from the table and shakily pours a shot 
               glass of liquor. As he raises it to his mouth...

                                     MACREEDY
                              (to Pete, harshly 
                              guttural)
                         It'll take a lot of whiskey to wash 
                         out your guts...

               Pete is motionless, holding the glass inches from his lips, 
               hypnotized by Macreedy's voice, as hard and as cold as his 
               eyes...

                                     MACREEDY
                         ...And it will never help -- not 
                         even a barrel full washes away murder!

               Macreedy's hand shoots out, in a short, inexorable arc, 
               smashing his palm across the shot glass. The whiskey bursts 
               in a spray, the glass flies halfway across the room, 
               shattering as it lands against something solid. Pete is 
               stunned, Doc perplexed, at Macreedy's violence. They stare 
               at him...

               Macreedy's eyes are murky. The creases between the brows 
               over his nose are deep. His nostrils move in and out with 
               his breathing. Pete and Doc regard him with growing 
               uneasiness. Rage comes into Macreedy's face, turning it a 
               painful red.

                                     MACREEDY
                         But maybe I'm wrong. Go on -- drink.
                              (scornfully)
                         What else is left for you?!
                              (mounting anger)
                         You're as dead as Komako, only you 
                         don't know it!
                              (roaring)
                         You also don't know that it's not 
                         enough to feel guilty. It's not enough 
                         to confess. It's not enough to say, 
                         "Forgive me, I've done wrong."

                                     DOC
                         Take it easy, Macreedy. Sit down.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (turning on him)
                         Sit down?! Or would you rather have 
                         me kneel, to beg his pardon for 
                         raising a touchy subject?

               Pete squirms under Macreedy's relentless attack.

                                     PETE
                              (shaking his head)
                         You don't have to remind me. I've 
                         never forgotten...

                                     MACREEDY
                         Well, that's mighty noble of you. 
                         You feel ashamed -- that's noble, 
                         too.
                              (in mounting crescendo)
                         And four years from now you'll 
                         probably be sitting here telling 
                         somebody else you haven't forgotten 
                         me. That's progress -- you'll still 
                         be ashamed but I'll be dead.

               Macreedy grabs the bottle, shoving it across the table toward 
               Pete.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Go on, have your drink.
                              (with exorbitant scorn)
                         You need it.

               Pete pushes the bottle aside, too ravaged by Macreedy's words 
               and his own thoughts to drink. He shakes his head grimly and 
               then, with sudden decision, goes to the switchboard and plugs 
               in a line.

                                     DOC
                              (leaning over counter, 
                              staring at him)
                         What are you doing?

                                     PETE
                              (into phone, ignoring 
                              Doc)
                         Hello, Liz. Now listen... I... 'm 
                         getting Macreedy out of town...

               ANOTHER ANGLE - MACREEDY AND DOC

               as they exchange a glance. Doc takes a long, deep breath of 
               relief. Macreedy frowns thoughtfully. He strains to listen 
               to Liz, but all he (and we) can hear is the staccato jumble 
               of her words over the wire.

               WIDER ANGLE - FAVORING PETE

               he cuts Liz short...

                                     PETE
                              (into phone)
                         I don't care about Smith! Let him 
                         try to kill me -- I might as well be 
                         dead as...

               Again Liz's voice incoherent over the phone, and again...

                                     PETE
                              (into phone, 
                              interrupting)
                         Liz, Liz... There's not much of me 
                         left any more, but however little it 
                         is I won't waste it!
                              (again Liz's voice 
                              briefly; then...)
                         I'm telling you because we need your 
                         help.
                              (again Liz's voice)
                         ...No matter about the past -- you've 
                         got to do this! You'd be saving two 
                         lives, Liz. Macreedy's, and mine.
                              (again Liz answers 
                              and...)
                         All right. Yeah... I've told him 
                         everything.

               Slowly he replaces the phone on the switch-board. He comes 
               around from behind the desk, joining Macreedy and Doc.

                                     PETE
                              (flatly)
                         She'll be here in five minutes.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Thanks, Pete. Thanks very much.

                                                               DISSOLVE TO:

               INT. HOTEL LOBBY - PETE, HECTOR AND DOC - NIGHT

               Pete and Doc are nervously alert, drained of energy, waiting. 
               Hector is downright bored. He toys with his pistol, squinting 
               at it, twirling the barrel. Finding neither interest nor 
               pleasure in the piece, he jams it back in his holster and 
               strolls with exaggerated surety out on the porch.

               EXT. PORCH - NIGHT

               The congregation of loafers look up as Hector emerges. Imbued 
               with his own bullying importance, he draws the pistol, 
               maneuvers an extravagant pinwheel and a few other gaudy 
               tricks. Then he sighs as boredom again takes over. He walks 
               down the steps to catch a bit of air.

               INT. LOBBY - DOC AND PETE

               The disappearance of Hector (o.s.) down the street galvanizes 
               them into action. They hurry out of the lobby toward the 
               back of the hotel.

               EXT. ALLEY - BEHIND HOTEL - NIGHT

               Vague in the pallid light escaping through a few back windows. 
               The hotel's rear door is tightly shut. Around the far corner 
               of the street (extreme b.g.) comes the gangling body of Hector 
               David. He walks toward CAMERA. Perhaps twenty-five yards 
               away he stops to rest against a fence like a leaning tower.

               CLOSE SHOT - HECTOR

               His hand goes to a pocket and comes out with a crumpled half 
               pack of cigarettes. Suddenly the movement is arrested; 
               something at the other end of the street captures his bleak 
               attention.

               WHAT HE SEES

               A jeep, headlights off, slowly turns the corner, pulls up to 
               the curb and parks.

               BACK TO SCENE - HECTOR

               pockets his cigarettes and starts slowly for the jeep, a 
               quizzical frown on his horsy face. He approaches the back 
               door of the hotel, oblivious to it as he continues toward 
               the jeep.

               INT. REAR HALLWAY OF HOTEL - NIGHT

               At the far end b.g., toward the lobby, a single unshaded 
               light bulb burns dully. A slight figure stands in f.g. To 
               one side is a narrow U-shaped alcove blanketed in heavy 
               shadows. The features of the man in the hall and the slim 
               lines of his body blend vaguely in the darkness. With enormous 
               care, he turns a knob and opens the door leading to the alley 
               behind the hotel. Light thrown by the back windows reveals 
               that the figure is Pete. The same pallid light from the alley, 
               glancing across the alcove, momentarily illuminates it. Glued 
               as close to the recessed wall as is humanly possible is Doc. 
               He is partially shielded by one of those hotel hose wheels 
               around which an old fire hose is wound. The heavy brass nozzle 
               of the hose hangs from the end.

               Doc grips a twelve-inch length of lead pipe. Pete swallows 
               nervously and peers outside, first to the right, then to the 
               left. His eyes glaze with fear, and his jaw tightens with 
               tension.

               EXT. ALLEY - ANOTHER ANGLE - FAVORING PETE

               as he stares at Hector walking toward the jeep.

                                     PETE
                              (controlling his 
                              jangled nerves)
                         Hector!

               Hector stops, turns to face Pete. He hesitates, then...

                                     HECTOR
                         Hmmmm?

               Then, with a final glance at the jeep, Hector lumbers to 
               Pete, who disappears inside the hallway.

               INT. REAR HALLWAY

               as Hector enters and stops. Pete quickly closes the door 
               behind him and walks toward the lobby, attempting to draw 
               Hector toward the black alcove center screen b.g. But Hector 
               is not to be sucked in. He glares at Pete, waiting. (NOTE: 
               The following dialogue is delivered sotto voce.)

                                     HECTOR
                         What you want?

                                     PETE
                         He's still in his room. Macreedy, I 
                         mean.

                                     HECTOR
                         So...? You want me to tuck him in?

                                     PETE
                         I thought maybe you wanted to tell 
                         Smith.

                                     HECTOR
                              (explaining something 
                              he feels Pete already 
                              knows)
                         Smith said he'd be here at midnight. 
                         He don't want to be disturbed.

               He jams a cigarette in his mouth. Pete watches him frantically 
               as he searches his pockets for a match. He can't find one.

                                     HECTOR
                         You got a match?

                                     PETE
                         Come on. I got some in the lobby.

               He starts to turn. Hector's pig eyes are slits of suspicion. 
               Before Pete can move, Hector reaches out, hooking two heavy 
               fingers inside a pocket of Pete's shirt. Slowly Hector's 
               expression changes to one of insidious cunning. His fingers 
               come out of Pete's pocket, and between them is a paper book 
               of matches.

                                     HECTOR
                         I thought you didn't have a match.

               Pete is unable to answer. He is scared to death.

               INT. ALCOVE - DOC

               sweating with frustration. Hector is six feet away, and armed -- 
               too far away for Doc to risk an attack with his lead pipe. 
               Doc looks around vaguely, wildly, for another weapon. A 
               fraction of an inch from his nose is the hose wheel. For a 
               split second he hesitates. Then slowly, with infinite care, 
               he tightens the heavy brass nozzle and begins to unwind the 
               hose.

               INT. REAR HALLWAY

               Now Hector is alert. He studies Pete's twitching face. 
               Elaborately he tears a match from the pack and scratches it. 
               It takes fire, cupped in the rampart of his big hands. It 
               lights up the hall, and as Hector looks around he sees 
               something through a mirror -- over his shoulder and six feet 
               away Doc materializes out of the shadows of the alcove. As 
               Hector whirls, going for his gun, Doc swings the hose with 
               sudden deadly aim. It uncoils like a snake, and the brass 
               nozzle crashes with a mighty thud across Hector's skull. 
               Hector groans. He sinks unconscious to the floor. Doc stands 
               there, paralyzed by his action. Pete tears toward the lobby.

               INT. LOBBY

               as Pete rushes in. He moves directly to the desk, leans over 
               and presses the buzzer behind the desk three times. He turns 
               and runs back toward the rear of the building.

               INT. REAR STAIRS

               as Macreedy barrels down. He pauses briefly in the hall as 
               he sees Doc still standing with the hose and the nozzle 
               dangling like a pendulum from his hand. Their eyes lock 
               briefly in understanding...

                                     MACREEDY
                              (with a half smile)
                         I'll never forgive you, Doc...
                              (he gestures toward 
                              Hector, out cold)
                         ...for depriving me of that pleasure.

               He heads toward the alley.

               EXT. ALLEY 

               as Macreedy rushes out. He pauses, looking quickly right, 
               then left. He sees a jeep parked at the curb far down the 
               street. He runs toward it. The jeep, its headlights off, 
               starts for him. He swings onto the moving vehicle, falling 
               heavily into the seat beside Liz Brooks. He slumps there, 
               breathing heavily as the jeep, with a grinding of gears, 
               cuts through the night, picking up speed.

               INT. REAR HALLWAY 

               as Pete joins Doc. Silently, motionlessly, the two men stare 
               for a long moment at Hector -- particularly at the pistol 
               lying beside him. Then they look at each other, and the same 
               thought seems to flash in their minds...

                                                            QUICK DISSOLVE:

               EXT. ROAD - MACREEDY AND LIZ 

               as they speed down the long empty ribbon of road. Liz drives 
               hard. Macreedy turns in the bucket seat, looking back toward 
               Black Rock.

                                     LIZ
                         Sorry I can't get more out of this 
                         heap.

               Macreedy does not answer.

                                     LIZ
                              (with a burst of 
                              irritation)
                         We could make better time with a dog 
                         team.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (calmly)
                         You're doing the best you can.
                              (a beat)
                         Aren't you, Liz?

                                     LIZ
                         Don't expect too much from me.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (dryly)
                         Don't worry, I won't.

                                     LIZ
                              (quickly)
                         I mean, people have always expected 
                         things from me. You know why? Because 
                         I'm pretty. Well, that's not enough.

               MED. SHOT - JEEP

               with Liz and Macreedy as she cuts sharply into a crossroad. 
               She drives skillfully over the knotty road which is little 
               more than a trail. Her lovely features are distorted with 
               her discontent and the ache for attention. After a moment 
               she gives voice to her fantasy...

                                     LIZ
                              (softly)
                         Maybe I could have been something -- 
                         a model, or something.
                              (glancing at him)
                         You don't believe that.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Yes I do.

                                     LIZ
                         Well, I don't, really. I'm a dime a 
                         dozen.

                                     MACREEDY
                         That I don't believe.

                                     LIZ
                         I'm too little and too late.

                                     MACREEDY
                         It's never too late.

                                     LIZ
                         I lack the muscle.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (frowning)
                         Why is muscle so important?

                                     LIZ
                              (cynically)
                         Oh, you're the brainy type.
                              (harshly)
                         Did it take brains to rough up Coley? 
                         Whatever you did to Hector, you didn't 
                         do it with brains. How'd you get 
                         Pete to change his mind?

                                     MACREEDY
                         Not with muscle.

                                     LIZ
                         And not with brains, either. He's a 
                         pushover for a muscle man.

                                     MACREEDY
                         I'm beginning' to think it runs in 
                         the family.
                              (looking at her hard)
                         You think strength is in the width 
                         of a man's shoulders.

               He does not catch the glance she darts him; his extreme 
               awareness is anchored not to the girl at his side but to the 
               terrain ahead.

                                     LIZ
                         I'd sure have liked to see you tangle 
                         with Reno Smith.

                                     MACREEDY
                         He wasn't around when I left... Maybe 
                         I will yet.

               His eyes strain to sweep the country -- each boulder, each 
               outcropping, each stunted tree. But substance and shadow are 
               blurred and fuzzy in the dark night, black on black.

               OUT

               Sequence omitted from original script.

               ANOTHER ANGLE - JEEP

               with Macreedy and Liz as it winds to the far end of the 
               boulders on a trail that drops off into a flat basin. Solid 
               forms loom up in the darkness; they are unrecognizable, yet 
               Macreedy senses some tense familiarity with the terrain... 
               He frowns. Suddenly Liz brakes the jeep -- so sharply Macreedy 
               lurches forward in the seat.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (alert, expectant)
                         What's this?

                                     LIZ
                              (vamping nervously)
                         We need water...
                              (she turns off engine, 
                              pulling ignition key 
                              from its lock)
                         ...radiator's overheating.

               She moves away from Macreedy to get out of the jeep. He 
               reaches across quickly, gripping her arm. She turns to face 
               him, disturbed by his hardness of jaw and eye...

                                     LIZ
                         Leggo! Leggo of me!

               Suddenly they are hit by a blinding pair of headlights like 
               [...] The beams cut jaggedly through the night, throwing 
               into sharp immediate relief the lava rocks, the broken 
               windmill, the gutted house, the litter-strewn, unmarked grave 
               at Adobe Flat.

               Liz throws away the ignition key. Macreedy bails out of the 
               jeep, still holding the girl.

               CLOSE TWO SHOT - LIZ AND MACREEDY

               as they fall to the earth. Macreedy pins her down. Then in 
               quick succession, four emphatically loud SHOTS from a rifle 
               squirt into the shale around them.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (harshly, through his 
                              teeth)
                         You're stupid, Liz. You're a fool. 
                         If he finishes me, he's got to finish 
                         you.

               He looks up blindly into the headlights glaring from the 
               granitic high ground some 60 yards away. His grip on the 
               girl's shoulder is like a steel trap. He pushes her down 
               beside Komako's grave, hugging the side of the jeep as a 
               SHOT rips the gravel at their feet. Pulling the girl with 
               him, he takes cover in the slight concavity of the grave. 
               The jeep is between them and the headlights -- between them 
               and the source of the gunfire. Liz struggles to break away. 
               Suddenly bullets kick up a storm around him. A bullet smashes 
               into the flowers, exploding tiny cruel fragments of dirt 
               into Macreedy's face. He gasps in pain, releasing Liz. He 
               rubs his eyes as if to convince himself that he is not blind. 
               Liz breaks from the grave. Now, five yards from Macreedy... 

                                     LIZ
                              (calling toward the 
                              headlights)
                         Smitty! Smitty!

                                     SMITH'S VOICE
                              (o.s.)
                         I'm here, honey. Just head for the 
                         car.

               Liz half turns, facing Macreedy with a vicious smile...

                                     LIZ
                              (an almost bantering 
                              voice)
                         So long, Macreedy.

               She starts toward the headlights.

               GO WITH LIZ

               She reaches the foot of the rocky ridge, with the two enormous 
               eyes on top. She begins to climb, up... up...

                                     SMITH
                              (o.s.)
                         Just a few more steps, honey.

               She is almost at the top; a vertically sheer rock about five 
               feet high separates her from it. She looks up at Smith, 
               towering over her at the edge of the precipice. He holds his 
               rifle almost languorously.

                                     LIZ
                              (breathlessly)
                         Get him! Get him now!

                                     SMITH
                              (easily)
                         First things first, honey.

               The girl is frightened by the menace in Smith's voice.

                                     LIZ
                              (unsure, reaching out 
                              her hand)
                         Help me up, Smitty.

                                     SMITH
                         You were going to help me, Liz.
                              (she looks at him 
                              quizzically)
                         I still need your help.

                                     LIZ
                              (confused)
                         I did what you said...

                                     SMITH
                         You two started out in a car. That's 
                         the way you'll end up. Over a cliff, 
                         burning.
                              (she tries to interrupt 
                              him, but he goes 
                              on...)
                         You can blame that on Macreedy, too. 
                         He said I had too many witnesses.

                                     LIZ
                              (dry whisper)
                         But why me? Why start with me?

                                     SMITH
                         I got to start with somebody.

               He brings the rifle down, aiming almost casually at Liz. Her 
               eyes go wide. She steps back, spins around, running crazily 
               down the steep incline.

                                     LIZ
                              (yelling wildly)
                         Macreedy! Macreedy!

               A SHOT rings out. She falls forward, rolling slowly down the 
               embankment. She lies there. Blood trickles from the corner 
               of her pretty mouth. A rattling noise rises from deep in her 
               throat, and then subsides.

               In the silence the outline of Reno Smith emerges. Holding 
               his rifle at the ready, his silhouette illuminated sharply 
               in the twin beams of light, he climbs down the side of the 
               cliff. He looks toward the jeep and Macreedy, not once at 
               the girl at his feet.

                                     LIZ
                              (sadly, almost 
                              reproachfully)
                         You shouldn't have done that...

               Smith pays no attention to her. He advances inexorably with 
               rifle held at his hip. He fires at Macreedy.

               EXT. GRAVE

               Macreedy wipes the last of the fragments from his eyes. His 
               face is still streaked with dirt and shale. He turns, 
               searching for something, anything, to fight back with. Then 
               he remembers... Stiffening, his body set, his eyes narrow, 
               he moves purposefully toward the front of the jeep and crawls 
               under it. Again Smith opens up on him. Bullet after bullet 
               pours into the confined space, nicking the wall, ricocheting 
               off the jeep with a frightening, fluttery, wheezing sound. 
               The firing stops again and in the silence we HEAR a familiar 
               TRICKLE, as in running water...

               EXT. RANCH - SMITH

               re-loads his rifle. Stiffly, he starts slowly down over the 
               rocks toward his unarmed victim...

               MACREEDY

               He has unscrewed the nut and unconnected the gas line with 
               the carburator. A spurt of gasoline is running out. With a 
               quick motion he picks up an empty whisky bottle from the 
               litter-strewn earth. He fills it with gasoline, quickly screws 
               the nut back on. Now he sweeps his necktie free of his collar. 
               Holding it with his teeth, he tears the felt lining free 
               from its silk face. He twists half the lining inside the 
               bottle, knotting the other end securely around the bottle's 
               neck, leaving a long strand dangling.

               EXT. RANCH - CLOSE SHOT - SMITH

               moving rigidly toward the hole. He stops, levels his rifle, 
               fires.

               EXT. GRAVE - MACREEDY

               pinned down in the direct line of fire. The burst of the 
               rifle stops.

               EXT. RANCH - SMITH

               not more than twenty-five yards away, advancing carefully, 
               rifle at the ready.

               EXT. GRAVE - MACREEDY 

               lights a match, placing the flame to the dangling end of the 
               tie. It catches. He flings himself to his feet and with the 
               same motion whips the fiery bottle like a football, hard and 
               straight toward Smith. Smith fires once, fast and wild. The 
               bottle crashes against the rocks at his feet and bursts with 
               a shattering explosion. Smith screams as the razor-sharp 
               slivers rip his flesh. In a puff of flame, his clothes ignite. 
               He drops the rifle and goes down, squirming frantically on 
               the black ashy ground.

               EXT. RANCH - FULL SHOT 

               favoring Macreedy as he tears out of the hole. He hurls 
               himself at Smith. Wooden-faced, almost dreamy-eyed, he shovels 
               the ashy dirt over Smith's prone chest, putting out the fire. 
               Smith struggles halfway to his feet. Macreedy grabs his 
               shoulder, helping him up. Smith looks at Macreedy through 
               eyes bleary with fear and pain and shock.

                                     SMITH
                              (through his teeth)
                         Go ahead -- kill me. Now.

                                     MACREEDY
                         I'd like to kill you now, but you 
                         caused too much pain to die quickly.
                              (a beat)
                         You'll be tried in a court of law. 
                         You'll be convicted by a jury. Then 
                         you'll die.

               He drives his right fist against Smith's chin. Smith's head 
               snaps back as far as it can go and then wobbles to rest on 
               his chest. He collapses. Macreedy blows out his breath hard. 
               He staggers to Liz. As he bends over her...

                                                                  DISSOLVE:

               EXT. BLACK ROCK - DAY (DAWN)

               Liz's jeep, driven by Macreedy, rolls slowly down the empty 
               main street of the sleeping town. Behind him, under a tarp, 
               the body of the girl lies lifeless across the seat. On the 
               seat beside him is Smith's rifle, the balance a few inches 
               from Macreedy's elbow. On the right front fender of the jeep 
               Smith sits precariously, his shirt scorched and ragged. He 
               wears a sullen expression of pained indifference.

               In b.g., as the jeep passes, isolated lights go on, first in 
               Doc's house, then in two or three others. Macreedy is 
               oblivious to them.

               EXT. JAIL - CLOSE SHOT - A MAN

               almost completely hidden, looks out grimly from a corner of 
               the jail window. Protruding through the bars, swiveling to 
               follow the progress of the jeep down the street, is the long, 
               ugly muzzle of a rifle.

               EXT. MAIN STREET - JEEP 

               as Macreedy pulls up to the curb in front of the jail and 
               cuts the ignition. He grabs the rifle, and steps around to 
               Smith.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (tonelessly, prodding 
                              Smith off the fender 
                              with his rifle)
                         Hands behind your head.

               Smith complies.

               EXT. JAIL

               as Macreedy marches Smith up the steps. The jail door opens. 
               A man emerges, wearing a Mackinaw over his vest and carrying 
               a rifle. It is Tim. For a moment Macreedy eyes him in silence. 
               His gun finger tightens on the rifle in his hand. Tim's rifle, 
               too, is at the ready...

                                     MACREEDY
                              (after a beat)
                         Am I going to have trouble with you?

                                     TIM
                         Nope. But I sure thought the situation 
                         was going to be like reversed. I 
                         thought I was going to have trouble...
                              (nodding sharply in 
                              Smith's direction)
                         ...with him. I'll take care of him.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (still hesitating)
                         Just as you took care of his buddies?

                                     TIM
                         Just as I took care of his buddies. 
                         Me, an' Doc, and Pete...

               The SOUND of running feet padding along the dirt road 
               increases on SOUND TRACK. Macreedy turns slightly, to see 
               Doc huffing toward him. The older man climbs the jail steps 
               and comes to an abrupt halt, his eyes going from one to the 
               other of the two men in the stand-off.

                                     DOC
                              (to Macreedy)
                         It's all right, Macreedy...

               He pulls Tim's Mackinaw to one side, revealing the silver-
               plated star pinned at the breast.

                                     DOC
                         Old Tim here's got his badge back.

               Macreedy swings his rifle from Tim to Smith. Tim lowers his, 
               stepping to one side, allowing Smith, covered by Macreedy, 
               to enter the jail. He goes in, Doc following. Pete sits 
               silently at Tim's desk.

               INT. JAIL

               In one of the two cells are Coley and Hector. In the other, 
               Sam and Hastings.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (looking around)
                         Well. The gang is all here.

                                     TIM
                         I thought I'd take one last whack at 
                         my job. Even if Smith killed me for 
                         it.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (jerking his head 
                              toward Smith)
                         Put him in with Hastings.

               Tim turns his key in the cell door. Macreedy tiredly goes to 
               Pete at the desk.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Your sister's outside, Pete.

               Pete rises. Macreedy halts him momentarily, gripping his 
               arm...

                                     MACREEDY
                              (flatly)
                         She's dead.

               Pete walks dazedly out the door. Tim grabs Smith's shoulder 
               and propels him roughly through the cell door. He slams it 
               hard. As the clatter of the iron door reverberates harshly...

                                                                  DISSOLVE:

               EXT. HOTEL - BLACK ROCK - DAY

               The townspeople, with Doc f.g., are gathered silently in the 
               street, staring sadly, dumbly at the hotel before them. Doc 
               wears a dark business suit, neat and conservative. The door 
               opens (o.s.) and the people look up, their eyes lighting 
               with expectancy.

               WHAT THEY SEE

               Macreedy comes out of the door, carrying his suitcase. For a 
               moment he pauses, looking at the uplifted faces of the people 
               in the street. In the distance we HEAR the horn of a stream-
               liner. Macreedy goes down the steps, skirts the watching 
               crowd and heads for the railroad station. Almost immediately 
               Doc falls in step with him. The townspeople, still silent, 
               trail after them

               MOVING SHOT - MACREEDY AND DOC

               in f.g., the townspeople behind them. In b.g., as we pass, 
               we see the main street just as we saw it when Macreedy entered 
               town a few short hours ago.

                                     MACREEDY
                              (walking, after a 
                              beat, to Doc)
                         Tim knows where to find me if I'm 
                         needed.

               Doc nods. He blinks and frowns...

                                     MACREEDY
                         What's on your mind, Doc?

                                     DOC
                         Nothing. Only... about that medal. 
                         Can we have it?

                                     MACREEDY
                         "We...?" Can who have it?

                                     DOC
                         We.
                              (indicating the 
                              townspeople, with a 
                              vague wave of his 
                              hand)
                         Us.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Why?

                                     DOC
                         Well, we need it, I guess. It's 
                         something we can maybe build on. 
                         This town is wrecked, just as bad as 
                         if it was bombed out. Maybe it can 
                         come back...

                                     MACREEDY
                         Some towns come back. Some don't. It 
                         depends on the people.

               A NOISE o.s. attracts Macreedy's attention. He turns, as do 
               Doc and the townsmen.

               WHAT THEY SEE

               In front of the jail, each of them handcuffed, are Smith, 
               Coley, Hector, Sam and Hastings. Tim and four cops escort 
               them to two State Police cars which are parked beside Tim's 
               old sedan and another car (presumably belonging to a member 
               of the press). The newspaperman (WITHOUT A PRESS CARD IN HIS 
               HAT) stands to one side with Pete. Pete as well as Tim have 
               changed clothes; they look clean and trim. Coley has his arm 
               in a sling. Hector's hat hides the bandage on his head.

               BACK TO SCENE

               Macreedy resumes walking toward the abandoned station, with 
               Doc at his side and the people behind him. The train pulls 
               in.

                                     DOC
                              (still pressing)
                         That medal would help.

               Macreedy is silent. He walks on, to the platform. He pauses, 
               looking at the people silently in his wake and then at Doc. 
               He takes a black velvet-covered box from his pocket -- the 
               box containing the medal -- looks at it, and slowly hands it 
               to Doc.

                                     DOC
                         Thanks, Macreedy. Thanks for 
                         everything.

               Macreedy turns and exits from SHOT. The people look after 
               him.

               EXT. PLATFORM

               as Macreedy boards the train.

               EXT. STREET

               The cars in front of the jail U-turn and start off with the 
               prisoners. The people move silently toward the train.

               EXT. TRAIN

               Macreedy is at the passageway. Slowly the train moves out.

               INT. PASSAGEWAY OF TRAIN

               Macreedy and a conductor stand at the doorway. The town is 
               seen behind them and the people standing there. In the 
               distance, Tim's car recedes.

                                     CONDUCTOR
                              (curiously)
                         What's the excitement? What happened?

                                     MACREEDY
                         A shooting.

                                     CONDUCTOR
                         I knew it was something. First time 
                         a streamliner stopped here in four 
                         years.

                                     MACREEDY
                         Second time.

               He walks into the train.

               LONG SHOT - TRAIN

               gathering speed, diminishing, far, far into the horizon.

                                                                  FADE OUT:

                                         THE END

               NOTES

               Note from page [9]: (1) The sign should be of whatever type 
               is feasible and compatible to terrain, emphasizing the 
               remoteness of Black Rock. It should list three cities with 
               arrows pointing in the proper directions:

               SAND CITY 32 MILES 
               PHOENIX 156 MILES