Bad Day at Black Rock (1955)

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