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“If you find it hard to laugh at your self, I would
be happy to do it for you.”--Anonymous.
1(two-shot) Johnny, over Buck’s shoulder, calm
eyes, after three beats of silence: I am no longer
angry at you, my Buck.
2(medium wide shot) Johnny opened a pine tool
box by the stall.
3(close-up) He snagged a rusted tin of thick yellow-
brown ointment--homemade--probably an Indian
concoction. He gently lifted Bob’s swollen knee,
4(sound cue) Bob’s neigh over snare drum brushing.
5( medium two-shot) Johnny: Easy, young man--this
will make you feel better. He glanced up at Buck--
The anger still simmers.
6(wide shot) Buck threw his vaquero saddle over a
7(sound cue) horses nickering, their steel horse shoes
rapping against the puncheon flooring over a guitar
8(close-up) Buck: Your anger has a companion in my
own. Shit, I doubt that Sheriff Hop can help much--this
incident happened on open range.
9(two-shot) over Buck’s shoulder--Johnny: I do not
completely trust Joe Hop. Buck nodded his head in
10(close-up) Johnny: Damn truth is, you probably
saved my life today--bit a flame has erupted in my
chest. I no longer can abide any Bronson pissing on
11(sound cue) piano & banjo.
12(two-shot) Buck kneeled down alongside the Eagle,
watching him massage the pungent ointment into Bob’s
Buck: Christ, that stuff smells like axle grease, bear fat
and cow crap
Johnny: Plus assorted herbs, rose hips, bee pollen,
turtle spit, and prairie dog piss.
They both laughed.
13(tighter two-shot) over Johnny’s shoulder--Buck, his
smile fading: I think Thor would have killed one of us,
& I was not as prepared to die as you were.
14(sound cue) Indian seed rattle & harmonica huffing.
15(close-up) Johnny: We were shoulder to shoulder;
brothers. I could hear my death song on the wind.
16(close-up) Buck: You are my family now--another
reason to rein you in.
17(close-up) Johnny, eyes on his task: Life is not
always a Spring morning. In a blink, it can become
an irritated sow grizzly & can chew your guts out.
18(sound cue) snare drum & saxophone.
19(two-shot) over the Eagle’s shoulder; Buck: Too
true, but hey, picking fleas off a mother grizz’ with
cubs should be avoided.
Johnny snorted in glee, Buck stood up, pushing his
sleeves back, placing his hands on his hips: Alright,
if you think that jughead mule of yours will pull traces
with one of the mustang mares, we will head into
Johnny: Good plan. Who knows, if you’re lucky you
might even bump into Miss Salina.
Buck, smiling again: Behave yourself, my brother.
Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub OLN