Blackthorne Episode 137

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Blackthorne

Cinemagenic 137

Descent

“Good wombs have borne bad sons.”

--William Shakespeare.

1(sound cue) banjo and harmonica.

2( wide shot ) as twilight was becoming dusk.

The TRIPLE B sprawled out at the mouth of a

small canyon, a canker sore masquerading as

respectability, hidden and rotten.

Behind it rolling hills seemed to crouch, then to

stand erect. A gorge. like an open vein, sliced

through the foothills at the base of magenta peaks

that loomed in the east.

3(slow tracking shots) It was a big spread. The

ranch house was three stories, with fancy Victorian

gables and new shutters on all the windows. It was

built at the intersection of two roads; one to

Blackthorne, the other to the gorge. There were

multi-colored plants and well trimmed bushes on

all sides of it. It was painted white, and the paint

was fresh. The prairie grass had been weeded and

it was reseeded into a gorgeous verdant lawn in

front of the mansion. A low unbanistered porch

stretched across the west end of the place. Two

large windows, one to each side of a huge oaken

front door, gave the occupants a sweeping view of

the Prairie, and the opportunity to witness the daily

descent of the sun of blood.

To the north of the main house, a vast two-story

barn stood. It’s hay loft door was thirty feet from

the ground. Nearby, two rough hewn work sheds

nestled together. Alongside one of them a tall

wood pile filled an open pen, its roof piece-meal

and rustic. The sheds were butted up against a 

steep clay bank that rose quickly into dense timber.

South of the mansion was the over size bunkhouse,

three hundred feet long with a flat roof and ten

windows facing the main house. Beyond the big

bunkhouse, one could see three expansive corrals.

4(cut to a one shot) Rod Buck stood in the deep

shadows of the timber behind the sheds.

5(sound cue) snare drum and seed rattle.

6(close-up) Buck scanned the place carefully.

He stood there as the darkness gathered.

7(medium wide shot) the forest shadows linked

arms and hugged each other, as a bright half

moon ascended. Lights came on in the main

house and the bunkhouse. The barn and the

outbuildings were unlit. Two punchers stood

in one of the doorways to the bunkhouse,

having a smoke. Loud voices filtered out of

the mansion.

8(sound cue) Voice Over: I ought to join the

damn party, Buck thought.

9(medium wide shot) Buck melted back into the 

shadows, moving through the dark forest like

a specter. He came up on the dun mare,

tethered to a low branch. In the moonlight, she

was a warm spot in the ink of the woods. He

rummaged through a burlap sack hanging from

the cantle. He extracted six slender sticks of 

dynamite that had fulminate caps already

tamped on, and he slipped them into the back

of his gunbelt. He left the horse picketed, and

journeyed back to the edge of the clay bank.

   No one moved in the ranch yard below. Half of

the house lights were out. Buck glided into the

moonlight and began climbing down the bank.

the sticky clay collected on his boots. At the

bottom, he cleared the sheds, and swiftly 

crossed the distance to the barn.

10(sound cue) harmonica.

11(cut to interior of the barn) Buck entered from a

small rear door. He stood for a moment allowing

his eyes to adjust to the dimness. Moonbeams 

found their way through the countless rifts in

the rough hewn walls, There were strong over-

lapping odors of alfalfa hay, horse manure, and

oiled leather.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub OLN