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Blackthorne
Cinemagenic 138
Reprisal
“If you won’t take a stand for fear of reprisals,
you are just feeding the crocodile, hoping he
will eat you last.”--Ronald Reagan.
1(sound cue) harmonica and bass guitar.
2(medium wide shot--low light) Buck stood to one
side in the corner of the building. There was a wide
aisle down the center, with ten horse stalls on each
side. Most of the stalls were occupied. Some of the
horses stirred and whinnied softly.
At the opposite end, near the tall barn doors, there
were two larger stalls, both with a tin water tub, and
big feeding troughs. Buck slid back a dirty muslin
curtain off a small window. Pale moonlight wafted in.
Bronson’s palomino was in the stall to the right. A
dappled stallion was in the stall on the left, an
Appaloosa--Chatawa.
3(sound cue) soft piano and violin.
4(medium close-up) Buck held his hand out, and the
stippled stud put his wet nose in it. The hunter
scratched behind the marbled ears, and Chatawa
rubbed his big head against Buck’s chest. Buck
began to look for a rope or a bridle. He heard a door
open, but he turned too late.
5(sound cue) Coronet squawk.
Don’t move, a dark figure in the doorway said, his
face in shadow, a long barreled Colt pointing at
Buck, the moonlight shining on the barrel.
6(two-shot) How you doin’ ? Buck asked, his hands
in the air. The intruder struck a match. The sulphur
flash lit up his face. It was Ryker.
I don’t know who the hell you are, the crusty foreman
said, but if you move, I’ll plug you.
Ryker reached behind him, and pulled a lantern off the
wall, and lit it. Buck stood quietly as the light from the
flaming oil revealed who he was.
7(medium close-up) Buff hunter, goddamn, exclaimed
the foreman, his Navy Colt .36 leveled at Buck’s chest.
You are one crazy sonofabitch to show up here.
8(close up) Buck: I came after what’s mine.
9(two-shot) Ryker: What might that be?
stepping closer, his Colt in one hand and
the swaying lantern in the other.
This horse, Buck said.
Ryker laughed, braying like a mule, showing
his yellow teeth: I think we need to march over
to the big house and discuss this with Mr. Bronson.
10(traveling shot) Buck’s flat black hat flew off his
head and into Ryker’s face.
11(sound cue) snare drum Bap.
12(tight two-shot) For half a moment, the foreman
stepped back, stunned and confused. Springing
like a ferret, Buck slapped the pistol out of Ryker’s
hand and smacked him on the chin. The foreman’s
eyes enlarged with fear as he spun around and tried
to run. Buck tackled him before he got three steps.
The lantern dropped and hit the floor, shattering and
writhing with new flames. Ryker thrashed about,
screaming like a girl. Buck held him down with one
hand and drew the Thunderer with the other. He
pistol-whipped the old wrangler, thunking him twice.
Ryker stopped his struggling.
13(cut to exterior of the barn) Buck stood up and
closed the barn door. No one else was outside.
14(sound cue) Voices carried across the yard from
the white Victorian ranch house.
15(medium close up) the flames sputtered as they
struggled to take hold midst fresh mud-soaked hay
and manure.
16(sound cue) banjo and fiddle.
17(medium wide shot) the sputtering flames provided
Buck with needed light, as he swooped up his black
hat and stepped into the Appaloosa’s stall. A lariat
was coiled up on a tool box. He unraveled it, and
with his skinning knife he sliced off two lengths of
rope. He made a loop and passed it over the head
of his stallion, draping it on an arched neck. With the
other piece he roughly bound Ryker’s hands as he
twisted his arms behind him. Then he lashed him to
the stall gate, and stuffed a cleaning rag into his
mouth. Buck nodded at his work, and began walking
Chatawa toward the rear door.
Glenn Buttkus
Posted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub OLN
