Barbary Coast Page #4

You're trying to spoil San Francisco

by printing this kind of stuff.

- Is that the machine this was printed on?

- Get Mr. Slocum in a hurry.

You stay where you are. Knuckles.

What are you going to do?

You just watch and you'll see.

Smash that machine.

You can't do that.

I can't? Smash it till there

ain't a word left on it.

- I won't allow it.

- After you finish, burn the building.

- You can't do that!

- This is outrageous! He's an old man.

He ain't going to get much older acting the

he way he does. Break it up.

You can't do that. You mustn't do that.

Wait a minute.

Louis.

- I don't want you to do this.

- Get out, this is business.

Then it's my business, too.

- Get out. Let me handle this my own way.

- I don't like your way.

I've never said anything

but now I'm saying it.

All right, have your say and get out.

You've done enough things I haven't liked.

I want him to have his paper.

- Now listen, Swan...

- I said let him have his paper.

Tell Knuckles to get out.

Go on, get out, will you?

You heard what she said, go on, get out.

- Do you still want your paper?

- If you destroy my press, you destroy me.

More than that, you destroy

the soul of San Francisco, a city...

Cut out the high-soundin' talk

and answer me...

- Do you want your paper?

- Yes.

Then, run it the way you should run it.

- What way is that?

- My way.

Next time you do anything,

write anything or think anything...

...just ask yourself,

"How would Louis Chamalis like it?"

Understand?

Is that what makes the writing on the paper?

Yes.

I don't want anybody readin'

this kind of stuff.

There you are.

You still got your little plaything.

- Come on, Swan.

- I'll come in a moment.

Thank you, Miss Rutledge.

I couldn't have stood it if they'd broken it.

It isn't much use this way though, is it?

A poor shamed thing that mustn't speak.

It can speak, Colonel.

Let it speak the language of the town.

Lies, hypocrisy, and more lies.

The beacon of the new empire.

Mr. Chamalis' empire.

Is this true about Sandy Ferguson?

You should know better than I, Miss Rutledge.

Louis, I want to talk to you.

This is true, isn't it?

Sure.

- Why did you kill Sandy Ferguson?

- For business reasons.

Our bargains included lots of things.

But this wasn't one of them.

I don't like it.

Listen, Swan, I'm running this town

and there's only one way to run it.

My way.

I'm beginning to learn that...

...and it isn't a pleasant lesson.

Come on, Swan, have a drink.

I'm one up on you.

You haven't thanked me yet

for lettin' the Colonel have his paper.

Thank you.

You seemed almost human for a moment.

How about you being human for a change?

I'd like another drink, please.

Why don't you ever kiss me

of your own accord?

Why don't you ever put your arms

around me and kiss me?

Wait till I have my drink.

I don't want that kind of love.

I'm sick of you talking to me like that.

I'm sick of you looking at me

like I was a snake in a gold skin.

Stop it, you're drunk.

I told you I'd wait, didn't I?

I've waited long enough.

You're going to love me or you're through!

You're going to say you love me and mean it.

I don't want any woman

looking at me like you do.

You're going to say you love me or get out.

I heard you. Don't keep repeating it.

- Is that all you got to say?

- Just that I'm going.

You're going, are you? Where?

There isn't a man who would

speak to you if you went out of here.

Because they know I'll kill 'em.

I'll kill the first man you talk to.

What do you want me to do, lie?

Lie and pretend I have a heart?

Do you think I'm still Mary Rutledge,

that I'm still a white woman?

Shut up.

Look at me, Louis.

Look in my eyes. What do you see?

It isn't pretty, is it?

I'm just what you see there.

Take what you can get, Louis,

and let it go at that.

Let's enjoy our mud puddle.

- Where are you going?

- I'm going riding.

I want the wind and the air on me.

- Yes, but it's going to rain.

- I like the rain, too.

Swan.

I want to talk to you about last night.

Forget it, Louis. I'm trying to.

I'll be back in time to run the table.

I'm sorry to break in on you like this,

mister, but...

...it's getting pretty wet out there.

What's the matter?

I can't get over it.

- Over what?

- How beautiful a woman is.

I'd almost forgotten, so help me.

Did you ever read about Balboa when he

first caught sight of the Pacific Ocean?

- What are you talking about?

- He fainted with pure joy.

You're the most peculiar desert rat

I've seen yet.

Would you mind very much if I

looked at you, if I promise not to faint?

You're pretty wet, ma'am.

Don't you think you ought to hang those

clothes of yours in front of the fire to dry?

Well...

I'm afraid there's only this one room, but...

I'll either have to go outside or I could use

my willpower and turn my back.

- Turn around, mister.

- Yes, ma'am.

I apologize for this place.

I found it myself a few minutes ago.

That's how I happened to join the gold rush.

It was a case of going to work for my

father or finding the Golden Fleece.

I'm afraid I'm gabbin' my head off, but...

...I haven't talked to anybody for two years,

except my two burros.

I reckon you met them outside.

What did you talk to them about?

About cakes of soap.

Whether I'd shave or not.

Lamb kidneys in wine sauce

for breakfast we used to have at home.

- You're from New York, aren't you?

- 14 Gramercy Park.

Gramercy Park!

I used to play there when I was a little girl.

You weren't that little brat

with the Shetland pony?

No, I don't think you know me.

I was raised under a bell jar

with forget-me-nots in my hair.

Clothes dry yet?

I'll see.

Yes. I guess they're about cooked now, ma'am.

I'm afraid I'll have to use

my willpower again.

Pardon my curiosity, ma'am, but...

...I'm amazed to find anyone like you

blooming away in this arid land of gold.

You live in San Francisco?

No, I'm just visiting here.

Alone?

No. My family is with me, naturally.

Prospecting?

No, we're just visiting someone

who owns a ranch.

You can turn around now.

Would you mind my asking you

who you are, ma'am?

My name is Mary Rutledge.

Pleased to meet you, Miss Rutledge.

My name's James Carmichael.

I've never seen you before, have I?

In San Francisco?

No, I've never been there, only to get off

the boat and now to get on it again.

- You're leaving the West?

- Yes.

Shipping out like Sindbad with his loot.

Here it is.

I've been poking around

for this stuff for about two years.

I keep expecting it to vanish

like the figments of a dream.

It's safe now, that is, if I can get by

the harpies at San Francisco.

- The harpies?

- Yes, ma'am.

Although some people call them

by other names.

- Can I help you button that?

- Thank you.

Remember how Ulysses

had to stuff cotton in his ears...

...to keep from hearing

the song of the Siren?

They're going to have

to sing awfully loud for me.

What does a harpy look like?

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