Klondike Page #24

BELINDA MULRONEY (CHARMED; BEMUSED)

Stewardship of capital. Man, you do

pump out syllables, don’t you?

Bill gives her a look--goddamn, we gonna talk about this-

BELINDA MULRONEY (CONT’D)

In terms of my stake in that claim:

I've got no interest in mining, as

I’ve always maintained. Buncha boys

digging in a sandbox, throwing good

money after bad, trying to prove

their manhood. What I do have is a

stake in Joe Meekor.

Belinda goes to the window. Looks out over the street.

BILL:

What exactly is your arrangement-

6.

BELINDA MULRONEY

There’s no arrangement. He’s a

cousin. So many times removed he

almost ain’t on the family tree.

But he’s a walking, talking two-

legged labrador, isn’t he? Doesn’t

need much more than a bone to be

happy. And if that bone’s a half-

stake in a claim somewhere--which I

got for ten cents on the dollar,

mind you--I’m not averse to keeping

the labrador happy. But ten cents

on a dollar’s as far as I go.

Bill nears her at the window. Resolute. Presents his claim

documents to her.

BILL:

What if I put up my half?

BELINDA MULRONEY

Two halves of nothing. Just what I

need.

BILL:

Lot of speculation about that

claim. Even if you don't believe in

it, it'll sell for something on the

open market. For more than the

price of the wood I'm asking.

You'll get your money back. Plus

something.

BELINDA MULRONEY

You're either stupid or got way too

much faith.

BILL (KNOWING NOD)

Little of both.

(re claim)

Hold it for a week. That's all it's

gonna take to get to that vein.

Belinda’s eyes--on someone below in the street. The COUNT.

With a REAL ESTATE AGENT & SURVEYOR. Concern on her face.

BELINDA MULRONEY (DISTRACTED)

You’re lucky I like you.

(beat)

But, a week comes...and I haven’t

been paid, I will sell it. To your

point of stewardship of capital-

(eyeing Count darkly)

--capital does me no good tied up

out there in the claims. Capital

needs to be here in Dawson.

(re:
Count)

(MORE)

7.

BELINDA MULRONEY (DISTRACTED) (CONT'D)

Otherwise...we’re all gonna be

wearing Kaiser helmets.

INT. MAKESHIFT WARD - DAY

Typhoid patients, in the wracked, advanced states of the

disease. The muttering deliriums. Calling out in madness as

London slowly moves through them, absorbing, looking up to

see...Father Judge, across the sea of cots, with the silent

HAN WOMAN, offering ministrations to the afflicted:

FATHER JUDGE:

Ye 14 Holy Helpers, Auxiliary

Saints at the throne of God,

Protect and help them who need

help. Saint Blase, invoked against

diseases of the throat, Protect and

help them who need help. Saint

Acathius, invoked against

headaches, protect and help them

who need help. Saint Christopher,

invoked in storms & plagues-

FRANK:

Enough.

Judge turns to see the FRANK, one of Count’s cohort. Not

terribly smart, eyeing him bitterly.

FATHER JUDGE:

When it comes to prayer, friend,

there’s no such thing as enough.

FRANK:

When it’s Catholic voodoo, there

is.

(off Judge’s curious look)

Only God has the capacity to answer

prayer. Not man. Not saints. Not no

14 Holy Helpers...

FATHER JUDGE:

I think these men’ll take whatever

solicitations they can on their

behalf-

FRANK:

You’re mistaken if you think you

can come to this town and

proselytize. Ain’t a Catholic town

in case you haven’t seen.

Judge eyes the PATIENT before him. Trying to be above this.

But Frank persists. London, all the while, watching...

8.

FRANK (INSISENT) (CONT’D)

You’re a man of God, so I’m gonna

try delicacy. Nobody wants you in

Dawson. Or the Squaw. So how ‘bout

you git on gittin’ on.

Judge turns to him, and for a beat, we see a darkness in his

eyes as he looks on the smaller man. Like in a previous life,

he would have opened him up for talking to him like that.

FRANK (TAUNT) (CONT’D)

We gonna have a problem, Father?

Then as quickly as the darkness came, it’s gone.

FATHER JUDGE (READ: NO)

Like you said, I’m a man of God.

I’d encourage you to explore at

some point just how razor thin the

difference is between Catholics and

Protestants actually is.

WARD KEEPER:

Know we got different Bibles, and

that’s enough for me.

FATHER JUDGE:

Words just scrambled up in a

different order. Both lead to the

same place. God’s holy Grace.

Frank nears Judge. A smaller man thinking he can browbeat a

priest because of the latter’s non-violent commitment:

FRANK:

How ‘bout you get scarce?

Judge nods politely, and with the Han Woman, exits. As he

does, camera pulls back to London, in turn watching...

JACK LONDON (V.O)

In the Klondike, there’s a million

ways to hell...but precious few to

heaven. And this one...they were

kicking to the curb...

Off Judge, shunned--PRE-LAP-

MEEKOR:

I’m talking paradise on earth, Mr.

Haskell.

EXT. BILL’S CLAIM - DAY

9.

Begin on a tropical scene. A painting. Very bad. Widen. Find

the artist:
Meekor. Seems he fancies himself a Gauguin. Bill

approaches, regards the girl in the grass skirt that is

central to the painting. Meekor muses:

MEEKOR:

Heard the ladies don’t wear no top

in the South Seas. Bare-chested

like a man but minus all the

ugliness.

Bill nods appreciatively.

MEEKOR (CONT’D)

Figure a handful of gold’ll git me

down there and set up for life. A

worshipped island god.

Bill runs his fingers along the timbers of their bench mine.

Mud seeps in around them. Planks, flexing, a few days away

from breaking perhaps...

Then Meekor hacks. Something gurgling and ugly in his throat.

Bill hears this. Typhoid...?

BILL:

You sick-

MEEKOR:

When isn't a man sick up here?

BILL (DAMMIT)

I mean sick-sick-

They’re interrupted by a sound high over the darkening

landscape. Drums. Chants. The Tlingit. Unseen.

MEEKOR:

Only thing I sicka is that.

As both men scan the hillsides--along with numerous miners

around them--all eyes to the gloaming and horizon--the

distant drums somehow part of everywhere.

MEEKOR (CONT’D)

How many Tlingit you reckon are up

there? Thousand?

BILL (UNEASY)

More.

MEEKOR:

Thousand men watching us digging up

their backyard. Watching us take

two of theirs for killin one of

ours.

(puts down his brush)

(MORE)

10.

MEEKOR (CONT'D)

That's what I'm sicka. All that

hate. Just sitting out there in the

air. Invisible. And sooner or

later...comin this way.

As he wipes his hands, heads into the shelter--camera stays

with Bill, looking up again at those mysterious, darkening

hillsides...

EXT. HILLSIDES / FOREST - CONTINUOUS

POV. The wide expanse of Bonanza Creek below, with all its

detritus and scarring from the mining efforts.

Widen out. A TLINGIT form crouches in the shadows of the

trees, watching. There’s another. And another. And another.

They don’t move. Just observe. Their stillness, patience

unsettling...

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