Mohawk Page #3

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What? You think they

magick'd their way out?

God damn it!

Aw, shitfire!

Maybe we are chasing rats.

The only place for

twenty miles is the Mission.

Let's go.

The Mission's upriver.

We'll make better time

in the canoe.

But I don't have

anything to trade.

Oak! Wait!

Hey! Hey!

[speaking French]

There's no cause

for alarm, friend.

Uh...

parlez-vous anglais?

No.

Here.

- Here.

- Whoa.

No, uh...

pour le commerce...

uh, pour le canoe...

le bateau!

[speaking French]

No, you don't understand.

- For you.

- Trade!

[speaking French]

Here.

Here.

Just... just take it!

[speaking French]

[gun shot]

[speaking French]

I've never killed

anyone before.

Neither had Calvin.

The Great Warrior.

We should be there

before sundown.

We'll fare better in the

dark than the Americans.

Not in the forest.

When there's too much death,

the blood seeps

into the ground...

soaks into the roots.

The trees can't sleep

and the forest goes mad.

Oak.

Oak, wake up.

Look.

We're here.

[door banging]

How many people

are supposed to be here?

Twelve, maybe?

My uncle,

his cousins.

Two of them.

[door banging]

They're very quiet.

Where is everyone?

[door creaking open]

[water dripping]

My God.

Is it...?

My uncle...

and my cousins.

I did this.

All this murder.

All this blood.

- It's all because of me.

- No.

Where are the

other missionaries?

They must have fled,

which is what we need to do.

We need to bury them.

No. What we need

to do is hurry.

We need to go.

- [gun hammer clicks]

- Too late for that, redskin.

[grunting and fighting]

[thud]

[thud]

- [thud]

- [screaming]

He's no good dead.

Burn in Hell!

Oh, you've got some

fire in you, Redcoat.

I like that.

I'll... I'll kill you!

[thud]

[grunting]

At Fort George, I will

inform the General that,

after murdering a platoon

of sleeping Americans,

these savages

executed my son...

and fled

to a nearby Mission,

where they were

killed in battle.

This man is a prisoner of

The United States of America

and we're taking him back...

as a prisoner.

This man is a murdering,

blue-eyed Indian.

He is a British officer!

They get ransomed,

we get a bonus.

Rules of Engagement,

rusty guts!

I'd just as soon splatter him

across this courtyard myself,

but we've come this far.

I want that money!

Come on, Redcoat.

Come on!

You come here for what?

For the slaughter?

To burn this new world

to the ground?

I would love just a minute

with your general.

The stories I will tell him

about you will make him weep

for the future

of this country...

[thud]

[gasps]

Colonel!

The prisoner is all yours.

[screaming]

I'm sorry, Red.

You put up a good fight.

Jesus!

[gasping]

Shh. Shh.

[gurgling]

[bones snapping]

God damn it, Beal.

I liked you.

You murder us

in our sleep.

You feign neutrality,

then you stab us

in the back.

So if I were to allow,

by action or inaction,

one more of your kind

to kill one more white man,

I could not face my Lord

on Judgment Day.

[gun shot]

The fortunes of war

are death.

Now we make for Fort George.

This is not a healthy

place to linger.

She told me

she was pregnant.

I'm sorry.

[flies buzzing]

[coughing]

Are we setting

camp up soon?

Why?

With all due respect,

Colonel,

it's been a long day.

It's sixty miles

to Fort George.

Keep up.

What about other Indians?

We killed them all.

There's other tribes.

We killed them...

all.

What if the Redcoats

are creepin' on us?

The one and only Redcoat

around these parts

ain't creepin' up

on anybody.

What if there's more?

What if there's Injuns?

What if there's Redcoats?

What if there's

a goddamn demon

rising up

from the pits of Hell?

We killed them all!

They're dead!

We're the only

monsters left out here.

[wind howling]

Oak...

Oak...

Wake up.

[gasping]

[pensive music]

[panting]

Don't you say it.

We should have been

going the other way.

Agh!

It's these woods!

We need to burn it all down

and turn it all into fields

so a man can see

the blasted horizon!

Where are you going?!

I'm going up that ridge.

And figure out

where the Hell we are.

Holt!

Colonel!

Holt!

You gotta slow down.

Hello?

He's not waiting for us,

you know.

He's going to leave us.

No, he won't.

He won't.

That man is Lucifer

in the flesh!

[distant growl]

[dog yelp]

Yancy!

Where you at, fella?!

Yancy?!

[trees creaking]

What the hell

are you doing?

There's a devil

in these woods!

The devil's

in these woods, boy?

Hellfire.

The devil shares my name.

Where's Yancy?

I don't know.

F*** him.

Keep the mountains

on the left.

Home in two days.

We can't...

We can't go deeper.

We can't.

We're gonna get

to that ridge.

We're gonna

reorient ourselves.

We're gonna go

to the next ridge,

and the next ridge,

and the next ridge

after that if we have to!

Yessir.

God will be with us, boy.

Yessir.

No resting.

[flies buzzing]

Yessir.

Private?

Yancy?

Thank God, man.

I thought we lost you, Yancy.

[intense music]

Oh Jesus.

[yelling in pain]

Help! Holt!

Private!

Goddamn Indian trap.

- Stop!

- Roll me with.

One, two...

[screaming in pain]

Shh. Shh.

You're alright.

You're alright.

Do you feel this?

No. No. No.

Good.

Here, bite this.

Bite on that!

- [crack]

- [screaming in pain]

The doctor will

take that off

as soon as we

get back to camp.

No one takes

my f***ing leg.

It's barely hanging

on as it is, boy.

I have not worn this brace

since Tippecanoe

so some Mohawk squaw

could take my leg.

Here.

I've have this

little laudanum.

Now, here, open up.

Take that down.

All of it!

Don't worry about that squaw.

We killed that squaw.

She's burning in

the fiery pits of Hell.

I cannot walk.

What?

I... cannot... walk.

I... can't walk...

Colonel.

Colonel.

Yes, you can.

[screams]

I am ready...

to walk... Colonel.

Yeah.

We need higher ground.

We're gonna have to find

a better vantage point.

Lachlan?

Lachlan?

Colonel?

We've gotta get up

to that hilltop over there.

Get our bearings.

Ain't no bears

back here, Colonel.

If you want to rest,

I'll be finding your bones

here next Summer.

[chuckles]

[ghostly whisper]

Lachlan?

Lach...

How'd you...?

She ain't lettin'

us go home.

Private,

I will leave you.

We should have never,

ever come here.

[thud]

No.

[gun shot]

Come on...

you ghost.

You won't stop us!

The Indians...

won't stop us!

Redcoats...

couldn't stop us!

French?

[laughs]

Try and stop us!

Ghosts?

They sure as Hell

are not gonna stop me!

[panting]

[coughing]

No...

No.

This isn't right.

[goat bleating]

Ah.

You killed twenty-two

American patriots

in their sleep.

These were militia boys,

farming kids.

This one name was Orson...

over yonder's his

brother Pressley.

Last week, he come

to me and said...

he was afraid of the dark.

So I told him he could

sleep next to his brother.

Your lover crept

into my camp

and burnt these boys

in their sleep.

How dare you

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