The Hallelujah Trail Page #9

---

20 wagons confiscated from

a taxpayer and a good Republican.

Don't you tell me what he is

or I'll bust you on the nose!

Colonel, those cords again.

Just let me...

Get away from my cords!

If you just relax

and let the blood flow...

My blood can flow on its own.

Mrs. Massingale, I don't know

what your plans are for tomorrow,

but judging from experience,

you'd better get some rest.

How can I rest

after what I've done to you?

Try!

Oh...

My selfishness, my obstinacy,

my stupidity in not listening

to your advice.

I must agree with you.

It's all my fault

you're in this position.

Well, crying isn't going to help.

Mrs. Massingale...

Mrs. Massingale!

You needn't look so shocked.

Plato, Augustus, Alexander...

even George Washington took

occasional spirits in medicinal amounts.

There's nothing wrong with limited

libation under emotional stress.

Your entire career is ruined!

Well... I suppose

there'll be some criticism.

Criticism? You'll be crucified!

The press, the public,

the War Department.

Horace Greeley.

Oh...

Well, if I can save

the lives of 27 women, I...

I'd gladly sacrifice my career.

After all, what is it?

Only 19 years of service.

With Grant at Vicksburg.

With Thomas at Nashville.

17 Indian campaigns,

Laramie to Fort Hall.

One more year.

281 dollars and 25 cents a month,

pension.

Sergeant Buell,

27 dollars and 50 cents a month.

Every month.

19 years.

And all that time,

not once have I ever...

never have I ever met anyone like...

Like me?

Oh, well, I'll just resign gracefully.

Anyway, I'll resign.

Well, at least you'll still

have your beloved West.

- I hate the West.

- Oh, dear!

Dust, wind, Indians.

My stubbornness, my obstinacy,

my selfishness.

Now, now, Cora... uh... Mrs. Massingale.

If only I'd listened to you. If only!

Easy, easy, Mrs. Massingale... Cora.

Do you think you could

ever forgive me, Thaddeus?

Well, I...

I could try.

Cora...

Couldn't we forget all this? I mean...

I mean... just forget

the whole thing... Cora?

- Colonel Gearhart!

- One moment, Slater.

Come in, Slater.

- Captain Slater reporting, sir.

- Stand up, we'll march to Denver

- No more wine or beer

- Someone's singing. Go on, Slater.

Uh... Chief 5 Barrels

said he'd take 15 barrels.

I came back with eight and he said 13.

I think that was the number.

The language barrier is very difficult,

sir.

- Did you reach any agreement?

- 10 wagons of whiskey.

- 10 wagons?

- For all the women.

- Good work, Slater.

- Thank you, sir.

- What's he doing here?

- The same, sir. A symbol of good faith.

Are you sure he can't understand us?

- Not a word.

- That's all, Slater.

Oh... The Indians

would like to have... uh...

Mrs. Massingale present

for the exchange, sir.

- What for?

- Our symbol of good faith.

Tell Chief 5 Barrels I'd be happy

to join my brave ladies.

Yes, ma'am. I'll make all

the arrangements for the exchange. sir.

Good night, Slater.

It's scheduled for dawn.

Oh...

Thaddeus, isn't it wonderful? 10 wagons.

That's the exact number

held by the Irish teamsters.

You're not gonna have to confiscate

any of Mr. Wallingham's wagons after all.

Yes... well...

It's a long day tomorrow, Cora,

and you need rest.

I'll take you back to your camp.

- Oh...

- Oh, I can get back by myself.

- You're sure?

- Oh, Thaddeus...

You're so kind and generous... and brave.

Good night, Thaddeus.

Stand up, we'll march to Denver

No more wine or beer...

We shall save

We shall save

We shall save another soul

- Hallelujah

- Frank.

- Huh?

- Frank, she's all fixed up.

What?

Frank, listen carefully.

This is important.

Frank! Hey, Frank!

You've been drinkin'

Frank, listen carefully. If you could

get your wagon train outta here,

if you could cross the river

so as nobody,

no Injuns, no women

or army could follow,

would you do it?

- How?

- Wait a minute!

You'd have to give up

them 10 wagons on the exchange.

Now, here's what we do.

We take the rest of the wagons

and we ride across Quicksand Bottoms.

None of them people could see us.

- Hold it.

- We'd get across the river...

Hold on! Just a damn minute now.

Nobody can cross Quicksand Bottoms

cos they'd sink.

We can. There's a way, Frank.

I found it five years ago.

A bunch of scalp-hungry Injuns

chased me right up to the edge.

I knew for sure they'd get me

that night if I didn't get across.

I just pointed my Billy girl south

and let her go. She didn't miss a step.

I did the same thing tonight.

She took me right across.

I've staked out a trail across

the Bottoms with my red flannel.

We can't miss it.

We'll take all the wagons you got and go

across, a-pullin' up the stakes as we go.

They won't even know

what happened to us.

Once across the Bottoms, it's a straight

shoot to Denver over flat, open country.

- We'll be free and clear.

- (Wallingham chuckles)

- Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

- Sh! Hush up!

Yeah... My sentiments exactly.

Hallelujah.

Here's one.

Here's another one.

Here...

and here's one.

- But what are they?

- I don't know.

- But does it look familiar?

- It looks like Mr. Jones' underwear.

- It is.

- Are you... are you sure?

The ladies have confirmed it. He's not

wearing those underdrawers now.

They're torn to shreds and spread out

on stakes all across Quicksand Bottoms.

- Where's Group C?

Mrs. Massingale, have you any idea

what these stakes are for?

I'm not sure, but I know

what we're gonna do with them.

- What?

- Move them.

Stay between those red markers.

Don't be a-laggin' behind.

Keep your wagons up close, all of ya!

Militia, when we move out,

get on the wagons.

That's the signal, sir.

All wagons ready for exchange.

Platoons A and B in position.

Get down there, Buell. Send Mrs.

Massingale over to the exchange point.

- Mrs. Massingale!

- Whoa, whoa!

- Mrs. Massingale, excuse me.

- I'm busy right now, Mr. O'Flaherty.

- It's about them 10 wagons.

- What's the matter with them?

- Nothing, mum, but they ain't whiskey.

- Ain't whiskey?

No, mum. Those wagons is filled

with French champagne. All of 'em.

You know anything about

French champagne, mum?

Well, I sipped some once

on my second honeymoon in Paris.

Aye, but it was most likely cold.

These bottles ain't, they're warm.

If you open a bottle of warm champagne,

especially when it's been shooken up,

well, it's...

- You mean they explode?

- Like a Marsh gun, about a .58 calibre.

We gotta handle those bottles

like dynamite.

That's why they hired us Irish teamsters.

It's our business.

What's gonna happen when

them savages get them wagons?

What's gonna happen to that champagne?

- Explosions?

- Right.

I just thought someone oughta know.

- Have you told Colonel Gearhart yet?

- Oh, no, mum. I've been afeard to.

What's holding you up, Mrs. Massingale?

I'm sorry, Sergeant Buell.

Excuse me, Mr. O'Flaherty.

Mrs. Massingale,

we have a bit of a problem.

Chief 5 Barrels insists on

taking the first wagon,

and his two brothers-in-law

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes