Thunderheart Page #10

RAY:

Hey.

(ignored)

Hey, you, listen up --

CROW HORSE:

-- Leo wasn't killed here. He was

dumped here. Out of a vehicle. Bald

tread. Muffler held on with baling

wire.

Crow Horse checks out another track.

CROW HORSE:

The man you want... stepped outta

the car, dragged Leo out, laid him

down. Then walked over here and made

a circle in the earth with a stick.

I can't find the stick. He stuck an

eagle plume in the circle, got back

in his car, dustin' his own prints

with a pine bough for about six feet,

but he missed a print, right here,

see. He got in his car and went Hell-

bent-for-Holy-Sunday outta here. He

ditched that pine bough three miles

across the flat, in the Little Bear

River, it floated down to

Thundershield Gap. The car hit paved

road, and was outta here.

Crow Horse rises, points down the road.

CROW HORSE:

The killin' was done where Leo's

mother lives. But he was driven here

into these Badlands.

Ray is frowning at the big Indian, trying to get a fix on

this

CROW HORSE:

Big sonuvabuck. Based on the depth

of that print, pressure releases...

I'd say he goes two-ten, two-fifteen --

RAY:

Bullshit.

CROW HORSE:

-- Well, maybe two-seventeen.

RAY:

You're trying to tell me you can

read all that from a track?

CROW HORSE:

No. Not just a track. You gotta listen

to the trees, man. To the leaves. To

this sand, you FBI's kicked all up.

You gotta listen to the earth.

RAY:

Is that right? Well, listen to this:

drag your ass. This is a restricted

area.

CROW HORSE:

No, this is the home of the Oglala

Sioux and I want the dog-f***er who

killed Leo. Whether you get him or I

get him, I just want him. Sh*t's

been goin' on too long.

RAY:

You've got no jurisdiction.

CROW HORSE:

You got no know-how. About Indian

Way. Or about Jack Sh*t for that

matter.

RAY:

Maybe you're not aware of this, Crow

Horse, but I just flew in from a

place called the Twentieth Century

where we have such things as

electrostatic tracking methods,

psycholingusitics, DNA fingerprinting;

I don't have to crawl around with

the scorpions and talk to the f***ing

trees to get answers. Leo was killed

right here.

CROW HORSE:

Go back to the M.E., take a look

inside Leo's exit wounds and tell me

how chicken feed got in there. Trust

me, there ain't chickens in the

Badlands. His mother's place is --

RAY:

-- his mother never lived here. She

was from up in North Dakota.

CROW HORSE:

I'm talkin' his spiritual mother.

Maisy Blue Legs.

RAY:

His spiritual mother...

CROW HORSE:

To us Indians, our spiritual relatives

are as close as family. I've got

seven mothers on this reservation.

Sisters. Brothers. You ain't one of

them.

RAY:

Thank God. Now listen to me, a**hole.

I'm giving you a break. But if my

partner finds out you're here, you're

gonna be reading rat tracks in Sioux

Falls Maximum Security.

CROW HORSE:

Easy. Easy... I'm goin'.

Crow Horse walks back up toward the road.

Ray lets him leave then crouches where Crow Horse was, begins

looking at tracks.

CROW HORSE (O.S.)

Hey, Little Weasel.

Ray turns, and sees Crow Horse perched on a high bank -- the

one Ray came down -- and he's in a tracking stance.

CROW HORSE:

You weigh one sixty-three, yeah? Not

a beer drinker. You're one of these

tofu and pilaf characters. Pack your

gun, under your coat -- left shoulder.

But you got backup; a little .32,

.38 maybe, in a ankle holster that

gives you a right foot drag, Shoes

are too tight at the toe but, man,

they look cool. And that's what

counts.

Ray just stands frozen, blown away. Crow Horse rises, dusting

off his hands, and heading to his vehicle.

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