Thunderheart Page #9

BROOKS:

That set-to you saw out front, was

nothin' more than a message we were

sendin' to the sonsabitches that are

divertin' water from the river.

DENNIS:

We got rights. We got a ranch just

up here.

Ray catches this. Glances a look off Cooch who works on a

cold draught beer.

RAY:

Did any of you gentlemen know Leo

Fast Elk?

Both men shake their heads. Get quiet.

BROOKS:

You fellas are here to investigate a

Indian crime, you should keep to

Indian land, and talk to them, not

us. But you wanna drink here and

shoot stick here, that's your right,

and we respect that.

(to Dennis)

Come on, Son, we're up on the table.

DENNIS:

You fellas wanna play doubles?

Cooch shakes his head, distracted, and the two locals leave,

enroute for the pool table. Ray watches them go, curious.

EXT. BUFFALO BUTTE BAR - NIGHT

Ray and Cooch, cross the street back to the motel. It is

black and chillingly still.

RAY:

Water. Worth killing for out here,

I'd think.

COOCH:

Get the plate numbers off everyone

of these cars.

RAY:

I already did.

Cooch looks at Ray, impressed.

RAY:

Couldn't sleep.

COOCH:

Good.

They stop in front of their rooms and Cooch pulls a small

tape recorder from his waistband. A micro-cassette recorder

that he examines in the dim door light.

RECORDER:

(locals)

-- out here we got our Indians. And

that's the way it is.

Cooch shuts it off.

COOCH:

By the time you get to the main

village, sun'll be up. I want you to

fraternize. Socialize. Penetrate.

Infiltrate. Eat some raw kidney, and

get these Indians talking. I'm gonna

Powwow with Big Chief Clear Moon and

find out more about Leo.

He hands Ray the recorder.

RAY:

Done.

Cooch starts for his room but in a long, exaggerated country

step as he breaks into the HANK WILLIAMS tune that has all

but driven him insane inside the joint. Ray watches him go,

and cracks a laugh.

INT. LE BARON - TRAVELING - SUNRISE

Ray's at the wheel, looks intense as he studies the vast

expanse of slopes and rock formations and the rising sphere

of flame that lights the road in strange color. He is reading

a name list that he traps against the wheel.

RAY:

Hobert Standing-Buffalo-That-Walks-

Dreamer.

(a dry run)

Hello, I'm looking for Hobert Standing-

Buffalo-That-Walks... Dreamer.

Ray pulls up a long dirt drive and parks.

EXT. OLD TRAILER - ACROSS FROM BADLANDS – SUNRISE

Ray walks to the front door of a war-torn trailer that is

halfway swallowed by weeds and plants. It is static out here.

Dead still. Ray approaches the front door. There is a huge

hole in it. He knocks above the hole.

After a moment, the door opens a crack. A dark, weather-beaten

face barely shows.

RAY:

Good morning. I'm looking for Hobert-

Buffalo-Dreaming...

(cheat sheet)

Hobert Standing-Buffalo-That-Walks--

The door closes. Locks.

RAY:

--Dreamer.

Ray stands there for a moment then lowers himself to look

through the huge hole in the door.

RAY:

Sir?

A tattered chair is pushed against the door, covering the

hole. Ray stands up, turns on the steps. And before he can

let out a flustered sigh, he spots something across the dirt

road. Something that makes him remove his shades, look again.

Whatever it is, it doesn't make him happy, and he is hurrying

across the road.

EXT. BADLANDS - DAY

A motorcycle, parked between the road and the badlands. We've

seen the ancient bike before. Ray walks past it, looking at

it.

He pushes his shades up on the bridge of his nose and looks

down into the moonscape.

Walter Crow Horse is down there, on his haunches, "feel

tracking", laying his fingers inside tracks and reading them.

He doesn't even look up at the sound of the FBI agent's

footsteps.

CROW HORSE:

Ray Little Weasel. FBI. I like the

way ya sneaked up on me. Must be

Indian.

The wind whistles and moans through the Badlands as Crow

Horse continues feel tracking.

RAY:

What are you --

CROW HORSE:

Watch out!

Ray draws back.

RAY:

What?!

CROW HORSE:

You're steppin' on sign.

Crow Horse lowers his face to the ground and blows some

scattered dust out of a print. Lightly lays his fingers inside

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