Unforgiven Page #6

EXT. LOGAN HOUSE - DAY

Munny landing with a thud in the dust and picking himself up

hurriedly and casting a sheepish glance over his shoulder at

Ned as he makes another awkward effort to mount the mare.

NED:

(amazed at this

performance)

Jesus, Bill.

CLOSE VIEW:

The sad, wise eyes of Sally Two Trees as she watches the two

riders disappearing in the distance. Her eyes are saying

good-bye.

EXT. PATH - DAY

THE RIDERS IN THE DISTANCE. One horse is walking and the

white one is prancing and shying in an unruly manner while

her rider fights desperately for control.

EXT. OPEN COUNTRY - DAY

SUNSET, and Ned and Munny riding in open country.

NED:

He musta been movin' right along.

MUNNY:

We'll come across him tomorra, I

guess.

EXT. CAMP - NIGHT

Night and the sizzling campfire as Ned empties the grease

from the frying pan into the fire.

Munny is already lying down, fussing in his blankets to get

comfortable and the crickets are chirping up a storm.

MUNNY:

Got used to my bed. Ain't gonna feel

to home out here.

NED:

(getting into his

blankets)

Well, it ain't just the bed I'm gonna

miss. I'm...

(he stops suddenly)

Hell, Billy, I'm sorry. I didn't

mean...

MUNNY:

It ain't nothin', don't fret it.

(pause)

She don't like it much, you goin'

off with me.

NED:

Sally?

MUNNY:

She gave me the evil eye.

NED:

It's just... she's a Indian an'

Indians ain't... overfriendly.

MUNNY:

I ain't blamin' her, Ned, I ain't

holdin' it against her.

(pause)

She knew me back then... an' she

seen what a no good sonofabitch I

was... an' she won't allow how I've

changed. She just don't know how I

ain't like that no more.

NED:

Well, she...

MUNNY:

(urgently)

I ain't the same, Ned. Claudia, she...

straightened me up, got me clear of

the whiskey an' all. Us goin' to do

this killin'... that don't mean I'm

back to like I was. I just need the

money... for a new start... for them

youngsters.

(long pause)

Remember that drover, the one I shot

in the mouth so's the teeth come out

the back of his head? I dream about

him now an' again. I didn't have no

reason to shoot him... not one I

could remember when I sobered up.

NED:

You was a... a crazy sonofabitch.

MUNNY:

Nobody liked me... none of the boys.

They was scared of me... figured I

might shoot 'em out of pure meanness.

NED:

You ain't like that no more.

MUNNY:

Eagle... he hated my guts. Bonaparte

didn't like me none.

NED:

Nor Quincy, I guess.

MUNNY:

Quincy, he was always watchin' me.

Scared.

NED:

You ain't like that no more.

MUNNY:

Hell, no. I'm just a fella now. Ain't

no different from anyone else no

more.

After a pause, Ned rolls over to go to sleep and says

something kind by way of saying goodnight.

NED:

Hell, Bill, I always liked you...

even back then.

Ned settles in his covers and so does Munny and the crickets

chirp for a long moment but Munny can't sleep with the lie.

MUNNY:

No you didn't. You wasn't no

different, Ned.

(and we...)

EXT. TRAIN - DAY

DAYLIGHT and a train whistle SCREAMING.

INT. RAILROAD COACH - DAY

The headline on the newspaper says "President Garfield

Wounded." FUZZY, a cowboy, is sitting in the rocking coach

reading the paper with great effort, partly because of the

motion of the train and partly because Fuzzy can't read very

well... but CROCKER, the rough looking cowboy on the seat

next to him can't read at all.

CROCKER:

All I want to know is what sonofabitch

shot him, that's all. Was it one of

them John Bull a**holes?

Across the aisle two well dressed gentlemen are sitting.

The one by the window, the lean one in the frock coat and

slouch hat, is WW BEAUCHAMP and the one on the aisle, pudgy,

pinkcheeked, with neat muttonchop whiskers, wearing a frock

coat and waistcoat and a silk slouch hat in spite of the

heat, is ENGLISH BOB. English Bob has beady blue eyes, is

about thirty-five and pulls constantly on a good cigar.

ENGLISH BOB:

(in a rich English

accent)

No, sir, I believe the would-be

murderer is a gentleman of French

ancestry... or so it would seem. I

hope I won't give offense if I observe

that the French are known to be a

race of assassins, though they can't

shoot worth a damn... any Frenchman

among the present company excluded

of course.

Crocker, not liking or understanding the interruption, gives

English Bob a hard stare.

FUZZY:

(to Crocker)

Says here a fellow by the name of

"Gitto." "G-U-I--T..."

CROCKER:

(eyes on Bob)

Sounds like a damn John Bull to me.

"Gitto."

THIRSTY, a cowboy sitting behind Crocker, turns in his seat,

sensing the tension in the air and WW feels it too and shifts

uneasily... but English Bob is unperturbed and he puffs

cheerfully on his cigar.

ENGLISH BOB:

Well, sirs... again not wishing to

give offense... it might be a good

idea if the country were to choose a

Queen... or even a King... rather

than a president. One isn't as quick

to take a shot at a King or a Queen.

The majesty of royalty, you see...

CROCKER:

(provocative)

Maybe you don't wish to give offense,

sir, but you are givin' it pretty

thick. This country don't need no

queens whatsoever, I guess.

Crocker is shifting in his seat so that the revolver in his

holster is prominent and there is uneasy stirring among the

nearby passengers. A DRUMMER looks around for exits.

CROCKER:

As a matter of fact, what I heard

about Queens...

THURSTON:

Shut up, Joe.

CROCKER:

(to Thurston)

Huh? What's got up your ass, Thirsty?

This dude a**hole...

THURSTON:

(to Crocker, but his

eyes on Bob)

Might be the "dude" is English Bob...

the one who works for the Union

Pacific shootin' Chinamen. Might be

he wants for some dumb cowboy to

touch his pistol... so's he can shoot

him down.

English Bob, unperturbed, just pulls on his cigar.

CROCKER:

(sobered)

That a fact, mister? You English

Bob?

ENGLISH BOB:

(affably)

Why don't we shoot some turkeys,

friend? Ten shots... a dollar a

turkey. I'll shoot for the Queen,

and you can shoot for... whomever.

EXT. TRAIN - DAY

Turkeys bursting from long Nebrasks grass as the train whistle

screams.

BLAM! A turkey plummets to earth.

BLAM! Another goes down.

VIEW ON ENGLISH BOB

On the swaying platform between cars, his pistol smoking and

BOB brings it up again fast and sights and BLAM!

AN EXPLOSION OF FEATHERS plummeting down and disappearing in

the long grass.

VIEW ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE PLATFORM

Where WW Beauchamp, Crocker, Thurston, Fuzzy and the nervous

Drummer, in a cheap bowler, are standing. They are all

impressed with the fact that English Bob is one hell of a

shot with a pistol.

ENGLISH BOB:

(to Crocker)

I believe that's eight for me... to

one for you. A matter of seven of

your American dollars.

CROCKER:

(grudgingly counting

silver dollars)

Pretty damn good shootin'...

(daring)

for a John Bull.

ENGLISH BOB:

(accepting the money

cheerfully)

No doubt your aim was affected by

your grief over the injury to your...

uh... president.

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