All Small Men Are Thieves

By R. Earle Harris
All rights reserved (c) 2015 (r dot earle dot harris at gmx dot com)

`BLACK SCREEN`

Fiddle softly playing The Cowboy's Lament.

Title Over:
			Wyoming, Powder River Basin, 1891

					ARAPAHO BROWN (V.O.)

		This is the story of the Johnson County
		Invasion. It's a story about how a bunch
		of rich men talked themselves into
		killing folks who maybe didn't have so
		much money. And about how a few strong,
		independent men stood up for themselves
		and got murdered. And then it's about
		how those rich men got away with murder
		scot free. Which is enough to tell you
		that this story is true.

`BLACK SCREEN`

Fiddle music stops.

Title Over:
			All Small Men Are Thieves

Pause. Then below that--

Title Over:
			--said the Governor of Wyoming.

Fade to black.

`FADE IN:`

`EXT. HILLS - DAY`

Just east of the Big Horns, before the first snows. Rolling cheatgrass-covered hills. Smoke winding up from somewhere down below.

Title Over:
               November 1891

`EXT. HILLS - CONTINUOUS`

Down in a hollow, next to a small fire, four men blotching brands on a few cattle with running irons -- this is like inking over the payee's name on a check so you can substitute your own.

`EXT. HOLLOW - CONTINUOUS`

BILL WALKER , a young cowboy, rides into view. The men notice him.

`EXT. HOLLOW - CONTINUOUS`

Closer. Bill innocently approaches close enough to see the bar eleven brand on their horses.

                         BILL

               Hey, that's Jim Averell's cow!

One of the men shoots Bill out of his saddle.

`FADE TO BLACK`

`EXT. HILLS - DAY`

Same hills. Later. First snowflakes fall.

`EXT. HOLLOW - CONTINUOUS`

Bill's POV - looking up from flat on the ground - the darkening sky, the hills--

`EXT. HOLLOW - CONTINUOUS`

--his horse fills the view.

                         BILL (O.S.)

                Hey, horse. Warn't that Jim Averell's 
                cow?

FADE TO BLACK

`EXT. HILLS - DAY`

Day, meadows along the Powder River bottom, below the hills. First snowflakes falling.

`EXT. HILLS - CONTINUOUS`

Three wagons and twenty or so cowboys are working at gathering the cattle up along the river. They already have a herd of seven or eight hundred head. NATE CHAMPION rides up and greets the lead drover, FRED HESS.

                         NATE

               Afternoon, Fred.

                         HESS

               Nate.

                         NATE

                You boys are a little early, aren't 
                you? Association's roundup ain't till 
                May.

                         HESS

                We would have waited but you Johnson 
                County boys announced your own roundup. 
                So we thought we'd get a start on 
                you. Save you boys from breaking the 
                law.

                         NATE

                Speaking of breaking the law, I believe 
                you girls have swept up some of my 
                herd. I thought I'd cut them out for 
                you.

                         HESS

                The law's the law, Nate. I can't let 
                you do that. This is a Stockgrower's 
                Association roundup. You can post 
                the three thousand dollar bond to 
                ride with us or you can apply in Cheyenne 
                to get your cowbeasts back.

Nate looks at the cattle a bit.

                         NATE

               I'll go check my piggy bank.

                         HESS

               You do that.

Nate departs.

`EXT. ROAD - DAY`

Road south of Buffalo, Wyoming.

`EXT. ROAD - CONTINUOUS`

CHARLIE BASCH, Johnson County's prosecutor, and a RANCHER ride into view.

                         RANCHER

                I read it in the Cheyenne Leader, 
                Charlie Basch! They said we've had 
                one hundred and eighty cases of cattle 
                theft and not one conviction.

                         BASCH

                I'd say that's an ignorant rough estimate. 
                I've prosecuted nine cases since I 
                came here three years ago. And I got 
                one conviction, by God. The other 
                eight were hungry cowboys.

Rancher laughs.

`EXT. ROAD - CONTINUOUS`

They are approaching the Canton Ranch gate as a wagon, driven by MRS. (Frank) CANTON, is coming up from inside the fence.

                         RANCHER

                Well, if the big outfits want to close 
                the winter grub line for those boys, 
                they can't expect convictions for 
                men eating wild cows. Charlie, look!

`EXT. GATE - CONTINUOUS`

Mrs. Canton has left her two daughters in her wagon and is closing the gate behind it when one of the girls clucks to the horses and they start to move.

`EXT. WAGON - CONTINUOUS`

Mrs. Canton darts for the wagon, startling the horses. As she catches the back of the wagon, the horses bolt heading off the double-track.

`EXT. ROAD - CONTINUOUS`

Basch leaps the fence on his horse to help them.

`EXT. WAGON - CONTINUOUS`

Trying to save her girls, Mrs. Canton hangs on too long and is knocked senseless when she is thrown clear.

`EXT. WAGON - CONTINUOUS`

Basch stops the wagon and drives it back to where the woman is lying in the wagon track.

`INT. BEDROOM - EVENING`

Bedroom in the Canton's modest ranch house. Rancher (above) and Basch are with the DOCTOR and Mrs. Canton, who lies bandaged in bed.. Exterior door heard opening O.S.

                         RANCHER

               Here's Frank.

`INT. BEDROOM - CONTINUOUS`

Enter FRANK CANTON, handsome, in his 40's, dark duster and black Stetson with the crown creased down its length.

                         CANTON

               Beth!

                         MRS. CANTON

               Canton.

                         DOCTOR

                She'll be fine, Canton. She's just 
                had the sand knocked out of her. You 
                should thank Charlie Basch - he saved 
                your girls.

                         CANTON

               Charlie.

                         BASCH

               I'm glad I was there, Canton.

                         CANTON

                I won't forget this, Charlie. I give 
                you my word.

`EXT. HILLS - DAY`

Those cheatgrass hills again. A foot deep in snow.

`EXT. HOLLOW - CONTINUOUS`

Bill's POV again, we see the head of his horse, face to face. Bill trembling with fever.

                         BILL

               You ain't Jim Averell's cow.

Beat.

                         BILL (CONT'D)

               Damn, I'm hot.

`FADE TO BLACK`

`EXT. CHEYENNE - DAY`

The largest town in the state, 1891.

`EXT. STREET - DAY`

Outside the Wyoming Stockgrower's Association's Cheyenne Club.

`EXT. STREET - CONTINUOUS`

WILLIAM IRVINE, wealthy rancher and member of the Livestock Commission, rides up to the club on a horse that bears the bar-eleven brand.

`EXT. CLUB - CONTINUOUS`

Irvine dismounts and turns his horse over to an attendant.

`INT. CLUB - DAY`

Irvine walks up to door of private conference room in the Cheyenne Club.

`INT. CONFERENCE ROOM - CONTINUOUS`

The members of the Livestock Commission - William Irvine, H.B. IJAMS, and HUGO DONZLEMAN - and Governor AMOS BARBER are seated around a table.

`EXT. TABLE - CONTINUOUS`

Ijams is fired up.

                         GOVERNOR

               Settle down, Mr. Ijams.

                         IJAMS

                No, Mr. Governor. I'm not sharing 
                one - not one! - of my mavericks with 
                those little ranchers. All of us - 
                every member of the Association - 
                are still recovering from the winter 
                of eighty-six.

                         IRVINE

                That's right, Governor. The open range 
                belongs to those of us who have used 
                it longest. These little johnny-come-latelys 
                have no claim to the cattle descended 
                from what we brought in.

                         GOVERNOR

               All these small men are thieves.

                         DONZLEMAN

                As a lawyer, I wouldn't care to stake 
                these claims of yours in court.

                         IJAMS

                Who asked you. What do you think, 
                Governor?

                         GOVERNOR

               Bill.

                         IRVINE

                We're not going to court. We are going 
                to do what we have talked about for 
                the past five years. We are going 
                to run all the thieves out, starting 
                with Johnson County.

                         IRVINE

               It's about time.

                         IRVINE

                H.B., I want a thousand dollars apiece 
                from the hundred richest members of 
                this association -- for expenses. 
                And Governor, you can tell Frank Canton 
                to send that man of his down to Texas. 
                We'll want the men he promised. We 
                need everything ready before that 
                independent roundup of theirs up north.

He pauses to look around the table.

                         IRVINE (CONT'D)

                Then we'll teach them that the days 
                of the free range are over.

`EXT. HILLS - DUSK`

Those cheatgrass hills again. Smoke from the hollow again.

`EXT. HOLLOW - CONTINUOUS`

From Bill's POV, the face of a mule. Someone is sharpening something O.S.

                         BILL

               You're not my horse.

`EXT. HOLLOW - CONTINUOUS`

Bill is now wrapped in a blanker. ARAPAHO BROWN, late fifties, a man who loves the free West, sharpening something small on a whetstone by a fire.

                         ARAPAHO

               That's my mule.

                         BILL

               Who are you?

                         ARAPAHO

                Folks call me Arapaho Brown, when 
                I'm around folks. The mule and I know 
                each other by scent.

                         BILL

               I'm Bill Walker. Where's my horse?

                         ARAPAHO

                I believe you've lost her. All you 
                had to your name when I came up was 
                that bullet hole. You lay still and 
                we'll have that sucker out.

                         BILL

               What are you doing?

                         ARAPAHO

               Sharpening a spoon.

                         BILL

               A spoon?

`EXT. HILLS - CONTINUOUS`

Same from a distance. Bill screams O.S. like you would if I dug a bullet out of your shoulder with a spoon.

`EXT. HOLLOW - NIGHT`

Bill and Arapaho are leaning against Arapaho's wagon, warming their feet at a fire.

                         ARAPAHO

               Here's some coffee.

Bill reaches with the wounded arm and groans.

                         ARAPAHO (CONT'D)

                Use your off hand, son. You ought 
                to get some sense. It'd keep you from 
                getting shot. You say those cowboys 
                were riding the bar-eleven brand.

                         BILL

                Yes. They were Bill Irvine's horses.

                         ARAPAHO

                That'd be right. Jim Averell's got 
                no more sense than you do. He filed 
                on Irvine's favorite bottomland to 
                graze the cows his girlfriend gets 
                from lonely cowboys.

                         BILL

                They're all likely mavericks. Nobody 
                owns a free-ranging, unbranded cow.

                         ARAPAHO

                They're likely Irvine's mavericks. 
                You don't think those boys care whose 
                brand is on a calf's mama when they've 
                got Ella's charms on their minds?

Bill finally sips the coffee and winces.

                         BILL

               Any sugar for this coffee?

Arapaho hands him a jar with a spoon sticking up out of it.

                         ARAPAHO

Screenplay truncated at 500 lines.