EXT. - NIGHT

CLOSE ON -

CAMPFIRE

The Sundance Wives camp for the night. Sage opens a bottle of WHISKEY. She takes the first drink and passes it to Blaze. Blaze takes a hearty swig and passes the bottle to A.J. Pony Girl unzips her pants and shows the Wives her SCAR.

PONY GIRL
Lawman and preacher got between me an’ my refreshment. This scar was raped and beaten before it was born.

BLAZE
What I see is a cornfield burnt and a scythe brand. Both our religious pasts seared with an unholy reminder.

SAGE
Scars aren’t tarot cards, but you can read all of our scars-inside and out.

PONY GIRL
Broken whiskey bottle heated in Hell’s fire harvested my cornfield, Blaze. Your tumbleweed speaks the truth.

A.J.
It’s best not to have a conversation about scars at a campfire. Scars tell their stories quiet. The land has scars. You see what the mining scars and cyanide do to the land.

PONY GIRL
Hell A.J., when we saw the orphans today, this scar took leave of its Day of Reckoning. The orphans have scars that’ll see Judgment Day.

BLAZE
The Sundance Wives are compelled revolutionaries of justice openly circulating in spirituality and mission.

SAGE
We’ve been coming for far too long, Wives. We’re here. Pony Girl, your spurs were rusted in the rain when you stepped into my world. You were limping with Achilles Heel. You had a weakness.

PONY GIRL
That goddamned lawman and preacher! I should have known better than to saddle up with my refreshment. We could use the Philosopher’s Stone right about now. How long have we been searching for the Philosopher’s Stone, Blaze - about a year now?

BLAZE
It’s closer than you think Pony Girl. The Christ and the Stone, elixir of life; The Sundance Wives rejuvination. The gold’s hidden in the ores. Lightning will strike and a blackened substance will makes us white and pure again. The transition of a raven into a white dove.                                                                             

A.J.
Is the alternative religion Jerusalem Ridge really the Gates of Doogun Hill, Blaze? Is that where the Philosopher’s Stone is buried?

PONY GIRL
The Gates of Doogun Hill is where I buried Pick and Ax, A.J. Nothing else. Just two good women that preacher put in the grave with his lies.

SAGE
Is that preacher the one who gave you that scar, Pony Girl? Did he cut you with that broken glass whiskey bottle and rape you with that lawman? Did he?

PONY GIRL
Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord.

Blaze takes a rolled up piece of paper tied with a leather thong out of her saddlebags. She waves it in the air to catch the spirit’s attention.

BLAZE
Wives, do you remember when we all chipped in to buy that old placer claim?

PONY GIRL
That old dirt hole we never found, Blaze? Hell, that was a waste of our Morgans for that gold claim. Silver dollars thrown in the dirt.

SAGE
Yea Pony Girl, like the silver dollars we wasted on that fucking preacher you saved. Thrown in the dirt!

PONY GIRL
You’re not going to let me forget it, are you Sage? Damn, you’ve always got to be right, and then goddamn if you’re not!

SAGE
I’m not what?

PONY GIRL
RIGHT, goddammit Sage!

SAGE
I just wanted to hear you say it Pony Girl. The hawk’s abandoned nest in the church rafters is overrun with parasites, preacher’s droppings on the pew.

A.J.
I saw that goddamned preacher bleed on the pew-Oh damn, never mind I said that.

BLAZE
Church floorboards creak secrets. Cloaked decoys. The clock turns back time pillar and scroll.

FLASHBACK: SHOOT THESE FRAMES OF FLASHBACK IN SEPIA. BLAZE HAS A PAST. SHE’S KEPT HER SECRET HIDDEN.

INSERT - ONE YEAR AGO 1878 - DEADWOOD, SOUTH DAKOTA

EXT. - DUSTY STREETS OF DEADWOOD - DAY

A woman in a black duster and hat rides into DEADWOOD. She ties her horse to the hitching post in front of the saloon.

CLOSE ON -

She takes out from the inside of her duster pocket, a POCKET WATCH on a silver chain. It reads 12:00. The noon stage is late.

INT. - SALOON - SAME

The woman walks up to the bar.

WOMAN
Shot of whiskey.

BARTENDER
You new in town?

WOMAN
Just rode in.

BARTENDER
First one’s on the house, then you pay.

WOMAN
Organ players have
heard that rumor.
Much obliged.
(Snappy retort)

The woman tosses the whiskey to the back of her throat, sits the glass down on the bar and walks out of the saloon.

CLIFFHANGAR!
Copyright 1.28.2010 Ms. Sage Sweetwater, firebrand lesbian novelist