HIGH LONESOME
A Bushranger/Convict story
Episode 1
Written by
Allison O'Donoghue
Copyright 2007.
Copyright 2007.
I've been working on this screenplay for over seven years now and I thought it was time to get some feedback. It's an Aussie Western set in the late 1800's in outback South Australia. It tells the story of Matt Grogan, a cattle baron and his Wife Eliza and their seven adopted sons. The original format was either a telly movie or feature film, but I think it works better episodically. I know its risky to post online, as lazy people love to steal other people's creative ideas, but I decided it was worth taking the risk, anyway, nowadays its easy to chase people down and prove intellectual property rights. So here is the first episode or first 10 pages. Feel free to add your comments and feedback, be it good or bad. I am open to hearing whatever you've got to say. And if you want to know what happens in episode 2 - send me a note. Cheers.
Log line: Killer Dan is the man Matt Grogan wants dead. And nothin's gonna stop him.
HIGH LONESOME
INT. ORPHANAGE. NIGHT.
Leo enjoys the power he wields. He leads a motley crew of boys, who all look up to him and follow his every command. So it was easy to convince them to raid the pantry. Fed up with constant hunger, they hatch a plan. Silently, they enter the kitchen, some giggle with excitement, Leo hits them over the head which only makes the noise worse. He breaks the lock as quietly as he can, the others rush in, excited at all the food. They chow down on as much as they can fit in their mouths.
Head caretaker Mr. Pringle appears at the door. A stern violent man who viciously beat the boys regularly for trivial matters. This was no trivial matter. They stop dead in their tracks, food hanging from their mouths, knowing full well they are in for a big lashing.
INT. ORPHANAGE. EARLY MORNING.
The beating was the worst they’d ever experienced. The pain so bad, they couldn’t get out of bed. Battered and bruised, moaning, every muscle hurt, holding their stomachs and broken ribs, they tried to get up. Obese Head mistress, Ms McPherson, screamed at them to get out of bed. Totally disconnected from any maternal instincts, she ignored their injuries, as she always did. She’s more concerned with the potential benefactors arriving for inspection, than the health of the boys. She forces the boys up, tipping them out of bed, onto the floor. The servants (once orphaned girls) frantically pick them up and help them dress and apply makeup in an attempt to cover the bruising, but no amount of camouflage will cover their swollen black eyes and fat lips.
EXT. ORPHANAGE COURTYARD. MID MORNING.
Matt and Eliza Grogan inspect the line up of at least 100 or so boys. They stop at the battered and bruised boys, still barely conscious. Eliza inspects their wounds.
Matt turns to Ms McPherson.
MATT GROGAN
How’d this happen?
She shrugs.
MS MCPHERSON
Boys will be boys...
MATT GROGAN
What’s that supposed to mean?
They all fell from a great height? Right?
Ms McPherson ignores his question. The boys shuffle and look over at Mr. Pringle. Matt notices and glares at Pringle, who promptly looks down.
Eliza, distressed, looks at Matt. He nods.
ELIZA GROGAN
We’ll take those in need of medical attention.
My husband will sign the paperwork.
With that, she turns on her heel, disgusted, fighting back tears. The boys can’t believe their luck. For the first time they’re glad of the vicious beating. They finally get out of hell, while the other boys look on in envy and fear. Wishing, for once, it was them who got beaten up last night.
MS MCPHERSON
What? All six of them?
MATT GROGAN
Yes. Prepare the paperwork and get all their belongings. (He barks).
The boys limp back to their dorm and pack what little belongings they have. They give one last look at their room, and walk out for the last time, smiling but still in immense pain.
EXT. OUTSIDE THE ORPHANAGE. ELIZA AWAITS THE BOYS. DAY.
Eliza waits in the carriage, when she sees them coming she rushes to help those who can barely walk. The boys ham it up, milk the sympathy. No need. Eliza is a kind loving woman.
Ranging in age from 12 to 16 years the boys come from varied backgrounds. Most of them don’t know their family name or who their parents are/were. All orphans from birth.
Matt finished signing the paperwork. Ms McPherson hands him one last piece of paper, he grabs it from her aggressively, reads it, signs and thrusts it back at her.
MATT GROGAN
If I hear other boys have been bashed, I’ll shut you down.
Ms McPherson blusters a incoherent response.
MS MCPHERSON
I do declare Mr Grogan. I can assure you...
MATT GROGAN
Keep quiet woman...
He storms out of the office slamming the door behind him, startling staff gathered close by to hear the commotion. Never before have so many boys been adopted at one time. This is a big event. Grogan glares at them. They look down, ashamed, knowing full well they could do more to stop the violence, but don’t for fear of losing their jobs and being persecuted themselves.
INT. VALLEY. GROGAN’S HOMESTEAD. MIDDAY. ONE YEAR LATER.
Celebrations of the first year of adoption. Eliza set a beautiful feast.
ELIZA GROGAN
Matt, call the boys to the table. Get them to wash up first.
Enzo, where are you?
ENZO
Here Ma, under the table.
ELIZA GROGAN
What are you doing there?
ENZO
You told me to get the chicken out but it wont come...
Eliza laughs heartily. She pulls Enzo, her little Aboriginal house boy out from underneath the table and kisses his forehead.
ELIZA GROGAN
Go get Blackie (the Blue Healer dog), she’ll chase the chook out.
Matt, did you hear me? (Yelling).
MATT GROGAN
Yeah, we heard ya. We’re washin’ up like ya asked.
The boys rush in laughing as Matt chases them. They all sit down. Eyes bulge at the feast before them. They’ve never seen so much food. Matt looks warmly at Eliza as she takes the roast leg of lamb out of the oven. Enzo serves the vegetables, the boys ignore him, grabbing greedily from the food trays.
ELIZA GROGAN
Now boys, its only polite to thank someone when you’re being served,
so thank Enzo please. And stop being pigs! There’s plenty for everyone!
The boys mumble a reluctant thank you under their breath. In the pecking order, they consider him lower even though Eliza and Matt encourage equality. They all enjoy the meal and share the days stories.
EXT. DAWN. DAY AFTER FEAST. OUT ON THE STATION.
The day after the feast, everyone wakes happy, and full of energy for the long day ahead. Matt and the boys set out to muster the cattle. Eliza and Enzo, alone on the cattle station, attend to daily chores.
Matt and the boys search for hours but can’t locate the cattle anywhere. Time for decisive action. Matt sends one of the boys back to tell Eliza they’ll be late and may need to stay out all night.
MATT GROGAN
Stay with Ma & Enzo til we get back. Now go...
INT. BIG RIVER HOTEL. BAR. NIGHT.
The bat wings of the Big River hotel swing open violently. The big man heads straight to the bar. Unkempt men sitting around tables drinking whiskey, suddenly stop talking and stare at him.
MATT GROGAN
Whiskey.
Matt eyes off the customers.
MATT GROGAN
Seen any rustlers lately?
BARMAN
Ain’t seen a stranger all week.
MATT GROGAN
I asked if you’d seen any rustlers not strangers.
BARMAN
What’s the difference?
Broad-shouldered Matt glares at him.
MATT GROGAN
Mebbe you’ve been servin’ rotgut to the whole rustler population, eh, fat boy?
The barman flushed red.
BARMAN
No need to insult a man, Mr. Grogan.
MATT GROGAN
How come you know my name, boy?
BARMAN
Everybody’s heard of Matt Grogan of the Valley district.
He inclined his head at the end of the wall, a poster depicting a craggy, aggressive looking man stabbing a finger forward with the caption: Vote Grogan. Put the Valley First.
Grogan scowled. He hadn’t noticed the poster when he came trampling into the Big River Hotel, and all but forgot he was running for local council.
He's watched intently by a collection of shifty-eyed customers sipping bad whisky beneath smokey yellow lights, making them look more jaundiced than they probably are. Each one of them a potential thief. The big man wasn’t in the frame of mind to appreciate having his likeness in a dump like this, but that was politics.
But politics wasn’t what bought Matt to the Big River Hotel tonight. Sculling the whiskey, he slams down his glass and swings round to face the room, bangs his glass on the bar again to get their full attention.
MATT GROGAN
My name’s Matt Grogan of the Valley district.
He bellows.
MATT GROGAN
I found my cattle strayin’ loose out by the river.
I’m anxious to catch up with the scum who stole them.
He pulled out a fat roll of notes from the pocket of his leather vest, then rifled the bills with the ball of is thumb. The eyes of the men came alive, they sometimes don’t see a single dollar from one week’s end to the next. Their eyes glint in the sickly light. They salivate and lick their lips as the big man spoke on.
MATT GROGAN
Fifty bucks for anyone who knows who stole my cattle?
Heavy silence. They might be poor, rundown and lawless, but stupid they’re not. Even if they did know and they probably did, this was no place for informers. Boot Hill cemetery was full of those who dug their graves shooting off their big mouths. The barmen stayed tight lipped.
MATT GROGAN
100 hundred... More money than you'll make in a lifetime.
BARMAN
You’re wastin’ your time.
The crowd look away. The barman refills his glass.
BARMAN
You’ve got your cattle back, why not leave it go at that?
Grogan swigged his whiskey down in one gulp.
MATT GROGAN
Because that’s not my style.
A man steals my cattle, gets away with it,
next thing you know he’s thinkin’
he might get away with more.
The pudgy barman blinked hard.
BARMAN
Are you sayin’ you dogged rustlers clear across country for a few lousy cows?
You crazy?
The barman regretted the minute he opened his mouth. Grogan lowered his glass from his lips, his eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.
MATT GROGAN
You’ve got a big mouth mister!
The barman instantly warned, shrugged apologetically with a fawning grin.
BARMAN
No offence meant, Mr. Grogan.
It’s just hearin’ that a man as big as yourself... bossin’
the biggest cattle outfit in the southern country
and big enough to run for local council... to be spendin’
time huntin’ down a few cattle just seems...
MATT GROGAN
I didn’t say how many...
The barman’s voice fades, his mouth dries up. The flinty glint in Grogan’s eyes focus directly on him.
MATT GROGAN
You’d just let it ride if you were in my boots?
BARMAN CODY
Guess I would.
Grogan thumped down his empty glass, hitched at his gun belt and struck a belligerent pose.
MATT GROGAN
Then maybe that explains why I’m bossin’ the biggest cattle spread and you’re pourin’ drinks and bad grub for ten bucks a week.
He swung on his heels and strode out the bat wing doors. They watch him go, a long-striding man slightly larger than life. He’d come tramping into their dreary lives without warning, shot off his hard mouth just as he pleased, leaving behind a scowling, uneasy crowd. Grogan knows they know something, but fear gripped them into silence.
EXT. OUTSIDE THE BIG RIVER HOTEL. NIGHT.
Outside, Grogan paused to light a fat hand-rolled cigar. He flicked the spent match on the dust-grimed window before slowly moving off. He got a kick out of bawling out people who had it coming, but the brief lift in spirits didn’t last long. As he moved along the rough, rutted extension of the trail that passed for the main street, he couldn’t shift his unease. Why would rustlers run off with a few cows, haze them half way across country to the river border town and leave them grazing by the bank? It didn’t make sense.
He reached a decision by the time he got to the stables. No more wasting time looking for rustlers. If the boys hadn’t come up with anything new, he’d break camp and head home.
INT. LIVERY. LATE NIGHT.
The Liveryman had re-shoed Grogan’s horse, gave it feed and a good rub down. The old liveryman identified Grogan immediately, and bellowed...
LIVERYMAN
Why should I vote for you and not John Berry?
MATT GROGAN
On account of the Land Reformers. They mean to do exactly the opposite of what they promise.
Grogan growled, as he threw his saddle on his horse.
LIVERYMAN
Which is what?
MATT GROGAN
Instead of carvin’ up the big outfits and parcellin’ them out for homesteaders, they mean to use office to choke off the little guy and leave the good country in a few fat hands...
LIVERYMAN
Huh! In other words they want what you already got, huh?
In the saddle now, Grogan stared down with the lantern light splashing his shadow on the wall.
MATT GROGAN
I own my parcel. I earned every square inch of it, boy.
Grogan called everyone boy who he wasn’t emotional attached to, even though the Liveryman was at least 30 years older.
MATT GROGAN
I fought the Aboriginals to take it and fought every breed of thievin’ son of a bitch. My bloods in that spread of mine. My son is buried there...
The Liveryman, who had the sourest face and disposition, is unmoved.
LIVERYMAN
So ya drove Aboriginals off their land then? If it goes agin the grain so much, how come you ain’t given it all away or back to the owners?
MATT GROGAN
They don’t do anything with the land but walk on it. When I get elected and get the Bill passed makin’ it unlawful for a man to own more than thirty acres, I’ll shed my acres, but until then I’ll keep providing you with meat.
LIVERYMAN
What’s in for me then? I’m an old man. I don’t need any land.
MATT GROGAN
Mebbe you could buy yourself a little outfit and get away from the stink of horse dung before your done.
LIVERYMAN
Mebbe, I like the stink of horse shit.
MATT GROGAN
Sassy old bastard, aren’t you?
LIVERYMAN
Reckon you never found what you came lookin’ for, huh?
MATT GROGAN
Nobody here has the guts to talk.
LIVERYMAN
Can’t blame ‘em. Talkin’ can get a man killed.
Pointing in the direction of Boot Hill cemetery.
MATT GROGAN
Is this what you call living? From what I see, you don’t live, you exist.
LIVERYMAN
Who are you to judge me? You just lost my vote Grogan.
Shouting after him, shaking his skinny fist.
MATT GROGAN
If I’ve got to rely on the horse dung vote, then I’m in worse shape than I thought!
Grogan kicks his horse and gallops off into darkness.
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