EXT. PRISON CAMP LUKE'S P.O.V. (DAY)
in a hollow is a long barracks, white-washed,
faded gray, one story high. At right is a mess hall and
laundry. A chain-link fence surrounds the whole compound.
The corners of the fence are telephone poles with floodlights
on the tops. These burn all night. Back of the mess hall,
again outside the fence, are several kennel runs in which
bloodhounds are now ROARING. A wooden tower with a simple
board roof stands at two corners of the compound where the
guards sit when the prisoners are not locked in the barracks.
A picnic table sits in a grassy area just outside and at one
side of the gate is a picket fence enclosing a scrubby lawn.
He hands the papers to the CAPTAIN, a small man with a kindly
face but a firm, set mouth who always carries a golf club.
In b.g. the bloodhounds are YOWLING:
Dogboy, get them dogs shut up!
DOGBOY, a trustee whose leather gloves are always sticking
out of one back pocket, puts his hand to be licked by the
dogs who quiet, friendly, like any pets.
They just smell newmeat is all, Boss.
The Captain has been ignoring this, watching the prisoners,
looking at their records.
EXT. NEWMEAT BUS (DAY)
as the Bosses (BOSS PAUL and BOSS HIGGINS) motion for them,
the other Newmeat (to be known as TRAMP, ALIBI, and TATTOO)
stumble into each other and jostle Luke in their eagerness
to obey orders.
You men git lined up here.
The Newmeat jostle into line. They are wearing State Issue
gray pants and their own Free World shirts. All except Luke
carry a paper bag or cigar box containing their wordly goods.
All except Luke look apprehensive, worried. Luke stands with
languid grace, neither insolent nor hostile, nor fearful.
The Bus Guard hands Boss Paul a folder that contains records
as the Captain approaches from his porch.