Woman Walks Ahead Page #2

Hot as hell out there.

You f***ing idiots in Washington

want to start another war?

No, sir.

[HE TALKS INDISTINCTLY]

[GROVES] Mr. McLaughlin,

did you give permission

to that crazy woman to

come onto the reservation?

Oh, Agent McLaughlin.

It's a pleasure to meet you.

Sorry. I... I look a mess.

It's kind of dusty out here.

Well, we're in the middle

of a three-month drought.

Sorry if it inconvenienced you.

You got my letter?

Didn't wait for a reply?

Why would you refuse?

Mrs. Weldon, I order you

to be on the train

when it returns east

tomorrow morning.

You order me?

Find her a cabin for the night.

Escort her back to the train

in the morning.

Can I help you

with your luggage?

Her luggage was stolen.

Mrs. Weldon,

I hope you made a sketch

of the thief before he got away.

[INDISTINCT CHATTER]

If I gave you money,

would you get word

to Sitting Bull I'm here?

I'll be back

tomorrow morning at dawn.

You'll be here, right?

[LOUD KNOCKS AT DOOR]

- Who is it?

- [GROVES] It's me.

Go away. I'm writing

to my congressman.

You really should

lock this door.

Lot of thieves around.

I'll be upcountry

in the morning

so I came to say goodbye.

Maybe arrange to meet

for dinner,

next time I'm in New York.

Why would I want to

have dinner with you?

I don't know.

We might get along.

I paint a little myself.

Landscapes.

You're an admirer

of George Catlin.

You know his work?

You bet.

I can't look at these

the way most people do, though.

The scalp dance.

Saw my first scalp dance

in the Black Hills back in '75.

But when I saw it,

there were little blonde scalps.

The warriors had stumbled across

some Swedish immigrant children

walking to school.

The little girls had blue

ribbons tied up in their hair.

Mr. Groves, I've no doubt...

...terrible things have

happened here in the past.

The past?

You ever wish you were

young again, Mrs. Weldon?

I mean really young, 18.

No mistakes.

Still strong, still free.

Well, on this reservation

there's a whole nation

wants to be young again.

But their youth

isn't in the past.

Their youth lives in a log cabin

20 miles west of here

down a dirt road.

Their youth

is called Sitting Bull.

This is my other reason

for dropping by.

I'm afraid there's a...

a little blood.

Blood?

That old Indian stole your

trunk, drank the turpentine,

so, when the police

went to get your stuff,

he was drunk, pulled a gun,

so they shot him.

Maybe you want to put that in

your letter to your congressman.

[DOOR SHUTS]

- [BIRDS TWEET]

- [CARRIAGE PASSES]

[DOOR BANGS]

[CHASKA] Mrs. Weldon!

Time to go.

I'm not leaving.

Oh!

Did Sitting Bull even get

the letter I sent him?

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