- NOT RATED
- 118 min
- 251 Views
Somebody's coming, Pa.
Well... Let him come.
- You were watching me, weren't you?|- Yes, I was.
I like a man who watches|things goin' around.
It means he'll make his mark some day.
You'll see a lot more.|Jerseys and Holsteins...
...and the like.
- Can I offer you some water?|- Thanks.
You're a little touchy.
Sure had me snortin', son.
I just wanted you to see my rifle.
Bet you can shoot.
- Can't you?|- Little bit.
What are the Ryker boys up to this time?
- Rykers?|- That's what I said.
I wouldn't know a Ryker|from your Jersey cow.
Would you put down that gun?|Then I'll leave.
What's the difference?|You're leaving anyway.
I'd like it to be my idea.
I don't want no trouble, Starrett.|I came to inform you.
I got that reservation beef contract.
- So many to tell me that?|- I mean business.
- Then, tend to your own.|- That's just what I'm doin'.
I'm gonna need all my range.
Now you've warned me,|get off my place.
You'll have to get out before the snow.
- Supposin' I don't?|- You and the other squatters.
Listen to me. The time for gun-blastin'|a man off his place is passed.
- They're building a penitentiary...|- Joe, that's enough.
Who are you, stranger?
I'm a friend of Starrett's.
Well, Starrett, you can't say|I didn't warn you.
All right, you've told me.|Now get off my claim.
Wait, mister, I...
I swear, I... Wait a minute, please.
I take that back, what I...
Look, this... this thing ain't even loaded.
- Not loaded?|- No, Joey's too young to go loaded.
That's his gun.
If this don't beat all!
My name is Starrett, Joe Starrett,|and this here's Joey.
My place ain't very much yet,|but my wife sure can cook!
It won't be long till supper.|You can wash up right here.
The old-timers can't see it yet,
but runnin' cattle|on an open range can't go on.
Cattle that is bred for meat and fenced in|and fed right, that's the thing.
You gotta pick your spot,|get your land, your own land.
A homesteader can't run but a few beef,|but he can grow grain,
and then with his garden|and hogs and milk, he'll be all right.
We make out, don't we, Marian?
It's that calf again.|Joey, chase her out of there.
Joey! Run on, son.
Don't forget to shut that gate.
Come on, shoo!
I wouldn't ask you where you're bound.
- The only way I'll leave is in a pine box.|- What do you mean, Pa?
- You shouldn't talk like that.|- It's the truth.
You love this place.|We've got our roots down.
- I wish you wouldn't talk that way.|- Our first real home.
- What did you mean...?|- Joey, be quiet. The men want to talk.
Discuss this script with the community:
Translate and read this script in other languages:
Select another language:
- - Select -
- 简体中文 (Chinese - Simplified)
- 繁體中文 (Chinese - Traditional)
- Español (Spanish)
- Esperanto (Esperanto)
- 日本語 (Japanese)
- Português (Portuguese)
- Deutsch (German)
- العربية (Arabic)
- Français (French)
- Русский (Russian)
- ಕನ್ನಡ (Kannada)
- 한국어 (Korean)
- עברית (Hebrew)
- Gaeilge (Irish)
- Українська (Ukrainian)
- اردو (Urdu)
- Magyar (Hungarian)
- मानक हिन्दी (Hindi)
- Indonesia (Indonesian)
- Italiano (Italian)
- தமிழ் (Tamil)
- Türkçe (Turkish)
- తెలుగు (Telugu)
- ภาษาไทย (Thai)
- Tiếng Việt (Vietnamese)
- Čeština (Czech)
- Polski (Polish)
- Bahasa Indonesia (Indonesian)
- Românește (Romanian)
- Nederlands (Dutch)
- Ελληνικά (Greek)
- Latinum (Latin)
- Svenska (Swedish)
- Dansk (Danish)
- Suomi (Finnish)
- فارسی (Persian)
- ייִדיש (Yiddish)
- հայերեն (Armenian)
- Norsk (Norwegian)
- English (English)