Thunderhead - Son of Flicka Page #3

---

- Well, Mom, I've always wanted a racer.

Mr Sargent said

how wonderful Appalachian was,

so I took Flicka to his ranch

and turned her loose in the pasture.

- You took her over to my ranch?

- Yes, sir.

Don't you know what it costs to have

a colt sired by a famous stallion?

- How do you expect to pay?

- Out of my winnings.

Mr Sargent said

that Appalachian's colts always win.

- Guess he's got you there.

- You asked for it.

Me and my big mouth.

OK, son. Just forget about the money.

You don't owe me a cent.

If you want to register the colt,

I'll give you a certificate.

Gosh, thanks, Mr Sargent.

I can't understand how come that colt's

pure white, when my stallion's coal black.

Maybe he takes after his grandfather,

through Flicka.

That's it. He's a throwback.

A throwback to the Albino.

If he inherits any traits of that wild devil,

you'll have a tough time with him.

Here!

Attaboy!

- Goblin sure is loco, isn't he?

- No, he's not loco. He's high-spirited.

Come on, Ken.

- I tell you, they don't brand racehorses.

- He has to have some identifying mark.

- But I've already notched his hoof.

- We'll put it under his mane. It won't show.

Come on, Gus. Bring the distemper shot.

- Has Goblin got distemper?

- Of course not.

We give him the shot so he won't get it.

- Well, that's the last one.

- Good. Let him up.

It's all over, boy. Come along.

- You can turn them all out now, Ken.

- OK.

Cut Flicka and her colt out, Gus.

Ken'll want to ride Flicka.

- Thanks, Jack. We'll return the favour.

- OK, Rob. I'm glad to have helped.

Banner!

You ready to take them out again?

You are, huh? Well, that's fine.

Take good care of the herd.

- Banner! Come on, Banner!

- They're all yours. Take them away.

Flicka!

Hello, there.

What's the matter, girl?

You want to go too, don't you, girl?

All right. You can go.

Hey, aren't you going with your mama?

Are you gonna be stubborn again?

Come on. Get out of here. Go on.

So long, Flicka. Goodbye, Goblin.

See you next spring.

Good boy, Ken.

It was nice of you to let Flicka and her colt go.

Well, I don't exactly need her. Anyway, she

has to take Goblin out to winter on the range.

- Don't worry about him. He's tough.

- I know, Dad. But he isn't like other colts.

I'll say he isn't. All the colts I've ever seen

act like they're tied to their mothers.

They follow the mares. That young fellow

will want to go off on his own.

He'll investigate everything for himself.

Won't make any difference

whether it's a coyote or a porcupine.

When the storms come down from the hills,

and the herd takes shelter in a deep canyon,

that little fool horse will want to stick

his nose right in the wind and fight back.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes