CAMERA MOVES OVER the warehouse district of town. It's
night. A dog barks in the distance. A train whistle
blows. Then silence.
"SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS -- 1873"
CAMERA STOPS ON:
EXT. WAREHOUSE - NIGHT
A deserted cobblestone street leads downhill to a bleak
INT. WAREHOUSE - NIGHT
START CLOSE on a combination lock. PULL BACK to reveal a
large ornate SAFE. A safe-cracker, SLIM, is hard at work,
listening with a stethoscope as he spins the tumblers.
REVEAL a tough gang of TRAIN ROBBERS. The safe sits in
the back of a wagon that was used to carry it there.
The gang's leader, LARSON, is one cold-blooded character.
He paces, occasionally glancing out the windows.
Come on, come on. How much longer?
Keep your britches on. This is a
tough one. Railroad's getting
tired of losing their money.
EXT. WAREHOUSE - UP THE STREET - NIGHT
CLOSE ON a pair of feet scurrying along the cobblestones.
MOVE UP to reveal WALTERS, a pudgy local sheriff, WHEEZING
as he runs along. He's headed for the warehouse when --
A hand shoots out of the darkness and bodily yanks him
into a shadowy doorway. He YELPS in panic, then realizes
he's face to face with a U.S. Marshal --
CAPTAIN JAMES T. WEST. From his distinctive Western attire
to his "Colt Single-Action Army," this guy's the real
thing. He's here to catch bad guys and nothing else.
This is one dog you don't turn your back on.
Jesus, Marshal! I'm like to have
Jim is wound up, itching for action, glancing toward the
warehouse every few seconds.
(gritting it out)
When are they coming?
They're rounding up a posse. Figure
(re the warehouse)
In an hour they're gone!
Jim's eyes dart everywhere. He's going to will a solution
into existence. He spots something. An idea hatches.
He whips out his Colt SAA. Then grabs Walters' pistol,
You're not going to use it, are
Well, come on, that's half a dozen
And Jim's gone.
ANGLE - A FREIGHT WAGON
sits at a loading dock across the way, parked on a grade,
the rear wheels chocked, piled high with a load of
supplies, barrels, etc. Jim races over and eyeballs the
sloping street -- it leads straight down toward the
He yanks out the chocks and heaves on the spokes of the
rear wheel. With an ominous CREAK, the heavy wagon starts
to roll backward. He moves to the front, grabs the wagon
tongue, tilts it back against the seat and leaps aboard.
The wagon's iron-rimmed wheels CLANG along the cobblestones
as it rumbles faster and faster. Jim stands atop the
load, steering the unwieldy rig by muscling the tongue
left and right like a ship's tiller.
It's not easy to control -- first the wagon SCRAPES along
an iron fence -- SPARKS FLYING. Then it veers the other
way, taking out a row of horse hitches. But Jim wrestles
it back on course, straight for the warehouse doors.
Closer. Closer. He gets ready to duck.
INT. WAREHOUSE - NIGHT
Slim swings the safe door open and the men start swiftly
transferring cash and gold bars to saddlebags. But now
they hear the thunderous CLATTER of the approaching wagon.
Larson peers out a window in the warehouse doors.
He staggers back, panic-stricken.
What the hell...? Look out! LOOK
The gang scrambles back across the room. They dive for
cover as the wagon EXPLODES into the warehouse, crushing
everything in its path, finally smashing into the wagon
carrying the safe. The room is choked with dust.