Author's note: I originally wrote this hoping to submit it as a Virtual Season Episode for the ASJ fan forum site, but soon discovered the plot was too similar to a story previously published on that site ("Whimsey" by Drena Hill). But I liked it well enough that I decided to polish it off and post it on this site. If you are familiar with the aforementioned story, please note that I was unaware of it when writing this one, and any similarities are purely coincidental.
Teaser:
As the show opens, the suspenseful version of the background music is playing. It is dark, but then suddenly there is a spark of a match. By the light if its flame, we see Hannibal Heyes is the one who struck it. He lights a candle stub and creeps across the darkened space. He places the candle on top of a small safe, then presses his ear to the door and begins to manipulate the tumblers, his typical "safe-opening" expression on his handsome face. We zoom in on the candle, then fade to black. After a beat, we dissolve back in; the candle is now a mere stub and wax has dripped down the front of the safe in long, bumpy trails. We hear a satisfying click accompanied by a satisfied look on Heyes' face. He swings the door open, reaches inside, and removes a thin book. As he picks up the candle, he notices the long wax trail. He looks about, then grabs a pencil and scrapes off the tell-tale wax. He holds the candle over the book and begins to page through it. We see that it is a sketchbook and observe the pictures as he turns the pages: western scenery is depicted on the first three pages, then there is a drawing of two men in suits, then a picture of a small group of horses followed by more scenery, then several empty pages. He continues paging through the book, as if he is looking for something in particular. When he gets to almost the back of the book, he turns a page and freezes. There, looking back at him from the page are the two of them together: Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes in all their glory. There's the Kid, with a big grin creasing his tanned face, his eyes colored in as blue as blue can be. Next to that page is Heyes himself, also smiling, his dimples shaded in expertly, brown eyes with a realistic, charming glint. Heyes quickly rips this page from the sketchbook and shoves it into his back pocket. He riffles through the last few pages, but they are blank. He places the book back inside the safe, shuts the door, spins the dial, and blows out the candle.
Cue opening theme music and familiar voice-over….
As the theme music segues into the "jaunty" version of the background music, the scene dissolves to a long shot of a typical Main Street in a typical Western town. The typical businesses populate the dusty, unpaved road: the familiar livery stable, café, mercantile, saloon, sheriff's office, bank, etc. Townspeople are going about their business, greeting one another pleasantly.
Over this, The title of the episode appears in the familiar yellow "gunshot" font:
"The Great Fossil Hunt,"
followed by the credits, including the guest stars, producers, and the show's creator, which appear as the scene continues.
In the middle distance two familiar, broad-shouldered, long-legged figures emerge from the café, one wearing a black hat with silver ornaments, the other a brown hat with conchos on the band. The duo is striding purposefully across the street, but not so purposefully as to ignore all distractions. When two lovely young ladies pass by just in front of the hotel, both men stop to tip their hats in polite greeting. The girls blush and giggle and clutch onto each other's arms as they hurry down the boardwalk whispering delightedly. The more discerning viewer may notice the man in the black hat has a folded up newspaper tucked under his arm. Our view has gradually been getting closer and closer to the pair, and now the angle switches to a tight view of booted feet as they clomp up a set of wooden steps, then pulls back to reveal a hand-painted sign in fancy script hanging from the ornate gingerbread porch reading, "Hampton Hotel." Our boys disappear through the hotel door to the sound of jingling bells.
Dissolve to:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The
Hallway of the hotel. Five mismatched wooden chairs are set up in a neat line against the wall outside a closed hotel room door. The chair just adjacent to the door is vacant. The next chair is occupied by a bearded, scruffy-looking man, perhaps in his 40's, his face weathered and worn. He is dressed in fringed buckskins. Adjacent to him is a man about a decade younger with a prominent beak-like nose. He has long, stringy, dark hair emerging from his battered beige Stetson and is wearing cowboy attire: jeans, boots, and a faded plaid shirt.
Next in line is one of our two heroes, Hannibal Heyes, looking considerably more dapper than the first two fellows in the queue. He is sporting his freshly laundered navy blue shirt with his faded blue and white print bandana tied around his neck, a well-worn tan leather vest, and his trademark butternut pants tucked neatly into black boots. He is reading the folded newspaper. Looking over his shoulder is our other hero, Kid Curry. Curry is decked out in a crisp light blue shirt the same color as his eyes, a brown leather vest, and light grey pants untucked over his scuffed tan leather boots. The last chair, next to the Kid, is also empty. We join the boys in mid-conversation. Curry is whispering discreetly to Heyes,
"So you s'pose a pale – on – tall – o-gist is somethin' like a archie-all-ogist?"
"That's exactly what I'm supposing, Kid. Some kid of scientist or something. And they need a guide. Only this "ologist" only pays $30 a week instead of a day," answers his partner, also sotto voce. "Still decent wages."
"Huh. Last one didn't pay squat a week OR a day by the time all was said and done," this reply delivered with a slight smirk.
"Now Ki—"
Whatever Heyes was about to say is cut off by the hotel room door opening. Both heads turn in unison to watch a stocky, hirsute man clad in trail-worn "cowboy" style clothing, not unlike their own garb, emerge from the room, disappointment written all over his face. He scowls at the still-waiting men, then trudges down the hall. The heads of both our boys once again pivot simultaneously to watch him exit, then, as one, swivel back toward the hotel room door where a slight, mousey man wearing steel-rimmed spectacles and dressed in somewhat fancy, eastern-style duds pokes his head out and calls in one precisely enunciated syllable,
"Next."
Two pairs of eyes watch as Buckskin rises and disappears through the door.
The hushed conversation resumes.
The Kid reaches over and points out something in the want ad.
"I only see a mention of one guide," he states.
"Don't worry, Kid," his partner answers with smooth confidence. "Who's got the silver tongue? As an experienced guide on ascientific expedition, I can point out to them the advantages of hiring both of us. Not only will they need a guide, but they'll also need someone to wrangle the horses, oversee the equipment, and protect them from any unfriendly locals."
"Uh-huh. And if they don't buy that?"
"Well, after all, I am the one with the experience..."
"Hey – "
This time the Kid is interrupted as the buckskin-clad man emerges from the door and with a disgusted look on his face, stomps away down the hallway. Again the two heads turn as one to follow his progress, then return their gaze back to the door as the mousey man intones once more,
"Next."
Simultaneously, both our boys rise from their chairs, remove their hats, and enter the hotel room.
Cut to the interior of a rather fancy hotel suite, decked out in the ornate Victorian style that was so fashionable in the late 1800s. Velvet burgundy brocade drapery with gold tasseled cords hang from the floor-to-ceiling window along the back wall, which is covered in flowered wallpaper. Seated on a spindly-legged loveseat in the center of the room is the slight, bespectacled gent whom we saw earlier. Next to him is another obvious easterner, dressed in a dark suit. Unlike the first one, this man is tall and angular. His hair is a ginger-red, curling over his collar. His sideburns are extravagantly large. On a straight-backed chair facing the settee is Hannibal Heyes, hatless, leaning forward in his chair with an animated expression on his face. We can tell the interview has been in progress for some time.
"Well, Mr. Smith, your credentials are quite impressive," the red-haired gentleman continues, reading from some handwritten notes. "Champion tracker, seasoned wilderness guide, expert horseman and marksman, and you've even had experience on a scientific expedition."
He pauses and turns to the other interviewee, slouching comfortably in a wing-backed chair.
"But we haven't heard much from you, Mr. Jones."
Curry opens his mouth to speak, but before he can get a word out, Heyes answers for him,
"Well my partner, Mr. Jones, is good at all those things, too, Mr. Flemington. He just hasn't had the same experience I've had on a scientific expedition. But it would be a wise move to bring us both along. I could do the guiding and Jones could handle the equipment, horses, any necessary protection…"
Curry's reaction is one of wry appreciation for his partner's persuasive skills – yet one that also seems to indicate wry resignation – Heyes usually manages to get what he wants, but it somehow always seems to leave the Kid doing the heavy lifting…
"But I am afraid we really only need one of you," interrupts the smaller of the two paleontologists. "Mr. Jones seems a little superfluous, unless he possesses special talents which you do not bring to the table."
By the expression on his face, Curry appears to have gotten stuck on the word, "superfluous," but Heyes blithely answers,
"Oh, well he's much better at drawing than me. I mean, I'm pretty good," he adds with a modest shrug, "but he's an expert."
This time the taller paleontologist responds, "Oh, there's no need for us to hire someone who can draw. We're bringing my sister along for that."
Kid and Heyes exchange a puzzled look, two sets of eyebrows subtly raised.
"Your – your sister?" stammers the Kid, a look of incredulity on his handsome features.
Heyes shoots a stern glance at his partner, then responds affably, "Isn't that a little unusual, Mr. Wilberry? A woman who can draw, I mean. Especially one from back East."
"Oh, you'd be surprised!" answers the scientist, "There are plenty of women back East who draw very well. Our Carissa is quite talented."
Curry still looks skeptical. He asks his interviewer, "But is she fast?"
"Oh, no, no, no," Wilberry seems a little surprised by this question. "She takes her time. And she's very accurate."
Our boys exchange quizzical looks. This is certainly odd.
"What's the use of bein' accurate if you're not fast?" the Kid persists.
"Yeah, my partner here is both fast AND accurate," Heyes boasts proudly.
"Well, I'm sure you're very proficient at drawing, Mr. Jones. But my sister will be filling that role quite nicely. And Mr. Smith, I'm confident you can handle the remainder of the duties."
Heyes gives the Kid a 'sorry I tried' look. The return glance, accompanied by an almost imperceptible shrug, is something along the lines of 'that's okay, I figured it would end like this all along.'
"Thank you ever so much for coming, Mr. Jones."
Hands are shaken all around; it is obvious Kid is being dismissed.
"I'll catch up with you in the saloon later, Joshua," Curry says as he retrieves his hat from a brass hat rack near the entry and plops it onto his head. Turning to the two gentlemen, he touches the brim politely but casually, then exits through the hotel room door. The camera follows him out. In a tight shot, we see his legs striding past the row of now empty chairs, then stop, turn around and retrace their steps. The Kid's gloved hand reaches down, picks up the discarded newspaper, and he continues on his way.
Dissolve to black.
We hear the tinny notes of a lively tune being banged out on a piano, accompanied by a close-up shot of a man's hands tickling the cracked ivory keys. The shot widens to include the piano player, seated at a battered old upright in the corner of a crowded saloon. There are several poker games in progress. Men are drinking and talking and laughing and smoking as garishly-dressed saloon girls circulate the room, waiting on customers or simply flirting with them. As our view widens, we see Kid Curry leaning comfortably on his forearms against the U-shaped bar; he is positioned at the corner, providing himself an unimpeded view of the door. He is about halfway through a beer. A raven-haired saloon girl dressed in a low-cut scarlet red dress trimmed in gold spangles walks past him, bearing a tray of drinks. She gives him an appreciative once-over. He smiles politely, but we see from the look on his face that his attention is on the door and now the reason why becomes apparent.
Hannibal Heyes pushes through the batwing doors, spots his partner at the corner of the bar, and ambles over. As his partner approaches, Curry signals the barkeep for another beer, pulling some coins from his vest pocket and placing them on the counter. The bartender draws the beer and sets it down in front of the newcomer just as he reaches the bar, simultaneously swiping up the coins.
"Thanks, Kid," says Heyes, picking up the frothy mug. "No hard feelings, I hope?"
He is all smiles and dimples as he takes a sip. But what's this? His partner also looks pleased with himself. We can see Heyes noticing this unexpected turn of events as the curiosity blooms on his expressive face.
Curry replies cheerfully, "Don't worry about me, Heyes. Turns out Flemington and Wilberry ain't the only Pale-on-tologists in town."
"What?"
"Yeah. There's another outfit setting out tomorrow morning needs a guide, too. And …" his smile spreads across his face "…they hired Yours Truly. And for thirty FIVE dollars a week!" Kid looks a little smug.
"That's great news, Kid!" Heyes smiles, genuinely happy.
They clink glasses and each take a swallow of beer.
As Curry lowers his mug, he continues, "And I found out what a Pale-on-tologist is. Turns out it's just a fancy name for a fossil hunter."
"Yeah, I learned that, too. Evidently there's quite a lot of fossils in the canyon just a few miles outside of town, so it's not surprising there's more than one expedition being mounted."
"And guess what else? Mine's got a herp-uh-tologist, too." Kid seems to be proud of this fact.
"What's a herpetologist?"
In spite of himself, Heyes seems impressed his partner knows a word he doesn't, even if he does seem a little hesitant about the pronunciation.
"I'm not real sure, except for it's a guy who gets really mad if you shoot snakes."
"How's that?" Heyes asks, frowning slightly.
"Yeah, he asked how I was at spotting snakes and, well, I really wanted the job, so I … well, I guess I bragged," the Kid says sheepishly. "I said not only can I spot 'em, I can shoot 'em before you can even blink your eye. Huh. You woulda thought I was talkin' about shootin' his pet dog or somethin'!"
He shakes his head in wonder at the strange quirks of eastern scientists. Then he shrugs as if there is no point in trying to make sense of it and finishes with, "So I ain't allowed to shoot no snakes."
Heyes grins. "I get the impression these scientific types are a little on the eccentric side, Kid. But because of them, we've both got jobs, so here's to science." He raises his beer mug.
"I'll drink to that!"
They knock their glasses together again and each drinks another gulp.
After a slight pause, the Kid ventures cautiously, "Ya know Heyes, I been thinking…"
"Kid…"starts his partner with a warning tone, his eyes dancing.
Fierce scowl from the fair-haired one: "Don't even say it, Heyes."
Heyes holds up both hands in mock surrender, his face the picture of innocence, but there is a tell-tale dimple peeking out at the corner of his mouth as he tries not to smile. He can now get his partner's goat without even finishing his jibe!
"I was thinkin' maybe we should switch jobs?" ventures the Kid. "After all, you'd be makin' more money and, well, I might not be able to stop myself from shootin' a rattler. It's just kinda instinct."
"Ooooh, no, you don't. Kid, I can see right through ya," protests Heyes. "You want to be on the job with the lady who can draw."
"Well, I have to admit, I'm pretty darned curious. And besides, you know as well as I do that it really don't matter how accurate you are if you ain't fast. She'll be a goner before she even gets a chance to shoot her gun. She's gonna need someone to protect her."
Heyes chuckles. "Well, I met the lady in question, Kid, and you don't have to worry about her, because she won't be shooting at all. I strongly doubt she even owns a gun."
Kid raises his eyebrows in perplexity, waiting for his partner to explain. After another swallow of beer, he does so,
"Miss Carissa Flemington does her drawing with a pencil. Seems these scientific expeditions typically bring along an artist to capture their work in the field along with sketching any important specimens they turn up. Some of the more well-funded outfits are starting to bring photographers, but that can be awfully expensive. Turns out Flemington's sister is a very talented artist."
Curry pauses with his glass about halfway to his mouth. He sets it down slowly, his face looking serious as he utters the word,
"Uh-oh."
"Uh-oh? What? What uh-oh?" asks Heyes, setting his own glass down.
"Um… well… during the interview, when Barston and Bigelow asked me what special skills I had, I said I was good at drawin'; told 'em I was fast AND accurate. They seemed real pleased. That's when they said I'd get thirty-five bucks a week instead of thirty."
Heyes starts laughing, his brown eyes sparkling with mirth.
"It's not funny, Heyes," Curry growls.
"Well, can you draw? I mean, with a pencil?" He continues to chuckle.
Kid looks indignant. "Phht. I'd say I can draw better with a pencil than you can with a gun!"
Heyes looks insulted. "Hey, I'm not that bad with a gun."
Now it's the Kid's turn to look insulted.
"Well, maybe I'm not that bad with a pencil," he retorts.
Heyes pats his partner on the arm conciliatorily as Kid takes another drink of beer, somewhat sulkily. After a pause, the Kid simply can't surmount his curiosity and finally asks,
"So, what she look like? The lady artist? She pretty?"
"Oh, well, not exactly the type to turn heads," Heyes answers in that falsely innocent tone of voice he uses when he is stretching the truth to his own advantage. "More the…uh…intellectual type. Spectacles and everything. You know…"
"Yeah, Heyes, I know," answers the Kid, nodding knowingly. "I know when you're lyin'. She's pretty, right?"
Heyes just grins mischievously and takes another drink from his beer, looking at his partner out of the corners of his eyes.
Fade into:
The town viewed from a distance, this time with the hustle and bustle of preparation as the two expedition teams are getting ready to depart, loading wagons, tacking up horses, bringing supplies over from the general store, etc. We can tell by the quality of the light and the sun just peeking over the horizon that it is very early in the morning. We recognize Heyes with the Flemington and Wilberry team and we see the Kid with the team we haven't yet met. Viewers who are very alert will notice just in the edge of the field of view, the lithe figure of a young lady, overburdened with large parcels, approaching the locus of activity. We zoom in a little closer to the wagon on the near side of the street, lingering long enough to make sure we notice that the Kid is loading his own team's wagon himself, hauling and heaving crates and barrels and large sacks into place, lashing them securely with ropes. He is working hard and beginning to break a sweat, despite the early morning hour. The camera pans across the street, where we spy Hannibal Heyes gesticulating as he directs two teenaged boys who are hard at work loading his employers' wagon. Soon we can make out what he is saying,
"That's right boys! The larger objects on the bottom. There you go. No, Dan, put that crate right on top of the – that's right. Good job, men. The smaller items will go on last. There's a system for everything, you know. Now put that barrel right over there…"
While Heyes continues pontificating, we cut to Curry's reaction. He is hefting a large sack of flour and pauses to glance at his partner. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head, but his mouth is twitching at the corners with amusement.
But now his attention is drawn in the direction of the young lady's approach and he stops to watch her.
Cut to a view of the young lady from a closer angle. Yes, Heyes, definitely lied about her! She's a very lovely young woman, despite the steel-rimmed spectacles balanced on her pert little nose. She is somewhere in her early 20's, slight and delicately built. She is wearing a large-brimmed straw hat tied in a bow beneath her chin with a pale yellow ribbon, and a long, full-skirted, feminine dress in a soft green with yellow trim. Tendrils of honey-colored hair are escaping from the chignon at the nape of her slender neck. Tucked under her left arm is a large, flat, wooden case, the sort of case an artist would utilize to store sketchbooks and drawing pencils. The left arm itself is threaded through the handles of a bulky floral-patterned carpet bag, the kind that "everyone," according to Heyes in a previous episode, has in the Old West. Slung over her right shoulder is a large wooden easel, which is barely balanced by her right arm, because both lace-mitted hands are elsewise occupied, supporting a sizable stack of books, the top of which is tucked beneath her dainty chin. Somehow she is managing it all, but just barely, and she makes her way past the Kid and towards the opposite wagon with dogged determination.
The camera pulls back as Curry slaps the sack into position, leaps lightly from the wagon, and brushes the flour from his pants. Our view is wide enough to include the other supply wagon, so we can see Heyes still directing his crew of two boys, but cannot hear his words. The teens are struggling with a large, obviously heavy crate, attempting to muscle it onto the growing pile of equipment in the wagon bed.
As Curry strides over to the girl, he tips his hat and calls out to her,
"Ma-am, here, let me help you with that."
Just as the Kid reaches her side and starts to stretch a hand out to relieve her of her burdens, one of the teens slips. He loses his grip on his side of the crate and it begins to tip precariously. The other boy valiantly attempts to bear its weight, but it is too much for him. Heyes shouts out,
"Watch out!"
The Kid hears, jerks his head around to see the crate heading toward Carissa, and reacts swiftly, lunging toward her. He throws both arms around her in a tackle and hurls himself sideways out of the path of the tumbling crate, bringing the girl along with him. Her parcels fly in all directions as he hits the ground shoulder first and rolls with her out of harm's way. They both land in a heap, the girl cradled in his arms, he on top looking down at her in concern. Her glasses have flown off (of course!) and she's clutching him around his neck with both arms. With a sickening crunch, the crate lands in the very spot where she was just previously standing. That was a close call!
Carissa seems to be in shock as she finds herself unexpectedly lying on her back on the ground in the arms of a handsome stranger, his large body protecting her smaller one. She is staring directly up into his face, only a few inches above her own. She appears to be stunned and seems unable to speak.
"Are you alright, Miss?" asks her rescuer, his blue eyes looking worriedly into her hazel ones.
As Heyes jogs over to the pair we can read his expression – kind of a "There he goes again" look.
By now the Kid is helping Carissa to her feet. She is flustered and embarrassed, but a little week-kneed despite herself, and he supports her by the elbow of one arm. The spectacles are dangling from her neck by a delicate gold chain. The hat has flown from her head, but hangs behind her against her back by the yellow ribbons. Her hair is somewhat disheveled, and there is a smudge of dirt on one rose-hued cheek, which only adds to her winsome appeal. Meanwhile, her brother has hurried over to her side and takes hold of her other arm protectively.
"My God, Carissa! You could have been killed! Is she alright, Mr. Smith?" Flemington is sputtering and fussing over her, brushing dust from her skirts.
"Yes, yes she is," answers Heyes. "Thanks to my partner here."
"Th-thank you, Mr…. Mr….uh…" she stammers.
"Jones," answers Kid, touching his hat and flashing his pearly whites, "Thaddeus Jones." He takes one small, gloved hand gently into his own larger on and peers into her face, asking, "You sure you're alright, Miss…?"
"Flemington," answers Heyes, before she can find her tongue again. He smoothly removes her hand from the Kid's and holds it in his own. "Miss Flemington," he emphasizes, omitting her first name pointedly. Then he turns to address her directly, "Don't worry about your things, Miss Flemington," he assures her. "We'll gather them up for you."
Heyes handily transfers Carissa from the Kid to her brother, who puts his arm around his sister protectively and leads her away, still clucking and fussing over her. We can hear some of what he is saying as they depart,
"You need to stay away from him. He may have rescued you, but he's working for Barston and Bigelow, and anyone who would work for those two… "
His voice fades out, but Carissa is not listening. As she retreats, her head turns and she gazes back over her shoulder at the Kid rather dreamily. And after all, who could blame her?
Curry just stands there smiling at her and touches his hat again.
"There you go again, Kid. Playing Knight in Shining Armor," Heyes reprimands quietly, scowling at said knight.
"What? What was I s'posed to do? Just stand by and let her get flattened by that crate? I shouldn't of pushed her clear?"
The Kid brushes the dust from his clothes as he protests the unfair criticism. Heyes bends over and scoops up the Kid's hat from where it had landed in the street and whacks it across his leg a couple times to dust it off.
"No, no, that was good. It's just something about the way you did it," he replies as he crams the hat back onto his partner's head rather roughly. "Could you pick up this stuff while I see to my crew over there?" he asks, gesturing to where the two boys are straining to retrieve the runaway crate. Heyes heads over to them.
Curry smirks as he calls after him,
"Yeah, Joshua. I think you better go tell them there's a system for everything."
Heyes' retreating figure stops in mid-stride and stiffens. He obviously heard the sarcastic comment. After a beat and without even bothering to turn around, he continues walking.
As the Kid bends over to pick up the strewn belongings, chuckling, the scene dissolves to….
A campsite out on the trail. It is night. We hear crickets chirping and the crackling of a fire. We see several white canvas tents pitched near a campfire, around which Willberry, Flemington, Carissa, and Heyes are seated, evidently just finishing eating their dinner. Heyes is in mid-story. It is something about an important scientific discovery of the remains of 6-foot tall red-headed Indians and how he was instrumental in finding them. His audience is spell-bound as he wraps it up.
When he pauses, the distinctive sound of an owl hooting can be heard. Or perhaps a person doing a very credible imitation of an owl hooting…
Heyes' face shows a subtle glimmer of recognition, unnoticed by his companions.
"If you'll excuse me folks, I'll just go check on the horses, make sure they're bedded down for the night."
His features limned in the silvery moonlight, Heyes walks to the horses some distance from the campfire, through the trees, checking on them as he said he would, but looking around as he does so. He whispers,
"Kid?"
Curry steps out from the undergrowth. He is carrying something large and flat.
"Heyes," he whispers urgently, "ya gotta help me."
"What is it? What's wrong?"
"This is what's wrong."
Curry thrusts out what we now see is a sketchbook.
Heyes takes the book with a slightly amused expression and pages through the sketches, grinning at first, ready to poke fun, but then he stops and takes a second look at a couple of them, turning pages back and forth, impressed in spite of himself.
"Kid, these aren't half bad. Some kind of bones, huh?"
"Yeah. When Barston and Bigelow said they wanted to find some fossils, I took 'em over to that gulch near the dry riverbed – it's full of them little stone shells the tourists are always gatherin' up. But they were disappointed. Asked me if I'd ever seen any oversized bones around here. So I took 'em farther down the gulch to this pile of bones I'd seen stickin' up outa the shale. I always thought they were old buffalo bones. But close up you could see they were much too big to be buffalo. Old Barston got real excited. Started diggin' 'em up. Looks like some kind of a giant long-necked lizard or something – or at least half of one. What have you found so far?"
"Nothing," Heyes answered with a sigh. "Wait a minute – you said half of it?"
"Yeah. Right on the edge of the old river's course. I 'spect the other half got carried down the river a piece before it dried up. Say, Heyes, betcha you could find it for your crew if I showed you where ours is."
"Kid, you're a genius! I must be rubbing off on you! And an artist, too. Like I said, these drawing's ain't half bad."
"Huh. But they ain't half good either. They'll know I ain't a real artist soon as they see these. Ya gotta help me fix 'em up, Heyes."
"Kid, I can't draw to save my life. How am I supposed to help you?" He turns back to the sketchbook and holds them up to the moonlight so he can see them better.
"You actually seem to have a bit of artistic talent." Heyes is surprised, impressed. "Why, with a little formal training, you could even be an artist."
"Wonderful. I'll just go enroll in that art school down the other end of this canyon," Kid says sarcastically, then continues more emphatically, "Come on, Heyes. I need a real artist to fix 'em up for me."
"You don't mean?"
"Yes, I do. Carissa."
"No. no way. You are not going to see Carissa. Not after that little performance in town today."
"I don't need to see her – you can ask her to do it. Come on, Heyes. I'll get fired if they see these! You know you can persuade her."
"Well, I doubt she'll need much persuading after you literally swept her off her feet this morning - but Kid, you must have realized by now the animosity that her brother and his partner hold against your employers. They are bitter rivals! If they find out, I could lose my job."
"Well then, I guess ya haveta make sure they don't find out."
Cut to:
Heyes returning to the campfire. The men are gathering up their things, getting ready to go into their tents to bed down.
"Miss Flemington?" he inquires politely, "Would you like to see the tent I've set up with your art supplies before you call it a night?"
"Oh yes, please, Mr. Smith," the young woman answers eagerly, rising from her seat near the fire.
Her brother frowns at her and answers, "Carissa, it's getting late and we have an early start tomorrow."
"I just want to make sure everything's organized. I'll head straight to my tent as soon as Mr. Smith is done showing me."
"Alright then, but only for a moment."
The two scientists and Carissa exchange good-nights as Heyes waits patiently.
Cut to:
Interior of tent. We see Heyes step in, then hold the tent flap open for Carissa to enter. She looks around at the large drafting table, the folding wooden chair sitting handily nearby, the neatly arranged pencils, charcoals, and other art supplies, and her precious books lined up like soldiers on a small portable shelf. There are also several crates stacked up neatly, and sitting on top of them, a small safe.
After she has looked around thoroughly, Heyes reaches out a hand holding the Kid's sketchbook and says, "Miss Flemington, um, Mr. Jones brought these over to you."
"Thaddeus? He's here?" Carissa's face lights up and she looks around in expectation.
"No, no, he went back to his own camp, but he asked me to show them to you."
She eagerly takes the sketchbook from his hands and opens it up in happy anticipation. Her face clouds a bit. She turns the pages, surprised and let down.
"Oh. I, uh, thought Mr. Jones was an artist…" she begins carefully.
"No one ever said he was an artist. Just that he can draw."
"Mr. Smith, I don't mean to contradict you or to criticize your friend…but I do believe my brother said Mr. Jones insisted he was an "expert" at drawing."
"Ma-am, it seems my partner Thaddeus has fallen victim to an unfortunate misunderstanding. You see, out here in the West, being an expert at drawing means something entirely different than it does where you come from."
"I'm afraid I don't get your meaning."
Heyes mimes drawing his gun.
The light dawns.
"Ooooooooooooh that kind of drawing. Oh. Oh, I see. Oh, poor Thaddeus."
"What he was hoping, ma-am, was if you'd have a little mercy on him and fix up these drawings before his bosses see them."
She brightens. "I could certainly do that." She looks at the sketchbook again, turns a page thoughtfully. "Actually, for someone with no training, they aren't really that bad. I can tell what they are supposed to be. Looks like a fine specimen of Diplodocus."
She sits, frowning, pulls out her pencils and begins to work, looking more and more interested.
Heyes slips out of the tent as she continues to sketch.
Fade out
Fade up on Curry sitting near the place where he first met up with Heyes, atop a large rock, ankle crossed over knee and scribbling on a piece of paper balanced on his thigh. Then he shoves the pencil in his back pocket and folds the paper in half and half again. The shadowy figure of Heyes approaches.
"She do it?" asks Curry, standing up and stepping towards him.
"Yep. Here's your sketchbook. I didn't look at all of the drawings Carissa fixed up, but the ones I saw look downright professional." He hands the closed sketchbook to Curry, who tucks it under his arm with a look of relief on his face..
"So, how ya doin' with the snake lover? Getting along okay?" Heyes asks teasingly
"Heyes, I'll tell ya what. Them herpetologists are downright strange. You shoulda seen Bigelow crawlin' around on his belly tryin' to catch lizards. Guess he likes them, too. And wouldn't ya know we camped right next to a pile of rocks with a big old granddaddy rattler livin' in it? It's all I can do to keep those folks away from that snake so's I don't haveta shoot the darn thing."
The Kid is shaking his head back and forth in consternation as he speaks.
Heyes chuckles. Curry hands the folded piece of paper over to his partner. As Heyes opens it, revealing a hand-drawn map, the Kid explains,
"So look here, while I was waitin' I drew you a map where ya can look for the other half of that pile of bones Barston is so excited about. Your guys'll eat it up."
Heyes looks over the map, smiling with satisfaction.
"Looks like both our fossil hunting parties will end with success," he pronounced. "They get their dinosaurs and we go on our merry way – with money in our pockets!
"Thanks, Heyes. You saved my neck. Ya think she'll be willing to keep doin' it?"
"Kid," Heyes answers, shaking his head slowly back and forth, "that girl would do just about anything if she thought it would give her the chance to see you again. I guess there's no accounting for taste."
Curry grins as he fades into the shrubbery, saying, "Yeah, some folks got it and some folks ain't."
The scene dissolves to the inside of a tent similar to the one we saw Carissa in earlier. It contains a folding table with papers and pencils scattered on it. There are also crates and boxes of scientific equipment. Curry is seated in a camp chair near the table, paging through his sketchbook, smiling. He is obviously pleased with Carissa's revisions to his drawings. The point of view switches to over his shoulder so we see the sketches as well as he turns the pages. The first sketch we see is a long view of a canyon wall with bones protruding from the rock strata. The next one shows part of a dinosaur skeleton, including the skull, a long line of vertebrae, ribs, and what might possibly be part of one foreleg. The lower half of the skeleton is still embedded in the rocky ground. The next page has a close-up view of the skull, the details sketched in with precision. The Kid is nodding with satisfaction. Then we watch his hands turn one last page and stop in shock. It is a pencil sketch of himself! In the sketch his face has the same expression he was wearing as he stood in the street smiling at Carissa while her brother led her away. Remember how she kept looking back at him? Obviously she has drawn the picture from her memory of that moment. It is quite good – good enough to help a sheriff or bounty hunter easily identify the notorious outlaw Kid Curry…
Curry swiftly rises to his feet, knocking his chair over in the process. He rips the page out of the sketchbook. Just as he frees it from its binding, we hear the murmur of male voices approaching. He quickly folds the picture up and shoves it in his back pocket, upends the chair, and sits back down in it hastily. He grabs a pencil and pretends he is putting a finishing touch on the sketch of the skull. He looks up as the tent flap opens and two men, obviously Barston and Bigelow, enter.
Both men are scholarly-looking types, not particularly physically fit and dressed in an eastern academic's idea of what one wears on a scientific expedition – in fact, they look more like they are on safari in Africa, both clad in khaki jodhpurs and knee-high leather boots.
Barston is older and balder, with narrow shoulders and a slight paunch. He sports a carefully trimmed goatee and tortoise-shell spectacles. Bigelow is a few years younger and a few inches taller than his colleague. His brown hair is clipped short and his face is clean-shaven except for a small mustache tickling his upper lip.
"Mr. Jones," Barston begins, obviously annoyed. "Have you seen anyone lurking about our excavation site? In particular, that disreputable-looking guide hired by Flemington and Wilberry?"
"No sir," answers the kid innocently, storing the description in his memory so he can needle Heyes with it later. "I believe that other outfit is working down the canyon a piece."
"Well, watch out for them!" snapped Barston. "I wouldn't put it past Flemington to send him spying on me!"
"Aren't you overreacting a bit, Arthur?" queries Bigelow, who is casually paging through Curry's sketchbook. Without looking up, he says, "These are quite good. Do you think you could do a drawing of the Cnemidophorus tigrisI captured today?
"You don't understand, William. Flemington and Wilberry will stop at nothing to discredit my work! Especially Flemington! Why, I wouldn't put it past him to send that fellow to steal fossils from our site. And Mr. Jones is too busy drawing for me to take time for your little whiptail. Remember, you agreed to assist me in my excavation and play about with your herps only on your down time."
"I know, I know, it's just that she's got the most vivid markings and they will fade most discouragingly in the formaldehyde. Come, let me show it to you…"
As the two scientists exit the tent conversing, evidently having forgotten all about Curry, he pulls out the damning sketch from his pocket, takes another look at it and shakes his head. He slips out of the tent. We see Barston and Bigelow entering a different tent, still talking. Curry glances in their direction, then balls up the drawing, strides to the campfire and tosses it in. The camera zooms in close and lingers on the curling, blackening edge of the paper as the fire slowly devours the penciled image of the Kid. We linger on the glowing embers and go slightly out of focus.
As the camera refocuses and zooms out we realize we are at a different fireside, this one in the opposing camp. It is still light out, but the long shadows indicate that the day is drawing to a close.
Seated at the fire are Flemington and Wilberry, conferring excitedly as they page through a thick book. We hear a snippet of their conversation:
"….and the strata is definitely Upper Morrison…"
"If only we had the front half…"
"But even with this much it is quite apparent we have an actual Diplodocus! Look here, see the characteristic double-beamed chevron bones beneath the caudal vertebrae…"
Their voices fade out as the camera pulls back to reveal the shadows behind a large clump of trees where we see two figures talking quietly.
Heyes is obviously in a great mood, all smiles and dimples as he slaps his partner affectionately on the back.
"You were right about that skeleton, Kid! I found the other half today, just where you predicted. I thought Old Flemington would bust a gut he was so happy. And Wilberry! Well, Willberry actually smiled. At least I think it was a smile. Anyway, his teeth were showing!"
He chuckles happily and continues, "You brought your sketchbook? Come on, hand it over. I have to get back before they miss me."
Curry is not smiling as he proffers the sketchbook. "Heyes, we gotta problem."
"What? What problem? Your team has a dinosaur fossil. My team has a dinosaur fossil. Everybody's happy. We make sure the two outfits don't cross paths while we get the dinosaur bones dug up and packed up. Carissa fixes up your sketches. We both get paid. Maybe even get bonuses! What could be a problem?"
"Carissa. She's too good of an artist, that's what."
"What do you mean? Too good of an artist?"
"She's not only good at drawin' bones, she's good at drawin' people," Kid answered grimly.
"You mean?" Heyes raises his eyes questioningly and nods at Kid pointedly. "You?"
"Yup. I think it was meant as a present."
"Where is it? What did you do with it?" Heyes starts to page through the sketchbook rapidly.
"I burnt it. But if she did it once, she could do it again. And if she can draw me, she can draw you, too."
"Was it good?"
"Real good. Better than Clementine's photograph even, seein' as I was wearin' my regular clothes and wasn't all duded up like we were for that picture with Clem."
Heyes lets out a low, slow whistle, shaking his head slowly back and forth.
"Heyes, you better check her book to make sure there ain't one of you – or any more of me."
A voice with clipped eastern inflections calls from off screen,
"Mr. Smith, we're about to turn in. Can you return this book for me, please?"
"Be right there, Mr. Flemington."
Silent good bye as Heyes heads back to camp and Curry slips into the vegetation.
The camera follows Heyes as he strolls back to camp, takes the book and approaches Carissa's tent. Then the scene shifts to the inside. Carissa is at the drafting table, her back to the camera, hunched over a sketch which she is just finishing up. Heyes enters through the tent flap, carrying the heavy tome along with the Kid's sketchbook.
"Good evening, Miss Flemington. Uh, I wonder if you have time to fix up Mr. Jones's drawings from today."
She raises her blonde head from her task instantly, smiling and blushing and reaches for the book. She pages through it eagerly as if she is looking for something, but not finding it, looks up slowly in disappointment.
"Did he say anything?" she asks bresthlessly. "Send some kind of message for me…?"
Heyes has been trying to discreetly look at her own sketchbook, abandoned on the table when she grabbed the Kid's.
"Message?" He echoes dumbly. "Oh," Heyes recovers quickly and smiles gallantly, "Mr. Jones said to thank you very much and to tell you that he very much admires your artistic talent…"
As he begins speaking, there is a glimmer of a smile and then the disappointed look returns.
"…and your, uh, incomparable beauty," he adds hastily.
Now she is beaming, her eyes sparkling.
"Mr. Jones said I was beautiful?" she asks coyly.
"Of course he did," Heyes lies smoothly, trying once again to get a hand onto Clarissa's sketchbook without being obvious. His fingers are almost touching it.
"You are a very beautiful woman, Miss Flemington."
Clarissa leaps from her chair joyously, grabbing her sketchbook from Heyes' reach, hugging it to herself and twirling around in happiness. Heyes smile is closer to a grimace as she swirls about and sweeps across the room to the small safe perched on top of the stack of wooden crates. The door of the safe is ajar. Clarissa slides the book inside and shuts the door, giving the dial a happy spin. Heyes's face is glued to the safe.
"Oh," Clarissa says, noticing his gaze. "Silly isn't it? Bernie is so worried about Arthur Barston stealing his thunder that he told me I have to keep all my drawings locked up in the safe!"
She returns to the table and settles down with Curry's sketchbook, stroking the cover lovingly.
"Ironic, isn't it? He doesn't want Barston to see my sketches but here I am drawing sketches FOR Barston! But I'm really doing them for Mr. Jones. I mean Thaddeus…." she says dreamily.
Clarissa sighs happily, then opens the book to a page, reaches for a pencil, and settles down to her work. Heyes sighs too. He looks at her, then stares longingly at the safe. After a moment, no doubt realizing he won't be able to get at the safe until she is done with her work, he nods and exits the tent.
It is night now. We see the camp from above. Heyes is bedded down near the fire, wide awake, his eyes gleaming in the firelight as he watches the tents. Three of the four have a light burning within. As we watch along with Heyes, one dims out, then a second. From the third tent, Carissa emerges with a lit lantern and walks to the fourth tent and enters it. We see her in silhouette as she changes into her nightgown. Then her arm reaches over to the lantern and that light dims out as well. Heyes stealthily climbs out of his bedroll and steps noiselessly across the camp and into the just vacated tent.
The viewpoint shifts to the interior of the tent. We recognize this scene from the teaser. As we saw earlier, the tent is illuminated by the suddenly spark of a match. Heyes sticks the candle on top of the safe, then presses his ear to the door and begins to manipulate the tumblers. We close in on the candle, then dissolve out then back in. The candle is now a mere stub and wax has dripped down the front of the safe in long, bumpy trails. We hear a satisfying click and Heyes swings the door open. He reaches inside and removes the sketchbook. After scraping up the wax trail from the front of the safe with a handy pencil, he holds the candle over the sketchbook and begins to page through it. We see the pictures as he does, but more of them now than were shown in the teaser, which was obviously edited: scenery, scenery, scenery, a nice one of Flemington and Willberry, then one of the horses, more scenery, then a campfire scene featuring Felmington, Willberry, - and himself. He is depicted in profile, holding a cup of coffee and gazing into the flames. Carissa's use of shadow is remarkable! Heyes catches himself admiring the drawing for its composition and use of lighting when he suddenly snaps back into reality and carefully tears the picture from the binding and stuffs it into his back pocket. The removal of the page reveals a close-up drawing of one of the horses. The next one is a careful rendition of a wildflower. He turns the page again to find a picture of bones. Then bones, bones, bones on the next three successive pages. Heyes sighs in relief. Apparently Carissa has been quite busy sketching bones ever since they discovered the giant fossil. He reaches the empty pages we saw earlier and finally the one of the two notorious (former) outlaws together. Heyes quickly rips this page from the sketchbook and shoves it into his back pocket with the first one. He riffles through the last few, blank pages, then places the book back inside the safe, shuts the door, spins the dial, and blows out the candle. He turns and pads silently out of the tent.
Settling back down by the fire, Heyes reaches into his back pocket to retrieve the drawings. He can't help but admire them one last time. Suddenly there is a footfall. Heyes's whole body jolts and he hastily tosses both drawings into the flames. He quickly grabs a stick and is poking at the fire when we hear Willberry's voice.
"Ahh, can't sleep either, eh, Smith?"
Willberry, his blanket wrapped about him like a shawl, sinks down on the log next to Heyes' bedroll.
"I'm just too excited about our specimen. We're going to be quite famous when we get back to Connecticut."
"So this is an important find," queries Heyes, poking at the last shred of the drawings as it disintegrates into ashes.
"Oh yes. No one's ever found this much of a Diplodocus before! Not even Marsh! Just skulls, vertebrae, and one femur. We may not have found a skull, but we've got the entire tail and both hind legs! This is very big indeed."
"Well then, Mr. Willberry, I reckon this calls for a celebration."
Heyes pulls a small flask from the saddlebag adjacent to his bedroll. He unscrews it and hands it to the scientist, toasting,
"To hind legs!"
Willberry takes the flask and repeats, "To hind legs!" and tips a slug into his mouth, then hands it back.
Heyes throws back a shot as well, then screws the cap on and returns the flask to his bags.
"Better try to get some shut-eye, Mr. Willberry," Heyes suggests. "We've got a lot of excavating to do in the morning. That dinosaur may not be complete, but it's darned big just the same."
"Oh, yes," agrees Willberry, then pronounces the adjective Heyes just used as if he is saying something risqué:
"Darned big. Darned big indeed."
Camera pulls back and scene dissolves to:
Campfire in the morning: Heyes is frying up some bacon and eggs. Willberry and Flemington are polishing off their breakfast. Flemington, through a mouthful of biscuit, says,
"Smith, Samuel and I are heading to the excavation directly. You can bring Carissa along after she finishes eating."
"Can't wait to get at it, huh?"
"We'll see you down there presently," Willberry adds as both men stand up and hustle off, Flemington still chewing.
Heyes smiles to himself as he continues to cook the meal. We hear Carissa's voice from inside the tent.
"Mr. Smith! Have you looked in my sketchbook?!"
Close-up on Heyes's face, which is telegraphing: 'Uh-oh. The jig is up.' But he calls out, quite innocently,
"Why no, Miss Flemington, is there something wrong?"
"Mr. Smith! Come see! I have made the most remarkable discovery!"
"What? What is it, Miss Flemington?"
Heyes sets the pan down next to the fire and rises, brushing his hands against his pants as he heads for the tent.
Cut to:
Tent interior: Carissa is standing, stooped over the drafting table with her sketchbook open to one of the bone pictures. As Heyes enters, she looks up from her scrutiny.
"Look here, see this is the Diplodocus posterior that my brother found," she says, showing him her sketch.
She indicates the same thick reference book her brother and colleague had been consulting the previous day.
"And here is a diagram of an entire Diplodocus spine. Now count the vertebrae."
Heyes obediently counts as she places a finger on each one, his face flooded with relief.
"See? That almost proves it!"
"Proves what, Miss Flemington. I'm not quite following you."
"I believe that my brother and Mr. Barston have found two halves of the same dinosaur! You see, an intact Diplodocus longus spine has eleven dorsal vertebrae, four sacral vertebrae, and twelve caudal vertebrae. See right here where you can tell the transition between caudal and sacral."
Her finger points again. Heyes nods, seeing the obvious morphological distinction. Carissa smiles and explains excitedly,
"Our fossil has three sacral vertebrae, and if I recall, Barston's anterior portion has only one before it transitions to the dorsals! That adds up perfectly! But I need to look at Mr. Jones's drawing one more time just to be sure."
"Well, wouldn't that be a funny coincidence," Heyes comments as he pushes his hat back on his head. "Are you going to say anything to your brother?"
"Not until I'm certain. Mr. Smith, you must take me over to Barston and Bigelow's camp!"
"Now, wait just a minute. Do you really think that's a good idea? I mean, you know how much animosity there is between your brother and those two? Wouldn't it be better not to interfere..?"
"But don't you see? An entire specimen would be so much more valuable than either half alone!"
"Listen, Miss Flemington, if you tell your brother about this, he'll know you've been helping Mr. Jones. He's not going to be too happy about that."
"But I want him to know! I don't want to keep my feelings secret any longer! If you don't take me there, I'll just have to go by myself," she insists, stubbornly crossing her arms across her chest and pouting.
Heyes sighs and addresses her patiently,
"Now, Miss Flemington, I can't let you do that. Part of my job is to keep you safe."
"Then you'd better come along!" she announces, sweeping out of the tent and purposely marching off across the field, Heyes following helplessly in her wake.
Cut to the Barston and Bigelow camp. We first hear whistling, then the Kid comes into frame, carrying some shovels, picks, and other equipment and stacking it all in a wagon. He returns to a clothesline where a canvas tarp is hanging, next to a large rock pile. As he pulls the tarp off the line, Carissa steps out from the trees, her eyes shining.
"Carissa, what are you doing here?"
"Mr. Jones, uh…Thaddeus, I wanted to show you this in person – she is holding her sketch book, her demeanor is shyly flirtatious –I think I've deduced something! Please – go get your sketchbook so we can be sure."
"Carissa, you shouldn't be here. Your brother'll skin ya alive! Does Mr. Smith know you're here?"
Even as she says yes, he is scanning the surrounding brush. Heyes makes a discreet little cough. Their eyes lock. Curry glares at him with an expression that clearly translates to, 'what the hell are you thinkin'?' Heyes kind of shrugs – 'not exactly the plan, but hey, it could work.' The Kid reacts in typical Kid fashion with an eye roll and resigned acceptance.
Dropping the tarp to the ground, he reaches out to the girl in front of him and puts both his hands on her shoulders. Her face is an alluring combination of yearning and nervous expectation. Is he going to kiss her? She tips her head back hopefully. But no, that's not his intention at all. Her expression reveals her disappointment as he instead steers her over to a tree stump situated well away from the rock pile. He gently but firmly sits her down on it and says in a commanding voice,
"Carissa, you sit right here where Mr. Smith can keep an eye on you. And don't you move a muscle now. There's a big old rattler lives in that rock pile over there and believe me, you don't wanna disturb him."
Kid moves off, failing to notice Carissa's eyes light up. A rattlesnake?
She rises from her perch, sets her sketchbook onto the stump, and hurries over to the rock pile, not at all cautiously. She hoists up her skirts and begins to look around. Then she grabs a stick and starts poking.
Heyes sees what she is doing and reacts with alarm. He vainly tries to get her attention.
"Psssst. Carissa. Stop that. Get away from there. Carissa!"
But she is oblivious. He sighs in exasperation and hastens toward her.
Then we hear the ominous sound of the rattle. Heyes freezes in mid-stride and by the expression on his face we know that he hears it too. He pulls his gun and approaches slowly, looking around for the snake. However, from his point of view, neither he nor we can see it.
Curry returns with his sketchbook from the other direction. He sees something that is out of Heyes' line of vision.
Now we see it from his viewpoint: It is a ginormous rattlesnake, rattling furiously, coiled up in close proximity to Carissa's ankle, which looks quite vulnerable with her skirts hiked up the way she's holding them. She is wearing those 19th Century style lace-up ankle boots, but the thin leather looks like a snake fang could penetrate it without too much difficulty. They also don't reach very high, and the calf above the boot is encased only in a very thin stocking, looking even more vulnerable.
She is oblivious to the snake, and continues to poke at the rocks with the stick, calling in a sing-song voice,
"I hear you but I don't see you… Come out, come out, little snake."
In a flash, Curry's sketchbook falls to the ground, his Colt instantly in his hand. We cut to a close-up of the snake just as it is about to strike. We hear the gunshot as the bullet nails it in the head. Possibly between the eyes, but of course it all happens too fast for us to be sure, even though the Kidettes among us pause their recording devices and rewind a few times in order to fully appreciate their beloved hero's prowess with a gun.
A blood-curdling scream issues from Carissa.
The two partners exchange a look of relief as they each holster their guns, Curry with a cocky twirl and a showy flourish. Heyes remains standing in the open, apparently waiting to see what response the scream will bring. Carissa, visibly trembling, is staring at the dead snake with a look of horror on her pretty face. The Kid approaches the stricken girl with concern.
Right about now, you, the viewer, is probably expecting a repeat of a sweetly touching scene in a previous episode, in which the lovely but duplicitous Grace Turner welcomes the comfort of Kid Curry's manly embrace, subsequent to him saving her from death by rattlesnake in a very similar manner. No doubt, Kid Curry is expecting that, too. But as the Kid reaches out to gather the shaking, weeping woman into his arms, something entirely different occurs. Carissa stiffens, puts both hands against his chest and pushes him away in revulsion. Then, she hauls back and slaps him across the face with all her might. He is as surprised as you are (well, maybe you saw it coming, but the Kid sure didn't…). He stands there in dumb shock, his left cheek bright red from the impact as she berates him stridently,
"Get your hands off me, you – you – you beast! How could you slaughter that magnificent creature!"
During her tirade, the other members of the scientific team have run into the clearing. They arrive in time to get the gist of the situation.
Bigelow, our herpetologist, is enraged.
"You shot a Crotalus atrox?! You – you—Neanderthal!"
Kid stammers, "No, sir. I just shot a rattlesnake that was abo—"
"You are fired, Mr. Jones. You were explicitly forbidden to engage in this despicable hobby of yours."
"Hobby..?"
"We knew you had this twisted streak in your personality, but we thought you could keep it under control. You even bragged at your interview of your snake-shooting prowess."
"Now, look, Mr. Bigelow - " Curry tries to defend himself, but once gain again his words are cut off.
"If it weren't for the fact that we needed an artist of your caliber, we never would have hired you in the first place."
Barston steps up and intercedes on Curry's behalf,
"Now William, we still need him. He's such a talented artist! Where could we find another one in this cultural wasteland?"
"Ha! Artist!" Carissa scoffs. "I'm the one who made those sketches!"
"What?" thunders Barston. "What is the meaning of this?!"
There is crashing in the vegetation, which soon parts, and Flemington and Wilberry arrive, panting, to join the chaotic scene and add their shouts to the chaos.
"We heard shots! What's going on?"
"Carissa, what are you doing here? Are you alright? Barston, what have you done to my sister?!"
"It wasn't me, it was this - this cretin!"
Carissa answers almost simultaneously,
"I just wanted to find out if our two camps were excavating two halves of the same dinosaur. I came over to double-check Mr. Jones's sketches."
"Mr. Jones's sketches? What do you mean, double-check Mr. Jones's sketches? When did you check them the first time?" demands her brother.
"Well, you see I've been helping him because he's not a real artist," Carissa explains.
"You fraud!" scoffs Barston. "I knew there was something shifty about you when we first met you."
Cut to an indignant looking Kid Curry and then to a gleeful Hannibal Heyes, who is obviously suppressing a grin. Before anyone else can get a word out, Carissa continues,
"But as soon as I got here, he shot this poor, beautiful rattlesnake."
She gestures dramatically at the limp, scaly body, her hazel eyes filling with tears.
At this moment, we are treated to a close-up shot of Mr. Bigelow. He is clearly entranced by Carissa – a beautiful girl who loves snakes! He had never suspected such a rara avis could exist! We pan back to her. The tears begin to spill over her lashes as she goes on,
"And after he killed it, he tried to … he tried to… to have his way with me!"
The Kid has been standing there in helpless silence, but this is way too much for him to swallow. He begins to protest,
"Now, wait just a doggone minute – "
But Flemington is incensed and interrupts angrily,
"You put your hands on my sister?!"
He steps between the distraught Carissa and the dumbfounded Curry, who is now frankly reeling at how all this turned out. Meanwhile Heyes is still quietly amused, but manages to hide it somewhat.
The Kid stammers helplessly,
"Well, yeah, I thought that she… well, she seemed upset so I…"
Again, he is not given a chance to finish his sentence. Now it is Bigelow who interrupts and pushes his way in front of Curry so they are almost nose-to-nose and shouts,
"How dare you! If you were a gentleman, I'd challenge you to a duel right here on the spot!"
Heyes's expression switches from amusement to alarm. Slight shake of his head at the Kid.
Curry looks a tiny bit tempted by this offer, but says in a calm tone of voice,
"I don't think it needs to come to that, Mr. Bigelow."
"So! You're a coward, too! A liar and a coward and a womanizer and a-a—a snake killer! You shot this poor defenseless creature! And you lied about being an artist and then passed off Miss Flemington's sketches as your own. Then you try to take liberties with this sweet, innocent young lady. And you won't even stand up like a man and face me on a field of honor. Why I ought to –"
Kid is becoming righteously indignant at all these false accusations. Well, the artist part wasn't really a false accusation, but he didn't exactly do that on purpose… Heyes, though still slightly amused by the whole turn of affairs, decides it is time to step in and straighten things out, seeing as the Kid looks like he's ready to flatten the easterner. Positioning his own body between the two men, he places a warning hand on his partner's chest and begins to employ his famous silver tongue to great effect.
"Now, fellas, let's be reasonable. Mr. Jones didn't mean any harm. He was just trying to protect Miss Flemington. Being from back east, you might not realize how dangerous rattlesnake bites can be. Let's focus on what's truly important here: the bones! Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but wouldn't you all make a whole lot more money and impress the paleontological world a great deal more if you brought back one really nice whole dinosaur skeleton rather than if you each bring back only a half of a skeleton? If you set your differences aside and work together, especially with Thaddeus and I helping, you could get that skeleton ready to ship back east in a couple of weeks. Now without Thaddeus's help, it might take a month or two. He's more of the brawn and I'm really the brains in this partnership. And just think of the excitement back at Yale when that huge dinosaur shows up on their doorstep… Who's that fella you were telling me about, Flemington? Marsh, was it? Well, Marsh'll be simply green with envy… The first almost intact skeleton of a Diplodocus longus. Why, I wouldn't be surprised if Thaddeus didn't find that missing front leg! And who knows? Maybe it'll turn out to be a whole new species! Then they'll have to call it the Diplodicus longii flemingtonus barstoni willberrius!"
While Heyes continues his soliloquy, the scene dissolves into a montage and we continue to hear him in voice-over. The montage first shows the men looking at the sketches and holding them up to each other, comparing them to the book illustration, then visiting the sites, and finally working together (along with a crew of extras) to excavate the dinosaur bones, label them, and pack them carefully into numbered crates. Interspersed among the scenes of work are several of Carissa sketching and Bigelow looking on in admiration. In one of these scenes, she is obviously sketching Bigelow instead of the fossil. Towards the end of the speech, when Heyes gets to the part about keeping the Kid on, we are treated to scenes of the Kid doing the most menial and hard-on-the-back work. When the Heyesian silver-tongued monologue finally trails off, we dissolve to:
The railroad station. There is the usual hustle and bustle of travelers and well-wishers, workers, and passersby. Amidst this scene, we see the Kid hauling numerous large labeled crates and loading them into a box car. Make that two box cars. Two extra-large box cars.
Heyes is off to the side, lounging against the station building, watching his partner work and looking quite pleased with himself.
The Kid, his shirt damp with sweat from his exertions, pauses to wipe his forehead with his bandanna and drawls,
"Ya know, you could give me a hand, here."
But instead of helping out, Heyes approaches his partner with a big grin on his face and exclaims,
"Kid, aren't you glad I convinced them not to fire you? That once the two expeditions combined into one large one they could really use your help!"
The expression on Curry's face does not convey the gratitude that his partner evidently expects. Just then the four scientists and Carissa approach, the men carrying various small pieces of luggage. Bigelow and Carissa are clearly a couple, Carissa's dainty, lace-mitted hand tucked securely in the crook of his arm, his other hand grasping the carpet bag we recall from the scene in which we first met her. Heyes goes over to the group, greeting the men jovially and they take turns pumping his hand like old friends. Curry rolls his eyes and returns to his labors
Barston pulls a thick envelope from his vest pocket, saying,
"Thank you for all your diligent efforts, Mr. Smith. If it weren't for you, we'd never have found out that we were working on the same specimen. Here's your promised pay - and a bonus. As for Mr. Jones, I have his pay here too, now that we're all on the same team."
Barston, Flemington, and Wilberry exchange fond smiles. Bigelow and Carissa only have eyes for each other.
"You can give me my partner's pay, too," Heyes grins. "We're on the same team as well."
In the background we see Curry scowl as he walks past hefting the latest crate, obviously listening to the conversation.
"I'm afraid it's not as much as the original agreed-upon fee," explained Barston with a sad shake of his head, "but considering the circumstances, he should be happy he's getting anything at all."
"And where is our dinosaur headed?" asked Heyes, pocketing both envelopes.
Wilberry answered, "It will be displayed in the Peabody Museum, in New Haven. The very first complete skeleton of a Diplodocus longus! With ALL FOUR of our names on the plaque. We're going to be quite in demand on the lecture circuit after this."
Bigelow joins the conversation, adding,
"I'll leave the lecture circuit to you three. Carissa and I will soon be embarking on an expedition to South America to search for anacondas! She's agreed to become my personal artist – and my wife!"
Heyes smiles broadly and offers his congratulations to the newly engaged couple. As he does so, we see behind them that Curry is emerging from the boxcar, having finally loaded the last crate. He is joined by a railroad worker with a sheaf of papers. He signs the top one and hands it to Curry, who thanks him and strolls over to join the group.
"She's all loaded up nice and neat, he announces," holding up the paper. "Who gets the paperwork?"
"Well, now that we're all working together, it doesn't really matter, does it?" Flemington says, reaching out to take the paper.
Carissa whispers something to her fiancé, who shrugs reluctantly then clears his throat and addresses the Kid, speaking slowly and deliberately, as if he is talking to a young child,
"I suppose I owe you an apology, Mr. Jones. It's not your fault that you grew up ignorant about rattlesnakes. From what I gather it is a common sentiment to hate and fear them out here in the untamed West. And if it weren't for you, I never would have met my… fiancé."
Curry turns to Carissa, who murmurs happily,
"Mr. Bigelow proposed this morning and I accepted!"
"Well, congratulations," replies Curry.
He shakes Bigelow's hand and nods politely to Carissa.
"And no hard feelings," Bigelow adds.
"Yes," puts in Carissa. "We wouldn't have been able to excavate the first nearly complete skeleton of a Diplodocus if you hadn't lied about being able to draw."
Before Curry can protest, Barston chimes in,
"And if Smith here hadn't found the other half."
Heyes's smug look and Curry's disgusted scowl are interrupted by the shout of "All aboard!" from the conductor. Goodbyes are hastily bade and the party of easterners hustles onto the train, leaving our boys standing on the platform, one cool, crisp, clean, and grinning widely, the other one sweaty, dirty, and slightly disgruntled.
As the train slowly pulls out amid a cloud of steam and the clanging of bells, Heyes turns to the Kid and slaps him on the back.
"Come on, Kid. I'll buy you a beer. Like the man said, it's not your fault you're ignorant."
Unfortunately, we cannot hear Curry's reply as the train whistle sounds one loud, prolonged toooooooooot, drowning out his words - but I suppose you can imagine it.
Freeze frame. Cue the theme music. The camera pulls back slowly as the train chugs off and the end credits roll…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The End~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author's Note: I came up with this story after reading about the late 19th Century "Bone Wars" between rival paleontologists Othniel Marsh (mentioned in the story) and Edwin Drinker Cope. Little did I know that another ASJ fan, Drena, had had the same inspiration. She put the actual Cope and Marsh into the story, while I invented a fictional pair of rivals. Her story is really great – full of action, peril, and lots of humor, as well as some thrilling heroics. If you haven't read it, check it out: wwwdotderbysulzersdotcom/WHIMSEYdothtm (Sorry, I couldn't make the link live!)
At the time of ASJ, the early 1880s, Diplodocus longus was well known to paleontology. A partial skeleton had been found in 1877 by Benjamin Mudge and Samuel Williston in Canon City, Colorado, and it was Marsh himself who coined the name. It wasn't until 1899 that an almost complete skeleton was discovered, but I figure if Heyes and the Kid set their minds to it, they'd have found one first. Marsh was affiliated with Yale, which is why I had them send the fossil to the Peabody Museum. I rather doubt there would have been a book available with a drawing of a Diplodocus skeleton in it at that time, but I figure you shouldn't let facts get in the way of a good story. At least, I hope it is good!