Original subtitles

THE OLD RANGER: And now,Death Valley Days.

♪♪ [ trumpet ]

Hyah! Yah!

Yah! Yah!

Howdy, folks. I'’m the Old Ranger,

and I have another interesting true story for you

about the historic Death Valley country.

This is the story of Bret Harte,

the man who gave the world those immortal stories

of the California Gold Rush.

The events you'’re going to see are all packed

into one short year-- the year of 1857,

the year in Bret Harte'’s life which I call...

The year is young, and so is the slender youth from New York City.

Only 20, and a stranger to this wild mining country.

Wondering what the young gentleman is perusing.

Dickens."Dickens"?

[ laughter ]

Why, he can'’t even cuss yet.[ laughter ]

That'’s the name of the author-- Charles Dickens.

The stage is late, isn'’t it?

Don'’t tell me you're headed for the mine, sonny.

That'’s right.In them?

Why, patent leather is for dancing teachers.

[ laughter ]

I'’ll invest in some heavy boots with the first gold I dig.

Dig?

Smooth as a baby'’s.

[ laughter ]

If it'’s a fight you wanna pick-- No.

All I'’m trying to tell you, sonny--

The name is Harte. Frank Harte.

Well, Frank, you gotta have guts to stand the life out here.

And you think I haven'’t got guts?

[ hoofbeats approaching ] MAN: Hyah!

Give us a hand, boys!

[ murmuring ]

Get him in the depot before he bleeds to death!

Road agents?Murrieta himself.

Murrieta?He didn'’t get the treasure, though.

Who'’ll volunteer to ride shotgun in Johnny'’s place?

[ murmuring ]

Not me. I got business right here.

I'’ll do it.

Can you shoot?Certainly.

If my life depends on it.

It will. Get aboard.

[ murmuring ]

All aboard!

[ door closes ]

[ yelling commands to horses ]

I didn'’t think young patent leather had it in him.

Bandits!

Put your gun down. Them ain'’t road agents.

Got room for any more passengers?

Sorry, Duchess.

[ laughter ]

We'’re full up.

Aw, I can'’t walk another step.

Where you bound for?Oh, anywhere.

They kicked us out of Poker Flat and told us not to come back.

If you could just accommodate the lady.

Lady? Ha!

Don'’t make me laugh.

Couldn'’t she ride up here with us? There'’s plenty of room.

There'’s room for you up here, ma'’am.

[ laughter ]

What about the others?

They'’ll have to hoof it.

[ yelling commands to horses ]

Where'’d you get the name Duchess?

My professional name.

And the others?

The dressy gent is known as "Slick Nick."

A gambler?Oh, naturally.

The old bum-- he'’s Billy Be-Damned.

But you ain'’t interested.

Oh, but I am. I'’m very much interested.

OLD RANGER: Slick Nick, Billy Be-Damned, and the Duchess.

Little did Frank Harte realize

that his interest in these colorful characters

and the others he would meet would play such an important part

in this year of his destiny.

When the Sierra snows melted,

Frank forsook the job of Wells Fargo messenger

for that of schoolteacher in a remote mining camp.

Arithmetic. Out of a book.

I'’ll give you an example out of real life.

That'’s the amount of gold I took out of one pocket

up there on the hill in less than a half hour.

$3,000 I spent building a flume and tunnelin'’.

And that left, uh...

2,000.

$2,000.

And you just keep on subtracting and subtracting and subtracting,

until you'’re down to a few hundred.

And that'’s just enough to start a saloon

with myself as my own best customer.Why, you must be Old--

Go ahead and say it! Old Brummer Smith! [ chalk clatters ]

Sure.I'’m happy to meet you, Mr. Smith.

I'’ve been wanting to talk to you.

Well, I here, boy. What'’s on your mind?

I understand you have a daughter.I have.

How old is she?Growing up.

I wish you'’d bring her here to school.

To school? You might as well ask me

to bring you a young wildcat.

M'’Liss pays me no mind, and I pay her no mind.

Mr. Smith.

THE OLD RANGER: Brummer Smith-- harsh, bitter, and unfriendly.

A self-confessed failure, both as a man and a father.

A weakling who found life harder to face than death.

They buried him in Boothill this morning.

And what about his child?

She didn'’t even show up for the funeral.

Off in the woods somewhere.

I can'’t believe it.[ chuckles ]

You don'’t know M'Liss. She'’s got a heart of granite.

Hmph!

[ crying ]

The departure of two families from the mining camp

left not enough children to keep the school open through the summer.

And young Frank Harte'’s next employment during his year of destiny

was a printer'’s devil on theNorthern Californian,

a newspaper published in Humboldt County, California.

Hello.

Oh, Mr. McConnell. Good morning, sir.

Boss out?He'’s gone away.

He left me in charge of the paper.

I just finished an editorial for tomorrow'’s issue.

"Cowardly Massacre"?

You can'’t print this.

Why not? It'’s true.

Those were Injuns that were killed.

Sixty of them.

In cold blood. By a bunch of white ruffians.

The most dastardly thing I ever heard of.

Injun-baiting ain'’t exactly new in these parts, son.

And decent citizens sit back and do nothing about it.

Well, maybe they will after they read that.

Take my advice and tear it up. It'’ll get you into trouble.

I don'’t care if it costs me my job on the paper.

I'’m going to voice a protest against this barbarism, if it'’s the last thing I do.

It might very well be, son.

It might very well be.

Who does this outsider think he is,

coming into town and printing an article like this about us citizens?

Yeah!Yeah!

We only gave them Injuns what they deserved.

Not half enough.Yeah.

Yeah, and if we let him get away with it,

there ain'’t no telling what he'’s liable to print next.That'’s right.

You know, a fella like this can cause us a lot of trouble.That'’s right.

Now, we oughta go down there and bust up that newspaper office,

and then we oughta take this Injun-loving squirt out

and teach him how to dance on the end of a rope.

Yeah! Right! Right.

Fill '’em up again.Yeah.

[ chattering ]

They'’re getting fired up for a lynching party.

You'’d better make yourself scarce.

And leave this place for them to wreck? No, sir.

Those won'’t do you any good, Frank.

Don'’t you realize it'’s a mob?

I appreciate your concern, Mr. McConnell, but I will not run.

Then I will-- to Fort Humboldt for help.

I only hope we can get back in time.

[ pounding on door ]

MAN: We know you'’re in there, Harte!

Open up!

[ Men shouting ]

Stand back!

I'’ll shoot the first man that takes another step.

Aw, he'’s bluffing. He'’s only a kid.

I rode shotgun for Wells Fargo.

One move forward from anybody, and he'’s a dead man.

It'’ll go easier on you if you lay down them pistols.

You mean that rope won'’t feel so rough around my neck?

You got nobody to blame but yourself.

You shouldn'’t have printed them lies about us citizens.

If what I printed is lies, all you have to do is prove it,

and I'’ll print a retraction and an apolog--

[ clamoring ]

This is the only kind of an apology we want.

Take him out.

♪♪ [ military bugle call ]

Soldiers!

Whew! That was a close squeak, son.

[ exhales ]

Close for comfort.

You know, if I was you, I wouldn'’t press my luck.

I'’d quit town while the quitting'’s good.

You know, I believe you'’re right.

I guess the time'’s come to head down to San Francisco.

See what offer'’s there.

And so, as the year of destiny waned,

we find young Frank Harte in the office

of theGolden Era in San Francisco

working as a typesetter

and, in his spare moments, scribbling forgery.

MAN: Oh, Frank?

With my compliments.A dollar? What for?

That poem of yours we published anonymously.

Well, thank you, sir.

Have you ever tried your hand at writing fiction, my boy?

Well, I'’ve thought about it, sir, but I don'’t know whether I really have the talent or not.

All you need is an idea and some characters.

Well, I'’ve met plenty of characters in this past year--

the outcasts from Poker Flat,

dance hall queen in Roaring Camp and her baby,

Old Brummer Smith, who killed himself,

and his wild daughter, M'’Liss.

Why don'’t you try putting some of them down on paper?

Hmm? I'’ll pay you a dollar a column for anything we can use.

Well, thank you, sir.

[ door opens, closes ]

FRANK: Just where the Sierra Nevada

begins to subside in gentler undulations,

and the rivers grow less rapid and yellow,

on the side of a great red mountain,

stands the settlement of Smith'’s Pocket.

And at the end of its long, straggling street,

past the Methodist church and the monte bank,

stands the village school.

[ knock on door ]

Come in.

My name'’s M'Liss. Melissa Smith.

You keep school, don'’t you?

I'’m the schoolmaster, yes.

Well, I wanna be teached.

And I don'’t care what you say. I'’m coming to school.

Well, why not?

[ crying ]

I wish I was dead.

I wish everybody was dead.

They all hate me. [ crying continues ]

God hates me.

Who said so?

The Reverend McSnagley.

He expelled me from Sunday school.

[ chuckles ]

You come tomorrow morning.

School starts at 8:00.

And now I'’m going to walk you home.

Where do you live?

No-- Nowhere, since Pa died.

We'’ll find you a place with some nice family.

And you'’ll all take your seats, and school'’ll come to order.

And, uh, now today, we are going to have a lesson... [ floorboards creaking ]

Oh, M'’Liss. Come in.

I have a seat right here in front for you.

Hey, look. She'’s got on a clean dress.

[ laughter ]

That'’s one of my old ones.

She'’s living at our house. We took her in.

Hey, she'’s got on shoes. She'’s tamed.

[ laughter ]

[ chattering, shouting ]

Stop! Stop it!

Stop it. I said stop it.

Now, M'’Liss, you put on your shoe.

Ollie, you'’ll stay after school.

Yes, sir.

Oh! You'’ve got blood on your hand.

Let me get it off for you.

[ sighs ]

"Respected Sir,

"when you read this,

"I am run away,

"never to come back.

"Never, never, never.

"Yours respectfully,

Melissa Smith."

So this is your hideout.

What do you want?

You don'’t happen to have any food cashed away here, do you?

Are ya hungry?

Famished.

Haven'’t had anything since dinner yesterday.

If you was an Injun, you'’d find roots and berries.

If I "were" an "Indian."

But I'’m not.

I'’m only a disappointed schoolmaster.

Where you going?

Back to school.

Wait!

I'’m waiting.

You said you were disappointed.

I think you can guess why.

I'’ll go back.

Who thinks they can answer my question?

Melissa.

Planets revolve on a fixed orbit--

the sun and the moon, the Earth and the stars, all in harmony.

That'’s why they talk about the Music of the Spheres.

Just a minute, Melissa.

This is an examination in astronomy.

Well, you asked me about the solar system.

And you said it had been going on like this since the creation.

Is that the truth?Yes!

[ sighs ]

Yes, Clytemnestra?

It says in the Bible. Joshua commanded

the sun and the moon to stand still, and they obeyed him.

Correct.

It'’s a cussed lie![ gasps ]

I don'’t believe it!

What is it, Ollie?

M'’Liss is gonna run away again.What'’s that?

She took up with one of them actor fellas in the traveling company.

They'’re moving out tomorrow morning.Which actor?

Him with the shiny hat and the gold watch chain.

I seen her talking to him just now at the arcade.

Where is she?Who?

Melissa Smith.I don'’t know.

FRANK: I understand she'’s considering joining your troupe.

Is that true? Suppose it is?

You know very well that'’s no kind of a life for a young girl.

And, uh, what business is it of yours?

I happen to be her guardian. Really? Rather young, aren'’t you?

I appeal to you as a gentleman to leave her where she is.

Wanna keep her for yourself, eh?

Sorry, old man.

Help! The schoolmaster'’s being killed!

[ gunshot ]

Did he get you?

No.

Just burned my sleeve.

MAN: Well, it'’s a good thing M'’Liss called us.

M'’Liss?

Well, that'’s who you was fighting over, wasn'’t it?

[ knife clatters ]

Please leave me alone, M'’Liss.

I'’m busy.Why didn'’t you kill him?

Kill him?

Well, sure. That'’s what I give you the knife for.

You? I slipped it in your hand when you was on the floor.

Why didn'’t you stick him?

And be a murderer as well as a fool?

A fool?A fine thing for a schoolmaster,

gettin'’ mixed up in a barroom brawl.

Now I will have to leave town.

Were your really planning to run off with that troupe?

I could still do it.I'’ll have you locked up first.

Then I'’ll kill myself.M'’Liss.

My father did it, so why shouldn'’t I?

At least it'’s better than staying out here alone

where everybody hates and despises me. [ crying ]

'’Lissa.

Will you marry me?

Marry you?

Yes. Tonight.

There'’s a new preacher at the foot of the mountain.

He'’ll tie the knot.And-- And leave here?

Yes. Say you will.

FRANK: And hand in hand they passed into the road,

and behind them the school of Red Mountain closed upon them forever.

We'’ll print it in our next issue.

Do you really think it'’s good enough, sir?

So good, it'’s got to be signed.

Just what is your full name, son?

Francis B. Harte, sir.

Francis. Sounds rather la-di-da.

What does the "B" stand for?Bret.

Drop the first name altogether. Just call yourself "Bret Harte."

"'’M'Liss,'’ by Bret Harte."

You'’re off to a fine start, Frank.

Just keep '’em coming-- simple human stories

about the kind of folk that you'’ve known out here,

and one of these days, the world will hail you as a great writer.

Never was there truer prophecy.

The Outcasts of Poker Flat. Tennessee'’s Partner.

The Heathen Chinee. The Luck of Roaring Camp.

The Idyl of Red Gulch.

Two Men of Sandy Bar.

The stories of Bret Harte swept the nation,

acclaimed as a new kind of writing

into which was woven the real stuff of the West.

Today in California, they still speak of the Bret Harte country,

the region where a young man with a sensitive soul and mind

wandered from job to job

during the year that was to shape his destiny.

♪♪ [ trumpet ]