"THE REVENANT" (2015)

THE REVENANT

by

Mark L Smith

Based on the novel by

Michael Punke

August 9, 2010

Revenge is an act of passion; vengeance of justice.

- Samuel Johnson

Based on a true story

FADE IN:

Mostly shadows illuminated by a lantern's flame. But we can make out the dusty floor... the bucket of water with a rag hanging over the edge.

We drift across the room... to a bed... an ANSTADT RIFLE standing beside it, a FRESH STAR fully carved in its stock.

As we move up past the rifle, we begin to hear O.S. WHISPERS... we keep rising... to the SHAPE OF A YOUNG BOY shivering violently under blankets...

...and MAN'S HANDS stroking the boy's sweat-soaked hair... trying to comfort him. Then the shadowy face of HUGH GLASS leans into the frame... presses against the little boy's ear.

As we FLOAT WITH A LEAF DOWN THE CURRENT... past a FLATBOAT BEACHED ON A SANDBAR... as DISTANT VOICES seem to rise around us...

...because beyond the flatboat are TWENTY-FIVE MEN of the Rocky Mountain Fur Company, making camp along the shore... some pitching squares of canvas for makeshift rooftops... others stacking HUNDREDS OF BEAVER PELTS and ANIMAL FURS for hauling... a few Men laughing and singing... a circle of others form a ring around a couple of WRESTLING TRAPPERS, calling out their bets as the Trappers grapple...

...while nearby, several MEN have formed a MAKESHIFT BAND, scratching out a song with fiddles, washboards and harmonicas, as a few Trappers dance along, passing a bottle of whiskey among them.

This camp is full of life because these are some of the first men to ever see this untouched wilderness... men with a whole new world just waiting for them to claim their share.

And one of the dancing Trappers is JOHN FITZGERALD, (30’s), solid and thick... a WOLFSKIN CAP flopping on his head as he locks elbows with another TRAPPER, swinging him to the music.

The song ends... the Trappers CHEER... Fitzgerald tosses that fur cap into the air with several others, revealing a STRIP OF OLD SCALPED SCAR running along one side of his head.

And as the caps float back to the earth like snowflakes, CAPTAIN ANDREW HENRY, (20's), appears beyond them... dressed in a buckskin jacket with long fringe... thick belt pulled tightly around his waist with two pistols and a knife hanging from it. He stands out among the others... like an imposter pretending to be a member of some exclusive club.

The excitement fades from Fitzgerald's eyes... replaced with resentment. He watches Henry walk away, then grabs his wolfskin cap from the dirt... throws it over his scarred head, and rolls his eyes to MACE BOONE.

Fitzgerald and Boone gather a few scraps of wood... look over to Henry, pulling off one of his gloves to examine the BLOOD- FILLED BLISTERS lining his palm.

Boone chuckles... spits in Henry’s direction.

Henry looks up... sees Fitzgerald and Boone grinning at him.

Fitzgerald waits for Henry to turn, then gives his back an exaggerated salute.

Boone snickers. Fitzgerald stomps his boot onto a branch, easily snaps it into two easy-to-carry pieces.

Fitzgerald’s boot CRACKS another branch... and when it does, we hear the EXPLOSION OF A GUNSHOT.

And a CLOUD OF SMOKE surrounding the LONG BARREL OF AN ANSTADT RIFLE.

The smoke fades, and at the other end of the rifle we see the worn face of HUGH GLASS, (38), one eye still closed, as the other calmly stares down that barrel.

VOICE (O.S.) Shit fire, you got him, Mr. Glass!

Glass lowers the rifle, as JIM BRIDGER, (17), boyish face that looks even younger, races past with PIG GILMORE, (40’s), fat and filthy, shuffling right behind.

Bridger and Pig trot through the trees to a fallen ELK. Glass walks after them, graceful in this world... his rifle so comfortable in his hand it’s like he was born with it there.

And Fitzgerald was right about Pig being a little slow, because he just nods along... pulls out his knife to cut the tail off for Bridger... then stops... catches himself... looks up at them grinning back down.

But then Glass notices something... his smile fades, as he steps over the elk, his eyes locked on the ground beside it. He runs a finger over the dirt... touches a broken twig.

Glass doesn’t answer... studies the track... feels the nearby brush... inhales the scent from his hand. Bridger and Pig watch him... exchange a confused glance.

And then in a flash of movement, Glass is racing away.

Glass just keeps running. Pig and Bridger chase after him.

The men building fires... laughing... enjoying themselves. Boone on the outskirts, gathering branches.

GLASS - TEARING THROUGH THE WOODS...

...dodging trees... leaping over fallen logs... loading his Anstadt as he runs.

BRIDGER AND PIG - CHASING AFTER GLASS...

...but not as gracefully. Bridger trips... slams to the ground... scrambles back to his feet to continue on.

BOONE - CARRYING AN ARM-LOAD OF WOOD INTO CAMP...

...seeing other men playing cards. He stops along the edge of camp, drops the wood to the ground.

The other men don’t even notice. Then an ARROW WHIZZES THROUGH THE AIR from behind Boone... THWACK... it hits him in the back of the neck... erupts out the front of his throat.

Boone stands frozen... confused... reaches up and grabs the bloody arrow... finally drops to his knees. And that’s when a TRAPPER looks up... sees Boone on his knees, holding that arrow, his mouth open like a dying fish.

And beyond Boone are THIRTY ARIKARA WARRIORS CHARGING THROUGH THE TREES... FEATHERS RISING FROM THE MOHAWKS SPLITTING THEIR SHAVED HEADS... FACES PAINTED FOR BATTLE.

WHOOSH... AN ARROW SAILS INTO THE TRAPPER’S CHEST, sending him flying backward. The camp explodes into chaos... men YELLING... grabbing for weapons... stumbling over each other as they duck behind trees.

HENRY - PULLING THE PISTOLS FROM HIS BELT...

...taking nervous aim at the attacking figures.

The Arikara leader, (ELK’S TONGUE), animal bones braided into his mohawk, a NECKLACE OF HUMAN EARS around his neck, heads the attackers... pouring into camp, arrows flying... knives and hatchets swinging.

And this is a massacre... the Arikara wading through the trappers... stabbing... clubbing... scalping. This once peaceful world is filled with a sickening mix of war cries and screams of death.

HORSES AND MULES break loose of their ties... take off in all directins.

Fitzgerald rises up from behind a log... aims his rifle... BOOM... takes down one of the warriors. He starts reloading as ANOTHER WARRIOR charges him... draws back his knife. Fitzgerald pours the powder, but knows he isn’t going to make it in time. The Warrior leaps toward him...

...BOOM... and it’s like the Warrior hits an invisible wall... flies back to the ground, very dead. Fitzgerald spins... sees Glass and his Anstadt right behind him.

Fitzgerald takes off... but he's a skilled fighter... flips his rifle around, swings it like a club across a WARRIOR'S head... WHACK... swings again... TAKES OUT ANOTHER WARRIOR... buries his knife into an ATTACKER's belly.

Henry shoves a TRAPPER toward the water. An arrow drives into the Trapper’s leg... he goes down. Henry lifts him, but several more arrows bury in the man’s back... he falls dead.

Bridger and Pig join Glass... splash into the river, SHOOTING back at the attacking Arikara.

A WARRIOR LEAPS FROM THE SHADOWS... tackles Bridger to the shallows... pins him underwater... raises his hatchet high to slam down... just as Glass dives into him, knocking the Warrior off Bridger. Glass and the Warrior wrestle in the surf, until Glass finally overpowers him... stabs his knife deep into the Warrior’s stomach.

Bridger kneels in the shallows, frozen in shock.

Pig drags Bridger to his feet... they swim toward the boat. ARROWS hiss into the water all around them.

Glass pulls his pistol... BAM... shoots an oncoming WARRIOR... spins after the others... joins them as they near the flatboat.

A final TRAPPER charges down the shore after them. SEVERAL WARRIORS pursue him.

He aims his pistol over his shoulder as he runs... pulls the trigger... CLICK... pulls it again... CLICK. But he’s too scared to stop his finger... CLICK... CLICK... CLICK... THUD... as a hatchet buries in his back. He crashes face first into the shallows.

Elk's Tongue straddles the dying man... grabs the Trapper by the hair, and CUTS OFF HIS LEFT EAR, then holds it up to Glass and the others, as he SCREAMS HIS WAR CRY.

Glass and the men shove the flatboat off the sandbar. Arrows dart past them... drive into the wooden boat. They scramble aboard as the current carries them away.

Pig reaches over the side, pulls the frantic WILLIAM ANDERSON up onto the boat. Fitzgerald and Glass grab LONGPOLES... shove them against the river’s bottom to pick up speed.

Henry stands on deck, watching as Elk’s Tongue yanks a DYING TRAPPER’s head back by his hair to peel away his scalp. Henry drops his eyes... can’t watch. The TRAPPER’S SCREAM ECHOES OVER HIM.

Quiet and dark... the battle long over. The flatboat floats with the gentle current. The NINE SURVIVING TRAPPERS are scattered around the deck... Glass digging an arrow out of MURPHY’s shoulder... Fitzgerald poling on one side with Anderson on the other... STUBBY BILL and Pig standing patrol with their rifles... Bridger doctoring a badly WOUNDED TRAPPER... and Henry standing at the front of the flatboat, staring off blankly.

Henry’s still lost in those screams.

Henry snaps out of his stare... turns to the men... obviously doesn’t have an answer.

Henry’s eyes instinctively look to Glass.

Fitzgerald throws a deadly glare at Pig.

Pig tries to hold Fitzgerald's glare... can't... looks back to the passing shores... shoots a quick glance to Glass, who gives him a nod... Thank you. And that's enough to make Pig smile... proud of himself.

A small campfire glows in the night. A DOZEN FRENCH TRAPPERS are scattered around the camp, talking... laughing...

...enough that they don't notice the shadows silently approaching from the trees around them...

...Elk's Tongue and several of his Arikara warriors.

Finally, one of the Trappers spots Elk's Tongue... freezes in mid-sentence... as the others turn to his stare.

But this is no attack... this is a business transaction. Elk's Tongue tosses a STACK OF SCALPS at their feet... the scalps we saw them take from Glass' company earlier.

TOUSSAINT, (40's), the leader of this bunch, forces a nervous smile... throws a glance to his rifle, well out of reach.

Elk's Tongue just stares back... doesn't understand.

Toussaint taps his own chest... points to the other trappers.

Elk's Tongue shakes his head... says something in Arikara that Toussaint and the rest of us don't understand... not until he holds out his hand.

Toussaint pantomimes eating. Elk's Tongue shakes his head.

The Trapper digs out some coins... blankets... liquor... gives them to Elk's Tongue's Warriors.

Elk's Tongue points to one of the Frenchmen's HORSES, tied in the trees.

Elk's Tongue points again.

One of Elk's Tongue's Warriors moves to the horse... begins stroking it... checking its teeth... like a new owner.

But Elk's Tongue isn't telling his man anything.

As the Trapper moves toward the Warrior...

...and everyone freezes... because Toussaint and his Men are shocked by Elk's Tongue's use of their language. And Elk's Tongue suddenly seems smarter... more dangerous... especially with the way he's looking at Toussaint right now.

And Toussaint's pretty smart too... smart enough to see this deal has turned bad... fast... and that he and his Men don't stand a chance against Elk's Tongue's Warriors.

So Toussaint forces a thin smile... motions his Trapper back.

The French can only sit there and watch as Elk's Tongue's gang disappears into the night with their horses.

ANGLE ON THE BADLY WOUNDED TRAPPER... NOW DEAD...

...as hands push the body over the side of the boat. It splashes into the water... floats downstream.

We PULL BACK... see that the flatboat is beached along the bank of the river. Glass, Bridger and Pig watch the body drift away.

Glass nods... turns away.

Glass, Bridger, and Pig approach the others, all gathered around Henry's map spread out on the ground.

Glass runs his finger along a THIN BLUE LINE.

Henry considers this a beat, then...

More GRUMBLING from Fitzgerald and Anderson, as they start gathering what's left of the supplies for the journey.

Shadowy figures moving through the trees... not a word spoken. And then we see Glass leading the group... eyes cutting into the dark... searching for any danger.

Pig's off to one side of Glass... Henry the other, with Fitzgerald leading the rest right behind. And they're all exhausted... only the fear of what else might be hidden in these trees is keeping them awake.

Slivers of moonlight bleed through the canopy of trees... shine over Anderson, Stubby Bill and Murphy, as they crouch beside the stream, filling their canteens.

Henry and Pig are studying that map. Bridger stands in the shadows, keeping watch.

Glass sits at the base of a tree, cleaning his Anstadt rifle... polishing down the TATTERED STAR CARVED INTO THE STOCK.

Fitzgerald takes a gulp from his FLASK... watches Glass with mean, drunk, eyes.

The others manage a nervous laugh. Glass doesn't react... just keeps working on the Anstadt. Fitzgerald walks to Glass... reaches down, and grabs the barrel of the Anstadt.

Glass holds firm.

Fitzgerald gives another tug, but Glass’ grip only grows tighter. His eyes roll up to Fitzgerald... make it clear he isn’t giving up his rifle. And they hold that stare just as hard as they’re holding Glass’ gun.

Fitzgerald realizes the barrel he’s holding is aimed his direction, while Glass’ hand seems suddenly very close to the trigger. But Fitzgerald’s pride won’t let him lose this tug of war. Which means this thing’s about to turn real ugly.

Fitzgerald uses his free hand to pull off that fur cap of his... shows off his wide, hairless scar.

And that flask of whiskey has just helped give us a glimpse into where some of Fitzgerald's rage comes from.

Fitzgerald keeps his grip on the rifle another moment, then shoves the Anstadt barrel back at Glass.

Fitzgerald spits to the ground a few feet away from Glass. Glass isn't biting... goes back to his rifle. So Fitzgerald walks back to the others... spots Bridger looking at him.

Bridger drops his eyes... locks them on the ground until he's sure Fitzgerald has lost interest. Then he glances back up... sees Glass watching him... just for a moment before he goes back to the Anstadt.

The group pushing through the darkness... dried leaves crunching under their boots.

Glass and Henry are out front. Henry throws a glance back to Fitzgerald, bringing up the rear with Anderson.

Henry nods... hopes that’s true.

Henry likes hearing that... still isn’t sure it’s true.

Henry thinks about that a beat, then shakes away the memory.

A BEAT, then...

Henry can sense he shouldn't dig deeper.

Another quiet beat, then...

That's not the answer Henry wanted to hear. He peers into the darkness ahead.

The sun is just rising up over the horizon.

Thick with trees. Henry leads the men single file through the woods.

Fitzgerald throws Pig an angry glance.

Glass moves slowly through the brush, almost gliding... subtle twists and turns to avoid branches and leaves... careful not to leave his scent behind. And his eyes cut through the trees as he moves... digging for any sign of movement.

He spots something at his feet... crouches down, running his finger over the SMALL ANIMAL TRACK in the dirt.

O.S. RUSTLING snaps his head up... to the TREMBLING OF BUSHES... growing harder... whatever’s in there is coming toward Glass. He calmly raises his rifle... presses the stock firmly against his shoulder... closes one eye as he takes steady aim down the long barrel...

...to the shapes rumbling out of the brush... TWO BEAR CUBS playfully wrestling.

Glass lowers the Anstadt... looks past the cubs for something else... but the woods are empty. A SUDDEN FEAR FILLS GLASS’ EYES...

...he spins... right into the GIANT GRIZZLY SWINGING ITS PAW AT HIM... hitting him across the side of the neck. The animal’s razor claws tear into Glass’ throat, as the force sends him flying through the air.

Glass sails into a thick tree... the CRACK OF HIS LEG SNAPPING against the trunk. The rifle falls from his hand. The Grizzly lets out a massive ROAR... charges Glass. Glass crawls to the Anstadt... grabs it... has just enough time to tilt the rifle toward the bear... BOOM...

...hits the bear, slowing the animal... but not enough to stop its attack.

HENRY - HEARING THE BLAST.

Henry takes off at full sprint. The other men follow.

GLASS - AS THE BEAR LEAPS ON TOP OF HIM...

...tosses Glass aside with a powerful swing. Glass hits the ground with a PAINFUL THUD. He starts CRAWLING AWAY, pulling the KNIFE from his belt as the bear rises up like a giant behind him... swings... tears its claws across Glass’s back, shredding deep into his flesh.

Glass is fighting for his life now... flailing with the knife... slicing it across the bear’s paw as it whips past him. The wound slows the bear enough for Glass to start crawling again.

But the Grizzly doesn’t give Glass the chance... ROARS... is on him in a flash, a BLUR OF CLAWS AND FANGS... tearing across Glass’ chest.

Glass drives his knife into the bear again... deep... trying to tear through the layers of flesh to something more vital.

HENRY - LEADING THE CHARGE THROUGH THE FOREST.

GLASS AND THE GRIZZLY - FIGHTING THIS EPIC BATTLE...

...locked in a death grip... tumbling along the ground... trading violent blows... Glass’ blade versus the Grizzly’s claws and fangs... snapping small trees as they roll over them... toward the edge of a steep embankment...

... and ROLL DOWN... spinning over and over... each ROARING AT THE OTHER... Glass pounding the knife into the bear again and again as they fall... neither willing to surrender as they careen down the slope at a dizzying pace, then SLAM TO THE BOTTOM WITH A CRUNCH.

The forest falls still... Glass hidden somewhere beneath the massive animal... both deathly motionless.

Bridger’s the first to reach the battleground... sees the TWO FRIGHTENED BEAR CUBS SCURRY AWAY. He follows the bloody ground and crushed underbrush to the top of the slope... looks down to the mass of flesh at the bottom.

Henry, Pig, and the others reach the edge.

No answer. And all they can see is the bear, so they scan the trees.

Still nothing. So Bridger takes off down the slope... losing his balance but rolling back to his feet. He reaches the bear... sees GLASS’ MANGLED ARM STICKING OUT FROM BENEATH IT.

Bridger uses all his strength to push the bear off, as the other men scramble down. But Bridger can’t budge the massive carcass... not until Stubby Bill and Pig join in... shove the animal over, revealing the bloody mass that is Hugh Glass...

...his throat is torn wide open... stomach and chest a gruesome design of gashes and cuts. His right leg is twisted in a horrible angle.

Bridger’s legs give out... he drops to a knee and vomits.

The men stare down at Glass’ corpse.

And that’s all Pig can stand... he TACKLES FITZGERALD... they roll to the ground. And in a flash Fitzgerald is on top, raining punches down on Pig... turning his face into a bloody mess. Henry and Anderson grab Fitzgerald... drag him off.

Then somehow, GLASS GASPS... this horrible, GUTTURAL MOAN.

Henry and Bridger fall to their knees beside Glass. Glass looks up at the men, tries to focus through the blood and pain. His breathing is just a GURGLING WHEEZE... bubbles forming along the deep gashes in his throat with each gasp.

Stubby Bill tosses Henry his canteen. Henry empties it over Glass’ throat... his chest. The water hits the wounds and immediately transforms to blood.

Glass lifts a trembling hand to his throat... feels the gaping wound. His eyes widen in horror. He COUGHS... the air splashes blood up from the open wounds.

Henry spins his head away from Glass.

Pig whips a shirt from his bag... shreds it.

Pig tosses a bottle to Henry. Henry pours it over the gashes. The BURNING PAIN arches Glass... he CRIES OUT in that same HORRIFIC MOAN.

Bridger throws his weight against Glass’ shoulders.

And for the first time, Henry seems like a leader of men... firm... in complete control... just as Glass said he would be. So the men hurry off to their positions.

Pig shakily joins Henry in wrapping the wounds. The blood keeps seeping out, soaking the rags.

Glass is like a shredded rag doll... dazed eyes staring up at them as they work on his wounds... wrap the rags around his throat... across his chest and stomach.

Bridger stares down at Glass with tears in his eyes.

Henry glances down to the PUDDLE OF BLOOD spilling out over his knees... oozing out from beneath Glass.

They gently push Glass onto one side, revealing DEEP, JAGGED, GASHES running across the width of Glass’ back. Henry stares at the open flesh, ready to panic again... but he doesn’t. Instead he looks to Pig.

Pig digs out a thick needle and spool of black thread... hands it to Henry. Henry grabs the whiskey bottle.

Henry pours the whiskey over Glass’ back. And the pain must be excruciating, because Glass lets out a HORRIBLE WAIL.

Fitzgerald and Anderson standing watch together in the trees. Glass’ scream erupts through the trees, and they both immediately crouch down to a knee... out of sight to anyone out there that might have heard that.

SERIES OF SHOTS

HENRY, BRIDGER AND PIG WORKING OVER GLASS... Bridger and Pig pressing the skin on Glass’ back together as Henry sutures the wound.

HENRY CLEANING GLASS’ SHREDDED THROAT.

BRIDGER AND PIG HOLDING GLASS DOWN AS HENRY SNAPS GLASS’ LEG BACK IN PLACE... the pain is too much... Glass passes out.

FITZGERALD PEERING BACK THROUGH THE TREES... to Henry doctoring Glass. Fitzgerald shakes his head in anger... turns back to the darkening forest.

Glass rests unconscious on the ground. Two branches act as a splint on his leg. A blanket covers his body... the stitches stretch to hold his throat together.

Henry crouches a short distance away from him, rinsing his hands under a canteen. Bridger and Pig stand beside him.

Pig nods... hustles off. Henry glances back to Glass.

Henry looks beyond Glass... to the bear, sprawled on the ground, its claws and fangs soaked with Glass' blood.

And what’s left of the grizzly... its fur cut away... slabs of flesh butchered from its skeleton.

A fire burns at the center of camp... a chunk of meat roasts above the flame. The men sit around the fire... Murphy reaches up... tears a strip of meat from the roast, tossing it in his mouth. The men are silent... the pall of Glass’ attack still hanging over them.

Bridger rises... walks to the Grizzly... crouches down over it, grabbing the animal’s enormous paw. It dwarfs his own hand, as he examines the massive claws. Bridger pulls out his knife... stretches the claws out to their full length, and CUTS THEM OFF AT ITS BASE.

Bridger turns with a start... ONE OF THE CLAWS FALLS TO THE DIRT. Bridger sees Fitzgerald standing over him, meat in his hand... his lips shiny with the grease.

Bridger carries another claw around Fitzgerald... to the sleeping Glass. Pig’s already crouched beside him. Bridger lifts Glass’ small leather POSSIBLES BAG from beside the Anstadt rifle... drops the claw inside... throws a look back to Fitzgerald.

Pig holds his palm out just above Glass’ mouth.

Bridger stares down at what’s left of Glass.

The fire has burned down to nothing. The men sleep scattered about. Murphy keeps watch just outside of camp.

Glass lies there awake... eyes wide open... a living corpse. And his breathing is just as labored as before... raspy, blood-soaked strains.

Fitzgerald tosses and turns, listening to Glass’ gurgling.

Henry’s awake, but doesn’t answer. He’s holding his pistol in his hand, as he stares at Glass... thinking the same thing Fitzgerald just said. But he doesn’t move... not yet.

Bridger sits beyond him... attaching the BEAR CLAW TO A THIN LEATHER STRAP... a future necklace.

ANGLE ON GLASS...

...awake... staring upward... shivering... beads of sweat covering his face... those same, weak breaths.

GLASS' POV...

...on the morning sky... the sun pouring in through the treetops... until a SMALL FIGURE steps into the bright sunlight... stands over Glass, and all we can make out is the silhouette.

GLASS...

...blinks... tries to focus on the figure.

GLASS' POV...

...on the silhouette... as it begins to clear... the FACE OF A YOUNG BOY... staring down... scared.

And then we see Glass... the Glass of years ago... looking up from beneath a broken wagon axle. He raises up... sees a farmhouse sitting alone in the middle of a beautiful, wide open Pennsylvania valley.

Glass stands... strides toward the house.

Glass' WIFE is on her hands and knees in the corner of the room, COUGHING... hard... like it's taking every ounce of strength she has.

The door opens, and a square of sunlight pours in over her... then Glass' shadow as he enters... moves to her... kneels down... touches her head, and she knocks his hand away.

Glass hesitates a moment, then strokes her hair again. His wife turns, and we see her face... deathly pale... a trickle of blood on her lips... she's dying.

Glass pulls her against him... holds her close... squints back into the doorway of sunlight... the small shape moving closer... growing larger... leaning down... reaching toward him... and BECOMING PIG.

And then we realize we're back in camp... with Glass barely hanging onto life... staring up at Henry, crouching beside Glass... squeezing Glass' hand.

Then we see Bridger kneel on the other side of Glass... press a WET RAG to Glass' head. Henry stands beside him.

Fitzgerald, Anderson, Murphy and Stubby Bill sit huddled a few yards away... watching.

ANGLE ON GLASS...

...eyes still open... he can hear every word.

FITZGERALD...

...points a stick at Glass.

Henry doesn’t answer... just keeps staring down at Glass.

Henry considers this, then...

Pig nods, grabs his gear. He and Anderson take off. Henry turns... walks over to Fitzgerald and Stubby Bill.

Fitzgerald tosses the stick away.

Fitzgerald is covered in dirt and sweat, standing knee deep in Glass’ grave. Stubby Bill stands over him.

He takes Stubby Bill’s hand... pulls himself out... spots Pig and Anderson walking back into camp.

Henry looks to Bridger, still doctoring Glass.

Henry looks to Pig for an honest answer.

Henry nods, his mind racing for a solution. He turns... squints out ahead of them... their trail home. He stares at it a long beat, then lowers his hand back to that pistol... pulls it from his belt, and turns to Glass.

The other men all drop their heads... except for Fitzgerald... he’s ready to see this end.

Bridger doesn't want to, but follows orders... reaches to fold the wet rag down over Glass’ wide open eyes. And Glass must know what’s happening, because his eyes roll up to Bridger’s... then to the Anstadt resting beside him. His lips try to form a word... his fingers dig into the dirt beside him... clawing toward that Anstadt...

...toward that stock with the old carved star.

Henry hesitates a beat, then nods. Bridger grabs the Anstadt... rests it in Glass' hand.

ANGLE ON GLASS' HAND...

...feeling its way down to the stock... pressing his palm against that worn star carving.

Bridger just watches him, then reaches back out to the rag.

GLASS’ POV - ON BRIDGER...

...the boy looking away as he pulls the rag over our eyes... everything goes black.

A LONG, AGONIZING BEAT in the dark, waiting for that gunshot, then...

BACK TO SCENE

Henry standing over Glass... pistol aimed down. His hand trembles slightly.

Pig turns away... presses his hands over his ears.

Bridger takes a few steps back... stares at Henry.

Henry struggles to steady his aim, until finally it calms... because he’s thought of something else. His arm drops to his side.

Fitzgerald snorts a stifled laugh. Bridger shoots him a look, but even Henry knows Fitzgerald is right... Bridger and Pig would never survive this alone.

Henry looks to the others... they all drop their eyes... not interested.

Still nothing from the others.

Pig looks to Bridger, who nods... so Pig nods too.

Henry hesitates... doesn’t like this, but knows it’s the best option left.

Bridger reaches down... lifts the rag from Glass’ face. Their eyes meet... Bridger gives Glass a nod.

Henry and the others are loaded and ready to leave. Henry pulls Bridger aside.

Bridger nods. Henry turns... leads the men into the trees... toward the Grand... toward Fort Union.

Bridger and Pig crouch beside Glass, changing his bandages.

Fitzgerald steps in... lifts Glass' Anstadt from beside Glass.

Glass is helpless to move... can only watch Fitzgerald disappear into the trees.

Glass' eyes drift back the glowing embers... the light blurs...

...becomes the FAINT FLICKER OF A GLOWING LANTERN... resting in a dusty window. Outside the window there's a fresh grave... we might even be able to make out the nameElizabeth Glass on the wooden headstone as we move closer to the window... through that twitching flame...

...and see TWO DARK SHAPES inside... the larger figure sitting beside a bed... the smaller one lying in it. It's Glass and the Boy.

TIGHT ON A RIFLE... GLASS' ANSTADT... resting across the Boy's lap, as Glass' hands carve a STAR into the fresh stock with a knife. The lantern flame shimmers over them.

The Boy's hands join in... small and frail, as they brush the wood chips away.

Glass' hand digs away more of the design. Some O.S. COUGHING from the Boy. The small hand runs over the carving, almost caressing it. Then it flinches in pain.

A BEAD OF BLOOD forms on the little boy's nicked finger... drops down onto the rifle... runs along the newly carved design before it’s finally ABSORBED INTO THE FRESH WOOD.

The two pair of hands continue working on the rifle together.

A long, quiet beat... just the scrape of the blade against wood... the small hands mimicking the movement of the large ones. Then...

Glass' hands stop carving... maybe even tremble... just a bit. And before he can answer...

Glass lying on the ground... his eyes open... that same labored breathing, as he looks across camp...

...to Bridger and Pig stand across camp, playing a game... flicking stones into a circle of sticks...

...as Fitzgerald leans against a tree, staring hard at Glass... thinking... all just killing time... waiting for Glass to die.

Pig somewhere in the woods, setting up a small snare trap.

Bridger and Pig kneel on each side of Glass, easing some broth into his mouth... cleaning his wounds.

Fitzgerald stands in the shadows, taking a piss. He glances over his shoulder to Bridger and Pig.

Fitzgerald finishes... walks past them... drops to his blanket.

Pig throws a nervous glance to Bridger, who shakes his head... don't listen to him.

Anderson stands on a ridge, scouting a course. He waves back to Henry and the others. They follow after him. Behind them, a THIN LINE OF SMOKE rises from the trees.

A DEAD PACK MULE engulfed in flames. A SCALPED TRAPPER lies in the dirt beside it. He's missing his LEFT EAR.

Beyond the Trapper, several Arikara Warriors dig through canvas sacks, pulling out supplies. Elk's Tongue stands over them, his hands wet with blood.

From high above... the sun is sinking over the trees.

Bridger walks toward the rushing water, carrying empty canteens.

Pig pulls a dead raccoon from his snare trap.

Fitzgerald sits bored against a tree, eyes locked on Glass as he twists a knife in his hands... flipping it point first into the dirt... grabbing... repeating...

...twist... flip... thwack... and never pulling his eyes off Glass.

Fitzgerald sits in silence as if he’s waiting for an answer. Finally, he snaps the knife from the dirt, stands, and walks over to Glass... crouches down... studies Glass' red, infected wounds.

Bridger kneels beside the water, filling the canteens.

Fitzgerald holding that knife tip against Glass’ throat. Glass just staring up at him... helpless.

The two men hold a stare... that knife just floating above Glass' skin... until Fitzgerald finally pulls it back... grabs a bloodstained rag from beside them... wads it up.

Fitzgerald moves the rag over Glass’ nose and mouth... holds it there, just inches above.

Glass locks his eyes on Fitzgerald’s... both men unblinking.

A DROP OF BLOOD hangs from the rag... finally falls... lands on Glass’ lips.

Fitzgerald almost smiles, waiting for the inevitable... as Glass stares back, fighting the urge to blink... but there's no chance he wins this battle. And he finally does...

...and Fitzgerald's eyes roll up to make sure they're alone.

Then he STUFFS THAT BLOODY RAG INTO GLASS' MOUTH.

Glass struggles against it, but he can barely move... this is going to end quickly.

And Fitzgerald is emotionless about this killing... almost like he's putting down a piece of livestock...

...as Glass' struggles weaken... slow... it's almost over...

...until THWACK... the butt of a rifle smacks Fitzgerald across the head... knocks him to the dirt... dazed...

...as Pig drops down beside Glass... tries to hold his rifle on Fitzgerald as he tugs that rag out... helps Glass.

Bridger still beside it. The water rushing past so loud that's all he can hear.

Pig's helping Glass breathe, as Fitzgerald rises behind him.

Fitzgerald moves toward them.

But Pig barely has his rifle aimed before FITZGERALD FLINGS HIS KNIFE INTO PIG’S CHEST. He freezes... stunned... the rifle slips from his hands.

And Fitzgerald is on Pig in a flash... pulling that knife out...

Glass struggles to reach for Pig... to stop Fitzgerald from murdering his friend... but what's left of his body barely moves.

GLASS' POV...

...on Fitzgerald with the knife in his blood-soaked hands... finishing Pig off.

FITZGERALD... looks around for Bridger... eye contact with Glass.. his mind racing.

He grabs Pig's arms... drags him out of the camp... hides his body in the brush... hurries back in... slings Pig's rifle and that dead raccoon deep into the trees... kicks dirt over the spilled blood on the ground...

...goes back to Pig’s body... kneels down over him. With the knife, he cuts off Pig’s ears and a piece of scalp, then hides them in a small hole... covers it with dead leaves.

Then sets his eyes back on Glass... the only witness... staring back. So Fitzgerald starts for him.

Fitzgerald spins... sees Bridger entering camp... dropping the canteens. He hesitates a beat, then shakes his head.

Bridger moves over to Glass... kneels down, and Glass grips Bridger's arm... tries to speak... can barely open his mouth.

Bridger pours some water over a rag... rests it across Glass' head.

Bridger shakes his head... scans the forest.

Fitzgerald just slides back down against that tree... starts shaving a stick with that knife that just gutted Pig. He watches Glass and Bridger... deciding his next move.

Glass awake... watching Fitzgerald poke at the small fire with a branch. Bridger stands at the edge of camp, squinting out into the darkness.

Bridger walks deeper into the trees... just past that brush where Fitzgerald hid Pig's body.

Fitzgerald watches... regrips that branch... and we notice it's been shaved to a JAGGED POINT.

But Bridger just turns back...

Bridger scans the forest again, then slides down to the ground next to Glass... rocks back and forth... nervous for his friend.

Fitzgerald's eyes drift to Glass... the men hold a look.

From high above the trees. The world is silent... peaceful.

BLACK...

...the sound of FRENZIED BREATHING.

Dim light fills the frame... then we see FITZGERALD’S FACE right in front of us.

BRIDGER - SCRAMBLES UP FROM THE TREE HE WAS LEANING...

...wipes the sleep from his eyes.

Fitzgerald gathers his bag, starts throwing in food and supplies. Bridger is scared out of his mind... does the same... grabs for his rifle, standing near Glass.

Bridger freezes... in his panic, he’d forgotten all about Glass. And now the wounded man’s eyes stare up at him... understanding perfectly what’s happening.

Bridger’s frozen... doesn’t know what to do. So Fitzgerald suddenly GRABS GLASS BY THE ANKLES... starts dragging him across the ground. Glass GROANS IN PAIN.

But Fitzgerald isn't waiting... he pulls Glass to that grave he dug, and ROLLS GLASS' BODY INSIDE.

Glass hits the bottom with a painful THUD.

Bridger stares at the open grave a moment, then fear sends him running after Fitzgerald...

...as Glass lies there INSIDE HIS OWN GRAVE.

GLASS’ POV - OUT OF THE GRAVE... TIGHT AND CLAUSTROPHOBIC... JUST THE NIGHT SKY ABOVE... AND THE SOUND OF HIS PAINFUL BREATHS.

Cold and grey. Fitzgerald crouches beside a small fire, warming his hands. WHISPS OF SMOKE rise into the sky.

Bridger sits at the base of a tree... his mind replaying the desertion of Glass over and over. He notices the smoke.

Bridger looks back to the trees.

Fitzgerald doesn’t respond. And then Bridger considers something, stares at Fitzgerald a beat, before...

Fitzgerald empties his canteen over the fire, killing the flames. Bridger stares at the water pouring out.

Fitzgerald doesn’t answer. Bridger tightens his grip on his rifle... slowly rises.

Bridger musters up all the courage he can... aims his rifle at Fitzgerald.

Fitzgerald stares back at Bridger and his rifle... eyes taking in everything... a snake sizing up its prey. Then Fitzgerald stands... takes a step toward the boy.

Bridger CRIES OUT... starts to pull the trigger, when Fitzgerald’s hand flashes out, grabbing the barrel, and shoving the butt back into Bridger’s face... THWACK.

The force of the blow knocks Bridger back to the ground, but Fitzgerald holds his grip on the rifle barrel... flips it around to aim it at the boy. Blood drips down Bridger’s head as he stares up at his rifle pointed down.

Fitzgerald lines the barrel up at Bridger’s head... his FINGER TIGHTENS ON THE TRIGGER.

And Fitzgerald PULLS THE TRIGGER... AND BRIDGER SQUEEZES HIS EYES SHUT IN FEAR... THEN CLICK. Bridger opens his eyes... sees Fitzgerald grinning down at him.

Fitzgerald tosses the rifle back at Bridger, and turns away. Bridger’s face flushes with rage and humiliation... he charges Fitzgerald from behind... tackles him to the ground... starts pounding Fitzgerald with punches.

But it’s only a moment before Fitzgerald is in control... HEAD-BUTTING Bridger off of him... tossing him away, then KICKING BRIDGER IN THE STOMACH... AGAIN. He grabs his knife... is ready to finish Bridger off...

...but Fitzgerald is smart enough to know that out here, two are safer than one... even when one is just a kid. He starts walking away.

Fitzgerald digs at the dirt with the knife... covers the fire’s remains.

Fitzgerald looks at Bridger... hard... evil.

Fitzgerald stares his point home, then shoves the blade into his belt, and stands.

Bridger wipes the blood from his face, then throws one last glance behind him before following Fitzgerald.

Empty and quiet... no sign of life... until GLASS’ HAND RISES BETWEEN THE LOOSE BRANCHES. His fingers dig into the earth, pulling himself up from the hole... a dead man climbing out of his own grave.

He rolls out to the ground... arches in pain when his back hits the cold, hard surface.

Glass lies there shivering, regaining what little strength he has, then rolls over... glances around the camp... his eyes settle on the blanket.

He starts dragging himself again with that one good arm... six inches at a time... across the dirt... finally makes it to the blanket... wraps it around him.

Glass rests there in the center of camp... unable to move... his eyes scanning the surroundings... no food... no water... and he’s wide open in this clearing... an easy target for any predator. So he grabs his Possibles bag and GUNPOWDER HORN, and drags himself toward the cover of brush.

And every movement takes all the will Glass has... a push with his good leg followed by a pull with his healthy arm... inch by inch... foot by foot... sweat pouring down his face as he finally reaches the cover of the trees... continues on... dragging himself across the forest floor in a desperate, hopeless crawl for survival.

But finally it’s too much for Glass... the fever and pain overwhelm him. He collapses... falls unconscious.

From high above the forest... the tree tops sway in the breeze.

Glass dragging himself again... his hands are torn and bloody from clawing his weight.

He stops... unwraps his small, leather Possibles bag... dumps it to the ground, revealing it contents... flints, a straight razor, his map, and a LEATHER NECKLACE WITH THE SIX-INCH BEAR CLAW attached. Glass grabs the razor... cuts SEVERAL THIN STRIPS FROM THE BLANKET, and wraps them around his hands.

He shoves the rest back in the bag, and does the only thing he can do... start crawling again... push with his healthy leg... pull with his good arm.

Glass dragging himself up a steep slope... over rocks... the jagged edges catching the wounds... tearing the primitive stitching. The gashes rip wider... blood oozes down, leaving a crimson trail dripping down the rock behind him.

And we TIGHTEN ON THE BLOOD UNTIL IT BECOMES DARK AS NIGHT.

BACK WHERE WE FIRST OPENED... shadows illuminated by that lantern's flame. The dusty floor... the bucket of water with a rag hanging over the edge... the Anstadt Rifle leaning beside the bed... that FRESH STAR COMPLETED IN ITS STOCK.

Then we see Glass... more clearly this time... holding his Son in his arms... leaning close... his face pressed to his Son's ear.

And Glass lying beneath a cluster of brush... shivering... bleeding... conscious but delirious... staring up at the sky... WHISPERING THOSE WORDS HIS WOUNDS WON'T LET HIM SAY... over and over... as a TEAR SLIPS FROM THE CORNER OF HIS EYE.

Glass pulling himself along the ground... stopping because he hears something... RUSHING WATER.

Glass digs his fingers into the ground with new energy... pulls himself toward the sound... up over a ridge... and there it is at the bottom of the ridge...

...THE GRAND RIVER... WATER. Glass crawls down toward it.

Glass at the river’s edge, cupping handfuls of water and rubbing it over his parched lips... withstanding the pain to gulp it down.

Glass cups more water to his mouth, but with each drink, he feels the water leak from a hole in his throat... run down his neck. He leans out over the surface to check his reflection... sees the swollen, stitched-together, throat. He fights off the urge to vomit... pulls the razor from the leather bag, and cuts more strips of blanket, soaking them in the river, then cleaning his wounds.

He runs a finger up to his shredded throat... around the open, wet hole. He cups another handful of water to his mouth... strains to swallow, then feels the liquid GURGLE OUT OF THE HOLE.

Glass shoves the cloth against the wound... tries to press the flesh together... no good. He dumps out his Possibles bag... stares at the meager contents. He picks up one of the flints... looks to the powderhorn.

ANGLE ON A SMALL CLUMP OF DRIED GRASS...

...as Glass SPARKS one of the flints... ignites the grass. As the fire grows, Glass pours a handful of GUNPOWDER from the horn, and RUBS IT ALL OVER THE HOLE IN HIS THROAT.

He lifts several small blades of burning grass... a miniature torch. And only then do we realize what he’s about to do... because he stares at the flame a beat, then raises it toward his gunpowder-covered throat.

The flame nears the black powder, and LEAPS OFF THE GRASS, igniting the powder, and SETTING GLASS’S NECK ON FIRE.

Glass falls back to the ground in agony... TRIES TO SCREAM, but his burning, shredded vocal chords won’t allow him.

The gunpowder sizzles and burns... the flame spreads... Glass’ flesh sears... melts... and the pain is too much for Glass... he passes out.

The smoke from his neck rises up into the blue sky... fades...

...and then the clouds begin to drift... fast... too fast... racing across the sky...

...as we GLIDE BACK DOWN TO...

GLASS - at the water’s edge, drinking... touching his charred, melted throat... no leaks. He slurps back more, then opens his Possibles bag... pulls out the GRIZZLY CLAW NECKLACE... stares at it a beat, then slips it over his head.

He drags out a WORN MAP... spreads it on the ground, then throws a glance around him... fingers the point on the blue line... a rough guess of his location.

ANGLE ON THE MAP...

...Fort Union at the top... far north. Other smaller outposts south... but not nearly as far away.

Glass gazes north up the Grand, as if he can see Fitzgerald and Bridger just ahead of him. Then he looks back down to his reflection in the water... battered and scarred. He touches his leg... all but worthless for now... his one good arm. It’s clear he’s not ready to take revenge on anyone.

So Glass shoves the map back into the bag... ties it around his arm with the powderhorn and blanket, then grabs a THICK, FALLEN LOG, and labors it into the river.

Glass crawls in behind it... deeper, until the current grows strong enough to carry the weight of his mangled body downstream. Glass drapes his healthy arm over the log, and starts floating... letting the river do the work.

Winding through the open prairie. Glass hangs onto the log... floats with the gentle current... past a HERD OF ELK grazing along the riverbank. The animals don't even notice Glass.

Elk's Tongue stands over Glass' empty grave... several Warriors watch him study the scene... the rags crisp with dried blood... the scattered remains of supplies. Then Elk's Tongue notices a SINGLE BEAR CLAW resting in the dirt. He picks it up.

Dark... the moon hidden behind clouds. A heavy mist hangs over the river. Glass is draped across the log, eyes closed... letting the slow current carry him south. But then his eyes open... because he hears something... a LOW RUMBLE.

Glass looks to the river banks... too foggy to see anything clearly. The RUMBLE GROWS LOUDER. He peers ahead... too dark to see much... just ANOTHER SPLINTERED LOG floating in front of him, its one jagged branch rising up in the air.

But then THE LOG VANISHES. Glass squints through the fog, scanning the surface. But it’s gone... the water’s empty... that LOW RUMBLE GROWS EVEN LOUDER.

Glass looks to the water beside him... a BRANCH GLIDES PAST AT A HIGHER SPEED. And now Glass knows what’s coming, but it’s too late... because the world suddenly turns upside down, as Glass tumbles over the edge of a TWENTY FOOT WATERFALL.

He spirals downward... crashes into the rushing current. He’s washed forward with the suddenly violent rapids. They pull him under the surface, then toss him GASPING back out.

The river carries him blindly through the mist... tossing... turning... SLAMMING HIM INTO A HUGE BOULDER... CRACK... he spins off, swept away headfirst... the foaming water sucking him down the rocky gauntlet.

He tumbles over more boulders... his Possibles bag snaps loose... Glass makes a grab for it, but is suddenly flipped down another set of falls.

The Possibles Bag is lost in the raging river.

Glass sinks beneath the surface, then floats back up, as the rapids calm... spit Glass to the gentle shallows. His body drifts face-down toward shore.

And just when we’re sure Glass has to finally be dead, his arm reaches up from the water... his hand clamps onto the muddy bank, and drags his body out of the river.

Glass collapses unconscious to the ground, his body shrouded in that mist.

TIGHT ON THE LEFT SIDE OF GLASS’ FACE... the right still pressed into the muddy bank. The sun beats down... then SHADOWS APPEAR... BOUNCE ACROSS HIM... something is standing over Glass.

And then a VULTURE’S HEAD DROPS INTO FRAME...

...latches its beak onto Glass’ cheek... tugs at it... stretches it. Glass’ eyes pop open... we PULL BACK to see THREE VULTURES surrounding Glass’ body, pecking and clawing at his battered wounds.

Glass swings his good arm, knocking one of the vultures away. He tries to cry out, but only that PRIMITIVE HISS ERUPTS from his throat.

The vultures dance away from his flailing... aren’t willing to give up their meal so easily... dart in for quick attacks on his flesh.

Glass grasps a branch... swings at the birds, beating them back. The vultures give up the battle... fly away.

Glass crumbles back to the ground... squints up into the sun... the SILHOUETTES OF THE VULTURES CIRCLING ABOVE HIM... waiting for him to die.

Glass glances to a ridge just a few hundred yards away.

At the base of the ridge, a GIANT BOULDER has broken free, creating a partial cave. Glass starts crawling toward it.

And if it’s possible, he looks even closer to death now than when he started this journey.

No more than ten feet deep, but enough to hide from predators. Glass slides as far back in the recess as he can... collapses against the rock wall.

Glass gathers loose sticks and grass into a small pile... begins sparking rocks together to build a fire.

The fire burns beside Glass, as he TEARS A SINGLE THREAD of cloth from the tattered blanket, then feeds it through a tiny hole in a JAGGED, NEEDLE-SIZED SLIVER OF SHARPENED ROCK... a man-made needle and thread.

Glass goes to work on the open wounds of his chest... piercing his skin with the rock... wincing with pain as he tugs the thread through the fresh hole in his skin... pierces the other side of the wound, then pulls the flesh tightly together... before repeating the excruciating process all over again... pierce... pull... pierce... tighten.

The moon’s glow reflects off the water.

ANGLE ON GLASS’ HAND...

...holding a small sharp stone, and SCRATCHING LETTERS INTO THE CAVE’S ROCK WALL.

WE PAN DOWN TO THE GROUND... still listening to the SCRATCHING OF THE ROCK as we glide across the dirt... reach the fire... its flame warm and strong.

We TIGHTEN ON THE FIRE, until WE’RE INSIDE IT... and then WE PULL BACK...

...and we see the fire has long died away... just black ash. The O.S. SCRATCHING has silenced. We glide back across the cave floor... to Glass unconscious on the ground. And above him on the wall, we see what he had been scratching...

“Robbed and left to die by Fitzgerald. Killed Pig to. If find him kill for Hugh Glass”

We hold on those words a beat, then...

Still dark and misty. Bridger asleep beneath a thick cover of trees. An O.S. GUNSHOT springs his eyes open... then ANOTHER SHOT... and ANOTHER.

Bridger looks around... sees Fitzgerald's gear... but no Fitzgerald. Bridger scrambles to his feet.

TWO INDIAN PONIES prance anxiously... pull at the ropes that secure them to trees.

And then we see why they're jumpy... Fitzgerald's standing over the bodies of TWO DEAD CROW INDIANS... gathering their weapons. He looks up... sees Bridger standing in the mist... staring at the scene... shocked.

Bridger doesn't respond... just watches Fitzgerald pull his knife... crouch over one of the bodies.

Then Fitzgerald moves the blade toward the Crow's head... pulls the long black hair back.

DROPS OF RAIN dot the surface. THUNDER RUMBLES... the rain grows heavier.

Rain pouring... gullies of water run down the ridge, spewing over the mouth of the cave. But inside, Glass doesn’t stir... lying there just as we last saw him.

Rain coming down in buckets. The river’s swollen and flooded... raging.

Clouds drift across the moon... the storm has ended.

TIGHT ON GLASS’ FACE... eyes closed. He looks dead.

Glass' eyes suddenly spring open.

Glass crawls out of the crevice... shields his eyes from the sun, as he takes in the scene.

The river has sunk back to normal, leaving the banks battered and muddy. The water is thick and brown with all the flooded earth it pulled up.

Glass uses all his strength to rise up to his knees, then higher... onto his healthy leg. He braces himself against a tree. He’s still crooked and hunched over, but for the first time since the Grizzly attack, he looks more like a man than an animal. He bends down... picks up a BROKEN TREE BRANCH.

Glass limps along the bank... beside the brown water stirred up from the flood. He moves along the washed-out area, searching for food... grabs some plants... tears them from the ground to chew on the roots.

He continues on... spots a DEAD SNAPPING TURTLE drowned in the flood, frozen on its back. Glass kneels down to pick up the turtle... sniffs it. As he does, he spots something across the river... a DEER, staring back at him.

Glass slowly raises his IMAGINARY RIFLE... takes careful aim at the deer... pulls the trigger. If only he had his Anstadt.

But then the deer’s head snaps... to something beyond Glass. Glass follows the animal’s eyes... turns to the ridge... and sees FIVE ARIKARA WARRIORS STANDING AT GLASS’ CAVE.

Glass drops flat to the ground behind a tree uprooted in the flood. He looks back across the river... THE DEER IS GONE.

Elk's Tongue stands at the wall, staring at the words Glass etched into the rock. He picks up a piece of shredded cloth... sniffs it, then says something to the Warriors.

Glass inches his head up over the tree... to Elk's Tongue, now outside the cave... studying the tracks.

Glass’ eyes jump to the soft dirt along the river... HIS FOOTPRINTS... an obvious trail leading right to him. He throws a glance around... nowhere to run even if he could. So he starts backing into the river on his stomach... feet- first... dragging a small branch over the tracks around him, wiping them away as he moves. And his eyes are locked on the Arikara... watching to see if they spot him.

But they haven’t yet, and Glass keeps sliding backward... five feet off shore... only three feet deep in the murky water and sludge. But if he goes any further, the current will catch him... pull him into the next set of violent rapids... and make him a clear target.

The Arikara follow the tracks down from the cave.

Glass sinks neck-deep into the water... the Arikara keep coming... near the river. So Glass drops beneath the surface.

UNDERWATER -

And Glass’ eyes spread wide... searching the muddy water.He grabs a LARGE ROCK... rolls onto his back, and places the rock on his stomach, its weight holding him firmly to the river bottom.

ANGLE ON THE ARIKARA WARRIORS... following Glass’ tracks to the edge of the river... looking out over the brown river.

UNDERWATER -

Glass pressing his head back against the bottom... staring up through the cloudy water... to the FIVE SHADOWS STANDING ONLY A FEW FEET AWAY.

Elk's Tongue and the others... unknowingly standing just above Glass... looking back to the tracks... scanning the water. But the surface is empty, and the river’s too thick with mud to see anything below.

But they keep looking... and we’re waiting for Glass to explode from the river, gasping for air. But he doesn’t... and they keep scanning for what seems an eternity, until finally, Elk's Tongue turns... the Warriors follow him back toward the cave.

Behind them, Glass’ face inches to the surface... pulls in some oxygen... watches as they fade into the trees.

Then Glass rolls the rock away... starts moving deeper into the river... fighting the current to grab rocks and boulders... pulling himself to the other side.

Glass limps slowly across the rolling prairie. He’s weak... starving... isn’t going to make it much further. He drops to his hands and knees.

And then he feels something... the ground almost trembling under his hands. He watches his hands quiver with vibration. A RUMBLE BUILDS. Glass strains to hear... looks to the crest of a hill... labors up the gentle slope toward the sound.

Glass reaches the crest... looks over the other side to a HERD OF BUFFALO THUNDERING ACROSS THE PRAIRIE.

An incredible site... hundreds of massive creatures... their hooves tearing up the earth, leaving a cloud of dust behind them.

Behind the herd, a PACK OF WOLVES FIGHT OVER A FALLEN BUFFALO.

Glass lies in the high grass, watching the wolves SNARL AND SNAP over the remains. And he eyes that buffalo... the closest he’s been to food in days.

He scans the ground for a weapon... nothing. And then his eyes settle on some DEAD SAGE BRUSH. He grabs them, along with some sticks... rocks... pulls them into a pile.

The five wolves rest around the downed buffalo, their snouts bloody from the meal. Suddenly, one of the wolves’ heads snaps up... bares its teeth... SNARLS.

And then we see what the wolf is growling at... Glass... limping out of the shadows toward the animals, holding a BURNING SAGE BUSH IN EACH HAND... like giant FLAMING HANDS clawing in the night.

The wolves jump to their feet, unsure of what’s approaching. They growl at Glass. But Glass keeps coming... doing his best to YELL... more like GROWL back at the wolves. He swings the flaming brush, tossing glowing sparks through the air.

The wolves spread out, instinctively surrounding Glass. But Glass singles out each one... charges, waving the flames... driving each wolf back.

Four of the wolves back away, but the leader holds its ground... even moves toward Glass... only a few feet away... SNARLING... bloody jaws ready to attack, but still not sure what its up against.

Glass shakes the flames at the wolf... it SNAPS AT GLASS’ ARM. Glass swings the other... slams the fiery plant across the wolf’s head.

The wolf YELPS... leaps back... starts to run away, but turns back... makes another charge at Glass. But Glass is ready... throws the flaming ball of sage at the wolf, then clubs it with the other. The animal’s fur begins to burn.

The frightened wolf has had enough... rolls on the ground, then spins to join the rest of its pack. They run a safe distance, then stop... keeping a watch on Glass.

Glass drags the burning sage bushes along the ground, igniting the grass and brush... creating a foot-high flaming wall between him and the wolves.

He stretches the flame into a circle, a fiery ring surrounds the fallen buffalo.

The wolves have seen enough... turn... race away from the flames.

As the grass around him burns, Glass drops the sage plants... attacks the buffalo remains, tearing away bloody chunks of flesh from the carcass, and shoving them into his mouth... a starving animal that’s finally found food.

From high above the prairie... Glass and the buffalo at the center of that glowing ring of fire.

The wind’s gusting... bending the high golden grass over on its side. Glass moves slowly across, pulling his collar up to shield his face from the cold winds. He spots something in the distant sky ahead... a THIN LINE OF BLACK SMOKE. Glass picks up his pace... hope spurring him on.

The charred, skeletal remains of a tribe’s village... just black posts where tee-pees once stood... a half-burned log lodge still smokes, sending that black line into the sky.

Glass limps through the graveyard of structures... all signs of life in this village long gone. He searches a basket... pulls out a BLANKET... wraps it around his shoulders.

Glass steps into the smoky warmth of the lodge... black and empty. He slides down to the floor... unwraps strips of roasted buffalo from what’s left of his blanket. He starts to take a bite, when SOMETHING DARTS PAST THE DOORWAY TO THE BACK ROOM. The O.S. SHUFFLING OF FEET.

Glass freezes... he isn’t alone. He rises... grabs a splintered post like a spear... eases toward the doorway... raises the post to swing...

...and sees the SMALL PUPPY standing in the back room. The dog takes off around a crumbled wall. Glass follows it.

Glass limps across the room... turns the corner of the crumbled wall... and sees the dog slide to a stop beside an ANCIENT ARIKARA WOMAN, huddled in the corner, her bony arms outstretched in front of her in weak defense. And her eyes are SOLID WHITE... the old woman is blind. She CRIES OUT A CHANT over and over... her death chant, as she waits for this stranger to kill her.

Glass stands frozen... confused. He tries to speak, but his throat still won’t let him. He crouches down in front of the old woman... reaches for her hand, but she flails him away. He grabs her again... gently... just holds it until she calms... studying the woman... her hollow face all skin and bones... she’s obviously dying.

He pulls the strip of buffalo meat from his pocket... pushes it into the woman’s hand. She immediately jerks it to her mouth... and that’s when Glass sees the WOMAN HAS NO TEETH... she can’t eat.

Glass turns to an old pot tipped over on the floor.

Glass carries the pot toward a nearby stream. The dog scurries out behind him... follows Glass to the water.

The pot boils over burning logs. Glass dips a cup in, pulling out a warm broth. He carries it to the woman, still sitting in the corner... takes her hand, placing the cup in it for her. She gulps the liquid back.

Glass goes back to refill the cup. The old woman MUMBLES SOMETHING we can’t understand... over and over, as Glass brings the cup back to her. He tries to ease it into her hand, but the woman pushes it away... slides her hand up Glass’ arm to his face... patting it... MUMBLING THOSE SAME WORDS... thanking Glass.

Glass carries several blankets toward the lodge. The puppy trails behind him, biting at one of the corners... hanging on as Glass pulls him across the dirt.

Glass enters the back room with the blankets... stops when he sees the old woman slumped over to the floor, her white eyes frozen open in a lifeless stare... the cup of broth spilled beside her.

The dog scampers over... starts licking up the wet remains of the broth.

Glass has stacked several burned posts into a crude pyre at the edge of the village. The woman lies atop the pyre, covered in the blankets he gathered for her.

THREE INDIANS sit on horseback, watching Glass walk away from the pyre.

As Glass and the dog walk across the village... something else appears beyond them...

...THOSE THREE INDIANS GALLOPING TOWARD THE VILLAGE... FAST.

Glass hears them... turns... knows it’s too late to run, so he just stands there. The dog’s seen enough... darts away.

Glass watches the Indians ride into the village... their braided hair and dress is different than the Arikara we’ve seen earlier, because these are SIOUX WARRIORS, and Glass knows it.

The Sioux surround Glass on horseback... stare down at him. The lead warrior (SPOTTED HORSE), (30’s), poised and strong, points to the pyre... says something to Glass.

Glass tries to answer... can’t... touches his scarred throat. Spotted Horse slides gracefully off his horse. The other two warriors, (THREE FEATHERS and RUNNING FOX) do the same... close in on Glass.

Glass stands firm. Spotted Horse questions Glass again. And again, Glass touches his throat... holds his jacket out from his sides... no weapons. Spotted Horse studies Glass hard... spots Glass’ necklace... the grizzly claw hanging from it. He examines the enormous claw, then nods to Glass’ stitching and scars.

Glass hears the familiar word... nods. Three Feathers SNIFFS GLASS... says something to Spotted Horse.

Spotted Horse walks around Glass... spots the BLOOD STAINS along the back of Glass' shirt. Spotted Horse pulls out his knife.

Glass is confused... holds up his hand, as he takes a step back. But Three Feathers and Running Fox grab Glass... secure him, as Spotted Horse raises the knife.

Glass GROWLS A PLEA... but Spotted Horse slices the knife down Glass’ back... just cutting open his shirt...

...and revealing a MASS OF WHITE WORMS... MAGGOTS... COVERING GLASS’ BACK.

The three warriors exchange glances... they’ve obviously never seen anything like this. Glass sees their reaction... tries to pull away, but Spotted Horse SLAMS THE BUTT OF HIS KNIFE against Glass’ head.

Glass drops to his knees... crumbles unconscious to the dirt.

Spotted Horse says something to the others... they drag Glass toward the horses... throw him over the back of Three Feather's horse, then ride out of the village.

Dozens of glowing campfires dot the prairie, along with a sea of tee-pees, their willow poles fanning against the night sky. Animal hides and painted designs decorate the various tee-pees and lodges. SIOUX CHILDREN laugh and play about the village... freeze when they hear Spotted Horse and the other riders splash across the stream.

The warriors ride into the village, Glass’ body still tossed over the back of Three Feather’s horse. The children race to them.

ANGLE ON GLASS... regaining consciousness... eyes blinking... trying to focus.

GLASS’ POV - FROM THE BACK OF THE HORSE...

...to the children’s eager faces swarming around him.

Spotted Horse - YELLING SOMETHING at the children... they back away from Glass... fall into line behind the riders.

Sioux MEN and WOMEN watch as the procession moves past... to a tee-pee set away from the rest... its hide walls decorated with wild lightning bolts and buffalo and vaguely human figures circling the sun.

An OLD MEDICINE MAN, gnarled and leathery, a DEAD RAVEN tied in his long hair, his naked chest painted with red and black stripes, steps out of the tee-pee. He eyes Glass, as Three Feathers and Running Fox carry him inside.

Suddenly, the Medicine Man begins CHANTING.

A FLURRY OF IMAGES ACCOMPANIED BY THE MEDICINE MAN’S V.O. CHANTING...

LEATHER STRAPS SNAPPING AROUND GLASS’ WRISTS AND ANKLES... stretched tight.

Glass, naked, on his stomach at the center of the tee-pee, his arms and legs outstretched, secured to wooden stakes in the ground. The infected wounds exposed.

The Medicine Man... CHANTING... waving burning sticks in the air.

A THICK LIQUID BOILING IN A POT... the Medicine Man’s twisted hand reaching a gourd container in... filling it with the steaming mixture.

The liquid POURING OVER GLASS’ BACK.

GLASS’ FACE... arched to the sky... twisted in horrible pain. He SCREAMS THAT HORRIBLE GROWLING CRY.

MORE IMAGES... even faster... the CHANTING more frantic...

A SIOUX WOMAN,(WAKI), staring down.

HANDS pouring HOT OIL over Glass' wounds.

The Medicine Man dancing... chanting... shaking sticks lined with RATTLESNAKE TAILS.

The moonlight shining through the tee-pee, illuminating the images of the buffalo and dancing shapes.

The LITTLE BOY, (Glass' Son), standing over Glass... just watching him.

Waki gently pouring fluid into Glass’ mouth.

The Medicine Man holding the SEVERED HEAD OF A SNAKE... lightly sinking the fangs around the wounds on Glass’ throat.

GLASS’ EYES... wide open... rolling up white into his head.

AND THE CHANTING STOPS... the world goes dark.

Cutting through the open prairie. Snow-covered peaks touch the sky in the distance.

Fitzgerald and Bridger dressed in furs... ride the two horses bareback across the prairie. They rise up a steep slope... reach the top, and spot the cluster of log buildings inside a massive thirty-foot tall wooden fence. Fort Union.

Bridger smiles... relieved.

Fitzgerald gives Bridger a stern gaze.

Bridger doesn’t respond. Fitzgerald doesn’t like that.

Bridger digs his heels into the horse... rides on.

Bridger keeps riding away. Fitzgerald follows behind.

Like a small town surrounded by a log wall. The main TRADING POST BUILDING is busy... TRAPPERS, SIOUX, all with things to trade. But most of the life is in the FORT UNION SALOON next door... crowded with customers downstairs, and just as busy in the whores’ rooms upstairs.

A small village of tents rests off to the side of the buildings, holding the overflow of traffic.

Henry sits at his desk. Fitzgerald and Bridger stand across from him. The others... Anderson, Murphy, and Stubby Bill crowd the room behind them.

Fitzgerald looks to Bridger for confirmation. Bridger manages a slight nod.

The words are like a punch in the gut to Bridger. He can’t take the pain... opens his mouth to speak, but Fitzgerald beats him to it.

Bridger’s head snaps to Fitzgerald... don’t make this worse.

Stubby Bill reaches up... gives Bridger a pat on the back. But to Bridger, it feels like a red-hot blade.

And now Fitzgerald has snared Bridger into his lie. Bridger drops his eyes to his feet.

Henry turns to a SAFE resting against the wall. Fitzgerald watches as Henry spins the dial... locks in the combination, then pulls the latch. The safe door swings open...

...revealing STACKS OF CASH.

Fitzgerald’s eyes lock on all that money. Henry pulls out a handful... starts counting them out onto the desk.

Fitzgerald swipes up his pile of bills. Henry drops a couple bills in front of Bridger.

Bridger stares down at the bills a beat, then turns... leaves them there as he pushes his way out of the office. Henry looks to Fitzgerald.

Empty, except for Bridger curled up on his cot, sobbing.

Glass sleeps under a buffalo hide. His eyes flicker open.

GLASS’ POV - ON THE BUFFALO AND DANCING FIGURE DESIGNS SHADOWED THROUGH THE TEE-PEE.

GLASS - His hand reaching up to his throat. It looks much better than we last saw.

He stiffly raises himself up... remembers his back... struggles to reach behind him... scarred but clean.

He looks beside him... sees SIOUX PANTS AND SHIRT resting on the ground... waiting for him.

ANGLE ON GLASS... dressed... pushing his way out through the flap of the tee-pee... limping out into the midday sun, and shielding his eyes. He looks like a man that hasn’t seen the light of day for weeks.

Glass adjusts to the brightness... stares in wonder at the scene. And then we see what Glass is looking at, and understand his reaction...

the entire village is blanketed in snow. The Sioux VILLAGERS move about, wearing heavy skins and furs.

A WOMEN’S O.S. VOICE turns Glass...

...to WAKI, the woman from the images, walking toward him, bundled in fur. She says something else we can’t understand... points to Glass’ feet. Glass looks down... to his BARE FEET BURIED DEEP IN THE SNOW. He hadn’t noticed.

And then Waki smiles... a sweet, pretty smile. She takes his hand... leads him back into the tee-pee.

Glass and Waki enter. She pulls a pair of moccasins from a basket... hands them to Glass. He slips them on, then presses his fingers against his throat... almost trying to hold it all inside to make it work, then...

Waki doesn’t understand... just hands him his BEAR CLAW NECKLACE. Glass nods in thanks, then achingly lifts his arms up to slip it over his head.

Waki just stares back... no idea what Glass said.

Glass stumbles through a sentence of Pawnee. Waki shakes her head... throws a jumble of Sioux back at him.

Waki shakes her head again. Glass leads her outside.

Glass points to the sun overhead, then raises both hands, fingers outstretched.

Waki studies Glass... the sun... begins to understand. She nods... SAYS A WORD... holds up all ten of her fingers.

Then Waki closes her hands into fists... opens them again.

Glass glances around... for the first time, notices Sioux MEN and WOMEN staring at him. Children freeze in the middle of their play... all eyes locked on Glass. TWO SMALL BOYS, (NEW MOON and LITTLE ONE), repeat the same TWO WORDS...

Children freeze in the middle of their play... all eyes locked on Glass. TWO SMALL BOYS repeat the same TWO WORDS to each other...

...over and over.

Glass stares back, unsure. Then...

Glass turns... sees Spotted Horse stepping out of a tee-pee.

Glass nods... smiles. The children smile and laugh now too... repeat the words LOUDER.

Spotted Horse points into the distance.

Glass considers this.

Spotted Horse shakes his head... starts walking... motions for Glass to follow.

Glass follows after him. The children sneak in behind, giggling as they tail Glass across camp.

Glass glances back... New Moon and Little One duck behind a tee-pee... wait for him to continue before they scoot back out after him.

Glass, Spotted Horse, Three Feathers, Running Fox and OTHER WARRIORS sit around a fire, eating with CHIEF RED HAWK, the Medicine Man, and several other TRIBAL ELDERS.

The Sioux don’t understand. Glass reaches over, taking Spotted Horse’s plate.

Glass aims an imaginary rifle.

Now Spotted Horse understands... translates for the others.

Spotted Horse translates again. Red Hawk nods, studying Glass.

Red Hawk SAYS SOMETHING to Glass... motions to the BEAR CLAW NECKLACE. Glass looks to Spotted Horse.

Glass touches his chest. Red Hawk nods, impressed. Glass points to the JAGGED SCARS running up Red Hawk’s neck to a MISSING RIGHT EAR.

Red Hawk smiles... shakes his head.

That word, Glass understands. Red Hawk rambles a long sentence in Sioux... motions at Glass. The others LAUGH.

Glass glances to the Sioux clothes he’s wearing... nods and smiles along with the others. They continue their meal.

The village is silent.

Glass rests on the buffalo rug, staring up at the designs painted above him.

Busy with activity. Spotted Horse walks to Glass' tee-pee... enters.

Spotted Horse stands inside the empty tee-pee... sees GLASS' GRIZZLY CLAW NECKLACE resting on the buffalo hide.

Open, snow-dusted prairie for as far as the eye can see. And the speck that is Hugh Glass, alone at the center... walking north.

But you can barely tell if it’s day or night through the blizzard. Fitzgerald, Anderson, Bridger, Murphy and Stubby Joe trudge through the storm in their snowshoes... finally reach the bunkhouse.

Anderson shoves the door closed against the wind... latches it. The men look worn and battered... wind-burnt faces, icicles in their beards.

It's clear Bridger is talking straight to Fitzgerald. And Fitzgerald throws Bridger a glare... wants to throw more, but Bridger’s returning the stare... hard... so Fitzgerald decides he’d better not push it.

The bunkhouse goes silent. Fitzgerald turns his look on the others.

The others trade glances... no takers.

Still nothing.

That's a challenge. And Fitzgerald never backs down from one of those. He grabs his gloves... starts strapping his snowshoes back on.

Fitzgerald walks out... leaves the door wide open for the cold wind to pour over the others. Anderson scurries over, shoving it closed.

Fitzgerald enters... sees Henry working at his desk.

But Fitzgerald doesn't answer... not right off, because he just spotted the SAFE DOOR CRACKED OPEN behind Henry... STACKS OF MONEY visible inside.

Henry looks up at Fitzgerald... snapping Fitzgerald's focus back.

Henry stands up... carries the papers to the door.

Henry walks out... as Fitzgerald's eyes drift back to that safe.

Glass crouches beside a stream, cupping handfuls of water to his lips. He HEARS O.S. MOVEMENT... looks up...

...to Spotted Horse just across the stream... sitting on his horse, holding a spear, and wearing Glass' Grizzly Claw Necklace. And he's leading a PAINT MARE behind him, loaded with a BEAR HIDE COAT.

Tucked under the rooftop of trees. Glass and Spotted Horse are crouched beside a fire-bed... no flames... no smoke... just warmth. Glass is wearing the Bear Hide.

Spotted Horse pulls off his own BEADED CHESTPLATE... holds it out to Glass.

Glass nods... takes the chestplate, slipping it on.

Glass and Spotted Horse hold a look. Then Spotted Horse looks to the Grizzly Claw.

Spotted Horse smiles. And that's when the ARROW BURSTS THROUGH THE FRONT OF HIS CHEST...

...and Glass looks up... sees SEVERAL DARK SHAPES RUSHING THROUGH THE TREES TOWARD THEM.

Spotted Horse reaches for Glass... crumbles over, just as there's an O.S. SNAP BEHIND GLASS.

Glass spins in time to see an ARIKARA WARRIOR SWINGING A HATCHET.

Glass dives, scooping up Spotted Horse's spear... driving it into the air, shoving it through the Warrior's stomach.

The dark woods suddenly ERUPT IN WAR CRIES... Arikara appear from all sides.

Glass tears the knife from Spotted Horse's sheath... scrambles up... races toward the Paint Mare as ARROWS PIERCE THE AIR ALL AROUND HIM.

Glass swings up onto the Paint Mare... spots ELK’S TONGUE leading the charge... the necklace of ears hanging around his neck. And Elk’s Tongue’s eyes are locked on Glass... almost like he remembers him.

Glass hanging onto the paint mare, as she gallops through the trees... the animal’s nostrils spread wide, pulling in all the oxygen it can.

Glass glances back... sees SHAPES BEHIND HIM... HORSES... ridden by Elk’s Tongue and a DOZEN OTHER WARRIORS.

Glass digs his heels into the horse, squeezing every ounce of speed from her legs... pushing her toward the clearing up ahead... throwing another glance back... then looking in front of him, and realizing it isn’t a clearing at all...

...it’s the edge of the world.

The paint mare explodes from the trees, then runs out of ground... because she’s just galloped off the side of a cliff.

The horse sails downward toward a thick forest of trees, its legs flailing for something to stand on.

Glass grips the horse’s mane, hanging on for what seems an endless fall.

The mare SLAMS LEG-FIRST INTO THE TREE-TOPS with Glass still on her back. The Paint Mare SQUEALS as she smashes through the snow-covered trees, carrying Glass with her.

And the horse comes crashing through the branches... the massive limbs slowing her fall... snapping off as her body hits and twists... tosses Glass away.

Glass sails through the air... hits a slope, and tumbles down into a stream of icy water...

...sinks below the surface a moment... long enough that we're sure he has to be dead... until he rises from the water... drags himself up to the snowy ground... collapses... shivering... staring up through the trees...

...to Elk’s Tongue and his Warriors peering down from the top of the cliff... with no way to get to Glass. Finally, they turn... disappear.

Glass moves shivering through the trees... his body soaked... clothes beginning to ice over... body convulsing from the cold...

...when he finds the DEAD PAINT MARE twisted on the forest floor.

Glass grabs the loose blanket from the snow... shakily wraps it around himself. But it's worthless in this frigid night air. Glass is going to freeze to death.

He stares at the dead horse a beat, then pulls the knife back, and SLAMS IT INTO THE HORSE’S STOMACH... begins slicing the mare’s belly open. His hands shake so much he can barely control the knife.

Blood and organs spill out, staining the snow. Steam rises from the remains. Glass keeps on cutting... turning his head from the smell, as he pulls out whatever doesn’t ooze out on its own... emptying the carcass.

Glass peels off his wet furs, then does what we didn’t think was possible... he begins crawling feet-first into the horse’s hollow belly... holding its ribs up so he can slip inside... curling up... SQUISHING IN... deeper... deeper... until only his head remains outside of the horse.

Glass wraps the blanket around his face and head... doing everything he can to survive.

The dead horse... its fur white and icy... Glass’ blanket- wrapped head still protruding from the seam in its stomach. And nothing’s moving... the whole world looks frozen stiff...

...until Glass’ head shifts... the CRACKING OF FROZEN FLESH, as he lifts the upper half of the mare's belly. It’s like a cocoon tearing open. He rolls out of the carcass, hitting the ground, and squinting up into the warmth of the sun.

The horse’s blood covers his clothes. He slides the frozen fur back over himself, then gazes up at the sun for direction... starts walking. Alone... in the middle of nowhere... again.

From high above... the small shape of Glass making his way across the snowy ground... heading toward TWO DISTANT SHACKS.

A makeshift town on the banks of the Missouri. Two ramshackle structures... the General Store and a tattered livery stable.

More like a saloon that sells a few supplies. A gang of TRAPPERS drink and play cards. A RUNTY MAN stands behind the counter, watching them...

...until the door blows open, and in steps Glass. The men stop what they're doing... watch him limp silently to the wood stove... pants stained with the mare’s blood... ice frozen in his beard.

TRAPPER #1 SNORTS A LAUGH. The Runty Man eyes the SIOUX CHESTPLATE, as Glass warms his hands... his face. Finally...

Glass stares at the Runty Man a beat, then...

The Runty Man just stares at Glass... grins a TOOTHLESS GRIN.

TRAPPER #2 I can give him some fresh.

Glass stares back at the men for a long beat, then...

Trapper #1 and Trapper #2 pull the SKINNING KNIVES from their belts... start toward Glass.

TRAPPER #1 He don't wanna make the trade, what say we just cut it off him?

And that’s when Trapper #1 grabs for Glass and the chestplate, but in a flash of movement that catches them all off-guard, Glass has is own knife pulled and JAMMED UNDER TRAPPER #1’s CHIN. Everyone freezes.

Then Glass slides Trapper #1’s PISTOL from his belt... aims it at the other men.

The snow pours down on the Runty Man and the trappers, as they stand outside, rifles aimed into the distance.

TRAPPER #2 I can’t get a clear look.

The Runty Man snatches one of the rifles... BOOM... fires a wild shot past the riders.

GLASS - GALLOPING AWAY ON HORSEBACK...

...with Trapper #1 sitting backward on the horse behind him. Glass has the pistol jammed into his ribs, and keeps glancing back to the men growing smaller behind him.

Finally, Glass shoves the man off the back of the horse. Trapper #1 tumbles into the snow.

The RUMBLE OF DISTANT GUNSHOTS... too far away to reach Glass, who just keeps racing north.

THE RUNTY MAN - WATCHING GLASS ESCAPE.

The trappers exchange glances... don’t move.

TRAPPER #2 It’s cold as hell, Cees.

The Runty Man glares at the trappers.

Glass riding the horse at a trot through the snow.

Thick with fog, and silent as death. The moon fights its way through the mist, sending an eerie glow over the fort.

Stubby Bill sits dozing in a chair, his rifle across his lap. O.S. CRUNCHING... getting louder... loud enough to nudge Stubby Bill awake.

He sits up... peers over the wall, but can’t see anything in the fog... just hears the CRUNCHING MOVING CLOSER... FOOTSTEPS IN THE CRISP SNOW.

STUBBY BILL’S POV...

...on the blanket of fog hanging in the air... that same CRUNCHING, as a SHADOW APPEARS... growing clearer... a FIGURE walking... leading a horse behind him... appearing out of the mist like a ghost... GLASS.

STUBBY BILL - STARES DOWN IN SHOCK...

...sure his eyes are betraying him. But then Glass looks straight up at Stubby Bill, and there’s no doubt.

Dark and quiet... just snoring rattling the silence. Suddenly the door kicks open... SLAMS into the wall... and there’s GLASS’ SILHOUETTE FILLING THE DOORWAY, HOLDING THAT STOLEN PISTOL AT HIS SIDE.

GROANS from the awakened men... hands moving through the dark for oil lamps... turning them bright... until the room’s fully lit... and they all see Glass standing there... eyes floating across the room, searching for a target.

The men just stare back at him, like they’re all part of the same dream.

Except for Bridger, who’s propped up in his cot like he’s been waiting all night... waiting every night... for Glass to appear in that doorway.

The other men just watch in silence, not sure what the hell’s going on.

Glass holds his stare on Bridger’s face... a face that’s haunted him... kept him alive.

Glass walks toward Bridger... each step of his feet on the wood floor is like the thud of an executioner’s drum.

MUMBLING from the other men, as they watch this ghost reach Bridger... stand over him.

A long beat, then...

Glass flinches... almost like he didn't want that to be true.

Bridger's face suddenly looks very young... just a boy’s... a scared boy... not the face Glass had pictured in his mind for so long. And suddenly Glass seems almost ashamed... sad even.

Henry’s hustling in the door with Stubby Bill, still throwing on his coat after Stubby Bill awakened him.

Glass doesn't even look back to Henry.

Glass considers that a moment, then walks out.

But Glass is gone, with Henry following... leaving Bridger alone with all those eyes burning into him.

The men step into their boots and furs... file out after Glass and Henry... leave Bridger alone in the bunkhouse.

Glass sits by the warmth of the stove, sipping coffee. Henry’s behind he desk, with the other men scattered around.

Stubby Bill gives Murphy an elbow.

Murphy hustles out. The others move toward the door, each stopping to shake Glass’ hand, or give him a pat on the back, until it's only Glass and Henry.

A beat of silence, until...

Glass doesn’t answer... just stands, placing the coffee cup on the table.

Emotion won't let Glass finish. He turns toward the door.

Glass walks out. Henry just sits there.

Glass, Anderson, and Murphy stand by Glass’ horse, as he ties off his supplies.

Glass pulls the cinch tight around the horse... turns... sees Bridger standing across the grounds... watching him. And then Bridger approaches.

Glass shakes his head... finishes with the saddle. Bridger reaches them... waits for Glass to turn, then...

Glass considers Bridger's words.

Glass extends his hand to Bridger. Bridger stares at it a moment, still too ashamed to take it. But finally he does.

Glass swings up into the saddle... sees Henry on horseback, trotting toward them.

Glass stares at Henry a beat... knows what's going on, and also knows he can't do anything about it. So he just pulls his horse around... heads for the river. Henry nods to the others, then follows after Glass.

Bridger takes a few steps after them... like he might even follow on foot.

Anderson gives Bridger a pat on the back... a sign that all will be fine between them. They turn... walk back toward the bunkhouse.

The Runty Man behind the counter. A few of the same Trappers drinking... playing cards. Just another day at Fort Talbot.

The door swings open, and a FUR-COVERED FIGURE enters.

The figure pulls back his furs, and we see it’s Fitzgerald... cold and miserable.

Fitzgerald throws a glance to the Trappers.

The Runty Man hands Fitzgerald some bottles. Fitzgerald pops one... gulps some down.

And those words stop everything. The Trappers all turn from their game. The Runty Man glares at Fitzgerald.

Trapper #1 nods to Fitzgerald... this doesn't look good.

TRAPPER #1 And my shooter.

TRAPPER #1 Then from where I sit, you don’t got no friends at all.

The other Trappers glare at Fitzgerald. The Runty Man just grins that toothless smile of his. Fitzgerald’s in a bind, and he knows it.

Fitzgerald starts digging into his pocket.

The Runty Man snatches the cash.

Fitzgerald freezes... not sure he heard correctly.

And Fitzgerald looks like he just saw a ghost... or at least heard his name.

TRAPPER #1 Right before he drug me off on Cees' gelding.

Fitzgerald is confused... nervous... maybe even scared.

As Fitzgerald turns for the door...

Fitzgerald sits on the horse, staring back over the ground... his LINE OF TRACKS LEADING THROUGH THE SNOW. Glass will track him... that is a fact.

So Fitzgerald spins... takes off. Glass will have to catch him first.

Open country. No cover to hide anywhere. Fitzgerald is off his horse... leading it up an icy slope.

And then DISTANT GUNSHOTS... SCREAMS... echoing around him.

Fitzgerald peers back into the distance... no way to see where it's coming from, but those SCREAMS are definitely real.

And for the first time, Fitzgerald looks truly frightened... as if those screams have haunted him for years.

His eyes dance around... he spins... searching for an attacker... but he's all alone.

So he hurries up the slope... swings onto the horse, and digs his heels into the horse's ribs... gallops over the snow.

Thick ice along the edges, tapering to a narrow stream of flowing water at the very center. Glass and Henry ride along the snow-covered bank.

Henry points. Glass follows his finger along the river... to a CANOE resting on the bank ahead. They dismount... examine the canoe... the letters “RMFC” painted on the side.

Glass runs his mittened hand along the gashes in the wood.

Glass looks to the FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW, leading deep into the trees. He glances up to the sky... clear and blue.

They climb back onto their horses... trot into the trees.

Glass and Henry gallop across, their path dead on Fitzgerald’s tracks.

At least what was Fort Talbot... now just charred, smoldering, wooden skeletons... burned to the ground.

And the scalped, one-eared corpses of the Runty Man and Trappers are strung up on posts like gruesome scarecrows... a few brave birds pecking at the flesh.

Glass and Henry sit on their horses, looking at the scene... the tracks heading south.

Glass just turns his horse... starts along the tracks. And he's moving fast.

But Glass doesn't slow. He has to get to Fitzgerald before Elk's Tongue. Henry takes off after him.

Dark and quiet. Fitzgerald sleeps on the ground. A shadow glides across him... hovers over his face. Fitzgerald’s eyes blink open.

FITZGERALD’S POV...

...on GLASS STANDING OVER HIM... his scarred face calm and deadly... raising a knife to drive down.

But Glass still swings the blade.

And Fitzgerald awakening from his nightmare... looking around the empty forest. No Glass.

Fitzgerald's face is drawn... exhausted... like Glass is torturing him... won't let him sleep. So he stands... starts gathering his gear.

Fitzgerald on his horse... riding through the snow. But now he's riding the opposite direction... following his own tracks back the way he came.

He's going to find Glass before Glass finds him.

Glass builds a fire-bed... dragging the dirt over the fire and rocks... spreading a blanket over the warm ground. Henry’s under a blanket, watching him.

Glass settles onto the warm earth.

ANGLE ON HENRY...

...asleep under the blanket. O.S. RUSTLING sends his eyes flashing open. He raises up... rifle ready.

He glances at Glass, who puts a finger over his lips.

Glass doesn’t answer... just keeps searching the brush.

Henry’s groggy eyes dart around the night... spots MOVEMENT IN THE BRUSH.

But it’s too late... Henry fires... BOOM... the shot explodes through the night...

...and the DEER leaps away.

Henry looks to Glass... shakes his head... sorry.

Glass stands... starts packing up his horse.

Glass and Henry riding across a meadow. Glass stops... tilts his head back to sniff the air.

Glass pulls some snow from his horse’s mane... tosses it in the air, and watches it blow to the side.

Glass turns his horse toward the breeze... squints out into the night.

Henry nods... Glass takes off at a trot. Henry veers the other direction... splitting up across the snow.

Splinters of moonlight shoot through the pines. Glass on horseback, walking through the trees... appearing and disappearing.

He spots something in the distance... the slightest of glows. Glass eases off his horse... wraps the reins around a branch.

Henry’s already off his horse... leading it through the trees... searching as he walks.

Glass moves silently through the darkness... rifle poised to aim and fire... just like the first time we saw him, perfectly comfortable in this world.

His eyes shine in the darkness, drifting back and forth... picking up everything.

He reaches the glow... the remains of a campfire. The slightest bit of dying smoke rises into the air. Glass crouches down, studying the surround ground... HOOF-PRINTS blended in with the other tracks.

Henry’s horse is making too much noise with each step. He stops walking... wraps the reins around a tree... walks back around the horse...

...AND THERE’S FITZGERALD STARING AT HIM... Glass’ Anstadt aimed and ready to fire.

Henry just stares back at Fitzgerald and that rifle. His eyes drift to his own rifle, still strapped onto his saddle.

Henry knows he’s only got one chance... he makes a grab for the rifle.

Glass running his fingers across the tracks. Suddenly an O.S. GUNSHOT EXPLODES IN THE DISTANCE. Glass spins to it... races back through the trees toward his horse.

Glass at full gallop through the woods... veering between trees... ducking branches.

Glass charges from the forest... spots Henry’s horse standing in the trees... tears through the snow toward it... leaps off the still-moving animal in a fluid slide... hits the ground with his rifle ready...

...and sees HENRY’S BODY face-up in the snow.

Glass drops to a knee... scans the darkness, as he slides over to Henry...

...and we see he’s a bloody mess... a GUNSHOT WOUND in his chest leaking out onto the snow... HIS HEAD SCALPED... LEFT EAR SLICED OFF.

As Glass looks at Henry, he notices something... takes Henry by the chin, and tilts his head. And HENRY’S RIGHT EAR HAS BEEN CUT OFF AS WELL.

Glass looks up from Henry's corpse... squints out into the forest.

Glass on horseback, leading Henry’s horse behind him across the snow-covered meadow. Henry’s fur-covered body is draped over the saddle.

A thick layer of ice covers the narrow river, thinning just a bit at the center. Glass kneels near the middle, chopping at the thick ice to get to the water beneath. He makes a hole... dips his canteen down into it, glancing around into the darkness.

Then Glass turns... stares up a slope into the dark forest beyond... like he knows what’s waiting for him there.

He walks to the horses, tied in the trees at the base of the slope... Henry still laying across the saddle of his horse in his bloody furs.

Glass SNAPS A BRANCH FROM A FALLEN TREE... looks back up that slope.

OUR POV FROM DEEP IN THE FOREST...

...watching from a low angle in the shadowy brush, as Glass appears up over the distant slope... riding through the trees, with Henry draped over the horse behind.

The forest is quiet... just the CRACKING of crusty snow and branches under the horses’ hooves.

Then BOOM... as the ANSTADT BARREL WE HADN’T SEEN BESIDE US FLASHES IN THE NIGHT...

...and Glass tumbles off his horse.

The horses prance around nervously, then settle... and then FITZGERALD RISES FROM THE BRUSH BESIDE US... eases toward the horses, reloading the Anstadt as he moves.

He reaches Glass, face down in the snow... his furs covering him.

And Fitzgerald has that rifle aimed, ready for Glass to suddenly roll over firing...

...but Glass doesn’t move. Fitzgerald nudges him with his boot, then rolls him over...

...and instead of Glass, we see HENRY’S LIFELESS FACE HIDDEN BENEATH THE FURS... and that BROKEN BRANCH sticking up along his back.

ANGLE FROM BEHIND HENRY’S HORSE...

...on the REST OF THE BRANCH RIGGED TO GLASS’ SADDLE to hold Henry upright...

...and then what we thought was Henry flung over the second horse... MOVING... the bloody fur-covered arm lifting a rifle... the head rising up... it’s GLASS... taking aim...

...as Fitzgerald realizes what’s happened... spins with the Anstadt...

...to Glass laying across the horse... rifle dead set on Fitzgerald... BOOM... BOOM... both rifles explode...

...Fitzgerald goes flying backward into the brush.

Fitzgerald’s wild shot hits Henry’s horse, sending it rearing up, tossing Glass to the ground.

But Glass is on his feet in a flash... reloading as he charges into the brush...

...but FITZGERALD IS GONE.

Until the flash of movement behind Glass... he turns... as the butt of the Anstadt whips through the air... WHACK... clubs him across the head, sending him tumbling down the slope to the frozen river.

Fitzgerald swings the Anstadt back over his BLOODY SHOULDER, snatches up his knife, and charges down the slope to finish Glass off.

Glass lies on the ice, barely conscious. Blood oozes down his head... over his eyes. He wipes it away to see Fitzgerald barreling down toward him.

Fitzgerald dives in attack, but Glass kicks up his leg, sending Fitzgerald flying over... SLAMMING into the frozen river, his head CRACKING THE ICE.

Glass rips the knife from his belt... moves after Fitzgerald, his feet slipping and sliding under him.

Fitzgerald rises to his feet... the men charge like two wild animals... crash into each other... knives flailing.

They roll along the ice, blades glistening... slicing through furs... across flesh... this battle is just as violent as Glass' bout with that Grizzly.

Fitzgerald thrusts his knife down... plants it through the back of Glass’ hand, pinning it to the ice. Glass CRIES OUT... drops his own knife to pull Fitzgerald’s out.

As he does, Fitzgerald kicks Glass in the face, sending him sailing back... sliding to the center of the river.

The thin ice around him splinters... cracks. Glass looks up... sees Fitzgerald stalking toward him, HOLDING BOTH KNIVES now. Glass is trapped...

...until he pounds his elbow down on the weakened ice... it begins to give... he pounds it again... Fitzgerald speeds up to get to Glass in time... raises one of the knives... just as Glass shatters the ice... drops beneath the surface.

Fitzgerald rushes after him, but the ice cracks under his feet, forcing him back.

UNDERWATER...

...and Glass just below the ice, floating with the current. His fingers search for a hole, but there’s nothing.

FITZGERALD...

...making his way down the river, peering through the ice, searching for Glass. He spots something... stops... leans close to make out the shape... it’s GLASS’ FEET.

Then suddenly, GLASS’ FIST EXPLODES THROUGH THE ICE AT FITZGERALD’S FEET... grab Fitzgerald’s leg, pulling him down.

Fitzgerald crashes to the ice... it splinters around him... gives away, and he sinks into the icy water... but the ANSTADT STRAPPED AROUND HIM CATCHES ON THE ICE... holds him against the current.

Glass drags himself from the water... stands... stares down at Fitzgerald trapped in the hole... his face looking up at Glass through the ice. Glass lifts one of the fallen knives... stands over Fitzgerald.

Glass hesitates a beat, staring at him, just as he did with Bridger that night in the bunkhouse. And then Glass leans down... grabs the Anstadt to pull Fitzgerald up.

Except Glass SLICES THE BLADE ACROSS THE STRAP OF THE ANSTADT...

...sends Fitzgerald floating away under the ice, as Glass holds on to the Anstadt.

FITZGERALD...

...careening under the surface... pounding at the ice as he drifts, until his swinging slows... stops... his dead body drifts away.

Glass stands on the ice, blood dripping down his face, holding his Anstadt. He begins to tremble... not from the cold, but from finally reaching the end of this journey. He looks at the rifle, and his eyes begin to fill with tears.

Then a NOISE from across the river...

...and Glass looks up... sees ELK’S TONGUE standing on the opposite side of the river, staring back at Glass.

And Jesus, we thought Glass might make it through this... but then shapes appear on each side of Elk's Tongue... a DOZEN ARIKARA WARRIORS... all ready for a massacre.

Glass and Elk’s Tongue exchange a long stare, until finally Glass SCREAMS OUT.

Elk’s Tongue doesn’t move... just stares back at Glass... soaked in blood and water. Then Glass CRIES OUT at the warriors again.

But the Arikara don’t attack... don’t move at all... until Elk’s Tongue finally just gives Glass the SLIGHTEST OF NODS, then turns... they disappear back into the trees.

Glass watches the Arikara fade into the night. He looks down to that Anstadt in his hand... the CARVED STAR... he allows the faintest of smiles...

...then Glass' legs weaken... he drops to his knees on the ice. He looks down... spots the MATTED BLOOD on his furs... isn't sure whose blood it is. Then he pulls the furs back from his stomach... reveals the LARGE CRIMSON STAIN SPREADING OVER HIS SHIRT.

It's Glass' blood, and there's a lot of it.

Glass eases back, until he's just sitting there on the icy river, staring across into the trees.

The world seems suddenly peaceful... like Glass has it all to himself... until O.S. FOOTSTEPS CRUNCHING in the forest behind Glass. He doesn't turn toward it.

POV FROM THE WOODS BEHIND GLASS...

...slowly moving through the trees... easing toward Glass, still on the river.

GLASS - Sitting there with his rifle... hearing the FOOTSTEPS, but he's too weak to move... too weak to fight anymore.

The FOOTSTEPS ARE CLOSE... RIGHT ON US... a FIGURE'S SHADOW moves over Glass. Glass just keeps staring straight ahead.

And then the Figure sits down beside Glass, and we see it's a BOY... THE BOY FROM THE BED... GLASS' SON.

Glass looks at the Boy... smiles.

The Boy returns the smile, then reaches down... runs his small hand over the rifle.

ANGLE ON THE ANSTADT...

...and the small hand running its finger along the outline of that carved-out star. And then Glass' hand dropping into the frame... taking the small hand, and holding it.

POV FROM ACROSS THE RIVER...

...on Glass sitting alone on the ice, holding that rifle.