Scarp: Heading off into the Scottsdale sunset

SCENE: Dawn of New Year's Day in the McDowell Sonoran Preserve. The growing light causes a mutual moan from both William Tell and the 'Zona Ranger, two men with nothing in common except a theme song each claims as his. The night before they took part in a once-and-for-all-who's-the-toughest drinking contest that turned out, well....

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TELL: Ohhhh.

RANGER: My eyelashes hurt. Uhhhh.

TELL: Somebody let me know what time my funeral is.

RANGER (rolling over and shielding his eyes): Dang dawn. I could use at least five more... years of sleep.

TELL: Well, you have nothing to blame but that rotgut you were drinking.

RANGER: My prized bottle of "Old Hairy Tongue"? You have no taste.

TELL: Well, neither do you, after that stuff.

RANGER: And what you had tasted any better? What did you call it? Mud?

TELL (slowly standing): It's mead, you dunce. A festive holiday beverage, it is, except - ohhhhh - when consumed to excess.

RANGER: Well, it doesn't matter, because after downing all that, er, mead, you passed out before me.

TELL: And how do you know that?

RANGER: Because I keeled over on top of you, that's how.

TELL (sniffing his sleeve): So that's what that smell is!

RANGER: Well, you're no bouquet of orchids, either, bub.

TELL (clenching his fists and stepping forward): Says who?

RANGER: Says me, you lightweight! (Starts to take a swing at Tell.)

CHRISTOPHER VERDE (approaches): Can't you fellows ever learn to get along? A man can't get any rest with you boys caterwauling about.

RANGER: Verde, we thought you had gone on to the dustbin of history after that school district they named after you vanished.

TELL: Yes. Unlike us, you lack historical background.

VERDE: Well, call me what you want, but I kind of linger around up here. Hikers say hello, but Scottsdale officials are real sticklers about staying on the paths at all times.

TELL and RANGER (in unison): Tell me about it.

VERDE: Anyway, unlike you two, I'm a modern creation. Both of you truly are in some pretty dusty books yourselves.

RANGER: But you don't have your own song, like me.

TELL: He means, like me.

RANGER: (digging his heel into the dirt): You're nothing without me, Tell.

TELL: (reaches for his bow): So, then, why am I doing just fine without you, Ranger?

(A car pulls up. Mark Scarp gets out.)

SCARP: All right, all right, that's enough! Enough! Do you hear me? Stop!

ALL: Who are you?

SCARP: How quickly they forget. I'm Mark Scarp, Tribune columnist. I brought you here. Each of you. A few years back I had an idea for a column about this preserve, see, and put you all here. All I thought it would be is a little literary device....

RANGER: A what?

SCARP: A literary device. In composition, it's a, well, it's a.... (Sighs.) It's a way to finish a column over the holidays when you're fresh out of better ideas. But it's obvious that this has all gotten quite out of hand.

TELL: Well, um, that's not how we see it.

RANGER: Yeah. It's been such a long time since anyone gave us a place to be. Decades.

TELL: Centuries.

VERDE: A couple of weeks.

SCARP: Well, I hate to bring you bad news, but your options haven't been picked up.

TELL: Our what?

SCARP: This is my last column. Scottsdale won't have you guys to kick around any more.

RANGER: You mean you're -

SCARP: Yep. Headed for the dustbin of history.

RANGER (smugly): Well, well, well. What do you know, Tell, Scarp's becoming a historical oddity, just like us.

SCARP: That's an historical oddity. I think.

TELL: Got any plans?

SCARP: I think I'll stay here in Scottsdale. And I'm inviting you to have a drink so we all can talk over the good times.

RANGER: All five minutes?

SCARP: OK, I deserved that. Doesn't matter. We've all got to get out of here. New rules. No has-beens in the preserve.

TELL: Another one? I thought that big old book of preserve behavior couldn't hold any more rules.

SCARP: Since you last saw it, it's well into Volume Two.

VERDE: Dang. So, what do we all do now?

SCARP: I don't know yet. When I figure it out, you boys will be the first to know. Until then, what do you say I give you a ride to some of those north Scottsdale bars. We can all pretend to be somebody. We'll fit right in.

TELL: What the heck? My headache's gone. What do you say, Ranger? We'll always have Lost Dog Wash.

RANGER: Why not? We can't be any odder than Scarp, here.

VERDE: OK. But it's just not fair that Bob Littlefield gets to stay and we have to go.

SCARP: That's the cool thing about Scottsdale, boys. You hang around long enough, you've got a real shot at becoming a legend. Or a good story.

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The four drive off out of the McDowells. The sun rises.