King Solomon's Mines (King Solomon's Mines)

Hold on. You've got yours.

What are they doing?

They're trying to lift him up and carry him off.

Gallant fools.

l missed mine.

You wounded yours. lt took off. We'll go after it later.

We have to get rid of these others. Look out.

You stay here. Come on.

l'll bet the big fellow of mine breaks a record. What do you think, Quatermain?

Well, they're all right.

You don't seem to have much zest for hunting.

My job's to find you the game and let you do the shooting.

Don't tell me your respect for animals has turned into sentiment.

There are times that l prefer them to humans.

Very sorry Qually died. Bad hunters?

No worse than usual. lt's bad luck, that's all.

Speak to his wife. l'll see her in the morning.

Hello, Lulu.

How's my girl, huh?

-Hello, Allan. -Oh, hello, Eric. Come on, sit down.

-Bad trip? -No. l was paid.

l hear you lost Qually.

-He was a good man. -Yes, the best. l'll miss him.

He was with me eight years.

Want to take on another party? Had an inquiry today.

No, not this time, Eric.

These people seem pretty decent.

-And willing to pay almost anything. -No, not anymore.

l've had enough. l think l'm through.

Perhaps l'll do this house up and send for my son.

Bring the boy out here?

lt's no life for a child.

-How old is he now? -He's almost 7.

l can understand your wanting to see him, but isn't he better off where he is?

-English schools, all that. -Perhaps l'll go back to England.

-l've thought of that too. -What would you do there?

Become a shopkeeper? This is a mood, Allan.

l've seen it growing on you the past few months. You've been alone too much.

England's no place for you.

You've built a career here. Don't toss it away.

The happiest, finest fate a man can have in this world is to be the best at something.

You may not realize it, but your reputation's spread to England.

-Have another drink. -l mean it.

Today, that pair who were looking for a guide, they knew your name.

Ever meet a man called Curtis? Henry Curtis?

No.

Curtis.

Yes. A fellow about 1 8 months ago. An Englishman.

Tried to get me to go into unexplored country.

Had some crazy notion about a lost diamond mine.

-That's him. -Yeah, well l turned him down.

lt sounded like romantic foolishness. He wants to go hunting now?

-No. -l got a letter from him months ago--

No. No, it was asking about him.

-lt didn't make any sense. -lt was his wife, Mrs. Curtis...

-...who tried to engage you today. -A woman? A woman on safari?

-No, thank you. -She seemed very--

Any woman who wants to traipse through jungle...

...must have something the matter with her. Besides, l really am fed up.

l'll tell her so.

lf you're serious about England, stop in at the office. Perhaps l can be of service.

Get some sleep.

-Oh, l'm sorry. l didn't-- -Come in, Allan.

-l dropped by to talk. -John Good, Allan Quatermain.

-Hello. -How do you do?

Mr. Good insisted on waiting. l said it was useless.

l refuse to give up. l've come from England.

l thought you could give me information, at least.

l see. l thought you said it was a woman.

There are two of us. My sister and l.

Two years ago, her husband, Henry Curtis, left England.

His last letter came from here.

He was headed west into unknown territory.

We never heard from him again. We wanna find him.

l can't give you any information other than he asked me to go with him, and l declined.

He was tracking down some queer legend about a diamond mine far into the interior.

Such stories are constantly cropping up in Africa.

No, Curtis' project was too thick for me. l advised against it.

-Why? -Nobody's ever been in that region before...

-...and lived to tell about it. -You mean returned to tell about it.

As far as anyone can say, he may still be alive.

Well, perhaps as a captive, but the chances are very slim.

My sister feels as long as there's a chance, she must pursue it.

She's had a bad time lately.

Can't sleep nights. Wakes up screaming. Dreams about him wandering in the jungle.

Surely you must have made other inquiries.

l was able to establish that he headed north and west toward the Kaluana country.

The Kaluana country.

Well, there you have it.

How would you proceed?

The Kaluana country lies there.

You'd have difficulty getting that far. Then where would you go?

Thousands of miles where no white man has been. Even natives are afraid.

-ln which direction would you begin? -We have a map.

-A map? -Henry's last letter was addressed to me.

He enclosed a copy of the map he intended to follow.

There are no maps. There isn't a village or a river recorded beyond the Kaluana region.

This sort of thing is peddled to greenhorns from Timbuktu to Johannesburg.

You may be right. Henry said he bought the map to King Solomon's Mines...

...from an Arab trader who claimed it was 400 years old.

Kaluana Village, desert, water, White Twins...

...King Solomon's Mines.

The Flying Dutchman. Captain Kidd's treasure.

All right. Perhaps there is no diamond mine. But this tells us where to look for Henry...

...because he followed it. So will we. With your help.

This safari is not child's play, Mr. Good, especially with a--

Well, shall we say an overwrought woman?

-Elizabeth knows that. So do l. -You have absolutely no idea...

...of the dangers. Neither have l.

-But l can guess. -Allan knows the country...

-...better than anyone else, you see. -But that's exactly why we want him.

That, and because l can see you'd be fair and honest with us.

Well, thank you, but.... l'm sorry l can't undertake it.

My advice is to take your sister back to England...

...and both of you pray that eventually her husband turns up.

lt's nice to have met you.

-Bye, Eric. -Bye, Allan.

Sorry l couldn't have been more help to you.

Mrs. Curtis, l believe.

Won't you come in?

Oh, excuse me.

Now, this is Lulu.

-Lulu, this is Mrs. Curtis. -Oh, she's enchanting. She's a charmer.

She knows it. And she makes use of it.

Lulu and l enjoy having visitors, but l ought to warn you...

-...you've come on a hopeless errand. -My brother told me your reasons.

-There's one argument he neglected to use. -Oh, what was that?

Money.

That's a very good argument.

l'm willing to pay anything.

-Beyond reason, of course. -Why are you so determined?

l understand planning before you knew its dangers, but your brother must've told you.

Are you sure you aren't exaggerating the dangers?

With proper equipment and your services, we should manage.

-l'm not afraid. -Your courage does you no credit.

lt's the result of ignorance.

What is your usual fee for a safari, Mr. Quatermain?

Two hundred pounds and all expenses. l wouldn't undertake this one for 500.

Would you for 5000?

-That's a great deal of money. -l mean it.

More than l could save in a lifetime.

-Would you pay, win or lose? -Of course.

Even if you back out...

-...before we've gone a tenth of the way? -Yes.

-You expect me to back out, don't you? -Frankly, yes.

l'll pay the 5000 in advance and a bonus of 500 at the end, whether l back out or not.

You're weakening, aren't you? You half-decided to go.

Oh, l've fully decided to go. And my reasons are entirely mercenary.

Nobody's been in the region beyond the Kaluanas before...

...but l'm willing to try for cold, hard cash.

Apparently you're not certain after all that we'd never return.

-l'm just as certain as ever. -And yet you'd go?

Mrs. Curtis, the average life of a man in my profession is approximately eight years.

Now, l've been at it for 1 5. So you see l'm living on borrowed time.

My wife died here six years ago.

Sooner or later, an animal or an unfriendly native or a tropical disease will get me.

l have a son in England...

...but there'll be very little money for him if anything should happen to me.

The money you're offering would provide for him until he can take care of himself.

-l see. -So l'll take on your safari.

But before we leave, l'd like to send the 5000 to London.

You can pay me the bonus when we return.

-You mean if we return. -From now on we'll say ""when.""

What l privately think mustn't color the mood of this fine safari.

lt isn't just the danger of the undertaking that's making you so antagonistic.

There's something else. What is it, Mr. Quatermain?

l don't understand your motives.

-You mean you don't believe them. -Well, frankly, l don't.

Why?

-Well, it's wiser if we don't discuss this. -Why?

Well, because on a safari, it's better to travel with people one likes.

You better tell me now and give me time to recover. What about my motives?

Very well.

Since your husband's body was never found...

...you can't inherit his money until you prove that he's dead.

That could be the reason for this visit.

One of the reasons my husband went looking for that mine...

...was the possibly foolish hope of finding a fortune of his own.

You see, l hold all the wealth there is in the family.

Well, then l still don't understand.

What? That l'd be willing to risk my life for my husband?

That you're proposing to throw it away. lt's not normal. lt smells of sickness.

l happen to love my husband. Perhaps that's an emotion...

-...you are incapable of understanding. -Perhaps.

Perhaps you've never known a woman in love.

Perhaps. But l have known people who make elaborate sacrifices...

...for reasons they don't understand.

Sometimes it's to expiate guilt. Sometimes, it's--

lf l were you, l'd examine my own motives.

A man who doesn't care whether he lives or dies is not exactly a wholesome specimen.

l'm risking my life for a man l love. You're doing it for money.

-Mrs.-- -No, no, no, not your son.

There are things you can do for him other than toss your life away.

What's your sickness, Mr. Quatermain?

Nothing to live for?

l'll meet you in Eric Masters' office in the morning.

l haven't thanked you for taking on this safari.

What made you change your mind? l didn't know Elizabeth was that persuasive.

There's something very persuasive about 5000 pounds.

She's quite a nice girl, really.