Tired of the everyday grind? Ever dream of a life of romantic adventure? Want to get away from it all? We offer you... Escape! Escape, designed to free you from the four walls of today for a half hour of high adventure. You are standing in a moonlit street of a western cow town, alone and friendless. While moving slowly down on you, their horses crowding every exit is a band of killers. Each one of whom has been paid to shoot you dead. Listen now, as Escape brings you Ernest Haycock's unusual story, Wild Jack Rett. Man that is born of woman hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery. He cometh up and is cut down like a flower. He flyeth as it were a shadow. While we're praying a couple of you boys start showing some dirt on the sheriff. O Lord with whom to live the spirits of them that be dead, and in whom the souls of them be born. And that same evening a committee of the leading citizens of Red Mesa gathered together at Mayor Wayne's home to decide upon a new sheriff. All right gentlemen, sit down, let's get this set. Gentlemen, we've got a new sheriff. Gentlemen, we've got to have a sheriff Todd Mallon and his kind can't kill. We need the toughest gunfighter available. And I want to propose we send for man some of you may have heard of, Jack Rett. Just a minute Mayor Wayne, let me speak. All right, go ahead Bo Helen. Gentlemen, I run a saloon and I run it for the only men who bring any money at all into Red Mesa. Cow punchers coming up the Chisholm Trail with Texas cattle. If you give them Jack Rett instead of a little fun, I and the rest of this town will go broke. We'll chance that Bo Helen, we'll chance it. What about Matt Trevner, what's he got to say? I've nothing to say gentlemen, as U.S. Deputy Marshal for the district my job is strictly outside Red Mesa. You know anything about Jack Rett Trevner? Just by reputation, he's a professional town tamer and I've heard he's the most cold blooded killer that ever drew a gun. Trevner's right, we can't afford a man like that here because... He sure can't! Gentlemen, gentlemen, I need a man like that. Now let's put it to a vote. All in favor, send in for Jack Rett, raise the right hand. Two, three, four, five. Five to one. Matter settled gentlemen, good night. You'll wait and see Mary Trevner? You don't mind Mayor? Of course, of course, she'll be out in a minute. Yeah, Bo Helen's pretty mad, but after Jack Rett's here for a while at least there'll be less gunfighting. There'd be less anyway if Todd Mallon were out of the way. But he's a hard man to catch. Yeah, you've done all you can Trevner. Good evening Father. Hello Matt. Good evening daughter. Hello Mary. Well Matt Trevner, aren't you going to kiss me? Sure. Your mother, God rest her soul, didn't behave like that when we were engaged. The war changed things Father. Yes I know, but not for the better. Well, I'm off to bed. Don't stay up too late now. Good night. Good night dear. Good night. You look worried Matt. Do I? Tell me about it. Well, it's just that they're sending for a new sheriff. A legal killer named Rett. He has quite a reputation and there'll always be men to challenge him. That means more gunfighting. Is that it? I'm afraid so. It's a bloody way to peace Mary. I know. Well, let's not worry about it now. Come on, I'll fix some coffee for us. Three weeks later, while Jack Rett rode into Red Mesa, he was 38 and at the peak of his reputation. He stood well over six feet, better than 200 pounds of plain sinew. Tani blonde hair grew long in the frontier style and his features were boldly aquiline. He was a picturesque man until one looked at his eyes, which were large and pale blue, and had the disconcerting trick of remaining too steadily on people. There was to be seen in them the suggestion of inhumanity. And the right word to the committee that he would meet them at the mayor's office that evening. Well, it's eight o'clock now. Where is he? He's in town. That's bad enough. Now be a sport boy, Ellen. We took a fair vote on Rett. You'll learn a lot. Here he comes. My name is Jack Rett. I have your offer. I'm Peter Wayne, mayor of Red Mesa. Do you accept it? That depends on what you want. Tell me. Well, Rett, this is a difficult town. The Chisholm Trail lies just across the river and we get most of our money from the riders passing through with Texas cattle. We want them to have a decent time for their money, but we don't like a lot of gunplay and killing. I've always been accustomed to complete authority, mayor. I presume to know my job and I won't have interference. Well, that's agreed, Rett. Oh, by the way, the last sheriff had a rule that riders leave their hardware at his office. He had trouble enforcing it. Poor rule. Let them pack their guns. Gives the wild ones a fair chance at you. I never give a man a fair chance at me. Is that all, gentlemen? Bo Helen's saloon was the usual deadfall with a huge bar along one side of the room and gaming tables toward the rear. Next morning, Bo Helen stood tapping mahogany at the bar with his fingertips and staring thoughtfully at nothing. Good morning, Bo Helen. It's noon, Samus. Draw me a beer, Mike. Where's the new sheriff, Bo Helen? Right over there at the corner table. Came in just before you did. Oh. Bye, Kate. Bring me a cigar and a glass of rye. Now he's going to clean and reload his six guns one at a time. My guy here. How'd you know? It's an old gunman's trick to impress the citizens. But there's no one here. Oh, except you and me. It's to impress me. Oh. Oh. Well, goodbye, Bo Helen. Mike. You got something to say to me, Bo Helen? Yes. Yes, I have. You're smart, Red. I recognize that. But your record for killing is too severe. My business depends on an open town. The reform element got you, and I'll go along for now. Just remember one thing. I can break you, Red, any time. I was waiting for that, Bo Helen. I guess we understand each other. Hello. Any luck, Matt? Yeah, just a morning's ride. Matt, here's Jack Rhett. Rhett is Matt Travener, US Deputy Marshal for the district. Glad to know you, Rhett. You're young. Don't be misled. Rhett, your job is in town. Mine is everything outside. So I'll either back you up here in Red Mesa or I'll leave you strictly alone. I'll handle Red Mason. All right. One more thing. I want Todd Mellon. If he comes to town again, he'll have to be taken. Will you do that or shall I? What is he? Outlaw. His main line is plain robbery. Now I want him for killing Jim Speed. Let me handle Mellon. Why? Killing's my trade. Man doesn't live with enough animal instinct to get me. Maybe. But to kill you would build a man's reputation considerably. Just so? Well, good luck, Rhett. There was peace for a full week in Red Mason. And then on Saturday night, Matt Travener's prediction came true. Jack Rhett was at his customary post just opposite Bo Helen's saloon, sitting in a chair on the porch of the Chinook Hotel, obscured by the shadows and watching the crowd, his cold, pale eyes half concealed by cigar smoke. Trouble found him thus. Evening, ma'am. Good evening, sir. Where's this Rhett? He used to be a lovely man. Where's your husband? Where's that great man, Will Jack Rhett? Bring him out! Hello, cowboy. Where is he? I can't see him. Bring him to sheriff! That's a lot of killing for one sheriff. Three men. I don't like it. Well, forget it, friend. Have a drink. Forget it. You're Bo Helen, ain't you? That's right. You come on, I'll have one in the house. Mike, pick him up. I can't pay for my own life. You never gave him a chance. What kind of sheriff you got stands in the shadow and kills one man and then jumps 50 feet and his gun flash and shoots down two more. Those boys never had a chance at you. Drink your drink, cowboy. That was the most merciless killing I ever seen. He's a butcher. I wish I had a ch... Rhett. This is my game. There are fools to play it. Never buck a man who's spent his life learning to kill, son. Get out of town. Get out now. Great. What if I... Don't try it, son. Don't let your anger destroy you. Drift. Go on, drift. Blast your town. I can hold my thirst another 200 miles up the trail. Come on, boys. We'll send word back to Texas to go around, Red Mason, and let it dry to powder. It won't do, Rhett. It'll do, Bo Helen. Barkeep, bring me a glass of rye on the house. Rhett stood with his back to the bar, holding his drink and a thin black cigar carefully in one hand. He stood there for about 10 minutes. Then trouble came again. It's Tom Mullen. He's riding in with four men. Close the games. Open the back doors. Well, Jack Rhett, now let's see you shoot down Tom Mullen and four men from the shadows. Good night, Bo Helen. We will return to escape in just a moment, but first, have you given any thought to joining the Civilian Ground Observer Corps? Without trying to scare anyone, intercontinental warfare is now a mechanical possibility, and the atom bomb is in potential enemy hands. Contact your local Civilian Defense Office and volunteer for the Ground Observer Corps. And now, back to escape. When word came to Bo Helen's saloon, the Todd Mullen was riding into Red Mesa with four men. Jack Rhett simply walked out, crossed the street to his office, sat down and waited. Twenty minutes later, Todd Mullen had arrived and departed, and not a shot fired. Then Jack Rhett went quietly to bed. But early Sunday morning, he was back in his office. Come in. Good morning, Rhett. Well, Travener. There's talk, Rhett. I expect that. Rhett, you told me you'd handle Mullen if he came to town. Yes, Travener. Well, they say Mullen rode into town last night with four men, rode right up to this office, got down and came inside, that you and he stood here with this desk between you, talking, and that a few minutes later, Mullen left and rode out of town. I play the game my own way, Travener. I don't want interference from anybody. People are saying maybe you and Mullen made a deal of some kind, and that... Well, somebody's breaking the Sabbath. Know who it could be, Travener? No, I don't. It's a rifle. Sounds like one of those seven-shot Spencers. Then it's old Hack Crow. Who's he? An old trapper. Comes to town every few months, sells his furs and gets drunk. Goes a little crazy. Jim Speed always laid him in jail to sober. I'll take a look. You better stop him, Rep. He's only got two shots left. That'll satisfy him. I doubt if he'll reload. And if he notices us and decides to shoot? Then I'll have to kill him. Who's that coming out of Bo Hellen's? Ewald Bay, gambler. He's a fool. Hack killed Bay. Ain't you gonna stop him, Rep? No, let him go. Rep, the town is your territory and it won't interfere. But why did you refuse a fair shot at Hack Crow? Ewald Bay is dead. Which is the more useful citizen, Travener? Crow or Bay? West is full of gamblers. There was considerable talk that day in Red Mesa over Jack Rett's aloof and cruel calm in condoning a shooting that had occurred under his very eyes within reach of his formidable guns. Then, mid-afternoon, a rider came up from the prairie and reported finding old Hack Crow dead in a coulee. Dry gulched and robbed. Mayor Wayne heard about it and went to Bo Hellen's saloon to hear more. Well, well, good evening, Mayor. Hello, Bo Hellen. Shot of brandy. What do you think of your great Jack Rett now, Mayor? It looks bad. Oh, now look, Mayor, everyone knew Hack Crow carried his profits in his pocket. He always did that. So Rett allowed him to leave. And Todd Mallon and his men were waiting for him in the coulee. It's as simple as that. We have no proof of that, Bo Hellen. Oh, no? Now, why didn't Rett take Mallon when he rode in here last night? Because they made a business arrangement, that's why. Well, it doesn't look good. But there are keys for glass of rye. I don't want to talk to Rett yet. I'm leaving. Good night, Bo Hellen. Good night, Mayor. Here, Mike. Give me that rye. I'll take it over to the sheriff myself. Here's your drink, Sheriff. Mind if I sit down? Game never changes, Bo Hellen. I know what you're going to say. I warned you I could break your retin. It's an old story to me. Every town's got one insider who plays along with the outlaws. I knew you'd be that one here when I first saw you running a saloon. You'd know when a cattle buyer was riding out of town carrying specie, when the Overland stage was loaded with gold. But there was a quarrel over the split of profits between you and Mallon. You fell apart. That's always the way. It's an old story, Bo Hellen. I know it by heart. Very shrewd, Rett, but you can't play the same game. All sheriffs are supposed to be crooked. You and Mallon had an agreeable little chat last night. Did he make you a good offer, Rett? Maybe I should accept this offer, Bo Hellen, just to keep you two split. Maybe I should do that. Rett, I've seen sheriffs come and go. It's a chancy trade. Sheriffs die. They all die. It's only a question of time. You're a hard-wooden jack, Rett. You make your peace with Mallon. Otherwise, you'll have little chance of getting rid of me, Bo Hellen. It may be that way. I would not be surprised. I always expect the worst of men, and am seldom disappointed. It was turning dark as Jack Rett left Bo Hellen's saloon. Crossing the street, he walked into his office, but continued on out through the back door. A few minutes later, he stood in the gathering shadows, ups at the O.K. stable, and watched Bo Hellen ride out and drift into the prairie to the south. He knew now what to expect. It would happen soon, perhaps tomorrow. He returned to his office and slept the night there. Come in. Oh, well, good morning. Rett, I want you to meet Mary Wayne. Miss Wayne? Very proud. I wanted to know you. To meet him, Mary. Not to know him. Rett lives in a closed world. You see that? I have no friends. We're to be married on Thursday, Mr. Rett. I should like you to be there. I'd be most happy. Thank you. Mary, will you wait outside? I have some business to discuss with the sheriff. Of course, Matt. Don't be long. Goodbye, Mr. Rett. Goodbye, Miss Wayne. Rett, this afternoon I'm leaving to find Todd Mallon. You had your chance and you let him go. Wait, Travner. Wait. I've tried patience, Rett. I'm a poor handler. Travner, you have a fine girl. If it is not presuming, let me congratulate you and compliment her. Thank you. Is that all? I'll take care of Mallon. Rett, I want to believe you. No man wearing a star should believe anybody. It's a weakness, haven't I told you? I'm blessed if I quite understand you, Rett. Then understand this. Every man has his time. When it comes, he knows it. There's no turning back. Nothing makes any difference then. Except to stand up to the finish and go out in decent style. And yet you're the man who never believes in giving another man a break. Don't try to understand me. Do you want help with Mallon? I have no faith in help. Mads! Coming, Mary! Wait, Travner. I'll suggest this much. Take one man and ride due north to where the cattle trail crosses Tempest Creek. Be there tonight. You understand? Rett, I'd hate to oppose you. If you did, you'd lose. I've been fifteen years at this, Travner, which is five years beyond average luck. That evening, Jack Rett took up his post on the porch of the Chinook Hotel, dressed in his best. A suit of black broadcloth, swelling around the big, uncompromising shoulders. A hard white shirt and a blood-red Windsor tie. He sat there, calm, behind the smoke of his cigar, waiting. Viden Rett? Oh, hello, Mayor Wayne. Oh, Mayor, have you seen Travner? He rode north this afternoon. Be back tomorrow, he said. Oh, good. Oh, it's the Shadow! Here I am. Rett, listen, I just come up South Creek, and Todd Mullen and six men were only a quarter mile behind me, heading into town. All right, friend, take cover. Yes, take a look. Rett stood up and moved into the Shadow at the end of the hotel porch. Across the street, Bo Helen appeared in the full glow of the doorway of his saloon. Come out of the dark and meet your friends, Jack Rett. What are you afraid of? It's only Mullen riding in to see you. The eaves fall out, but the urge for prophets bring them together again. You should have known it, Rett. Nothing surprises me. Well, there you are, Rett. It's a surprise to find you exposing your great reputation right out there in the middle of the street. Every man has his time. Want to try it, Bo Helen, or will you wait for help? I'll wait. The arriving horses came up into the moonlit street and hollered at them. Bo Helen's hand lifted toward the group, and at that order the horsemen spread out until they were flank to flank all across the street. Todd Mullen advanced from the line and stopped, square and alert above the saddle. Jack Rett stood alone in the middle of the street, his eyes flashing a hard fury. Then he dropped his cigar and ran to the corner of the saloon. Then he dropped his cigar and grounded beneath a boot. It was a final gesture. How are you, Mullen? Goodbye, gentlemen. And the next day Red Mesa buried some more men out on the hill and talked of Jack Rett, who was more of a mystery to them now than when living. To all of them but one, Matt Travener. Nobody knows a killer's world, Mary. There wasn't any room in Jack Rett for much pity, but he sent me away to save me from what he knew was coming. I think that was a kindness, though I had no fear. It was a fine thing for him to do, Matt. But they say he stood in the middle of the street to face them all in the light. Why? It wasn't his style. As long as he was sure of himself, he never gave anybody an even chance, Mary. But killers live and die by instinct. And somewhere along the evening he got the warning. After that it was just a matter of pride. And he killed Mullen and Bo Helen before he died. Standing up and in good style. That's a sort of greatness, isn't it? Under the direction of Norman MacDonald, Escape has brought you Wild Jack Rett by Ernest Haycox, adapted by John Meston and starring John Boehner. The narrator was Parley Bear. Featured in the cast were Harry Bartel, Lawrence Dobkin, Georgia Ellis, Howard McNear, Herb Ellis, Peter Leeds and Lou Krugman. The special music for Escape is composed and conducted by Leith Stevens. Next week. You are standing in inky blackness looking up a long flight of stairs, at the top of which lurks something unbelievably evil. While in the moving shadows behind you, coming closer to you, is the shadowy figure of something that could only come from a nightmare. So listen next week when Escape brings you Anthony Ellis's terrifying story, I Saw Myself Running. Tomorrow, Suspense stars Victor Mature in a saga of violence and revenge. Be sure to hear Suspense on most of these same CBS radio stations. Roy Rowan speaking. This is the CBS Radio Network.
