Frontier Town, the saga of the roaring west. Frontier Town. El Paso, Cheyenne, Calgary, Tombstone. Frontier Town. Here is the adventurous story of the early west. The tamed and the untamed. From the Pecos to Powder River, Dodge City to Poker Flat. These are the towns they fought to live in and lived to fight for. Teeming crucibles of pioneer freedom. Frontier Town. Teeming crucibles of pioneer freedom. Frontier Town. If you know anything about the frontier, maybe you know my hometown, Dos Rios. I'm Chad Remington. Not alone the one practicing lawyer in town, but almost the only lawyer in the county. Our section of the country was settled by the early 19th century. The town was a very popular place. It was a very popular place. It was a very popular place. Almost the only lawyer in the county. Our section of the country was settled by the early Spanish. Although that was in the days of the Olverqueros, the Spanish influence still is evident wherever you go. And believe me, it's not at all unusual because of it for a lawyer to get into trouble. Gun trouble. Just a while back, I was riding toward Dos Rios with Cherokee O'Bannon. He owns the town livery stable now that we've convinced him it's safer and more permanent than peddling his genuine Cherokee Indian rattlesnake oil from the back of a wagon. Well, Cherokee and I were loping along and suddenly... Gunshots. Dear Ronimo's ghost, Chad, did you hear what I heard? Not only did I hear those gunshots, Cherokee, but now I can see where they came from. Look over there. See that smoke rising just over the roof of that hay barn? Why, that's that widow lady's place. What's her name? Bessie Dryden? That sure is Bessie's place, Cherokee. Since this sounds like a pitched battle, maybe it's open to the public. Come on. As we rounded the clump of aspens which shield Bessie's house from the road, we saw a sight which stopped us for a moment. Bessie was standing on her porch, a Winchester in her hands, its barrel aimed at two men who seemed to have stepped out of an illustration from some old Spanish book. And the team of two black horses which pulled the carriage they rode up in wore plumes over their silver-encrusted bridles. Well, Cherokee were off our horses and running toward the porch just as Bessie raised the rifle to her shoulder and took aim at the taller of the two strangers. Blessed you to blazes, I'm not telling you to get off of my place again. Bessie, Bessie, put down that gun before someone gets hurt. You keep out of this. Señor, your intervention is most fortuitous. You might even have saved this woman's life. Yeah, well, I'm well... Excuse me, Bessie, excuse me, but I'm taking that rifle before it goes off again. Now, here, Cherokee, you keep an eye on her. I'll keep an eye on her, too. We both keep an eye on la mujer, eh? Si, amigo. Okay, both watch. Now, would someone mind telling me what this is all about? This overdressed oaf come out here and had the brass-bound gall to tell me I'd have to pay him rent for this place I homesteaded myself, or he was gonna throw me off. And despite your threats, madam, I fully intend to. This land, all of it, belongs to the Chavez family. The Chavez family? Perhaps I'd better introduce myself. I am Don Alfredo Chavez-Negel, recently from Santa Fe. And this is my servant, Palmero. And you, sir? I'm Chad Remington, Mr. Nagle, and I would like to know what you mean by you own all this land. I personally know that Mrs. Dryden and her late husband homesteaded this section more than 20 years ago. I'm not questioning the homestead, but only two weeks ago this came to light. A grant from the King of Spain to my maternal grandfather, Don Alfredo Sepulveda Chavez y Dominguez. Eh, expect me to believe that? Oh, wait, you may have to believe it, Bessie. Under the treaty by which we acquired this territory from Spain, we agreed to recognize all crown grants made by the King of Spain previously. May I see that parchment? I have no reason not to show it to you. Thank you. It looks legitimate enough. Are you implying that it may be illegitimate? Far from it, not at all. You see, Mr. Nagle, I happen to be a lawyer. A lawyer? Then perhaps this meeting was more fortuitous than I had first believed. Senor Remington, for three days, Palmero and I have been driving constantly just to come to Dos Rios for the sole purpose of perfecting my title to this land. For that reason, I am in need of an attorney. And since you are one, I... Chad, if you take five cents of that land grabber's money, I'll... We haven't taken anything yet, Bessie, but since from the description in this deed Mr. Nagle may hold title not only to your property, but to most of the ranches in this valley, I think it might be good business for all of us if we did ride into my office and talk this over. Don Alfredo Chavez Nagle rode into town alongside of his overdressed driver Palmero and rocked Dos Rios like an earthquake. Then we went up to my office over Cherokee's livery stable. And after Nagle explained how he'd found the deed in an old trunk just a few weeks ago, he went on to tell me of his plans. So you see, Senor Remington, it's not a matter of money with me, it's a matter of pride. Family pride. I see. I want this claim recognized so my sainted mother's family name of Chavez will be perpetuated. I don't want to appear stupid about this, but if it's not a matter of money, why this shooting fray out at Bessie Dryden's? That old heredit didn't even ask how much rent I wanted before she grabbed for a gun and started shooting. You see, hers was the first place we came to on our way up from Santa Fe. So I told Palmero to stop an order that we could get acquainted. Well, how much money do you want for the land, Mr. Nagle? A token of me are nothing. A dollar a year will be more than enough to compensate me financially and at the same time legally make my deed effective. At least I should think it would under the law. Well, legally you're perfectly right. If all of the people living on ranches covered by your crown grant would pay you nominally a dollar a year, it would certainly be adequate evidence that they recognize your claim. And that, believe me, sir, is all I want. If you had ever known my mother, how beautiful and sweet she was, you would understand why I want to perpetuate her name by calling this the Ranchos Chavez. Well, slice me thin and call me jerky. Chad, this man is a real humanitarian. He certainly must be, Cherokee, because at a dollar a year the most he can make is something slightly in excess of thirty dollars. If you're saying that because you think it's too small an amount for me to pay you a fair fee, here's Senator Remington, a retainer of two hundred dollars. Oh, now just a minute, Mr. Nagle. Not only am I unable to take your retainer, but I'm unable to take your case until such time as we can establish the authenticity and validity of your deed. Oh, and how do you propose to do that? Well, normally it might be a long and tedious process, but it so happens that we have a judge living here in Dos Rios who not only has handled several similar cases, but, well, he happens to be an especially good friend of mine. Especially good, he says. Why, he's practically engaged to the judge's daughter, Libby. Well, if that's the case, we should be able to get through with this in just a few days. How we might at that. And this being nearly noon hour with the judge coming home almost every day for lunch, I think this would be as good a time as any to get his expert opinion. Well, Judge, what do you think? Seems to be no question about this deed, Chad. And, Mr. Nagle, everything seems exactly as it should be, even down to the seal and ribbons. Wouldn't those ribbons look lovely on a hat or a new dress? You'll have to pardon my daughter, Mr. Nagle. She's just like all women. No matter what it is she sees, she tries to figure out some way of wearing out. That's the way of all beautiful women. Well, thank you, Mr. Nagle. Did you hear that, Chad? I certainly did, Libby. All I can say is in this case, the client is speaking for his attorney. Excellent, Mr. Remington. Very well put. I hope I can do as excellent a job in convincing the ranchers around here to pay you that dollar a year and not combat your claim. But even with Mr. Nagle charging them only a dollar a year for rent. The folks around here, my dear Libby, have hair-trigger tempers or else they wouldn't need a judge. Or a lawyer. I just got a thought. Most of the men affected by this Spanish grant will be attending the meeting of the Cattlemen's Association tomorrow to discuss driving their herds up to market. So if you'll come along with me and back me up, I think we can soon make them realize they're getting off mighty lucky. Getting off lucky. You'd have thought I was down there with process service trying to throw widows and orphans out of their homes. It took almost five minutes after I broke the news to bring any semblance of order back to the meeting. Folks, folks, won't you please quiet down. Chad and I are just trying to tell you facts. And apparently you don't appreciate how fortunate you really are. Fortunate? Has someone else taken our land out from under us? Now, Kirby, no one's taken anything out from under anybody. Matter of fact, the land doesn't even belong to you. Never did. Except that now Mr. Nagel's willing to let you keep the land by paying him a dollar a year. Yeah, but suppose he changes his mind two years from now. He can't, Bodine. I've drawn leases for everybody that guarantees a dollar rental for 49 years. I've seen Mr. Nagel's deed. It grants to his maternal grandfather in perpetuity the 12,800 acres north of Navajo Pass as well as the 18,000 odd acres to the south of the pass by the Arroyo. And instead of charging you a dollar an acre, which would mean $30,000 a year to him, Nagel's just going to charge 27 of you ranchers a dollar apiece. Good grief, men. My own father settled here before most of you did. The ranch he left me is north of the Navajo Arroyo on Mr. Nagel's property. You're no better off, no any worse off than I am. And I'm tickled to death to sign this lease, just as I'm recommending to you all that you should. Well, I'm not going to spend all week arguing about these leases. If we don't get our cattle up to market, the buyers will have gone back east. Then we won't even have the dollar to pay for the lease. Yeah, got the lease with you, Chad? I'll sign. Well, now you're really talking. If you step up here, Mr. Nagel, and sign these leases as owner of the land, I'll see that these men execute them as the tenants. What's wrong with you, Buck? You'd make a perfect laughing hyena. Oh, you put it over on them. These lapses into your native English aren't necessary at all. Not alone had you better stick to that Spanish dialect. But as my driver, Palmero, you better practice it too. Oh, CC, I practice it good, I think. Yeah, you know, when that judge got up and started talking about the north side of Navajo Pass and then the south side, I thought sure the game was up. I thought somebody had tumbled to what you were going to pull. My dear Buck, I mean Palmero, I've engaged the finest lawyer in the county and I have the support of the judge. They are reputable citizens. But what their reputations may be after they've found what we've done with Navajo Pass is something I'd rather not contemplate. We'll return to the exciting second act of our Frontier Town adventure in just about one minute. And now Frontier Town. I don't know how much you know about women. The longer I live, the more convinced I become I don't know too much. There's one thing I've started to learn about and that's a woman's intuition. Take that night, the night of the meeting of the Dos Rios Cattlemen's Association. I'd gone over to the judge's house for supper and after a while when the moon came up, Libby and I wandered outside. With my success in having all the ranchers sign Nagle's leases, I was feeling pretty good. Not to mention that it was a soft summer evening and Libby was there. You know what I was thinking, Libby? You're like a honeysuckle, all alive and lovely during the day. Well, at night, at least tonight, just as quiet and wrapped up in yourself. I'm worried, Chad. You worry? I am. I wish you hadn't done what you did at that meeting today. Well, the fine future I'd have, we'd have, if I went around turning down cases and fees. I've got a feeling about this, an awful feeling. What? Chad, I don't trust that man. I don't trust him a bit. Nagle? Now, what in the world is there to mistrust about a man who did what he did? Now, I'm afraid you don't understand about those old Spanish families and their pride. I'm afraid that I understand that man. Chad, he's too oily. He's too smooth. Oh, come here. What's the use of wasting our time talking about Nagle when we could be talking about, well, about the Moonlight? Us? Oh, Chad. Oh, Libby, I wonder if you'll ever know how much I... Hey, Chad! Chad, I've got the horses here and it's time to be riding back to the ranch. What a time for him to show up. All right, Cherokee, be there in a few minutes. Young fellow me lads, there's a cattle drive starting tomorrow morning. And if you want to be up at Navajo Basin with your herd at Sunup, you better be getting some sleep. My master's voice. And I guess he's right at that, Libby. Goodbye. I'll see you when we get back from market. Be careful, Chad. Promise me you will. Be careful? What about? I don't know. Just be careful, Chad. Be careful about everything. Everything. Be careful, she said. But by then it was too late. However, I slept well and the next morning Cherokee and I drove my little bunch of cattle that was ready for market up to Navajo Basin at the foot of Navajo Pass and joined the other ranchers. Chad, I doubt if I'll ever forgive you for taking me off at the back of that rancher. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Chad, I doubt if I'll ever forgive you for taking me off at the back of that medicine wagon. Maybe you'd rather have been lynched for selling that phony medicine. Phony or what? That rattlesnake oil is absolutely guaranteed 90 pro. I still think I'd rather have been lynched than to play nursemaid to a lot of cows. Yes indeed, I really believe I would. Come on, Chad, you're late. One of the boys went up ahead already. Must have been a wide open rush, eh, Kirby? Who was it that couldn't wait and started off by himself? That was Jim Bodine. Said it'd be slow going through Navajo Pass and we'd catch up with him anyhow. Everybody else here? Yep, now that you two are. There's Frank Sherman, Ty McCarthy and your old friend Bessie Dryden. Hi there, Bessie! You look beautiful even in the early morning hours. That's the way you sell patent medicine. Well, don't you try to sell me none of it. Why should he? I'm paying him more as a cowboy than he made perpetrating that medicine fraud. One thing I don't like about cowboying is his clothes. What's wrong with the clothes? Well, I only got pint-sized pockets and I'm a two-quart man. What we ought to do is dress you up like a Newfoundland dog and put a keg around your neck. BANG! BANG! Chad, them shots! Seemed to me they came from up Navajo Pass. Navajo Pass? Well, that's where Jim Bodine just went with his cattle. For the love of Pete, look, isn't that a horse coming with its rider half-off down out of the pass? Hey, look, Jim Bodine. It appears like he's shot. Hey, I wonder what in blazes happened. We'll soon be finding out. Here comes that horse wide open. Cherokee, come on, lend me your hand. Oh, there. Hold on. Come on now. Stand still. Hey, Jim, what in the world happened to you? The pass is barricaded. Won't let no one through. Barricaded? Who barricaded the pass? Your friend, your client. Nagle. What? Why, dog-gun you, Chad Remington. I got a good mind to knock your brains out. Now, if Jim's right, Bessie, and Nagle did barricade the pass, I wouldn't blame you. That is, if I have any brains. Come on, Cherokee, we're going up into Navajo Pass ourselves. Jim Bodine was right, except it wasn't exactly a barricade. It was more like the breastworks at Gettysburg. Wired been strung up across the pass, and right below it were sandbags, each bag bristling with a rifle. Cherokee and I got within about 30 yards of it when... Hold it, Cherokee. This is far enough. This is too far. Turn them horses and get out of here. Just a minute, Buck. This gentleman I want to talk to. Hey, Chad, that servant of Nagle certainly talks regular English. Yeah, I'm afraid they both know a good deal more about English than we do. I suppose you can explain this, Nagle. It's quite simple, counselor. Nobody goes through Navajo Pass across my property without my permission. And my permission can be obtained only by buying it. Your property? Navajo Pass is a public road. Oh, so? You know, if you'd take the time to refer to some of the old maps, Mr. Remington, you'll find that the arroyo here to my left, which is on my property, used to be a riverbed and that the river flowed down through this pass. You trying to be ridiculous? There's no river here now. And what's that got to do with it anyhow? It may have a lot to do with it, Cherokee. I suppose you realize, Nagle, that if you delay these ranches until the cattle buyers have gone back east, that every ranch is going broke. Naturally. And therefore, they should be glad to pay for the privilege of crossing my land. Let's say five dollars a head. You know something? I'm even starting to doubt that this is your land. You know, your doubts might have been well-founded before you so nicely drew up those leases. It's of record that every rancher around here has acknowledged in writing my title to this land. Why, you're a bigger thief than I am. I was. I used to be that. Nagle, all I can tell you is this. So far you've succeeded in sucking me in, making a fool of me. But that cattle's going to get to market on time. All right, turn that nag around, Cherokee. We're getting out of here. You mean he can do that to us, Chad? Hold us up for five dollars a head? What do you think, Judge? I think he's a blasted crook. I'll bet you even that deed of his is a phony. Well, now that I think of it, I remember a druggist I used to buy stuff from. He had a way of taking a piece of paper and making it look old, like parchment. And I'll wager that's exactly what Nagle did. Well, once we can establish that fact, we'll make short work of him. Chad, I'm going up to the state capitol at once. Yeah, you should, Judge, but in the meantime, since possession is nine points of the law and these cattle have got to get to market, Nagle's got us over a barrel. Unless... Unless what? Unless we can break through that barricade. Well, how in the name of simple Simon are you going to do that? Now, wait a minute. Remember the yarn about the Trojan horse? Listen to me. The Greeks got their soldiers in Detroit by hiding them inside a hollow horse. I think we can do the same thing and trample down that barrier and the men behind it by using our cattle. Cherokee, get out there and call in those outriders. We got to get these cattle running. Why, after what I'd let them in for, they even listened to me doesn't make much sense. Because the idea itself was as wild as a coyote that's been feeding on loco weed. But this was a desperate situation, called for desperate means. I knew that 50-yard ranches and cowpokes wouldn't stand a chance against those rifles that stuck out of the barricade like quills out of a porcupine's back. About the only thing that could blast them out of there would have been cannon. Or, I hope, the surging, irresistible charge of some 3,000 head of cattle. Well, since, as we lawyers say, time is of the essence, we didn't waste time arguing. We lined up the herds about eight abreast, packed close enough to just fill the pass so there'd be no turning back. And then with one wild whoop and the echo and roar of six guns, we started those cattle toward the barricade at a dead run. Hey, look at them steers run, Jan. Aye, Kirby, you keep back. Keep back on the cattle. They got to break through first to make an opening for us. They're getting through, Chad. They're getting through. Come on, get away. Come on. What are you packing left? Hey, the wire's down, Chad. Them gun hands and Nagels are giving up. Cherokee, you come on with me. Nagel and Palmeiro are scrambling up those rocks like mountain sheep. Come on, you bagaboons. After Chad. Up to those rocks. Nagel, either stand where you are or we're going to run you down. Don't. Don't. I haven't even got a gun. All right, hold it, Cherokee. Hold it. Keep these two buzzards covered. Remington, this is something you're going to pay for personally. This is my land. Every foot of it is my land. Yeah, I guess it is your land to all intents and purposes, Nagel, because you're going to be living here. Right here for about the next 30 years. But it won't be at the so-called Chavez Rancho. No, it'll be down in town in the county jail. Quiet. Quiet. Quiet. Quiet. There'll be silence in this courtroom while I pronounce sentence on the prisoners. Alfred Nagel, you will rise. This court finds you guilty of forgery, attempted homicide and of operating a bunko game. And sentences you and Buck Palmer, alias, Pomerro, to state's prison for from 20 to 50 years at hard labor. Court dismissed. Well, Libby, do you think your father was too hard on those crooks? Far from it. Nagel should have gotten an extra 10 years for all those beautiful lies he told me the first time he came to the house. Say, Chad, I hate to interrupt, but if it's all the same to you, I'd like to go back and take off these cow punchers clothes. Mighty uncomfortable. Mighty uncomfortable. What do you mean, Cherokee? They're too tight? They sure are too tight, aren't they, Cherokee? With those pint-sized pockets, they sure choke a man who has a two-quart thirst. Yes, indeed. Yes, indeed. Frontier Town, starring Tex Chandler, is a Bruce Ells production. Story and supervision by Joel Murcott. Direction by Paul Franklin. Music written and played by Ivan Ditmars. Be sure to be with us again same time next week for another fine action adventure story with your favorite young western star, Tex Chandler. This is Bill Foreman telling you that Frontier Town came to you from Hollywood. For more information visit www.frontiertown.com
