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. Ever hear of Dos Rios? Well, it's a saddle stop cow town smack dab south and east of Denver and sprawls boisterously across the frontier. I live in Dos Rios. I'm the one and only lawyer there. Name? Chad Remington. Well, lawyer or no, in that frontier country there's always something going on, something mighty interesting and, doggone near always, dangerous. Oh, not just rustlings and bank holdups, stagecoach and mail car robberies. Part of the time our troubles come from what we lawyers might call our duly elected officers. Now just a few weeks back over in another little frontier town called... Oh, here I am getting ahead of myself and I guess I better be starting from the beginning. After all that had been happening, I decided to take a day off, get the judge's daughter Libby to pack some sandwiches and ride out to the painted rim rock country with me. Well, we'd had a nice ride, good lunch and Libby and I were... we were talking things over. I don't know about June, Chad. It's... what's so soon? Algonquin, Libby, with me it's sooner the better. It isn't as if this is going to come as a surprise to your father and I... uh-oh. Now look who's coming. Wait, who is that, Chad? Is it Cherokee? It's the old man and himself in the flesh. And it's just gold pieces to gopher holes. He's not out riding just to exercise one of those horses from his livery stable. Now wait a minute. Hey, Cherokee, over here. Jesus, what do you think he wants? I sure don't know. I paid him two months in advance for that offer I ran from him up over his stable. Easy there, Gladys. Whoa! I knew I'd find you two lolling in some romantic dell, old girl. Well, if you knew it, did you have to come out to prove it? Having two people the right to commune with nature? Aye, dear Miss Libby, you can continue communing with nature because if I say so myself, I am one of nature's noblemen. Yes, indeed. Oh, go on. Mother Nature probably ran you out of the house years ago for peddling that rattlesnake oil of yours. Oh, what's up, Cherokee? Why'd you come out here in heels over leather? Because, my Cherokee counselor, a telegram arrived for you. And since old Hank at the Western Union office said it was important, I thought I'd hit the saddle and try to find you here. Thank you. Excuse me, Libby. Well, this doesn't sound so good. What doesn't sound so good? What did the telegram say? Oh, I don't know if you remember Bill McCarty over at Medicine Creek. I'm sure your father does. McCarty? Isn't he the tax collector over in Comanche County? Yeah, but he's not the county collector. He's a local tax collector from Medicine Creek. The telegram's from Bill. From the little he says here, it looks as if he might need some legal advice. Legal advice, I'll bet. Any time anyone sends you a telegram, they don't want legal advice. They're looking for two-fisted help. Listen to the man. Chad, would you mind telling me what it's all about? Why should the tax collector in another town in an entirely different county suddenly telegraph to you? Can't tell much from what he's wired. Having filed a telegram at the Medicine Creek office, apparently Mr. McCarty was a little more than a wee bit cautious. But if I can read between the lines, Bill's mixed up in some sort of political shenanigans that involve the mayor of Medicine Creek. Palaticians, those I've met, not counting the sheriffs, rangers, and marshals, have been even more deceitful than a third-rate medicine man. Well, you should know, Cherokee. As a first-rate medicine man, Cherokee, and the owner of a second-rate livery staple, would you be inclined to lend me a horse and ride over to Medicine Creek with me? That I would. That I would. But, Chad, we were talking about... well, you know, now you want to pick up and... I guess I just don't understand men. Well, Libby, I guess you understand one man a little too well. And he thinks the sooner we get started, the sooner I'll get back to have that little heart-to-heart talk with your father. So I'm all for packing up and getting started today. Well, sir, as it turned out, it was a good thing I didn't postpone my trip. The truth of the matter is, as it turned out, it was too darn bad I couldn't have gotten started a day earlier. Because while Cherokee O'Bannon and I were leaving streamers of red dust behind our pounding horses, the stage was being set in Medicine Creek for the big blow-off. As we pieced it together later, the mayor of Medicine Creek, the honorable Richard E. Dalegood, had sent for his tax collector Bill McCarty and exploded his bombshell. Now is that clear, Bill? Mayor, do you realize what you're doing? You're actually raising taxes to three times what they were last year. McCarty, I had you appointed as tax collector because I felt you were one man interested in seeing Medicine Creek grow. Man alive, that takes money. Of course it takes money, but tripling the taxes isn't going to raise money. All it'll raise is trouble, maybe killings. You know what a bad season the cattlemen have had. McCarty, either you collect those taxes or I'll have you impeached for malfeasance in office. Impeach and be hanged. Go on, haul me into court. But I think when you realize what I'll tell that jury, it'll be you they'll impeach and not me. There are a few other things I could tell a jury. Things like who killed Ralph Osborne. You no blame will I didn't kill Ralph. Do I? Well, I'm afraid any story I tell a jury would be thoroughly convincing. You'd better be leaving, McCarty. And if you come back without the tax money, the mystery of who gunned down Ralph Osborne will be finally cleared up. Why, you... you... Good morning, Mr. Mayor. And goodbye. Well, well, well. I wonder who I can appoint tax collector after your funeral, McCarty. Somebody who'd at least appreciate the way we'd... Crone! What are you doing in my office? Well, Mr. Mayor, you handled our tax collector very nicely. Confounded, Crone! I don't like you sneaking in my office through the back door. Well, I'll tell you, your honor, I saw McCarty go into the Western Union office this morning and send a telegram. Then when I saw him heading for your office, I just thought I'd come in through the back and listen to what he had to say. Well, I told you what would happen. You heard McCarty. He refuses to go through with it. Yeah, I heard him. I heard you, too. Heard me? What do you mean? How far do you think we'd get accusing McCarty of bushwhacking Ralph Osborne? I'm afraid, Mr. Mayor, that you're foolish enough to have faith in human nature. If a jury really started to investigate Ralph's death, it might be me they'd build a scaffold for. And if they build it for me, my friend, they'd build another alongside of it. For you. I knew I should never let you jockey me into a spot. Now if McCarty talks to the ranchers and advises them not to pay the new taxes, everything I've spent two and a half years working for will be blown away like so much tumbleweed. Your honor, you're absolutely right. But I have a feeling that Medicine Creek is badly in need of a municipal reorganization. And to start with, you'd better appoint a man to replace our tax collector. For Pete's sake, Crone, don't you even think? If I throw McCarty out now, it's as if every landowner around here would believe his story. Oh? But how can they believe his story, Mayor? I mean, did you ever hear of a dead man talking? Oh, now don't you go to any trouble, Mrs. McCarty. Cherokee and I can wait until Bill gets home. We're not that hungry. Well then, Mr. Remington, can I fix you something to drink? Mrs. McCarty, you are a woman of rare and little found perspicacity. What would you like? Tea? Well, Cherokee, aren't you going to answer the perspicacious lady? Tea? On reflecting, my dear Miss McCarty, I've decided that perhaps Ted is right. I think it might be best if we wait until Mr. McCarty returns home. Yes, I do. Well, you're not going to have long to wait, you see. Comes Bill now just riding over the ridge of that hill. Hey, certainly looks well, doesn't he? He looks well enough, considering, but all this grief the Mayor's been giving Bill has certainly done him. Hey, Blue Blazers, Chad, did you hear those shots? I sure did, Cherokee. Come on, Bill McCarty's been blasted plum out of his saddle. There he is, Chad. Rainer. All right, Cherokee, help Mrs. McCarty off her horse. Chad, it's Bill. He was gone before he hit the ground. Those feisty killers. Those dirty, sneaker coyotes. They didn't even give him a chance to fight back. Well, I'll fix them. I'm going down and blast that no-good, crooked gambler myself. Gambler? That's what I said, gambler. That thieving, crooked, cold crone. He's the one who's behind the Mayor. No, no, just a minute. No situation like this has ever cured by another killer. What's more, you have no way of knowing if it was this crone or anyone else in Medicine Creek who drag-ghosts your husband. Don't say that. Who else could it have been? Must have been that gambler. Cherokee, I think you'd better help Mrs. McCarty back onto her horse. Anything you say, Chad. Come on, Mrs. McCarty. Let go. You take your hands off of me. Go ahead, Cherokee, I'll give you a hand. Look, if you're right about this gambler, Mrs. McCarty, we'll find out soon enough. When we do, I've got an idea I'm going to deal myself into his game. Except I'll be using my own deck. Every card marked with a cross we can put on his grave up on Boothill. We'll return to the exciting second act of our Frontier Town adventure in just about one minute. And now, Frontier Town. Well, you can see now what I meant when I said it was too blame-bad Cherokee and I didn't get to Medicine Creek a day earlier. Bill McCarty gunned down in cold blood almost at the doorway to his ranch. And Bella McCarty, Bill's widow, hysterically furious. And despite everything Cherokee and I could say, vowing she'd avenge her husband's brutal murder. However, while Leo Brennan and I were doing everything we could to quiet and soothe Bella McCarty, down at the mayor's office an entirely different kind of scene was taking place. A fine lot of good you did getting rid of McCarty. Now, believe me, Crone, there isn't a landowner in the whole district who isn't seen red. My, my, Mr. Mayor, a man of your perception is worthy of real political ambitions. How skillfully you keep your finger on the public pulse. That's enough, you cheap tin horn. Well, I must acknowledge that since tin horn is a synonym for gambler, you may be right. But you listen to me, you overweight mutton head. You'll keep on like you're going and this whole town is going to have an election. We'll not only elect us a new tax collector, we'll elect a new mayor. Now, now, now, now, look here, Carl. There's no reason to go losing your temper at me. All right. And suppose you just listen. Don't you think I know the ranchers are up in arms? Well, that's exactly what I want. What you want? You bet. Don't you realize what a cinch it would be for us if they get mad enough to try shooting it out with the duly elected legal authorities? Why, they wouldn't dare. We could throw every one of them in jail. And by the time they got out again, they wouldn't have any more ranches left than a porcupine has feathers. Well, well, well. So you're finally getting some sense through your thick head. So I'm finally getting some sense. But don't you think some of those ranches are going to get some sense too? What have I? All you have to do is sit here in this office that taxpayers furnished so nicely for you and keep your eyes glued on that safe I loaned you. Because, Mr. Mayor, with the help of a few of my friends, it isn't going to be very long before that safe's so crowded with greenbacks it'll take a 20-mule team to move it. Certainly, Krohn knew what he was talking about. He had several friends in Medicine Creek, notably one gunslammer known as Baldy and another disreputable maverick who, for the time being, was using the name of Quirt. Well, despite everything Cherokee and I could do, McCarty's widow called a meeting of most of the taxpayers in and around Medicine Creek, and that's when Baldy and Quirt started sowing the seeds Mr. Krohn wanted planted so badly. Yeah, sure I'm right. There ain't no law in no place that says we got to let that mayor bleed us to death. Folks, Baldy's telling the truth. We're the citizens, we're the taxpayers, and when all's said and done it's us who makes the laws. So I say if we got to have some new laws around Medicine Creek, let's make them with Winchester's and Sixkart. Bella, Bella, Mrs. McCarty, don't you realize what you're doing? You'll never get any place with mob law. You don't have to pay taxes around here, Chad, so why don't you just keep out of this? That's what I say. Well, how about it, neighbors? Are we going to organize the Taxpayers' Protective League? That's it? Now you're talking. By the beard of St. Patrick, if he had one. Have you folks all been out in the pasture eating local weed? Be sensible. Listen to Chad Remington. Do you think I'm enjoying this? Bill McCarty telegraphed me to come over and lend a hand, and now more than ever that's what I intend to do. If there's something wrong with the tax rates, you've got courts over here to... Look, Mr. Big Brain, you keep out of this. Yeah, keep out of this, and maybe you'd better keep out of Medicine Creek altogether. If you consider that an order, Baldy, I'm not in a habit of taking orders, particularly from someone who'd incite a group of people to break the law. A man who'd do that probably is a lawbreaker at heart. Why, you big mouth bag of wind, I'll show you if I can give orders and make them stick. The solar flexes, Chad! The solar flexes! That's it, man! That's the one! That's the one! All right, now, now, won't you folks quiet down? Won't you listen to some sense, please? There, now, I've got just one thing to say. I'll grant the taxes have been assessed, but you still have ten days in which to pay them. I believe this whole matter can be settled legally, and with ten days left, will you give me just two days to see what I can do before you all run the risk of committing suicide? Okay, that's all I want, just a chance. A chance to save the other women in Madison Creek from joining Mrs. McCarty in wearing mourning. Crone, I'm telling you the truth. Me and Quirt had the whole meeting sewed up until this lawyer got up in the soapbox and butted in. So the ranchers aren't going to fight back, eh? It sure don't look that way. They agreed to give Remington time to do something rather legally. Yeah, well in that case, we're not going to waste any more time. You know what he's talking about, Quirt? I sure don't. If Remington talk to me to not fighting back, we're fixing it so they will. So get the rest of the boys and oil up your guns. Madison Creek's going to have a range war, and we're starting it ourselves. Knock on them horses, boys. Don't let them critters get away. That's some easy G boys coming now. Rain up. Okay, now let them have it. You got the powder set, Pauly? All set, boss, and the fuse is lit. Okay, then let's get out of here. Cherokee, he's your friend. Can't you do something to make Chad stop? He's been pacing up and down like a cave cat amount for the last hour. Done all the good, Bella. Heave it off him a drink of genuine indian rattlesnake oil to soothe his nerves. The only thing that will soothe my nerves is some way out of this. If I hadn't talked the ranchers around here into not organizing, some of those men hurt and killed last night might still be here. Well, now there's no use crying over spilled milk. It's not milk, it's spilled blood. If I could only figure some way of proving what we all know and then putting those weasels in jail where they'd be safe. Chad, my boy, even jails aren't safe. Matter of fact, a lot of safes aren't safe. Yes, indeed, learned that many years ago. Well, that safe in the mayor's office seems to be burglar-proof, but of course, being a burglar himself, maybe the mayor knows... Wait, wait, wait a minute, Bella. What safe in the mayor's office? Well, the city safe. Safe he keeps all the tax money in. Tax money? Since when does a mayor keep the tax money? The tax collector's supposed to keep that. Really? Well, Bill always paid the tax money over to the mayor who took charge of it. Well, now, maybe the knob on that safe has the combination to a jail cell in addition to the safe. Jail cell? Now, what earthly connection has a jail cell got to do with the combination to the safe? I've got a hunch it has plenty to do with it. Look, if you and Bella will string along with me and pay a call on his honor of the mayor, there's a little bug I'd like you to put in his ear. Well, Chad, I'll do anything to help, but this doesn't even make sense. Bug in his ear. Yeah, and what's more, if Mrs. McCarty and I go pay a call to the mayor, why can't you come with us and place the insect in the proper orifice yourself? Because I'm going down to make a call of my own. I'm going to Carl Kron's gambling house. You mean you're going to go down there and risk some of your hard-earned capital, play Pharaoh or something? Well, I am going to make a bet, a mythical bet. After I make it, then I'll be able to find out if Kron's number comes up or mine. Yeah, I've heard all about you, Remington. I've heard all about you, Mr. Kron. In fact, that's why I've paid you this call. Do tell. I thought you'd like to know that your friend the mayor suddenly packed up and took the stagecoach out of town. Why? Why should I care if the mayor left town? You know the answer to that better than I. But he was carrying two very heavy carpet bags. Remington, I've been at this game too long not to know the only card you've got in the hole is a deuce. You're bluffing. Well, then why not call my bluff by going over to the mayor's office with me and finding out? Okay, I'll just take that bet. And if you have got a deuce in the hole, Remington, you're going to find yourself dead broke or just plain dead. Well, Kron, the mayor isn't here, is he? Maybe he's home. And maybe he's halfway to the border now with all the money you two kept in that little tin safe. You budge from there, Remington, and you're a goner. I'm going to call your bluff by opening that safe myself. You know, Kron, I'm wondering how you happen to know the combination to the mayor's safe. Keep on wondering, Remington. Why, you double-crossing liar, every penny's in here. It didn't work, mister. But even if it had, it wouldn't have made any difference. You're through. So long, lawyer. You'll find your corpse at the bottom of the rapids. Well, Kron, you can't say I didn't back my little bluff with that... But you haven't pulled that trigger yet. You'll never live to say that again. For a moment, Kron, I thought my last chip was down. Hey, Jerarchy, Bellat, get in here. Here we are, Chad. We've got the mayor with us. All right, Mr. Mayor. Get over there. This is an outrage, kidnapping the mayor. I'll have you all jailed for this. You will, your honor? When are you going to do that? 30 years from now when you get out yourself? Because that's just about what the jury will give you when they find out that the most notorious gambler in town knew the combination to your safe and what was in it. Chad, I hope I don't sound repetitious, but I want to compliment you again for that lovely little trick you pulled on the mayor and Carl Kron. It's just a little everyday psychology. A man who makes his living by chicanery generally is easy prey for chicanery. For instance, take you. You made your living peddling that rattlesnake oil. Now you spend most every nickel you make buying some other kind of liquid poison. Oh, is that so? Well, my barnyard blackstone, I want you to know that I didn't always make my living bending patent medicines. Oh, no? Oh, siree, in my younger days, I was a stagecoach driver. You don't say? In fact, I was the best known stagecoach driver in all Wyoming. I drove a stagecoach with only two wheels. Only two wheels? What held it up? Bandits! Oh, Cherokee, just for that, you're going to eat my dust. Come on, get up there, boy. Get running! 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 Ditmar. 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. .
