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. Howdy, I'm Chad Remington, lawyer. The only lawyer in the little frontier town I live in, Dos Rios. It's not much of a town as towns go, but situated between the Red River and the White River, our part of the country is mighty rich. Now if that sounds good to you, just stop and think about it. Because out on the frontier, a country that's rich means a country worth money, or at least it presents the opportunity of making money. And easy money means trouble. Take a case I handled just a short while back. Now I rent my office from an ex-medicine man, Cherokee Old Bannon, who runs the Dos Rios livery stable. And this particular day, Cherokee and I were riding back toward Dos Rios after having made an offer on some horses the Old Bannon wanted for his livery stable. Well, we were indulging in our favorite pastime, chin flapping, and not paying too much attention to anything around us. Chad, my boy, how do you feel about that filly? What's that, Cherokee? I said how do you feel about that filly? How do you think? I'm aiming on marrying her. You're aiming on... My dear counselor, I will admit that fillies get hitched to book boards, stagecoaches, and regs. What? But yours will be the first instance where a filly got hitched to a lawyer. Oh, hey, now wait a minute. What filly are you talking about? Well, that's just not filly. We just saw over Jed Rogers' place. Who were you talking about? Ah, I guess I got nobody to blame but myself. I thought you were referring to Libby. Libby! Fie for shame! I would never refer to that handsome young woman in anything but the most dignified turd. I'll be... Hey, Cherokee, look, is that a posse riding tortoise from town? Well, well, I do believe it is. That's certainly the marshal, Ed Bingham, riding up front. That's funny. I wonder who they could be coming after out this way. Yes. The only place around here belongs to that sheep herder, that Mexican fellow. What's his name? Felipe? Something or other? Yeah, Felipe Gomez. I wonder what's up. Hey, marshal! Hey, Ed, rain up! Good morning, boys! Howdy, Ed! Howdy, boys! Hi! What are you doing out here, marshal? Come to make an arrest, Ed. Herman Sims, the banker, was found shot to death this morning. Four holes plumbed through his back. If you've come out to make an arrest, apparently you know who you're looking for. Who is it? That sheep herder down the road, Gomez. What? What's the matter? Don't you believe me? Frankly, I can't say that I do. From a little I've seen of Felipe, he's so mild he wouldn't even slap a mosquito if it were bothering him. That's what I said. Well, wait, now, what makes you suspect Gomez, Ed? He was in the bank yesterday trying to borrow some money from Herman Sims. And when Sims wouldn't lend it to him, Gomez threatened him. Threatened him right in front of witnesses. That's evidence, all right, but circumstantial. Scarcely enough to justify a charge of murder. Well, as far as I'm concerned, it's plenty to hold a man on for questioning. Come on, boys, let's... Well, now, wait a minute. Just a minute, Marshal. If Gomez will permit me, I'd like to handle his case. Is it all right with you if I go on ahead and talk to him? Well, I didn't come out here for any chin-fist. By the sacred horns of Satan, how long can it take? And besides, it may mean the life of an innocent man. Oh, okay, Chet, make it short. And don't try any tricks. We'll be outside, watching the house. A frontier town lawyer gets pretty case-hardened. But standing in that little cabin looking at Felipe and Manuela, his wife and their five little ones... Manuela, I don't mind telling you I had trouble talking for the lump in my throat. Poor little fella. Never seen a man actually shake before. Señor Remington, how else can I say? I make oath on a holy Bible I never see, señor, since after I leave the bank. Señor, it is the very truth of God. Last night when you said killing happened, Felipe is out working. Ah, and if he was working, then he has an alibi. He sure has an alibi. Now tell me, Felipe, what work were you doing? Where were you? I was working for a neighbor of mine, Señor Babson. Root Babson? Sí, sí. Señor Babson, he come here yesterday afternoon and tell Felipe coyotes come down from the hills and kill flock. Tell Felipe he pay him to go out last night with him and try for kill coyotes. Why a man alive? If you were with Root Babson all that time, this thing's a lead pipe cinch. Oh, señor, I am not with Señor Babson all the time. He ride one way and I ride the other. Well, certainly that's not going to make any difference. Now, what I want to know is... Hey, Remington, we can't wait out here all day. You're going to turn our prisoner over to us or do we have to come in and take him? No, Felipe, no. Now, look, we'll have to let the marshal take him, Mrs. Gomez, but don't you worry, Eddie. Cherokee and I'll ride right over and see Root Babson and get this thing squared away. Felipe, Felipe. Precious. Your beautiful face is only half so beautiful when you cry, mamacita. You don't make the world. Señor Remington, have me back home in time for your good supper. Don't run a tent after you've waited. All right, Eddie's coming. Come on, Cherokee, we got a bit of real riding to do. We left the Gomez's cabin and headed straight for Root Babson's place. I didn't know Babson any too well, except that he'd settled in our valley a few years earlier and had been successful with a small herd of cattle and a good size flock of sheep. The fact that he was successful was attested to by his liberal contributions to almost every worthy cause in the county. As we rode up toward his ranch for the first time, we could see from that other signs of his success. Everything about the place was well-tended. This man must have money, eh, Chad? Who paid every place? That fence alone must have set him back at least a couple thousand dollars. Whoa! Hey, boy. Not wanting to waste time, we walked up to the porch, knocked on the door, and pretty soon I was explaining our visit to Root Babson. Remington, as much as I'd like to help out you and your client, Gomez's story is the most flagrant piece of exaggeration I've ever heard of. Anybody that knows me would tell you I never hire Mexicans for anything. The whole kit and caboodle of them is too shifless and lazy. Well, fortunately, Babson, my experiences with him have been quite the opposite. But are you repudiating Mrs. Gomez's story that you went over to their place yesterday and talked to her husband? Why should I? Well, it's true. But I didn't go there to hire him. I went there because he owed me some money. Loaned it to him over a year ago. Chad, maybe that explains why Philip went to that bank yesterday. In light of what Babson says, it's quite possible. If Babson pressed him for the money, he might have gone to the bank to see if he could raise it there. Well, I must say Gomez's chances look very dim, but thanks anyway, Babson. Oh, not at all, Chad. I'm sorry, there wasn't more I could do. But, uh, oh, you know how emotional these Mexicans are. Gomez probably took it all out and poured her in Sims. Yeah, I do know how those Mexicans are. Come on, Cherokee, I'm going down to jail and tell Felipe I'm resigning his case. What is copying, Marsha? You letting me out? Yeah, I'm letting you out for five minutes to talk to Remington. Come on. Thanks, Ed. Okay, Chad. Felipe, I talked to Ruth Babson. Oh, si, si. Then you know the truth. Yeah. I'm sorry to tell you that now that I know the truth, I've decided not to defend you. Oh, senor, I'm so glad to hear that. What did you say? I said after talking to Babson, I'm not going to defend you. He said you weren't with him last night. When he came to your house yesterday, he came to collect some money you owe him. Madre, did he owe us absolute amount, eh, senor Babson? He lied right in your face. I don't know, Felipe. It all ties together. He came to you in the morning to ask for the money you owe him, and in the afternoon you went down to the bank to try to get it. But, senor, that is not so. He come to my house in the afternoon after I have been to the bank. And he do not ask me for money because I do not owe him money. Well, I'll tell you what, Felipe. Some place between your story and Babson's story, the truth must lie. I'm going to talk to a few people before I tell you definitely that I have refused your case. Gracias, senor. Mil gracias. Mil gracias. Gracias, mil gracias. Oh, by the way, Mrs. Gomez, what time yesterday morning did Mr. Babson come over to talk to your husband? Oh, he did not come in the morning, senor Remington. He came late yesterday afternoon, maybe around five o'clock. Thanks, Mrs. Gomez. Now you go back to your children and don't worry. Any worrying done about Felipe from now on, I'm afraid I'm going to have to do. Remington, are you in your right senses? How can a man of your reputation possibly defend a murderer and Mexican who lies right and left? There's nothing particular in the Bible, Babson, about Mexicans. But it does say something about the truth shall set them free. And believe me, I'm going to get the truth. Well, Cherokee, who'd you talk to? What did you find out? Well, even though all I know about police work is from the receiving end, I found out something quite interesting, Chad. But, well, it took a bit of doing and it cost a little money. All right, all right. I'll give you back the money. Well, fine, fine. Well, come on. What did you spend the money on? Well, that is, I spent it at the tavern across the street for some excellent Maryland rye. You mean to say you've been wasting your time drinking? Wasting my time nothing. I was entertaining Dan Simes, the teller at the bank. Not only did I pump him, but I even out Detective Alan Pinkerton. I got some real information. Well, what? Dan told me that most of the money Ruth Babson has deposited doesn't come from the packing houses at all. It's in cash and a lot of it brand new folding money. Well, that is interesting. What little money other folks around here deposit are checks they get for the sale of their livestock. Mr. Babson must have another source of income apparently. Apparently. That information is worth the price of the drinks now, isn't it? Yes, Cherokee, it certainly is. I apologize. And you know what? We're going to get some horses and ride around to a few other towns and ask a few more questions. Questions that may put Ruth Babson behind bars. Did I understand you to say bars? Iron bars. Iron bars like in a pokey, eh? Iron bars like in a state penitentiary, Cherokee. And if we're lucky enough, maybe Babson will stay there for life. We'll return to the second act of Return of the Bad Men, our exciting frontier town adventure in just a few moments. And now Frontier Town. Well, with the news Cherokee had pumped out of the dos rios bank teller, creating more than a little curiosity about the sources of Ruth Babson's income. The old bandit and I were soon on the trail heading out of town, optimistically hoping that some place, somewhere, we'd run across someone else who might possibly throw some light on Ruth Babson's outside connections. Sure, it was like looking for the conventional needle, but in the unconventional haystack. And certainly no way for a young lawyer thinking of marriage to go about making a living. Matter of fact, you may think it was a waste of time because this was just a routine frontier killing. The only excitement connected with it was poor Manuela's tears. And even if I had agreed with you, when we were a scant ten miles outside of dos rios, I would have been forced to change my mind. Cherokee and I were riding about as fast as we dared for such a long trip, and for a change we weren't flapping our jaws about Ruth Babson's part in this mystery. We were just riding along and looking, and I realize now it's a good thing I was looking. Hey, Chad, what's gotten through you? What are you staring at? Slow down a little, mister. We're about to have some visitors. Visitors? Are you out of your- Stop that horse. Whoa, whoa, hold it. Chad, who are those four men? I don't know. They've been following us ever since we crossed the pass. Just a bit ago, they scamped it up over that rim lock so they could cut us off. Slip your six gun under your coat and keep it handy. You gentlemen want something? We sure do, Remington. Slow down, boys. I saw you, you know, trailing us. You really ought to be more careful. You're the one who should be careful, Remington, and if I were you, I'd take a nice friendly hint and change my mind about leaving Dos Rios. Well, now, good thing you aren't me, because being a lawyer, when I give advice, I charge for it. Yes, indeed he does. And speaking for myself, I've found the kind of advice you get for nothing is worth just that much. Well, the advice I just give you is worth almost nothing, not much more, because all it's really worth is your life. Did you change your mind about going to Corte Vista? Corte Vista? Yeah, we'll go where we like. You see, there may be only two of us, but if I can, I'm hauling you out of that saddle and showing you what I think of your so-called advice. You don't fight! You mealy mouthed dog! If that doesn't make my answer clear to him, maybe you three can explain it to him when he wakes up. I'd keep him covered, Cherokee, while I get mounted again, because we're going wherever we want to, come ebb-tight or high water. As risky as the spot was that those four gun-handy jats put us in, certainly it made a lot of our work easy. For some reason, they didn't want us to go to Corte Vista. Now, Corte Vista being more than 400 miles away was one town I had no intention of visiting originally, but seeing as it was important to them, it became important to us. Cherokee and I knocked on all horses to make time. Those high-binders must work for Root Babson, Chad, except for Libby and Mrs. Gomez. Only Babson knew what we were up to. You see the way I- Cherokee, quick, behind those rocks! Chad, what's going on? They've decided to make sure we don't get to Corte Vista. Come on, get that carbine out of your saddle boot and use it! Chad, they're hiding behind those trees and closing in on us! Look out, Cherokee, one of them's trying to get behind you! Chad, I knocked him smack out of his saddle! Nice shooting, Cherokee! It slowed them up, now let's rush them! Get up there, boy! Come on! We got him on the run, Chad! All right, hold it, Cherokee, hold it! There's the maverick you wanted lying on the ground. I got an idea if we can get him to talk, we might save ourselves a long trip. We won't learn anything from this, Chad. You mean he's shuffled off this mortal coil? Yep, for good. I feel sick. I've never killed a man in all my dishonorable life. This is terrible. You didn't kill him. Look, your slug just went through his arm. When he fell off the horse, he must have hit his head on that log. That did it. Well, I feel better. But he isn't going to be much help to us, is he? Unless we can find something on him. Come on, if you're not too squeamish, help me look him over. Well, we found something. It was a label in his shirt, that's all. But it was a label of a furnishing store in Curta Vista. Even though we could read the jigsaw, we couldn't see the picture. All the pieces were there, but yet they didn't fit together. We wasted no time getting to Curta Vista and went directly to the sheriff's office. That's about all we know, Sheriff. Well, from the description you give me of this here Root Babson, it's hard to say if I ever know him or not. Clean shaven, you say? Yes, he is. But why do you ask? Well, sir, just sort of putting two and two together. That fellow you killed on your way here now, he used to be tied up with a bank bandit down this part of the country. Yeah? And except that he had blonde hair and wore a mustache, this here Root Babson might be Andy Sly. Well, for goodness sakes, I can make you a hair dye in five minutes if I change blonde hair to black. Changing his name from Sly to Babson takes no time at all. Yeah, it could be, couldn't it? But how are you going to prove from that slim evidence that Babson murdered Herman Sims? Did you say Herman Sims? Yes, did you know Herman? Oh, my gosh almighty, Herman used to run a bank down here. It was Herman himself who identified Andy Sly as having robbed his bank. That's when Sly escaped. Plum vanished from these parts. Well, well, well. It is a small world after all. Huh? You mean this fits together? Up to a point, almost up to the exact point. Now, if Sly and Babson are one and the same, then I'm guessing that Herman Sims finally recognized him up in Dos Rios even with his mustache off and his hair dyed. That's why Babson put him out of the way. Well, it's a mighty slick theory you got there, son. But how are you going to prove it? Well, I don't know yet, Sheriff. But I sure can do a heap of thinking on the way back to Dos Rios. That's exactly what I'm proposing to do. All right, Cherokee, come on. Let's go. Wild chance? You bet it was. And being a wild chance, it called for a wild idea. It was a cinch that with Herman Sims dead, nobody in our state could identify Babson if he was Andy Sly. But all this about going to Corte Vista made me think he must be. So it was up to me to figure out some devious way of getting Babson to admit himself that he was the missing bandit and had killed Sims, taking advantage of the row poor Felipe Gomez had had with Sims to blame it on him. Well, it took a bit of talking on my part. But finally, Ed Bingham, the Dos Rios marshal, threw in with me and carefully surrounding the place with a handpicked posse, I went up and called Babson outside of his house. Remington, all I can tell you is you're talking through your hat. Oh, well, let me put it to you this way. If I give up Gomez's defense, he'll be found guilty and hanged. Yeah? If they hang him, the case will be closed. Nobody will do any further investigating about Herman Sims death. So? So since it just might be embarrassing to you if the investigation were prolonged, and since I'm getting no fee at all from Gomez, why don't you pay me a fee to drop his case? How much do you want, Remington? $2,000 now and $500 a year as retainer. You're crazy. Am I? You know, it wouldn't be too hard to have that sheriff in Corte Vista come up here and identify Andy Sly. What are you talking about? This is an entirely different state. Sure, but even though Sly might legally stop his own extradition, it wouldn't be too hard a job to have that Corte Vista sheriff come up here voluntarily as a witness. You're pretty slick, Remington. Slick enough. You really think I'm Andy Sly, don't you? Right now, yeah, but if you were my client, I'd be convinced you were Ruth Babson. Oh, and I don't want to check. You're real slick. Hello, here. Here's $500 in a cup. Thanks. And all brand new bills, too, aren't they? Just as if they'd come fresh out of a bank. They did. Might even have been the bank that was stuck up over at Comanche Springs a few months ago. Yeah, it sure might. That's what I thought. Hey, Marshal, did you hear that? Marshal. Why, you double demon! Come on, he knocked that down! All right, now, the first man that takes a step is going to get plugged. Now, I mean it. I'll kill anybody that moves. Come on, Marshal, let's get him. Chad, Chad, are you all right? The budget can punch all right. Where'd he go? He ran for the bar and locked himself in. The only way to get him out of there is to starve him. No, I'm going in after him. Chad, Chad, you won't have a chance. I will if you stand here out front. It'll keep his attention this way while I go around through the back. All right, now, look alive and keep your eyes open. Marshal, that's pure suicide. Well, it certainly don't. Hey, look, Chad must have got in. Billy Blue blazes those shots. Absent must have seen Chad. That dog gunner and I was Chad hadn't. Wait a minute. The barn doors are opening. Sure are. Who's coming out? Hey, flatten out, men. If it's Babson, we'll have to... Look, it is Babson, but Chad's behind him with a gun stuck right in his back. Ah, that's the way to do it. Senor Remington, never, never will we be able to repay you. Oh, no, Manuel. We pay Senor Remington's lawyer fee, even if we pay him a little bit every month. Oh, no, you don't, Felipe. If you hadn't needed money, you wouldn't have been in that scrape in the first place. I tell you what we do. We kill sheep and give you a big fiesta. Well, Mrs. Gomez, that I might accept. Hey, Cherokee? Might accept? Man, haven't you ever attended a fiesta? Besides food, they have the two most wonderful things in the world. Oh, see? And what are those things in here, old man? The two most wonderful things in the world. They have weak senior readers and strong liquor. And that's for me. Frontier Town starring Tex Chandler as a Bruce Ells production. Story and supervision by Joel Murcott. Direction by Paul Franklin. Music written and played by Ivan Dittmar. 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. And now this is Bill Foreman telling you that Frontier Town came to you from Hollywood. Thank you.
