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. Chad Remington is the name. Frontier Lawyer is the occupation. And it all boils down to one fact. Trouble is my business. Living as I do in the cow town called Dos Rios, smack dab on the middle of the rawhide tough frontier, I get and I handle troubles of all kinds from people of all kinds. And strangely enough, the troubles that are sometimes dropped in my lap have nothing to do with Dos Rios. Although somehow or other they have a good deal to do with the development of the west. And it wasn't too long ago I received a long letter, a desperate cry for help from people I'd never seen, from a part of the country I'd never been to and hardly heard of. I remember sitting in my office upstairs over the Dos Rios livery stable and discussing the letter with the man who owns the livery stable, an ex-medicine man, twice reformed by the name of Cherokee O'Bannon. You say you've never heard of this Mr. Knudsen, Chad? Cherokee, not only have I never heard of Mr. Forman Knudsen, but I don't think I've ever heard of the town of Faust more than once. And if memory serves me, the town is well named. Now, is this Mr. Knudsen saying anything about, about paying you a fee? No, he doesn't. Nor does that influence me one way or the other. There must be some other lawyer around closer to him who can help him straighten out their difficulties. Just what are their difficulties? From what I can gather from the letter, dust storms. Dust storms that have completely ruined the land around Faust and made Mr. Knudsen's farm and his neighbor's farms worthless. Don't fill your blue blazes, Chad. What does the man think you are, a magician? A magician might very well fit into a community that got its name from the legend of Faust. However, apparently that's not what they want. They want some legal advice about how to obtain new lands from the government. You mean you'd have to get down to Washington? Well, that alone would be enough to make me refuse the case all that red tape. But the worst part of it is, it just sounds plain, ordinary, dull. You mean to, that you're going to turn down Mr. Knudsen? Well, I haven't quite decided. But look, since it's supper time, let's go get a bite to eat while I think it over, hmm? A bite to eat? Well, I'm not exactly hungry yet, Chad. That is, I might be able to do justice to a good dinner if some kind gentleman provided me with a proper appetizer, if you know what I mean, and I'm sure you do. Oh, you old reprobate. You know, you could save yourself and everybody else a lot of time by ordering the proper combinations of food. Combinations? Sure, why not? A perfect meal for you would be two sandwiches, gin on white bread and bourbon on plain rye. Yes, indeed. Yes, indeed. Well, during supper, I decided conclusively that I'd write Mr. Knudsen my sympathies at his plight, and at the same time express my regret that at the moment other matters occupied me so that I could not come down to Faust and discuss his problems. It was dark as Cherokee and I started back to the office, and for a change, Dos Rios' little main street was suddenly quiet. You're going to go upstairs and write that letter to Mr. Knudsen now, Chad? Yeah, I see no reason why not. I write it tonight. I can get it in the mail on the eight o'clock eastbound coach in the... Hey, Cherokee, is that a light flickering upstairs in my office? A light up... By God, Chad, it is a light. Looks like someone moving around in your office with a candle. We'll soon see about that. Come on. Cherokee, you throw the door open and back out of the way. Sure will. Watch it now, Chad. So that's the way you want it, eh? Come on, Cherokee, let's give him a dose of his own... Chad, what in blazes was that? He ran across the office and dived through the window. Well, let's get after him. Well, a lot of good that'll do. By the time we get downstairs again and around to the back, he'll be a quarter of a mile out of town. Oh, I'm going in and see if I can find not who the gentleman is, but what he was looking for. I found what he was looking for, all right, and it was no trouble. My desk had been ransacked, but there in plain sight was a letter from Mr. Knutson, which I had so carefully stowed away in a pigeonhole an hour before. It was out of its envelope, unfolded and opened. I had to find out who he was. I was the only one left to find out who he was. I was the only one left to find out who he was. I was the only one left to find out who he was. Suddenly I realized that perhaps this letter from Knutson might not be as innocent as it appeared. By ten o'clock next morning, Cherokee and I were aboard two of his best livery stable horses, beating up the dust for the little town of Faust. Late that same afternoon, we were still moving along at a lively clip, approaching a river bottom, dry and dusty. Hemmed in by painted rocks and filled with a jungle of cotwoods and junipers. I just had to think, Chad, this name Knutson, that's an uncommon moniker. Sounds kind of foreign to my ears. That is kind of foreign, Cherokee. From the little I know, I'd judge that former Knutson is a Dane. Probably like many of the Danes in this country, operates a dairy farm. Dane, eh? Must relate him to, what was that fellow's name, Hamlet? Yeah, if you insist on being literary. And in this case, as Shakespeare pointed out in Hamlet, there's probably something rotten in Denmark. Or at least... Silly blue blazes, Chad, that's the end of my new white stetson. And it's likely to be the end of both of us if we don't look sharp. Where did that shot come from? Up yonder there from those cottonwoods. Right where those two came from. Who could be shooting at us? This is only a guess, but apparently someone would be happier if we never got to Faust and saw Mr. Knutson. From the appearance of the terrain around here, they've got their battle more than half won. Blast it, Chad, this is like being a clay pigeon in a shooting gallery. We'll never be able to ride through those cottonwoods. Now look, Cherokee, I'm going to throw some lead into those cottonwoods myself, which ought to send them back a little ducking for cover. When I do, I want you to knock on that horse of yours and cut up through that drywash wide open. But what will happen to you if I do? That's something we'll both find out later. Now go on, O'Bannon, if we both get through, I'll meet you at Knutson's house tomorrow morning. But look here, Chad, I just can't... I guess I can at that. Get up here, get up there. Well, Mr. Knutson, the only thing I can possibly suggest is to forget making any direct appeal to Washington, but take an advantage of some new land the government's just thrown open for settlement over in Sunbeam Valley. That would save much time, you think? What do you think, Mama? This Sunbeam Valley, it is green and fertile, no? Madam, Sunbeam Valley is greener than the shamrocks in Ireland. We must have green land because cows do not make milk from dust. We are here, Mr. Remington, 22 Danish families, all of us in dairy business. Danish people understand how to raise cows to make milk, rich milk. And rich milk makes healthy babies, and healthy babies, they grow up into fine, healthy men and women to make strong this whole country. Oh, believe me, I understand your problem perfectly. However, although the answer to it seems obvious, filing on lands in Sunbeam Valley, I have a feeling that the big ranchers who've used Sunbeam Valley as open range for years and years aren't going to want dairy farms and fences. Why should we not be welcome? Ranchers have children too, and children need milk and butter and cheese we make. If my memory serves me, there are other things you Danes make that aren't exactly dairy products. I remember drinking a delightful brandy made from cherries, which was supposed to be a Danish drink. Cherokee, I've got a good notion to quench your thirst right now with my two hands. Look, I'll tell you what I think, Mr. Knudsen. You gather up all of your neighbors and all their belongings, and start heading for Sunbeam Valley just as soon as you can. Then you change your mind? You are not going to help us get the land? Not at all, Mrs. Knudsen. But to help save time before your cows are completely dried up, Cherokee and I will go ahead and see the land agent the government just sent out from Washington to handle the claims and file the maps. Good idea, Chad. That way, by the time the Knudsen's and their families get to Sunbeam Valley, we ought to have their homesteads all ready for them to move in on. It was a good idea, but like so many good ideas, didn't work the way we'd planned it. Principally because at that time, although we knew someone was interested in the exodus of the dairy farmers, we didn't know about the principal rancher in Sunbeam Valley, Doc Slavin and his pet trained gunslinger whose handle was Cinco. They had plans too. Plans they very quickly put into effect. Okay, Cinco, hold it. Here's the new land officer. Right, boss. Whoa, you, whoa, whoa. If you not-heads had done what I told you to and kept that lawyer out of this, we wouldn't have to be doing this now. But Doc, I told you how Remington... Shut up and stay shut up. Howdy. You the land agent? Yes, sir, I am. Something I can do for you. Sure is. I'm Doc Slavin, the biggest spread around here, the lazy JD. I also represent all the other ranchers in this section. Yes, Dr. Slavin. We don't want no farmers in here. And what's more, we ain't letting none in. Oh, is that so? Well, you listen to me, but I can... You're not going to listen in, my friend. I said we ain't letting no dairymen nor no farmers in here with our blasted fences. Just to make this thing look legal, we're filing for all them homesteads ourselves, using dummies' names. Mr. Slavin, no one is filing without my consent. And as far as you're concerned, I'm going to report this little conversation to the United States Marshal in El Paso. Oh, you are, eh? I most assuredly am. And that gun you're fingering doesn't scare me one bit. My friend, you've got just about five seconds to change your mind. And if you don't, there's going to be a new land agent here starting right now. Well? You can't bluff me, Slavin. So you think this is bluffing, eh? All right, Cinco. And when you're through with our friend, there is going to be a new land agent, and it's going to be me. Why, you foul mouth... Now take him out to the Arroia and cover him up good, Cinco. I'm staying here and waiting for Remington. If he wants to talk to the land agent, I sure ain't going to disappoint him. Ha ha ha! We'll return to the second act of Thunder over Texas, our exciting Frontier Town adventure in just a few moments. And now, Frontier Town. Well, as you found out, and we found out later, Doc Slavin and his bodyguard Cinco were a couple of upstanding citizens, all right. They should have been upstanding on a scaffold. But the murder which they'd perpetrated so cold-bloodedly was only half of the meanness and corruption in Doc Slavin's system. The very idea that he and a few of the cattle barons like him owned the West was a feeling that was shared by others, one which would have to be... Well, I don't mean to get on the soapbox about this, so... Well, before I start overflowing again, let's get back to where we left off. When Cherokee and I left the Knutsens, they were well on their way to rounding up their neighbors, packing their wagons, and heading up the trail which Cherokee and I took several hours before. The trail to Sunbeam Valley. Chad, I don't want to have to quibble with you, but this whole thing seems to me to be much ado about nothing. Hmm? Oh, well, maybe it is. Why, any people would be benighted enough to send for a lawyer to tell them what to do when the only path open to them is to move is beyond me. Probably because they're foreign-born, Cherokee, and their respect for the laws in this country and their lack of understanding of them makes them feel helpless. Ah, fiddlesticks. Why, every one of us in this country comes from a foreign-born family. That is, everyone but the Apaches, the Navajos, the Utes, the Osseys... Okay, Cherokee, there's no question that you have an encyclopedic knowledge of the names of all our Indian tribes, but if you'd set your brain to more practical problems, we may get out of this alive. Huh? Alive, you say? Alive, I hope. That rifle into my office the other day, those shots from the cottonwoods on the road, all those happenings indicate one thing. Some of the big cattlemen around here figured out what the dairy farmers are going to do and are trying to stop it before it happens. You think we're riding into trouble? Plenty of trouble. Then by gilded glory, why don't you let me promote some of that Danish brandy? May I need something stimulating in a time like this? I'm afraid you're going to get your stimulation, but not from bottles. Now, I got an awful hunch that this time the stimulation is going to come out of a holster and be served in small doses of lead. My boy, I just remember that I have an engagement back in Dos Reis. If I get through in time, I'll be happy to return here and see what I can do to help. Oh, no you don't. Hey, you see that little American flag on the frame building right ahead? That's the federal land office for the district. All you're going to do is rein up your horse, climb off and go with me. That's what I said. I'm sticking by you through thick and thin. Oh, there, hold on. All right, Cherokee, and see if you can't stop your niece from shaking, huh? Only I had time for a swig of my rattlesnake oil. Howdy, men. Oh, afternoon. You the land agent? Well, you might say that I am. What sort of an answer is that? You either are the land agent or you aren't. Well, I'm the federal agent, but I ain't got no land left. That's what I meant. No land left? There are 130,000 acres here. You ain't meanin' to doubt my word, are you? Far be it from me. I'm sorry you rode all this way for nothing. I don't think the time was wasted. Huh? What do you mean? Are you sure you want me to answer that question? Yeah, I'm sure. Now, what do you mean? Well, in words of two syllables, I don't believe you. I don't believe all the land's been deeded out. You're calling me a liar, is that it? Comes to the same thing. Chad, he's filling his hand! You have a pretty fast draw for a land agent, but not fast enough, it seems. Boy, you... Nice clean fight, aren't you? Using a horseshoe nail ring. All right. You're not out that much, but you can't hear what I have to say. 20 families of dairy farmers are moving up here from Faust. If we've got even half a law left in this country, they're gonna get homesteads and settle on them. And if you or anyone else like you has any different ideas, you're gonna have a fight on your hands that'll make Gettysburg look like a Sunday school picnic. Come on, Cherokee. I want to meet Mr. Knudsen before they hit Snake Skin Pass. Chad, for the life of me, I don't understand what your tactics are. I'll grant you, the man in that office certainly was a rancher. Not anyone who'd be sent out here from Washington. Well, I'm glad you agree with me about one thing. Why, in the name of all outdoors, did you tell him the route the Knudsen's were taking? Don't you realize that if he is a rancher, you'll have a hundred gunslingers out at Snake Skin Pass and blast a lot of them and us right off of the map? That, my friend, is the general idea. Now, look, suppose we prove this man's an imposter, and somehow or other he's gotten rid of the real land agent. Yeah? Would that stop the other big ranchers and the cowpokes working for them from attacking that wagon train coming in here and wiping it off the map? No, I guess not, but... I don't mind a fight, and I don't think our Danish-American friends do either. Just to make it slightly equitable, I thought it'd be a good idea to know when they were gonna hit and where. But great gilded glory, man, a few things... You might as well save it, Cherokee, because I'm saving whatever breath I've got left to talk to Brother Knudsen and his friends and to get him to play it my way. Believe me, with people like that, my job isn't gonna be easy. All right, get up there, you. Come on. MUSIC I'd like to know a little more about... No, please, please. We ask Mr. Remington to give help for us, and it is only right we should listen to what he has to say. Go ahead, Mr. Remington. I'm sure everyone wants to hear your advice. Well, Mr. Knudsen, let me go on by admitting that what I'm about to suggest you're doing isn't without risk. We have already risked everything we own, everything we work for. A few more risks now. What difference does that make? Well, I suppose that as a lawyer, I should suggest settling all of this through the courts, but as a lawyer, I know that by the time we could get any court action, in your herds of dairy cattle, it'd be either dry or dead. Already our cows are drying up. If we don't soon do something, we will be worse than the cows. Very well. Now, as I told you, I'm as sure as I can be without proof that the real land agent has been killed, and the man Cherokee and I saw is an imposter, a rancher posing as a land agent. And as contemptible and ornery and nefarious no good as ever I've clapped my eyes on. We can't prove the crime, and since to get you into Sunbeam Valley, we have to defeat all the opposition, I'm simply proposing that we try to catch them in another crime and jail a lot of them for that or bury them where they fall. If it's a fight, you suggest, we are not afraid to fight. No, no, I'm not suggesting a fight, although it may turn into one, but since if I'm right, they're expecting you at Snake Skin Pass, I say let's round up all the fuses and dynamite we can lay hands to and give those buzzards a noisiest welcome a crowd of selfish and contemptible ranchers ever had. Good, good. Then get back on those wagons and don't stop knocking on those horses until we're at Snake Skin Pass. Hey, look, Doc, that must be them dairy farmers coming now. See that long string of wagons just heading up the grade into the pass? Yeah, it's them, all right, but I wonder what's happened to Remington and that partner of his. From the way they talked, I thought they'd be out front like a couple of Kit Kastns. Who cares where he is? I care! Because I got a little unfinished with my business. I'm not going to be able to get a job in the future. I'm going to have to get a job in the future. I care, because I got a little unfinished business with that loudmouth lawyer. Well, that ain't getting us no place. If we're going to take care of that wagon train, we better get riding. All right, boys, get out them six guns and rifles and let's go. Don't spread out, you fools! Keep together so we can pour the lead into them. Hey, boss, hey, Doc, you see what happened? Two blasts went off, one at either end of the pass, and we're bottled in here like goldfish in a bowl. Hey, you! You down there! Can you hear me? What the... Where's that voice coming from? Who is it? I say who it is, it's Remington, way up on top of the pass on that rock. Yeah, Remington, I hear you! What do you want? I want you and the rest of those dry-guts and bunches with you dead or alive to haul to the nearest federal jail. We'd rather take you alive, but we haven't got any scruples against taking you dead. Well, jeepers, boss, you know what? We rode into a trap. If you are going to take us, Remington, it ain't going to be alive! You're being an awful fool, my friend. The wagons are blocking the pass up ahead of you, and they're bristling with guns like a porcupine. The rest of us are up here behind the rocks, where you can't even nick us, and we've got you just like setting ducks. Your bluff ain't going to work, Remington! If you want us, come and get us! If you think I'm going to stand here and make a target of myself, Slaven, you got another thing coming. They start triggering them rifles in earnest, and they got every one of us plum-center. All right, it's getting dark. We're not going to wait till we can't see you anymore. You got exactly one minute to drop those guns in a heap down there and start walking toward the wagons, single file. Well, ten seconds are gone now. I'm not being carried out of here feet first. Anybody else? You can do what you want, Slaven. I know when I'm licked. And that goes for me, too. Come on, boys. If Slaven wants to stay here, that's his business. Yeah! All right, Mr. Nutsen, here they come. Now get the ropes out with bird-along with us and tie up the lot of them. There may be no bounty on polecats in this county, but we're bringing a mess of them in anyhow. Mr. Lamington, if only you'd come back in a few months after we've got everything settled, then we give you a good party. Oh, Mama Nutsen, you don't know what a party this one is. Not only have I eaten a whole plateful of your cookies already, but I've had four glasses of milk. Milk? If I didn't already know that cows are stupid, all the proof I'd need would be to taste the liquid they produce. After we unpack, maybe I can find you some cherry brandy I bring from old country. That's a real Danish drink, a real old-fashioned way of celebrating. Why, I'd be only too glad... Now, wait a minute, Cherokee. You know you don't like old-fashioned things. Look what happened at that dance you attended. The ladies' auxiliary gave them dos rios a few months ago. Oh, yes. Well, I met that beautiful flaxen-haired blonde. She wasn't old-fashioned. Oh, I don't know. First you danced an old-fashioned shardish with her, then an old-fashioned polka, and finally an old-fashioned mazurka. My, that sounds nice. What happened after that, Cherokee? What could have happened after that, madam? After three old-fashions, they had to carry the young lady home. Frontier Town, starring Tex Chandler and featuring Wade Crosby, is a Bruce Ells production. Story and Direction by Paul Franklin. Music written and played by Ivan Dittmarz. Be sure to be with us again same time next week for another fine action adventure story with your dear friends. 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. Music by Bill Foreman. Thanks for watching.
