 This is Have Gun Will Travel for broadcast Sunday, December 21st, 1958. In all my life, I've only seen a dozen real killers. But I've seen 10,000 people who'll sit back and let murder happen. Which is the greater evil? Have Gun Will Travel Starring Mr. John Daner as Paladin San Francisco, 1875 The Carlton Hotel, headquarters of the man called Paladin. Oh, good afternoon, Mr. Paladin. Good afternoon, Mr. Stanford. Uh, pardon me. Yes? You dropped these by the desk. Oh, thank you very much. The glove that holds a lady's hand holds a world of prettiness. Really? Yes. My name is... I am not interested in your name. I don't wish to know it. I don't wish to know you. And if I did, this would not be the day, the hour, nor the place. I quite understand. Then if you'll kindly release my hand... Hmm? Oh, of course. Again, thank you very much. Hmm. Oh, pretty lady, not too impressed with Mr. Paladin. We are all entitled to mistakes, hey boy. Oh, yes, but how often? Sell them the time, the place, and the loved one all together. And have fun, make, please. Telegram come for you. Answer? Yes. Wire back, have gun, we'll travel. And delinquency, threats of war. These are the subjects that dominate our news headlines these days. Not very pleasant subjects, are they? You may say that somebody ought to do something about cutting down on crime and delinquency, and in promoting peace among nations, but that there's nothing you personally can do about it. That's where you're wrong. You can wage your own fight against crime and delinquency in your own family by taking the family to the church or synagogue of your faith this week. The inspiration and guidance you and they will receive from spiritual contact will strengthen moral background and faith. Regular attendance at religious services will help your family to work out its own problems and give them comfort in facing the tensions of our present day life. Worshiping together brings your family closer together too, and supporting your own religious institution provides funds to help those individuals and families who, unlike you, are unable to help themselves. Find the strength for your life. Worship together this week. In a way I was sorry to leave San Francisco just as Christmas was coming on. The shop windows, already frosted, were filled with all those wonderful surprises which seemed to appear only at the Christmas season. And there was an excitement in the eyes of passersby, young and old alike. In the air there was the smell of cookies and cakes and candies. It was a good time to be in San Francisco and yet the telegram from Colorado Territory left me little choice. It was a long trip and a cold one. As I got closer to my destination I heard more about the man named Beecher, the man who had hired me. And I didn't like what I heard. Matt Beecher was a hard man and he ran his cattle empire with an iron fist. It was the day before Christmas when I arrived at the Beecher Ranch. You got business here, cowboy? I was told I'd find Matthew Beecher here. You found him? I pay you $25 a month if I'd like your work. This is my foreman, Tater. He'll sign you on. Howdy. No, I didn't come here to hire on as a hand, Mr. Beecher. Oh, what did you come for then? My name is Paladin. You may remember this. Have gun will travel. So? Well, you sent me a wire asking my help, something about your boy. I understand that he was carried off during the Sioux War six years ago. Well, you're too late, Mr. I got him back. Just a few days ago, Mr. Paladin. Oh, well, I'm glad everything worked out. It has. Tater, write him out to the stage trail. He's going to start back now. And Mr. Beecher, it's a long trip from San Francisco. I'll take travel expenses from my trouble. You'll get nothing. Put him off the ranch, Tater. Mr. Beecher. What? Does the boy speak any English? No, he don't. Why? You speak any Indian dialect? No. Well, don't you want to talk to your son? You speak the Pony dialect? Some. All right, Tater. Take him up to the main house. We'll talk about them expenses later. Yes, sir. Come on, Mr. Paladin. Maybe I better sit you straight about something. What's that? Well, we ain't too sure the boy is Matt Beecher's son. Well, he seems sure enough. Yeah, well, Matt's sure of everything. He found a boy riding off from a small band of Pawnees three, four days ago. Matt just says, that's my boy and takes him. What do you think, Tater? Well, he looks Indian to me. Of course, Robbie was only two when the Indians took him. That was when they killed Mrs. Beecher, too. And that nearly finished Matt off when they killed his wife. You? Yep. Mr. Paladin, this here is my wife, Morty. Morty? Mr. Paladin? How's the boy today, Morty? Same as yesterday and the day before. Is he sick? Well, not hardly. It's just we got to keep an eye on him every minute or he'll squirt away. Boy! Hey, boy! There he is, Mr. Paladin. About as wild as any animal that I've ever seen. Poor little thing. Well, what do you think? About eight years old, I should think. He'll be about right. He could be white. Some of that grime were scraped off him. Hard to say. Hard to scrape it off, too. Well, what's he say? I haven't talked to him yet, Mr. Beecher. We'll talk to him. I'm paying you. Conolate shi. Shishoni, shoni keburi, keman. Shiva, kalate shishoni keo. Take a take. His name is Chiwa. His father is kalate, chief of the Ponies. You listen to me, boy. I'm your daddy. I'd sell my own soul. I'd give it away before I'd lose you again. He don't understand you, Mr. Beecher. Well, he's got to feel something this strong, lingo or no lingo. Now, boy, you listen to me. Tika, tika! What's the matter with him? He's afraid of you. Mr. Beecher! Mr. Beecher! What do you want? It's engines, Mr. Beecher. Indians. Ponies. Well, what about them? Well, they're setting up camp. Where? Over on East Range. So they finally come for the boy. All right, Tater. Turn the men out. Make sure they all have rifles. Yes, sir. Now, wait a minute. What? Before you start shooting, why don't you find out for sure if this really is your boy? I told you before. I know he's my boy. You want to believe that, but you aren't sure. All right, Paladin, say it out. What are you asking for? Time to talk with those Ponies. Well, you go talk then, but I'll tell you one thing for sure. No matter what lies they give you, that boy's mine. And if they try to come after him, there'll be the bloodiest massacre you've ever seen. Of all living filters, cigarettes can't filter's best, can't filter's best. It makes good sense when you smoke, can't, can't filter's best. Of all of the brands of cigarettes, can't taste the best, can't taste the best. A richer taste than all the rest, can't filter's best. I rode out to the Pony camp knowing I had little time and less chance to stop a needless killing. There were squaws, braves sitting, wandering. There were hungry people and a lost people. At a tattered tipi, I found Calete, chief of the Ponies. Calete was once man who greeted white man like brother. Now he wonders, hungry, forgotten like the gray wolf. I'm sorry. I, I wondered why Calete was on this trail. White man steal children. Calete will agree that man may claim his own son. She were my son. Is he white? She were my son. I ask again, is he white? Skin is leather bag, God made to hold the soul. Color of bag, no matter. He was traded from the Sioux. My blood has mixed. But his is white. He is my son. I take him back. Calete, if you take the boy, they'll be killing. This white man has many rifles. Can rifles kill what has been killed already? Look at my camp. When there is no game, my people starve. We are driven from land and winter is here. But we move no more. We stay here. Soon we take my son. Hello, Marty. Hello, Mr. Paladin. Well, what's going on inside there? Oh, everyone's shining up clean. We celebrate Christmas, Mr. Beecher, too. Mr. Beecher? Well, I know you won't believe it, but Tater did the trick, says to Mr. Beecher, maybe the boy will remember Christmas. Ain't that a good one, Indian boy bringing us Christmas first time since Mr. Beecher lost his wife? Oh, gotta find some more mesquite for decorating. We're gonna have singing and eating and everything. Sounds fine, Marty. You see the chief? I talked to him. What'd he say? He's your son. I told you he was. You tell them Indians to get their squads and their tents off my property? No. Why not? You want them all killed? I want you to understand that chief Kalate feels that the boy is his son, too, and he feels it very strongly. If you talk to him, I'd be glad to act as an interpreter. The only way I'll talk to him and his flea-bitten braves is with rifle fire. Listen, Beecher, chief Kalate is the only father the boy has ever known. You kill him. How are you gonna explain that to the boy? You speak Pony. You can explain him. You're wrong, Mr. Beecher. I couldn't explain that in any language. Tater, I said rations. Not all these fancy vitals. Well, it's Christmas, Mr. Beecher. Now, look. Listen to me, all of you. Listen. If one calf wanders off tonight, we work double tomorrow, even if it is Christmas day. Boys, the sider's sitting over there just to waitin'. They can't get no stouter, so get to it. The boy's gone. They've come and took him. Was it the Pawnees took him? Yes, sir. You knew about this, Paladin? I thought they'd try, but not so soon. Get your rifles. Now, just wait a minute. You're always reaching for a rifle. There's no need for rifles. No hurry. The Pawnees aren't going anywhere. They're tired of running. Preaching from a gunslinger. You just been aching to speak a piece while speakin', Paladin. Talk don't mean nothing. Anything you want. I'll still have the last say. Well, I'm far from being a preacher. But I do know something about killing. Now, these Indians, rightly or wrongly, believe the boy is theirs. Few people love children like the Pawnees. The Chief Kalate might have given up the boy. He knows a wealthy rancher could give the boy more than a starving Indian could, and they're starving. Properly treated, he still might give up the boy. On the other hand, these Pawnees can't run anymore. They're tired. But they would rather die here tonight than give up the child to force. It won't be hard to massacre them. They have no guns. All you have to do is stay out of arrow range. Those who only wound, well, someone will have to press a muzzle against their heads and pull a trigger. Now, this is no Christmas message. I haven't even suggested that to a starving man, food may carry more weight than rifles. As Mr. Beecher can tell you, sentiments like peace, a goodwill and love and brotherhood, they're just words. Unless you already know what they mean. And if you don't, even if this were a chapel and I were a preacher, such words would do no good. Well, I ain't got much to say. We're going out to kill some Indians, one engine in particular. Anybody that wants can stay here and draw his time. If you think you can find another job, and those who ain't gone with me speak up right now. Well, that's the story since the beginning, Mr. Paladin. The belly always wins out. My dear Watson, with all due respect to Sherlock Holmes, let us establish one fact clearly. There is nothing elementary about the shrew deductions that Eric Severide makes as he analyzes world affairs on CBS Radio. As chief Washington correspondent for CBS News, Mr. Severide has opened to him almost every possible source of information. Experience has sharpened his perspective and given him an extraordinary working knowledge of the forces that make history. It's taught him to view each new development in terms of cause and effect. Each Monday through Friday night, as you join Eric Severide on most of these same stations, you'll find his news analysis remarkably free of snap judgments and predetermined conclusions. You'll discover too that his carefully considered appraisals of the news not only contain real clues as to what is going on in the world, but also they make the news as exciting as any Arthur Conan Doyle story. As Beecher's men spilled out of the doorway of the main house to change clothes and get their rifles, I slipped out the back way and taking the first horse I saw headed for the Indian camp. Somehow, I had to keep Matt Beecher from starting a bloodbath. He might not be able to stop. Even as Kalati and I talked, I knew there were horses moving in the darkness beyond the Indian's fires. Beecher's horses. You are wise man, my son, but we stay. A man without a gun still might run? No place to run. I have forgotten how to kill, but not how to die. What good does this do the boy? Would he take another father after this? We got the camp surrounded. You want to explain that to the chief, Paladin? He knows it. You're going to stand with them instead of with your own people? I asked you a question. I heard you. Power boys, that's Morty. Women, what are they doing here? Mr. Paladin! Over here, Morty. It's the most all right thing in the world, Morty. Come on. What is? Call your squads, chief. Call your children. Call the boy. They're bringing food and gifts for your people. Don't look very friendly, Mr. Paladin. I guess you don't look very friendly to them. What do we say? Oh. I'd suggest you try Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas? Oh. You're Christmas-y, Morty. This is Kalati. He's the chief of the Ponies. How do you do? Oh. I am... Well, I only got one pair of hands. Here, you take this basket. Hold on there, Morty. I'm with you. Hello, Tater. Hello, Mr. Paladin. I come in, too, Mr. Paladin. Well, Pete, now what Beecher's doing is wrong, and I don't care if I do get fired. Well, look, Mr. Paladin, all the men are coming in. Why, Morty, you eat rightly dressed for riding. Well, hey, none of us have time to change, but you sure don't have to look. Well, chief, there'll be no bloodletting tonight. Well, please, Matt. That's right. They call it Christmas. It's a time of the year when people pretend there is no evil in the world. Yeah, I like. Ah, everybody likes. What about the boy, chief? His name is Robbie Beecher. His skin is white. Chief? My boy. His boy, chief. You can return the seed to the plant that bore it. He can't take it, nor can I, nor can anyone. I'll talk to boy. I'll talk to his father. Hold it, Paladin, right there. He'll give you the boy, Beecher. What? You can take him home tonight. The chief is talking to him now, telling him that you're his father. I'll kill you, Paladin, if this is some kind of way of getting back at me. When do I get my boy? I haven't been paid yet. $1,000 cash. I haven't got it with me. When can you have it? Tomorrow. Then give it to the chief so he can buy some land for himself and his people. I'll do better than that. I'll give him some land. I feel like I should give something. It's a good feeling, isn't it? As a matter of fact, it is. Merry Christmas, Mr. Beecher. Merry Christmas, Mr. Paladin. Oh, we saw Paladin. When you come back? Last night, late. Oh, uh, excuse me. Oh, no, wait. Not her. You met her once, remember? I remember. She's always dropping her glove. Oh, too bad. I trouble... I beg your pardon. You dropped your glove. Oh, so I did. Um, may I pick it up? You may. Thank you. Allow me to introduce myself? Well, please do. My name is Paladin. My name is Eugenie Meyer, Mr. Paladin. Oh. There's a princess named Eugenie. I'd rather hear about that glove that holds a lady's hand. Holds a world of prettiness? Yes. I like that beginning better. Is there more? Oh, there's a great deal more, I assure you. But one question. Why the change of heart? Well, it's more a change of mind. The change of heart can come later. But why? You were very confident in your rejection the last time we met. Well, you were very confident of yourself, Mr. Paladin. Christmas seems to have humbled you and me. Then we're both very fortunate. Now we can meet. Yes. Created by Herb Meadow and Sam Roth is produced and directed by Norman MacDonald and stars John Daener as Paladin with Ben Wright as Hayboy. Tonight's story was written by Jean Roddenberry and adapted for radio by John Dawson. Featured in the cast were Vic Parran, Jess Kirkpatrick, Roy Woods, Richard Beals, Anne Morrison, and Virginia Christine. Hugh Douglas speaking. Join us again next week for Have Gun Will Travel.