 In a moment you'll hear James Stewart as the six-shooter, just one of the many fine programs brought to you Sundays on NBC. Later this evening listen to the NBC Star Playhouse with one of your favorite stars. Hear stroke of fate and the story of what might have happened if fate had reversed historical facts. And be sure to keep tuned for the dramatic story of Last Man Out. It's a wonderful lineup of great programs, all of them heard only on NBC. James Stewart as the six-shooter. The man in the saddle is angular and long-legged. His skin is sun-dyed brown. The gun in his holster is gray steel and rainbow mother of pearl. It's handle unmarked. People call them both, the six-shooter. The NBC radio network presents James Stewart as the six-shooter, a transcribed series of radio dramas based on the life of Britt Ponsett, the Texas Plainsman, who wandered through the western territories, leaving behind a trail of still-remembered legends. Fifty-yard canyon, that's what folks called it. Probably there was another name more official written down on a map in the territorial capital, but the people around Smoke Falls, they just called it Fifty-yard Canyon. You see, it was only 50 yards wide someplace even now, but it was close to 35 miles long. And riding through it was certainly like riding between two giant slabs of granite, all polished and smooth the way a gravestone's fixed up. Except that these slabs were close to half a mile high. Well, anyway, that's what we were coming into, Scar and me, following the trail east to Smoke Falls. We just got on toward Daybreak and the sky was kind of an oatmeal gray, heavy, wet, waiting for the sun to come up to stir some light into it. We rounded a sharp bend and Scar flared his nostrils and slowed down to a walk. What's wrong, boy? Come on. Come on, come on, come on. Canyon got a little wider up ahead and the sides angled up somewhat gentler than usual. I saw some pumps of trees and some muskeet, but it was still too dark to see anything real plain. I got off Scar as fast as I could dive out of the saddle. Oh, what the Sam Hillard? Who in the thunder are you shooting at? Just a shadow partway up the canyon wall, maybe 30, 40 feet. His gunfire gave me a pretty good notion of where to aim. For a couple of minutes, everything was real quiet. Oh, I didn't stand to reason that I'd hit him with that shot. It's my way across the floor of the canyon. Start up the side, bullet neck to rock, right about a foot left of my face. He knew where I was all right, but then I had a pretty good notion of his whereabouts to all the man's entitled to a lucky hit every once in a while. If he wasn't faking that yell, it seemed like there was only one way to find out all right. All right, drop it. Come on, drop it. The pistol slid out of his hand. His shirt sleeve was stained pink with the elbow twisted around. Give me a squint. Just then the sun swung up over the top of the canyon spilled over the sides and quiet. Art. Hey, Art Hamper. Who'd you think you were? Holy macro, Britt. Will that be Doug Gunn? He's just about the last person in the world I've expected bump into out here. Yeah, well, you sure were expecting the bump into something. Yeah. What's the trouble, Art? Who are you gunning for? Somebody's gunning for me. Oh, Clyde's dead, Britt. Clyde. What? He was shot yesterday morning, shot in the back. Well, you know who did it? I know who the sheriff says did it. Me. What, he thinks you killed your own brother? Stepbrother. Clyde and me weren't real kids, but we was as close as if we did have the same blood. Yeah, yeah. Well, speaking of blood, Art, that elbow of yours. Oh, well, it only grazed me. I'll tie my bandana around it. No, you better let me give you a hand. Here. What's the matter? Where'd the sheriff get the idea you had something to do with Clyde being shot? Well, it's kind of a roundabout story. You see, Pa died a couple of months ago. Oh. Oh, I didn't know that. I'm sorry to hear that. Oh, sure. Well, I'll take care of your arm for the time being. Thanks. Well, in his will, Pa left things equal, half to me and half to Clyde. Uh-huh. Folks got the idea that him being my father and not Clyde's. Well, they thought I was kind of put out by Clyde's getting the same as me. But you weren't. Oh, of course not, Britt. I didn't have no complaint. Clyde was as close to Pa as I ever was. He was entitled just as much. Uh-huh. Well, how did Clyde happen to get shot, Art? That's what I don't know. I just don't. I'd give anything in the world if I did. Well, you said yesterday. Well, in the morning, about seven o'clock, I was in the barn, hitching up the buckboard. I heard somebody at the pump outside. I figured it was Clyde drawing a bucket of water, and then I heard the gun go off. I started for the door, but before I could get there, Clyde stumbled into the barn. It was holding on to his belly, and he fell forward into my arms. That's where he died, Britt, in my arms. He didn't say anything? Well, he tried to talk, but the words just wouldn't come out. Tried to tell me who shot him, but just couldn't. I'll find out, though, Britt. Someday I'll find out, and I'll get even. Uh-huh. I'll take it easy, Art. Instead of blaming me, why, Sheriff, they are looking for the guilty man. Why ain't he going after the real killer? You're sure the sheriff does blame you? He arrested me yesterday afternoon. Oh, I see. Tried to take me into town, but I give him a slip, load up into the canyon. Oh, well, now you shouldn't have done that, Art. If you're innocent, you'll get a chance to prove it. Run away. It just makes you look gilly. I could have proved anything dangling from the branch of a tree. What, what are you talking about? It was going to lynch me. George Crump and Sam Bittley and the other fellas were the sheriff, and he wasn't going to do nothing to stop him. He said hanging was better than I deserved. You don't know, Sheriff, though, Britt. No, no, I must be new to smoke for him. You don't believe in wasting time with trials and juries. I wouldn't be the first man Vales let the boys take care of. I see. That's why I had to get away. I knew I couldn't run too far for that catch-up with me out here in this canyon. Well, you are kind of boxed in. But I figured today or so, and the fellas had cooled down. Listen to reason. Maybe they'd even pick up the real killer's trail by then. Uh-huh. I thought you was one of Vales' posse when I heard your horse. That's the reason of fire. I wasn't aiming to kill anybody, understand, Britt? Just hoping to scare you off. Well, even so, it seems like to me you stand a good chance of making things worth for yourself the way you've been acting. Oh, I didn't not say that a man has to sit tight and let himself get lynched. But it just... Well, what do you think I ought to do, Britt? Well, I don't know. I'm riding into smoke falls. We could ride along together. If you give yourself up, that ought to be something on your favor. Well, yeah, I guess you're right. My horse is starting to go lame. I couldn't go much further anyhow. But tell you the truth, Britt, I'm scared. You scared? Well, they had a rope. George Crump was carrying it with the sheriff arrested me. And the way the fellas looked, their eyes half closed and their faces red, sort of like they had a fever. I ain't never been a coward, Britt, but I was scared. Well, like you said, they'd probably cool off by now. Well, if there was some way, I could just be sure. Britt, maybe if you was to talk to them first. Talk to them? Well, before I give myself up, they must be following me. You're bound to run into them when you're way into town. Well, I suppose so. Oh, they'd listen to you. They respect you and they'd have to listen. Even Sheriff Bale must have heard about the sick shooter. You could tell him that I never had nothing against Clyde. You knew he was always friendly, even when we was kids. Sure, sure. Well, if you'd make the sheriff understand and the boys with him, well, then I'd feel better about going back into town. Britt, you right on ahead. They can't be more than an hour or so away. Tell them I'll give myself up. Tell them to wait for me at Squirrel Rock. You know where that is, don't you? Yeah, yeah, I guess so. Well, tell them I'll meet them there at noon. I don't know. You don't think I'd run out on you, Britt? You don't think I'd do a thing like that? No, no, no. Well, all right then, Squirrel Rock at noon. I'll give my pony time to rest up. Afterwards, I'll... Well, after I'm all straightened out with the sheriff, well, we'll find out who killed Clyde. You'll have me find out, won't you? I'll help if I can, all right? Thanks, Britt. Oh, there's just one thing, though. Now, suppose I don't meet up at the posse. You couldn't very well miss them here in the canyon. Maybe they've turned around. Maybe they've gone back. Well, in any case, I'll be at Squirrel Rock at noon. If the posse ain't there, you wait for me just the same. I'll go into Smoke Falls with you. All right, all right, all right. I guess you know what you're doing. All right, I'll be seeing you. It was about 10 o'clock in the morning when I passed Squirrel Rock. Not much later when I met up with the posse. It wasn't much of a posse, though. It was just three men. Well, on the lead gave his pen to the spur and trot up ahead of the other two. He's a good-sized man, big bone, solid with a tangle of red hair and swatches of freckles across his face. And the way he wore his revolvers and rested his hand against the butt of one of them, you could tell who he was, too. Even if you didn't happen to notice the star on his rest. Howdy. Morning. I'm Sheriff Vail from Smoke Falls. Yeah, I've been expecting to run into you, Sheriff. Oh? My name's Ponsett. Britt Ponsett? He sure is. Well, how are you, Britt? What are you doing around here? Oh, I'm just passing through, George. Hey, Sheriff, ain't you never met up with the six shooters? No, can't say as I have. I heard about him, though. And this here is Sam Bitley, Britt. Ah, yeah. Howdy. You said something about expecting us, Ponsett. Yeah. Ah, Art Hamper thought you'd be heading up this canyon. Oh, Hamper? What were you... You mean you ran into Art Britt? Early this morning. Oh, God, that's who we're looking for. Yeah, he told me. Well, did he tell you why? Sure. Yeah, his brother was killed yesterday. You wanted for murder. And you knew all that and you just let him go scot-free? Oh, what'd you expect me to do? You could have brought him in and saved us a trouble. I'm not a part of your posse, Sheriff. I'm besides Art willing to give himself up. Give himself up? Ah, he says he didn't have anything to do with Clyde's death. The only reason he ran off was because you were talking about Lenshina. But, you see, Britt, have you gone local? You didn't actually believe him, Ponsett. Well, I... I've known Art for a good many years, Sheriff. Well, looks like we know him a little better than you do. Yeah, I saw it, Britt. The whole thing with my own eyes, I saw the murder. Now, now, hold on, George. You didn't see it. I tell you I saw it. I was riding past the hamper ranch and Clyde and Art were out behind the barn. They didn't notice me. They were too busy arguing and shouting. Then Clyde turned and started to walk towards the house. When Art pulled out his gun and shot him in the back, Clyde didn't even have a chance to draw. Well, is that the truth, George? There's truth in anything in this world, but I swung around and I headed into town to get the sheriff. And that's when Art spotted me. He got off a couple of shots, but I was out of range. The story he told me is entirely different. That shouldn't surprise you too much, Ponson. No, no, I guess not. What happened when you arrested him, Sheriff? Well, we didn't arrest him. No, we didn't. Why do you think we're out here looking for him? I see. Well, he took off before I could bring the sheriff back. We picked up his trail and followed him into the canyon here. And as for anybody trying to lynch him, well, there'll be no lynch-lawing smoke falls while I'm here. Well, that's good, Sheriff. Yes, sir. And besides, need no need in his case. Any jury in the territory will convict him on the evidence. Well, of course. Yeah, well, it sure sounds that way, doesn't it? Well, I... Oh, God, I just don't know what to say, Sheriff. Well, you want to blame for believing Art? You were a friend of his, before he changed. You went around to see how mean he's got the last few months, all was picking on Clyde and making life miserable for him as if it was Clyde's fault the old man left him everything. Everything? Well, sure. Ranch, cattle, the whole shebang. The whole shebang? Yes, sir. Well, I guess, Jake Hemper, no art wasn't any good underneath. Guess that's why he picked Clyde, didn't hear it, even though he wasn't a blood relative. Well, you've got to admit, there's one thing Art's good at. Lying. The way he fooled Brit Ponson, he must be a pretty convincing liar. Well, you'll have to give him that much. And, well, won't you Brit? Yeah. Yeah, I'll give him that much. We'll continue with James Stewart as the six-shooter in a moment, because I'd like to answer a question that so many of you have written in to ask. It's about our theme music on the show, and believe me, we like it too. It's called Highland Lament. But I'm sorry to say, there is no way for you to obtain it to play in your own home. You see, all of our music has been recorded for broadcast only, and it simply isn't available in any form at your music store. But thanks for writing anyway. Your good letters are tremendously appreciated by all of us. Incidentally, while Jimmy Stewart is kept pretty busy with the six-shooter and his motion picture work, one of his happiest activities is keeping up with his twin daughters, Judy and Kelly, at home. There's a nice picture story of the Stewart's and their twins, and the current issue of McCall's Magazine. Act two of the six-shooter, starring James Stewart as Britt Ponsett. Well, there wasn't anything else I could do, but just tell Sheriff Vale the whole cock-and-bowl story just the way Art had given it to me. I felt like crawling in a prairie dog hole. Oh, not just because Art had made a fool of me, it was more than that. We've been pretty good friends once, all three of us. Art, Clyde and me. Now, Clyde was dead, and sooner or later, Art would be brought in for killing him. If I wasn't a dog-gotten gullible, it might have been a lot sooner. Well, Rock, eh? That's only three, four miles. You must come by. Yeah. That's where he said he'd give himself up. Oh, is that so? Well, if he told you to wait for him there, you can be darn sure it's the last place he'll be. He's probably still up at the end of the canyon, trying to find the path you come through. Yeah, yes, sir. Yeah, sure. Now, we better ride on ahead. You want to come with us, Ponsett? No. No, I think I'll head back for town. Well, suit yourself. I'll let the couple of the boys along the way in case Emperor gives us a slip and starts backtracking. Now, you might tell him to keep the eyes open that we haven't caught him yet. All right, sir. Okay, George. Sam, come on, let's go. Well, that's what I intended to do. Just head straight for Smoke Falls, but somehow I found myself turning around. I took it real easy, and then when I came to Squirrel Rock, I couldn't help pulling up. Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. But just about noon, the sun was square in the middle of the sky. There sure wasn't any sign of art hamper either. Not that I really thought he'd be there, not after what I'd found out from the sheriff. I'd never looked at that rock real close before. It was a lot bigger than most of the other boulders along the way, but as about the only difference, I couldn't figure why folks got the name. I'm sure it didn't look much like a squirrel to me. It was big, though, when I had doubt about that. If it had been a couple of feet wider, it had blocked the whole canyon. And I remember thinking to myself, a man could hide almost anywhere around there real easy. The only trouble was I didn't think of it so long. Right on time, Britt. Yeah. Yeah, so are you, Art. You don't mind getting off your horse, do you? Well, as a matter of fact, I'd just as soon not. Well, you better do it anyway. Keep those arms stretched way up high. Uh-huh. All right. Now, you can unbuckle your gun belt, but use only one hand. You'll left one. Okay. Thanks. I guess you know I ran into Sheriff Vale. Sure. I told you you would. Him and his boys come riding through here just a few minutes ago. Didn't even stop, huh? I must have figured I was up at the end of the canyon, hunting the pass you come through. Yeah. Art, George Crump says he saw you shoot Clyde. Did, huh? Well, I didn't pick a very good time for it, did I? You're not going to deny it again, huh? You wouldn't believe me if I did. I already pressed my luck with you once today, Britt. I won't try it twice. Why'd you kill him, Art? Wasn't Clyde's fault your father left on the property? The ranch wasn't the real reason. I guess folks never will believe me, but that wasn't the cause. Well, what was the cause, then? I can't even put it in words. I, I reckon I hated Clyde. I reckon I always hated him, but I didn't know how much until, uh, until they read the will, until I found out how Pa really felt towards me. You see, I never had no mother. She died when I was born. No. It wasn't very long after that Pa married again, and I had me already made family. Oh, she wasn't like one of them stepmothers you read about in stories. She always tried to be fair and honest. Maybe that was it. Maybe she tried to be too fair. Yeah, too fair. Well, whenever I did something bad, never said a word to me. She waited till Pa come home and told him about it. I was his son, she said, and she didn't have no right to punish me. It was up to Pa to take down the razor's drop and give me a whaling. Not that she was easy on Clyde. She wasn't. She sought to it that he, he told the line, but he belonged to her. He was her responsibility. He got plenty of weapons too, but it was her that give it to him. I guess it don't sound very sensible, Brad, but those times when I used to wish she'd care enough about me to, well, just slap me or give me, here's a good boxing. But you never did. I was Pa's son. Oh, you couldn't blame Clyde for the way his mother, I contoured you. Oh, I didn't blame him. I didn't blame him. Not at first. I told myself we were even Stephen. He had a mon I had a Pa. I was fair enough. And whatever happened, I was Art Hamper. Britt, he was an evening title to the same name, not by any rights. Once I asked Pa about that, I asked him why Clyde was calling himself Hamper. Real good tannin. That's the answer I got. That's the way it was. All the time I was growing up, all the time until she died. I was kind of happy when it happened. I thought maybe now it'd be me and Pa again. I thought her being out of the way would sort of push Clyde to one side. Things didn't work out like I figured. Clyde and Pa, they mourned together. They seemed to be closer than before. So I told myself all I had to do was wait. I was Pa's son. Everybody knows when a man dies, it's your son that inherits. All I had to do was to wait. And then it did die. And I found out I'd been living my whole life on lies. I'd convinced myself that when the chips were down, Clyde wouldn't matter anymore. Pa'd realize I was his son, his only son. And then the day they read his will, I knew that I hadn't had him on. I hadn't had a Pa either. Clyde had had him both all the time. So I had to kill him. But if he was dead, things would be different. Art. Stay where you are, Pa. Now listen, Art. Now listen to me. I think I understand what you're trying to tell me. Some of it, anyhow. And maybe you weren't exactly responsible for what you did to Clyde, but you've got to give yourself up. Give yourself up! For the first time in my life, I've got a reason for living. There's nobody standing in my way, not anymore. There's a posse standing in your way. You're the past us now. They've gone up the canyon. I can ride out the smokefalls. God, without them even knowing. I'm sure it fails, no fool, Art. He figured you might slip by him. That's why he left some men behind. Well, they won't stop us, Britt. Us? Sure. You're taking me in town. I'm your prisoner. Of course, this gun of yours won't be loaded, but nobody's going to know that. And nobody's going to know I'm holding my own gun, just the inside of my shirt. That Nicky give me on the elbow. It's going to come in real handy. All right, Britt. Here's a sick shooter. Not that it'll be much use to you now. Art brought his pony up from behind the rock, and we started down the trail. In a way, I felt kind of sorry for him, but that didn't justify what he'd done. It didn't justify him getting loose and killing somebody else, maybe. We were getting close to the mouth of the canyon now. We're kind of straightened out. I figured we ought to meet up with one of the sheriff's boys somewhere along about here. We'd be their last chance to stop on Art before we hit the flat country. I guess Art was figuring the same thing. Hold your gun on me, Britt, hold your gun on me, Britt, like you were serious. All right, all right. Don't try anything fancy. We rode out for about five minutes more, and then I spotted him. I'll lean against the side of the canyon with the carbine across his arm. It must have been a dozen, but when he heard us, he came awake fast, and the carbine had swung around ready for business. All right, hold up there. You got him, huh? Yeah. Yeah, I got him. How are you, mister? I didn't see you at the posse. My name's Ponsett, Britt Ponsett. Oh, sure, sure, the six-shooter. Did he give you any trouble, Mr. Ponsett? No, not so far. Well, where's the sheriff? He's back a ways. He'll be coming along. Well, maybe you ought to wait up here. We can all ride into town together. Now, the sheriff said Ponsett was to go on ahead. Oh, that's so, Mr. Ponsett. Yeah, yeah, that's what he said. Well, I guess you can take care of him. You ain't gonna need no help. Not with that gun of yours. I hear it's about the fastest shooting six gun ever been turned out. Ah, say, uh, maybe you wouldn't like to take a look at it. Wait a minute. Here, catch. Are you crazy, Mr. Ponsett, throwing your gun around like that? Why, if I wasn't covering art there- But you are covering it. Huh? Britt, I told you- Look out, Ponsett! I was already diving for the ground. Art fired through his shirt. The bullet slid across the box of scars, and that art didn't get a second chance. The carbine slugs tore into his chest and knocked him off his heart. He just lay there. He was bleeding bad. Britt. Yeah? There. There's something I got to tell you. All right, go ahead. Sorry I lied to you this morning. A man shouldn't lie. That's what my father always said. I mean, you were my best friend. Shouldn't I lie to you especially? Well, besides, it didn't do me no good. It just goes to show you that lying don't pay. My father used to whip me whenever I lied. I should have known better, Britt. I- I should have known that. If that don't take the kick. What? Not more than a minute ago, he tried to shoot you down. But now all he said was he was sorry, lighted. What happens to a man like that, Mr. Ponsett? I don't know. I just don't know. The Six Shooter is a transcribed NBC radio network production in association with review productions. It is based on a character created by Frank Burt, and it's written by him. Mr. Stewart may soon be seen in the universal international picture, the Glenn Miller story. Others in the cast were Shepard Menken, Bill Johnstone, Frank Gerstle, and Howard McNeer. Special music for this program was by Basil Adlam, and the entire production is under the direction of Jack Johnstone. All characters and incidents were fictitious, and any resemblance to actual characters or incidents is purely coincidental. This is Hellgivny, speak. This is the NBC radio network.