 In a moment, you'll hear James Stewart as the sick 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. Here, meet the press, America's number one newsmaking program, and be sure to keep tuned for the dramatic story of communism in America on Last Man Out. A wonderful lineup of great programs, all of them heard only on NBC. James Stewart as the sick shooter. The man in the saddle is angular and long-legged. His skin is sun-died brown. The gun in his holster is gray steel and rainbow mother of pearl. Its handle unmarked. People call them both the sick shooter. The NBC radio network presents James Stewart as the sick 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. Now in just a moment, you'll hear Act One of the Sick Shooter. But first, I want to be sure that all of you know that beginning next week, we change our day and time of broadcast. Instead of Sundays, we'll be on the air Thursday evenings. In other words, our next sick shooter program will be broadcast Thursday, April 1st, and every Thursday thereafter. For time of broadcast, please consult the listing in your local newspaper. We hope you like our new Thursday evening time. Now, Act One of the Sick Shooter, starring James Stewart. West, Miss Singer, you know where I can find him? No, ma'am. He ain't in town this morning. I just come from there. The jail in Lockwood. That's where he might be. Now, Miss Singer, West ain't in jail this morning. That's all over now. All over? Sure. And nobody's have to try arresting him again, either. They'll arrest him again, Jim, someday. Don't make no mistake about that. They'll arrest him or they'll kill him. We all gotta go sooner or later, Granny. Oh, West, if I was as close to my time as you are to yours, I wouldn't be talking about killing and dying so much. Your time's closer than you think, West. Maybe even closer than mine. Doggone, West? She told me you wasn't even to home. Ah, Granny's getting cantankerous in her old age, that's all. What do you want? Nothing special. Nothing special. I just thought maybe you'd like to know Britt Ponsett's in Lockwood. Ponsett? Yeah. He's staying at the hotel. Why didn't you say so before? Well, what's the difference? You wasn't serious the other day. Why, West, you couldn't have been. He's a sick shooter. You'll find out whether I was serious or not. I'll be in Lockwood at four o'clock this afternoon. Maybe Ponsett will be gone by... He won't leave. Not if he hears I'm coming in to pay him a visit. You mean you want folks to know what you're aiming to do? Sure. Why not? Well, Sheriff Hittleman ain't gonna like the idea. He made that plane enough last week. You think I'd let Ben Hittleman get in my way? Well, I grant you it wouldn't mean much, killing an old geezer who should have been put out to pass you ten years ago. West, you didn't... But if he asks for it, I reckon I'll have to oblige him. Now go on, spread the word. We ought to draw a good-sized crowd. The sick shooter and me. Well, as soon as we'd finished fencing in the last couple of thousand acres on the Tip Top Ranch, old man Jeffers sent me into Lockwood to get some signs printed up. He wanted everybody to know that he owned the biggest spread in this part of the state, and he figured posting these signs every quarter of a mile would do the trick. Of course, the word had to be just right. He wrote it all down so I wouldn't forget it. Tip Top Ranch, property of Rex Jeffers, keep out. This means you. Trespassers will be shot at sight. If you ain't able to read this notice, keep out anyway. Rex Jeffers means what he says, signed Rex Jeffers. Well, as Thursday night when I got into town and the office of the Lockwood Clarence was closed, but first thing Friday morning I headed over to give Pete Drum the order. Pete was the owner of the Clarence. What in thunder is Rex thinking of, Britt? Folks all know the Tip Top starts in where it leaves off. Besides, I thought he had a fence around it now. He has, he has, but I guess maybe Rex feels that ain't enough. No, 2,000 posters just so he can see his name in print. All right, all right, I'll do them. But it'll cost him $15, that's my price. $15? Can't be done for a cent less. Paper's expensive, Britt. Well, how soon do you figure you can get out of here? Oh, I don't know. I've got me a few more of these auction handles and all. I suppose I can shift over to your order. That's a good thing you're coming to town today. Monday I start getting ready for next week's paper. That ties me up clear into Thursday morning. And the way things have been happening around here lately. Well, what do you mean, Pete? Now, don't tell me that you ain't heard. No, no, can't say I have. Sir, Lockwood's got a brand new gunfighter. Oh, gunfighter? Just a kid. But he's faster in grease lightning. The first thing you know, Wes Singer, will be just about as well-known as Sam Bass or Bill Longley or any of the rest of them dead eyes. Wes Singer? Two killings in less than a month. That's what has got to his credit so far. Wyatt Barker, he was the first. Wyatt and Wes got into some kind of a mix-up over to Charlie Jensen's place. Well, sir, Wes beat into the draw and pumped four shots into Wyatt's body before it even hit the floor. You don't say. And afterwards, he just stood around there and he waited for Sheriff Hittleman to take him in for questioning. Why, he acted like he didn't have a worry in the world. And as things worked out, he was right. There wasn't nothing the sheriff could charge him with, seeing as how Wyatt was already drawn his gun when Wes cut loose. Oh, just that's enough of them handbills. Yeah, yeah. Now, what happened to that paper you give me, Brett? All that? Will you know the wording on it for your post? Oh, oh, oh, here it is. Right here. Yeah, thank you. Thank you. Now, let's see. I suppose Rex Jeffers wants his name in the biggest type I've got. Yeah, yeah. Yeah, I rec... He liked to have it stand out good and plain. Oh, yes, he would. Well, I guess this'll have to do. It was big enough for Lincoln's assassination. It ought to be big enough for Rex. Anyhow, like I was saying, folks just didn't know what to make of Wes's singer in the way he'd killed Wyatt Barker. They weren't sure whether it was one of those times when a young fellow just sort of flies off the handle and then settles down again afterwards. Or if Wes would take up gunslinging for a whole career. About 10 days later, they found out. Oh, man. It was on a Wednesday down Main Street again. And we was all kind of curious to see how he'd behave. So some of us sort of moseyed over to Charlie Johnson's place when he went inside. And we'd known more than got there before he was in a mix-up with Todd Appel. That's all. Britt, I'd tell you if I hadn't seen it for myself, I wouldn't have believed it. Wes outdrew Todd by almost a full second. Now, you've got to give the devil his due. Wes Singer is a fast man with a six-shooter. And I ought to know I've seen the best. I've seen that gun of yours in action. Well, that was some time ago. Oh, you're still walking around on your hind legs? That's a pretty good sign you ain't completely out of practice. Well, what about the sheriff? Didn't he arrest young Singer after the second shooting? Oh, sure. Oh, sure. He arrested him. Take a look at last week's clarion. It's the orchard right there on the counter behind you there. Mm-hmm. Oh, Wes Singer acquitted. The jury finds Todd Appel killing was self-defense. Well, I guess they had to rule it that way since both men was armed. But Sheriff Hittleman, he sure didn't like it. He told Wes the next time he'd come into town stirring up trouble, he wouldn't be alive for no trial afterwards. Well, Ben Hittleman's a man of his words. Singer ought to know that. Sheriff ain't as young as he used to be, Britt. And he slowed down some of these last few years. He slowed down a lot. Well, you take last winter when he went after Jake Gordon. If Jake's gun hadn't been jammed, Ben wouldn't be here now. And believe me, Jake couldn't hold a candle to young Singer. Oh, no. Not a candle. What happened to that other K? I was sure I had two of them. Yeah, you're speaking of the Sheriff. I think maybe I'll wander over and see how he's getting along. His office still around the corner? Yeah, same place as always. I'll drop by and see you later, Britt. Okay, Britt. But you take it easy. Well, Lockwood never had been what you might call a real peaceful town. They'd had their Sheriff gunfighters and shootings. I don't know about that. But Ben Heldman, he'd managed to keep things pretty well under control, so I figured he'd find some way of handling this West Singer. As I turned the corner, I got a little glimpse of Ben through the side window of his office. He was putting on his hat, getting ready to go out somewhere. George Pete was right. Ben had age. Even more than I expected. He was carrying some extra weight around his middle, too. That's what made him look shorter than I remembered him. His mustache had turned to kind of a brownish gray. Well, I opened the door and stepped inside. For a minute or so, Ben didn't say anything. He just sort of stared at me, frowning. Then he sighed and took off his studs and... Hello, Britt. Hi, Ben. I heard you was in town. I'm just going to start looking for you. Oh, well, I guess I saved you the trouble, huh? Yeah. How long you figure on staying in Lockwood, Britt? Oh, the rest of the day. Maybe part of tomorrow. It depends on how fast Pete Drum finishes up some print and he's doing for me. What's the matter? I should get rid of him. No, no, no. You have to run off now. That would turn him into a holy terror for certain. So you left because you were scared of him. You know, holding him back after that. Well, not just what the Sam Hill are you talking about, Ben? You ever hear of a fellow called Wes Singer? Lives out east of town? Yeah, yeah. Pete was just telling me about him. Well, it seems he's spoiling for a gunfight with you. With me? Yes. Well, I never laid eyes on the man in my life. Well, he knows you. Pleased for a reputation. Oh, wow. He got to shooting off his mouth the other day, telling some of his pals how he could out-trigger any man in the state. One of the boys who was listening brung up your names said he'd bet you could teach Wes a few things about slapping leather. I see. Of course, Wes had to back up his bragging. He told him if he was ever to come around Lockwood, he'd show him who was the best shot. He'd show everybody. Oh, well, I imagine I'd just so much talk. At the time, maybe. But you're in town now. And if Wes don't do something about it, well, he ain't going to look like much. Besides, you're kind of a tent and target, Britt. What are you talking about, man? You're the sick shooter, aren't you? Any young gunfighter would put a bullet into you. Well, that'd give him a real claim to fame. Oh, well, it's crazy, Ben. He doesn't have any cause to pick a fight with me. They're all crazy, Britt. Gunslingers like Wes. The idea of getting killed themselves, it don't even enter their heads. It did, there wouldn't be gunslingers. Well, you better get over the hotel. The word is, the singer will get to town around four o'clock. I want you out of the way until I've finished with him. Until you finish with him? I warned him the next time he come into Lockwood and the prod, he'd have to answer to me. Oh. You, uh... Are you going to shoot it out with him? If I have to. You sure you can handle him, Ben? Of course I can. And... No, Britt. No, I ain't sure. He's young. He's awful fast. Yeah, yeah, that's what Pete said. But I gotta try. But it turns out that I ain't still man enough. Well, I... I always knew that sooner or later one of them would come along who was younger and faster. Now listen, Ben, you know, he's gunning for me, not you. That ain't the point, Britt. I'm the one who laid down the law. Told him what I'd do if he ever tried to pull off another shooting spree. Sure, sure. So it's my job to stop it. Oh, you might be a better match for West. I don't deny that. And if he should get past me, not that he would, you understand. But if he should... Well, then... Yeah? But I just couldn't step back and let you take him on first. Why, the folks would never pay no heed to me afterward. They'd say I'd talked big to West, but it was your gunning to listen to. You see my point, don't you? Yeah. Yeah, I see your point, Ben. We'll return to James Stewart as the six-shooter in just a moment. Be sure you're tuned to NBC Radio Thursday evening, March 25th for the Academy Awards. At that time, you'll hear the entire Academy Awards ceremonies direct from the Hollywood Pantages Theatre, where the finest artists in the motion picture industry will be assembled. Donald O'Connor will be your host, and during the evening, some 25 Academy Award Oscars will be handed to their new owners. It's Hollywood's most thrilling night of the year, jam-packed with glamour from beginning to end. And you can hear every moment of it when you tune to NBC. Right now, of course, the names of the Oscar winners are a highly guarded secret, but any number of Hollywood actors, actresses, writers, musicians, and directors would love to know. Remember, it's a date with NBC Radio this coming Thursday evening, and that means be tuned to the station to which you're now listening for the Motion Picture Academy Awards ceremonies directly from the stage of the Hollywood Pantages Theatre. Act two of the six-shooter, starring James Stewart as Britt Ponsett. You sure couldn't blame Ben for feeling the way he did. He was the sheriff, and if Wes Singer came into Lockwood, bound and determined to have another gunfight, well, Ben would just have to take a stand. And I sure didn't like the idea. A young fella I've never even met up with was gunning for me, and somebody else was gonna try to hold him off. No, that's just... Not that I was anxious to get mixed up with him or anything, but... Well... Anyway, as long as Ben had made up his mind, there wasn't much I could do about it one way or the other, at least for the time being, so I... I moseyed over the hotel. The clerk stopped me as I was passing the desk. He pointed to a woman sitting on the other end of the lobby. He said she'd been waiting for me to come in. Elderly lady, white hair, wrinkled yellow face with a blue straw bonnet tied under its shin. Uh... Uh, ma'am... Yes? Uh, my name's Ponsett, ma'am. Rick Ponsett. Oh... Would you... Would you mind sitting down here, Mr. Ponsett? Sure, sure. It's, um... It's about Wes. Oh, yes, yes. Wes Singer, that is. I'm his grandma. I see, uh-huh. You know what he aims to do this afternoon, Mr. Ponsett. Well, I'd heard some talk about it, yes, ma'am. It ain't just talk. He means it. He means to kill you. No, no, don't get too upset about him, Mr. Singer. There's probably... There won't be any trouble between me and Wes. What do you mean? Well, uh, Sheriff Hettleman will be waiting for him, and if Wes starts anything, he'll more and more likely land in jail. There ain't no jail could hold him anymore. And Ben Hittleman won't be able to arrest him again, neither. He'll shoot Ben without batting an eye. Well... I'm afraid I don't understand you, Mr. Singer. I figured you were worried about Wes. I thought that's why you wanted to talk to me. Worried about him? I'm worried about all the men he's gonna murder if somebody don't stop him. Men like Wyatt Barker and Todd Apple. Ben Hittleman, he'll be next. Uh-huh. Well, uh, just what is it you want from me, Mr. Singer? I want you to kill Wes. I want you to shoot him down like it'd shoot down a mad dog. You're the sick shooter. You're the only one who'd have a chance against him. Well, now, Sheriff Hittleman's the law on this, Thomas Singer. It ain't a play. Law? What kind of law is it that turned Wes loose after his other killings? He ain't fit to live, Mr. Ponsett. Maybe it's my fault he turned out the way he did. Maybe if he's more and poor, I'd been here to raise him. But they wasn't. I'd done my best. Of course you did, Mr. Singer. Of course. He couldn't have been born mean. The meanness wasn't in his blood. I don't know how it got into him. Uh-huh. Well, sometimes pretty hard to explain a thing like that. There's only one way he can end up. He'll be killed sooner or later. I'd even thought about doing it myself. Maybe it's my duty. You shouldn't be talking like this. You've got to kill him, Mr. Ponsett. Today, this afternoon, before anybody else's blood is on his hands. Well, now I understand how you feel, Mr. Singer, but my trying to kill Wes wouldn't... It just... I just don't see how that would be the answer. Then what is the answer? I'd rack my brain, ask God's help on everything I could think of. What is the answer? I'm sorry, ma'am. I'm afraid I just don't know. It was about three o'clock in the afternoon when Mrs. Singer left the hotel. I watched her get into her buggy and drive off. She sat there stiff, tall. Her eyes straight ahead, not looking one way or the other. And I waited until she dwindled down to just a little speck, and then I walked outside. There was a kind of a stillness in the air, like on a hot summer day just for a thunderstorm. The town was practically deserted. Nobody was in the stores, nobody in the street. Nobody but Ben Hittleman. Britt, I told you to keep out of sight. Yeah, yeah, I know, Ben. You get back to the hotel before it's too late. I'm not waiting in the hotel, Ben. Now, I made up my mind. I've decided to take a little ride this afternoon. What are you talking about? Well, I thought maybe I'd head over that way, toward those hills over there. And run right into West Singer? Well, I suppose we might meet up if he's coming in that direction. You know darn well he's coming from that direction. I told you he lives east of town. Not of the thinker, I guess you did, yeah. Well, I'll be saying it. Now, you listen to me, Britt. Now, I have listened to you, and I see your point, Ben. If there's a gunfight here in Lockwood, or if it looks like there's going to be one, well, it's up to you to do something about it. Well, ain't that what I've been telling you? Sure, yeah, but on the other hand, whatever happens outside of town, beyond the city limits that is, well, I don't see that that's any of your business. Officially, no, but... Well... Britt, I won't let you do it. I know what'll happen between you and Singer. If you do get the draw on him, you'll hold off. You won't kill him. But if he gets the draw on you... So on, Ben. Britt. Britt. I didn't ride very far, just a couple of miles. Then I rained up near a clump of spruce. Whoa, boy. Whoa, whoa, boy. The scar wandered around nibblenets and the tufts of dried-up grass. I settled down in the shade to wait. Now, ten minutes later, I saw him coming toward me. Not hurry, I'm just plodding along, slow, easy, like... Of course, I couldn't be sure that this was Young Singer, but it seemed more than likely that it was him. And when he got close enough so I could see his face, well, there wasn't much doubt about it. He was young, all right, afraid to be younger than his years, just a kid. Not a bad-looking boy, either. But there was something about his eyes and the way they kept darting from side to side like an animal on the prowl. When he saw me, he rained up and slid out of the saddle. Howdy. You right out here from Lockwood, miss? That's right. I hear Britt Ponsett's in town. Is that a fact? He was in town. Was? I might have known he'd run out on me. You got any idea which way he headed? Yeah. I'm Britt Ponsett. What? That's right. There's something I can do for you. For a second his eyes stopped moving and just stood there as if he didn't quite know what to do. But it didn't take him long to make up his mind. His right hand whipped down toward his holster so fast that it was all I could do to get hold of the shotgun before he finished his draw. And even then it looked like he might just go ahead and squeeze the trigger, but he managed to hold himself back. We weren't more than about eight feet apart staring at each other. His revolver aimed right at my face and the shotgun I'd bored from Pete Drumpoint and straight at his belly. What are you trying to pull, mister? How's that? That shotgun. What's the matter with your six-shooter? Nothing. Nothing at all. All right, go ahead. You've been telling everybody around town you're going to kill me all right, go ahead. You couldn't mess me. Go on, you couldn't mess me not at this range. Sure, sure, but, but... But I'd still be able to let go with a blast, too, you know. Is that what you're worried about, Wes? And I guess it'd tear a pretty big hole through you. I ain't afraid. You think I'm a coward, don't you? I'll tell you one thing, I think. You know, you never faced up to the fact that you might get killed in one of these gunfights of yours. As long as you got off the first shot, you figured the worst the other fella could do was just to nick you if he was lucky. Now, you can get off the first shot now, but if you do, I don't need to be able to aim this shotgun. I just couldn't help hitting you. You're local, Ponson. We'd both be dead. Yeah. Well... Yeah, you can't expect a man to commit suicide. All right, I'm waiting, singer. You know, there's no way to... You know, I don't did... That's right. But what do you expect me to do? I expect you to put your gun away and get out of here. And you'd better not come into Lockwood again looking for trouble, because this isn't the only shotgun in town. Well, after a minute or so, he turned and he climbed on his horse. And I... I don't know for sure what happened to him after that. I heard that he moved on farther west and finally got into a gunfight with somebody who outdrew him. I guess it was bound to happen, of course. I just don't understand what gets him to a fella like him. During this month before Easter, crippled children are making their annual appeal to you. They are appealing to you to continue to support the medical, therapeutic, educational, recreational and vocational services which are indispensable to them. The services which are given by the Easter Seal Society in your community. Won't you answer the appeal of crippled children by giving generously to your Easter Seal Society? You may be assured that your gift will be used to provide services that would not otherwise be available to crippled children. Mail your gift today. You may send it to your local Easter Seal Society or to crippled children in care of your local Postmaster. The Sick Shooter is a transcribed NBC radio network production in association with review productions. It is based on a character created by Frank Burt and is written by him. Mr. Stewart may currently be seen in the Universal International Picture, the Glenn Miller story. Others in the cast were Elvia Allman, Sam Edwards, Will Wright, Howard McNeer and Bert Holland. Special music for this program was by Basil Atten 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. By the way, you'll be interested in knowing that the Sick Shooter has been chosen for broadcast to our men overseas through the facilities of the Armed Forces Radio Services. This is John Wall speaking and reminding you once more that next week, beginning April 1st, the Sick Shooter will be heard on Thursday evening. Listen to Jan Murray and Sunday at Home on the NBC Radio Network.