 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 Pekos to Powder River, Dodge City to Poker Flat. These are the towns they fought to live in and lived to fight for. Teaming crucibles of pioneer freedom. Frontier Town. Howdy there, I'm Chad Remington, Frontier Lawyer, with my home and headquarters in the cow town known as Dos Rios. Now believe me, I'm not complaining when I say this, but I don't want any of you to get the idea that being a lawyer on the Frontier is just a business for a student of Blackstone, because it isn't. The Frontier is raw and rough, hard and boisterous, and that all adds up to the fact that even a lawyer out in the wide open spaces gets more than his share of trouble. Of course, a man who keeps his eyes open, as well as his fists ready for action, often manages to pour oil on the troubled waters. And it's about this oil that I'm interested right now. You see, just a short while ago, there was a great deal of oil poured down in the Indian Territory, and it all started one afternoon when an oil promoter known as KC, Kansas City, Lennard, and his half-breed Indian companion, Tulare, succeeded in closeting themselves with the chief of a small peaceful tribe of Indians. Chief Blufox at the Cold Springs tribe. A bottle of mescal was handy on the table in the stuffy little office. All you gotta do, chief, is make your mark on this piece of paper. Huh? Chief, no savvy, Mr. Lennard. Well, give him another drink and explain it to him in Indian lingo then, Tulare. Ruke maho nona beso tecuna. Damn it, la botusa. What'd he say? He say, what paper mean to his people? Pour him another drink. Hey, no, mescal. Huh? All right, Tulare. Now, tell Blufox that this paper just gives me the exclusive rights to drill for oil on his reservation, and that it isn't going to interfere with his people at all. Nona sa lusamana, Lennard. No bewa. Chief say he signed. Ah, you're talking? Hey, you chief, make your mark right here. Meso na mescal. Him signed paper. Now him want more. Kimono misima. Oh, chief, daughter, just come back from Indian school. Have you been giving my father mescal to drink? Why? Why? We were just talking over a little business deal. And what was that paper you were so quick to hide? Just a little business agreement me and the chief made. I wish to see that paper. Oh, yeah? Well, that happens to be a confidential business document. Just a little agreement given me the right to drill on the Cold Springs reservation for oil. Oh. When a man finds it necessary to ply another with liquor in order to enter into a contract, his motive certainly will take looking into. Manamatona. Very well. But this is certainly not the last you two are going to hear about this. It wasn't the last Mr. K. C. Lennard heard about his little transaction because chief Bluefarts' daughter, Matome, spent little time in getting a pony and riding from the reservation to my office in Dos Rios. Cherokee O'Bannon, the reformed medicine man who now owns the Dos Rios livery stable was with me at the time. And we both listened to Matome's report with frank interest but sinking feelings. You mean there is nothing you can do legally to set aside this document? Don't look at me, miss. You talked the counselor here. Matome, unless we could definitely prove that the agreement was signed under duress, I'm afraid there is nothing we can do. But they gave my father Mascale to drink. Did not know what he was doing. Mascale? He was in the court. But holding a man whose stomach is strong enough to swallow Mascale has got a head hard enough to know what he's doing. Rightful stuff, worse than water. Matome, even though I doubt we can have the contract voided, I don't want you to feel that I'm not going to turn heaven and earth to help you. And if we can't take care of Mr. K. C. Lennard legally, maybe we can invent a few laws of our own. Your people have been defrauded too much by the whites already. If all white men were like you, Mr. Remington, my people would have nothing to fear. Because Chad Remington is like he is, the only person who has something to fear out of this is that oil promoter, K. C. Lennard. Well, we're not going to get any place sitting around here spreading flattery. So what do you say we get our horses and ride back to Cold Springs? The town of Cold Springs itself sits on the edge of the Cold Springs Reservation, high up on the rim rock. It's not much of a town to be sure, but big enough to be a hot bed of trouble. On arriving there, we found that Lennard had rendered a shack to use as his office. And I decided to walk over and see him, because you never know if you're trying to trap a cougar or a skunk until you get close enough to see the stripes. I left Cherokee to watch the horses while I started down the dusty street on the coast. I certainly was Chad and found a better place to tie off these horses than the hitch-rack in front of the local tavern. Not only is my thirst getting stronger, but temptation grows by the minute. I wonder if I couldn't watch the horses over the bat-wing doors if I found a good place to bar inside. Wouldn't take me very long, and perhaps it would be better if I'd find someone to watch the horses for me. Here comes a fellow now. Pardon me, sir, may I have a word with you? Were you calling me, mister? No, I didn't call you mister, I called you sir. But I would like Billy Blue blazes it, but this isn't Wildcat Maxon. Cherokee. Sufferin' Joe Cherokee. When did they let you out of jail? It'll be impossible for me to answer that question, Wildcat, until I know which jail you have reference to. Yes, indeed. Yes, indeed. Well, are you still peddling that rattlesnake oil? My boy, you see, before you were a former man. I now own a livery stable, and act as a bodyguard to a prominent lawyer. Tell me, what brings you down to a saddle stop like cold springs? Last time I heard of you, you were up in the panhandle someplace near Amarillo. Well, Cherokee, you're apt to find Wildcat Maxon any place where there's oil, and a man with a paying job for a driller to get it. You mean you're down here to drill oil, Wildcat? Just arrived an hour ago. I'm gonna work for a real Wildcat-er, promoter by the name of K. C. Lennard. Lennard? Well, well, well, it's a small world after all. Tell me something. You know this Lennard? You know anything about him? Do I? I could start right now telling you about K. C. in the Trixie's poll, and I wouldn't get through till tomorrow morning. Boy, don't start the story yet. When Chad Remington gets back from Lennard's office, I want you to tell everything that you know. Well, I don't know, Cherokee. I just put my bedroll up at the hotel, and I should be getting down there myself to report for work. Of course, I don't want to impose upon your time, but I suppose we commemorate this reunion by pledging our ancient friendship with the bottle of something satisfying at the bar inside. Well, now, I really shouldn't, but since this is a special occasion, Cherokee, and you're doing the invite, then just make mine bourbon with water on the side. While Cherokee and Wildcat Maxon were picking up the threads and the whiskey glasses, one of the street brought me to the door the little shack Lennard had rented. I tried the door, but it was locked, so there was nothing for me to do except knock. Yes? You want something? Yes, I'd like to see Mr. Lennard. Boss, he busy. You come back later. Well, since I've got no place else to go, do you mind if I come in and sit down and wait for him? You go away. Come back later. You're not very hospitable, are you? Come on, you beater. No god time. Just a minute. I don't mind leaving, but I have no intention of being shoved out. Me say, get out. Now me put you out. You local half-breed. Who do you think you are anyhow? Me show you fast. Just for that, I am going inside and wait for Lennard. Friends, speak a little peace and get it over with. What do you want? Well, I take it you're Lennard. You'll be taking a lot more if you don't quit stalling around. What's on your mind? I want to see the paper that Chief Blufark signed here a few days ago. Yeah? Well, exactly who are you? Well, for the moment, let's just say I'm a friend of the Chief's. And for the moment, let's just say that any paper that Chief signed between him and me is confidential. Oh, so? And does that mean your contract won't bear school to me? Mister, if you want to leave here under your own power, you better start going now. You may think you're mad enough to put me out, but I don't. From what I've heard about you, you're, uh... Well, I don't think that you're a man at all. And with apologies to the whole skunk family, I think you're nothing but a tricky little polecat. Well, you're a lot more maverick now you're work getting out. I didn't like your ugly face when I walked in here, but maybe this beauty treatment will change it. I'm going to finish what I started to say, Lennard. The Indians out here have been taking a pretty raw deal from you and your kind. With the aid of an oily tongue and a few bottles of red eye, you've gotten away with murder. But there's a penalty for that kind of murder, too, Lennard. And if you insist on going through with this drilling deal, you may find that you're the one being drilled. Because I've got my personal drilling equipment right here. We'll return to the second act of Six Gun Lawyer, our exciting frontier town adventure in just a few moments. And now, frontier town. Well, there was no question about it. I'd found out whether our friend Casey Lennard was a catamount or a skunk, except that in his case I suspected the stripe that ran down his back wasn't white but yellow. After my little double reception in Lennard's office, I went down to see the Indian agent and then paid a call on the federal marshal. Remington, I agree with you from the ground up. But a contract's a contract, and there's nothing we can do to break it. At least, Lennard, not that I can see. But the fact that his daughter saw them filling up the old chief with a mascara, doesn't that alter the facts in your eyes? Sure don't. Blue Fox has been known to store away a good deal of red eye on his time, and it never even affected him. Nope. As a lawyer, I guess you ought to see that despite the fact, I think this Casey Lennard is the lowest form of Wildcat promoter. As it stands, my hands are tied. As it stands? Huh? What do you mean by that? I mean, if, let's say, Lennard didn't pay his bills, and his creditors had attachments issued. You would serve the attachments, wouldn't you, and close up Lennard? Of course I would. What makes you think he isn't going to pay his bills? The way I hear it, they got real oil out where he's going to drill and lots of it. Well, to tell the truth, marshal, I can't answer your question right now. All I wanted to do was first assure myself that you were on my side of the fence. Yeah, and you get something legal I can use to close up Lennard, Remington, and you can count on me 100%. That's all I wanted to know, marshal. But I hope to be seeing you again. Seeing you again real soon. I left the marshal's office and walked back to where I had left Cherokee with the horses. The horses were there, but Cherokee was no place in sight. It should have occurred to me that Cherokee would disappear through the nearest doorway. But it didn't. Not until I heard his robust laugh echoing behind me. Don Bonnet Cherokee, that's a good one. Say, did I ever tell you what happened to me with that little red hat down in Hell Passo? No, but I sure like to. You can all you like Cherokee, but it's not going to save you this time. Now go on, get outside. Hey, now just a minute. Who do you think you are anyhow? Chief orders to a partner of mine. I got a good mind to bash this bottle right over. Wait a minute there, Wildcat. Put that bottle down. This is my bosom companion, the attorney I was telling you about. Chad Remington. Well, howdy, Remington. Well, now that I've lifted the bottle up, there's no sense in wasting it, so here goes, boys. Fine company you keep, Cherokee. Chad, this is one of the oldest friends I've got in the world. Wildcat Maxxon. He's an oil-driller, and you know what? He's just arrived in Cold Springs to go to work for K. C. Lannard. K. C. Lannard? Well, that's the last straw. Now come on, you and I are getting out of here. Wait a minute. What's the matter, counselor? I want the truth now. Just how good a friend are you with Mr. Maxxon's here and vice versa? Why, I've known old Bannon for 30 years. In fact, is he used to buy the oil from me that he mixed with alcohol and call his genuine Cherokee Indian rattlesnake oil? Yes, indeed. Yes, indeed. Our friendship predates my first encounter with the law. Well, in that case, you are old friends. But there's one thing I want to know, Maxxon. What sort of a man are you who would go to work for a jasper like Lannard? Remington, I know Lannard's a no-good snake, but I'm a good oil-rigged man and a job's a job. Why? Would you be interested in doing a favor for your old friend Cherokee and also helping the... You name it, boy, and I'll do it. Fair enough. That certainly is fair enough. And just for that, I'm going to break a long-standing rule and buy you both a drink. Well, I bought them the drink all right, but only one. Wildcat Maxxon left the bar a few moments later to go down to report to Lannard. And Cherokee and I rode out to see Blue Fox's daughter, Matomi. Yes, of course I understand what you're saying, Mr. Remington, but it's such a thing legal. My dear princess, it's so legal that you and Chad and I are untouchable. But what about this Wildcat Maxxon? Can't something happen to him? To be perfectly honest, something could happen to Wildcat, but after even my short acquaintance with that gentleman, I doubt if anything will. In fact, about the only person anything's going to happen to is the gentleman with the mascara bottle, Casey Lannard. And what's going to happen to him is going to start happening mighty soon. Well, to lie, I never thought this would happen. You didn't go wrong, boss. I'll say it, hid. Just got a message from Wildcat Maxxon that they hit rock and snapped off the drill stem. This guy's got the coarse money. Hey, Matal, what happened now, Wildcat? Well, that bonehead, you hired to take care of the donkey and you overloaded the boiler. She let go and blew the pump house to smithereens. It'll be weeks before you can get that repaired. You know can blame me, boss. I just tell you what Wildcat told me. Now what happened? Now what happened? Wildcat said he'd lose six pieces of pipe down well hold and then lose fishing tool trying to pull it out. The fishing tool gone? Well, if this doesn't ruin us, nothing will. I'm starting to believe this job's jinxed. Well, Princess, cast your lovely brown eyes on that. The knot seems to have his well down quite deep. It's deep all right, but good old Casey is in a lot deeper. Well, here comes Wildcat Maxxon. Hello there, you old Wildcat, are you? Howdy, friends, and Miss... Miss... Say, just what does a fella call you? Miss Blue Fox or what? No, Mr. Maxxon. In Indian, my name is Matomi, which means the stream which always ripples white. But at college, the girls just shortened Matomi to Matty. So I guess that's my name. Wildcat, what dire disaster has overtaken Mr. Lenard today? Well, after the drill broke, we lost six lengths of pipe and then the boiler blew sky high and something real good's happened today. The credit manager, the tool company, came out to get some money and blamed if Lenard didn't give him a check. I don't see anything to laugh about in that, Mr. Maxxon, if Lenard's still able to pay his bills. Did I say he was able to pay his bills? I just said he gave the tool company a check and that check's gonna get him into a... Oh, oh, here comes Casey now. Look at that ugly face he has, will you? That man is boiling man. Well, now this whole thing is starting to fit together. Now that I see the four-yard here, I know just how all these accidents happen. Why, Mr. Lenard, if you think that the four of us have been conspiring against you, that's a gross understatement of the facts. Well, you're a lot, my little squaw, I get it. Bingo, give Mr. Raminkin a big fat cigar. Listen, Lenard, a lady's a lady, no matter what color the pigment is in her skin. That's a bunch of crooks, that's what you are. I'm gonna have the law on you. You won't have to wait so much time, because here comes the Marshal and some of his men now. Hey now, boys, hey now. Lenard, I got an attachment here to close up your place for non-payment of debts. My deputies have got orders to stop the work and see that nothing is tampered with or removed from the place. My mind, I wasn't that too bad after all the hard luck you've had. Well, maybe you won the first round, but there's still a lot more coming up. That's what you think, Lenard, but I've also got a warrant that's going to put you in the Calibou for the next 10 years for passing a bad check. So just so you don't miss your first lunch at the jailhouse, come on, we'd better get going. You got a fat chance of takin' me that up. You heard the Marshal, Lenard. Now get going. Thanks, Remington. I think he's convinced now. And oh, by the way, we've already attached his office and taken charge of his records and papers and stuff. Great, Marshal. When we went through the papers, there was a contract there signed by Chief Blufox. I don't know how it happened, but somehow or other that one little paper got too close to an oil lamp. And you know what happened? Before we could stop it, that contract was burned up. Well, with Casey Lenard on his way to jail, the drilling stopped and the contract with Blufox unfortunately burned up. We stopped long enough to take stock. How soon do you think it would be, Mr. Remington, before my people will be able to complete the well and start getting an income from it? Well, Costner, why the glum look? Because it just dawned on me that the well is now tied up for the benefit of Lenard's creditors. Yes. And nobody can touch the well until the creditors have paid off. You mean to stand there with your jurisprudence hanging out like a bucolic black stone and admit that your legal trap wasn't airtight? Oh, it was airtight, all right, but not for us. It's airtight for the creditors. But how much money will be required to satisfy the creditors? Well, that's something we've got to find out for the Marshal. But I imagine from what Wildcat said, it's close to 10,000. Then why not pay her 10,000 simoleon? Yeah, and that's a hat full of money and anybody's bank account. My boy, this is a blow. It certainly is a blow. Being a man of unstable neurotic temperament, so I'm starting to feel the need of some sort of stimulus. See you later. Just a minute there, Cherokee. Yes, Chad? This is no time to start drowning your sorrows in the cup that runs over. All of us need clear heads on our shoulders. What we need is something to stimulate our imaginations. Well, hello, Wildcat. Well, all our scheming and doing for the last two weeks has been wasted. Wasted? What do you mean wasted? All the little things we did to the well were nothing compared to what happened when the Marshal's deputy shut it down. A cable busted. The whole bloomin' drill outfit dropped down to the bottom of the well. It's sealed up now, tried in a drum. Good grief. Can anything more happen to us? You mean that there's no way of fixing the well? How can you fix it when you can't even get near it? They've got six deputy Marshal's guard in the place. Isn't there some way the tools could be gotten out of there? With the charge explosives, maybe. But with them deputies around, what chance you got? Suppose we could get rid of the deputies for you. But how could you do that? I think the Cherokee, with the help of a few bottles of that stimulant he's so anxious to get at, might entertain the deputies long enough for Wildcat to get by the guards. And by glory, the more I think about it, the more I think that's the only way out. Come on, we've got some writing to do, and I mean right now. We lost no time getting back to the reservation and the oil well, and with the skill of a successful medicine man and arm with three bottles we purchased in town, Cherokee had no trouble distracting the guards. While Maxon slipped in with his charge of explosives, Matomi and I stood off in the mesquite watching, hardly able to draw our breasts. Then suddenly we heard the unmistakable sound of a horse racing tortoise. Mr. Remington, there's a horse coming. There sure is a horse coming, and a man I'm not looking to see is riding it. Oh, Marshal. Look, he spotted us, and he's coming over. Chad, Chad, I've ridden all around. Patty's half eager looking for you. The large busted out of jail, swiped the gun and swore he's coming out to get you. Thanks, Marshal, but I don't think it's going to do him any good, because first off, he's got to find me. Well, I found you. And just what are you two doing out here at the well after dark? Well, you see, now look, Marshal, let's walk back here a ways, and we can't explain it to you. Now, just a minute, Remington. If you tour something... Town, Latinard. That must be Lennard. That last shot game away. Get back. Mr. Remington, there he goes. He's running toward the well. Don't, Lennard, you fool, keep away from that well. When Lennard started digging for oil out here on the reservation, I bet he never realized all he was doing was digging his own grave. Beats me how all that machinery and dirt fell on Lennard, and he still lived through it. Well, one thing is certain. He won't break out of the federal penitentiary the way he broke out of the Cold Springs jail. I found the whole experience mighty unnerving. So did I. And how the Indians have got their oil well, I feel the need of steadying my nerves with something potent. Oh, Cherokee, for the sake of your health, you've simply got to reform. Statistics prove that whiskey kills more men than bullets. Of course whiskey kills more men than bullets. Why, even a big bullet doesn't drink over a pint of air. Frontier Town, starring Reed Hadley and featuring Wade Crosby as a Brucell's 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 favorite young western star, Reed Hadley. And now this is Bill Foreman telling you that Frontier Town comes to you from Hollywood. Music plays