 Time now for Johnny Dollar. George Reed, Johnny at Floyd's of England. How are you George? Do you have any chance to remember Durango, Laramie, Dollhart? From that place out in Oklahoma with the crazy name of Bum Spong? That's right. Now Johnny... How could I ever forget him and more to the point has he ever forgiven you? Forgiven me? After all you were the one who accused him of passing counterfeit money. Well, I know. When I did his wash and starch and iron a few hundred dollar bills to make him look nice and new and crisp. Well, I'm quite frank to admit I was entirely wrong about him that time. Hey, tell me, does he still pay his premiums in brand new money and in prison? Yes, and that's what has me worried. How do you mean? Well, he wrote me some time ago and said he'd be here on the tenth of last month to pay his regular forty-five hundred dollar premiums. The tenth of last? Well, that's nearly six weeks ago. Exactly. And he hasn't appeared. Well, did you write or wire him to see what's holding him up? I got no answer. Johnny, I think something's happened to him. After all, with the way he flashes money around it's a wonder if somebody hasn't knocked him off long before this. George, if anything's happened to old Durango Laramy-Downhart. Yeah, I thought you'd feel that way about it. Yeah. I'll let you know what I find out when I get to, if you'll pardon the expression, bombspun. The exciting adventures of the man with the action-packed expense account. America's fabulous freelance insurance investigator. Yours truly, Johnny Dollar. And now, act one of yours truly, Johnny Dollar. Submitted by special investigator Johnny Dollar. Defluids of England, American Office, Hartford, Connecticut. Following is the account of expenses incurred during my investigation of the Durango Laramy matter. George Reed has quite a penchant for handing me really offbeat cases. But for once, this looks like serious business. Expense account item one, ninety-four, twenty, transportation. I arrived in Enid, Oklahoma shortly after four a.m. Item two, a buck eighty-five for breakfast, item three, fifty dollars deposit on a rental car. I headed due north on highway eighty-one across some of the flattest plains country I've ever seen. But I hadn't expected to see again so soon. About twenty-six or seven miles further on, after crossing what remains of the salt fork of the Arkansas, I spotted the familiar weather-beaten sign indicating that bombspung was somewhere up a rough dirt road to the left. Bumpspung, named by the Indians. It means bad water. And finally there was the same old broken wooden fence surrounding a couple of acres of poor sandy ground. The same ramshackle house, the broken down barn, propped up in spots with timbers. And in the yard with the same two sad-looking cows I've seen on my previous visit. This way back horse and a friendly mangy toothless sound, some decrepit-looking chickens. Bumpspung, so-called ranch of Durango Laramy-Dellhart, who'd made it an oil and who chose to settle down in this lonely, desolate spot. And standing there looking at it, it was started to believe that the inside of the huge, unpainted house was clean, modern, well-furnished. Thanks to his niece Carol, who occasionally came up to see the old man. As I swung aside the sagging wire gate, I wondered if she was here now. I wondered if anyone was here, but not for long. Durango! Durango, it's Johnny Dollar! Wait a minute! You're not Durango. I came here to see Durango Laramy-Dellhart. Now look, you! Oh, you shut up that gate and drive away from here! You see this, you're not... Wait! After you've blown a hole on one of my tires? I did, eh? Well, I guess that one's very sociable, and I wasn't. Hey, look! Lower that gun for a minute, will you? Oh, no, you don't! No, you don't! You try anything funny, and I'll let you... I guess it is up to me to fix that tire for you, ain't it? Huh? After all, as long as I've done it, now let me take a look and make sure you're just staying up to something quick here. See what I am, eh? Hey! Just give me that gun now. Oh, no, you don't! Okay. Now, who are you, and what are you doing here, and where's Durango? By Harvard, sonny. Oh, sure, a pack of punch. Stop talking, mister. Who are you? Who am I? Sight-Widener Wilson. That's who I am. Who do you think? Who are you? Johnny Dollar Insurance Investigator. What are you doing here? What am I doing here? Why, old Durango sent me a telegram. That's why. Oh, yeah? Sure. Here. Here now. Read it for yourself. So, Mr. Sight-Winder Wilson, Gunside Oil Field, somewhere near the Petterdale River, Texas. Yeah, that's where the field is, and that's where I got this telegram. Get yourself up here to Bum Spawn. That's what he says. Take care of my ranch for a while, and get here fast, sonny Durango. Yeah. You satisfied? Just who are you, Sight-Winder? Who am I? Durango's oldest, bestest friend is old. Old him since we lived together in the oil fields before he made his gold strike up in Colorado. That's who. So, when he tells me to come up here and take care of things, I come. That's all. What do you expect? But now look here, Johnny. Here's what you say your name is? Johnny Dollar. Yeah, well, something I don't like about Durango's going away this time. What do you mean? What do I mean? Well, I mean the way he must have left in a powerful hurry. That's why. You know what Durango pretty would? Pretty good. Well, can you see him leaving this nice house of his and with all the doors and windows unlocked? He wasn't here when you were around? No, sir. He'd already went away. And can you see him leaving no food around for the cattle and Matthewslam and Pirmol? Matthewslam and Pirmol. What is this? Little horse and this nice old dog here. And what about the tractor? Just sitting out there in the field, plows down halfway up a furrow. What are you getting at, Sidewinder? What am I getting at? I must say that he must have left in a awful hurry. That's all. And if you ask me, there's something funny about it and I don't mean funny. Ha, ha. Yeah, I think you got something there. You see, he was doing Hartford, Connecticut over six weeks ago. Pay up on his insurance, sir. That's right. All loaded down with brand new money, I bet. Probably. Yeah, I've told that crazy old coyote a thousand times that he ought to go treaking all over the country with all that money in his kick. Johnny, if he ain't showed up the way he was supposed, it just means one solitary single thing. Like what, Sidewinder? Like what? Well, like somebody's way laid and bushwhacked him for his money. That's what, yeah. Yeah, I'm afraid so. But, Sidewinder, I sure hope you're wrong. Johnny, I sure hope I'm wrong. Holy Johnny dollar in a moment. And now for another episode in the life of Sergeant Donald Bellweather, my husband. I sure did, Reba. How's that? Oh, you fixed him. Good for you, Donald. Thank you, my dear. Well, that's that. Now, if it rains, we're prepared for it, huh? I feel better now. Oh, me too. A driver has to see the danger if he expects to avoid it. That's right. And also keep the back and Sidewind as clear and rain and snowy weather. That's right. Oh, how about the horn? The horn? The horn doesn't work, Sergeant. Aren't you going to fix it? No, I don't think so. Frankly, Reba, I hate horns. Whenever there's a traffic jam, the first thing some guys do is blow their horns. Which does absolutely no good. Of course not. All it does is jar everyone's nerves. No, I don't think I'll fix the horn. Oh, but now wait a minute, Don. Look, supposing we're driving along, and suddenly we see a youngster on his bicycle headed right out into the street. Sounding that horn will warn him and possibly avoid a tragic accident. Yes, that's true, but... Or supposing we're driving on the highway and just as we're about to pass a car, that car decides to pull out into our lane and pass the car ahead of him. He obviously doesn't see us, and he won't hear a shout. But one little beep on that horn and he'll automatically scoot back and avoid a collision. Reba, you've convinced me. Even though it can be a nuisance, the automobile horn is a necessity. Then you'll repair it? Immediately. Oh, that's my Donald. That's my doll. Act two of yours truly, Johnny Dollar, and the deranged Laramie Matter. Rami Dalharts, cradle character from Bum Spong, Oklahoma, gone. Disappeared. His pal, Sidewinder Wilson, a bit of a character himself had no idea what might have happened to him, but feared the worst. And I had to agree that his fears were justified. But tell me this, Sidewinder, have you heard anything from Durango's niece, Carol? You mean that pretty little gal fixed up this place for him so nice? Kind of looks after him. That's the one. Say, don't he live down to Enid? Enid, yes. Runs a gas station. That's right. Sign of the flying red horse. Sean, help me fix this tire. We'll drive back to Enid. Well, I'll help you fix the tire, but I'm staying right here. Oh, why? Because Durango's trusting me to take care of the place. And if he does turn up, God willing, I'll be here to have him get in touch with you. Okay, now let's get this tire fixed. No, wait. Look. Huh? See that fancy convertible coming up the road? I not only saw the convertible, but more important, who was in it, who pulled up alongside the fence and stepped out. She was 23 or 4, a tall, slim brunette wearing a neatly tailored skirt, a tight-fitting soaked blouse. Neat trim. She looked like she'd just stepped out of Charles of the Ritz. Carol! Carol, how are you? He couldn't resist my fatal charms. I couldn't stay away. We'd just quit that. Now, wait a minute. What's the matter with you? You don't like that? Oh, no. Come here, now. No, Johnny. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Yeah? Carol? Oh, Johnny. Carol, listen to me. You gotta propose, Johnny. Where's Durango? Have you heard anything from him since he left you six weeks ago? He went to Hartford. But he hasn't arrived there. Oh, now don't you start worrying about old Uncle Durango or anything else? Sure, Johnny. I'm sure. That crazy old goop setting out across the country with over $50,000 in money in his pants. He ought to know better than something's happened to him. He asked me. I think somebody's killed him for that money. Oh, no. You haven't heard from him since he left. Only a postcard from Chicago where he stayed overnight at some fancy hotel. And, Johnny, that wasn't like him. What do you mean? Oh, it was before he went straight to Hartford. That real estate man was from Chicago, Carol. What real estate man? Oh, he used to come out here looking for people with oil money, tried to get Durango to invest in real estate, Florida, New England. Well, what did his postcard say? Nothing, really. Justin was staying overnight. And before he'd come back, he was going to look at Ong's hat. Who is Ong? Oh, he was always writing silly stuff like that. I don't know. Ong. Oh, Johnny, what do we do? Where's the nearest phone? Back in Enid. Then come on. That's where we're going. In Enid, I put in a long distance call to fill Avery, an old friend at International Press Service, in the hope that if Durango's body had been picked up anywhere in the country, the newest files would have some note of it. Yeah, Phil, does it mean anything to you? I'll say this, Johnny. If a name like that had ever come in over the wires, I'd certainly remembered it. But it hasn't. Not stately. What's this all about? Oh, he left here loaded with cash. Now he's disappeared. No clues? Only that he's planned to see some guy named Ong. Ong? For some crazy reason, he's interested in Ong's hat. You mean that rings a bell? Maybe a matter of life or death. Road in the life of Sergeant Donald Bellwether, my husband. You must have used it as a marker when you were reading this book. Let's see, that's great literary classic. Six-Gun Showdown at Powder River Gulch. All right. Never mind about my reading habits. Just look at the coverage we're going to get with this new auto-accident policy. Oh, let's see. Oh, there's a collision. $150 deductible. Fire, theft, public liability, property damage, medical benefits. In other words, we have complete coverage. That's right. Of course, it's going to cost us money. I'm sending the company a check right now. Gee, it's too bad we don't live in Rhode Island. Rhode Island? Why? Well, because then our rates would be lower. Rhode Island has less accidents per capita than any other state. Oh. Which state has the highest? Let me see. Oh, here it is, Nevada. No, by golly, Nevada's second highest. Alaska has the most. Really? I didn't know that. You know, it's just too bad we can't eliminate traffic accidents completely. Not only would it save life and limb, but it'd be a lot less straight on the pocketbook. Yeah, that's for sure. These automobile accident policies get more expensive every year, just because there's so many costly accidents. Well, I'm glad we've got some good insurance coverage, Donald, but just remember one thing. Oh, what's that, honey? Well, some auto accidents ruin a fender and some ruin a family. Yeah, that's true. Very true. But as far as I'm concerned, I don't want any of your old insurance money. I want you here at home, safe and sound. You'll always drive carefully, won't you? As I will be. That's my Donald. That's my Donald. Yours truly, Johnny Dollar and the Durango Laramie Matter. Will you stop that hollering and make some sense? This could be a matter of life or death. That's right. You know who he is. Huh? Are you serious? Of course I'm serious. Tell me. Okay, Phil. I found the car to that real estate promoter's in Chicago. Good. We'll take the first flight. We can get out of Tulsa. Wait. Come on, Carol. We're on our way. I'm for $164.80 plane fare and incidentals. In Chicago, we stopped over long enough to pay a brief unpleasant visit with one J. Harry Cramlin, real estate promoter at his office just off the loop. So what if I did sell this Dale Hart character some land over in New Jersey? What's it to you? You trying to cut in on a good thing? How much did you sell him, Mr. Cramlin? A little over $35,000 worth. But now if I... What was it? A lot of worthless swamp land? He didn't seem to think so. After the glowing report I gave him. But why did he buy it? Because the old fool thinks there's oil on it. Cramlin, if you've taken Durango... Now, ain't that a name? Durango Laramidele. If he's been chipped into steel, would you better duck the next time you see me coming? Who's threatening me about a cash perfectly legal deal? Oh, I'm sure it was legal. But oil in South Jersey. Cramlin, my warning still goes. The next leg of our flight took us to Philadelphia. There I rented another car that's $50 to deposit item five. We drove across the Delaware River and picked up Route 537 of Unholy. There we stopped for a sandwich and a coke that's item six. And there a passing glance at a newspaper headline stopped me in my tracks. Something about a big oil development at... Yeah, you guessed it, at Ong's Hat. We burned up Highway 530 to Pemberton, then hit a sandy back road that led deep into the pine and scrub oak. Finally, suddenly we came to a clearing. And there, well, there must have been a hundred cars, expensive ones, some of them chauffeur limousines, and people milling about, haranguing each other, shouting each other down. And right in the middle of the crowd, a tall, angular man in blue jeans and a 10-gallon hat, Durango. And then I saw something else on the edge of the clearing, two brand-new towering oil derries. Come on, Johnny, let's get him away from that mob. Not only was he cheated by that Scheister real estate operator and the thinking he was buying oil land, but he's thrown more money away building those derries. Oh, Jeff. Jeff is probably trying to sell him enough rigging pumps and equipment to fleece him royally. Ten to one, somebody in that crowd's offered him the Brooklyn Bridge to boot. Listen, we gotta stop him. Move on, we had drama. Shoot, start. Is it Durango's thing? Why don't you give me that garland and come out the bum's bung last year? Durango, you shut up. I'm afraid this trip is on business, Durango. Business? With a pretty garland? To get here, anyway. Johnny brought me on the plane, but what did he say? Oh, he did, eh? Transported you across state line, eh? Oh, done for nothing. Durango, will you shut up and let Johnny tell you why he's been looking all over for you? Durango, you've been had. Me? By the crook who told you this was oil land. Johnny, I know it wasn't the minute I seen it. But you put up lyrics, and they must have caught blood. Sure, sure, they caught me plenty. It just, uh, funny thing happened. Oh, now what answer? The minute the folks got wind of me, a million-air oil man from Texas and Oklahoma puttin' up the dairy. Oh, don't worry. But was that stoppin'? That wouldn't stop him from wantin' to buy this land away from me. No, sir. And you've been sellin' it? Why, sure. I told him it was no good, but I just couldn't stop him. So far, I've come out of my over $65,000 to the blues. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. Yeah. Johnny, dollar, are you here to buy a piece of my land? Or to marry my little Carol here? Oh, no, no. How about it? It's a count at him seven, $1,000 even. The company now owns a small hunk of land in Ong's Hat, New Jersey. As for Carol, that devil-lovin' doll. Well, someday, maybe someday. Expensive count total, including incidentals and transportation back to Hartford, $1,416 even. Yours truly? Johnny, dollar. G. Stanley Jones, Junius Matthews, Alan Reed, Frank Nelson, and John McIntyre. Be sure to join us next week, saying time and station for another exciting story of yours truly, Johnny, dollar. Then, coverly speaking. Station of the United States Armed Forces Radio and Television Service.