 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! I kind of feel that I know most of you folks by this time, but maybe there are some of you who don't remember me. So just for the record, my name's Chad Remington, and I sort of practice law in the little frontier town called Osreous. Now, practicing law in the frontier is a lot different from practicing law in a city. In fact, it's so different that I've ended up playing detective, troubleshooter, and in general, the cases I get seem to make me a target, just like a clay pigeon in a shooting gallery. What I'm thinking of right now is some trouble that was dragged to my doorstep and dropped there, that concerned a stagecoach that, well, I guess I'm getting ahead of myself. So let us start where the whole thing started. It was just past noon when I left Cherokee O'Bannon, the ex-medicine man who has reformed sufficiently to operate the Osreous livery stables. Well, I let the O'Bannon talk me into having lunch at the Greenback Cafe and Entertainment Palace. Now, believe me, if there's anything about the Greenback to recommend it, it isn't the food. It's something that Cherokee ferreted out in short order. Chad, my boy, don't you find that sandwich a little, shall we say, dry? I sure do, Cherokee. It tastes like it's been well sprinkled with alkali dust. Then why don't you join me in something to wash it down? You didn't hear me, didn't you, Chad? Something to wash it down? Cherokee, maybe you could palm that genuine Cherokee Indian rattlesnake oil of yours off on some unsuspecting folk, but I'll be doggone if I'm going to be conned into buying your drinks in the middle of the day. Oh, not even one? I say not even one? Look, you all reprobate. That nose of yours isn't the color of the painted desert because of... Say, this is funny. I wonder what Maude Jackson's doing coming into a place like this. Maude Jackson in here? All right, this is just about the time of day when she should be checking out the mail and express that arrived on the 11 o'clock coach. Apparently she's looking for someone in here. Yes, and apparently it's us. Are you? Were you looking for someone? Oh, Chad. The ranger over at the Liberty State said he thought you'd come in here for lunch. Sit down, my dear lady. Sit down. We were just... Chad, something awful's happened. Here it is almost one o'clock and the 11 o'clock stagecoach hasn't arrived yet from Barranca Springs. Well, the whole trip doesn't take much over an hour from Barranca Springs. And if the coach is two hours late, I'm afraid maybe something did happen. Where's Jim? Where's your husband? Jim went over to Barranca yesterday to see Senator O'Connell. You know, the franchise for our stagecoach line's coming up for renewal. Hey, Buck, I'm leaving $2 to take care of our check. All right, come on, Maude, Cherokee. If something is wrong, we can't waste any time finding out what it is. Billy, blue blazes, Chad. Where do you think you're going in all this rush? Well, I'm going to get some horses out of that broken down livery stable of yours and hide-tail it out over the road to Barranca Springs. We ought to find some sign of the coach. I hate to say this, Chad, but I have an awful feeling about it. Each time our franchise has come up for renewal before, we've never had any trouble, but... Well, this time Jim got a letter for you. Oh, good heavens, Chad. Look. Look down the street. Holy mackerel. Here come the stagecoach horses, but the coach isn't in sight. Oh, this is awful, with the children just getting out of school now. If those horses ever run loose, oh, Jim. Cherokee, you and Maude get back. All right, come on out quick. What are you going to do? I'm going to do the only thing I can do. Wait till those horses come abreast of us, close my eyes, and jump. And I hope I land on the back of one of them and rain them in. Get back, Maude. Cherokee, pull Maude out of the way. And instead of just standing there, you might say a prayer. Runaway team! Even a professional detective couldn't have found anything from the harness of the runaway team that would have meant anything. Nothing was cut through or tampered with. And for an amateur detective like a cow-town lawyer, it was as bad as having Niagara Falls suddenly vanish. Of course, what we didn't know at the time could have helped, because while we were leading a runaway coach team back to the stables, two hard-bitten men were down the street, eyes glued on us. I never thought that team would get back to town. Well, what of it? They ain't going to find out anything from the team, did they? Yeah, yeah, guess not, Newt. But a fanon ever finds out we slipped up. Well, the thing I don't like about it is this Chad Remington getting mixed up in this. From all I hear, Remington has one tough nut. Yeah, what about it? Even a tough nut's not too hard to crack once the shell's all shot full of holes. Yeah, Dick. Yeah, see what you mean. Now look, the thing for us to do is to go get us some fresh horses and then hightail it back to Barranque. Fanon will want to know how it went. And one thing I'm sure of, Doss Reyes is one town I ain't going to be caught in. While Dick's and his barrel-chested friend Newt were getting fresh horses, Maude, Cherokee, and I got horses of our own from a Bannon's livery stable and started out. Backtracking over the road, the runaway team had come, staring futilely into the hot desert sun for some sign, some mark of the stagecoach itself. On the way, I took time to question Maude Jackson about everything that might be behind the whole mystery. All I can guess, Chad, is what Jim said a few days ago. Something about he was afraid this other coaching company was out to get our franchise away from us. Well, I don't think I'm unusually abstruse, but I don't see why a stagecoach that suddenly vanishes would have any effect on a franchise. Do you, Chad? Cherokee, you see, if we don't deliver the express and the mail we carry on schedule every day, our franchise can be taken away from us. What do you know about this other company, Maude? Well, to tell you the truth, Chad, not too much. Only what Jim's told me. And what's that? Well, a man who owns the other company named Ten Horse Fanning. He hasn't got much of a reputation. Jim says Fanning was run out of Wyoming not too long ago. Well, even with his bad reputation, unless Mr. Fanning has a reputation for being a magician, I don't see how he could make a stagecoach disappear. Certainly we haven't seen one wheel track in the seven or eight miles we've ridden so far. Well, I hate to be hardheaded about this, Chad. But what makes you insist the stagecoach was swallowed up? Maybe it never even left Baranque Spray. Oh, now nonsense. Something that happened at the other end, Jim or someone would have sent me a telegram? Yes, I see what you mean. But this is ridiculous. Hasn't been ringing so there couldn't be a landslide. Been no earthquake, couldn't have fallen down a hole. And yet the horses came in all by themselves. But we haven't seen a sign of a coach or a mark of its wheels all the way from town. Well, I used to pull tricks standing on the tailboard of my medicine wagon. But I never made a stagecoach disappear. Oh, the only thing you ever made disappear completely is no mystery. Two pints of bourbon. Well, a man needs to keep it. Chad, look up ahead there. Doesn't that look like wheel tracks? It certainly does, Maude. Come on, let's prop up these horses. Get up there, you! Chad, this... Well, this just can't be. It can't be, but it is. Here we are in the middle of a level plain, ten miles wide. The wheel tracks of the stagecoach come right up to this point. Suddenly stop. And there isn't a sign of a footprint or any mark to show what happened to the stagecoach or where it went. I wish I'd have brought one of those pint bottles with me. This is nerve-wracking. Right. I just don't know what to say. The stagecoach got here and then... Well, it's impossible, Chad. It's like the earth had swallowed it up. And still there isn't any sign of any human force having done it. Now, this is about the... Hello. There come two riders. We'd better weigh them down and ask them to pull off the road as they ride through. If there are any signs, their horses could trample them over. Hey, boys! Boys, hold it in the middle, will you? What's the matter? What do you want? Well, would you mind cutting off the road to your right for about a mile? You see, we're checking some wheel tracks. Hey, what do you mean, cut off the road? It's public, ain't it? Well, maybe this long-legged maverick reckons it ain't. Maybe he thinks he took the road over. Mister, I don't relish that kind of talk. And especially, I don't like being called a long-legged maverick. Well, now, ain't that too bad? Covering newt. Right. Are you gonna get out of the road and start letting us through, or are we gonna have to blast you? I ask you politely and peaceably. But if you think you'd prefer it some other way, then that's up to you. What's it, Chad? That other gun slick's thrown down on you dead center. I don't think he's got enough salt to squeeze the trigger. Oh, you don't, huh? Well, you'll make just one... Come on, Cherokee, slap his horse displayings. Quick! Great. Day in the morning, Chad. You shot his gun right out of his hand. And now you? I think you'd better mount up and start riding. Mister, you'll get yours yet. And don't ever forget it. Come on, then. Hearing more about this, believe me, you will. Mister Chad Remington, get up. Ah, Chad, he knew who you are. Do your name and everything. Yeah. That's how I heard. And if you ask me, he's probably right warning us. Knowing who I am can only mean one thing. Our troubles finding that missing stage coach and busting up this whole crooked scheme haven't even started yet. We'll return to the second act of the coach that arrived missing, our exciting Frontier Town adventure in just a few moments. And now Frontier Town. As I said earlier, I'm no detective. Never have been one. And after this experience, I never want to be one. When you come face to face with a set of facts, to which there is absolutely no answer, my advice to you is the same advice I'd give to Cherokee. Go back to bed and sleep it off. But unfortunately, faced with the facts we were faced with, there was no bed to go back to. Right in the middle of nowhere, a stage coach had arrived, stopped, and then without leaving a splinter or a footprint simply vanished. Vanished into no place. And worst of it all was the fact that unless we found out how it had disappeared and why, Maud and Jim Jackson stood to lose the franchise the state had given them to operate their stage coach line. Well, as those two gun slicks rode off after giving us that somewhat cryptic warning, Maud, Cherokee and I stood looking after them. Chad, them two give me the goose pimples. I'm scared. I'm afraid now something might happen to Jim. Well, there's no sense in getting worked up over something that we don't even know about, Maud. Of course, if I had a pint with me, we'd all be better off. How? Will someone please tell me how a stage coach could arrive right here, stop, and then disappear, leaving no trace behind it? Well, maybe they pulled that old engine trick and dragged over the tracks they made after they stopped the stage coach, Chad. I thought of that too, Maud. But nobody dragged this over. You can see the little ridges in the sand that were blown in by the wind. They haven't been disturbed. Well, I'm no oracle or sage, but I think the best thing we can do is get back on our horses and keep riding till we get to Baraka Springs. But what about the coach? We can keep looking for signs of it or something as we ride along. All right, come on. We're eating chip and jellyfish. What happened, Cherokee? What did you do? I gave a big toe into this thing. It's lying here on the ground. What in the world is that? This is a fine one. A thing like this here right in the middle of a virtual desert. You know what this is? Well, I'll be a prohibitionist. Well, that's a monkey wrench, Chad, isn't it? Why all the fuss over a monkey wrench that someone lost? Because the someone who dropped this monkey wrench, Maud, was the gun slick whose horseshoe slapped. And this monkey wrench must have fallen out of his jeans. Well, I still don't get it. I tell you, it's the answer to what happened to the stagecoach. The answer to what happened to the stagecoach? Chad, have you been drinking? No, Maud, far from it. But if I had, I'd sure prescribe it for everybody else. Now, look, this is the only way the stagecoach could have been made to appear to vanish. I'm guessing it a lot of this, but I'll bet you right now that it's right. You bet that what's right? Whoever stopped that stagecoach did it from behind. Using one Larry and a two, they roped them over the horses and forced the driver to stop. Now, Chad, you can't make a stagecoach disappear with Larry. Now listen to this. Since there are no footprints here, one of the men who stopped the coach climbed up the rope hand over hand. Yes? When they tied up the driver and using the ropes, dragged the stagecoach backwards after turning the team loose. Dragged them backwards? Dragged it carefully, right in its original tracks. Then when they got it back, probably a mile or so from here, behind those rocks, they used this monkey wrench and some others, unfastened the nuts and bolts and took the coach apart piece by piece. Piece by piece? Well, that's the only thing that they could have done, Maud. Now that we've gotten this far, the only thing for us to do is to get on our horses and follow those two buzzards who just left here. Why follow them? Because it was one of them who dropped the monkey wrench. And if we're able to pick up their trail, I've got a hunch they can lead us right to Mr. Fanning or whoever it is who wants that stagecoach franchise. Come on. Don't worry about me. All I want is to overtake them too, get to Barranca Springs and see Jim. Well, they can't be too far ahead. You can still see their trail up there leading into that grove of aspens. Just keep rolling. Well, these aren't race horses, you know, Chad. These are livery-stable horses. The rate we're riding them, there won't be enough left of them. Cherokee, are you all right? I can't tell if they get a mirror. I have a feeling that that shot came so close that hereafter I may be wearing a toupee. What in the world brought that on us, Chad? I think those two mavericks found out we were trailing them. They've gotten into the protection of those aspens and they're determined to get us. We'd better get out of here. No, no, hold it. We've got to get through to Barranca Springs. Oh, but we can't, Chad. If we start riding through them trees, they'll probably bury us in there. That reminds you, counselor of an old saying, discretion is the better part of valor. Now look, you and Maude go after the right, throw that drawer and down over that saddle bank. I'll stay here and cover you. If they show their heads trying to follow you, I've got them like clay pigeons. But what's going to happen to you, Chad? You just worry about yourselves. If you get through and I'm lucky enough to join you, you meet me at the covered bridge that crosses Wolf Creek. Now you look here, Chad. We're not going to run off. That's enough, Maude. Now you and Cherokee get going. I'm going to throw just enough lead into those aspen trees to make them keep their heads down. Ours, not the reason why. Ours, just it. Ah, what's the use? Come on, Maude, let's get riding. Well, I guess it was the luck of the Irish, the typical O'Bannon luck. But the half-baked plan I had worked and we all met at the covered bridge at Wolf Creek. Hardly had we gotten into Branca Springs and tied off our horses. Then who should we see coming down the street but our two friends, Newt and Dix, and fortunately they didn't see us. Oh, look at them wall-eyed varmints, Chad. See them? They're heading through that alley next to the saddle shop. And down that alley had better lead to someplace, someplace we want to find. What's that, Chad? I don't see what you mean. I mean if Fanning or someone else actually did hire those two thugs to make it seem that you violated your franchise, then whoever is down that alley is the man they're going to see. And he's the man we want to see, too. But how are we going to find out who it is, Chad? By the simple process of becoming a couple of sleuths. You know what a sleuth is, don't you? Why, naturally. A sleuth is a two-toed animal that hangs from a tree. No, no. Cherokee, in your case, the sleuth not only is going to have two toes but two heads. Well, thank you very much, counselor. That's the nicest. Are you into meaning that I'm a two-headed freak such as they have in museums, pickle? In that last word, you answered your own question, Cherokee. Maude, you go see if you can find your husband. Cherokee and I are taking off down that alley, and when we come back, if we do come back, I'm hoping to have your franchise signed, sealed, and delivered. I don't know about real detectives, but this cow-town detective played a hunch and played it right on the nose to win. Cherokee and I walked on eggs down that alley until we came face-to-face with a heavy-barred door, a door which certainly was the end of any searching we were going to do. But what was behind that door, just outside our reach, was something we strained our ears to find out. While Cherokee bent a horseshoe nail into the form of a pick, I double up my lanky frame and did my best to get my ear to the keyhole. You hear all you want, but there ain't no use in getting your back up at newt and me, Fanning. That's the truth, Fanning. Dicks and me did every last thing you told us to do. Every last thing I told you to. Even to tangling with that tinhorn lawyer, Chad Remington. But how did we know? How do you two know anything? That's what I'd like to know. Let those horses loose. Let's spoil the whole idea. Fanning, we did what we could with the horses. But I ain't seen a horse yet. I'd like to go to the park with a monkey wrench and a screwdriver and make vanish like a stagecoach. Yeah, let me tell you both something. That franchise comes up for renewal tomorrow. If you two smart-johns fixed it so that Jim Jackson's franchise is renewed, and I don't get it, not only ain't I paying you a red cent, but I'm personally going to beat your brains out with it. Who's that? Just cover the pair we met on the road, Cherokee. What do you think of Mr. Fanning? Fanning, that's that lawyer. Shut up. How'd you get that door open? I used to be a hotel detective. Say, that's very music. I mean, the idea of being made in... That's a luxury. Fanning, we heard enough outside that door to put you in these two buzzard you hired behind bars for quite a spell. You break into my office like a sneak thief and you threaten me with jail? Mr. Fanning, I bow to your superior powers of description. But you're going to jail if I have to gun whip you from here to the nearest Marshall's office. All right, keep watching. Next. Now, large your chance. It's going, Cherokee. Next. Come on. All right, Cherokee, now I'll see you flying. This is good. I'm standing here open-mouthed in admiration calling you two fisted. Yes, sir, you certainly locked the stable door on Mr. Ten Horse Fanning. And I think the federal gentlemen will keep the door locked for the next half century to come. Jim, after all, Chad did the catch fanning and save us our franchise. I think in addition to his fee, we ought to give him a partnership in the business. Well, I appreciate the offer, Maude, but I'm afraid it won't work. You see, Cherokee certainly did as much as I did, and, well, there's not enough business for four partners. Well, that's much different from insulting me and saying I have two heads. Dear, what's wrong with two heads, Cherokee? They say it's not enough business for four partners. Two heads, Cherokee. They say that two heads are better than one. Why so they do? Yes, indeed. Yes, indeed. And what's more, Cherokee, with two heads, you'd never have to get a head of yourself. Hey, maybe having two heads would be a distinct advantage. Maybe. Why, for a man with your affinity for sour mash whiskey, think of the help it would be to have two mouths. Now that counselor doesn't. I refuse to have two heads because if I fed both of these mouths drinking liquor, then I'd have two heads to worry about the morning after. Frontier Town, starring Reid Hadley and featuring Wade Crosby, is a Brucell's production. Story and Direction by Paul Franklin, music written and played by Ivan Dithmar. Be sure to be with us again same time next week for another television adventure story with your favorite young western star, Reid Hadley. Now this is Bill Foreman telling you that Frontier Town comes to you from Hollywood.