 Family Theater presents Sally Forrest and Walter Brennan. The mutual broadcasting system in cooperation with Family Theater brings you Walter Brennan in the luck of roaring camp. To introduce the transcribed drama, here is your hostess, Sally Forrest. Thank you, Tony LaFranco. Before we launch into Bret Hart's famous classic, a word about Family Theater. Family Theater is on the air each week with a reminder of that inexhaustible source of blessings, family prayer. Encouraging all of us to pray for peace in our time, peace in our world. And now swiftly to the luck of roaring camp, starring Walter Brennan as Stumpy. Remember that Saturday night in June 1850? Very well. It was just last year. And as I strolled into Tuttle's Grocery, the saloon, I found it dessert. Well, for Saturday night, mind you, this was most unusual. And since I'm always minded for a little game of chance, I'm John O'Kers, the gambler. I left Tuttle's to learn what had happened to the citizens. I found just about the whole camp some hundred men grouped before a rude cabin on the outer edge of a clearing. It was the home of the one woman in roaring camp, Jeriki Sal. Trouble always comes a having a woman in camp. I always was again it. That's enough, buddy, you can talk. Things are rough enough on Sally's tits. He thinks you get through safe enough? She hates the first woman to have a baby sandy and likely not to be the last. Anyone care to make a bet on the sex of the child? Oh, Kirst. Oh, what are your odds, gambling? I'll lay you one to four, it's a girl. Blonde or brunette? I'll lay you one to six, it's a redhead. Not me. You can't beat the gambler no matter what odds he gives you. Tails, he wins, heads, you win. Hey, say, maybe we ought to send over to Sandy Hook for Sal's husband. Him? Probably hung by now. Would you like to bet on that? No. Any man who don't stand by when his wife's going to have a baby ought to be hung. Maybe we ought to hang him. We could ride over that way tonight, string him up before morning. There you are. Well, I'll be. A baby, a real baby, the first one to be born in Roaring Camp. Well, what are we waiting for? Let's celebrate. You're a ruckus, boys. Uh-huh. Sal's dead. Oh, that's too bad. But the kid, what about the kid? You don't know whether we can save him or not. He needs food, bad. Food? Well, there's plenty of that. We can rustle him up a steak, and maybe a little whiskey might perk him up, sir. He needs milk. Milk? Where are we going to get milk in Roaring Camp? Yeah. Say, Chin-Tuck, what about that female jackass you got? My Ginny, the same. Well, now, she did have a young one just recently. Romulus and Remus, recycled by a wolf. Who? Never mind. Hey, hey, hey, hey. That's a cry for help if I ever hear it, one. See what you can do with Ginny, boys, while I keep an eye on the kid. And hurry. Ah. Ginny was most obliged. And it wasn't long before Cherokee Sal's infant was fed and sleeping peacefully in a candle box, which Stumpy had fixed up with red flour. It was about 3.30 in the morning, huh? Sal lay still and quiet under a blanket on a bunk. But the boys clamored to see the newest arrival in camp. So Stumpy, with new dignity, set the candle box on the pine table and his hat beside it, brim up. Boys, you'll pass in at the front door around the table and out the back door. Them as wishes to contribute anything to the orphan will find my hat handy. Well, seeing as it's your hat, Stumpy, how do we know the orphan will get the contribution? If I'm going to steal Chin-Tuck, I'll steal from a grown man and not a baby. Filing, boys. Take a good look and pay well for the look. Hey, is that him? He's a mighty small specimen. I never saw one so lately, come. Hey, he wrinkled for such a young thing. Ain't much bigger than a derringer. Not half to handy. What you expect, Chin-Tuck? Maybe use a figure and put them to work on your claim right away, huh? Now, look. You went and woke him up. What? Why, the darn little cuss. He's a rascal and with my finger. Look at that. Kentucky is actually blushing. Oh, blushing? Me? That's enough, boys. You're all through looking and contributing. Why, just go along quiet now. All except you can tuck me. Well, why can't I go along too? I've seen him enough. Well, as long as you're so darned worried about who's going to get the contributions, you just stay here and count them with me, just to make sure everything's square and leave. Oh. Don't need to go to sleep. You ain't bothering you, nuns. See, we already counted up some $200 loose change. Now, let's see what we've got here in the way of losing. Well, look at here, silver tobacco box. Silver? And what's this? A Spanish doubloon. Pure gold. And this here's a navy revolver. Well. Now, don't go to get Nietzsche fingers. Who's getting Nietzsche? You wanted me to count, didn't you? Yeah, as long as you let it stay counting. Here's a gold nugget. Gee, it's a good big one. Look, that'll buy the kid Vittlesford spell. Yeah, and it can buy some grain for Ginny. As long as he's drinking the milk of my jackass, it can turn well-paid for some of the feed. Yeah, and as long as Ginny don't mind, can't see what you got to kicking about. What do you know? Look here, his lady's handkerchief. All embroidered. Oh, sweet smelling. Yeah, that'll be from O'Cursed. He's one gambler who's as lucky at love as he is at cards. Hey, is that Sal's diamond brooch? Yeah, yeah, it's Sal's. I put that in the hat first of all. Who's got more right to it than a kid? Did I say no? Yeah, they are now. Showing how, kid, you're all safe and snug. Here we are. Look, slingshot. That'll come in handy for him when he's a mite bigger. A Bible. Gold spur. Wonder where each other one is. Silver teaspoon with some strange initials. And looky here, Kintuck. He's a pair of surgeon shears in the bank note of England. Five pounder. A lot of good, that's going to do him. But this will do a heap of good. Your ring, Stumpy. Why, I thought a man'd have to cut your hand off to get that ring. A man would, Kintuck, but I'll give it to the kid. You know, when I was in here with Sal, when he was born, I had a feeling like I never had before. There was a soul being born right here before my eyes. I aimed to take good care of that soul, Kintuck. And Sal's brutes pushed me in mind. And my ring, and I just went, are two diamonds better. The next day, we laid Sal to rest on Boothill. And then held a meeting to decide the infant's future. Roaring camp was unanimous in adopting the boy, but there was some difference of opinion as to his reason. Well, now, I tell you, I still say we ought to send the kid away. Roaring camp ain't no nursery. We could send him to Red Dog until he gets a little meat on him. Red Dog, that's 40 miles away. Sure it is, but it's got females, and he needs females to take care of him, Stumpy. He's being took care of by a female. What about Ginny? Send him to Red Dog. Oh, wait a minute now. Sal's young and stays here in Roaring Camp. Well, I'm all for that. Why, them fellows at Red Dog would swap them and bring in somebody else in us when we wanted him back. Yeah, you know you can't trust him. Look, what about sending for a nurse? Nurse? You mean a female? Of course. No siri. What lady had come to Roaring Camp? She got no more business here than this kid. Now listen here, everybody, especially you, Kintuck. Cherokee Sal's kid was born here in Roaring Camp, and he's going to stay here. We can send a Sacramento for his necessaries. The best it can be had, too, lace and filigree and frills and during the cost. That's it. And strange to say, thrived mightily. Nature took the fondling to a broad and generous breast, and in the rare atmosphere of our Sierra Foothills, pungent with pine, the child found health and vitality. But after a month passed, a new crisis arose. Stumpy called another meeting. This time, the boy was present, smiling from his rough pine box. Now, what do you call us here for, Stumpy? Want some more contributions? No, I don't want no more contributions, Kintuck. Then what is it you do want, old timer? This young man's got to have a proper name. What do you say, old curse? You got education. What do you say we call the sales baby? Well, the child has brought plenty of luck to Roaring Camp, hasn't he? Well, I'll say he has. We've took more gold out of the gulk since he came in the whole year before. Say, that's right. We're in bonanza times. Then what do you say we christen him? To what to him? Name him, Stumpy. What do you say we call him luck? Luck, luck. Everybody should have a proper name, as Stumpy said. In the boy's case, it's better to take a fresh deal all around. Call him luck and start him fair. Luck, say, that is a good name. Well, we'll do this here, christen up, Brown. Have music parade a real rocket. Long as you're sent on, letting him stay might as well make it worthwhile. Let Roaring Camp live up to its name. That's it, let it roll. You bring plenty of liquor along to celebrate. Won't you, Kentucky? I'll load Jenny up with liquid refreshment. There won't be such a wing, Dinkson's, Frisco, Peat Shot, Kanaka, Joe. Yeah, we'll sing for the kid, two boys, mighty sweet, once we went all whistled. You bet we will. There's a fine place for singing under the shade trees by the clearing. I'll stick Jenny out there and unlimber them refreshments that I spoke of. An orchestra can set there, too. Not so fast, Sandy, not so fast. And you, too, Kentucky. What about me? There'll be no liquor served at the luxe, christenin. That's right, have you gone crazy? Now, it ain't my style to spoil your fun, boys, but it strikes me this ain't exactly on the square. What are you talking about? It's a fair and square christenin, ain't it? That's right, it is. And I'm his godfather. Then you ought to know best it ain't right to ring in fun on this little fella, and he ain't going to understand it. He's going to be any godfather's running around here, loose. I'd like to see anybody who's got a better right than me. Oh, oh, oh. Jenny. Ah! So Tommy Luck was duly christened. From that time on, a strange thing began to happen in Roaring Camp. You might say a sort of regeneration. Naturally, the cabin of the luck of the baby gave the first evidence of this miracle of improvement. Come on now. Yeah, I move with that strubbing, boys. New sandy. Mix up some more whitewash, will you? My bucket's about empty. Well, come on right up, Stumpy. Oh, y'all calling it Stumpy. I ain't never worked so hard not even on my gold frame. You only just begun to work, Chin-Tuck. After this cabin's all cleaned and whitewashed, it's going to get wallpapered. Wallpapered. And we're going to make new furniture, too. Now, what's the matter with the crunchy you got? Ain't Luck Rosewood cradle enough? Hacking it in 80 miles by mule. Never heard of such a thing. Well, that's the trouble. That cradle sort of kills the rest of furniture. We've got to live up to that Rosewood cradle. Yeah, well, you live up to it. I'm again the whole thing. Why, Tuttle's groceries, even putting new mirrors and carpets in him. It's a disgrace. Carpets in a saloon. Well, let me tell you, even with the carpets, Tuttle's can't buck our competition. What competition? I don't see you handing out any free drinks. Don't have to. The boys would rather come here and play with the luck than sit around playing cards and drinking whiskey, which reminds me, Chin-Tuck. Reminds you of what? From now on, anyone who holds luck or even comes into this here cabin, he's got to be washed and wearing a clean shirt. Oh, now, now, Stumpy, that's a going too far. It's the law. You want to come near luck, you've got to come clean. Who said I wanted to come near him? I did. I did. Well, it's going to be an awful strain, but I'll think it over. And Chin-Tuck did think it over. And though he grumbled plenty, he appeared at Luck's cabin every afternoon after working his claim, clean and sparkling under, wearing a fresh shirt. But that wasn't the only drastic change to come over, Roaring Cam. Yeah, oh! Come on, boys, let's crack it loose today. Hit it with an amputee. You want to wake up the luck? This is nap time. I'm saying you dealt from the bottom of the deck, Camerick. Then go for your gun. Reach for the use. Stumpy. Keep out of this. It's an affair of honor. Honour be hanged. I won't have the luck scared out in his witch. If you so sit and kill each other, I use knives, but there'd be no shooting. Fearing camp was considerably changed. It was a long golden summer. Tommy Luck was usually carried to the gulch that supplied most of the camp's gold and placed on a blanket over pine boughs. He lay there as the men worked in the ditches below. After a while, he got to decorating his bower with wild honey suckles, azaleas, and the painted blossoms of Las Mariposas. Yes, for the first time, the boys, myself included, were seeing the beauty of small things. Hi there, Luck. How you doing? Hey, looky here, this piece of Micah, ain't it pretty? That's right, grab it. You got the makings of a miner already. Yeah, well, it's no thanks to you, Sandy. Oh, what's the matter with you, Stumpy? I won't have you giving the luck any fools gold. Oh, you're a local. He don't know the differ. Yeah, well, he won't learn no younger. If you want him to admire something, why don't you just fetch him a nugget or gold dust? But don't you fool around with Micah, fools gold. You might teach him bad habits. Crept up to the bank just now, and during my skin, if the luck weren't talking to a jaybird, as was sitting on his lap. Ken Tuck, you been sampling spirits again? No, sir, I have not. I'm telling you the honest truth. There they was, just as free and sociable as anything you please, and jawing away at each other just like two cherry-bums. Ken Tuck, does you telling me this mean you're just a kind of cotton to the little fellow at last? He? No, sir. I just thought it was a real remarkable jaybird that tamed. Yes, for Tommy Luck, the birds sang, the squirrels chatted, and the flowers blew. Nature was his nurse and playfellow. For him, she sifted golden shafts of sunlight through the leaves to fall just within his pudgy grasp. To him, the tall redwoods nodded and whispered in friendship. The bumblebees buzzed and the rooks caught a lullaby. And the rooks weren't the only birds to sing the luck to sleep. Here on the soapbox, as everybody can see, the man says his big gray eyes. Now, here we are. Say, how did everyone look? Birds to say. All ten to ten, boys. Well seen is how we all hit such good times in Roaring Camp all summer. And seen is how the luck is growing like a weed. I propose that we build a hotel here in Roaring. Hotel, what for? Jack Rabbit to say ten? No can talk. We're thinking of inviting one or two decent families into town next spring. Families? Females again? Naturally. They live at the hotel. Luck can't grow up without knowing what a woman looks like. Well, he's doing a mighty good job of it right now. Let him stay happy while he can. Look here, you get them all around. That would such talk. What about me getting riled up? When I was in Roaring Camp long before the luck coming along, I put up with him so far. Ain't that changing shirts and a washin'? And that's all right. But when it comes to building hotels and important families and females, I put my foot down. Oh, wait a minute. I know it's asking considerable kintuck, but we all got to make some sacrifices for the luck sake. Fears like you could stand some soft and female influence kintuck. Myself, I think it would be a welcome change in Roaring Camp. You always was a ladies' man, old first. Donating that embroidered female handkerchief the day that luck was born, why, such a thing could ruin him for life. Now, look, we won't build a hotel with spring kintuck. Maybe you'll sweeten up on that idea by then. Oh, sir, not by spring, summer, winter, or fall. I'll never feel different about females. Not even for the luck. You must learn to accept change, kintuck. Well, maybe I can learn plenty, but not from a yearling kid, gambler. Oh, now I lost a guy. Sounds like you can learn plenty from the luck. And I see you're all against me. And I never thought I'd live to see the day when a squall and brat had come between me and my old partners. Now, kintuck, you just listen to me. Now, you listen. Go on and build your fancy hotel. Import your darned females. Run anything else in here, you please, for all I care. But kintuck won't be around to see it. You don't mean you'd be leaving Roaring Camp? Yes, I mean just that. The times come for a showdown. And if you're set on this crazy idea, then I'll pack Ginny and light out. From now on, Roaring Camp ain't big enough to hold me and the luck. Kintuck's bitter ultimatum was the first chill wind to strike the camp. And it brought more misfortune. The winter of 1850 will long be remembered in the foothills. The snow lay deep on the Sierras, and every mountain creek became a river, and every river a lake. Each gorge and gulch was transformed into a tumultuous watercourse that descended the hillsides, tearing down giant trees, and scattering drift and debris along the plain. And as the terror drew near Roaring Camp. Hey, Stumpy. Stumpy, open up. You? You, kintuck? Yeah, now get your clothes on. What you mean, coming here at this time of the night? Want to wake up to luck? Oh, hang the luck. You and him got to clear out of here. Since when? Red dogs been underwater the second time. News just come into Warren Roaring Camp. If North Park jumps the bank, we'll all swim. Well, this is a pleasure to hear. Kintuck worrying about the luck. Listen, Stumpy, water put the gold in our gutches, and it can turn well. Take it out again. Kintuck, you've been shooting your mouth off around here considerable about other things. You said you was going to pick Jenny and clear out of here, and went ahead with plans for the young'n. Well, seeing as you're worried about getting your feet wet, I can't think of a better time for you to just mosey on. Come on, forget the past, Stumpy. I'm telling you, better get out of here. Hey, Moose Kintuck, you wake up to luck. A North Fork overflowed its banks, and the darkness rushed with the water blotting out everything. When morning came, Stumpy's cabin was gone. The pride, the joy, the hope, the luck of Roaring Camp was gone with it. Kintuck's missing, too. We only could have got to him in time. Our luck's gone. I'm leaving, too. What's left? I think I'll head for Pooker Flath. I hear it's high and dry there. Might as well all leave. Nothing left here for us anymore. Listen, is that the? Luck, do you think? Come on, it's close. Luck, I see his dress. It is the luck. He's alive. Hey, in true land, it's Stumpy. But Kintuck is holding a bae. Quick, drag him out of the water for their drink. Better, Kintuck. Where am I? Not where you belong. That's for sure, you old goat. You're alive. And the luck? You saved him. You are people. But he saved us, pardon me. By yelling bloody murder, before we swallowed the whole of the North Fork. No. Yeah. You believe in the luck now, Kintuck? Yeah. In the hotel and females? Even them. You hear that, Luck? Son, I reckon you got two godfathers now. This is Sally Forrest again. Out at the studio the other day, while we were waiting to score a new picture, one of the musicians who was explaining the various keys, modes, and musical effects told me a little anecdote. It seems that a musician had made an early appointment with Brahms at the home of the master. He arrived there, was shown in by a servant, who explained that Brahms was still sleeping and that he did not wish to disturb him. After waiting a polite interval, during which Brahms did not appear, the visitor went to the piano and struck a single loud minor chord, like this. Now anyone who has ever studied music knows that a minor key mirrors anxiety and tension and that a minor chord suggests incompletion. It just begs for a satisfactory resolution. Although he was still asleep, Brahms heard the minor chord as it crashed into his subconscious and went ringing and ringing there. With an uneasy starty awoke, still no major chord. He hastily dressed, rushed downstairs, hastened to the piano and struck the major chord like this. Well, that little anecdote gave me a thought on prayer. Sometimes our whole uneasy lives are like minor chords, full of anxiety, tension, frustration. But through union with God, which we achieve through prayer, there never need be a sense of incompletion. The major resolving chord is a few simple words. O Lord, thy will be done. Family theater again reminds us. The family that prays together stays together. More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of. Walter Brennan in the lock of Roaring Camp. Sally Forrest was your hostess. Ralph Moody was heard as Ken Tuck. Others in our cast were Ted DeCossier, Tom Holland, Len Beardsley, Marion Richmond, and Billy Barkham. The radio adaptation of Bret Hart's classic was by Virginia M. Cook with music composed and conducted by Harry Zimmerman and was directed for family theater by Joseph F. Mansfield. This series of family theater broadcasts is made possible by the thousands of you who feel the need for this type of program by the mutual network which responds to this need and by the hundreds of stars of stage screen and radio who give so unselfishly of their time and talent to appear on our family theater stage. To them and to you, our humble thanks. This is Tony LaFranco expressing the wish of family theater that the blessing of God may be upon you and your home and inviting you to be with us next week at the same time when family theater will present Jack Benny and Lucille Ball in the Golden Touch. Join us, won't you? Family theater is broadcast throughout the world and originates in the Hollywood studios of the world's largest network. The Mutual Broadcasting System.