 Tired of the everyday grind? Ever dream of a life of romantic adventure? Want to get away from it all? We offer you escape. Escape. Designed for you from the four walls of today for a half hour of high adventure. You are standing in a moonlit street of a western cow town. Alone and friendless. While moving slowly down on you, their horses crowding every exit is a band of killers. Each one of whom has been paid to shoot you dead. Listen now as escape brings you Ernest Haycock's unusual story, Wild Jack Rhett. He's born of woman, hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery. He cometh up and he's cut down like a flower. He flyeth as it were a shadow. While we're praying, a couple of you boys start showing some dirt on the shelf. Oh Lord, with whom to live, the spirits of them that be dead, and in whom the soul be dead. And that same evening, a committee of the leading citizens of Red Mesa gathered together at Mayor Wayne's home to decide upon a new sheriff. All right gentlemen, sit down, let's get this set. Gentlemen, we've got to have a sheriff, Todd Mallon and his kind can't kill. We need the toughest gunfighter available. And I want to propose we send for man some of you may have heard of, Jack Rhett. Just a minute, Mayor Wayne, let me speak. All right, go ahead, Bo Helen. Gentlemen, I run a saloon and I run it for the only men who bring any money at all into Red Mesa. Cow punches coming up the Chisholm Trail with Texas cattle. If you give them Jack Rhett instead of a little fun, I and the rest of this town will go broke. We'll chance that, Bo Helen, we'll chance that. Chance it. What about Matt Trevner, what's he got to say? I've nothing to say, gentlemen. The U.S. Deputy Marshal for the district, my job is strictly outside Red Mesa. You know anything about Jack Rhett Trevner? Just by reputation. He's a professional town tamer. I've heard he's the most cold-blooded killer that ever drew a gun. Trevner's right. We can't afford a man like that here because... He sure can't. That'll end in two months. Now let's put it to a vote. All in favor of sending for Jack Rhett, raise the right hand. Five to one. Matter settled, gentlemen. Good night. You'll wait and see Mary, Trevner? You don't mind, Mayor. Of course, of course. She'll be out in a minute. Yeah, Bo Helen's pretty mad, but after Jack Rhett's here for a while, at least there'll be less gunfighting. There'd be less anyway if Todd Mellon were out of the way. But he's a hard man to catch. Yeah, you've done all you can, Trevner. Good evening, Father. Hello, Matt. Good evening, Father. Hello, Mary. Well, Matt Trevner, aren't you going to kiss me? Well, sure. Your mother, God rest her soul, didn't behave like that when we were engaged. Are the war changed things, Father? Yes, I know, but not for the better. Well, I'm off to bed. Don't stay up too late now. Good night. Good night, dear. Good night. You look worried, Matt. Do I? Tell me about it. Well, it's just that they're sent in for a new sheriff, a legal killer named Rhett. He has quite a reputation, and there'll always be men to challenge it. That means more gunfighting. Is that it? I'm afraid so. It's a bloody way to peace, Mary. I know. Well, let's not worry about it now. Come on, I'll fix some coffee for us. Three weeks later, Wild Jack Rhett rode into Red Mesa. He was 38 and at the peak of his reputation. He stood well over six feet, better than 200 pounds of plain sinew. Taune blonde hair grew long in the frontier style, and his features were boldly aquiline. He was a picturesque man, until one looked at his eyes, which were large and pale blue, and had the disconcerting trick of remaining too steadily on people. There was to be seen in them the suggestion of inhumanity. He sent word to the committee that he would meet them at the mayor's office that evening. Well, it's eight o'clock now. Where is he? He's in town. That's bad enough. Now, be a sport boy, Ellen. We took a fair vote on Rhett. You'll learn the answer. Here he comes. Here he comes. My name is Jack Rhett. I have your offer. I'm Peter Wayne, mayor of Red Mesa. Do you accept it? That depends on what you want. Tell me. Well, Rhett, this is a difficult town. The Chisholm Trail lies just across the river, and we get most of our money from the riders passing through with Texas cattle. Now, we want them to have a decent time for their money, but we don't like a lot of gunplay and killing. I've always been accustomed to complete authority, mayor. I presume to know my job and I won't have interference. Well, that's agreed, Rhett. Oh, by the way, the last sheriff had a rule that riders leave their hardware at his office. He had trouble enforcing it. Poor rule. Let them pack their guns. He gives the wild ones a fair chance at you. I never give a man a fair chance at me. Is that all, gentlemen? Bow Helen Saloon was the usual dead Paul with a huge bar along one side of the room and gaming tables toward the rear. Next morning, Bow Helen stood tapping the mahogany of the bar with his fingertips and staring thoughtfully at nothing. Good morning, Bow Helen. It's noon, Samus. Draw me a beer, Mike. Where's the new sheriff, Bow Helen? Right over there at the corner table, came in just before you did. Oh? Bar Keith, bring me a cigar and a glass of rye. Now he's going to clean and reload his six guns one at a time. My god, he is. How'd you know? It's an old gunman's trick to impress the citizens. But there's no one here. Oh, except you and me. It's to impress me. Oh. Well, goodbye, Bow Helen. Mike. You've got something to say to me, Bow Helen. Yes. Yes, I have. You're smart, Red. I recognize that. But your record for killing is too severe. My business depends on an open town. The reform element got you and I'll go along for now. Just remember one thing. I can break you, Red, anytime. I was waiting for that, Bow Helen. I guess we understand each other. Hey, look, Matt. Just a morning's ride. Matt, here's Jack, Red. Red is Matt Travenner, U.S. deputy marshal for the district. Glad to know you're Red. You're young. Don't be misled. Red, your job is in town. Mine is everything outside. So I'll either back you up here in Red Mesa or leave you strictly alone. I'll handle Red Mesa. All right. One more thing. I want Todd Mellon. He comes to town again. He'll have to be taken. Will you do that or shall I? What is he? Outlaw. His main line is plain robbery. Now I want him for killing Jim Speed. Let me handle Mellon. Why? Killing is my trade. Man doesn't live with enough animal instinct to get me. Maybe. But to kill you would build a man's reputation considerably. Just so. Well, good luck, Red. There was peace for a full week in Red Mesa, and then on Saturday night, Matt Travenner's prediction came true. Jack Red was at his customary post, just opposite Bo Helen Saloon, sitting in a chair on the porch of the Chinook Hotel, obscured by the shadows and watching the crowd. His cold pale eyes half concealed by cigar smoke. Trouble found him thus. Good evening, ma'am. Good evening, Sheriff. Oh, cowboy. That's a lot of killing for one sheriff. It's free men. I don't like it. Well, forget it, friend. Have a drink and forget it. You're Bo Helen, ain't you? That's right. You come on, I'll have one in the house. Mike, pick him up. I can't pay for my own. He never gave him a chance. What kind of sheriff you got stands in his shadow and kills one man and then jumps 50 feet in his gun, flashing shoots down two more? Those boys never had a chance at you. Drink or drink, cowboy. I was the most merciless killer I ever seen. He's a butcher. I wish I had a ch- This is my game. They were fools to play it. Never buck a man who spent his life learning to kill, son. Get out of town. Get out now. Don't try it, son. Don't let your anger destroy you. Drift. Go on, drift. Blast your town. I can hold my thirst to another 200 miles up the trail. Come on, boys. We'll send word back to Texas to go round, Red Mason. Let it dry to power. It won't do, Red. It'll do, Bo Helen. Barkeep, bring me a glass of rye on the house. Red stood with his back to the bar, holding his drink and a thin black cigar carefully in one hand. He stood there for about 10 minutes. Then trouble came again. It's Tom Mullen. He's riding in with four men. Close the games. Open the back doors. Well, Jack, Red, now let's see you shoot down Tom Mullen and four men from the shadows. Good night, Bo Helen. We will return to escape in just a moment, but first, have you given any thought to joining the Civilian Ground Observer Corps? Without trying to scare anyone, intercontinental warfare is now a mechanical possibility, and the atom bomb is in potential enemy hands. Contact your local Civilian Defense Office and volunteer for the Ground Observer Corps. And now, back to escape. Word came to Bo Helen's saloon that Tom Mullen was riding into Red Mesa with four men. Jack Red simply walked out, crossed the street to his office, sat down and waited. 20 minutes later, Tom Mullen had arrived and departed and not a shot fired. Then Jack Red went quietly to bed. But early Sunday morning, he was back in his office. Come in. Good morning, Red. Well, Travenner, there's talk, Red. I expect that. Red, you told me you'd handle Mullen if he came to town. Yes, Travenner. Well, they say Mullen rode into town last night with four men. Rode right up to this office, got down and came inside. That you and he stood here with this desk between you, talking. And that a few minutes later, Mullen left and rode out of town. I play the game my own way, Travenner. I don't want any fearants. Mainly, buddy. People are saying maybe you and Mullen made a deal of some kind, and it... Well, now, somebody's breaking the Sabbath. Know who it could be, Travenner? No, I don't. It's a rifle. Sounds like one of those seven-shot Spencer's. And it's old Hack Crow. Who's he? An old trapper. Comes to town every few months, sells his furs, and gets drunk. Goes a little crazy. Jim Speed always laid him in jail to sober. Yeah, I'll take a look. You better stop him, Red. He's only got two shots left, but I'll satisfy him. And I doubt if he'll reload. And if he notices us and decides to shoot... Then I'll have to kill him. Who's that coming out of Bo Helen's? He walled Bay. Gambler. He's a fool. Hack killed Bay. Ain't you gonna stop him, Red? Let him go. Red, the town is your territory, and I won't interfere. But why did you refuse a fair shot at Hack Crow? He walled Bay is dead. Which is the more useful citizen, Travenner? Crow or Bay? West is full of gamblers. There was considerable talk that day in Red Mesa over Jack Rhett's aloof and cruel calm in condoning a shooting that had occurred under his very eyes within reach of his formidable guns. Then, mid-afternoon, a writer came up from the prairie and reported finding old Hack Crow dead in a coolly. Dry gulched and robbed. Mayor Wayne heard about it and went to Bo Helen's saloon to hear more. Well, good evening, Mayor. Hello, Bo Helen. Shot of Brandy. Look at your great Jack Rhett now, Mayor. It looks bad. Oh, now look, Mayor, everyone knew Hack Crow carried his profits in his pocket. He always did that. So Rhett allowed him to leave, and Todd Mallon and his men were waiting for him in the coolly. It's as simple as that. We have no proof of that, Bo Helen. Oh, no? Now, why didn't Rhett take Mallon when he rode in here last night? Because they made a business arrangement, that's why. Well, it doesn't look good, but... I don't want to talk to Rhett yet. I'm leaving. Good night, Bo Helen. Good night, Mayor. Give me that Rhett. I'll take him over to the sheriff myself. Here's your drink, sheriff. Mind if I sit down? Game never changes, Bo Helen. I know what you're going to say. I warned you I could break your Rhett. No story to me. Every town's got one insider who plays along with the outlaws. I knew you would be that one here when I first saw you running a saloon you'd know when a cattle buyer was riding out of town carrying specie when the overland stage was loaded with gold. But there was a quarrel over the split of profits between you and Mallon, and you fell apart. That's always the way. It's an old story, Bo Helen. I know it by heart. Very shrewd, Rhett, but you can't play the same game. All sheriffs are supposed to be crooked. You and Mallon had an agreeable little chat last night. Did he make you a good offer, Rhett? Maybe I should accept this offer, Bo Helen, just to keep you two split. Maybe I should do that. Rhett, I've seen sheriffs come and go. It's a chancey trade. Sheriffs die. They all die. It's only a question of time. You're a hard one, Jack. You make your peace with Mallon. Otherwise, you'll have little chance of getting rid of me, Bo Helen. It may be that way. I would not be surprised. I always expect the worst of men. And them seldom disappointed. It was turning dark as Jack Rhett left Bo Helen's loom. Crossing the street, he walked into his office, but continued on out through the back door. A few minutes later, he stood in the gathering shadows opposite the OK Stable and watched Bo Helen ride out and drift into the prairie to the south. He knew now what to expect. It would happen soon. Perhaps tomorrow. He returned to his office and slept the night there. Well, good morning. Rhett, I want you to meet Mary Wayne. Miss Wayne, very proud. I wanted to know you. To meet him, Mary. Not to know him. Rhett lives in a closed world. You see that? I have no friends. We're to be married on Thursday, Mr. Rhett. I should like you to be there. I'd be most happy. Thank you. Mary, will you wait outside? I have some business to discuss with a sheriff. Of course, Matt. Don't be long. Goodbye, Mr. Rhett. Goodbye, Miss Wayne. Rhett, this afternoon I'm leaving to find Todd Mellon. You had your chance and you let him go. Wait, Travenner. Wait. I've tried patience, Rhett. I'm a poor hand. Travenner, you have a fine girl. It is not presuming let me congratulate you and compliment her. Thank you. Is that all? I'll take care of Mellon. Rhett, I want to believe you. No man wearing a star should believe anybody. It's a weakness, haven't I told you? I'm blessed if I quite understand you, Rhett. Then understand this. Every man has his time. When it comes, he knows it. There's no turning back. Nothing makes any difference then. Except to stand up to the finish and go out in decent style. Yet you're the man who never believes in giving another man a break. Don't try to understand me. Do you want help with Mellon? I have no faith in help. Coming, Mellon. Wait, Travenner. I'll suggest this much. Take one man and ride due north to where the cattle trail crosses Tempus Creek. Be there tonight. You understand? Rhett, I'd hate to oppose you. If you did, you'd lose. I've been 15 years at this, Travenner, which is five years beyond average luck. That evening, Jack Rhett took up his post on the porch of the Chinook Hotel. Dressed in his best. A suit of black broadcloth swelling around the big gun compromising shoulders. A hard white shirt and a blood red Windsor tie. He sat there calm behind the smoke of his cigar, waiting. Didn't Rhett? Oh, hello, Mayor Wayne. Oh, Mayor, have you seen Travenner? He rode north this afternoon. He'll be back tomorrow, he said. Oh, good. Oh, it's a shadow! Here I am. Rhett, listen. I just come up South Creek. And Todd Mellon and six men were only a quarter mile behind me, heading into town. All right, friend. Take cover. Yes, take a look. Rhett stood up and moved into the shadow at the end of the hotel porch. Across the street, Bo Helen appeared in the full glow of the doorway of his salon. Come out of the dark and meet your friends, Jack Rhett. What are you afraid of? Tell me, Mellon, riding in to see you. Thieves fall out, but the urge for profits bring them together again. You should have known it, Rhett. Nothing surprises me. It's a surprise to find you exposing your great reputation right out there in the middle of the street. Every man has his time. Want to try it, Bo Helen? Or will you wait for help? I'll wait. The arriving horses came up into the moonlit street and hauled it at the corner of the saloon. Bo Helen's hand lifted toward the group, and at that order, the horsemen spread out until they were flank to flank all across the street. Todd Mellon advanced from the line and stopped, square and alert above the saddle. Jack Rhett stood alone in the middle of the street, his eyes flashing a hard jury. Then he dropped his cigar and ground it beneath the boot. It was a final gesture. How are you, Mellon? Goodbye, gentlemen. And next day, Red Mesa buried some more men out on the hill and talked to Jack Rhett, who was more of a mystery to them now than when living. To all of them but one, Matt Travner. Nobody knows a killer's world, Mary. There wasn't any room in Jack Rhett for much pity, but he set me away to save me from what he knew was coming. I think that was a kindness, though I had no fear. It was a fine thing for him to do, Matt. But they say he stood in the middle of the street to face them all in the light. Why? It wasn't his style. As long as he was sure of himself, he never gave anybody an even chance, Mary. But killers live and die by instinct. And somewhere along the evening, he got the warning. After that, it was just a matter of pride. And he killed Mallon and Bo Helen before he died. Standing up in a good style. That's a sort of greatness, isn't it? Under the direction of Norman McDonnell, Escape has brought you Wild Jack Rhett by Ernest Haycox, adapted by John Meston and starring John Daner. The narrator was Parley Bear. Featured in the cast were Harry Bartel, Lawrence Dobkin, Georgia Ellis, Howard McNeer, Herb Ellis, Peter Leeds, and Luke Krugman. The special music for Escape is composed and conducted by Leith Stevens next week. You are standing in inky blackness, looking up a long flight of stairs, at the top of which looks something unbelievably evil. While in the moving shadows behind you, coming closer to you is the shadowy figure of something that could only come from a nightmare. So listen next week, when Escape brings you Anthony Ellis's terrifying story, I Saw Myself Running. Suspense stars Victor Moutour in a saga of violence and revenge. Be sure to hear suspense on most of the same CBS radio stations. Roy Rowan speaking. This is the CBS...