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In Dodge City and in the territory on West, there's just one way to handle the killers
and the spoilers, and that's with a U.S. Marshal and the smell of Gun Smoke.
Gun Smoke, starring William Conrad, the transcribed story of the violence that moved West with
young America, and the story of a man who moved with it.
I'm that man, Matt Dillon, United States Marshal, the first man they look for and the last they
want to meet.
It's a chancy job, and it makes a man watchful and a little lonely.
Quiet, neighbors.
Quiet now.
Oh, my land, Mr. Dillon, I think the Parson's going to make the funeral speech.
Yeah, it looks that way, all right.
I declare, if I have to listen to any of that gone-to-glory talk, I'll just bust a gallows.
Well, they can't last too long, Chester.
Now, quiet down, folks, we've got to show the proper respect for this here chap that's deceased.
Matt?
Oh, Matt.
What?
Oh, Doc.
This is the first time I've ever seen you at one of these boot-hill parties.
Well, I imagine you attend regular, though, don't you, Doc, seeing as you've put so many
of them here.
No more than you have, Matt.
No more than you have.
Hey, you fellas down there in the hole.
That's deep enough.
We ain't going to plan him standing.
All right, neighbors, huddling close now.
Let's keep an eye on the kind of sender.
Oh, Reverend Blouse sure does love the sound of his own voice.
He gets a three-dollar fee for this, Chester.
Oh, see, Matt, you really have a reason for being here?
Yeah, I have, Doc, but I don't know just what to do about it.
All right, folks, I come out here to boot-hill for the same reason the rest of you come.
So we can pay our last respects to a fellow neighbor we know and love, Packie Roundtree.
I can't recall I ever seen Packie at any of my meetings.
Never seen many of the rest of you there for that matter.
But I still looked on him like all of you did, as a fine, upstanding, courageous, god-fearing
gentleman.
Good, honest, hard-working.
A credit to Dodge City and the whole dog-gone country roundabout.
Is he talking about old Packie Roundtree, Mr. Durham?
That's what he said.
Yeah, but Packie wasn't nothing but a measly, miserable, deceptive old grub-staker.
Oh, that swabby was alive, Chester.
...and safe-bedding down in that happy hunting ground where all the yearning tore.
Well, I've got a long journey ahead of me, folks, so let's get him started on his way.
You fellas that's going to be pallbearers, get your old troop gun to the end of that
coffin, we'll put him down jet-light.
Now, Doc, did you ever hear of a sawbones over at Walnut Springs by the name of Sterns?
No.
Why?
Because that's who signed the death certificate.
Well, it must have been some doctor who was just passing through.
Yeah, maybe.
Something eating you, Matt?
Yeah, Doc.
All together now, boys.
We lift him up, lower him into the grave, and then slip the rope.
Just a minute, Parson.
Come on, Chester.
Well, I'm sorry, Marshal.
Didn't know you was aiming to speak.
I'm not.
Well, what do you want?
Reverend Blas, I'm going to have to take a look at the corpse.
But Marshal, I told you that his horse rolled on him.
Something terrible.
He's broke up bad.
Well, I've seen men broke up bad before.
Chester.
Yes, sir?
Take that pick over there and pry a board loose on top of the coffin.
Aye, aye.
Now, I resent this, Marshal.
Why, it's a reflection on my call.
Oh, due respect to you, Parson, but I still got my job to do.
Violent deaths have to be certified by the Marshal's office.
But I told you what happened, and I brought in Package Bobby myself.
Yeah, that's right, Parson.
Already in his coffin, nailed up tight.
You about got it, Chester?
Yes, sir.
Here it is.
We'll be able to...
Mr. Dillon.
Yeah, I see it.
Let me have a look here, Matt.
I can tell you in two minutes what he died.
What who died, Doc?
There's nothing here but some straw and a bunch of rocks.
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Jackson, Prager, Raymond, Blake, Morales, Snyder, Creed, and...
There's nobody named Hawkins in these bulletins, man.
That is not here either, Doc, but I didn't figure it would be.
You think maybe the Parsons lie?
No, I figured it just wouldn't be as easy as finding the name in a stack of wanted bulletins.
I can understand packing around for you taking on a partner.
Why, the old coot never had one before.
Yeah, not Doc, but that's who the Reverend claims turned the coffin over to him out at
Walnut Springs, a man named Preston Hawkins.
He said he was Packy's partner and he gave the Reverend a will to file, leaving everything
Packy owned to him.
That's the darndest thing I ever heard of.
That's that, all right.
But the coffin was full of rocks, Matt.
Packy may not even be dead, so the will's worth nothing.
No, but it might have been if that box had been buried according to plan.
Sure.
All I own, I leave to my partner Preston Hawkins.
But Packy never owned anything in his whole life, Matt.
It's got me, Pete, Doc.
If it was anybody but Reverend Blouse who'd brought in that box, wouldn't it?
Mr. Jones?
Oh, what'd you find out at the assay office, Chester?
Well, Sir Pete done everything but run these rocks through his furnace.
What did he decide?
He said they might have come from any one of a dozen different places, but they ain't
float rock out of some river bottom.
What do you mean?
Well, Pete says they're fresh broke, like they've been mined.
He says they're pretty good ore, lead and silver.
Yeah.
Maybe Packy did own something after all.
And Pete said somebody else come in with a piece of this same kind of rock this afternoon,
some stranger.
What?
Well, what did he look like?
Heavy set, beefy.
Pete seen him around town the last couple weeks.
Wonder who it could be.
I don't know, Doc.
But that's something I'm gonna find out.
It's the man there by the end of the bar mat.
You see the one I mean?
With the Galico shirt.
That's right.
Heavy set bull-necked.
He sure fits the description.
You know him, Kitty?
No, I don't wanna.
He's given the girls here a lot of trouble, Matt.
He's the kind that likes to knock people around, especially if they're smaller than he is.
That'd cover plenty of ground.
There aren't many bigger.
He's the man you're looking for, Matt.
I'm sure of it.
He's been around Dodge about three weeks and he's asked about Packy too.
And he calls himself Jeb Cruder, huh?
That's right.
What's it all about, Matt?
Maybe Cruder knows.
I'll talk to you later, Kitty.
You're watching now, Matt.
He's mean.
Good evening, Cruder.
Well, if it ain't the Marshal.
Have a drink, law man.
Cruder, I understand you took some rock into Pete Will's assay office this afternoon.
Any law, Ginnett?
I also understand that you've been trying to find Packy Roundtree.
Not so.
Well, Marshal, suppose you go do your underpinning.
I'll be right back.
Why don't you go do your understanding someplace else?
Mr. Cruder, in Dodge City, a man answers questions with a civil tongue in his head.
It's a kind of a habit we got here.
Are you able to teach me about it, are you?
Yeah, I think I am.
I'll kill you.
Get your hand away from that gun.
You don't have the guts to draw it anyway.
All right, now get up.
Come on, on your feet, Cruder.
Well, Marshal, I didn't mean no offence.
I asked you some questions.
Well, I've been looking for Packy all right.
Come here a couple of weeks ago.
I know him for years, but I ain't seen him in a long time.
Did you find him?
No, sir, and then that happened out there at Boot Hill this afternoon.
Well, I was just poleaxed, Marshal.
You know any reason why Packy had pulled a trick like that?
No, sir, I sure don't.
I thought I might trace him through them rocks, so I took some out of Packy's coffin.
But the ass hair couldn't help me none.
Ever hear of a man named Preston Hawkins?
No, sir.
I just don't know nothing about this, Marshal.
If I did, I'd tell you.
I sure wouldn't want you to think I meant any offence a while ago, sir,
because I was just...
Rooter, don't overdo it, huh?
A man can get too civil sometimes.
Mr. Brown!
Huh?
Mr. Brown!
What?
Mr. Brown, wake up!
All right, all right.
Rooter, horses.
I gotta talk to you, Mr. Dillon.
All right, just a second.
Mr. Dillon!
What's the matter, Chester?
I am right sorry to wake you up, but the parson's over at the office,
and he says he's got to see you.
Reverend Blouse?
He sure picks a fine hour to come calling.
Well, he ain't calling, exactly.
The truth is, he's awful upset, Mr. Dillon.
Oh, what about?
You won't never believe this,
but the parson says he wants to confess.
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With all due respect, parson, that's about the tallest story I've heard in years.
Well, I didn't lie to you, marshal.
I maybe just let you mislead yourself a little.
Now you claim that Packie Rountree met you outside of Walnut Creek and asked you to help him, huh?
He was in mortal fear of his life, marshal.
That's the only reason I've done it.
He showed me the paper where he had gone to in Hayes and got his name changed legal to Preston Hawkins.
Yeah, go on.
He gave me that will of his at the same time, leaving everything to Hawkins,
or rather to himself under his new name.
And he gave me the coffin and asked me to bring it to Dodge and have a burial service.
Well, in a way, since he changed his name legal, Packie Rountree was dead to all intents and purposes.
And that's just how I looked at it, marshal.
And if it was the only way of helping him out of his trouble, I was glad to do it.
Now you say Packie claimed he was doing all this just because he was scared.
He was scared.
He turned white every time he mentioned Jeb Cruder's name.
Seems Cruder got the Indian sign on him years ago and bullied him ever since.
That's why he always kept moving on, always hoping Cruder wouldn't find him again.
And this time he couldn't move on because he'd stumbled into that pocket of silver ore.
That's right.
Where Walnut Creek cuts sharp up through the Comacchi Hills.
Uh-huh.
Well, from what I saw, Jeb Cruder, Packie's story holds together pretty solid.
Cruder's a coward and a bully, all right?
He sure is.
How do you figure I got my head cut open this way?
I was going to ask you about that.
Cruder forced his way into my house tonight.
What?
Yeah, he buffaloed me with his gun barrel and he threatened to shoot my wife if I didn't tell.
Didn't tell what?
How to get to Packie's silver mine.
I had to, marshal. I didn't have no choice. Why?
Juster, get a couple of horses saddled fast.
There's smoke coming up over yonder, Mr. Dillon.
Yeah, he must have a cabin there in the brush.
Now, wait a minute.
Now, there's the opening to his mine shaft there.
Well, I declare, if that don't beat all, he sure has got things mighty well hid, Mr. Dillon.
Yeah, there's a horse tied in the bushes.
I wonder if by any chance...
Get the branch, juster.
There goes somebody running across the creek.
Yeah, and it's Jeb Cruder.
Well, he's heading for the mine shaft.
Hold it, Cruder!
He ran inside.
Yeah, but that's probably the only way back out.
Come on, juster.
Darn fool.
Must have had better sense than to run for a place you can't get out of.
I guess he was surprised he wasn't expecting anybody to ride in on him.
Oh, I got that nice bird of hollered.
Why are you stuck right there in your tracks?
Why, it's Packie Roundtree.
Yeah, just take it easy, juster.
Yeah, it's a fine darn thing.
A man works all night in his diggings and can't even get his breakfast out somebody shooting up a ruckus.
Well, I'll go on if it ain't the marshal.
Morning, Packie.
Or Preston Hawkins, I guess it is, no?
Oh, I reckon you know the whole story then, huh?
Yeah, so does Jeb Cruder.
Cruder?
We just chased him into your mine shaft over there.
Oh, you don't say so.
Oh, now that's mighty interesting.
Yeah, we were just going in after him.
Well, I reckon he'll keep for a while.
Let's sit down.
Look, Packie, I think we'd better...
No, sit down, sit down, marshal.
That's the only way out.
He can't get out no other way.
We might as well from another team.
Now, I want to tell you about Cruder and why I done what I done.
You see, the fact is, marshal, I'm a god damn coward.
Oh, what do you mean?
Well, I just ain't got the courage most men got.
When it comes to Jeb Cruder, I ain't got none at all.
I want to tell you about three years ago out in Montana territory,
when I thought I'd got clean away from him.
I had me a little flock of sheep, builded up from nothing.
Then Cruder showed up again.
He hog-tied me, marshal, to make me sign over the sheep to him.
Look, I want to show you my legs here.
It's how come I limp like I do.
Packie, later, huh?
Did we hear the rest of the...
He held his gun six inches from the calf of my leg and put a bullet through it.
I wouldn't sign, and he put a bullet through the other one.
I signed, marshal.
Well, he ought to be hung doing a thing like that.
What?
Merciful, heaven, what?
That comes from the mineshaft.
Yeah, right on time.
Well, that's darn good shoes.
Come on, Chester, let's see if we can get him out of there.
Oh, no, no, no, no, marshal, you can't go in there.
Oh?
No, you can't.
See, I worked all night and got me around to drilling 13 holes and loaded them up.
Five, six.
Yeah, I touched them off just before I went up to the cabin.
But you don't understand cruders in that shaft, Packie.
Cruder?
Oh, dog, gone if it didn't clean slip my mind, marshal.
Seven, eight.
There's nine.
Ah, that was a darn good round.
Run down a lot of rock.
There's ten.
I reckon I'll stick to this brand of fuel from now on.
Packie, what am I going to do with you?
It ain't pleasant to be shot in the legs, marshal.
Ah, that's eleven.
Sure hope the parson kept that coffin I built.
Come in handy.
If we can find anything to put in it, it's just rock.
That's thirteen.
I guess that's the end of it, marshal.
Yeah, I guess I'll leave, Packie.
In a moment, our star, William Conrad.
Have you ever asked a naturalized American how he or she feels about the business of voting?
If you have, it's probably given you a whole new slant on the matter.
To those men and women who were born in other countries, the right to vote is a precious privilege.
And they line up before the voting booth on election day with the same high sense of pride and responsibility
that one might feel upon being awarded some rare degree.
Actually, the right to vote should give us all the same heady thrill.
It is we, you and I, who determine the course of our country and the conditions of our own lives
with those votes we cast on election day.
Just one reminder, make sure your opinions will be counted.
Make sure you cast your vote by being very sure to register.
Registration days differ in varying localities.
Check on the time in your community and get your name on the rolls.
Then take advantage of all of America's media of communication for informing yourself on the issues involved.
And then when election day comes, go to the polls with pride and responsibility and vote.
And now William Conrad.
You know, it took a lot of courage to stand on a frontier street facing some gunfighter who wants to take your life.
Yet next week, a man does just this, knowing full well that he can't even draw his gun.
And that was the West.
Gunsmoke, produced and directed by Norman MacDonald, stars William Conrad as Matt Dillon, U.S. Marshal.
The script was specially written for Gunsmoke by Les Crutchfield, with editorial supervision by John Meskin.
The music was composed and conducted by Rex Corey.
Sound patterns by Ray Kemper and Bill James.
Featured in the cast were Ralph Moody, Paul Dubov, and Joseph Kearns.
Harley Bair as Chester, Howard McNear as Doc, and Georgia Ellis as Giddy.
Join us again next week for another specially transcribed story as Matt Dillon, U.S. Marshal,
fights to bring law and order out of the wild violence of the West in Gunsmoke.
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