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Dr Sixgun xx-xx-xx (xx) Baseball At Frenchmen's Ford
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Dr Sixgun xx-xx-xx (xx) Baseball At Frenchmen's Ford
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Gene Hamilton
If you work in quality control at a candy factory, you know strict safety regulations come with the job. It's why you partner with Grainger. Grainger helps you find the high quality and compliant products your business needs to inspect, detect and help correct issues. And the sweetest part is everyone gets a product that's as safe to eat as it is delicious. Call 1-800-GRAINGER clickgrainger.com or just stop by Grainger for the ones who get it done. Across the rugged Indian territory rides a tall young man on a mission of mercy. His medical bag strapped on one hip, his six shooter on the other. This is Dr. Six Gun. National Broadcasting Company brings you another transcribed episode in the exciting adventure series Dr. Six Guns. Gray Master, Maryland was the gun coating frontier doctor who roamed the length and breadth of the old Indian territory. Friend and physician to white and Indian alike, a symbol of justice and mercy in the lawless west in the 1870s, this legendary figure was known to all as Dr. Six Guns. The territory is not a particularly light hearted place. It is a land of blood and death and much misfortune. But it has its moments of gaiety. And most of them bottled and served over the bar at the nearest saloon. Of course, I am invariably lighthouse, but then I am an exception. But I am Pab, the Dixie Peddler. And this is my friend Midnight. He is a raven, but he is no a woman. Also, he is an optimist. In the Territory there is laughter and gaiety, but sport in the sense of the east is notoriously absent. For example, if you ask the average citizen of the town of Frenchman's Ford what was the great American game, he would answer Bobolo and complain that the shooting was bad this evening. But there was a time when sport reared its ugly head in the Territory. And I was there when it started. Sitting with my friend Duck Six Guns at his table at the Bull Run Saloon. What's the celebration all about? Pablo? You look happy. I am. I am. I. I have just unloaded a pack full of needles and pins and boy knives on the unsuspecting populace. And I am rapidly transferring the profits to O'Shea behind the bar. Will you join me? I'll let you buy my coffee. A pleasure. I. I would order drinks for the entire house, except I am not drunk enough. And when I reach that state, I will not have money enough. Why don't you compromise by buying a drink for that stranger at the bar? He looks lonesome. Well, he's not lonesome. He's from Princeton. It appears the Same on the surface. You mean Princeton, Missouri? No, Princeton, New Jersey. New Jersey? How do you know he's from way back there? Well, I rode into town with him on the stage. Doc, you would be amazed at the number of times in the conversation that he managed to bring this fact in. What's so special about Princeton, New Jersey? Doc McCroll. Oh, yes. I remember something about a cowl down there. I remember him talking about it when I was up in Boston in medical school. They didn't think much of it. Please do not mention that in the company of Mr. Braithwaite. Is that his name? Harvey T. Braithwaite, 71. No, I don't believe it. He can't be more than 30. No, Doug, the class of eight. Oh. You know, he's a very interesting man. He's the only fellow I ever heard of who carried his college diploma around like the tail of a kite. I'd like to meet him. Well, all right, I'll bring him over. Oh, I'm Mr. Mr. Bradley. Yes. Oh. Oh, yes, we've met, haven't we? We were companions in their misfortune on the stage. I wonder, sir, if you would join me and my friend Doc for a drink. Doc? You mean a doctor? Yes, that's right. Well, I suppose it's courtesy title. And he's a veterinarian. Or perhaps the undertaker. No, no, he's a real doctor. He has a diploma to prove it. You mean a university man here? He went to medical school in Boston. I know that. Boston? Well, I didn't expect. Well, I'll be glad to join you. I got him, Doc. Mr. Braveway, this is Dr. Matt. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance. Dr. Matson. Nice to meet you, Mr. Braithwaite. Won't you sit down? But I'm really surprised to find the university man in a place like this. Oh, well, I've been going downhill for years. I didn't mean. Why didn't he. Me. I understand. Matter of fact, I'm not really a university man. I just went through the medical school. Well, that's something. I. I don't suppose you'll believe me when I tell you that I haven't run across a fellow alumnus since passing through Nashville, Tennessee. Well, I reckon Princeton men are a bit scarce in this part of the country. Yes, yes, I found that out. Can I pour you a drink, Mr. Br? Yes, thank you. Well, gentlemen, to the tiger. The tiger? What tiger? Well, there's only one, you know, the Princeton tiger. Oh. Oh, that tiger. Long may he roar. Well, I'll drink To that. On those days. Whiskey. I. I could roar myself. I hope you. You don't think I'm being curious, Mr. Braithwaite but I wonder what a man of your background is doing in the territory. Well, Doctor, Actually, Doctor. Oh, well, it's. It's supposed to be something of a secret. Oh, well, never mind. Oh, I don't mind telling you. A fellow collegian, as it were. You'll understand when I tell you my father is Alfred A. Braithwaite. He is? Of course. That makes everything clear. Well, I thought it does. Transparent, doesn't it? You see, Father has been looking for outlets. They're hard to find. Oh, yes, very. You see, Ashton's done so well with real estate. And of course, there's a fifth Vanderbilt crowd. So Father considered taking up with cattle. You mean your father's a rancher? Oh, well, not that directly, no. It's a question of whether he'll take it over. You mean the entire cattle market? If it's big enough. You see, there's some Chicago interests involved. And of course, Father would merely buy them out. Let me understand this, Mr. Braithway. Your father's in a position to buy out all the Chicago stockmen. Not to mention the ranchers in this territory. Oh, no. Well, I didn't think so. He wouldn't limit himself to this territory. Could hardly ignore Texas. Oh, good. He. Nobody ever has. And you see, before Father swings into operation, he wants a report. And you're acquainted with the cattle business? Well, not per se. We've had all the reports from the experts, you know. But Father wants the opinion of someone who. Well, you'll understand what I mean when I say noblesse oblige. No? Yes. Yes, I suppose. You see, all the experts are. Well, let's face it. They're rather self made men. You know, Father said to me, Mr. Braithwaite, in moments of great importance, he addresses me formally. Mr. Braithwaite, I want to report on the character of this business. I want to know what it looks like to an eye that's cut its teeth and speaks with the tongue of old Nassar. Father's a very forceful speaker. I'm over well, so I'm here to look about. Report back to New York within three months. You will keep this confidential, won't you, doctor? Believe me, Mr. Br, I wouldn't dare to breathe a word of it. Excellent. Oh, and now I must leave you gentlemen to settle into my digs at the hotel. We must all three get together and exchange pleasant memories of our days on the campus. I Am anxious to hear your tales of Cambridge, Doctor. And yours, sir, of the University of Heidelberg. Goodbye. Goodbye, Mr. Bradley. Luckily he did not finish his drink. Hello. Did you tell him that you went to the University of Heidelberg? Oh, well, not exactly, Doc. No, no, I said I stayed at home at Heidelberg. I did. It was 30 days for vacancy. They have a charming 14th century jail. Do you believe him? Well, I would not believe him, Doc, but when I was in St. Louis, last I heard of Albert A. Braithwaite, he buys railroads like you and I buy eggs for breakfast. But it isn't reasonable. Could old man Braithwaite honestly base a decision like this on that? Would you doubt the words of a man who's on speech speaking terms with the tigers? Mr. Braithwaite wandered around the town of Frenchman's Ford for a few days and then hired a rig and drove out into the range with old shovel ear speeches for a guide. It was on his return that the great argument started at the Boulon. Randy Stewart from the Barrel A was spending four months wages at the Bull Run. He had worked his way three weeks in when Harvey Braithwaite stepped up to the bar. I beg your pardon, Potman. You speaking to me, mister? Well, you are the potman, aren't you? The name is O'Shea. And just because I don't get to do as much riding as I used to, ain't no cause to call me no name. But you are the publican. This is my place. Well then I could do with a bit of brandy and a splash of soda. What do you want to go and put soda in good liquor first. Want it to rise like a loaf of bread. He don't mean bacon soda, Shay. Huh? He means that bottled mineral water you take when you're sick to your stomach. Well, why don't he say so? I ain't got none. Brandy and water then. As a matter of fact, I ain't got no brandy neither. Mister, you want your whiskey from the barrel or from the bottle? The bottle. I imagine. You take my advice, Strange, and buy it from the barrel. The nickel cheaper. A shot and a layout just as quick. Why, thank you. You're very kind. Shot nothing. Suppose we swap handles, stranger? I'm Randy Stewart from the Barrel edge. Harvey Braithway, Princeton 71 it. Never heard of that. Spread down in Texas somewhere by the second month of Randy's pay and the third bottle of O'Shea's whiskey. And Mr. Stewart and Braithwaite were all friends. Are you sure you don't know Skeet Stewart? I'll never forget the time he climbed the flag bowl in front of the proctor's house and nailed a corset cover to the brass ball. You know, Harvey, you're the kind of a buddy a fellow want to ride night herd with. That's what you are. Uncanny resemblance to old skate. Are you sure you never went to Princeton? The argument started when the two rains companions or college chums, depending on which side of the conversation you was listening to, got to the point where they were telling each other things that only the best of friends will share. Well, I'll tell you the trouble with Frenchman's Ford. Since you asked. I don't remember asking nothing. Oh, Shay, I'll leave it to you. Did I ask anything? Sure you did. You asked for another bottle and I told you you had enough. You see, now the trouble is no sport. You can't have gentlemen without sports. What do you mean, no sport? Hey, you ain't never been to Silver Lining in Chisholm City or you wouldn't say that. Now that's the sporty of places you're likely to find. I mean games. No sportsman. Now you take for instance, the game of baseball. Of what? Baseball. You know, with a bat and base runners. What's the idea of the game? Bats the runners. You see, that's what I mean. You show me a place that can't provide gentlemen a game of baseball and I'll show you a place that is. Where was I? I'll show you a game of baseball. Couldn't. The room's much too small and there are too many tables in the way. I mean, this here town can get up a game just as good as any other place. Doubt it. You calling me a liar? No, just a prevaric. Rick catered. That's better. I ain't met nobody. Call me no liar. All right, I'll bet you. Randy. Hey, you stay out of this. So listen, Randy, don't bet him. I've seen his role. He's got enough to choke. You stay out of this, O. I'm going to part your head the way you part your hair. Right down the middle. Harvey, I'll bet you this here town can get up a game of club. What's that thing called? Baseball? Whatever it is. My Saturday. How much? Name your figure. Randy. I warned you. We'll make it a very small bet. A thousand dollars? Yeah. A thousand too small? No. Well, I just backing out. You call me a welsher? Hot man. I told you my. You may hold this stakes. Here's my thousand. I ain't got it in cash. You'll have to take my note. Between old university men, a handclass is enough. The wager is on. You bet your bottom dollar. Oh, no. It was only a thousand and some sobriety gave too late have. But now the Frenchman Ford had heard the bet and Randy came to see Doc at noon. Oh, you sure you've got nothing for this here disease? I have in my head, doc. You've got quite a hangover, Randy. I think it was at least one of them brain diseases. Well, it is, in a way. If you had more brains, you drink less of O's whiskey. Oh, what's this I heard about a crazy bet? Oh, yeah, Yeah. I gave my note for $1,000. You know, I can't even believe it myself this morning. What's that about? That I can get up a. A. A baseball game in Frenchman's Ford by Saturday. It ain't no laughing matter, Doc. Terms of the bet was it's gotta be right. Proper game played regular by the rules. Well, seriously, you're not gonna go through with this, right? I gave my hand on it, Doc. I ain't never welch done no better my life. Yeah, but, Randy, what do these cowpunchers around here know about baseball? Couple of hands out the bar, A. We're in the first Ohio Volunteers. During the War between the States, they played a little. I reckon I can dig up enough fellers who'll go through the motions on Saturday for a couple of dollars a piece. Well, I sure want to see that game now. You ever play baseball? Me? No, no, no. Now, don't get any ideas, Randy. I'm strictly a spectator, and I wouldn't miss it. At 1:30, Harvey came in to see Doc. I'm sorry if it trouble you, doctor, but I wondered if in your collection of materia medica you perhaps might have an ancient Indian herb that would act as a specific for me. You got a hangover too, Mr. Braithwaite? Oh, I must? I'm afraid so. Can't understand it. At the college, I used to spend the whole evening down in clip at the tavern and then be up at dawn for compulsory chapel. Well, don't Worry about it, Mr. Braithwaite. Just remember, Princeton Flip is not made with O'Shea's whiskey. Incidentally, you're not going through with that crazy bet you made for Brandy Stewart? Oh, yes, the wager. Well, we shook hands on it and I put up my pledge. Yeah, but, well, it's a foolish. Surely an educated man like you, my dear doctor, at Princeton, I have Seen several thousand dollars change hands over which plate of molasses would catch the most house flies at a given time. But, Mr. Braithwaite, I have accepted a wager as a true son of old Nassau, and I shall not flunk the. By Friday afternoon, Randy Stewart was desperate. He had ridden out past the Three Forks country following a rumor that the homesteader on the Rio Verde had once played second base for an artillery battery of the 4th Vermont Regiment. I saw him when he rode in at night and asked him how it turned out. Oh, he played second base all right. Oh, played second base fiddle in a colonel Symphonic band. Oh, he offered to come in and play a couple of pokers. Well, Randy, how are you doing on your teams anyway? Well, I got Alfie Jones and a couple of his boys in a flying J and Matty Wheelwright from the livery stable. He's a catch catcher. I got around up about five head of outfielders. Only I'll be doggone if I know where to lay my rope on a single short stop. The day the big game dawned, Christian Field O'Shea donated a barrel of beer at the sidelines and Mr. Braithwaite marched out a baseball diamond in the big corral back of the livery stable at the edge of town. At 2 o'clock, the teams were assembled and Mr. Braithwaite, in a straw booter and blue pongee jacket, stepped up onto the field as the umpire picked his way carefully to home plate as the livery horses had only been removed from the corral that morning. Here you are, Mr. Bracelet. Here's the two liners. They ain't spelled very good, but they're all here very well. What are the names of your two teams, Mr. Stewart? Well, we kind of call them the Pintos and the Wranglers. I see. Each team will have five minutes to acquaint itself with the playing area, and then I will announce play ball. There's one thing, though. Alvin Murchaw won't play unless he can parry his gun. You see, he says he ain't had a off since he was 12. And he'd just as soon leave his pants off as his gun. Well, it's irregular, but I suppose yes. Where did you learn how to speak Cheyenne? Look at that babbler Mil. Ever trying to pick up a ball up off the ground. Went right through his leg. I am not surprised. Doc Mil has been on a horse consistently since he was 7 years old. You do do to witness the match. Yeah, I thought I'd take it in. Never thought I'd live to See a baseball game in Franklin Ford? No. In a way, I am glad to see it. You know, I leave tomorrow to make my report to Father. Oh, no. I didn't know that. I must admit, at first I wasn't very impressed with the people of this territory. I was inclined to give a negative report and suggest that Father put his money in transatlantic shipping instead. But with the spirit that I see in this fine sporting event, I am convinced that the Break Weight would do very well to take over the cattle industry of the West. Now, if you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I believe it's time to commence the match. Very well, gentlemen. Play ball. The game started, although it took three batter to convince Slim Gutsall, the pitcher for the Wrangler, that the object was not to hit the batter in the head with the ball. As a matter of fact, between O. Shea's beer and the light, pleasant breeze, the game went on in a happy fashion until the 17. The batter was Alvin Murthaugh. He strode up to the plate swinging the bat. That old Man Pot had soared down from the whistle tree. All right, now, S.L. you throw that dang ball in here where I can hit it. No wrangling, please, gentlemen. They fought a genteel game devoted to good sportsmen. Yeah, sure, I know. All right, come on now. Throw that ball in here. Are you low down, Lily Live at night here in front of a. Please, gentlemen. Gentlemen. She like to kill me with that dang thing. I'm warning you, Slim, you throw that ball at me. One, please, gentlemen. Banter up. Got dust all over my gun. And remember, I'm warning you to keep riding the ball. Here comes. No, no, no. Put that gun away. It was a thing for all that would have to the Bull Run on a Saturday night with an outfit of Texas cow punchers passing through north to the railhead. Alvin missed Ringacho clean with borscht. Later claiming that the bat on his other hand had unbalanced him. Both teams abandoned their contest on the diamond for the more familiar contest of joyous and uninhibited mayhem with which the Territory usually entertained itself. O. Shea's barrel of beer was split open over Randy Stewart's head. And Mr. Braithwaite was drowned. Dragged the length of the corral by a horse breaker from the 3 4th country who was under the influence of O. Shea's whiskey and was convinced they had a tremendous white stallion at the end of his rope. Darkened. I saw Mr. Bravely once again just before the morning sage rest for two. I hope you're not too much upset, Mr. Braithwaite. It's just that Frenchman's Ford isn't used to baseball. Yes, yes, I can understand that. Well, needless to say, I intend to advise my father to stay as far away from the west in the cattle industry as he can possibly get. Well, I'm sorry you think so badly of us out here. I guess it was a shame to have the game end up in a riot. That must have been pretty strange to you, handsome man and all. Oh, no, that wasn't it at all. Why, most of the baseball matches played at Princeton run pretty much the same way. Minus gunfire, of course. I remember when old Steve broke his bat over the umpire's head in the Rutgers match. But I don't understand. And why are you advising your father not to go into the cattle business? But, my dear doctor, I discovered that Mr. Stewart had paid those men $3 apiece to play in the game. What's wrong with that? What? That's professionalism, sir. Rank professionalism. I don't mind losing the bet, but you must realize it's hardly a fit place for a gentleman. Oh, no, sir. If sport in general and baseball in particular ought to prosper, it will never do so with a taint of gross professionalism upon it. All up in siege. Well, good day, gentlemen. At least it was refreshing to meet one university man in this wilderness. And I suppose it was. This evening, gentlemen, when you down your spirit, remember me and give a toast to the tiger. Goodbye. And so the cattle industry, the town Frenchman's Ford and the territory had not been taken over by Albert Brave Weight after all. And in honor of that, each Saturday night when the cow punchers come into town to the Bull Run Saloon, the first drink is always a toast. Pool A t you have been listening to Dr. Six Gun, Doc. Six Gun is played by Carl Weber and Pablo by William Griffith. Today's script was written by Ernest Kanhoy. Heard in the cast were Bill Lipton as Harvey, Ken Williams as Randy, Tom Holland as Alvin and William Keane as O'Shea, the bartender. Dr. Thicken is directed by Fred Way. This is Gene Hamilton speaking.