The Tom Mix Rawson Street Shooters are on the air.
And here comes Tom Mix, America's favorite cowboy.
Up Tony, up boy.
Tom Mix Rawson Street Shooters bring you another episode in, The Mystery of the Raven.
Cold and damp and gray comes the dawn, pausing in its westward passage at the window of Doc Green's,
where witnesses are seen, tense and taut as a coiled spring. Two doctors, old Doc Green and his young assistant, David Frisbee,
are about to come to grips with death over the unconscious form of Willie Kohler, who lies white and still on the operating table.
Over the mask that covers his mouth and nose, the old, wise eyes of Doc Green look now and again to the face of Dr. Frisbee.
Then, back to Willie, the eyes of Dr. Frisbee return his gaze, level and cold and hard.
He raises his eyebrow inquiringly. Doc Green looks at Willie's face, feels his pulse, nods to Frisbee.
Dr. Frisbee looks down at the shining scalpel on his gloved hand.
As he prepares to make the first incision, he's thinking,
If he dies, there isn't one man who won't say I let him die. That's every reason why I should.
This man came between me and the woman I love.
Everything I've worked for, the hard grinding years in medical school, the scraping and scrimping for books,
the going hungry for implements, the dream I had shattered in a matter of minutes by this man.
There's little chance that I can save him. They will say I had every reason to let him die.
My career as well as my life will be wrecked forever.
You've got to save him.
What?
Yes, I know what you're thinking. I don't blame you.
But you're a doctor. You've got to save this man if you can. You must think of only of that. You understand?
Yes.
Seconds are precious. Your patient is ready, Dr. Frisbee.
The gloved hand grips the scalpel and goes with position to its work. It's delicate, life-giving work.
Meanwhile, the dawn looks upon other things and cat creeping through the windows of the Dobie Bank reveals another unconscious form,
the inert form of the night watchman sprawled on the floor.
Beyond him, kneeling before the somewhat antiquated vault of the country bank, another figure works with swift, deft motions and suddenly...
Ah, that does it. I could have opened this with a can opener. Now for that book. Anything else that's in there?
Yes, the book is there, the fabulously rare copy of the Reven and other poems.
Once owned by Edgar Allan Poe himself, autographed in his own hand to his tragic wife, Virginia, a book worth $15,000.
For the rest, the vault holds stocks and bonds not easily disposed of, private papers of no interest to anyone but their owners.
A quick glance around and then pecking the book under his coat, the dreamer leaves by the side door.
In the swirling, smoky dawn he pauses, for now comes the question of how to leave Dobie fast.
Then to the ears of the dreamer come certain sounds, his eyes narrowed, a thin smile on his lips, the dreamer melts swiftly through the dawn,
hugging the backs of the buildings until he reaches blind George Griswold Smithy.
Within the forge glows fiery red, its light dancing on the sweat-stained face of the blind blacksmith, nearby waiting patiently, a horse.
Swift and sure are the movements of the dreamer, a few quick steps and he's behind Griswold.
Two blacksmiths, suddenly aware of the danger, turn to meet the full force of the dreamer's blow.
With a chuckle of triumph, the dreamer whoops toward the house, but just as he reaches up, a quiet voice inquires,
Going somewhere, hombre?
What the brain is?
Drop that gun. I'm not aiming to let you use it on me as you did Willie Kohler.
Why you!
Ah!
Sorry what you asked for.
My hand! You shot the gun right out of my hand!
And now I'll trouble you to handle with that book. Looks like I've got you with a good.
Maybe you got me, but you haven't got the goods.
No, no, don't you fool!
There go your goods up in flames, turning to a crisp in the forge.
As the saying has it, there goes your money up in scemo.
And so again, tragedy strikes, for the book is forever gone.
The book Angus McBee would give his life for.
The book Tom promised to protect from harm.
What will happen when Tom faces Angus McBee and admits his failure?
Straight shooters, there are surprises galore ahead for us in today's episode, but first...
Well, hello Jane, you're looking mighty chipper today.
Hello Mr. announcer, anybody would look cheerful if they started off the day with a big ball of steaming hot Ralston.
It's full of vitamin B1, it gives you real cowboy energy.
Pekka says it gives you pizzazz.
Well, he's right.
I know that whatever I do today, helping train my new pony or working on a dress pattern, I'll be ready for the job.
Good old hot Ralston sticks with you all day, no real straight shooter would miss this swell breakfast treat.
I like adding fruit like peaches or bananas, it's awfully good with plenty of brown sugar.
Whatever way you have it, there's nothing like hot Ralston.
Yes Jane, no real Tom mixed Ralston straight shooter ever misses a morning with good old hot Ralston.
And now some hours later in Sheriff Mike Shaw's room at the TM bar.
No fun, Mike, that's all you get.
Dollar guns and land leaks to this.
All I've been doing since you passed the crisis is riffling up one bowl of hot Ralston after another.
Well not that I'm on, but I got other work to do, detective work.
Horse footers.
Well I has, I got to find the hombre what with the bulldog heel.
You slab sided canary brain, Tom's caught the maverick, stole the book, ain't he?
Well no, no, and on account of what Mr. Tom told me on the phone, this here dreamer fella ain't the one what stole the book from.
That Kyle Dwight Dunn dad stole the book from Mr. Tom's safe, stole it from this here room later, and then brings it back. That fella is still on the loose.
And I will catch him. When I find the maverick with the bulldog heel, that's him.
Well now who's that I wonder? Come in.
I found no one on the stairs and took the liberty of coming up. Tom not here yet?
Was he supposed to be angry?
Aye, he telephoned me and he said to come up out here and he'd explain everything. You heard the news of course. It's all over town by this time.
Good news or bad news?
Well both. My nephew Willie Kohler's gone to live. Dr. Frisbee pulled him through. But the man Tom caught has confessed to everything, implicating Willie in a bank robbery that took place back east.
Oh that's tough on you, Angus.
Well I'm not so sure, Mike. Willie must pay for his misdeeds and I'm glad that he'll do no more interfering between Dr. Frisbee and Helen Archer. No, by bad news I meant the book.
The book? You mean the Raven of other poetics? Oh what, Mr. Tom was guarding for you?
God, it's right. But not successfully I'm afraid. You see, before Tom could stop him, this man he caught, the dreamer, Willie, he threw me book into George Griswold's forge. It's gone. My book's gone forever.
The narration? Oh daddy's too bad my stomach's fee. I didn't know about the book being burned up. Oh here's a Mr. Tom now.
Sorry to have kept you waiting, Angus. I've had a lot of things to get straight.
Chuck's Tom, it looks like there's one thing you can't get straight.
Well what's that, Mike?
Why the book that's been the cause of all this mess. Angus says it's gone, burned to a crisp in Griswold's forge.
Oh that. Well there's nothing to worry about there, Angus. That copy was a forgery.
What? What are you saying, Mon?
That wasn't your book, Angus. It was one Ralph Middleton forged and put in the place of the original.
That? A Middleton? Well then, Thunderation, where's the real copy?
Middleton has it. At least why he had it. I reckon it's in the hands of the FBI at this time.
Oh golly, the goodness of man. He's the best. You mean that Mr. Middleton, he's the thief? You mean he's that one with the bulldog heel?
Well, no, great guns and outwash. I've tried to tell you several times that the man with the bulldog heel is, I've been trying to tell you he is, but you wouldn't listen.
You know who he is.
Afraid I do. I've known since you first found that footprint outside my office window.
Well then, who is he? Tell me that. Who is he?
You.
Me?
I'm afraid so, Warsh. I tried to tell you that you've been following your own trail all along. But, oh oh gee, look at that. I do wear bulldog heels. That was a feats print I made my own self. A fine shamrock homes I use.
Oh, no. I never had believed of it of Mr. Middleton. He was the one that stole my book.
He was only one of two thieves, Angus.
Two thieves?
That's right. I reckon I better ride this trail from the beginning. You see, Angus, Middleton wanted that book badly. He has a fine collection of Poe's works and he wanted to complete it.
If he couldn't buy the original from you, he was prepared to steal it and brought the forgery along just for that purpose. The first time he stole it, I nabbed him with the goods at the railroad station and...
Hold on, Tom. Only the three of us. You, Warsh, and me, no combination to your safe. How did Middleton get the book out of the safe?
Well, he didn't. It had already been taken from the safe by someone else. The way that I figured, Middleton found it on a shelf in Angus' store.
On a shelf in his store? How in the world would he have got it there?
I'm coming to that. But let me finish with Middleton. The second time he stole it, he took it from the table there. You were delirious at the time, Mike.
Mm-hmm.
Middleton, an owl, most likely, disturbed a crow in that tree outside your window and they set up a mighty, um, honorary racket.
It was at that moment that Middleton, who occupied the room next door, slipped in, snapped out the lights, and grabbed that book.
The light switch is close to the door that connects the two rooms, so that was simple enough.
The following night, he disturbed the crow himself, probably by throwing a rock into the tree, slipped in here, and left the forgery.
The minute I examined it, I knew it was a forgery, but I decided to let him get away with it.
What, Tom?
Because, at that time, I still didn't know who the original thief was. Whoever it was, he somehow knew the combination of my office safe, so I couldn't keep the book there.
Middleton and the Adobe bank is none too good, and I would never have trusted a real copy there.
On the other hand, it was absolutely safe in the hands of a man who risked his liberty to secure it.
I got in touch with Dex Craven, or the FBI, and had Middleton shadow every minute of the time from there on.
The question I still had to answer, though, was, uh, who was the thief who took the book out of my safe in the first place?
Well, it lacked...
You know, you know who it is?
Reckon I do. It could only be one man.
Well, then bow my legs and call me Bandy. Tell us, Tom, tell us who it is.
In a moment, in one of the strangest and most surprising climaxes you've ever heard, we'll know who the thief is, but first...
Say, Jane, I was going to ask you earlier about that good-looking locket you're wearing.
Thank you, Mr. Announcer. It really isn't a locket, though you can wear it like one around your neck on a cord.
This is an arrowhead with a compass and a magnifying glass, just like the one that was given Tom Mix for his work in defending our country from its enemies.
It is a big help examining clues with a magnifier, and of course in finding your way on a hike with a compass.
You can't get lost. One of the special things about it is it glows in the dark like magic.
You can signal your friends at night by covering and uncovering your arrowhead with your hand. You can send coded messages.
Terrific.
This morning, as we were having our hot rostin at the TM Bar, Tom was telling me all about it.
Boys can wear the arrowhead like a watch fob on their pocket watch, or wear it hanging from a cord on their belt, or wear it around their neck like I do.
Wear it like our soldiers wore dog tags in the war. It's a wonderful item, and Tom told me to let all his straight shooters know that he was going to have a special surprise for them about this glow-in-the-dark arrowhead next Monday.
That's right, Jane. Every straight shooter should tune in for an important announcement next Monday.
And now, will they involve our legs and call me bandit? Tell us, Tom. Tell us who it is.
As I said, the thief can only be one man, and that man is you, Angus McPhee.
Let me go! Let me go!
Angus, please, please.
It's better that I kill myself in the stand accused of such a deed by my best friend.
Stop it, I said.
Oh, Mr. Tom, oh, thank goodness. It just can't be. It just can't be that Mr. McPhee is the thief.
Oddly enough, Warsh, he is.
What possible answer can they be to this amazing revelation? Why would Angus McPhee steal a book that belonged to him?
How did he steal it, and why, after stealing it, did he do such strange things?
For instance, leaving it in full view on Tom's desk.
We'll know the astounding answer on Monday when we hear the beginning of a new and startling adventure
and the unusual climax of The Mystery of the Raven.
There goes Tom Mix, America's favorite cowboy.
But we'll be back Monday when the Tom Mix Ralston Strait Shooters are on the air.
Tom Mix was played by Jim Harmon and written by George Lother.
Sheriff Mike Shaw was played by Frank Knight.
Angus McPhee by Lloyd Nesbitt. Jane by Bob Regratz.
This is Frank Knight speaking.
Any resemblance to ethnic stereotypes, real or imaginary, is purely historical.
This is the Mutual Admiration Society.