Sam Spade - The Indian Caper

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The adventures of Sam Spade Detective

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the non-alcoholic heratonic that contains Lannolin. Wild Root Cream Oil.

Again and again, the choice of men and women and children too.

Sam Spade Detective Agency.

May sweetheart, Shaman Spade.

Shaman, not Sam?

An old Indian word, signifying wise man. And it's true, I think.

I'm a lot wise a man and I was yesterday, this time.

Really Sam?

Really little papus.

Put on some more paint, a few turkey feathers and your best open-toed markers.

Where are we going, Sam?

Why to a tent's TV for a rousing repast of ground corn and dried buffalo meat?

Oh, well.

Don't quit ol' Effie, get the wig warm ready,

sharpen my tongue, I'll look and lay out my herringbone breech cloth.

I'll be right in to dictate the shagaga, the shanakma, the Indian paper.

Oh, the Indian paper.

From the land of the sky, blue water, they brought a captain made their red wing.

Here I am running, scunk.

Running what?

Gunk, he was a famous Indian detective.

You sure you're not making this up?

No, Sam.

Oh, no.

He was a scourge of Indian lawbreakers.

A scourge, huh?

Even so, you have two minutes to think of a better name.

Oh.

Rippling strain?

Not virile enough.

Crunching muscle?

Tuk, uh, two virile.

What is that stuff you've been getting me anyway?

Two, uh, Lieutenant L.J. Myron, San Francisco homicide detail.

I better take it back.

Copy, too.

Chief Black Cloud, Santé, Dakota Indian Reservation.

Oh, murder.

Attention.

Federal Indian agent from San Jose Bay.

San Francisco license number one, three, seven, five, nine, six.

Subject the shark, gaga, gaga, gaga.

They, uh, are going to call it for now the Indian caper and quiet to you.

I was sitting in my office quiet.

I was sitting in my office doing absolutely nothing when something interrupted me.

First, it was a buckskin smell.

Then the soft tread of Marcus, inspired by the sound of a raffle.

His, uh, beaded clothes were wrapped in a rich looking embroidered blanket,

and his mother called it headrest wreaths to the floor.

His face looked like the model to the Indian head neckl.

How?

Who?

My name, Chief Black Cloud.

How you doing, Chief?

You, Shaman's Fade.

Uh, Sam.

Shaman Indian word for wise man, Prophet.

Seer.

Sam.

Newspaper say you good scouts.

Well, I exaggerate so, you know.

Chief, need to hire good scout for job.

Well, uh, shall we talk?

You come for powwow in Chief's council line.

Now, where's that?

Seymuck Hotel, fourth floor.

I see.

You have reservation.

Well, you ride with Black Cloud.

He have iron pony on street made by Grift Indian Chief Pontiac.

And he actually had a council line to the St. Mark, fourth floor.

Outside the door of his room, two braves were standing, arms folded.

One of them was the first Indian I'd ever seen with her on his chest.

We entered the room.

Indian file, of course.

The chief had apparently brought in his own decorate of the walls.

We're covered with hanging animal skins.

Are weathered canopy of fatshed the ceiling and on the floor,

genuine hand-woven rugs.

No expense has been spared.

In one corner, there's rooms that are full-sized teapy.

Two squaws juggle out of it.

What else?

The young one glided forward and handed the chief along Indian pipe.

Shaman's Fade.

This very Indian made of all.

Only person in world important to Black Cloud.

Name little white lilac.

How do you do a little white lilac?

It's nice to have you here.

She wise, educated girl.

Graduates Smith College.

Oh, squaws out.

Oh, squaws out.

Squaws, no good at powwow.

Well, you know best she is.

Now, we powwow.

You get paid well.

Chief Black Cloud owned 130 oil wells near Totzer.

Oh, Oklahoma.

Not Oklahoma.

Indian land.

Union mean nothing.

Union temporary thing, I say.

Indian here long before white man.

And Indian will be here long after white man.

All right, chief.

Chief Black Cloud come to San Francisco Village five days ago for powwow

with big engineer.

Anybody I know?

His name, Clarence Hobart.

Engineer for a Rundle and Namaskik.

Consolidated engineering company.

Fine, Indian name.

We have powwow four days.

Hobart disappear.

And you want me to find him, is that it?

Chief third of San Francisco.

One finish powwow.

Get back to Santhi Dakota Reservation.

Clarence Hobart.

Okay, I'll see what I can find out.

Good.

One moment shaman paid.

Chief have something you guard for a few days.

What's this?

This beaded wampum belt.

An ancient relic of nip muck tribe.

Here in T.P. Semark.

Do many light finger chimper mates and bell boys.

You want me to hold on to this for you?

Yes.

Wampum of great sentimental value.

Woven by ancient wise man, Tani Luca.

That was interesting story and history of tribe.

God it well.

Have I lost a wampum yet?

Is that all?

One more thing.

We smoke pipe of friendship.

I smoke.

Yeah.

Now you smoke.

Through friendship.

Now I know what happens to the bag a lucky strike doesn't buy.

When I left chief black clouds fourth floor lies,

there was only one brave standing outside the door.

The hairy chested Indian was part of retaking five.

The wampum belt was about three feet long,

made up of hundreds upon hundreds of little colored beads.

They were woven into a picture pattern.

Very pretty.

The interesting story undoubtedly could have been translated instantly

and told fascinatingly by red rider.

But then he has a smart horse.

I put the wampum belt in my pocket and headed to the offices of the Arundu

and Amoskeg Consolidated Engineering Company.

Final Indian names.

And quiet about Clarence Hobart.

They referred me to his partner, Anderson Watts.

Hobart disappeared?

Why you couldn't lose him if you wanted to.

He says why does a bond door?

Well, chief black clouds seems to think he is missing.

When I look here, are you going to take an Indian's opinion over mine?

I might.

Well, just because he doesn't show up for an appointment doesn't mean he's disappeared.

Why, one day when we were on a cattle lever project in New Orleans?

Yeah, some other time.

Hobart hasn't disappeared. Where would he be?

Anywhere in the world.

The man's unpredictable.

Brilliant engineer, but moody.

Every now and then he goes off alone to scheme up some fantastic thing

like maybe cutting off the Gulf Stream and turning Cuba into an iceberg.

I like it.

But he always comes back.

Disappeared?

Oh, no, no.

Not Hobart.

Yeah, well, can you give me his home address?

Yeah, here you are, child, if you like.

But I'm sure he's not there.

I called this morning and nobody answered.

Honest engine.

I left this utterly charming man and started for the address he had written down.

I was taking the shortcut through the alley on Sutton Strait when I heard the rattle of beads.

And a naked brown arm of considerable size reached out of the murk.

I grabbed for it, but he slipped out of my grasp,

and sped swiftly and silently up the dark alley into the fog,

leaving me with a handful of max factor number eight, Erequoy makeup.

I continue to Hobart's house without further incident.

Found it just off Chinatown.

Mr. Hobart?

Oh, I thought you might be somebody else.

Who else?

At the foot out of the door.

Just let's talk a minute, shall we?

I want me to call the police.

I don't think you will, Mr. Hobart.

All right, out with it. What's on your mind?

My name is Sam Spade. I'm a private detective.

There's an Indian named Chief Black Cloud, who's worried about you.

I'm old enough to worry about myself.

Now, stop bothering me. Go away.

Look, I'm going to tell the chief where you are, you know,

because that's what I was hired to do.

You'll...

Yeah, you're right.

Confidentially, I've been on a two-day drunk.

You know how it is.

For me?

Oh, tell him to call me tomorrow. I'll talk to him.

Oh, hi, Sam. Hi, Sam.

Well, what are you doing here today?

Is your day off?

I just wanted to show you something.

Happy, first do me a favor and put this wampum belt in the safe, will you?

A wampum belt?

Genuine, Indian art.

Oh, it's beautiful.

That was a story.

You know what?

Yeah.

Oh, Sam, I forgot.

There's a girl waiting in your office.

Well, good.

Sam, don't you want me to show you?

And there was indeed a girl in my office.

It was little white lilac.

She black clouds, fairest, Indian made of all.

On the heat, big change in second place.

She still had the Indian color.

But gone was the headband, gone the buckskin dress, gone the squatting straw,

the st. Mark Teepee.

Little white lilac stood revealed in the thinned skies

of a modern white woman's cocktail dress,

complete with pale face 20 carat perfume.

It was a transformation worthy of a high-priced medicine man.

But more surprises were to come.

Hello.

How?

I've been waiting for you.

Yeah, well, a big brave, just return from hunting party.

You can drop the teepee talk.

I'm civilized.

Well, okay.

What's on your civilized mind?

Chief black cloud gave you a wampum belt.

I want you to give it to me so I can destroy it.

Well, I gave my word to keep it,

but I accepted the promise of money for its protection.

Now, you wouldn't want me to be an Indian gift.

I mean, violate my evidence.

Sam, if I must tell you, Chief black cloud is insane.

Now, if he keeps your on.

Must we have these juvenile references to my personal beauty?

Juvenile.

Well, sorry.

You are, Indian, aren't you?

Of course.

I am a nip muck.

Nip muck.

That wampum belt is a secret to undreamed of wealth,

greater than the fortunes of the ten richest families of this country.

Well.

Chief black cloud is wealthy from oil,

but that belt makes him more powerful than the Bank of America.

You mean he could take my car back?

You think this is a joke, don't you?

Well, I love the way you tell it though.

He's going to use it to destroy modern American civilization,

to pay the white man back for what he did to the Indian.

I see.

He wants to start a giant Indian revolution.

And you want to destroy the wampum to save all this?

Exactly.

And now you'll give it to me, won't you?

Uh-huh.

What happens in the next chapter?

Sam, you have to believe me.

Why?

Why do you think the chief is here conferring with an engineer?

He wants to get at that wealth.

Hobart's going to make him wealthy.

Now, really, little white lala.

Isn't this all a little white lie?

Sam.

If I take you to Hobart and he confirms what I've said,

will you believe me?

I'm mine.

Come on.

She took me by the hand and she let me out of the office

and up and down several streets until we arrived

at a frowsy looking brownstone.

We ended still holding hands and came to rest

and on a partner that looked just recently occupied.

I guess that's what it looked like because you couldn't tell much.

It was being lit by either one ten watt frosted bulb or by fireflies.

This is a place.

Yeah, a little dim in here, wouldn't you say?

I like dim places.

Uh, yeah.

Where's Clarence?

I'll get him in a minute.

First, Sam.

Uh, yes, Father.

You've been so nice.

I know.

I want to find some way to thank you.

I'll wait for you, Father.

I can start by kissing you.

Please.

Sam.

Hey!

The kiss was great.

In fact, it blew the top of my head off.

After this, there was a great fireworks display followed closely

by a giant roar that sounded like Niagara Falls with a cold.

It was a short feature followed by a long period of dark, black silence.

When the curtain came up again, I was lying in an alleyway.

I was stiff and cold.

My head dropped with pain.

My brain was a jungle.

My suit was torn and dirty.

My face was at an end.

And my anger with little white lilac knew no bounds.

I, uh, went out of the office to change clothes and get a drink.

The phone was already ringing when I opened the door.

Sam spayed.

This cheap black cloud talking from St. Mark D.P.

Yeah.

What's on your mind, cheap?

Ten minutes ago, Bellboy delivered to cheap black cloud box

inside boxes, scalp, of engineered clearance over it.

I hung up the phone, fell into my chair, snapped on the lights,

and fell out of it again.

My office had been massacred.

The place had been ransacked thoroughly and looked like the morning after

a Comanche smoker.

And you guessed it?

My safe had been drilled open.

The ancient and valuable nip muck worm from belt was gone.

At this point, I decided what cheap black cloud made it was a defective.

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Tonight's adventure with Sam Spade.

I found Chief Black Cloud sitting cross-legged and looking disconcently down into a small cardboard box.

Both squaws, including a little white lilac, were on one side of the room grinding corn.

Lilac looked through me as if I didn't exist.

I sat down next to the Chief, looked into the box and recoiled.

It was a real no-imitation, 20th century scalp, and the red hair was certainly whole-barts.

Scalp comes with note.

Let me see.

Note written in Algonquin dialect.

I translate.

Honor Chief Black Cloud returned to senti decoder reservation and die proper death,

bidding to old man.

Here you will meet violence unto death, even as this man did.

What's the point across?

Look, Chief, it isn't that I'm scared, which I am, but I just decided to pull out of this cable.

What?

I've had some things about you that don't sound too good.

You hear what?

That you want to start an Indian revolution to settle an old score with a white man.

Who'll tell you this?

The fairest of them all, little white lilac.

She'll tell you.

I've never talked to her.

She not only told me all that, but she won't.

What?

Speak.

When did little white lilac tell you these things?

She can't in my office today.

That's a lie.

I never left this hotel.

We will see.

Galanuka.

Yes, Chief Black Cloud.

Did little white lilac leave hotel today?

Little white lilac with me.

Why you?

Never out of sight.

Enough.

Go away.

Galanuka speak with tongue of truth.

Little white lilac, I have grown from baby.

She also speak with tongue of truth.

Somebody lie.

Now, Chief, I know what I'm talking about.

You, Chief, does not need help of double tongue man.

Return one pump out to me.

I pay you.

All right, I'll...

Well?

Chief.

Chief, heard enough lies.

Return one pump out.

A pump out.

Wait a minute.

I got a small, but biting bit of truth to relate.

Somebody stole the Wampampelt.

Wampampelt gone?

Somebody broke into my office, drilled a safe and took it.

Your store?

Was stolen from me.

Return one pump or you'll not live until sundown.

I'll return it if I can find it.

Then you can pay me off and we'll call it even.

The makers of Wildroot Cremoyle are presenting the weekly Sunday adventure

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I walked outside muttering frightful white man's applications.

Cutting through the hotel parking lot.

I suddenly noticed the chief's iron pony made by Pontiac.

There was a leather bag and a seat, sort of an Indian overnight case.

And sticking out of it was a blood-stained pomegranate.

This was a decided interest to him, and so were the rest of his contents.

Somebody had a giant engineering project of foot,

because there were order receipts for such things as two LSTs,

four underwater hydraulic drills, a diving belt,

a dredging barge, and a steam diary.

Ha-ha-ha!

That can get a spade.

Yeah, back again, Mr. Washington.

You're looking for the missing clarins over?

Not anymore.

Well, I knew you'd realize the futility of his.

I found him.

And I trust you found him in good health.

So, hold about the bug on health.

Ha-ha-ha!

Why, once, but we were in Cleveland.

I, uh, think he's dead.

It was the Ohio River Bridge, job.

Yeah.

Did you say, Hobart Dead?

Scalp, anyway.

Uh, Mr. Watts, what was Hobart working on with the chief?

Well, I don't know.

Exactly.

Well, let's go look at his desk file and see where you find out.

In the bottom drawer, under a lot of miscellaneous papers,

we find a large Minila envelope marked black cloud.

It contains some topographical surveys of an area containing a lake.

On the back of one of the surveys,

was written in fine print a series of 37 letters

that looked like a whole group of Indian words

strung together, or a code, or just doodling.

It started out Chagagas, something or other.

I left Mr. Watts sitting in his office with tears in his eyes,

a new role at the end, and made my weary way back to home.

And made my weary way back to my place of business.

Effie was standing in the middle of the office with a shocked look on her face.

Damn, look at this office.

How did it get like this?

Oh, my files and everything!

Come on, I'll have to pick things up.

And again, by the way, what are you doing here?

It's still your day off.

When you were here last time, I wanted to show you something

but you were so anxious to get to that girl.

All right, I'm here, and I'll look.

And you sway code.

How do you like it?

The color's rust.

Well, I suppose, Effie.

What?

What's that you're wearing as a belt?

Now don't be mad, Sam.

I just had to.

It went so well with the code.

When I saw it, I didn't...

She'd black clouds wampum belt.

You didn't put it in the safe.

Give it to me.

Don't be mad, please.

Wait right here.

I'll be gone for half an hour.

Then I'll come back and take you out to the best dinner in town.

I should go home and change first.

I had taken only four steps down the hall

and somebody hid me from behind.

I rolled and he went with me.

We fought a quick quiet and decisive fight.

At the end of it, I held him in an arm lock

and let him back into my office.

Come on.

What happened, Sam?

Back early.

I had an unexpected call.

I come in with me and take notes.

I'll sit there.

All right, over.

Who I am, what's on your mind?

I'm nobody.

I got nothing on my mind.

It's spring.

You're one of the braves that got it the cheap.

Yeah.

And you're a funny Indian.

Lows he make up and Indians don't have hair in that shirt.

All right.

My name is good Hammond.

I'm a cow.

I should have stayed right along out on the ring.

Well, why didn't you?

Well, once I said I'd do anything for that guy,

now I shall have him.

She brought me here.

Why?

Well, it had something to do with velvet treasure.

She was going to give me a big cut.

Where is it buried?

I don't know.

She was going to tell me.

I took Hammond around a homicide

and left him in their safekeeping.

While there, I got the latest flag.

They had found Clarence Hobart dead

and less scalped down to the waterfront.

There were no clues, except the blow on the back of the head

and lipstick on his mouth, which is enough for me.

Having run through the same course myself.

And I visited the St. Mark IV floor

for the white lilac met me at the door.

You can't see the chief.

Why not?

He's asleep.

One side.

And the chief sees what I've got to wake up screaming his warmth.

You have it?

And with that cheap pounce,

I pushed her off as she came back

and got a hold of one end of the wampel

and tried to pull it away from it,

with disasters resolved.

The wampel came apart,

and in a second,

there was nothing but hundreds of beads

rolling different directions all over the place.

In fact, it was no more.

Oh!

What happened did Chief come a lot?

Chief, cannot sleep.

Well, I brought back your wampel,

but now it's all over the floor.

Wampel belt destroyed?

Yes, it's destroyed.

You stupid old man.

You talked to Chief?

Yes, stupid.

You had the world in your hand.

You didn't know it.

You wanted it all for yourself to tear down the earth.

It could have been used to live.

What do you see?

To live the way I'm supposed to live.

Now nobody will have it not even you

or that fat engineer who wanted it.

Little white lilac shut mouth.

I've been shutting my mouth all my life.

You're a stupid, ignorant, disgusting old man.

You'd be better off dead.

His big hands were around a throat.

He stood there,

anger in the trail in his eyes.

Then his hands dropped,

and he turned away with tears streaming on his face.

It was then that the fair Indian

made went for him at the night.

And that was my cue to step in with a pale face weapon.

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Little white lilac.

Yeah, well I know you usually have one,

but don't feel too badly, Chief.

She helped kill Clarence Hobart.

No, Chief believe in anything.

Yeah, Chief.

Why did you want an engine there?

Design woven in Wampum describes location of hidden nip muck treasure.

Many, many years ago, nip muck tribe

lived in valley of the bookshers.

Discover only gold vein in east,

mine gold and keep for decoration.

Kennebec Indians want gold.

Start out on warpath.

Nip muck Indians bury gold.

Move village.

They're verged stream into valley.

Make lake.

Gold there today underwater.

Whereas that sicker chief keep locked in head.

Chief once had evil plan for gold.

Now you forget.

Make pilgrimage back to ancient ancestral camp and die.

Send me bill.

Chief leave village of San Francisco for good.

Ferry at end of power.

Oh, say.

It's bad.

It is, it is.

Vanishing race.

Just think the days of the cold and the wind jester are gone for it.

The day of the ramming gun is still with us.

Go to it and tight this up.

Well, here's all here, Sam.

Except one thing.

How did the bloody Tomahawk get in chief black clouds bag?

A little white lilac planted it there.

If anything happened to the chief,

she as the only other living nip muck would inherit the one pump.

Well, she could have gotten the money by just waiting.

Oh, shut up.

Sam.

You notice anything about the report?

Yeah.

Hey, you got the name of the caper, right?

The, uh, Chargaga.

Oh, what is it?

The Chargaga.

Chargaga.

And Chargaga.

Chargon among the mong.

Caper.

You've been going on with an allocation paper.

Oh, Sam.

The adventures of Sam Spade,

the national Hamids famous private detective,

are produced and directed by William Spir.

Sam Spade is played by Howard Dove.

Lorraine Tuffle is happy.

The Adventures of Sam Spade are written for radio by Bob Talman and Gildar, musical direction

by Ludgluskin with score composed by Renee and Pierre Garrigan.

Join us again next Sunday when author Dashel Hammett and producer William Spear join forces

for another adventure with Sam Spade.

Brought to you by Wildroot Cremoyle, again and again, the choice of men and women and

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