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Cowboys, Creatures and Classics: The Story of Republic Pictures
Silence, intense and oppressive, gripped the moonlit expanse of the plains. The slight mist that rose from the ground gave vague and uncertain outlines to the rocks that studded the terrain like stolid sentinels. There was no breeze—no sound or motion of any sort to mar the perfect stillness. No sound, that is, except the steady clump of hoofs as a solitary rider moved through the night.
The rider was Gene Autry. He sat easily in the saddle, but the muscles of his tall body were tensed and his eyes warily alert. He couldn’t shake off an eerie feeling of impending trouble. Neither could he account for his anxiety.
Gene’s horse, a dark sorrel named Champion, seemed to share his rider’s disquiet. Champion trotted smoothly and swiftly through the night, but his ears were twin points and his nostrils quivered.
“What’s gotten into us, Champion?” Gene asked in a low voice as he leaned forward to pat the horse’s neck. “We’re as nervous as a couple of colts. Everything certainly looks peaceful. There’s not a living critter in sight anywhere.”
It was the first time Gene had ever felt the uneasiness. He had traveled countless miles in the dark of night with only Champion and the stars for companions. Because he had spent half his life in the saddle, complete solitude and trackless country were nothing new to him.
Gene had been a cowboy for as long as he could remember. He loved the wild, free life of the plains. He had tamed broncs, hazed cattle, ridden point on trail drives, bulldogged the toughest of steers, and won a dozen rodeo championships.
He knew the mountains and plains in all kinds of weather. He was familiar with every detail of the country through which he traveled. He could identify the call of every creature of the West, and he knew the name of every tree and shrub. He was completely at home in the moonlit silence of the night.
There was no explanation for the feeling of depression that had fallen over him like a shroud. He hadn’t felt that way at sunset. What was there about the darkness of this particular night that disturbed him?
Gene was heading for country where oil had recently been discovered. A week before, he had run into an old prospector just in from the oil fields. As he listened to the old man’s stories of the excitement of prospecting for oil, the suspense of drilling down through the sun-baked earth, and the thrill of watching the stream of “black gold” gush upward toward the sky, Gene decided to take a look at this new world of derricks and machines and grim-faced men.
Now, as he rode toward the oil fields, Gene Autry was on the way to greater excitement and adventure than he had ever known.
He started to whistle, but the tune quickly died away.
“Hang it all,” he muttered. “I can’t shake this mood. I guess I’ve been in the saddle too long. It’s about time to pitch camp and turn in.”
Ahead loomed a clump of trees, silhouetted as a patch of black against the sky. Though it was early evening, the rider decided to camp somewhere among those trees. As Champion brought him near the wooded area, Gene heard the sound of running water. Champion’s ears cocked forward at the rippling sound and Gene grinned in the darkness.
“That’s all you need to hear, eh, Champion? I can let the reins fall and you’ll head for that stream,” he said to the sorrel
Cool leaves of low branches brushed Gene’s face and the broad brim of his hat. Then Champion stopped abruptly, his strong muscles quivering. Gene glanced sharply ahead and gasped in surprise as his eyes met those of another man on a level with his own. The moonlight, slanting through an opening of the trees, fell full upon the other man’s face. For a moment, Gene Autry could only stare in disbelief. Then he realized the man in front of him was dead, suspended from the branches overhead by a noose about his neck. His feet dangled several inches off the ground.
To learn more about the many films Republic Pictures produced read
Cowboys, Creatures and Classics: The Story of Republic Pictures
