Suspense.
And the producer of radio's outstanding theater of thrills, the master of mystery and adventure,
William N. Robeson.
The word license has two meanings.
The first is familiar to all of us.
Official permission, as in marriage license, liquor license, driving license.
The second definition, paradoxically, means almost the opposite, freedom from rules.
We concern ourselves here with an esoteric aspect of this definition, namely dramatic
license.
In the forthcoming story, we have deviated somewhat from the facts and altered California
topography ever so slightly in the interest of suspense.
To the residents of San Bernardino who may grumble it couldn't happen that way, all
we can say is, aren't you glad?
Then listen then as Mr. William Bishop stars in Ride Down Cajon, which begins in just
a moment.
And now, Ride Down Cajon starring Mr. William Bishop, a tale well calculated to keep you
in suspense.
There are two main gateways to California, Route 40 over Donna Pass in the north and
Route 66 over Cajon Pass in the south.
I don't know anything about Donna, but Cajon Pass I know.
You see, I'm Night Man at Ella's Tip Top Cafe at the summit of the pass.
And I live down the hill in Purdue, that's San Bernardino, down the hill.
We drop 3,000 feet and 20 miles on a four-lane divided highway that's so well designed drivers
hit it like it was the Indianapolis Speedway, which is okay if your wheels are working okay.
If they're not, you can get killed on Cajon, fast.
By all rights, I should have been the other night and I just went along for the ride.
It was around about 2 a.m. and I was waiting for my relief man when Phil dropped in for
a cup of coffee.
Phil rides the pass for the highway patrol.
He also is my brother-in-law-to-be, seeing he's married to my girlfriend's sister.
Don't forget, Andy, we're supposed to take the girls to the beach tomorrow afternoon.
Don't worry, Johnnie's reminded me at least twice a day all week long.
What time do you want to get started?
I'll be over as soon as I can get my car out of the garage.
They promised it before noon.
Oh, that's right.
I forgot your car's tied up.
How are you getting down the hill tonight?
Why do you care?
You wouldn't give me a lift.
You know I can't.
Regulations.
You might break a regulation or two.
You're practically my brother-in-law.
Andy, my boy, the only way you can ride that patrol car is to break the California Vehicle
Code.
Then I'll be glad to give you a lift.
To jail?
Thanks a lot.
I'll hitch a ride.
Much action on the pass tonight?
No, it's been pretty quiet.
A couple of drunks, two or three speeders, no bloodin'.
That's good.
That's the way I like it.
Hiya, Phil.
Oh, hi, Dave.
How you doin', Andy?
Okay, Dave.
Hey, where'd you blow in from?
Colorado.
And I could eat a horse.
Watch out.
How about a cow, medium well?
I'll buy it.
And a side of fried eggs.
And a gallon of coffee.
Comin' right up.
Andy's car's in the shop, Dave.
He's lookin' for a ride down the hill tonight.
Can you fix him up?
Well, sure.
Why not?
Here's a starter on that gallon of coffee.
No.
Dave will give you a ride down the hill, Andy.
Crazy.
Providing you're ready by the time I finish eating.
Well, sure.
I'm off in 20 minutes.
Hey, Dave.
What?
Whatever you're carryin' in that rig, it's leaking.
Yeah, I know.
Ice water.
You carryin' a load of ice?
No, no, no.
Chickens.
Chickens?
All the way from Colorado?
Sure.
Where do you think the Los Angeles housewife gets her fresh-killed spring chickens?
Colorado, Louisiana, Mississippi?
No kidding.
Sure.
Ten, 11 days from the axe to the dinner table.
Aren't they a little spoiled by that time?
No, no.
They're okay to eat.
They may have lost a vitamin or two on the way.
Well, it's time to head down the pass.
I gotta check in at the weighing station.
Don't be too late tomorrow, Andy.
Don't worry.
I'll be there around noon.
Take it easy, Phil.
Yep.
Yeah, but take it.
By the time Dave had eaten his steak and eggs, my relief man had checked in and I was through
for the night.
We walked out into the chilled desert air.
Route 66 stretched endlessly toward the east, marked only by the yellow pinprick of an approaching
car.
The melting ice water dripped steadily from Dave's loaded trailer.
He walked slowly around the rig, as he always did before he started her up, checking the
connections with the tractor, the running lights, taking in every detail, seeing things
only an expert can see.
He was so serious about it, I nearly laughed.
Thinks you'll make it?
If everything holds together.
Doesn't it always?
It always has.
So far.
Dave swung into the cab and fired up the big diesel.
I clamored him after him and he nosed his big ten tons of refrigerated chickens out onto
the westbound lane to Highway 66.
He ran her through the gears and when we got up to speed, it finally was quiet enough to
talk without yelling at each other.
When are you and Joanie going to do it?
Sooner the better.
She wants to be a June bride.
So it'll be June?
Yeah, I guess so.
Where you going on your honeymoon?
Joanie's talking about Frisco, so I guess that's where it'll be.
Boy, she's got you roped and hot tied already.
Joanie and me, we talk everything over first and come to an agreement so there won't be
any arguments.
So long as it's the way Joanie wants it?
Maybe it looks that way to you, but it isn't that way.
I know.
Margie and me had the same kind of talks.
But that's as far as it ever got.
Talk.
It's different with Joanie and me.
Well, sure it is.
If every guy didn't think it was different, there wouldn't be no more marriages.
Tell me something, Andy, honest.
What?
If you could pull out, if you could keep right on going tonight, on into L.A. and down
to San Pedro, get on a slow boat to China and never come back, wouldn't you?
Of course not.
Joanie and I are in love.
That's not what I'm talking about.
But on the level, Andy, aren't you a little scared?
Huh?
Yeah, yeah, I guess so a little.
I didn't like Dave talking that way.
I knew he was only kidding me, but it was like he was reading my mind.
How did he know that that was exactly how I felt?
Scared of getting married and guilty because I felt that way.
Our lights picked up a sign on the right.
Summit Cajon Pass, elevation 4,301 feet.
This is the spot where the truck jockeys downshift so they can ride down the pass on compression
and take the load off their brakes.
Dave threw out his clutch, shifted to neutral, trapped on the brake pedal.
Oh, no.
It went right down to the floorboard.
He tried it again and again.
Nothing.
No brakes.
What are you going to do?
Try to get her to gear.
Don't go.
I can't get the gears to mesh.
Grab that heart and pull over your head and keep her going.
Okay.
It don't work, Dave.
Oh, I forgot it's an air horn.
We got air brakes.
We got no air pressure for the brakes.
We got nothing for the horn.
What do we do now?
Hang on to right.
We're loaded good and heavy.
That'll make us roll faster.
Maybe it'll keep us from tipping over.
What's this handle?
A spot brake?
Yeah, on the roof.
Turn it on.
Want me to work it?
It won't hurt any.
Play it back and forth.
Maybe you'll get the road clear for us.
We were picking up speed all the time since we nosed over the top of the pass.
We went into that first big wide curve below the summit like a Maserati or two-brakes.
Tight on the left, then drifting across both lanes to the outside grids and back to the right.
Coming out at better than 70 miles an hour.
Fangio couldn't have done better than Dave did on that one.
But what about the next one and the ones after that?
Tighter turns, not so well banked, and the traffic.
It was bound to be traffic.
After we got out of that curve, I could see the car way down the road.
I kept it in the beam of my spot light, flicking it back and forth.
And in no time, we were up on it.
Dave pulled one hand off the wheels of the electric horn button.
But he didn't hold it long because he needed both hands to keep the truck on the road.
The guy in the car must have got that message because he pulled way over on the shoulder.
We made it past it just before we went into the next curve.
Came out of that one at 75.
But a slight dip in an incline slowed us down a little.
Then we came over the top. My heart stopped.
A half mile down the road were two cars, one in each lane.
Neither one was giving way to the other.
What's your line on the left one? We'll need that lane to make it.
I kept my light in his back window, but he didn't move.
Dave hit the horn.
Still a moving road block, didn't break.
We were getting closer. Why wouldn't they move? Why wouldn't they move?
Get over! Get over!
I can read the license plates clearly now. Too clearly.
Colourful Colorado, New Mexico, land of enchantment.
Why didn't they move?
The distance was closing. 20 yards, 15, 10.
Why didn't they move?
Five yards down.
Get over! Get over!
In a moment, we continue with the second act of...
Suspense.
And now...
Starring Mr. William Bishop.
Act two of Ride Down Cajon.
We were not more than four feet from him when Colourful Colorado got the idea.
With a gust of black smoke from his tailpipe, he pulled ahead of New Mexico, land of enchantment,
and we barreled by with nothing to spare.
Like a bad dream. Like one of those dreams of falling, falling,
or flying an aeroplane between skyscrapers, or...
or riding down Cajon Pass in a runaway truck.
I knew that next curve.
Just last week, I stopped there to see what was left of the truck
when it had gone through the guardrail.
The truck had the size of ours.
There was nothing to do. Nothing.
Hold your breath, shut your eyes, and pray if you remember how.
You can breathe again. You can open your eyes.
You're not in a flaming heap in the bottom of the canyon.
You're still alive.
You're still hurtling down the pass at a mile a minute with no brakes.
Andy? Yeah?
Didn't Bill say he was going to check in at the Wayne Station?
Yeah, I think he did.
Think he'll still be there? I don't know. Maybe.
I'm going over to the right lane.
Wayne Station's just over the next rise.
If he's still there, maybe he can help us.
How? How do I know?
There he is! He's just getting in his car.
Get on that spotlight, flash it in his eyes!
You only got one chance. Yell at him, wave at him when we pass!
Hey, Bill! Bill! Hey, Bill!
Did he see us?
Yeah. He must have thought we were clowning. He just waved back.
Don't sound like it.
No! His red lights are on. He's coming after us.
At the speed we were going, it seemed to take forever to Bill to catch up to us.
Dave slowly, carefully edged the swaying rig over in the left lane
so Bill could pass on my side of the cab.
We were barreling down a straight stretch of the pass now,
but the eastbound lane was only separated by a divider.
The big trucks climbing the grave kept flashing their lights,
signaling to us to dim ours.
But Dave couldn't fool with a dimmer switch and handle the wheel, too,
so he had to take the angry glares full in his eyes.
Finally, Bill dropped along the sides.
What's the matter with you guys?
Lost our air, no brakes!
Can't he get her into gear?
Try to! She's rolling too fast!
Okay! I'll clear the way for you!
Bill caught the gas pedal and pulled out in front, sirens screaming, red lights flashing,
and I breathed once more.
Riding parallel like that at 60 plus with that trailer slewing behind us,
anything could have happened.
Well, that's something.
What?
With Bill out there, we don't have any traffic problems.
We don't have any brakes either.
What else is new?
With Bill out front, I didn't have to work the spotlight anymore.
I set it straight ahead so Dave wouldn't be in any danger of overdriving his headlights.
I could see him at Bill's patrol car.
He was talking into his radio mic.
He's calling in, Dave.
I don't know what good that'll do.
Well, maybe somebody will figure out how to stop this thing.
Too late for that.
What do you mean?
I ought to have escape ramps on this road like they have on the ridge route.
Where'd they put them?
You got the eastbound lane on one side, the canyon on the other.
Yeah.
I looked out, down into the canyon, dark, black.
Then far down, I saw the twin lights of a double-headed diesel crawling up the pass with a load of freight.
The road ahead seemed straight and level, but that train reminded me what a grade it really was.
Two engines pulling, and at the tail, another pushing, crawling up the pass at 10 miles an hour while we shot down at a mile a minute.
After the right would turn off, we had another long curve, almost a 90-degree turn, long and fragile.
But at this speed, it would be tough.
My tires always screeched when I came through it, and I had brakes.
There was nothing for me to do.
Out of the spotlight, we sat dead centered.
So, I just sat there while Dave did all the work.
Sweat dripping on this forehead as we went into the curve.
His arms straining at the wheel, turning a little, then easing off, turning it again, coaxing that crazy rig through with every part of it.
We came out of that one, almost at right angles to the road.
The trailer in the right lane, the tractor in the left.
But we came out of it.
But best of all, it was a little grade ahead of us that slowed us down.
And then beyond, the road was straight for a long, long time.
Past the firehouse, and the light up creek cut off.
And then it's still downhill, but much more gradual.
And then you're out of the canyon, and the desert stretches flat on both sides of the road.
Hey Dave, how about pulling up on the shoulder now?
Too soft, we flip for sure.
I thought of the road ahead, all downhill.
We'd lose speed all right, but would we lose it quick enough to do us any good?
There comes a time when you just can't keep going straight.
The road ends.
In a moment, we continue with the third act of...
Suspense.
And now, starring Mr. William Bishop.
Act three of Ride Down Cajon.
Our speed was down to 53 as we topped the last rise.
Far ahead, way past the fire station.
I saw a red light flash on and begin to move.
Another patrol car.
Feels got reinforcements, but I don't know what good they'll do.
They rolled on and on.
All the time, going fast.
Our 53 was back to 65.
And as we hit the bottom of the pass and on into Purdue, we were doing better than 70.
Also as we hit Purdue, we were joined by a fourth in our parade.
But this member wasn't as encouraging as the rest.
He followed us with his siren blaring.
It was an ambulance.
Have you ever driven through a fairly large town at 70 miles an hour?
It's quite an experience.
Up ahead, I saw the first police car ride over a dip.
And bob up and down like a teeter totter.
There's something I hadn't thought of.
Hold on to your head, Andy.
This dip may send you through the roof.
The dip was bad, but it slowed us a little.
And so did the next one. And the next.
As we approached the bridge over the railroad yard,
they got worse and the creaking of the cupboards between the cab and trailer
screamed more each time.
The dip on the bridge did it.
There was a sudden surge.
And as we came up, there was a jerk, a horrible noise.
The trailer came loose!
It's going over the railing under the tracks.
Well, at least now we don't have to worry about that load landing on top of us.
Up ahead, Phil had seen what had happened.
We were both in the left lane, and then Phil moved to the right,
stuck his arm out the window, waved his arm.
Wonder what he wants.
Looks like he wants us to come alongside.
Yeah.
Phil slowed down. And when we got alongside him, I leaned out the window.
Got an eye here.
I'll pull ahead of you. You ease into me.
If we can connect at the same speed,
I may be able to stop you with my brakes.
You hear him, Dave?
Yeah.
What do you think?
Quite well. We gotta do something pretty quick.
This road ends, and we can never make a turn at this speed.
We'd roll for sure.
Okay, Phil, let's try it.
Phil got out ahead of us by about five yards to stay there for half a block.
Then he slowed down.
He's going too slow!
That's better!
Still too slow. We push him away.
And look at his rear end.
Here we go again.
We almost got it.
Just a little faster this time, Phil, and we won't push you away.
Here he comes again.
We did it!
I think it may work, Andy!
I think it may work!
Once more, we smashed into the rear of the patrol car,
and each time we slowed a little more.
And the third time we connected and stayed connected.
And Phil's brakes held us and brought us to a slowing stop.
Less than half a block from where the street ends.
We crawled down from the cab.
Phil got out of the patrol car, and we just stood there, shaking,
looking at the smashed-up rear of the patrol car and the smoking brake drums.
And then I started laughing.
I couldn't help it.
It struck me as funny.
Ha ha ha ha!
What's so funny?
Ha ha ha! I just thought of something.
Well, let us in on it. We could all use a laugh.
Do you know why my car's in the shop?
I'll buy it. Why?
To have the brakes reliant.
Suspense.
In which William Bishop starred in William and Robeson's production of Ride Down Cajon,
written by John Moller and adapted for suspense by Mr. Robeson and Mr. Moller.
In just a moment, the names of the supporting players and a word about next week's story of suspense.
Supporting William Bishop in Ride Down Cajon were Bill Quinn and Joda Santis,
with sound patterns by Bill James and Tom Hanley.
Listen.
Listen again next week.
When we return with Elliot Reid in Four of a Kind,
another tale well calculated to keep you in...
suspense.