A fiery horse for the speed of light, a cloud of dust, and a hearty hi-oh silver, the Lone Ranger. The beautiful Indian companion Tonto, the masked rider of the plains, led the fight for law and order in the early western United States. The stories of his strength and courage, his daring and resourcefulness, have come down to us through the generations. And nowhere in the pages of history can one find a greater champion of justice. Return with us now to those thrilling days of yesteryear. From out of the pass come the thundering hoofbeats of the great horse Silver. The Lone Ranger rides again. Come on, Silver! Faster, boy, faster! Come, Silver! Two men rode side by side along a rocky trail in the Texas wasteland. One was young and wore the badge of a United States Marshal. His companion was a deputy sheriff, a heavyset, thin-lipped man who carried his six guns low within easy reach of his large, hairy hands. Suddenly, as they topped a rise in the trail, the two riders saw their destination, a narrow gorge which led into a mountain basin. That's the pass dead ahead, Marshal. I see. Is there another entrance to the gulch? No, that's the only one. Yeah, there's no other escape, and Big Mike is hiding out in the gulch, as you say. Why haven't you and the sheriff arrested him? Well, mail robbery's a government offense. Me and the sheriff ain't got no call to metal. Well, Big Mike is a murderer, too. He killed a mail guard. Missouri isn't the kind of a sheriff to let a killer go free. Maybe he figured you'd be coming down from the county seat to make the arrest anyway, Marshal. I wish Missouri was here. I'd like to ask him a few questions. Too bad he was called out of town to fetch back that horse thief. He'd be plumb glad to see you. There is a new deputy, huh? Yep. Outlaws drilled the last one. It's a good thing I ran into you. I'd never have located Big Mike's hideout myself. Glad to be a help, Marshal. We've almost reached the pass. Yes, yep. Won't be long now. You're the only person I've talked to who's seen Big Mike without his mask. What's he look like? Seen is worth the pass, I'll tell you. He's got black hair, bushy eyebrows. Bullet scar on his left cheek. Bullet scar? Well, that description fits you. Yeah. Matter of fact, Marshal, I'm a dead ringer for Big Mike. I even carry my hardware the way he does. In my hands. I don't understand. Your man hunts over, Marshal. Big Mike. Take a good look. It's your last. Over the green prairie grass of Mustang Mang's Lazy Jay Ranch, raced an all-white colt with young Dan Reed, the Lone Ranger's nephew, astride his back. Days of constant riding and taming the son of the great horse, Silver, without breaking his fiery spirit, and now free of the corral and plunging and pitching, with which he had attempted to dislodge the young stranger who was so determined to master him, the colt and his rider seemed to blend as one as they streaked across the ranch land. Watching Dan as he proudly reined in the horse for the Lone Ranger, Tonto, Mustang Mag, and Missouri, the excitable, talkative old sheriff of Trigger Ben. Hold there, boy. Hold. Hold there. Oh, son. You've got the makings of a real horseman, sure as I'm standing here. Golly. You really think so? Ah, you ride plenty fine. Yes, sirree. Couldn't ride that there cayuse better myself. Why, you spabbin' stove-in' old moss horn, if it wasn't for them bow legs of yours, you couldn't even stay on a horse. That's a dat-ratted lie. Doggone it, Mag, you've got more ways of getting under a man's skin than any petticoat in this here county. You've come a long way, Dan, but there are still several things about a horse you must know. I know. I've still got a lot to learn. Most of them you'll learn as we ride together. Ah, you'll find out plenty soon. Gosh, I hope you'll let me ride with you soon. Do you think you can take your horse over that fence now? I'll try. Fence jumping's mighty important when you're riding the range, young'un. Why, I remember once when I was just... Hey, sirree, you're a loud-talking old fool. Pay no attention to the old coop, Dan. Thunderation. Man can't say nothing. Get up there, boy. Racing toward the rail fence like an arrow shot from a bow, the cold thundered down the grassy stretch with his young rider hunched tensely in the saddle for the jump. Come on, boy. Help him over. Gathering his hoops, the son of Silver seemed about to thrust himself toward the barrier. Then he shied away with a suddenness that hurled Dan over his head and over the fence. Glory be. You hurt yourself, son. Let me help you. Oh, golly. I'm all right. Guess I'll need a lot of practice before I'll be any good at fence jumping, though. Ha, ha. A white horse victor again. You were off balance, Dan. A horse knows when he isn't being properly ridden. Besides, you should steady your mouth before the jump. Ah. That's why him shy at fence. Well, next time I... Thunderation, man. Here comes Mayor Squibbs. Oh, that scheming old skin, Flint. What's he doing on my land? Hold up. Hold that. Hold up. Hold up there. Hold up. Hey, I thought I'd find you here, Sheriff. Wasting the people's money when you ought to be out chasing crooks. Hey, Thunder Squibbs. Them's fighting words. You... You double-dealing land grabbing old skin, Flint. Who gave you permission to traipse your ugly old carcass on my property? Get out of here before I lose my temper. Ah, don't do anything you regret, Meg. I'm here in official business. The United States Marshal's been murdered. Marshal Carter? That's the one. Him and the Sheriff's new deputy went out to Potter's Goss to bring in Big Mike for the mail robbery. Why wasn't I notified that the Marshal's coming? He wasn't nowhere to be seen. The Marshal didn't want to waste the time looking for you. It seems to me Bat Hogan, that new deputy of mine, has taken a lot on himself. Gunning for your job, that's what he is, Missouri. Likely as not, his honor the mayor here made Bat deputy so as to run against you in the election. I ain't the only one who thinks Triggerpen needs a new sheriff. You're scheming, tax-grabbing coyote. If it was election time for a new mayor, you'd be voted clean out of the county. Who killed the Marshal? Well, I don't know for certain. Him and Bat split up, so it was a scout for clues. The last Bat saw him alive, he was heading in the notch for Potter's Gulch. Oh? Bat heard the shots and whipped right back. But the Marshal was dead and his horse was gone. I see. Looks to me like a clear case, Sheriff. Eh? The Marshal was murdered at Potter's Gulch, wasn't he? That means a big bend didn't drill him. Them renegades who lived there did. That's an underhanded lie, Squibbs. They're decent, honest, self-respecting people who settled in the gulch. They wouldn't murder nobody. Big Mike could have been one of them without their knowing. Nobody's ever seen him without a mask. Who are these people? They're tax-cheating law-breakers. That's who they are. They hate the law. They just as likely shoot down the United States Marshals as the Sheriff for upholding it. Now, you shut your mealy mouth, you crook. I know them people. They hate the law because you hid behind it to raise their taxes and grab their land while they couldn't pay. Is that true, Squibbs? Hey, doggone tootin' it's true. Two years ago, Squibbs taxed us town folks as a whole parcel cleared out. With what few belongs, he left them and settled in Potter's Gulch. Squibbs can't touch them there. Now the thiever and polecats put through a new tax bill, doubling what we'll have to pay. Public improvements require new taxes. Public improvements? Why, the only improvements this town's seen since you was elected mayor, blast a day, is in the size of your pocketbook. Yeah, my dear woman, Dan. Don't dear woman me, you low-down skunk. By Jehoshaphat, I've had all of you I can stomach. Missouri, give me a gun. What's it? Oh, dance, doggone your hide. Dance, ugly cockers off my leg. Sheriff, Sheriff, stop me. Arrest that woman. Kill me, Sheriff. What's that? There's so much noise, I can't hear you. No, no, no. Some time later, while Dan remained in the corral with his new horse, the Lone Ranger, Tonto, and Missouri elbowed through an angry crowd outside the coroner's office in Trigger Bend, where the murdered marshal had been brought. Here, make way. It's the sheriff. The Lone Ranger and the engine's with him. We want action, Missouri. Yeah. You want to hang out with that sheriff, Star? Bring back the killer. Election ain't been a few days off. We ain't afraid either Avenger Marshal or Hanna-Nut. Hey, come on. Gordon might think I wanted the killer to go free to hear him carry on. Webbs has turned the crowd against you, Missouri. Ah, and maybe Deputy help him. I wouldn't put it past them ornery skunks. Let's see if we can learn anything from the body. Marshal get two bullets in head. That's strange. What is it, Masked Man? Powder burns. Whoever fired those shots was as close to the marshal as I am to you. Ah. But how murder come that close? I don't know. Must have got the drop on the marshal when the youngster least expected it. Kimasabi. What is it, Tonto? Him ride paint horse. Yes. Horse have brown patch on left side, white patch on right. Doggone if that ain't the truth. His horse hair is rubbed off on the inside of the marshal's pants legs. We may need that information to trap the killer. Can we go hunt him now? Yes, Kimasabi. We ride the potter's goat. From his office across the street, Mayor Squibbs and Bat Hogan, the sheriff's deputy, watched the Masked Man, the Indian in Missouri, mount their horses and turn them toward the distant hills. Crowd's too wild, Missouri. Listen to him. Yeah, he stirred him up plenty, Squibbs. If it wasn't for the lone ranger, you'd be elected sheriff easy. Missouri would never tie up the marshal's murder to his own deputy. Maybe so, but that masked critter's liable to do anything. That's why we ain't taking chances. After today, the lone ranger will be out of our way. Missouri too. Then you're a cinch to be sheriff, Bat. Bat Hogan. That ain't bad for a new handle. Big Mike was getting a mite too hot for comfort with that marshal on my trail. Did you send his horse through the pass? Yeah, just like you told me. Good. That's all we need to pin the marshal's murder on them tax-cheating squatters hole up in the gulch. I don't savvy. Well, everybody knows they went to Potter's Gulch to escape the law. They hate the sight of it. When the marshal's horse is found in their possession, folks will just naturally figure those law-hating tax-dewingquints killed them. That's why you're so all fired anxious for the murder to take place at the pass, huh? That's why you've got to shoot the lone ranger in Missouri there too. Then when you're a sheriff, you can blame all the killings on them cootters at the gulch. Riding slowly, the lone ranger, Tonto, and Missouri peered intently at the rocky trail for a clue to the marshal's killer. Directly ahead was the narrow gorge, which led into Potter's Gulch. Dread this confounded shale. Can't find nary hoofprint where the marshal passed. Ah, rock not show trace. Squibb said the marshal and Bat Hogan separated before the murder. That right. Let me not find place. All right, Tonto. I wonder... The trail's changing. That's sand up ahead. Ah. Now maybe we find clue. We're almost at the pass. Somewhere along here is the spot where the marshal was killed. You think Big Mike was the yellow-livered coyote who ambushed him? Or do you suppose it was one of them lawless spies and critters in the gulch? I don't know, Missouri. Oh, Silver, football... Oh, Tonto, Tonto. Oh, oh. Look, Tonto. Ah. Two horses leave prints and sand. Them dance round. Seem plenty excited. Juniper. This must be the murder spot. Yes, I... Leapin' catfish outlaws. Ah, and then mass. It's Big Mike's gang. Hey, close it now, boys. Riddle up. Head for the pass. Come on, Silver. No, we can't do that. Folks and punters, ghosts, hate lawmen, horses and robbers. They're drillers. They're only escaped. Hurry, get them up. All right. Guns, we're jumping from the fire and planning to the fire. Get up, coyotes. Come on, Silver. They're heading for the pass. Come now. Riddle up. They're getting away. There ain't no escape, boys. They'll be drilled full of holes while they get through the guards. Didn't I tell you? That's the last of the Lone Ranger and the engine of Missouri, too. The curtain falls on the first act of tonight's Lone Ranger story. Before the next exciting scenes, please permit us to pause for just a few moments. Now to continue our story. As the Lone Ranger, Tonto, and Missouri raced through the narrow crevasse away from the outlaws who sought to ambush them, they were met by fusilative shots and saw that their new assailants were the settlers of Potter's Gulf. And the lowmen are all around here. That's the kind of all they serve and trigger band. Riddle them. We got no time for their presence. Hold your fire. We've no quarrel with you. Speak for yourself, mister. We're Potter's Gulf's people. And we've plenty of quarrel about with anybody that represents the law. That's a ticket, Jeff. What's the point in palaverums? Let them have it. Yeah. Mayor Squibb sent him here to collect them back taxes. Oh, wait. No one sent us here. We were ambushed by outlaws. That's right. Doggone it, boys. You remember old Missouri? We don't hold any grudge against you, Missouri. But you're the law. And we swore to get even with the law wherever we found it for robbing us for our land and our homes. I'm killing all three of them critters right now. Drop that gun. Don't try that again. Bless them, man. Come on. Come on. Lashing out with their fists, the Lone Ranger, Tonto, and Missouri fought stubbornly against the onslaught with the settlers. Their smashing blows took a heavy toll. But the odds were too great. And soon the angry squatters had bound their wrists with rawhide taken from the gun belts and jerked them roughly to their feet. You've run this show long enough, mister. I don't know who you are, but I'm aiming to find out. Don't touch that mask. Jeff. Jeff, what's happened? This is no place for you, Amy. Go on back to the house. Who is this man? We'll soon know. No, Jeff, don't. What? A masked man, a white horse, and let me see his gun. I don't say of him. Please, Jeff. It's true. Silver bullets. He's the Lone Ranger. You're darn tootin' he's the Lone Ranger. And this here's Tonto, his sidekick. I've heard of you, mister. You're a lawman, too. Oh, you're wrong. You make it your job to uphold the laws. And the laws are just? Yes. Don't you see, Jeff? The Lone Ranger wants to help him. No, I don't see. All lawmen are alike. They don't care if they trample people's rights and break up their homes as long as it's legal. Well, we make our own laws here. Let's see how they like being on the receiving end. Jeff, what are you going to do with them? We'll decide that tonight. That night, the masked man, the Indian, and the sheriff sat with their hands bound behind them on the floor of Jeff Colbin's barn. A murmur of voices from the house told them that the meeting to decide their fate was in progress. Suddenly, a new sound caught their ears. A faint rustling in the dark. Then a match was struck. A candle lighted, revealing Amy's frightened, earnest face. You mustn't make a sound, any of you. Uh-huh. I brought a knife to cut the rawhide around your wrist. Then you can get away. Has Jeff decided what to do with us, Amy? Not yet, but he's so bitter. And the men are talking so wild. I was afraid of what they might do. That's why I've come. I see. Jeff isn't the same person he used to be. Losing our ranch to Mayor Squibbs has made him hard and revengeful. Why, the ornery skunk. I'd like to tar and feather him with his own tax papers and run him out of Trigger Bend on a rail. It can't be an easy life for any of you living in Potter's Gulch like this. It's awful. I'd give anything to go back to town, but Jeff's so proud. And none of us folks can pay our back taxes and have enough to live on, too. Perhaps we can arrange for you to go back to Trigger Bend, Amy. Do you really think you could? There. You're all free. We need our guns. I put them over here by the window. Follow me. Wait. Let me have that candle. Here. Tonto, look. Oh. It's a paint horse. A brown patch on his left side and a white patch on his right. Ah. And look on the floor. Saddlebags. Stamped with the United States government seal. Who owns that horse, Amy? Why, it's Jeff's. Oh? Is anything wrong? Where did Jeff get the horse? From me. You? Yes. I was near the pass this morning when I heard gunshots from outside the gulch. Then I saw the paint running toward me. Jumping, Juniper. What else did you see? I saw a man whip the horse and wave his arms to make him enter the pass. What'd he look like? Why, he was heavy set with black hair and he looked like he was wearing a badge. Something on his vest flashed in the sun. Great day. Did you hear? That's the spitting image of Pat Hogan. Are you sure? Well, I should hope to smile. Well, that explained how killer get close to Marshall and make powder burns. Yes. It explains several things, Tonto. Double dealin' polecat thinks he can hide behind the badge of my office, does he? Before I'm through, he'll think hangin''s too good for him. Wait, Missouri. Yeah? Uh, what... Where'd we go? To see Jeff and the others who are meeting in the house. No, no, you mustn't. They... They might shoot you. We'll take that chance, Amy. Come on. It's a mask, man. The engine, too. Who let them put us loose? Get your guns, boys. Leave your guns alone. Better do what he says, boys. Lone Ranger's grease lightning with the six-shooter. All of you, please listen. The Lone Ranger wants to help you. Amy, you let the prisoners free. Yes, I did. You've all let your bitterness and hatred for crooked law blind you to the fine and decent things the law represents. The Lone Ranger stands for a square deal. If you'll only listen to... Now, listen to me. You men are cowards. Cowards? Hey, you can't call us that. I don't care who you are. You chose to run instead of fighting to put the crook who cheated you behind bars. Mayor Squibbs made the laws to suit himself. The only way to fight him was to break him. And we did that same by refusing to pay his crooked taxes. Yeah, until he moved in and took our homes and livestock for not abiding by the law. Now, wait. There's one law even Squibbs can't hide behind. What's that? The penalty for murder. Murder? The masked man must be local. The mayor ain't got the nerve to kill a chicken. I suppose Quigbs is guilty of murder. What's it to do with us? He planned to blame the crime on all of you. Oh, no. That calls for proof. The proof is in your own barn. A paint horse and government saddlebags. Both belonging to a United States marshal who was murdered. So that's why the man made the horse run through the path. Why, that low-down skunk, I see it now. He and his crooked laws couldn't touch us here in Potter's Gulch. But with proof of murder, he could have us wiped out. That's just right. Are we going to let that yellow-livered coyote get away with that? Well, what can we do about it? Go back and fight. How? With your help, we can trap Squibbs. Say you'll do it, Jeff. It's the chance we've been waiting for, Jeff. Yeah. A chance to settle old scores with Mayor Squibbs and get free of Potter's Gulch. Well, the Lone Ranger's got my vote. I do. All right. When do we start? Let's fight! The following night, Bat Hogan and Mayor Squibbs conferred on their plans for the election in the sheriff's office. Bat settled himself comfortably in Missouri's squeaky old office chair and propped a poster on the worn old desk. Vote for Bat Hogan for sheriff. People's protector. Well, that was mighty fine words, Squibbs. We'll tack them posters all over town. Run a banner across Main Street. You'll be a cinch to win the election. And there ain't nobody else running against me. Unless it's Missouri's ghost. Don't say them things. Why, nervous? Well, it'd feel a lot easier if you'd taken care of the Lone Ranger of Missouri yourself. Are you sure the Potter's Gulch crowd drilled them? The way them squatters were sending lead down in that pass, they couldn't miss. Quit worrying, Squibbs. There's somebody to see in there, Squibbs. Who is it? Jeff Colbin from Potter's Gulch. Jeff Colbin. That young Squibbs, the leader of the Potter's Gulch crowd. Wonder what he wants. Show him in. We'll find out. You've got your men posted around the jail, ain't you, Bat? Sure. Quit worrying. All right, Jeff. Go on in. Well, Jeff, this is kind of a surprise. I never thought I'd see you in town again. Never expected to come, Squibbs. But, well, the folks voted to return here to live. Yeah, so. Well, it'll take more than votes for them to come. It'll take a tidy sum and back taxes. Yes, I know that. I've got the tax money in the satchel. Ten thousand dollars. You mean to say you got ten thousand dollars in that bag? Took nearly every cent the folks could raise. But it'll pay off the claims you've got against their homes and stocks. Yes. Let me see that satchel, Jeff. Here. Ten thousand dollars. What do you know? Now, if you'll just give me a receipt, Mayor Squibbs, so's the folks can claim the land. Here's your receipt. So that's your game. Keep it in the leather, I'll drill you. Why, you low-down skunks. This ten thousand will look mighty handsome in the treasury, Jeff. But it wouldn't begin to pay for all them lands I confiscated. You won't get away with it. Everybody in Potter's Gulch will know. Everybody in Potter's Gulch will know you as a murderer. Same as everybody else. Murder? You killed the United States Marshal, Jeff. If we've got evidence against you to prove it. You're framing me. You killed the Marshal. Sure we did. Squibbs planned the murder and me, Big Mike, I drilled him down. But who's to know that? You're Big Mike. Talk him up, Pat. You talk too much. Just enough to arrest you both for murder. Pat, it's a lone ranger. It can't be. He's dead. Take charge of your prisoners, Sheriff. Just let me at him. That's all I ask. The double-dealing low-down murdering skunks. I'm sure it's true. Pat, you've ruined everything. Not yet I eat. I'll get the boys. Squibbs, the men you posted outside have all been taken care of. But the people of Potter's Gulch, the people you dispossessed. And every one of them heard your confession. They're just itching to be witnesses, Squibbs. I'll get going for that cell. A fiery all-white coal streaked across the prairie grass of Mustang Mang's Lazy Jay Ranch toward a rail fence. The youth who bent so intently over the horse's back seemed to have eyes only for the barrier. But his lips whispered encouragement to the colt. Come on, boy. We can't let the lone ranger down. We've got to make it. The handsome head of the colt, son of the great horse, Silver, seemed to toss as if an understanding. His flying feet suddenly gathered for the leap. Then, straight and true, the horse and rider arched through the air as one. Come on, boy. Oh, Paul. Sakes alive, he did it. He jumped that fence as pretty as a picture. Thunder region. I'd like to swallow my Adam's apple when he took off that leap. Over again, boy. Oh, boy. Hold that. Fine job, Dan. Gosh, thanks. Does that mean we ride together? The three of us? Yes, Dan. Together from now on. Uh-uh. Colt, not Victor anymore, Dan. You master now. Victor. Eh? Victor. That's it. What? Well, you said when I learned to ride the colt, I could pick a new name for him. I'd like to call him Victor. It's a fine name, Dan. A name he can be proud of. Ah. Well, thanks for everything, Meg. And you've been very kind. Goodbye. Goodbye, Missouri. Goodbye, Paul. Goodbye, Charlie. Goodbye, Charlie. So long, Dan. Take care of yourself, Charlie. Come on, Sylvie. Get him up, scound. Come on, Victor. Well, Sylvie. Go away. I've just heard is a copyrighted feature of the Lone Ranger, Incorporated.
