horse with the speed of light, a cloud of dust and a hearty Hail Silver, the Lone Ranger. His faithful 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 past and the thundering hoofbeats of the great horse Silver, the Lone Ranger rides again. Morn Silver! Let's go, big fellow! I am Silver! The Lone Ranger had pitched camp in familiar territory and sent Dan Reed to the post office in the nearby town of South Flats. When Dan returned, his face wore a happy grin. Whoa, Victor, whoa, boy, steady, felice, boy. You, you get nailed, Dan? You bet I did, Tonto. It was fun getting us, even if it wasn't really mine. When I ordered the book, I had it sent in your name, Dan. Yes, sir, I know. I'll get it out of my saddleback. Golly, I'll bet Grandpa Thatcher will be pleased with the book. I think he will be, Dan. Oh, I nearly forgot. Here's the letter. The letter? Yes. It's for Mrs. Jane Thatcher. Is that Grandpa's wife? Oh, Jane Thatcher's the wife of his son. What are you doing with this letter, Dan? I, the postmaster told me I was riding north to Thatcher's place and asked me to take the letter with me. Oh, I see. He thought it might be important. Here's the book. Fine, I'll unwrap it. What about the letter? Oh, keep it in your pocket and be sure to deliver it. Right. Golly, I wish you and Tonto were going. We'll join you at the Thatcher's in a few days, Dan. Then as we find out why the Padre wants to see us. Oh, here. Let me read something, Dan. This is old Jeb's favorite. Oh? In the grampian hills my father tends his flock. A frugal swain whose constant care were to increase his store and keep his only son myself at home. Golly, I like it too. The last time I saw Jeb Thatcher, I promised to try to get a copy of the play that has a speech about the grampian hills. You see, he likes to call the hills near his ranch the grampian hills. He does? Never knew a man who loved this country more than Thatcher. He's one of the men who fought to settle it. That's why I want you to know him, Dan. I'm sure looking forward to it. He'll tell you some great stories. Him spend most of time telling stories to Jack. Who's Jack? Oh, that's his grandson. He's about seven. Jeb Thatcher loves to sit on the porch and look at the hills. Tell about the hard fighting that went on to win those hills from the Indians. There was a lot of bitter fighting in this part of the country and Jeb Thatcher was in the thick of it. And then, Jackie, we signed a peace treaty with White Eagle and set up the first trading post. Golly, Grampy, Grampy Thatcher. I bet the Indians were glad to make peace after that fight. It was right over yonder, Jackie, just beyond the, beyond those grampian hills. Why are they called the grampian hills? Oh, that ain't the real name for them. It's just a name I gave them. Well, after we made peace with the redskins, I built this house and settled down here. I've been watching them hills ever since. Your daddy used to sit on my knee just like you're doing, watch the hills with me. It's nice to see the flocks grazing all the pretty flowers. Tell me about them again. I've just been telling you. I mean, on the grampian hills. My father tends his flock, a frugal swain whose constant cares were to increase his store and keep his only son myself at home. Oh, here comes daddy. Hello, daddy. Oh, there, son. Grandpa telling you another story? Oh, it's the same old story, David. The one about the first trading post that I used to tell you. Oh, Jane's looking for you, son. She's in the house. Oh, thanks. Where you been, daddy? Been cutting firewood. I, uh, Dad, they, uh, they say it's going to be a mighty cold winter. It wouldn't surprise me. Well, Jane and I were, uh, that is, we wondered if, uh... You wondered what? Speak up, David. Well, of course, we both know you like it here, but, uh, you're not young anymore, and if you, uh, if you want to spend the winter where it's warmer... David, you mean leave here? Well, maybe just till spring. You, you don't want to leave, do you? Oh, no, Dad, no, but, uh, we, well, you see, we don't want you to. Oh, you don't want me to be cold. Why, bless you and your wife, son. I know this place means as much to you as it does to me. It's downright thoughtful of the two of you to consider leaving here for my sake. Well, you see, Dad, we thought... Don't think no more about it. I've spent over 40 winters here, and I like them hills when they're covered with sparkling snow just as much as when they're covered with grass. The colder it gets, the more a good home means. Don't you worry about me, son. Winter's when I really appreciate home. You go see what Jane wants of you. All right, Dad. Jane. Well, David, did you tell him? I couldn't tell him we meant to send him away. Jane, this place means everything to him. Nonsense. David, as soon as my sister writes that she's made arrangements for your father to go into the old people's home, he's got to leave here. You'll be much better off in St. Louis. Now, Jane, Dad doesn't bother anyone. He just sits on the porch and fills your son's head with bloodthirsty ideas. Honey, his stories. It's not only his stories, David. Look at this. It's a slingshot he made. Look at it. Imagine making a weapon like this for Jackie. He'll be smashing things all over the house. Well, not if he's taught how to use it. Anyway, I have enough to do around here without preparing special things for him to eat and keeping the house stifling hot so he'll be comfortable and, well, listening to his constant talk. David, we never have a moment's privacy. Grandfather gets on my nerves. But, Jane, maybe if we talk to him and... There's no use discussing it any further, David. I wouldn't insist on sending him away if I didn't know it would be better for him. After a time, he'll make friends. He'll be among people his own age. Someone's stopping outside. Yes, I heard it. Jane, after all, you know this was Dad's house. He gave it to you, didn't he? Well, yes, but he didn't expect to be put out of it. We've taken care of him all these years and we'll pay for his keep in St. Louis. It's not as if we were sending him away to be supported by charity. But your sister might not be able to arrange for him. In that case, something else must be done. I simply cannot put up with your father any longer. It's your father or me, David. One of us must leave. I cannot feel that this is my home while he's here. Well, it'd be mighty hard to tell him. He's always said he hoped to be buried in view of the Grampian Hills. If you don't tell him, I shall. He simply... David! Jane, look at this! With your company! And look what he brought me! A fine book! Dan, this is my son and his wife, David and Jane. How do you do? This is Dan Reed. Hello, Dan. Glad to know you. Good afternoon. He's written over from the flats. He brought me a book. The postmaster gave me this letter for you, Mrs. Thatcher. Oh, thank you. David, it's for my sister in St. Louis. Oh, I don't know when I had a finer present. Why, Cracky, here's that speech I always like so well. The whole thing is here. On the Grampian Hills... Father, why don't you take your book to the porch? I want to read my sister's letter. Sure thing, Jane. Sure. Come on, Dan. Come along, Jackie. I'll read this to both of you. You coming, Jackie? I'll be there as soon as I get my slingshot. Bring it out here and show it to Dan. I was going to... Sit down, Grandpa. Let me sit on your knee while you read. Climb up, Jackie. There you are. Ah, look over there, Dan. Ain't those hills a sight to see? They sure are. Oh, David, this is good news. Jackie, you left the door open. Aw. Better close the door. What are they? Well, your father will be taken into the old people's home as soon as we send him to St. Louis. Grandpa. What? Grandpa, are you going away? Jackie, show Dan your slingshot. I'm going inside for a minute. It's up to us to have a chance. After all, we think we must... Oh, Dan. Did you hear what Jane said? The door was open, David. How long have you been thinking about sending me to St. Louis? Father, don't you think you'd be happier in the city? You think so, Jane? Oh, of course. You'll be among people your own age. In the... in the old folks' home. You'll make a lot of new friends, Father, and you'll be warm and comfortable. I suppose plans are all made? David and I have talked it all over. I see. I... I tried to tell you, Dad. David. Would it make you happy if I go? Well, we don't... It will make us both happy to know that you're being given better care than we can give you and to know that you're warm and among friends. This won't be just for the winter, will it? By spring, you won't want to come back here. You'll see if I'm not right. Maybe we can bring Jackie to visit you sometime. All right, Jane. I reckon it will be nice being with people my own age. There. You see, David, I told you Father wouldn't mind. There's a stage out of South Flats tomorrow. It makes a connection with the train. Tomorrow? I'll help you get your things together, Father. It was early the following morning when the lone ranger and Tonto reached the little Spanish mission. The masked man's good friend, the Padre, came into the patio to welcome them. Ah, you have come at last. Hello, Padre. Well, Padre, if time is an important factor, perhaps you'd better tell why you sent for us. Muy bien. I think you know a man named Thatcher. Jeb Thatcher? Si, si. We were on the way to visit him, Padre, when we heard that you were looking for us. Es posible. What about him? Señor, I do not know him or his relations, but I have heard a great deal. I do not know that anything can be done. What's the matter with Jeb? I have been asked by those who know him to intercede, but that I cannot do. You, perhaps. Well, you can decide. Señor, Jeb Thatcher is to be sent away from home. His home in the hills? Oh, that not good. You are surprised? Who can send him away? It's his own home, his own ranch. No more, Señor. It belongs to his son. David? Si. Does Jeb want to leave? I'm sure he... I do not think he knows the plans. What plans? Who's planning to send him away? Señor, David and Jane think their father will be better off if he doesn't have to face the cold winds and snow of another winter in the hills. Jeb Thatcher loves those hills. They think he will be happier in St. Louis, where he can make friends of people his own age. People his own age? Padre, do you mean... Are they sending him to an institution? Si, Señor. David is doing that? Oh, Señor, I am sure it is out of love and kindness. Many people would be happy to go where Jeb Thatcher is going. Not Jeb Thatcher. Perhaps Jane and David do not understand. They surely know how Jeb feels about his home in the hills. I thought, Señor, if you know David, perhaps you... When is Jeb to leave South Flats? I think Jane and David are waiting for a letter from St. Louis. A damn take letter. Jane Thatcher has had a letter from St. Louis. Recently? It was delivered yesterday. Of a truth? Oh, Señor, then there is but little time. If Jeb gets to the train, it will be too late. We'll start at once. Come on, Toto. Do you want to take some food? Can't wait for it, Padre. Hasta la vista. Adios. Very big fella. The curtain falls on the first act of our Lone Ranger pause for just a few moments. Now to continue our story. Dan Reed had spent the night in the Thatcher home. In the morning, he helped David hitch a team to a light wagon for the trip to the stagecoach station in South Flats. In the meantime, Jane helped Jeb finish packing. There's still some of my old clothes in the closet, Jane. I'll have David pack them and send them to you. Oh, well, I guess I'm ready. I'm glad you're being sensible about this, Father. It's all right, Jane. I know I've been trying on your nerves. You'll be much better off, I'm sure of it. Are you? Why, yes, yes, of course. Here, I'll help you carry your bag. David has just brought the wagon to the door. Just a minute, Jane. I'm going without a fuss on account of David. I don't want him to be unhappy. You've got to promise you will make this home as happy for him as Mary made it for me. I will, Father. One thing more. Mary always liked the spring flowers on the hills. I wonder if you'd see that David picks a few of them for her grave. Of course. Thanks, Jane. Wagon's all set, Dad. All right, David. David, take this bag. I'll get a blanket for Father. I'll help with the bag. Well, Dan, sorry to miss seeing your friend. I'll tell him where you are, Mr. Thatcher. Tell him I'm mighty grateful for this book. It'll mean a lot to me. I'll help you aboard, Dad. Don't need no help, David. There. Here's a blanket, Father. You'd better tuck it around your knees. Thanks, Jane. Here, I'll help you fix it. It's a pretty raggedy old blanket, Jane. Father can take it on the stage with him. If he loses it, it won't matter. There you are, Father. Thank you, Jane. Remember what I told you. I will. Well, I see you're all saddled up, Dan. You riding in the South Flats? No, sir, I'm heading west to meet my friends. Give them my best. I will. Bye, Jane. Goodbye, Father. So long, Jackie. You be sure and write me about the hills. Yes, Grandpa. Get up there. Get along, then. Are you leaving too, Dan? Yes, Jack. I'm going to ride to the other side of the Grampian Hills. Thanks for letting me stay over, Mrs. Thatcher. You were quite welcome, Dan. Come again. Thanks. So long, Jackie. Goodbye, Dan. Come on, Victor. Dan Reed headed west toward the mission. He maintained a steady pace for several hours. It was nearly noon when he saw two horsemen coming toward him on the trail. A moment later, he recognized the Lone Ranger and Tonto, and they were riding hard. He reined up to await them. Dan, did you see Jeb Thatcher? Yes, I spent last night at his, I mean his son's ranch. When is Jeb leaving? Did you know he was leaving the ranch? Not until the Padre told us. Him go to St. Louis? Yes. Poor old man. Golly, I'm sorry for him. Has he left? Yes. He left early this morning. Didn't even know about it until yesterday. He didn't? No. Not until I delivered that letter. We were sitting out on the porch with the door open. He heard Jane tell David that her sister had made arrangements for him in the old folks home. That was the first Jeb knew about it? Yes. Then Jane rushed the old man away. She didn't even give him a decent blanket. What's that? She gave him an old moth-eaten blanket to take on the train. I could see by his face that he was ashamed of it. I see. David was sorry about it, but there wasn't anything he could do. He was sorry? Yes. I helped him hitch the team and he was muttering all the time. It was a case of his father or his wife. I see. Jeb took the book you sent him. Dan, do you know how Jeb planned to go to St. Louis? He's going by train. But he has to take the stagecoach to meet the train. Yes, sir. David took him to South Flats to catch the stage. I'm going to try to get him before he boards the train. But what will that do? Jeb these hills. Good. You know Dave Thatcher. That's right. Go to the ranch and wait for me. You might let Jane and David know that Jeb deserves more than a moth-eaten blanket. Maybe you can give them something to think about. But don't tell them what I'm doing. Dan, you go to South Flats and borrow a wagon. Follow the stage trail. Right. I'll meet you on it. And I hope to have Jeb Thatcher with me. Monsilver! I knew he'd do something. Come on, big denim, I'm strong. Jeb Thatcher was the only passenger on the stage coach. The old man, his knees covered with a faded patched blanket, clutched his new book in blue-veined hands as he gazed at the faraway hills, barely visible in the purple haze of sunset. It's worth it if it makes my son happy. They sure are pretty in the sunset, the grampian hills. On Dave sat in his father's place. He too watched the hills at sunset as he heard the lowing of the cattle on those hills. On the grampian hills my father tends his flock, a frugal swain whose constant cares were to increase his store and keep his only son myself at home. Daddy. Hello, son. Come on out here and sit with me. What have you got there? Your slingshot? This is the one thing I ever had. I thought mother took it away from you. She just gave it back. She said I could have it. Oh, I see. Did grandpa make you slingshots when you were little? Yes. Yes, he did, Jackie. He made dandy ones. What's mother doing? Nothing. Nothing? She's sitting at the window watching the hills. I want to see her for a minute. Will you stay here? Mm-hmm. Is anything Jane? You've been crying. David, I'm sure we did the right thing. Aren't you? I hope so. This wasn't the place for an old man. The hard winters. Father didn't mind them, Jane. I'm sure he'll be better off in the city. Perhaps he will. What time did his train leave? It was due to leave about an hour ago. Then he'll be on his way. My sister he's riding awful fast. He came over the hill. Come out on the porch. There he is. See him? Jane, it's Tonto. You remember him? Oh, yes. One of your father's friends. I remember him. David, I'll be out in a few minutes. I don't want to speak to him right now. Hello, Tonto. It's good to see you again. My friend come here soon. Maybe tomorrow. We stay meet him here. Of course, you're more than welcome. Jackie, you remember Tonto. Hello, Tonto. How, Jackie? I'll help you stable your horse, Tonto, and we'll go inside. Can I go, Daddy? Of course, son. Come along. Tonto, I have something to tell you. Dave Thatcher slept uneasily that night. His dreams were tortured ones, filled with visions of his father among strangers whose interests were different. Me? No, no, Skipper. There's a poem about the hills on the Grampians. Dad. Jane, too, had uneasy dreams that sprang from a troubled conscience. She saw men laugh. Where's Jackie? He finished his breakfast and went to the stable with Tonto. How did you sleep, David? Oh, all right, I guess. Seems funny without Dad. Yes, I guess everything will work out, though. Come on, Daddy, look what I have. An Indian blanket. Where did you get that blanket, Jackie? Tonto swapped it for my slingshot. Tonto then? Uh-huh. I'm going to put this away and save it until I'm a man. Why do you want to save it, Jackie? Well, when my daddy goes away, I'll have a nice blanket for him instead of an old worn out one like Grandpa. When I... That settles it. Jane, I don't care what you say. Oh, David, David. Oh, what a selfish fool I've been. Get him, David. Go to St. Louis and bring Father back home. There's Grandpa! Father! Jane, I... My say. Father, oh, thank goodness you're here. You mean Tonto was right? I don't know about Tonto, but we want you to stay here. Don't ever leave home again. Well, my sake's alive. I'm sort of confused. The mask man brought me back figuring to speak to you. Then Tonto was outside to meet us and he said that you wanted me. We do, Father. Oh, we do. You belong here. Here near the Grampian Hills. Jane, that's the first time you called them the Grampian Hills. On the Grampian Hills. my father tends his flock a frugal swain whose constant cares were to increase his store and keep his only son myself at home. Jane, you learned my favorite lines. Oh, Father, I'll never forget them. Never. story you have just heard is a copyrighted feature of the Lone Ranger Incorporated.
