A fiery horse with the speed of light, a cloud of dust, and a hearty hi-yo silver. The Lone Ranger. With his faithful Indian companion, Tonto, the daring and resourceful masked rider of the plains, led the fight for law and order in the early western United States. 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 come the thundering hoofbeats of the great horse, Silver. The Lone Ranger rides again! Come on, Silver. Let's go, big fellow. I am still there! Kiowa City was a waypoint on the notorious Robbers Trail, an escape route linking the Canadian border with the Rio Grande. There, fugitives from justice, saddle tramps, tin horn gamblers, and killers with guns for hire mingled briefly before drifting on in search of sanctuary or easy money. And there on a summer afternoon, the Lone Ranger, disguised as a professional gunman and accompanied by Tonto, sauntered along a row of false front buildings. They were bent on finding the red kid, a young redhead about whom they had heard all along the trail. Reputedly, the youth was a wizard with a gun and usually traveled alone, appearing and disappearing mysteriously. As the two friends reached a section of cafes and gambling dens, the Indian asked, Kim Sabi, why do we look for this red kid? Nobody say him ever rob or kill anyone. That's why I want to find him, Tonto. It's more than strange that a young fellow said to be lightning fast with a gun should prowl the robber's trail without using it for criminal purposes. That's right. Me not Sabi, what he'm up to. Tonto, not a set window ahead. Ah. Somebody put help wanted sign on it with soap. Nobody here take honest job. That's not a regular employment agency. See, Catamount Cafe. And the proprietor is Brick Wallace, a former gunman. Maybe we'd better see what signs say. No, wait, listen to this. Wanted gunfighters to protect minors and claimed it comes stock load. Forty dollars a day. And this. Three men for guard duty on Big Ranch. Only experts need apply. The others are similar. And all jobs for gunmen. Tonto, this is a hiring hall for killers. We'll look it over. Pausing just inside the door, the lone ranger and Tonto glanced around swiftly. Along the bar, a line of hard-faced idlers froze, hands close to guns. At a table, a slim youth with fiery red hair and the proprietor broke off a heated conversation. For a moment, all remained silent. Advancing slowly, the lone ranger spoke to the man who sat with the red-headed youth. Are you Brick Wallace? That's me, fella, but I'm busy. We'll wait. Suit yourself. Now, Red, it's like I told you. I've sent you to three different jobs lately. You won't stay anywhere. Why do you care as long as I pay the hiring fee? Well, fellas like you could spoil my business. It might get around that the gunnies in my stable are quitters. What? Are you hinting that I'm yellow? No, no, not like that. You're the red kid, and I've seen some mighty bad men back down from you. Just to say... Brick, I want a fling at that range job. It sounds like a range war's on. Well, people don't tell me what's on when they order gunslingers. All right, if I place you there, it'll cost you twice a regular fee. I've got the money. You'll have to wait till I round up two more gun hands. You've found them now. Yeah? Well, I don't know you fellas. Got any recommendations? These guns... Bone ranger fired at a stuffed animal which was fastened to the back wall of the room. Hey, you shot up my stuffed catamount. He put every slug from me to the cleaners right up. And he did it from the hip. Say, fella, that's fancy shooting. We'll pay you for placing us on that ranch. All right. You got the jobs. Take Red Harris here and report to Zeb Morse, the boss of the 96th Ranch down in Escalero County. I'll send him a telegram that you're coming. Red, we're close to the 96th, Red. And it's time for an understanding. About what, mister? Well, from what I heard at Brick Wallace's place, you've told me on the trail, I know that you're not a killer and don't like killers. So why do you hunt gunfighting jobs? I'm wondering the same thing about you and Tonto. We want to help you as well as settle whatever trouble lies ahead. I don't need help to get the sidewinder I'm after. Who is he? Dude Morgan, the gunslinger who killed my brother without giving him a chance for his life. It happened during the cattle war. Morgan had hired out to the big fellas, so the law let him get away with it. When did it happen? Five years ago. I've been practicing with a gun ever since. And now I'm looking for Morgan. Well, that's it. It sure is. I go wherever they're taking on gun hands. When I don't run into that varmint, I dust out. But I've heard he's still alive and living by his gun. And sooner or later, I'll line a sight on him. Oh, Ed, I sympathize with you. But personal vengeance is wrong. Wrong? It can't be when the law lets a fella like Morgan go free. Anyhow, I'll give him an even break. Look, Kimasabi. Fellas hide behind rocks up ahead. I saw something flash in the sun up there. Brassbound Winchester. There's another. Stop here in the chaparral. Hold it, hold it, hold it. We're out of sight now. Don't shoot back. There may be riders from the 96th Ranch. Listen. Riders coming up behind us. There they are. A whole parcel of them. They're drawing the bushwhacker fire now. We're caught between two fires. We not know which side is which. Men behind us are stopping. One horse not stopped. Shoot and scare it. It's out of control. The rider's a girl. That horse is headed straight into the ambush. I'll head it off. Come on, fill it. Hold on, miss. Get hold of the bridle. Grab your saddle horn. Keep down. Whoa, whoa. I'll turn him into the chaparral. Easy, boy. Easy now. Whoa. He's done it. He's bringing her into this thicket. Whoa, now, whoa. You'll be safe here with my friend. I'll help you down, miss. Thanks, chintz. There. I didn't know this coyote was gun shy. Who were those men in ambush? What are you, big fella? They fired on us first. That's the 96 outfit. They must have figured you were my men. What's going on, miss? That's what I'd like to know myself, Red. If that's your handle. Everybody calls me that. Well, I'm Dinah Lake, and I own the half-moon spread. Right now, we're on the line between my ranch and the 96. Are you fighting over your property line, Miss Lake? Oh, no. Oh, I get along fine with Zeb Morris, the 96 boss. But someone's been making trouble between our riders and trying to kill Zeb. Tell us about it. It started a few weeks back with my boys reporting that some fella shot at them across the line using a rifle. Zeb's riders told the same story, and now each bunch blames the other. I see. I've locked up every rifle and six-gun on the half-moon, and I've been keeping my riders away from the line except when I'm with them. All they carry are scatterguns for self-defense. And that's why they couldn't help me. I wondered at that. My boys are as loyal and brave as any. And I know that they're in the clear because somebody kept on firing rifle shots at Zeb and his crew after I limited them to shotguns. What about the attempts on Zeb Morris' life? A .44 bullet was fired through his bedroom window one night. Another time, a dry gulcher shot off his hat. Who told you about it? Zeb himself. When he found out no one from the half-moon could have been guilty, he decided he had a snake in his own nest. But Chad Martin and Scotty Murdoch and the riders couldn't see it that way. It's hard for a decent man to believe that one of his friends is a traitor. Scotty, the top cutter is decent enough. So are the ranch hands. I don't believe any of them would have shot at me a while ago, even though they wanted to kill my boys. You have a lot of faith in the Coat of the West, as it applies to women. Well, I doubt that Chad Martin finds it very binding. He's Zeb's stepson and a lady killer. He got fresh with me once. Just once. I don't suppose Zeb is with those men in ambush? Oh, of course not. He wouldn't have let them shoot. And anyhow, he promised me he'd stay away from his ranch people and hire some good gunfighters from outside to protect his life. That's us, miss. We're going to guard him. You are? Well, do a good job of it. I want this trouble stopped. We'll do our best. Nobody shoot anymore. Fellas from 96 Ranch all pull out. My horse is quieted down. Say, miss, you haven't hired anyone called Dude Morgan, have you? No, and I'm sure Zeb hasn't either. But I'll inquire around. If you ride over to the half moon in a day or so, I'll let you know what I find out. I'll be there. Now I'll be getting back to my boys. Steady, easy. Adios. Adios. Get up there. There's the 96 Ranch house. Look there by the corral. The riders are all back. Ride in slow, you fellas. Don't move your hands. Greg Wallace, that is. Oh, there. You're the gunsling Zeb Morris sent for, hmm? Saw a telegram about you that he got from Greg Wallace. Where's the boss? Zeb went down to Sackville early this morning. I'm in charge here when he's gone. Chad Martin's my name. Well, Martin. Here comes Zeb now. That's his buckboard, Scotty. But where is he? Stop them horses, somebody. Chad. Look here in the wagon box. Why, Zeb, and he's been shot. Is he? Yeah, he's dead. Those half mooners finally got him. I don't know about that. This must have happened while we were swapping lead with him, 10 miles from the Sackville Trail. All of us were in on that shooting. But what about Diana Lakes, man? Would have only taken one of them to dry gulch, Zeb. If so, what are we going to do? If you want the killer, why don't you look for the place where he waylaid, Zeb? It ought to take an army and a month of Sundays to do that. A Sackville Trail runs to 20 miles through rocks and brush. We'd have to hunt both sides over the inch by inch. And by the time we found the place we ever did, the killer's trail would be cold. Anyhow, we know right now it leads to the half moon. Oh, do you? I figure Zeb was killed by a rifle bullet. Yeah, he must have been. Another slug burned that off horse's hip, went through the front of the wagon and hit the tailgate. Looks like it came from Winchester, 44. What of it? All the half moon riders carry saddle guns? Well, let's get Zeb's body into the house. Come here, some of you men. Yeah, I'll help, Scotty. Me too. Now, there. We can carry him now. Scotty, we've got to square this murder. That late girl is... She couldn't have been behind it. She's a woman. Her aunties must have plotted it. She wouldn't know what they're up to. Scotty, you and your cowpokes are fools. Unhitch that team and take care of the buckboard. You'd better save the evidence for the sheriff. We'll settle this thing without the help of any lawmen or hired gunslingers either. You've got no job here now, so take your partners and clear out. Oh, wait a minute. You heard, Chad. This ranch is his now. What he says goes. Well, if he's taking over the ranch, he's taking over Zeb's debts, too. We want expense money for our trip here. We sure do. What about it, Martin? I'll pay you in late. Don't draw that gun, Martin. The rest of you fellas, freeze where you are. They've got us covered. Red, you collect their guns. Right. You'll pay for this. Just wait. We'll get them. Give me that gun. All right. Leave the guns on the ground a hundred yards away. Toto, jump into that buckboard and grab the line. Me, Sammy. You going to take that outfit? Settle our bill. I'll see you hanged, you horse thieves. We'll take the chance. Red, Toto, come on. Come on. Get out of there. Get out of there. Get out of there. The curtain falls on the first act of our Lone Ranger story. Before the next exciting scenes, please permit us to pause for just a few moments. Now to continue our story. Together with Toto and Red Harris, the Lone Ranger, disguised as a professional gunman, had fled with a slain rancher's buckboard and horses. After several miles, the dead man's team began to labor for breath, and the Lone Ranger signals for a halt. There's no sign of pursuit. Chad Martin and his men must be less concerned about losing this property than avenging Zeb's death. They're blaming Donna Lake in her outfit. They may raid her place. Red, I want you to cut her cross to Miss Lake's ranch. Tell her what's happened and advisors notify the sheriff and prepare her for a fight. Right. I'll now go on toward town with the buckboard and team. Suppose the law gets you. Our claim on that outfit isn't any too good. We didn't take it as payment for expenses. I wanted to divert the 96 bunch from making an immediate attack on the half moon. It not look as though your plan would work. Maybe we'd better leave team wagon. I have another plan now. Drive on, Toto. Adios, Red. Adios. Get out there. Late that afternoon, Toto guided the murdered man's team into a stretch of trail so uniformly lined with matted bushes and heaps of rocks that even his keen eyes failed to pick out a landmark. Get out there. Get out there. The lone ranger had discarded his disguise for riding clothes and a mask along the way. He rode beside the buckboard while Toto's faithful paint trotted behind. Kimasabi. Yes. Me think you want a fine place where Zep got shot. But you not look. We can't hope to find it ourselves in time to do any good. And look at sun. Soon night comes. Hold them. Hold them, Toto. Oh, I'll get to the head. Oh, horses run away. Come on, Silver. There, I've got them. Hold them. Hold them. Hold them. What a hell, horses. Nothing here to scare them that way. Jump down and tie them. Here's where Zep was shot. How do you know that? That team just told us. Horses have been fired at. Remember where the bullets came from. Clambering over boulders and crashing through brush, the masked man and Indian worked away from the buckboard and team in widening circles. From time to time, they turned and sighted back, thus orienting possible lines of fire until they reached a thick growth of scrubby alders 200 yards away. Toto pointed to a pocket in the thicket. This place, one brother squat here long time. Here are three empty, 44 cartridges. There are ejector marks on the rims, showing they were fired from a Winchester. Him whittle while him wait. Make sticks like big toothpicks, flat on one end, pointed on another. What amuse them for? They're sticks for cleaning fingernails. Here's the point of a knife blade. Oh, him not break knife, making little sticks. The way in which it was broken may hang the murderer. What do you mean? I'll tell you later. The killer must have had a horse. So let's find where it stood and take the trail. As the two continued their search, Chad Martin galloped up to an old line camp a few miles away and jerked his horse to a skidding stop. Oh, oh, oh. Simultaneously, a heavily built man in spotless clothes appeared at the door of the shack. A rifle in one well-tended hand, a six-gun in the other. Tense and silent, he stared at Martin with cold, almost colorless eyes, until the latter dismounted and spoke. Well, you finally got old Zeb. I never figured it'd take the great dude Morgan so long to earn his pay. I don't think I liked hiding out in this filthy hole while I laid for him and stirred up trouble between the 96 and a half moon outfits. You had three tries at Zeb with a rifle before you scored. That's so, Martin. But you hired me and my reputation as a top hand with a six-gun. I never claimed to be a good rifle shot. A cold is part of my right hand, but a Winchester's clumsy. You must have been lucky today. Well, I found I'd been under shooting, so I reset the rear sight. You drilled him just in time. Three gunslingers showed up to protect him after he was dead. They took the loss of their jobs hard. Who were they? How do I know? Well, when I wouldn't pay for their trip, they lit out with old Zeb's rig. Well, I don't collect that way. I fixed it so you inherited a big ranch. Now, hand over what you owe me. Sure, dude. Got the money right here. I'm willing to double it if you'll take care of that little spitfire on the half moon. The lake gal, huh? You trying to grab her land, too? I want her land, sure. But I want her dead even more. She laid a quart on me once. Why don't you turn your cowpokes loose on her and her bunch? They won't shoot a woman. If I get the gal, you better figure out a way to get her men, too. From what I hear, they'll go hog wild if their boss lady's killed. I know that, so here's my plan. I want you to talk your way into a ranch house tonight. Well, then what? At 12 o'clock, I'll have my boys surround the half moon bunkhouse. We toss fireballs into it, and then we'll have them. When do you want me to do my job? Well, we're taking care of the boys. Now, don't shoot till you hear our guns outside. Why not? If you shoot before that, you'll wake up the bunkhouse. And if you do it afterwards, my riders might hear and see you. And I don't want anyone to know you've been around. In the excitement, I can get away without being seen. Meanwhile, the red kid had reached the half moon ranch house. He stood at the veranda delivering the Lone Ranger's message. Pale but composed, the girl heard him through, then shook her head. Red, you know that no one here had anything to do with Zeb's death. I do, but the 96 outfit doesn't. Then let them come here. There won't be any fighting. How's that? After that fracas at the line today, I sent all my men to town to keep them out of trouble. Then you're alone. My Chinese cook and Mexican housekeeper are still here. Then call them, and we'll start for Sackville pronto. It's coming night, and we haven't a second to lose. I won't run from Chad Martin. Well, at least you can send your cook after the sheriff and your boys. My riders are staying out of this. As for the law, well, no outsider interferes in a range war in these parts. If you won't go, I'll stay. I'm going inside. Not without me. Then take those guns off. It's an unwritten law of the West that you don't go into a friend's house wearing guns. And that rule is never broken here. But I might need them. I told you there wouldn't be any gunplay. I can handle this thing. Oh, Dinah, you know you can wrap me around your finger. That's why you're doing this. But, well, I give up. I'm taking off my gun belts. Hang them on that peg outside the door. As midnight approached, the stubborn Dinah and headstrong Red Kid sat in the ranch house kitchen, each hurt and angry at each other, each wrapped up in emotions that dulled the sense of danger. There was a rap on the door. Someone's at the door. He must have sneaked up. I didn't hear his steps. What do you want? My horse broke his leg and I'm lost. Call the man of the house. It's a trick. Don't unlock the door. Mind your own business. Freeze you two or I'll drill you. If I only had my guns. It was nice of you to hang them outside. Now just kick the door shut. Lock it. And pocket the key. You. Your dude Morgan. Dinah, he's here to kill us. And I made you take off your guns. Oh, Redda. Redda. You must be the firetop I heard was after me. Who are you? What's the difference now? You look something like a fella I plugged once. Nama Harris. He was my brother. You shot him in the back. Well, well. Maybe you want it in the face, huh? Morgan, it isn't like you to put off shooting when you've got the drop. So you've been studying my style, huh? You're waiting for something that'll make it safer for you. What if I am? I'll spoil your game. I'll make you shoot me now. Get back. Back, I said. No, Red. No. As the young redhead closed with the killer, Chad Martin and his men crept up to the bunkhouse carrying balls of oil-soaked rags as well as guns. It had been easy for Martin to talk them into an attack on the half-moon riders, whom he supposed were asleep inside. All was still. A lighted window in the ranch house kitchen being the only sign of life. Then the silence was shattered by two shots. Now, that fool, he wouldn't wait. What's that, Chad? Those shots will wake up everybody. They were fired inside the house. I don't like it. That has no matter. We've got to act fast. Here's the bunkhouse. White the fireballs. I'm smashing the windows. Toss them in. Or every bullet that got into their bunks. Forced to fire before the time set by Martin, Jude Morgan had been a fraction of a second late in triggering his colt. One bullet grazed the red kid's temple. Another ripped into the ceiling as the youth gripped his gun and hand. Half-blinded by powder sparks, Red was panting. You waited too long, Morgan. Let go of my wrist. Drop the gun or I'll twist it off. He dropped it. Grab it, quick. I've got it. Now I'll... Don't shoot him. I'll kill him with my bare hands. You haven't done it yet. Hold him, Red. He's breaking loose. Take this. He's getting out the door. No, you don't. Ignited by the fireballs, the bunkhouse had burst into flames, revealing only rows of empty bunks. Disconcerted, the raiders fell back. Chad, there's nobody in the place. You got us into a trap. Must be lying back, ready to close in. We're in the light and our guns are empty. Here they come now. We're done for. Hold on, you're gone. Mass men and Indians, no matter who they are, we can't fight them. We give up. Red, you've knocked that killer out. Now I'm going to finish him. Oh, no, no, he's down. I don't want the man I love to be a killer, too. But he's Dude Morgan, the fellow... Mr. Lake is right, Red. Let the law deal with him now. A mask man? And he's holding a gun on Chad Martin and Scotty. So you found Dude Morgan, did you, Red? Oh, it's you, mister. Yes, that's him. He's coming, too. Hey, hey, what's happening? What's that mask on Bray doing with you, Martin? Shut up! Morgan, you murdered Zeb Morse. Prove it. My Indian friend and I trailed you from the ambush to the line camp. Then here. We found your manicure sticks. And the point of the knife you broke turning a screw in a Winchester sight. If you've got a broken knife and a .44 Winchester with a scratched sight, you're a gone goose, Morgan. Talk. Talk fast. Let me alone. You'll find the evidence, so I'll talk. Don't be a fool. Martin, I'd be a bigger fool if I swung and left you to live. You hired me to kill your stepdad. I was to kill this girl for you, too. Mask man, me and my boys didn't know anything about this. Morgan, is that so? Sure. Martin just made fools of them. Fred, tie up the two murderers. I'll get word to the sheriff. Right. Well, it appears that our trail's part here. Yes, mister. That is, if Dinah cares to have me around. Oh, I do, Red. I do. Adios. Adios. Adios. Fred, who is that masked man? He's the man who stopped your horse. He's the Lone Ranger. This is a feature of the Lone Ranger Incorporated, created and produced by George W. Trendle, directed by Fred Flowerday, and edited by Fran Stryker. The part of the Lone Ranger is played by Brace Beamer.
