A fiery horse with a speed of light, a cloud of dust, and a hearty Hyo 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. Are you still there? It was nearing train time when Dan Reed, the 14-year-old nephew of the Lone Ranger, called at the depot in Skyline to send a telegram for the masked man. He found the dingy building deserted except for Huey, the agent operator, and two roughly clad men who appeared to be asleep on the waiting room bench, their heads pillowed on bedrolls, their faces hidden by their arms. As Dan passed the message through the ticket window, a telegraph instrument began to click. Huey cocked an ear. Number two's on time for once. No wonder he's pulling T.C. Tyler's private car. Do you mean Mr. Tyler, the railroad builder? I sure do, lad. This is one of the lines he owns. What's bringing him here? Listen. The River Junction operator says that T.C. has heard about the world's biggest grizzly being seen in the mountains hereabouts. He aims to get it. He's coming all this way to get a grizzly? Right. Anything that nobody's got or is hard to get, T.C. hankers to have. Animals, pictures, things like that. He collects them. I see. Yeah. Guess it never rains, but it pours. Look coming across the street. All I see is an old prospector. Sam, that's Hamlet Jones with his burrow and his box. They're right famous in these parts. For 20 years, he's been traipsing around the mountains looking for gold and quoting Shakespeare to his burrow. He must be quite a character. What's in the box? It's one of them teakwood boxes, all studded and bound with brass. He's always got it handy and nobody's ever seen inside. What do you think he carries in it? Money, of course. He likely found a lot of gold sometime and turned it in at Greenback's. He's coming here with his burrow. He's packing the box. And the critter follows him everywhere. That message of yours costs two bits. Here it is. Oh, good Horatio. Horatio? Is that your burrow's name, mister? It is, lad. Horatio was Hamlet's friend. More antique Roman than a Dane. That critter's antique, all right. What are you doing in town, Ham? I heard there was a letter for me at the post office. Now, I want to know how much the fare will be for a youngster between Philadelphia and Skyline. Uh, around $60. Why are you asking? I got a granddaughter in Philadelphia and I want to send for her. A granddaughter? I never figured you had any relatives. I lost track of my family years ago. You know how it is when you wander around by yourself, sort of living in a world of your own? I reckon so. How'd you find out about the child? Her father and mother died and she was sent to the Quaker orphanage. Quaker's finally located me. Well, you sure ought to be able to provide for her. She won't want. I'm going to quit prospecting. Now you're showing sense. I am only mad north-northwest. When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a hand song. Mister, I heard Edwin Booth speak that line when he played Hamlet in San Francisco a few months ago. Lad, I saw his father, Junius Brutus Booth, play the same role once. That makes us kin, don't it? In a way it does. Where are you staying? I'm camping with friends in the mountains. Well, my own camp was on the mountain trail, but close to town. I'll go a piece with you and we'll talk. All right. Come again, Ham. I will never fear. Come, Horatio. To be or not to be. As the operator resumed his seat at the telegraph instrument and Dan followed the old prospector out of the depot, the two men on the bench got to their feet and slipped out a side door. From the cover of a tie pile, they watched the pair cross the street. One was asking... Frisco, did you hear that talk in there? Every word of it, Shag. That crazy old coot's packing plenty of cash. Yeah. And it'll be ours tonight. I'll wait. This country's strange. We're not fixed for a fast getaway. We won't need to run. That deep old fella and kid didn't see our faces and don't know we overheard him. A couple of 45 slugs will keep the old buzzard from talking. Right. Let's follow along and locate his camp. Come on. It was dark when Dan rejoined the Lone Ranger and Tonto at their camp. He told of the coming of T.C. Tyler and his own meeting with Hamlet Jones. Then continued... The old man became very friendly. When we reached his camp, he opened the mysterious box for me. Oh, what was in it? The works of Shakespeare, all wrapped up in batting and oiled silk. They're an old English print. Dan, did you notice the date of publication? A copy of the play Hamlet was dated 16-2. An Othello print was in 16-7. Those books are a real treasure. What do you mean? They're first editions. A big library or a rich collector would pay many thousands of dollars for them. Golly, old Hamlet doesn't know that. Are you sure? He seems to have taken good care of them. That's only because he values what's in them. But he doesn't read them anymore. He knows every line by heart. Yes, he's been hunting gold for years. Never knowing that he had a gold mine with him. He never found more than enough gold to pay for his grub steaks. What's he going to do about his granddaughter? Well, he plans to sell poor old Horatio and take a job as a swamper in a cafe in order to pay for her fare and take care of her. Then you and Tonto saddle your horses. Where we go? We'll call on Hamlet Jones. Old Hamlet was hunkered down beside his fire. As he fried flapjacks, he quoted to his burrow. There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than I've dreamt of in your philosophy. Well spoken, good Horatio. Freeze, you old buzzard. You're covered from both sides. What do you want? That box there beside you. There's nothing in it that'll do you any good. I'll show you. He's up to some trick. Plug in. You'll hang if you do. Murder, though it has no tongue, will speak. You've said enough. Horatio. I got the box, Frisco. What are you after? His pick. We need something to open it with. There's the pick. Now let's get going. It was a few minutes later when the lone ranger, Tonto, and Dan trotted their horses down the slope on which the old prospector had made camp. His fire had died down, but a rising moon made his prostrate body visible. Dan exclaimed, There he is. He's sleeping. Without blankets? Hold up. Hold up. Hold up. Mr. Jones? Hamlet! There's something wrong, Sid. Easy, big boy. Oh, him shot. Is he? Yes, Dan. Hamlet has quoted his last line. The rest is silence. We'll cover him with his blanket for the time being, and we'll give him a proper burial. The box! It's gone! It must have been murdered and robbed by someone who thought there was money in it. Everyone knew and talked about the box. We find tracks of two men and heading for railroad. Dan, go back to camp and wait for us. I'd better look after old Horatio. He's hobbled. All right, take him along. Otto and I will follow these tracks. Easy, silly, big shot. One, two, three! In the meantime, the killers had reached a railroad sidetrack where a string of empty boxcars stood. Hoisting themselves inside one of the cars, they closed the sliding door. This makes a good place to crack that box. Yeah, mighty dark in here, Frisco. Where's that candle stub you carry? I'm lighting it. There, now we can see. Let me swing on the box with this pick. Lock's given. There. There, she's open. Wow, if that's all money in that packet. Oh, it isn't. We've been fleeced. Oh, what is that stuff? Books. Just books. Oh, why was he toting them around? He was plum loco, that's why. Now, wait a minute. Maybe there's money between the pages. There's not a single shin plaster there. It says here that this book was written by a fella named Shakespeare way back around 1600. So old and not worth a match it would take to burn him. Well, let's leave the junk here and go back to the old man's camp. What for? Must have had some gold or cash around. We didn't search his carcass for a poke. Yeah, we're too near broke to pass up anything. Come on. Oh, listen. I hear horses. Snuff that candle. It's out. Close the horse. Close the horse. Close the horse. Close the horse. Close the horse. Close the horse. There's two of them. I can see them through this crag. Who are they? A masked man and an engine. Hey, listen. Or maybe them walk long switch. They've been following us. We'll be next to him. Right late. They went on toward the depot. Now's our chance to get out. Where'll we go? Like the old man's camp like we figured to do. That's taking a big chance. Not if we care for her. Nobody's got anything on us. Right. Come on. Meanwhile, the burrow had escaped from Dan when he took off the hobble. Frightened by the slaying of its master, it dodged and doubled around the camp. Unable to catch it on horseback, the boy tried to approach it on foot. Here, Horatio. Come on, boy. I won't hurt you. All right for you, fella. I'm giving up. Satisfied that the aged animal was still active enough to care for itself until later, Dan turned back toward the camp and his horse, Victor. A moment later, the killers who had been watching from the shadows closed in on him. Keep walking, kid. I got a gun on you. What do you want? We figure you belong in that masked man's outfit. We aim to find out who he is. You won't find out from me. We'll see about that. Now, stop. I'll hold him, Frisco. You go through the old fella's pockets and gear. Yeah, I'm looking. Here. Here's something. What's that you found? His poke. What's in it? Just a few greenbacks. Maybe $30, $40. Even that'll help. See, anything else worth taking? Oh, not a thing. Now, what are we going to do with that kid? Well, he's seen our faces. That isn't answering my question. The answer is this gun. Now, now, don't shoot him, Shag. Why not? I still think we'd better find out about that masked fella. This kid's as stubborn as that burrow. Don't worry. He'll soften up. It's not safe to question him here. We don't have to. We just take him down to that empty boxcar where we dump the books. We tie and gag and leave him there for a while. Hey, yeah. That might loosen his tongue. Sure it will. He'd be ready to talk after he goes a day or so without eating or drinking. You... You can't get away with it. That's what the old prospector said. Look at him now. Get going. 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. The killers took Dan to the freight car some distance away from the Lone Ranger and Tonto, who had halted their horses in the shadow of the depot. As they looked at Tyler's private car, the masked man said, Tonto, there's only one way in which we can identify the killers and make a case or we'll stand up in court. And how that? They've got to catch them with the books. Well, maybe them fellas tear up or burn books. It's more likely that they simply threw them aside as being worthless. Tyler's car has given me an idea of how to capture them. And where we go? You notify the sheriff of Hamlet's death, but say nothing about the books. Then return to camp. Ah. Me savvy. I'll see you there. Later. T.C. Tyler and his secretary were alone in the office end of his car. Leaning back in a gilt and plush chair, the railroad builder fired orders at his prim, bespectacled assistant. People, I want my office to unload 20,000 chairs of Consolidated Star. 20,000? Mercy goodness. The mercy man. Steady man. All I want is a talk with you, Mr. Tyler. You're a, you're not a hold-up man? By no means. Mr. Tyler, I want you to cooperate with me in catching two murderers and recovering a first edition set of Shakespeare's works. People, make a note of this for my memoirs. This is anything but a joke, sir. The murdered man was an old prospector. He didn't know the value of his books as collector's items. He was poor and left a young granddaughter who's in an orphanage. Hmm. I believe you are serious. Those books should be worth a great deal to a man like you. He's right, Mr. Tyler. Yeah? There aren't more than a half dozen sets in existence. One set recently sold for $50,000, sir. Well, let's get them. I'll pay all their worth. People, why the best detective agency in the country to get busy on the case? We can handle it ourselves, Mr. Tyler. How? This is what I want you to do. It was late that night when the great horse Silver bore the masked man back to camp. Tonto ran to meet him as he came to a halt. Whoa, Silver. Whoa. Easy, steady. You, sonny. Dan, gone. What happened? When we think fellas who kill old men capture him. Where? At old fellas' camp. On the way back, me pass there in fine burrow. Trail signs show Dan go away with two men. Didn't you follow the trail? Ah. Me follow. But me lose it at railroad same as before. Into the saddle, Tonto. We'll go back there. Me ready. Come on through there. Get him up, scoundrel. The following morning, the Skyline Journal issued an extra. In addition to news of Hamlet Jones' murder and the arrival of T.C. Tyler, it carried a feature story about T.C.'s art and animal collections, stressing the fabulous sums he had paid or was willing to pay for things he wanted. Frisco read the paper as he and Shag had breakfast at a secluded table in the Red Front Cafe. He commented on the news. It says here the sheriff figures local crooks pulled the job and got a scat of money. Any mention of that match, fella? Uh-uh. But say, um, what's the name of that fella who wrote them books? Shake something out of there. Shake Spear, yeah, that's it. Jumpin' G. How's the matter? What's the matter? Well, there's a piece here that says O.T.C.'s willing to pay $50,000 for Shakespeare books printed around $1,600. He must be as loco as old Hamlet was. Well, that may be, but I'm gonna see him right now. I'll take a look at that kid and the books. Frisco was soon back in the cafe in a jubilant mood. He had talked to the millionaire promising to deliver the books within a couple of hours and receiving assurance that he would be paid in cash. As he treated the house, Shag lurched through the batwing doors and almost collapsed in a chair at the corner table. Frisco hurriedly joined him. What are you to, Shag? Oh, plenty. The books are gone. So's the kid. All the confounded luck. The empty box cars are all gone, too. The train pulled him away while you were in Tyler's car on the side. Then we're safe, at least. Yeah, yeah. The kid'll die, but we'll never get the books back. The switchman told me the train was going straight through to St. Louis. An old T.C.'s in his car just waiting to shell out the money. Must have a mint on board. Then let's hold him up. Yeah, he's got two armed guards. And even if we could plug him, the shooting would be heard and the townsman would come to investigate before we could get the money. Yeah, I reckon that's so. But, uh, there's another way. Huh? All we need is a couple of horses and some railroad tools. Oh, they'll be easy cut, but I don't see how you... Listen to me. The main track runs downgrade from the depot for about four miles. We'll pull a rail at the foot of it. Oh, yeah, but how... Then we'll start old T.C.'s car rolling. It'll smash the Flinders. We can use guns if we have to there. No one will hear them. Yeah, but how are we going to start it? It's on flat side track with a handbrake set. Tonight, when everyone's asleep, we loosen the brakes, tie the doors closed, and open the switch. Then we roll the car to the grate with crowbars. Yeah. Yeah, savvy now. We'll ride down after it and clean the cash from the wreck. As the crooks laid their plot, the Lone Ranger interrupted the futile search for Dan and sent Tonto to see Tyler. When the Indian returned, he brought news that the millionaire expected one of the killers to appear with a book shortly. The masked man's response was grim. Dan's life may depend on capturing that man. We mustn't fail this time. What's your plan do? All we can do now is watch the car. Well, the train to which the empty boxcars were coupled had rattled down the long grade. Unaware of where he was being carried, but glad to escape the killers, Dan lay among the priceless books chewing his gag. At last, he was able to spit out the pieces, but the leather thongs which bound his arms and legs resisted all his efforts to free himself. As he struggled with his bonds, the train began to slow down. Then it came to a jolting stop. Bringing up his knees, Dan kicked the closed door and shouted, Help! Help! You outside! Help! Hey, bum! Well, you're just a kid and all tied up. Cut these ropes, please. As soon as I get inside, son. Now, roll over. Hey, are you loose? Thanks, mister. Are you the brakeman? Right. It's a mighty lucky thing we stopped here for a hot box. Who put you in such a fix? Two crooks and skyline. How far are we from there? Ten miles of rough walking. We'll take you where you can get a train back tomorrow. I can make better time than that on foot by following the track. My legs are all right. Well, you come back to Caboose first. You can do with some food and water. I'll be with you as soon as I pick up these books. It was late that night when the Lone Ranger and Tonto abandoned their futile watch outside T.C. Tyler's car and headed their horses back to camp. As they neared it, Tonto asked, Why you think that crook not show up? Either he became suspicious or that... Look, coming. Ah, that Dan's horse, Victor. Dan's riding him. Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho. Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho. Dan, what happened? Oh, golly. It's a long story. I was captured by the men who killed old Hamlet. They locked me in a boxcar with the books. An engine pulled the cars away and then the brakeman found me and let me out. But your horse, how did you... I was walking along when I met Victor. I guess he must have been trying to follow the train because he knew I was on it. Dan, you must be tired. Wait, wait. There's something you should know. While I was walking along the tracks, I found a place where a rail had been pulled. The train will be wrecked when it gets there. Where is this place, Dan? Come on, I'll show you. Come on, Victor. Come on, Victor. Come on, Scott. Mine's chastled up ahead. It go over tracks. It's another mile to the place where the rail's out. Look back toward town. Life's come this way in track. I don't see any engine sparks. It's a single car. Tyler's car. It's running away. It'll be wrecked. You two go on ahead and pile sand on the rails. Why, you go. I'm heading for that trestle. Come on. As the lone ranger reached the mine trestle, he dropped from his saddle without halting silver. He landed running and dashed to a point directly above the railroad track. There, he swung himself over the edge and hung, hands gripping a wooden stringer. Up the grade, the freewheeling car gathered speed each second. The yells of the occupants who had broken out the windows but feared to jump mingled with a clatter of the wheels. Looking over his shoulder, the masked man measured the distance between the trestle and the fast approaching car, well knowing that the lives of the passengers as well as his own depended on exact timing. On came the car, the bright paint on its flat top glimmering in the moonlight. The lone ranger swung himself outward and let loose. No. Twisting as he fell, he landed on all fours near the front end of the car. It rocked, rolling him sideways, but he managed to grasp a ventilator. Then he pivoted on his stomach and slid down to the front platform. He cuts the brake wheel, twisting it savagely. Brake blocks took hold, smoking and screeching, but the wheels skidded, letting the car continue with a mad rush toward destruction. One more turn. One more. Ahead he could see Dan Reed and Tonto. Then the car hit a stretch of sanded rails. Sparks flew from the wheels as it lost speed. Inches from disaster, it came to a grinding stop. Whirling, the masked man slashed the fastenings on the door. Tyler and his aides tumbled out. The millionaire was shouting, Someone tried to wreck us. Get out those lights. Get your guns. Dan, stay back. Yes, sir. Tonto, you and I will go back up the track away. That's the idea, mister. The outlaws will be here soon. Wars is coming. All right, Miss Ami. Wait till they pass and fire some warning shots. Shag, that car is wrecked. Turn back. Stop, you two. You're surrounded. As the masked man's voice rang out, Tyler and his party advanced from the car with guns blazing. Caught between two fires, the killers wheeled their horses. Shag was yelling. There's only two fellas back there. Ride through them. Get up, get up, get up. In a desperate attempt to retreat, the outlaws bent low in their saddles and fired in both directions. Then they were almost upon the masked man and the Indian. Shag in the lead hurled his empty gun at Tonto. It struck Scout's nose. The paint horse reared, throwing the Indian off his aim and making him a target for Frisco's bullets. At the same instant, the lone ranger triggered his right-hand gun. Frisco rolled from his saddle, crawling. I'm a shot. Help me, Shag. I can't. Stop or you'll get the same. The masked man. Stop, I said. Ho, ho, hold that. Ho, ho. Don't shoot, mister. I give up. Look after them, Tonto. I'm in the woods. I'm spending the Indian gun. Ho, ho, ho, my shoulder. That's the fellow who said he had the books. He and his partner killed Hamlet Jones and captured me. Yes, but the books where are the books? I've got them here. People, alight. Yes, sir, yes. Let me see. Let me see now. If I may say so, sir, these are authentic first editions. Fine, fine. Then wire my office to set aside a $50,000 trust fund for the old prospector's granddaughter. That should satisfy the masked man. How about it, sir? It does. Now we'll leave the prisoners to you. Come on, Tonto. Let's wait. Hold on. I want to know more about you. Perhaps someday we'll meet again. Easy, silly, McPhilip. There he goes, sir. And we know absolutely nothing about him. Well, we know one thing, people. The Indian told me he's the Lone Ranger. Are you still there? This is a feature of the Lone Ranger, Incorporated, created and produced by George W. Trendle, directed by Charles D. Livingston, and edited by Fran Stryker. A part of the Lone Ranger is played by Brace Beamer. We'll be right back.
