A fiery horse with the speed of light, a cloud of dust, and a hearty high-o'-silver. The Lone Ranger. 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 Silver. Hooray! From his high bench in the San Bernardo courtroom, Judge Cicero Tate, reputedly the most eloquent speaker in California, looked down on the prisoner who stood for sentence. A murmur of anticipation ran through the crowded room. The judge thumped the bench with his gavel. Fatal Smith, you've come to the end of your trail of murder. In three months, spring will return with all its beauty. But you, Fatal Smith, will not know it. You will be dead. It is the sentence of this court that you'll be hanged three months from this date. Take him away, Sheriff. The rope hasn't been made that a pain means. The three months of life allotted to the outlaw was near its end when Tato rode into the Lone Ranger's camp in the High Sierras with provisions purchased in a nearby village. Oh, scum, ho, fella. Oh. Tato, you made that trip in a hurry. Ah. Me come to tell you Fatal Smith is loose. Loose? He was to hang on Friday. Well, last night, gang break into San Bernardo jail. Kill sheriff. Get Smith out. Stage driver bring news to town. And we have work to do. Fatal Smith is a killer of the worst type. As long as he and his gang are at large, no one in the West is safe. Hit long way to San Bernardo. Crail cold when we get there. The outlaws may be headed this way. Oh. Why do you think that? If I were a fugitive, I'd try to reach hardscrabble here in the mountains. It's the most lawless mining camp in the West. Oh, that's right. We hear four marshals get killed there in last year. No one take job of lawmen. So that's where we'll look for Smith and his gang. Well, here's over. Easy, steady, big fella. Come on, who's there? Let's count. Several days later, Tom Rossford, a former New York policeman, sat at a table in the Gold Eagle Dance Hall, the biggest and toughest place of entertainment in hardscrabble. During his service on the police force in an eastern city, Tom had contracted tuberculosis, but a year in the high Sierras had halted progress of the ailment. However, his spirits remained low, because he knew he would never be able to return to his old comrades. As he brooded over his fate, a bearded miner approached with a question. Want to buy him a gun, Pilgrim? I'll sell it for $30. I don't believe in private citizens carrying a gun. Maybe not, but I do. I wouldn't sell mine if I wasn't broke and ready to leave this infernal camp. Didn't you strike pay dirt? Yes, but claim jumpers grabbed the place of stake out. What this camp needs is a good marshal. Tom's remark brought laughter from a party of camp toughs at a nearby table. You hear that, boys? Skinny Greenhorn thinks we need another marshal. Not shooting, I am. Citizens have no right to take the law into their own hands. We've planted four marshals in this camp, and they were all quick on the trigger. Maybe you'd like to try your luck as marshal number five. Maybe I would. You wouldn't last as long as a snowball in Death Valley. You'd be plugged before this. Only the killers around camp figured that a consumptive Easterner wouldn't rate a notch in the gun, but... Let's get out of here, boys. I'll see you later, marshal. Well, you fellow, what do you think now? I'll buy that gun, mister. Here's your money. Well, here's a gun. Ain't much to look at, but it works. A short time later, as Tom examined the battered old colt, a girl entertainer slipped into a chair at his side. Knowing her casually, Tom forced a smile. Hello, Lil. Tom, I saw you buy that gun. Why did you do it? I'm tired of being at the mercy of bullies and outlaws. You're inviting trouble. Well, it's better to stay out of a bad man's way than cross him, even though you have a gun. I know how to use one, Lil. When I was on the force in New York... Tom, you ought to quit thinking about the past. Your health has improved a lot since I first met you, but you'll always have to stay in the West. Why not make the best of it? Believe me, Lil, I'm grateful to this country of yours. It's done wonders for me physically. Why, I found I could take long rides, and I've even done a little mountain climbing. Oh, I'm glad. But you know, this Sierra country is mine only by adoption. I am or was as much a New Yorker as you are. You are. I was a member of a theatrical troupe which became stranded in hardscrabble, so I took a job as a singer here in the Gold Eagle. At first I hated the work. Now I love it. Do you mean you actually like to sing to a lot of toughs and crooks? Most of the men who come here are honest minors. When I appear before them, I'm playing a better role than I ever had on the stage. That's a little over my head, Lil. Don't you see? I'm taking part in a living drama, one of the greatest dramas in American history. Well, that's one way of looking at it. Sometime the right man will come along and tame hardscrabble and open the way for religion and education. You know, they say there isn't a single book in this camp. Well, I have one right here in my breast pocket. It's the manual of the New York Police Department. Tom, Tom, must you always think of that? Lil, police work was life to me. I'd like to give the people here the same kind of service, but they'll never accept me. Even if I regained all of my health, I'd always be a consumptive Easterner to them. I must go now, Tom. But be around tonight. I'd like to talk to you some more. And I'd like to listen. I'll be right here, Lil. That night, the Gold Eagle Cafe was packed. A so-called professor hammered a battered piano. Several volunteer musicians, whose red shirts and ragged beards marked them as minors, saunted fiddles. Lil, the stranded actress, sang Camp Town Girls, then joined Tom Rossford at a table while a square dancer called... Fill up the floor for a quadrille. Oh, thank you. More, more, come the boys. Soon, heavy boots thumped the floor with a violence that shook the walls of the dance hall. Lil, who had turned her attention to the long bar, was saying, Tom, I don't like the looks of a lot of men in this town, but the two standing over there look specially rough. Well, they certainly are heavily armed. They came in separately, but now another man has joined them. Look at the fellow who followed him in. Well, he does look like a desperado. He's joined the other three. Yes, but he's not turning his back to the crowd. No, he's staring at me. As the newcomer continued to watch Lil, an old swamper who had been standing behind the table squealed with terror. Yeah, there's Fatal Smith, the killer. I've seen him before. At the old man's words, the music died and the dancers froze. All right, I'm Fatal Smith. But if you people don't want something fatal to happen to you, you won't try to be heroes. Cover them, boys. We got our guns on them. Up with your hands. All of you. All you dancers get back against the wall. Professor, you and the fiddlers stay where you are. As the dancers rushed to obey his command, Fatal Smith advanced on the stranded actress and tubercular Easterner. I aim to dance with you, miss. I'm not dancing. Oh, that's what you think. The law figured to make me dance on air today. But instead, I'm going to do a polka with you. Come on. Don't touch the lady, fellow. Look, Pip-Squeak, you're an Easterner. So maybe you don't know who I am. I'd do as I please. You won't if I can help it. Fellow, you're so near dead, it wouldn't be any fun to kill you. Tom, you'll get yourself killed. Keep out of this. I'll dance with him. And let's do our steps, huh? Professor, strike up a tune. And make it good or it'll be your last one. So great was the outlaw's contempt for the Easterner that he discounted the possibility of his being armed and in a mood to welcome death. He reached out to seize the girl. But before he could reach her, Tom was in front of him. Loosening the newly acquired gun, which he had thrust into a pocket, the former New Yorker called... Oh, you killer. Where do you want it, green horse? Tom, sit down. Here it comes, through the heart. The impact of the outlaw's bullet hurled Tom against the table. But even as he collapsed against it, his own revolver blade... No! Fatal Smith dropped his guns and clutched an arm with a groan. For some wings! Tom, oh, Tom! Steady, folks! Steady or you'll get what the Easterner got. Each time we vamos, Fatal. Yeah, wait till I pick up my gun. Only nicked. But now I'm gonna plug that skinny varmint again. No! I'll see your gun, Fatal. No one lives after you pull a trigger on him. So let's get out the back door to our horses. All right, but I'm taking the girl along for a shield. Get away from that tenterfoot's carcass and come on. Let go of me, you murderous beast! Drag her along, Fatal. Make it open that back door. There I have opened it. Meanwhile, the lone ranger and Tonto had arrived at the edge of the mining camp in time to hear the shots and trace their origin to the dance hall. Turning their horses into an alley, they reached the rear of the place just as the outlaws backed out with a struggling girl. In the light which poured through the open door, they recognized Fatal Smith and brought the guns from there as they called... Let go of that girl, Smith. You can't get away. Drop guns or meet you. Fast men! The Tlandis, the alley's full of them. By this time, the ogres inside have thrown their guns. We can't go back. We can't go on. I'm dropping my gun. Mine they have thrown away. There goes mine. Now take the girl. Turn around and go back into the hall with your hands up. My friend and I will be right behind you. Please stand aside, miss. Get guns away. At that moment, it dawned on the miners in the hall that the flight of the outlaws had been halted in some manner. Through the door poured a hail of bullets. Captors and captives alike were driven to take refuge along a dark wall. The last man was calling... This way, miss. You men inside, hold your fire. The gang has been captured. In the roar of gunfire, his words went unheeded. Quick to take advantage of the darkness of the wall and confusion created by the unexpected shooting from inside the hall. The outlaw, known as Miguel, slipped out a hidden knife and lunged at Tonto. This for you, idiot. As the Indian whirled to meet Miguel's attack, the outlaw called Bill grabbed his gun hand and tried to wrest the six-shooter from it. Twisting and bending, Tonto evaded Miguel's knife, but could not shake off the other outlaw. Get him, Miguel. Keep hold of him. Seeing his friend's danger, but unable to shoot into the tangle of writhing bodies without further endangering him, the Lone Ranger holstered his guns and sprang into the fight. Just as Miguel aimed another knife thrust at Tonto, the masked man caught the descending arm. No, you don't. With the Lone Ranger and Tonto locked in mortal combat with two of the gang, Fatal Smith again seized the girl, who had stood by dazed. He was yelling, No! I gotcha! Come on, Louie! What about Miguel and Bill? They won't need our help. Give me a hand with this girl and we'll run for our horses. Help! Help! Get on your side! You're our ticket out of here! Although he realized Fatal Smith and Louie were about to escape with the girl, the Lone Ranger was unable to break away from the knife-wielding Miguel. Tonto's adversary was screaming, Wait for us, Fatal! The curtain falls on the first act of our Lone Ranger adventure. Before the next exciting scenes, please permit us to pause for just a few moments. Now to continue. As Fatal Smith and Louie rode off with their captive, the savage hand-to-hand battle in which the Lone Ranger and Tonto had engaged two other outlaws continued in the alley. The wiry Miguel had his keen-edged knife at the Lone Ranger's throat several times before the superior strength of the masked man told, Drop that knife! For you'll never! And take that! And down! Where's the knife? She's gone from my hand. I'm finished. Then stand there against the wall and don't move. Turning to see how Tonto had fared, the Lone Ranger found that the Indian had concluded his own silent battle by stretching the other outlaw unconscious. At the same time, the miners in the hall began to peer cautiously from the doorway. Here are two members of the gang, a Fatal Smith and another outlaw escaped, calling a girl as hostage. That's Lil, Lily Bell, our singer. Hey, you're wearing a mask. What does that mean? Maybe he's another owl hoot. My mask doesn't mean I'm an outlaw. If I were, my Indian friend and I wouldn't have captured these prisoners. I reckon that's so. Hey, Sunder, he and the Indian have got two of Fatal Smith's gang. What did the gang do here besides capture the girl? Smith killed a skinny little Easterner who stood up for Lil. The other owl hoots kept us from interfering. Hey, let's round up all the miners in camp and go after Smith and the other fellow who got away. Well, there's nothing you can do tonight except trample out trail signs that may be visible in the morning. It's too dark now to follow a trail and the outlaws already have a big lead. Well, now hold on, fellas. The masked man's right. Better wait. Where can these prisoners be held? Well, there's no jail here and we have no marshal. If this section of the Sierras hasn't yet been organized as a county, they can be returned to San Bernardo for the crime of jail delivery. Of course, Fatal Smith will be legally hanged as soon as he's recaptured and returned. Bring those two varmints into the dance hall. Maybe we can arrange to hold them there. Get up, fella. Get up. Oh, my. You come too now. I'll bring the other one. Mister, I'm still curious about your mask. I've heard of a man like you, but of course, he uses silver bullets. So the story goes. Thunder, Ray should look there. The Easterners come to life. He's sitting up on the table. It can't be. I saw Fatal Smith aim for his heart when he shot. And Fatal Smith don't miss. He's just what his name says. Oh, there's little... Look, fella, this isn't resurrection day. Just lie down again and be dead like you ought to be. Dead? I'm not dead. I just fainted. Be a little bit reasonable. Isn't it we don't want you coming back to life? Toto, guard the prisoners while I examine him. Sometimes men receive bad wounds without realizing it. You fellas, stand still. Madre de Dios, if this hombre leave, I am dead. Let me open your shirt and vest, mister. Go ahead. But I'd like to know why you're wearing a mask. It sometimes helps in capturing criminals. It may help in capturing Fatal Smith and rescuing the girl he carried away. Then he has little. Let me up. We've got to do something about it right now. All will be done as possible. There, I have your vest open. Look at what fell out of his vest. It's the .45 bullet Fatal Smith shot him with. I'm Tom Lassner. I'd rather you just call me Tom. Very well, Tom. All you suffered from that bullet was a bruise over your heart. You hear that, gents? The way Smith's gun sounded, there was plenty of good powder behind that bullet. Tom, you must be bulletproof. There. Then let's make him marshal of a hardscrap. Man, I'd like to be marshal of this mining camp. But I don't want the job because you think I have a charmed life. I haven't. The only reason I'm alive is that I once belonged to the police force. How's that, Tom? The thing that stopped Fatal Smith's bullet was a manual of the New York Police Department, which I had in my breast pocket. Here it is. What? A narration, a book. The bullet went completely through it, but its force was spent. I reckon you were lucky, but lucky or not, we still want you to be our lawman. It'll take a little time to get you appointed, but you can start being marshal right now and wheel back here. How about it, fellas? Yeah. Mister, you haven't said anything. I think you've made a wise choice. The West needs trained police officers. Too many frontier marshals are professional gunmen only. My friend and I are placing ourselves at Tom's disposal. Thanks, mister. I'll need your help. Men, be ready to ride at daybreak. Later that night, Fatal Smith and Louie took over another deserted miner's shack in the mountains. After tying their prisoner and searching the place, they went outside for a conference. Louie was saying, I figured we'd at least find an old shotgun in the shanty. Nothing in there of any use if a posse catches up with us. Well, I don't think we have to be afraid of a posse. The miners hereabouts won't dare leave their diggings for any length of time to counter the claim jumpers and high graders. Why'd you bring the girl out here, Fatal? I thought at first that there were more fellas in the alley than the masked man and Injun. Looked like we'd have a hot time riding out of there. In that case, she'd come in handy. Well, I can see that, but... Now, I figured that the masked man and Injun were alone. Anybody can wear a mask, but only one man does so all the time and rides alone except for an Injun partner. He's the Lone Ranger. Lone Ranger? If he takes to our trail, we'll never be able to shake him off. That's just it. We'll have to get rid of him. Can't do it without guns. Maybe he'll find us tomorrow. He don't need guns. We got the girl. And there's a coil of light cable in the shack. The kind that miners use on their windlasses when they pull up dirt and rocks from prospect holes. I saw that, but how's a piece of cable going to help? Don't ask questions, Louie. Just listen to me. It was late the next day when the Lone Ranger, Toto, and Tom Rossford struck the trail of the outlaws and their captive. A posse of miners had long since deserted them to return to their diggings. As they rode slowly into the ever-heightening altitudes, following the tracks of three horses, Toto held up a hand. Kimo Sabe, better we stop. Let me hear someone come. Oh, you'll be. Oh, you'll be. Oh, you'll be. Oh, you'll be. Yes, I hear the hoof beats now. That's a woman right there. Hi, it's Lil. Oh, oh, there. Oh, Tom. Tom, it's really you. Yes, Lil. I'm still kicked. Oh, thank heaven you're alive. Tom quickly explained what had happened and asked, Did the outlaws release you? A cook called Louie let me go with the understanding that I deliver a message to the masked man. He said such a man would be tracking them and that I'd meet him on the trail. He must have met my friend here. He probably did. Though I can't understand why I was so sure I'd follow the trail. What was the message, miss? Louie wants to betray Fatal Smith to you. He said he was afraid of being lynched and believed you'd save him if he turned on Smith. When did he tell you that? Less than an hour ago, when Smith went away for a few minutes. Then he set me free and gave me a horse. Where are the crooks staying? In a deserted prospector shack two or three miles from here. The last mile of the trail to the cabin is overgrown by tall brush. And it's lined with saplings. Lodge poles, I think they're called. Only one horse can pass through at a time. I see. Louie said I should tell you to ride in fast because Smith might notice the slightest movement in the brush and escape. Well, that sounds like crap. I thought of that. But the crooks have no weapons. Let's ride in on them. No, Tom. We're right as far as the beginning of the brush trail. I want you to wait there while Tottenay scout the place on foot. And let's go. All right. Come on, tell me. The swift twilight of the Sierras had begun to fall when the lone ranger and Tottenay left Tom and the girl with the horses and began to work their way toward the shack, keeping to scant growths of stunted trees which grew on high ground several hundred yards from the brush trail. Midway to the shack, the masked man pointed. Look at the top of this sapling along the trail the outlaws wanted us to follow. Ah. It bends west. West. Miss, country trees often grow into bent shapes because of the wind. But the prevailing wind is from the west. They always bend eastward. Now, me savvy, what kind of trap? Crook set for you. A snare, of course. They pulled down the top and held it in that position with a pole which serves as a trigger. If we cared to look, we'd find a wire noose attached to the top of the sapling. Ah, me see animals caught like that. When animal run into noose, trigger fall, tree flies up, him get hung. Yes, it's an old method of trapping deer. All right, let's move on. Oh, wait, Kimus, howie. Yes? Two men riding down trail, plenty fast. Fatal Smith and Louie, they've seen us. Now then, dodge snare. Maybe we'd better shoot. Shots fired from this distance wouldn't stop them. Let's get back to the horses. Ah. At that moment, Fatal Smith was telling Louie... We saw the masked man in England just in time. You might have known that the masked man wouldn't fall for a trick like a snare. He still hold the high card. Well, I don't know how. They must have left their horses near the end of the brush trail. Hey, that's so. It'll soon be dark. If we can rustle them, we'll get a big start. We're coming to the end of the brush trail. Well, here's the clearing. And there are the horses. Summon's with them. Yeah, likely it's only the girl. Hold up, you fellows. You're covered. Don't shoot. Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Look, Fatal, it's the eastern. Why, it can't be. You saw me plug him. He has to be dead. All right, get off your horses. This is the end of the trail for you, Fatal Smith. As Tom, who had been standing beside the horses with Lil, approached the killer like a vengeful apparition, Smith whirled his mount with a howl of terror. No! Get up! Stop or I'll shoot! I missed him. He's getting away. There he goes into the brush trail. I'll follow him. No, no, Tom. Guard this other crook. The masked man and Indian can take care of Fatal Smith. What's maybe mean? Tom have trouble. Wait, Tonto. One of the unknowns is riding back up the brush trail. I just caught a glimpse of him. Plenty dark. All me see, it's treetops. It must be near the snare now. At that moment, the evening's stillness was broken by the sound like the twang of a mighty bow. Stringing their eyes into the gloom, the masked man and Indian saw the bent tree straighten suddenly and shake its budding branches against the sky. Then all was silent and motionless. The lone ranger and Tonto dashed toward the snare, well knowing what they would find. Late that evening, a strange procession halted at the edge of hard straddle. One rider was a masked man, another an Indian. With them were a former New York policeman and a former actress who had found their destiny in the West. Two other horses bore a sardonic prisoner and a dead man. The lone ranger was saying, Tom, how long I must leave you here? But you haven't explained how Fatal Smith happened to ride into his own snare. It seems the fates were in an ironical mood. Perhaps the killer was overcome by superstitious terror after seeing Tom. Perhaps it was so dark he failed to see the trap in time to dodge the noose. Well, it was poetic justice. Yes, he received the punishment he deserved. Now the West will be a safer place in which to live. Lil, that's the end of Fatal Smith. But for you and me, this is just the beginning. Yes, Tom. Our beginning. Perhaps we'll meet again. Adios. Adios. Thanks, mister. You have little to laugh about, Louie. I have plenty. I'm wondering what Fatal Smith thinks now about setting a snare for the Lone Ranger. This is a feature of the Lone Ranger, Incorporated, created by George W. Trendle, produced by Trendle Campbell Enterprises, directed by Charles D. Livingston, and edited by Fran Stryker. The part of the Lone Ranger is played by Brace Beamer.
