The Lone Ranger and Tonto Read online

  After the ridge with its growth of cottonwoods was behind the riders, the rolling country seemed to stretch out endlessly in the moonlight. As the ground leveled off slightly, the speed of the great white horse increased. Far behind, Dave knew, there was a group of riders in pursuit, but judging from the speed of the white stallion, pursuit was quite hopeless.

  Dave had for some time been aware of another rider, slightly to the rear. As this second man ranged alongside, Dave noticed for the first time that the man was an Indian.

  "What is it, Tonto?" shouted the masked man.

  "Mebbe better," came the reply, "we slow down. Plenty bad gopher hole on plain."

  "You're right, we don't want to take the chance of breaking one of the horses' legs. We're safe enough now."

  The pace diminished. Dave found that he could speak without having the wind force his words back. Even so, the words he said were slightly choked. "Wh-where are we going?" he asked.

  "We're heading for a camp where we will spend the night," replied the masked man close to Dave Walters's ear. "Do you know the country around here at all?"

  "I know it some, but none too well."

  "Where do you think the most logical place to camp would be?"

  "Snake River Canyon," replied Dave Walters promptly. "That's the only place around here where anyone could hide out with any luck."

  "That's what I thought," said the Lone Ranger as he reined Silver to the west to change the course. "That's exactly the reason we're not going there. That's the first place the men from town will hunt for us. They can spend several days prowling through Snake River Canyon before they can be sure we're not hidden there."

  "But where are we going?"

  "You'll see in a little while. It isn't much farther."

  The moon was high overhead, and the rolling country left behind. A level plain stretched out as far as the eye could see. Directly ahead of the two horsemen a black mass broke the even surface of the ground. It appeared to be a mound of earth, but as they drew nearer it became gigantic in size. Dave recognized the pile of rock. "That's Stony Butte," he declared.

  "Yes, I know it is," replied the masked man.

  Stony Butte was a familiar landmark in the Snake River district, located about ten miles from the town. The black rocks rose from level country to a considerable height. It was one of those peculiarities of nature; a huge pile of rock surrounded by miles of practically rockless land. It seemed to be a neglected and forgotten toy that nature had left there; some gigantic plaything of the gods.

  Countless ages of wind and rain had polished the rock until the surface gleamed like metal. It caught and reflected the moonlight. As Dave watched the rock he wondered about the masked man's destination. "You aren't planning to hide out there, are you?" he inquired.

  "Yes."

  Dave wondered at that. Miles north of the rock, the badlands stretched out endlessly and furnished no end of secure hiding places. Snake River Canyon itself would have afforded safety for at least the night. Stony Butte was the last place a man would go, if he wanted to remain in hiding. Then the answer to the masked man's decision came to Dave. The last place a man would use as a hide-out. That was it. That's why they were going there. It was the last place anyone would expect to find a man in hiding, and therefore the last place that would be searched. The wisdom of the choice dawned on Dave Walters and he marveled more than ever at the cunning of his rescuer.

  A fringe of vegetation grew around the base of Stony Butte. The shadow of the big mass gave some protection from the scorching sun, and there was some grazing for the horses. When this growth was reached, the masked man halted.

  "Down you go," said the Lone Ranger heartily, helping Dave slide to the ground. "Are you all right now?"

  "I-I guess so," replied Dave Walters doubtfully. "But that was sure one hard, fast ride."

  "It had to be," said the Lone Ranger. "Walk around a bit and get the stiffness out of your muscles. Swing your arms and stretch your neck."

  "Oh, I'm all right, stranger. Gosh, if it hadn't been for you, I'd likely have been danglin' on the end of a rope right now."

  "I don't think there's any question about it."

  Dave saw Tonto uncinching and offered to lend a hand.

  "Tonto fix horse," said the Indian. "You mebbe help masked man."

  "What can I do?"

  "Unpack the saddlebags, and we'll make ourselves as comfortable as possible. We won't be able to risk a fire at night, for it will be seen. When daybreak comes we'll be able to have all the fire we need for cooking, as long as we don't use greenwood and make too much smoke."

  "You plan to stay right here at the base of the rocks?"

  "That's right, Dave."

  "But wouldn't we be safer on the other side of the Butte? If we were on the other side, we'd be hidden from anyone coming this way from town."

  "And that would mean," explained the Lone Ranger as he threw back the flap of a saddlebag and pulled things from inside it, "that anyone who came from town would get very close to us before we saw them. If we stay on this side, we'll see any horsemen on the open plain long before he can see us in the tall grass. He'll have the sky behind him, but we'll have the black rocks."

  Dave shook his tousled head slowly. "If," he murmured, "I had a tenth of the good sense you have, I'd never have been in this mess."

  For a time there was no further talk. Blankets were brought from behind the saddles and spread out on the ground. The saddles were removed from the horses and the tired animals left to graze in the sweet, dew-drenched grass.

  Countless questions came to Dave Walters's mind. There were so many things he wanted to ask. Yet, he felt that sooner or later he would be told all that the masked man intended he should know. When everything was set for the night the Lone Ranger pointed to a blanket on the ground and said, "That's yours, Dave. Roll up in it, it's likely to be pretty cool before sunup."

  Tonto was already comfortably settled in his blanket. Dave watched the masked man, wondering if he would sleep with the mask in place. He did not know that the Lone Ranger wore the mask, habitually, whether there was need of it or not. It had become part of him, and because of that it did not hamper him in action.

  Dave didn't lie down. He sat on the ground with the blanket pulled about his shoulders. "I-I'm afraid," he began, "you've wasted your time, stranger."

  The masked man looked at the youth. "Why?" he said.

  "I want you to know I'm right grateful to you for taking me out of jail as you did, but it's no use. I'll be a hunted outlaw, and now folks will be more certain than ever that I'm guilty. I'll be hunted, and I might as well be dead, than to spend the rest of my life dodging the law."

  "If," said the Lone Ranger, "you're really the criminal that you've been branded, I agree with you. But I don't think you are." The masked man reclined at full length, resting his head on one hand, bracing his elbow on the ground.

  "I'm not the criminal I've been branded," said Dave Walters, "but I guess I am a crook. What do you know about me?"

  "I don't know very much about you, Dave."

  "You knew my name."

  The Lone Ranger nodded. "I knew that much. Do you want to tell me about yourself?"

  "Reckon that's the least I can do after what you've done for me."

  The Lone Ranger waited for Dave Walters to begin. The lad seemed to find it difficult. He tossed the blanket off his shoulders and rose to his feet. He ran lean fingers through his long hair and for a moment paced nervously up and down. As the moonlight fell on his face, the masked man had his first opportunity to study the boy he had saved from lynching.

  Dave Walters's eyes had depth and a sadness that was rare in a boy still in his teens. His cheeks were sunken and his undernourished body did not fill the clothes he wore. The boy's trousers lapped over at the waist and extra holes had been punched in his belt to take up the slack. His denim shirt was open at the throat and it seemed as if his narrow shoulders might push through the opening. />
  He pushed a lock of hair back from his well-shaped forehead as he apparently tried to find a way to get started on what he was about to tell. The Lone Ranger said, "What was the crime you committed, Dave? Did you steal something?"

  Dave stopped pacing and turned to face the man on the ground. "Yes," he said, "I stole."

  The Lone Ranger nodded.

  "I was younger then, just about sixteen. It was in New Orleans where I was employed in a bank."

  "Why don't you sit down?" suggested the masked man, "you'll find it much easier to talk."

  It was gratifying to Dave to find that the man he so admired took the announcement of his crime so calmly. He returned to his blanket, close to the Lone Ranger.

  "So you stole from the bank in New Orleans where you were working, eh?"

  Dave nodded. "My folks were mighty proud of me, working in the bank there. They thought it was a fine thing for me to learn the banking business and grow up to be a gentleman. There was a fellow there who knew a lot more about the business than I did. He showed me how we could borrow a little money from the bank and use it for gambling and then put the money back out of what we won."

  "So you did that?"

  "Yes, I did!" There was a touch of defiance in Dave's voice as if he challenged the other to lecture on the evil of bad companions, but the Lone Ranger said nothing. Then Dave Walters went on. "I knew it was wrong, and I'm not trying to say that I was misled by this fellow. I knew all along what I was doing and thought I'd be smart enough to get away with it. Well, we lost what we borrowed, and then we took some more, figuring to put it all back. We kept getting deeper and deeper in the hole until there wasn't any use in trying to square things. I had to choose between getting caught and sent to jail, or running away. I ran away."

  Dave stopped.

  "There's a lot more to tell, isn't there, Dave?" asked the Lone Ranger.

  "No, that's about all."

  "But what happened between the time you ran away from New Orleans and the time you went to jail in Snake River?"

  "Oh, there's isn't much to tell. I hopped a freight train that was heading west with empty cars to load up a lot of cattle. Some men found me on the train, and threw me off without my bundle of extra clothes. All I had was what I was wearing, so I wasn't hindered by any extra weight in starting out on foot. I met another man on the road. His name was Higgy."

  "Higgy? That's an odd name."

  "I don't know his real name, but that's what he called himself. He showed me how to go up to a farmhouse and ask for work. We managed to do some chores along the way to get food, and sometimes the farmers would let us sleep in the barn. Other times we just slept in the open fields."

  "Well, winter was coming, and Higgy and I thought it would be wise to travel South to a warmer climate. It was a long way to Texas, so we tried to get a ride on another freight train. I jumped for the train, but it was traveling pretty fast. I missed my grip and fell off. That's when I got hurt. I was hurt badly, and I figured I was going to die right then and there. Higgy thought the same, so he stayed with me. I don't remember much of what happened for several days after. I guess I had Higgy to thank for pulling me through. He got me food and water, and made a camp where I could stay. But I thought for sure I was going out. I didn't want to die with the robbery on my mind, and thought I'd feel better if I got the whole thing written down. Higgy got pencil and paper and I wrote a full confession and signed it. I addressed it to Pa, and asked him to try and square my account with the bank."

  "Higgy promised that he'd see that Pa got my letter. He left the camp and didn't come back. I don't know where he went. I guess I was there for several days. I couldn't walk, couldn't even sit up, my chest hurt every time I moved. I was cold and I'd gotten past the point of feeling hungry."

  "Then some men came along and took care of me. They were from a railroad camp and took me back there with them. My broken ribs healed, and I managed to earn my keep at the camp by cooking for the men. All I wanted was to get enough cash together to get back home."

  Dave yawned widely.

  "Finish your story," said the Lone Ranger. "I want to hear all of it before morning, because in the morning I might want to ride into Snake River."

  "You're not going back there, are you?" asked Dave in surprise.

  "Perhaps, but go on. What happened after the railroad camp? Did you go back to New Orleans?"

  "I went back. I'd been away for almost a year. It took me all winter to get cash enough to go. I… I didn't have the nerve to try to hook another train ride. When I got back, I found that Pa and Ma had moved away. No one knew where they had gone. Pa had sold the house to repay what I had stolen. With the little money he had left, Pa bought a wagon and a team of horses, then he and Ma joined a wagon train headed for the West. I—well I had to find Pa and Ma. I just had to!"

  Dave Walters was on his feet again, pacing nervously and talking more rapidly than before. "I found out that someone had come into New Orleans with a story that I'd been killed. Pa believed the story and that was why he'd packed up and left, without telling anyone where he went. Folks who saw me in New Orleans thought I was a ghost or something. I had to find my folks, don't you see, stranger? They thought I was dead. They… they'd given up all they had to square my account. I wanted to be with them, to try and help them. I swore I wouldn't touch a cent of the money I had left. I sewed it inside my shirt and started west on foot."

  Dave told all the details of his trip into the West. He explained how he had traveled from one place to another, constantly asking questions, seeking someone who had seen or heard of his father. "I didn't have any great sum of cash, but it was a lot to me. I had fifty dollars when I reached New Orleans. I knew that Pa and Ma would need the money when I found them. But I didn't realize that the West is a big place."

  "I thought I'd had a hard two years of it, but all that had gone before was nothing compared to what I went through when I got to Snake River! I started asking questions about Pa an' Ma at Snake River. The second day I was there the Sheriff and a deputy arrested me. They searched me and found the money I had inside my shirt. I didn't know what they wanted me for, and they wouldn't say. They hustled me to the jail and then folks came and looked me over. They said I was the one all right. I tried to explain who I was looking for and tell folks that I'd earned the cash I had, but no one would listen to me!"

  "Why," interrupted the Lone Ranger at this point, "were you jailed?"

  "An older woman had been killed and robbed. She'd had about fifty dollars hidden in her house. Being a stranger and having asked a lot of questions about old folks in town I was suspected, and when they found me with the cash that was all there was to it. As far as anyone could see, I was the killer. That's why I was jailed. I hadn't been tried yet, but I guess it wouldn't have mattered if I had been. I'd have been strung up in the end anyway."

  The Lone Ranger was on his feet. "Keep talking," he told Dave Walters, as he went to take his saddle from the ground.

  "There's nothing more to tell. You took me out of the jail to save me from the lynchers. If I'd stayed there, I'd have been lynched, but now that I've been rescued from the jail, it's all the more proof to those men that I'm the killer. There's nothing ahead now, nothing I can ever do to prove that I'm not a killer!"

  The Lone Ranger whistled softly and the big white stallion trotted to his side. He tossed the saddle on the animal's straight back and cinched it tight. "You take it easy," the masked man said.

  "What are you cinching up for?"

  "I'm riding out."

  Tonto rose and hurried to the masked man's side. "You stay with Dave Walters, Tonto. I want him to get some sleep and rest. He'll need it for the trip that's ahead of him in the morning."

  "What you do?" inquired the Indian.

  "When I heard talk around Snake River of the lynching that was to take place, I thought there might be a lot more to the story than had been told. Now I know the true story."

  Dave looked at the ma
sked man in surprise. "Yuh believe my story?" he said.

  "Why shouldn't I believe it? It's the truth, isn't it?"

  "Y-yes, it's the truth, but I didn't think anyone would believe me when I told a yarn like that."

  "I believe you. Furthermore, I'm going to ride into town and see if I can't get more information."

  "For what?"

  The Lone Ranger looked steadily at Dave Walters for a moment. Then he spoke slowly. "Dave, there is just one sure way to establish the fact that you're not a murderer."

  "How's that?" asked Dave.

  "By finding the one who really killed the woman."

  "But I don't see," returned Dave thoughtfully, "how you can do that by going back to town."

  "I don't either, Dave, but I certainly can't learn any more by remaining here. Now you get some sleep. Tonto will waken you at sunrise and take you to another camp. I'll meet you there later on."

  "But if you go to town, they'll jail you for sure. The guards got a good look at you."

  "I'll take that chance," he said. He leaped astride the big white horse, whirled, and rode off toward the town. The hearty ringing voice of the fast-disappearing masked man shouted, "Hi-Yo, Silver! Away-y-y!"

  That shout rang in Dave's ears through his troubled dreams for the remainder of the night.

  Chapter III

  THE GAMBLING MAN

  The valley through which Snake River flowed offered lush grazing for thousands of head of cattle. And the river itself supplied an abundance of good, cool water. To travel-weary pioneers from the east, this valley seemed to be a little bit of Heaven dropped for their personal use. After long weeks on the mesquite studded trail, with scorching sun and alkali dust adding to discouragement and despair, Snake River valley was a most welcome place to rest.