THE LONE RANGER RIDES
The lone ranger kept the mask across his eyes and experimented with his
guns. His shoulder made it hard for him to draw the gun on his left, but
he found that his smooth speed seemed to have suffered no loss when he
drew the other shining weapon. As a test he unloaded and holstered the
pistol. "I'll just make sure," he muttered to Tonto. Standing with his
right hand straight before him, palm down, he placed a pebble on the
back of his hand. He dropped the hand with almost invisible speed,
jerked out his gun, leveled it, and snapped the hammer back, then down.
All this was done before the pebble touched the ground.
Tonto grinned at the demonstration and said, "That do."
The masked man sat down and replaced the cartridges in his gun's
cylinder. "So we're going to travel together," he said.
Tonto nodded slowly.
The Lone Ranger liked the idea. Tonto's unequaled knowledge of woodcraft
and his animal-like skill in following a trail that was invisible to
white men would make him a powerful ally.
Tonto told about the cattle trails he'd found beyond the top of Thunder
Mountain, and the trail that led from the mountain's top to the clearing
and beyond into the Basin. He told of his suspicions that stolen cattle
were harbored in the Basin.
When the masked man asked where Tonto had secured the food he'd brought,
the Indian evaded answering. His pride had suffered when he had been
compelled to ask a girl to help him. He felt just a little bit like many
of the vagrant, begging Indians that were so despised in certain parts
of the country. Nothing but the urgent need of his friend would have
prompted Tonto to request those favors, and he fully intended some day
to wipe out the obligation. The Lone Ranger didn't press the point.
Tonto did, however, answer many questions that had bothered the masked
man when he explained how he happened to find the cave. He had heard
shots in the Gap, and gone toward the sound. Scrambling down a rocky
side of the canyon in the dark, he had seen a white horse dimly outlined
in the darkness. He hadn't suspected that the horse was Silver, but
instinctively he had sounded the birdlike trill that Silver knew. When
the big stallion came to Tonto's side, he saw that there was no
equipment behind the saddle and assumed that Silver was alone. He had
led Silver into hiding until dawn, when he followed the back trail to
the scene of murder. Signs there showed that one man had gone wounded
from the scene. He followed, then, the blood-marked trail until he came
to the cave.
"As simple as all that," the masked man commented when Tonto finished
his recital. "If I hadn't been so nearly unconscious, I'd have
recognized your whistle."
The two spent most of the forenoon making plans and preparations. The
masked man's wounds still bothered him, but he felt equal to a long ride
and he was eager to get started on his investigation. He wore the mask
continually, so it would become a familiar part of him, and not
something strange that hampered his movements.
After their noon meal the two were ready, with their duffle loaded on
the backs of Scout and Silver. The white horse seemed eager to be in
action once again with his master in the saddle. He whinnied jubilantly
when the cinch was pulled tight, and his great strength showed in every
rippling muscle beneath his snow white coat.
Tonto mounted Scout, then waited. The Lone Ranger placed one foot in the
stirrup and shouted, "Hi-Yo Silver!" The big horse lunged ahead.
"Away-y-y," the ringing, clear voice cried as the masked man settled in
the saddle. Silver was a white flame leaping ahead, with silky mane and
tail blown straight out by the wind, like the plumes of a knight in
white armor. Sharp hoofs hammered on the hard rocks in a tattoo that
thrilled like rolling drums. Silver had his master in the saddle, Tonto
close behind him. The master's voice rang out again to echo both ways in
the canyon, "Hi-Yo Silver, Away-y-y-y." Tonto, watching from his saddle
close behind the mighty Silver, whispered, "Now Lone Ranger ride."
A stretch of flat tableland extended for several miles between the rim
of the Gap and the foot of Thunder Mountain. After the first thrilling
dash, the Lone Ranger slowed Silver to let Tonto take the lead and set
the route. The Indian knew exactly where to go to reach the mountain's
top without passing through the Basin. The masked man was not strong
enough for great activity, but Tonto anticipated none for the time
being. The purpose of this trip was merely one of observation. The
Indian intended to point out cattle trails he'd seen, and study them. In
so doing he and the Lone Ranger would get further away from the danger
of the cave's proximity to the Basin killers.
Tonto felt sure that the ride wouldn't overtax the masked man. He knew
his white friend was perfectly at home in the big saddle and perhaps far
more comfortable than he'd be chafing with inactivity in the cave.
After an hour or so of riding, the ground became more rocky and
difficult. Just ahead the mountain rose majestically. Thunder Mountain
didn't divulge her secret dangers. At first the ground sloped only
gently upward, with an occasional large tree that gave soft shade. Like
a seductress in green, the mountain lured the stranger on with promises
of things that were ahead. The trees became more frequent; then larger
trees with tangled vines in close embrace made travel harder. As the
climb became steeper, leafy discards which had rotted to soft loam gave
birth to rank weeds.
The inclination increased so gradually that one wasn't aware that it was
changing. The Lone Ranger realized quite suddenly that his horse was
laboring. The weeds had become a crazy tangle, merging with the vines
that hung from overhead like spectral streamers. There was a constant
clammy caress of invisible cobwebs on the Lone Ranger's face, and the
less subtle, sometimes painful brushing of tree trunks against his
thighs.
Silver's coat became blood-flecked where briars and brambles raked the
skin. The riders had frequently to crouch or be swept from the saddle by
low, far-reaching branches. None but Tonto could possibly have followed
this weird and devious route.
Daylight in the woods was at best twilight. Human intrusion brought a
constant cacophony of cries and chattered complaints from birds and
beasts. No breeze could possibly penetrate this fastness, and the breath
of the decaying things was hot and fetid as it rose from the ground. The
most distant horizon was within arm's reach. Underbrush so high that it
reached overhead rose from slime that was sometimes ankle-deep.
The ride seemed endless, but the end came without warning. Breaking
through a particularly dense cover of berry canes with briars that hurt,
the riders found it clear ahead. The land was hard and almost arid. A
thought made the masked man smile despite his exhaustion. Old Thunder
Mountain needn't be so proud--her head was bald. Wind and rain had
swept the summit clean except for a few gaunt stumps of
lightning-blasted trees.
Tonto was at the masked man's side, offering to help him from the
saddle.
"Now we rest," he said. "You need rest plenty bad."
"I'm able to go on, Tonto. It's good to be riding again."
Tonto shook his head. "We stop here. You rest. Tonto talk."