THE BADGE OF A RANGER
Riding through the gap at Tonto's side, the Lone Ranger seemed lost in
his thoughts. His mood was one of introspection. He had no desire for
money; he never in the least desired to own land and large droves of
livestock and make deals with other men. His silver mine would still
remain unworked. Why, he wondered, should men want to make a trade that
was to any other person's disadvantage? True, self-preservation was the
first law of life, but wild things of the forest interpreted that law of
nature without greed or dishonesty. They lived by the rule of what was
best for the greatest number.
On the other hand, because men preyed on one another, should he turn
his back upon a so-called civilization? The answer came to him then,
clear and unmistakable. Since he had been a boy, the strong masked man
had gone to nature for his education. Now, as a man unnamed, he would
try to make mankind benefit by what he had learned.
Tonto studied the masked man with grave concern. He had tried to
persuade his friend to halt and let his wounds be dressed, but the Lone
Ranger had refused. "We'll go on," he said. "There's one more thing I
want to do."
A period of riding in silence brought them deep inside the Gap. Tonto
asked no questions, made no comments. He simply rode in stolid patience,
wondering if the Lone Ranger could know what he so desperately hoped for
the future. The pledge the masked man had made had been fulfilled. Now
the Lone Ranger could unmask, reclaim his name, and take his place once
more with white men. Would that be his decision? Tonto wondered.
The Texan reined up, then dismounted. He still breathed with difficulty,
and his face was white and drawn. Hard lines showed at each side of his
mouth as he stepped close to one wall of the canyon. Tonto recognized
the place. Six mounds of earth and stone were there, surmounted by six
rough crosses.
The Lone Ranger stood before the first of these and removed his hat and
then his mask. The soft, warm light of the sunset brought a glow into
the Texan's upraised face and wiped away the lines of pain and fatigue.
His lips moved slowly, though the Texan's voice was silent. Then he
dropped his eyes and whispered, "Bert." He moved to the next grave and
paused there, whispering, "For you too, Jim." At the third small cross
the Texan whispered, "Dave," and at the next he called to, "Grant," then
"Don."
At the sixth grave, the tall white man crouched and scooped aside the
dirt and shale. He reached into the pocket of his shirt and withdrew a
star of metal. He looked at it for just a moment. The badge of the
Ranger caught the sun's light and sent it sparkling into Tonto's eyes.
Then the Texan dropped the badge into the hollow he had made, and
covered it.
Now he rose and faced the Indian. He nodded ever so slightly as if he
understood what Tonto hoped for and desired. A faint smile broke the
corners of his mouth as he replaced the mask across his eyes.
"A little rest," he said, "to give my wounds a chance to heal, and then
we'll ride again!"
Tonto said, "Me know good camp. We go there? Tonto fix wound?"
The masked man put on his hat and jerked it low. He placed one foot in
the stirrup. "We," he said, "will go there now!" He swung his leg across
the saddle, and his voice rang out with a crystal clearness that carried
through Bryant's Gap, echoing and re-echoing from wall to wall. "Hi-Yo
Silver, Away-y-y!"
Silver leaped ahead, his master in the saddle. Tonto rode behind and
grinned in happiness, following the tall masked man whom he called
"friend."