 A fiery horse with a speed of light, a clod of dust and a hearty hyo silver, the Lone Ranger. With his faithful Indian companion, Tuttle, 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 hoof beats of the great horse silver. The Lone Ranger rides again. Come on, silly. Let's go big foe. Are you silly? Cannonball McKay, owner and driver of the fastest stage in the territory, swept the main street of Orient with a backward glance, then turned the knob of a door lettered office of the United States Marshal. Marshal Jim Hanley lifted gray vise from the papers on his desk and for a moment the lawman bearded and burly and the slim smooth-faced driver in the battered Stetson and Dusty jeans studied each other. Cannonball was the first to speak. Howdy, Marshal. I heard you wanted to see me. That's right, amigo. Sit down. I'll get plenty of that on the box and I'm gonna hurry to go home. Just tell me why you took that one-armed fellow Clem in as your partner when he blew into Orient a few weeks back. Clem made you into trouble? Not exactly, but he's quarrelsome and insulting. Well, Clem saw it on the world. He's had a lot of tough luck. Tough luck, was it? Cannonball, I hate to tell you this, but he did ten years in the Montana Pen for holding up a stage. Who told you that? I got a notice from the warden up there. He says Clem was the meanest prisoner he ever had. Always trying to break out. The guards finally had to shoot him in the arm. And I can tell you something more. After Clem was wounded, those fellas broke his jaw and knocked his teeth out with gun bails. The prisoner saw bones could have saved his arm instead of whacked it off. So you knew what happened and you took him in just the same, huh? Now listen, Marshal. Clem and me teamed up long before they sent him to the pen. He couldn't have been in on that hold up because I was with him at the time, so I know. But my word didn't count in court. Well, it counts with me, Cannonball. You say Clem was innocent he was, but he's making it bad for you. Ah, so? Yeah, Wells Fargo and post office people know about Clem and his record. They say you've got to get rid of him or they'll cancel their hauling contracts. Let him do it. Clem's my partner. Several days later the lone ranger disguised as a mining engineer rode into Orient, intending to mail a letter to his nephew Dan Reed who was back in school. Tato had remained at a nearby camp. In front of a large frame building which housed the Wells Fargo office, post office and Gwiel Cafe, he drew rain. What the hell is he saving for? As he dismounted and pulled the letter from a pocket, a group of idlers at the hitch rack turned with curious stares. An old swapper and a stained apron leaned over the rail and grinned. Stanger, there won't be any mail going out of this town. Why not old timer? Bottles is my handle. I work for Porky Abrams in the cafe there. All right, bottles. Now, what about the mail? Well, the post office and the express company won't send their stuff out on the stage anymore on account of the driver being thick with the crook. Well, I understood that Cannonball McCage drove the stage. That he does, mister. You know him? Only by his reputation for courage and clean living. Who is this man you call a crook? Clem, something or other. That's him standing across the street. That one-armed fellow with the bleached out face and twisted mouth. He seems to be watching for someone. Here comes Collins, the express agent, with my boss. Bottles, get inside and spread some fresh soda. Sure, boss. Sure. Say that Clem Ombre is heading this way. Collins, you'd better watch out. He might have it in for you. Yeah. He's packing a gun in his pants pocket. See how that galus is stretched? I'm not scared of him. Just a minute, Collins. What do you want? You can give your holding back to Cannonball. I'm leaving town. You can't leave too soon. They shouldn't have ever turned a crook like you loose on honest people. You can't call me a crook. What are you gonna do about it? I'll show him. He's gonna shoot. Get behind me, Collins. Clem, give me that gun. Stand back, stranger. Oh, I want that gun. Don't make me hurt you. Let go of my hand. Look, he shot into the back. There, I've got it. Now, Clem, stand still and cool off. Here comes Cannonball and the Marshal. Yeah, let me through there. Clem, what they're doing to you? What they're doing to him? That pen crazy critter tried to gun me. The stranger disarmed him. Collins called me a crook. I never took a sat in my life. Never hurt anyone. But look what the Lord done to me. Took the best years of my life. Made me a cripple. Come on, Clem. Let's go home. Here's his gun, Cannonball. You better keep it away from him. Unless you're fast there. Don't you just want Clem arrested? I don't, and Collins shouldn't. He provoked a gunplay. Well, Collins? I suppose I'll have to give him another chance to kill me. Let him go. Back in camp, the lone ranger told Tonto about his adventure while stripping off his disguise and resuming writing clothes and mask. And what we do, Kimusami? For the time being, I want you to hang out around the express office and wheel a cafe, get a coin with the old swamper. He hears everything and tells everything and keep Clem away from Collins. The cafe was packed with a roistering crowd the following Saturday night. Tonto had seen Clem enter the place and after making sure that Collins was still in the express company office, had followed. But the ex-convict was already gone. Puzzled the Indian question bottles. Where Clem fell ago? Him? The boss just hired him to take a letter to the post office in Rushville. Give him ten dollars to do it. And that's right peculiar. Why you say that? Clem's been acting meek as a weak old lamb a late. I reckon he can be trusted to mail a letter, but porky ain't one to write letters. Now give away gold eagles. He's a money hog. Oh, Miss Savvy. And come to think of it, I heard him saying to Joe and Hash just this afternoon that he was ready to hang the dead wood on Clem. How do you figure that, Indian? Hmm? Why? Well, Dad Bernard, he vermoosed. A right peculiar red skin, I must say. It was the hour just before daybreak, the one still hour in Orient. The cafes and dance halls had closed their doors and the streets were dark except for a dim light in the Wells Fargo office and a lantern which burned every night outside the Marshall's office. The black silence seemed to deepen until packed like powder it exploded into roaring gunfire. Rows from sleep, Marshall Hanley jerked on his boots, grabbed the gun and pulled it to the street. In front of the express office, a shadowy figure appeared running toward an even more shadowy horse. He shouted, Stop or I'll fire! What are you? What's wrong, Marshall? Come here, porky. The Wells Fargo doors opened. These cullens on the floor. He's dead. Sure is, Marshall. This way, boys. Refreshing your lantern, Marshall. What happened to Collins? Somebody killed him. He got away on the horse. Take that lantern and look around the street. I might have hit him or he might have dropped something. Yeah, we'll look. Collins told me he was keeping a bag of gold dust here. Well, if he was, it's gone. Looks like that Clempella did fix it. He said he would, remember? Yes, I know. Sure looks bad for him. But I reckon he's been home with cannibal. Hey, Marshall. Huh? Clem had a 41 colt the other day. He must have reloaded on the run. Well, boy, gully. Come here, boys, and we'll form a parcel. While the Lone Ranger had remained awake at his camp waiting for Toto to return, at the sound of hooves, he grew back from the fire, aware that two riders were approaching. A moment later, the Indian appeared in the light with Clem. Here I am, Toto. Who's that mask man? Why'd you make me come here? Never mind the mask, Clem. What happened, Toto? Well, Porky, who keeps capet, sent Clem to Rushville with leather. From what old swamper tell me, it looked like Porky wanted to put blame for something on Clem. Me go after him. Make him come here. Here it is. This envelope isn't addressed. I didn't look at it. It's filled with blank paper. Whatever Porky was up to, he made sure that you wouldn't have any evidence to support your word that he sent you out of town. You're right, mister. That vomit aimed to get me in Dutch somehow. Listen, Kimosabe, honey riders come this way. Must be a poshie. Porky fixed it so they're after me. Clem, take your horse and get behind those rocks. Come here, boys. Look there, Marshal. There's the masked man and the legion. Come at them. No, no, wait. We've not seen that engine around my cafe. He's all right. What about the fella in the mask? We must have more important things than that to ask about, or you wouldn't be riding with a poshie. That's so good. We were looking for a one-armed ex-convict when we saw you're fast. What do you want him for? We're taking an express agent, stealing a bag of gold dust. Clem didn't do it, Marshal. All you've got against him is that you didn't find him at all. Clem, Paul, you keep out of this. I shouldn't have let you come along even after you gave me your guns. I still say his innocence. He had a 41 pocket colt the other day when he tried to kill Collins. Them guns are scarce. The empty shells the boys found strung along the street before he won. Why were those shells in the street? I don't see it's your business, but me and the killer of 20 church is he only had one gun and started reloading while he dusted out of town. Uh, I see. Yeah? Well, you haven't seen it. Who's a crook? You've got to find one. There he is. He hasn't got a gun? Grab him, porky. I've got him. There, Clem. You're under arrest. Don't be hasty, Marshal. No, you stand back. I'm going to hold you for harboring a... Watch it! If anyone goes for a gun, I'll shoot. Put that gun down. I'll get you. Oh! Oh! If anyone else draws, I'll smash his hand instead of his gun. Hello. This arm, these men. You'll clear for this. We'll get you. Porky, you've put your gun down. I wish we should. We'll get you. Porky, you've put up a job on me. You're behind that murder. My hand. My hand was nearly busted. In the saddle, Tunnel. Take their guns with you. We'll drop these guns a hundred yards away, Marshal. Take them up after we're gone. Come on, Tunnel. Easy, big fella. Easy, big fella. Come on, silly man. Boys! I'll take charge, you Clem. The rest of you pick up your guns and follow those children. 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. Suspected of complicity in a murder for which one innocent man was already under arrest, the Lone Ranger and Tunnel had escaped from Marshal Hanley and his posse. As day broke, they reached an elevation from which a view of their back trail was possible. The masked man signaled a halt. Hello, hello. Easy. Hello, hello. Me not see anybody back there. We have a big lead. If bad, we leave Clem behind but him fella will always do wrong things. He'd remain hidden a little longer. I might have been able to convince the Marshal of his innocence and expose the real killers. It'd be pretty hard to convince Marshal to be innocent after what happened. That isn't our biggest problem. Clem is in less danger from the law than he is from the man who built a false case against him. Oh, what we do about him? We circle back toward Orient. I want to see Cannonball. We'll fill it in. Come on. Let's count. Accompanied by Cannonball, the Marshal had taken Clem back to town immediately after his capture and the one armed man was a prisoner in the ramshackle jail when the posse returned from their futile chase after the lone ranger and tonto. Porky and his partners in crime conferred in the back room of the café. Well, it looks like things are working out just like we planned. Yeah, we got the Dustin Express office. The Marshal's got Clem. He'll never suspect us. I'm not so sure of that. Clem said right out that you framed him, Porky, so he must know something. If he does, that mask man knows it, too. But that felon is in the fraynard on the run. Yeah, we've got to keep him on the run. Keep Clem from saying anything more. Well, how do we get to him in the jail? Hash, that crowd out there is plenty sore. All we've got to do is start some lynch talk and the mob will do the rest. Then let's start the ball rolling. As the killers launched another plot against Clem's life, Cannonball took down a 10-gauge shotgun from the wall of a cabin which stood at the edge of town with a stage shed and stables nearby. Into the yawning mouths of the sawed-off barrels, the stage driver poured handfuls of black powder and horseshoe nails. A tattered silk dress which lay on the floor furnished wadding for the deadly loads and caught a flow of tears. For Cannonball, reputedly the toughest whip whoever rolled a concord on the western trails was weeping, unaware that the lone ranger and tutto watched from the doorway. The masked man spoke softly. That's a terrible weapon, Cannonball. The masked man, what are you on? We're here to help Clem. We're sorry. Now wait, mister. Just because you caught me crying like some wishy-washy woman don't get wrong ideas. Harder than nails I'm going to use on any mob that tries to lynch Clem. Do you think that's possible? If you knew this town, you wouldn't ask. I've got my best horses hooked to the stage and old bottles is watching what goes on downtown. Bottles, come now. Cannonball! Cannonball! Cannonball! A fellow in a mask. That's right peculiar. I'll never mind that. What's happening? Porky, Joe, and Hash are making lynch talk. There's a crowd of two to three hundred fellows around the cafe. Any minute, they'll be heading for the jail. We've got to get Clem out of jail into the stage. Them farmers figured on you trying to use your stage. Some of them have torn up the planks off the bridge to fix tear in Rushville. Maybe we can use it anyhow. Drive as close to the rear of the jail as you can without being seen. We'll see you there. I'll start right now. Grab a gun bottle. I sure will. Come on, Tutto. Ah, you're in. You think so? Come on, Louie. Audience mayor and physician Doc Tate stood in the jail office with a cap and ball navy revolver in one hand and a medical kit in the other. Well, Doc, we're in for now. Let Clem go. Better I'd rather do that and let the lynch mob get him. Hey, may try to hang up. Clem coming back? That mask man is an idiot. Hold it, you man. I want Clem. Just let him loose. Do you see him? No. You'd better not try any tricks. He's gone, mister. Why did you let him go? Cannonball will be out back with the stage in a moment. We could have moved him to safety. There's no use trying to find him. There's a lynch mob coming. You'd better get out too before that mob gets here. They know you hid Clem and even if you're not guilty. Clem is innocent, Marshal. I wanted to tell you that when we met before, but circumstances prevented me. You mean there's something to his story that porky framed him? Porky Evans sent him out of town with a fake letter, thinking that the trip would keep him from having an alibi. But he has one just the same. I'll always with him at the time of the whole up and murder. That's right, Marshal. Bottles him no but letter. Another thing, no one armed man on the running horse could have worked the ejector rod on a gun fast enough to drop all the empty cartridges on the street. Come to think of it, Clem couldn't have reloaded. He'd need strong teeth or a belt to hold the gun barrel, and he hasn't got either. No wonder Porky's been stirring up a mob. He didn't pull the job alone. That fellow Joe was with him right after the shooting. And I'll bet the one I shot at was Hash. You'll never prove it. You can't even arrest them now that the mob's behind them. We'll get them. Just do as I say. Here, come on, King of Fluffy. Some on horses, others on foot. The infuriated townsmen masked in front of the jail. Following a line of least resistance like a flood, they failed to surround the building immediately due to a tight board fence at the rear. At that decisive moment, the Marshal and Doc Tate acting on the masked man's knowledge of mob behavior appeared on the front steps, guns in hand. What do you mean what? We want that killer. Clem, Clem isn't in this jail. Doc, you all right. You've got to show us. See it or be believable. All right, all right. New leaders can come in. There'll be Hugh Porkey, Hugh Joe, and Hugh Hash. Come on, Porkey. Come on, boys. Let's take a look. The rest of you stand back. Open the door, mister. I'll go in with you, delegates. Come on, Joe. Get your hands up, you three. It's a masked man. We've been tricked. One yell and it'll be your last. I'm right behind you, crooks. Otto, take their gun. He got him. What are you going to do with us? Take it to Rushville in the stage. You'll never get there. The mob will catch up with us and hang you. Where is the stagecoach, Otto? Out back behind Shent. We tell Cannonball what do. All right. Come on, all of you. Take it easy, men. What's keeping Porkey and the others? They should be back now. Out of the way, Marshall. You rush me into hell fire. Hey, that's Cannonball's stage. That's right. They're trying to sneak that killer away. You fellas, you've got horses. Follow me. All right. Come on, let's go. With Cannonball and bottles on the box, the big red and yellow concourse streaked out of orient in a dust cloud, each of the six horses spraining in its harness. The old swamper looked back and called. The masked man and the engine are riding behind us. Is there anything of the mob? Yeah, it's coming. I sure hope that we can scare Porkey and his partners into talking to Doc. It's all a chance, bottles. I'll scare them funny. We're on top of Signal Hill. Here it's all downgrade to the bridge. I will really roll. Get up there! Get up! Inside the coach, Porkey and his confederates crouched on a rear seat. Their frightened eyes on the old colt, which Doc Tate held, with a trigger pulled in and the hammer back under a careless thumb. Porkey was protesting. Doc, is the rate we're going? Your thumb will slip about the next bump we hit. Yeah, so it might. But if I don't kill you, I'll patch you up. You're not human. We're going down Signal Hill now. Instead of holding in his horses and putting on the brakes that crazy Cannonball's whipping him up. We're going past every second. We'll soon hit the bridge. Doc, the planks are off that bridge. Don't Cannonball know it? How would he know? He'll drive right into the hole and kill us all. Doc, get him to Stuck and let the mob rescue you? I guess not. You gotta believe us, Doc. All you can tell me that I'll believe is that you murdered, you murdered Collins and stole the gold dust. Admit it and I'll tell Cannonball to stop. Go ahead, Porkey. Tell him anything. He'll keep us from going into the river. Where's the dust? We buried it on the back steps of the cafe. Are you idiot? You hadn't told him that. We could have denied making the confession. Now we're in it. Doc! Doc! Bob's shooting at the stage. Stop! That's old bottles yelling. I'll open the door so that I can hear him. What is it, bottles? Cannonball's been hit and I can't stop the horses. We'll all be killed. Hello. Keep shooting back. Cannonball, it's hit stage. Something's wrong with Cannonball. Him, I'll stop now. Bridge, mighty close. We've got to overtake him. One, two, three. Put by foot, the mighty silver gained on the runaway stage, Coach. But as he closed in, the distance between the swaying vehicle and the damaged bridge shortened. Let's go, McFarland! Then the great white horse was alongside the rocketing coach. The masked man freed his boots from the stirrups and grabbed the metal railing on the concourt's top. Bottles holding the wounded Cannonball on the seat with one hand and the lines with the other were screaming, Hurry! Hurry! The coach pitched and the lone ranger lost his hold. But an instant later, it rolled back and with the railing again within reach, he leaped, potted and swung himself to the top. Scrambling to the box, he snatched the lines from the old swapper and set the brakes. Ho! Ho! Ho now! Ho! Gas yards ahead, the bridge loomed up with the fugitive Clem standing in front of the hole and frantically waving his hand at the horses. Oh, easy, steady up. Mr. Knack was close. Hello. What's the prisoners? Doctor, get up here. I'm coming. Clem, here, take my gun. Doc, he shot Cannonball. I'll kill everywhere. Steady, steady, Clem. Get back, bottles. Gotta have a look here and see you. It's only a scalp wound, I guess. There it... Here comes a mob. Hold your fire, you men. You shot Cannonball. We know we're not children. We didn't mean to hurt Cannonball. He's the best man in Orient. But that Clem... He's innocent. I got a confession from Porky and his sidekicks when they thought Cannonball was driving them into the river. I can take you where they hit the goal. Now, all you men but Clem, get down off this stage top. I've got some fixing to do on this little lady. Lady? Doc, what are you talking about? Yes, I always knew. And I reckon everyone should know now that Cannonball's a woman. Clem, say something. She's my wife. When they sent me to the pen, she cut over here and put on pants and boots and did a man's work while she waited. Take off your hats, you fellas. We're gonna pray that Cannonball don't die. She won't. She won't. She's coming too right now. Clem... Kiss me. Sure, bud. You're gonna be all right. Everything's going all right. A woman's stage driver. Now, that is right peculiar. Doc, here are no one's hood. Who is that mask man? Help us. Well, he's the Lone Ranger. This is a feature of the Lone Ranger Incorporated, created and produced by George W. Twendle, directed by Charles D. Livingston, and edited by Fran Stryker. The part of the Lone Ranger is played by Brace Beamer.