 A fiery horse with a speed of light, a cloud of dust, and a hearty high of silver! The Lone Ranger! With his faithful Indian companion, Tonto, the daring and resourceful masked writer of the plains led the fight for law and order in the early western United States. No where 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! Hello Silver! Let's go big fellow! Are you Silver? Sitting beside a campfire in one of the territories of the southwest, the Lone Ranger read a message which had been relayed to Tonto by an Indian runner. As he finished, he said, Tonto, this note came from our old friend, the Padre. He wants us to look in two conditions in the Murado Valley. That long way for mission. That's true. But the Padre learns many things from travelers. In some way he's heard of it that a man called Don Diablo is terrorizing the valley. What that color is real name? The Padre wasn't able to find out. In fact, he wrote rather skeptically about the rumor. Don Diablo can be translated as Sir Satan. The alias suggest a Spaniard or Mexican that may be that the man isn't American if he actually exists. And what we do? Prepare to ride. We're going to the Murado Valley. After several days of hard travel, the Lone Ranger and Tonto rode into the vast and fertile lowlands where Don Diablo was supposed to hold sway. Walled in by almost impassable mountains, the Murado Valley was a little world of its own, rarely visited by outsiders. At first view it appeared to be a purple paradise. Tonto pointed. Look, came a savvy. Over there got hurt a goat. We'll have a talk with him. Get him up scout. Oh, him old man, gray beard. So much better. Old man speak more freely than young ones. He make peace sign. Hose over home. Hose over home. Filencio achievos. Buenos dias, amigo. Oh, Buenos dias, señor. It is always the good day when this son does not hide his face. That seems to be a reference to my mask. I'll let it frighten you. In your I am too old to fear death, too poor to fear bandiles. We're not bandits. We're strangers in a strange land. Do you know this valley well? See, I am that one they call Chivo Padre, goat father, you savvy? Like a goat I know El Valle Murano from end to end. Did you ever hear of anyone called Don Diablo? For God's sake, do not speak that name, never. Why not? I have not seen you. I have not heard you. Vamos, Chivo. The old man made the sign of the cross and hobbled away in a panic, swinging his staff at his bleeding flock. The lone ranger stared after him. Don Diablo were Satan himself. He couldn't strike more terror into the hearts of the valley men. Maybe him, not man at all. Maybe him like evil spirit that scare Indian. Whatever he is, we can be sure of one thing. We're riding on terror's trail. Get him off the couch. The following morning found the masked man and Indian deep in the valley. With each mile they traveled their sense of danger grew, though they had seen nothing that seemed to threaten them. The Haciendas, which they passed in the distance, appeared inviting. Cattle grazed peacefully in lush meadows, birds caroled in the trees, but the malign name which no one wanted to hear was ever in the minds of the two friends. They rode in thoughtful silence until... Taddo, there's a rider coming this way. Ah, something wrong with him. Look how him ride bent over. Yes, he may be hurt. What's the matter, friend? Him not even look up? Grab his reins. He got him. Oh, oh, oh. Easy enough. Taddo, this man is dead. Oh, dead man, riding horse. His legs have been tied to his saddle girth. Hold on to his horse. I'll get down and take a closer look. Easy, silly fellow. I'm not steady. Nobody hurt you. This man was shot in the head. He was a deputy sheriff. I mean, Nazi badge on vest. Fastened to his back and holds a note. I'm unpinning it now. There, I have it. What note say? It reads, Sheriff Penbroke Rosario. I am returning your spike on mucho gusto. What that mean? With much pleasure. But that's not all. The message is signed. Oh, it looked like him figure horse would go home with dead man and note. That was it. He wanted to show his contempt for law. Repending the badge and note to the murdered deputies back, the Lone Ranger searched his pockets and saddlebags. He found nothing of any significance. Then he noted that the dead man's hat had been pulled on so tightly that it could not fall off. Removing it with some difficulty, he looked inside and exclaimed, Thought a deputy was carrying the royal of a Chihuahua spur in the sweatband of his hat. What you make of that? My guess is that it had something to do with his murder. Certainly he considered it valuable, or he wouldn't have taken such pains to conceal it. Well, me never see American wear a Chihuahua spurs. A few if any do. Some Mexican vercaros use them while riding vicious horses. But under ordinary circumstances, the wearer of such spurs betrays himself as being insanely cruel. That's right. This ral is gold plated. The spikes are needle sharp and more than an inch long. You can imagine what they would do to a horse's flanks. Maybe Don Diablo lose it, deputy find it. That's a possibility to be considered. Chihuahua spurs fit his character as we know it. Now that we've seen his hand to work, I'll keep this ral for the time being. And what we do with dead man? Let the horse take him on to Rosario and backtrack it while the trail's fresh. Get along, father. Get along. Well, him head in right direction. Yes, he's a big fella. Come on, silly. As the masked man and Indian took the back trail of the dead rider, Carlos Shelby, the wealthiest man in the Murado Valley, pulled down one of the books which lined the walls of his Hacienda library a few miles away. The owner of a score of big ranchos, Shelby was a small effeminate looking man of mixed blood, noted for generosity and hospitality. When Shelby appeared in public, he wore English tweeds and gold rimmed spectacles. He always carried a book, never a gun. The book which engaged his interest at the moment was a German language copy of Nietzsche's latest work, also Sprach Zarathustra. He turned the pages idly until a line caught his eye and he translated to himself. That spoke Zarathustra. The criminal is the type of the strong man. How true this Nietzsche is. I'm thinking it was a mistake to do it. No, it's not the reason why. As Tennyson so aptly put it. Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm just your top gunslinger. But I don't want my neck stretched. Please explain that statement, my dear fellow. But two years now you've been working you down Diablo Game on the people in this valley. That means the other boys kill ranchers, burn buildings, rustle cattle. Every one of those... Another two years I'll own the Murado. It once belonged to an ancestor of mine, a Spanish conquistador who wanted from the Indians with sword and fire, rope and whip. I'm following in his footsteps. Yeah, might assure yourself. No, I shouldn't, I be. I'm above suspicion. People believe that Don Diablo is a Mexican bandit who has a stronghold in the mountains. They're afraid to speak his name. That doesn't explain why that lawman was spying on your ranch. He was watching it through field glasses when I plugged him. Ahoy Palloy is always curious about the way in which it's better to live. Still it was just as well that you removed him. I think he was sent out to investigate the raid we made under Hermosa Ranch the other night. And maybe he found something there that pointed to you. What could he have found? I don't know. We plugged old man Hermoso in the young Manuel Martinez. You got the Hermoso girl Rosita here. Now they're to count for all the witnesses. Unless somebody like the cook got away. What could a witness tell? We were masked. All right, boss, have it your own way. I always do. Bring Rosita Hermosa to me. Right. As Mort left the room, the man who was both Carlos Shelby, highly respected Ranchero, and Don Diablo, the terror of the valley, took a court from a desk grower. The whip had a loaded handle and many knotted thongs, which he drew through one hand with a caressing motion until the door opened again. Here you go. Doc, will I guard me? There she is, boss. Stay outside the door, Mort. Right. You are Senor Shelby. Does that surprise you, my dear? Senor, this is not possible. An unspeakable one, Don Diablo and his bandidos have killed my padre and my Manuel. They've carried me off, but here I am in your asienda. Señorita, I am Don Diablo. Is that true? No, you make the joke. You are the good senor, the rich Ranchero. Much times I have danced at your fiestas. So I noticed. That's why you are here. Let me all of this place. My dear girl, are you stupid enough to think that I'd let you go alive? Stay alive only so long as you please me. So be pleasant. Do not touch me, please. Nietzsche has a chapter on women. Let us see what he advises. Let me see. Here it is. He likens women to cats and concludes with this line. Alzo spraht zaratustra. Forget not the whip. The whip? As the book-minded killer continued to scan out pourings of the insane German philosopher, Rosita grabbed up another volume from the desk. She spoke to her of the book straight into Shelby's face, smashing his glasses. I'll kill you for that. He lashed at her with his quirt, but she nimbly dodged him and retreated to the door just as it opened. Let me out. My dear, let me out. I got it, boy. What'd she do? She broke my life pair of glasses. I can hardly see without them. It's only an optical company and San Francisco can supply the kind of need. I should hold her while you let her lash at it. It'll come later. Lock her up and keep her locked up until I can get new glasses. I want to see her writhe in pain. I want to see. See. 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 Carlos Shelby raged in the library of his Hacienda. The lone ranger and tonto reached the end of the murdered deputy's back trail on a rock-screwing ridge a mile away. They drew rain. What's going on there? Hello. This is where he was shot with his mountain look around. Easy setting up. Before the mask man had taken more than a half-dozen steps, a rifle cracked. The bullet fanned his forehead as he flattened himself, a hidden rifleman fired again. Glancing from a rock above his shoulders, the slug screamed off, narrowly missing the horses. Keep down, tonto. What we do? I'll fire into the air to hold his attention while you slip around behind him. Be savvy. Stealthily working his way through the rocks, the Indians soon reached a point from which you could see the bushwhacker kneeling behind a boulder. He was a haggard young man with a stained rag tied around his head. Tonto crept forward. Just as the youth was about to fire again, he sprang. Drop rifle, come on. Taken completely by surprise feeling Tonto's revolver against his back. The bushwhacker let go of his weapon. Now stand up. Stand still. I am too much wounded to run. You got him, Kimusami. Bring medicine, kid. I'll be right with you. Several minutes later, the mask man appeared with a first-aid outfit. He gave the youth a look of compassion. Why did you shoot at me, young man? You know why Don Diablo. I am not Don Diablo. Tonto, here's the kid. Take care of his wound. Ah, me fix you up, father. Oh, mil gracias, señor indio. I have made the big mistake. But that evil one, Don Diablo, he wore a mask on the night of Tuesday when he and his bandidos raided the Hermoso Ranch. Stole Rosita, killed her father and left me for one dead. You say he carried off a girl? Si, señor. Mia Rosita, the beautiful one. I, Manuel Martini's wish to marry. How did you happen to be here on the ridge? I wished to find the deputy who came to the ranch. I told him what Don Diablo did. We looked at the trail of the evil one, his bandidos, well, after two days he was gone. But we found a gold rower from a Chihuahua spore. Oh, was this it? Si, señor, the very one. You took it from the deputy, no? Yes, Manuel, but he was dead. He was shot here on this ridge and tied to his horse. Don Diablo killed him. Did you ever see anyone around here wearing Chihuahua spores? No, no, but on his ranch, which is owned by the goods in your Shelby, I have seen horses that someone used them on. Oh, they were hurt much bad. This I told the deputy and he came here to watch. Oh, your headdress, no? Oh, how I feel. Oh, way, no, gracias. You have a horse. Si, si, it's on the other side of the ridge. If you think you can stand it, I'd like to have you go to Rosario and tell the sheriff all you know and give him a silver bullet. Way, no. It's only four-hour ride. And, señor, you are a muy hombre. You'll try to find my Rosita, si? Fine, well, we'll try. Come on, Toto. Just get around Shelby's Aussie in the house. Late that afternoon, Carlos Shelby decided to take a ride, being unable to read without spectacles. An aged, ugly and prison-broken outlaw, whom he was pleased to call Caliban, helped him put on his polished English boots and spurs. The bookish buccaneer of the plains was in the midst of a quotation from Paradise Lost when the old ex-convict interrupted. There you are, boss. Now stomp your feet. Caliban, what's wrong with the spur on my left boot? There's a harsh sound I can't see. I was just going to tell you about it, boss. You lost one of the gold rolls with the long spikes. I replaced it with another roll from a common pair of spurs. Of course, it won't hurt a horse as much. It was your fault that I lost the chihuahua roll. Your job is to keep my things in condition. Maybe this will help you remember your duty. No, boss, don't. First my glasses, now my chihuahua spurs. Oh, sir, did you wait a second? There isn't a horse in the caravan. What? They're all in the remute that the boys took along when he sent them out in a range for the roundup yesterday. Won't be back for two or three days. So I'll have to stay here. The fate's conspired to keep me from my pleasures. At that moment, the lone ranger and tato were engaged in making a close observation of the hacienda from a clump of cottonwood trees. Like most structures of its kind, the old Spanish ranch house was built like a fort. The flat roof was supported by beams which projected through the walls. A low-slotted parapet surrounded the roof. Taking in those details, the masked man remarked, Tato, that hacienda was built to be defended. There is certain to be a hatch in the roof. What hatch got to do with Don Diablo? Shelby may well be Don Diablo. Why you say that? Because only a ranch owner is in a position to use chihuahua spurs on valuable saddle stock. Shelby's hacienda's the only one for 50 miles around. That makes him a likely suspect. Tonight, we'll try to enter the hacienda through the roof. During the dark hour just before moonrise, the lone ranger and tato led their horses near the hacienda as possible. Then crept forward to the base of its rear wall, hearing no sound from the rooftop. The masked man shook a loop out of a lariat and cast it at the end of a beam which was just visible against the sky. Caught. Kimosabi, me got moccasins. Enter me and go first. All right, go ahead. Pulling himself upward hand over hand, the Indian quickly reached the beam. After pausing a moment, he silently hoisted himself over the parapet. The masked man joined him and stood listening. Hoops drummed into the hacienda grounds. The rider rained up. He entered and soon faced Morton Carlos Shelby in the library. He was saying, I didn't go with the other fellas. I went to town and you can be glad that I did. Yeah, how so, Logan? The sheriff is headed here with a big posse and a search warrant. That's ridiculous. And what evidence could he obtain a search warrant? All I know is that he's come. Who's he finds that girl? He won't. In the patio, there's an old Spanish well with a plank cover. Indian slaves dug it in the days of the conquistadores. I've been told that it's more than a hundred feet deep, but dry. Yes, or what? Get the girl and throw her into it. When the Lone Ranger finally found the hatch and descended a ladder to an El Cove off the library, Carlos Shelby was alone. A mask man. And we are Dundee Abloh. Your satanic rule in the Murado Valley is finished. What do you mean by calling me Dundee Abloh? Useless for you to try to bluff me. Arals on your spurs are mismated. One is the original Chihuahua Aral. I have the other. It was found on the Hermoso Ranch after your raid. You can't convict me on evidence like that. Where's the girl you carried off? Questions bore me. Taro, here came something. Shelby, I'll see what's going on. As the mask man dashed out of the library, Mort half-dragged, half-curried, the freaking Rosita into the patio. He was yelling, Logan, get the cover off that way. I'm trying to. Hold it right over. Mother, just please make me pray. Hey, we'll get you. Give me a hand with this woman. She's trying to call my eyes out. Hold on to her. She gets away. Let's go on that girl. Hey, who's that? Mask man, he's coming after her. Plug him, Logan. He missed. In the light of the newly risen moon which flooded the patio, the Lone Ranger's right-hand gun blossomed red. Logan dropped his revolver and staggered back, clutching his shoulder. At the same time, Mort whirled to face the mask man. Thrusting Rosita in front of him, he drew a cult. But before he could fire, the girl sank her teeth into his wrist. He let go of her with a yell. I'll take that gun. Rosita, get back from the well. Pick up the other man's gun. Disarming Mort, the Lone Ranger started to back away. But in his anxiety for the safety of the excitable girl, he turned his eyes away from the man for an instant. Mort closed with him, pinning the masked man's arms with a hole that made it impossible for him to use his guns. The hired killer tried to topple him into the pit. Both men tripped over the well cover and fell. The Lone Ranger let go of his guns and, screening every muscle, broke Mort's grip. Scrambling to safety, he dragged his adversary along. The fight had gone out of the gunman. He lay on the flagstones of the patio, eyes closed, as Rosita picked up the Lone Ranger's guns and returned them to him. Here, senior. Let us now finish these pigs who have killed my father and my manuel. No. The law will punish them. Anyhow, your manuel is alive. Alive? Is it true? No matter that there's mere gracias. At that moment, Carlos Shelby leaped out of an open window in the library and landed in the patio. Tonto leaped after him. Stop, Shelby! Stop! As the Lone Ranger rushed to intercept him, the would-be conquistador ahead of toward the well, ahead of him both the mouth of the pit and its cover, appeared as circular shadows on the surface of the patio. Mistaking the hole for the lid, the nearest sighted Satanist dashed to its brink. Although the well was only eight feet in diameter, he saw his arrow too late to jump. As he fought to stay himself and regain his balance, some of the weakened stonework gave way. He toppled and plunged headlong into the pit. Once started, the cave in of the ancient masonry inside the well continued, with tons of stone cascading into the depths, which had swallowed the arch criminal. A short time later, the sheriff, who had been summoned by Manuel, was in the patio with several deputies. The lawman had put Mort, Logan, Trent and Caliban in irons, and had dispatched a strong posse to the range to round up the rest of Shelby's night-riding terrorists. As the excitement abated, the Lone Ranger and Tonto joined the sheriff near the well. Sheriff, can you convict Shelby's hired killers? There's no doubt about it. Shelby's flunky, that old fellow called Caliban will testify against him, along with Manuel and Rosita. The tunnel that well is deep. Deepest perdition. Don Diablo has gone back where he came from. He's good. He took his book with him. But for the masked one, I might be down there. Well, Min, let's put the cover back on before some decent person falls in it. Let's go. The lid is on the infernal hole. Oh, it is finished. Bueno. Where's when the Murado Valley was your heap? What do you think Shelby aimed to do? Establish himself as a dictator here. Had he succeeded, he would have tried to expand his power by terrorizing the whole southwest. Tonto, it's time that we rode on. Well, you must go so soon, senor. Yes, Rosita. Adios, friend. Adios, amigo. Senor Sherrod, do you know who the masked one is? That I do, Rosita. When Manuel gave me that super bullet and described the man who had sent it, I knew right off. That masked man is the Lone Ranger. Rosita! 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 Beemer.