 ...by special recording, The Lone Ranger! ... ...Hyo Silver! Fiery horse with a speed of light, a cloud of dust, and a hearty Hyo Silver! The Lone Ranger! ... Before this exciting adventure, a word from our sponsor. ... With his faithful Indian companion title, the daring and resourceful mask rider of the planes 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 hoofbeats of the great horse Silver! The Lone Ranger rides again! Come on, Hyo Silver! Let's go, people! HYO SILVER! HYO SILVER! The mission of Santa Maria stood at the edge of a desert, clustered around the main building with a house of Potrae Philippe, the cabins of a few servants and Indians, and a lofty tower, the bells in which could be heard even farther than the tower could be seen. It was the hour of Vespers when the Lone Ranger and the Toto turned their forces into the mission courtyard. Seeing no one around, they rained up near the bell tower. Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. Oh, well, I hope I learned any very good. There's the Potrae. This is your mission. Why are you here in the mask? This letter will introduce me. Please read it. Oh, very well. From another Potrae whom I need not name, we know him well. So I do. He calls you a good friend. That is enough for me. He told me that you asked his advice and help in the matter of a missing book. Oh, now I understand your presence. What was the nature of the book? It was the journal of the founder of this mission. A handwritten manuscript bound and horse hide. I discovered it only recently among the many old documents in the mission archives. Indeed, I had not found time to read it before it disappeared. Could it have been mislaid? No, no, my son. Much as I regret to say so, it must have been stolen by a man I trust. Oh, see. He is Stephen Dunn, a land agent with an office in the town of Casa Grande. I often met him through research work in the mission archives. He alone had an opportunity to remove the journal. All right, we will see that, ma'am Padre. Thank you, my sons. But use no violence, I beg you. It can be avoided. Very nice to meet you. Adios. As the mask man and Indian set out for Casa Grande, which was some 15 miles from the mission, Stephen Dunn opened his office door to two burly men in rough clothes. Howdy, Scrap. Howdy, Gus. Come here and grab some chairs. I heard you wanted to see us, boss. I sure do, boys. You want us to help you flee some other tender foot? Not this time. I've hit on something a lot bigger than selling worthless land. Spring it. Hey, see this thing? We'd be blind if we didn't. There's no notebook. It's the journal of the Padre who built Santa Maria Mission. He wrote it better than 200 years ago. Yeah, what of it? Right here, he tells of coming to these parts with a bunch of Spanish soldiers. They'd been to a mine somewhere and had a heap of gold. You aim to sell a worked-out mine on the strength of that? Let me go on. The Spaniards lost most of their horses, so they couldn't pack all the gold. They could all mend back across the desert to Mexico. The old Padre and some others stayed behind and started the mission. What happened to the gold? They couldn't use it to buy anything, so the Padre made it into the five bells at the mission. There was no iron around and the gold worked up easy. You can't stuff us, boss. Gold won't ring. I won't. A gold piece rings. Well, that's hard gold. It's mixed with sound. So was the gold used in the bells. Five gold bells? It was a couple fortunes. You know, they're mighty heavy. We can get them down with rope and tackle and haul them off in a wagon. If we're careful, we won't even wake up the Padre and his engines. We can melt them down that old smell that you've been trying to sell. That was my plan. When do we go after the bells? Tonight. I've got a wagon waiting at the corral. It's loaded with all the gear, provisions and water we'll need. Now, wait a minute. There's one thing I want to know before we start. What if Gus and me get out of this? Why, the usual ten percent? It isn't enough for a big job. We won't equal shares for equal dangers. Well, that's how it is. Gus, he's drawing. Don't, don't, don't, don't stab me again. I don't need you. You're finished. Let's get out of here. There's no need to hurry. Nobody comes to this office at night. I got the book. Leave it, leave it. Don stole it. The sheriff finds it. He'll figure anybody low enough to rob a pod, right? Needed. Yeah, but it tells about the bells. Tear those pages out and we'll burn them later. Hey, our savvy. There. That's it. Well, we'll go after those bells. Meanwhile, the low ranger and turtle had arrived in Casa Grande. Standing in an alley which ran beside the land agent's office, they studied the place. The masked man was singing. There are no windows all the same. It looked like tonight. I'm out of speak window. Somebody came on on tour, was he? Maybe land agent. One of them. No, they're too roughly dressed and hard to take care of. Yes, two of them. All right. It's good time to go in now. All right, come on. Here's his door. It looked like anybody here. Look, there on his desk. Ah, old book. It's a journal of the old Padre. He must have it. Yes. Look behind desk. Man on the floor. Must be done. He's dead. Stabbed. He hasn't been dead more than a few minutes. Maybe we saw killed him. Come on. They're not in sight. What we do? We take a quick look along the street and notify the sheriff. Sheriff Mark Mason was an old and daring lawman, but he had the faults of being impulsive and jealous of his authority, maintaining that he could keep order in the county without assistance. He had long since fired his deputy and dispensed with the use of posses. Sitting in the jail office with a month old newspaper in front of his face, he heard the door open. Without lowering the paper, he growled, And what is it? I want to report to you. Nice, man. Good to meet you. Hey, Sheriff. We're on your side of the law. Then what's that mask for? Let's talk about that after I report a murder. Where did it? Who's been murdered? The masked man quickly told what he and Tato had seen and found, explaining about the old manuscript. The sheriff's eyebrows contracted as he listened. Then he exploded. What business did Partway Flee pair sending for a mask, to look into a stealing case? I neither ask nor take credit for any help I give the law. But that's beside the point. But we're talking the killers are escaping. I'll get them in my own good, damn. I know from your descriptions just who they are. You do? Sure. Here, a couple of poor cats called Gush and Scrap, who hold up on a run-down ranch on Squawk Creek. They've been helping Don on some shady deals, so I reckon they killed him over dividing the money. Well, that kid would be good. That creeps we are. Huh. Then pull gun when we turn back. Well, that's a good gun. As the sheriff reached for the Lone Ranger's guns, Tato used his hips to give a violent shove against the peers at which the lawman stood. Joe hit the sheriff's lung as gun toward the Indian. At the same instant the Lone Ranger whirled and grabbed his gun hand. I don't. Let loose my arm, eh? Just had to get out of his hand, Tato. He got it. Sorry about this. But you gave us no choice. Give this arm now. If you can be sure you're scared, eh? That's worse than murder. We'll leave it in front of Donald Rappers. You'll pay for this. It was several hours later when the masked man and Indian swung from their saddles in front of the Padres house. The aged priest met them at the door, lamp in hand, and lighted their way inside. Come in, my son. Thank you, Padre. You're not gone long? Only long enough to get your manuscript. Do you mean? Here it is. Yes, that's the journal of the founder of the mission. But how did you recover it? That wasn't difficult. But he found it on Dunn's desk. He was dead. Murdered by two men on a scrap and gust. See, I have heard of that evil pair. Apparently they did not share Dunn's belief that this book was worth taking. Though it would seem. It's a thousand thanks for recovering the journal, my sons. Oh, will you not rest here tonight? We appreciate your hospitality, Padre. But a bright moon and cool breeze makes us a good night to ride. We have a long journey ahead of us. Adios, sir. As the long-range urine truffle rode away from the mission, the killer smothered the land agents' wagon in a coffin near by, just pointed with a slip. There's the bell tower. And there's a light. It's in the Padre's house. I'll keep you up, Felipe. I don't know, but we can't wait for him to go to sleep. Well, let's get down and do it. Padre Felipe was deeply engrossed in reading the recovered manuscript. He had discovered that three pages were gone, freshly torn from the others. But he gave that mystery little flock so great was his interest in what remained. As he traced the faded writing with a finger, there was a knock on the door. The Padre looked down puzzled. Who is there? I'll be with you in just a moment. Grabbing scrap. I've got it. Let me go. Shut up or I'll let you have it with his knife. We'll continue our Lone Ranger adventure in just a moment. Now, to continue. The Lone Ranger and Tato had left Santa Maria Mission after recovering an old manuscript which had been stolen from Padre Felipe's archives. Shortly after their departure, two killers known as Scrap and Gus seized the Padre at his door. The Padre was protesting. Do you men know what you are doing? Better than you do. Now, stop talking and start walking. Marching the priest into the cottonwood grove at the point of a knife, the killers gagged him and lashed him to a tree. Then they drove their wagon to the bell tower. Swiftly and silently they unloaded their gear and lugged it up an inside ladder that led through a trap door to the bell free. Their Gus scraped blankets over the four openings. After done, he struck a match. So let's look at the bells. They're fastened to this beam with bolts. They're big rivets. Alright, let's get busy with the tools. Spaniards will face the blast forever. Meanwhile, the Lone Ranger and Tato had interrupted their ride in order to rest their horses. As they stood in the trail, the Indian asked, Well, what time came it, Sabi? Oh, I'll see. Hmm. Oh. What's wrong? You lose watch? No, I found something in another pocket when I reached for a match. The piece of paper that wasn't there before a night is like parchment. Oh, and he got candle to match his hair. Now, you've got light to see. That is parchment. It's freshly torn. But to follow that old manuscript I had in that pocket, he's got words on it. Four complete words left. One is Santa, another is Maria. That's a mission of course. Another is Campania, meaning bell. The last one is oral, which means gold. Oh. And what's your make of it? The valuable pages of the manuscript were torn out. This graph is part of one. No, me, Sabi. It's why we find stolen books in plain sight beside dead men. Yes, that fact should have been processed at the time. Must be them colors after something that mission. Yes, and the pottery may be in danger. Get matters to the shoulder easy. Got easy, Colin. We're going back to the mission. More to the left. Hello. Somebody on the trail ahead of us. Can you pull up? Yes, you can. Mr. Sheriff, do what we do. Go to the right. More to the left. End bullets. Company called. He's following us. We still have running. I will take time. We're separated. One in ten, Colin, will be able to reach the mission quickly. He's having. Adios. Looking back a few moments later, the whole Rangers saw that Mr. Sheriff had chosen to pursue Tahoe. He turned his big white horse toward the mission again. All seemed peaceful at the mission when the last lambish mounted near the entrance and cautiously made his way to the pottery's house. Think noises drifted down from the belfry guided by the moonlight which poured through the open portal. He found the ladder, loosened his guns, and began a stealthy ascent. Through the last river, we can push that bell loose now. Oh, wait. I heard something below. Get your ears down on the trapdoor. Sure. I think somebody's coming up the ladder. Get back and let him come through. Shoot and I'll wake up the Indians. I'll get him with my knife. The long ranger looked at the trapdoor just far enough to see it was pitch black in the belfry. The masked man threw the door wide open. At the same time, he used his free hand to remove his white hat. Which he knew would be visible, even in the deep gloom of the belfry. Holding it by the brim, he slowly lifted it through the opening. There he is. Tell me gold! Just struck. So savage with the downward stab of his blade that when it sliced into nothing but an empty half, he almost fell headlong through the hole. As he struggled to save himself, the whole ranger leaped from the ladder to the floor. Unable to determine the odds against him, the masked man backed toward a wall, drawing and draining his guns in the direction of the trapdoor. Who are you? Why are you here? At the sound of his voice, a scrap leaped upon his back, getting one arm around his neck. I got him, Gus! Help me! Hold on, little scab! I'm coming! As he smuggled to his feet, the lone ranger's fingers came into contact with one of the blankets which covered the openings in the tower wall. He grabbed it and jerked it loose, letting in a flood of moonlight. The light revealed that the killers were crouched and ready to charge. Grab, Gus. You better give up. He knows that. He's got a mask on. A mask and an outward two against one. He'll even through that hole. The cooks closed in. The masked man swung a powerful right at Gus. Hey! He caught the killer on the side of the hat, knocking him backward into the bell. He showed and hit the bell, which clanged as he fell. Partly had the dinner of the bells died out when there was another, even more ominous sound. The beam on which the five heavy bells had hung for two centuries was giving way. Weakened by age, the work of the cooks and the fight that was in progress. Gus scrambled to his feet with a yell. The beam broke! Curling scrap aside, the masked man leaped for the opening from which he had torn the blanket. At the same instant, the beam broke. A turn of bells crashed against the bell three-four. Gus' beam bells and pouring went down. The Lone Ranger got one leg over the bottom of the opening and the stone wall. Scrap gave a despairing yell. As from below came the jarring blood of wreckage hitting the ground. There was a moment of silence. Then excited yells told that the Padres Indian Converts were gathering in. From his perch in the embrasure, the Lone Ranger looked down the shaft. He saw that the ladder, which was clasped tightly to the wall, had not been damaged and could easily be reached. He swung himself onto it and began a careful decision. In the meantime, one of the Converts wakened by the struggle in the bell tower had discovered and released Padre Philippe. The old priest had arrived at the tower just as the bells fell. As he stood there, as much bewildered as the Indians, Tottle wrote up, Oh, Scum, look at that! Oh! Puppet! Where my friend? Here I am, Tottle. He must have it. What happened here? The beam broke while I was fighting two crooks. The one to steal the bell. I managed to save my friend but they're dead in the wreckage. I thank God that you survived. But why did those men want to steal the mission bells? I just looked at one by Matt's light and not badly damaged. But a break in one showed that they have a high gold content in their metal. Gold? Yes, enough to make your mission very rich. And that's what crooks find out from an old book? That has caused all this trouble. The three crooks who knew the bells were made of gold are dead. Here are the pages for the old man whose group was told about the bells. Where did you find the pages? I just took them from Scrap's body. Now only three of us know the secret. It's safe. And you and Tottle will never tell? Do you have our word for that, Padre? Thank you, my sons. The bells of Santa Maria will ring again. Oh, it's the sheriff. Oh, it's the sheriff. Oh, it's the sheriff. Oh, it's the sheriff. So I finally run you down. I'll get your hand. Wait. Put that gun away, sheriff. But, James, this fella's a fugitive. I want them for what you see. You won't need witnesses now, sheriff. Scrap, you're a fugitive. Scrap and Gus are dead inside the tower. They were killed when they fell from its top with the bells. Well, that was a noise. Hey, there. How did it happen? While you were chasing us, they tried to steal the mission bells. It did. Hey, there. Everybody can have me the fool of a sheriff. They also laid the violent hands on me. You know, I'm quite sorry about that, Padre. And if I had done this mess, man, and then she may be the wrong guy. I apologize for that, too. There's no need of that, sheriff. Adios, Padre. Go with God, my son, you son of a... Get him out of town. Now, who in tarnation might that mess man be? I have it from another Padre. He's the Lone Ranger. I'll see you later. The Lone Ranger, a copyrighted feature of the Lone Ranger Incorporated, is produced by Kendall Campbell Muir Incorporated. A part of the Lone Ranger is played by Bracebeamer, your announcer, Fred Floyd.