 By a horse with a speed of light, a cloud of dust and a hearty, high old silver, the Lone Ranger. With his faithful Indian companion, Tothole, the Masked Rider of the Plains led the fight for law and order in the early Western United States. The stories of his strength and courage, his daring and resourcefulness have come down to us through the generations. And 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, Silver! Faster, boy, faster! Oh, Silver! Two men rode side by side along a rocky trail in the Texas wasteland. One was young and wore the badge of the United States Marshal. His companion was a deputy sheriff, a heavy-sat thin lip man who carried his six guns low with an easy reach of his large hairy hands. Suddenly, as they topped a rise in the trail, the two riders saw their destination, a narrow gorge which led into a mountain basin. That's the pass did ahead, Marshal. I see. Is there another entrance to the gulch? No, that's the only one. There's no other escape and Big Mike is hiding out in the gulch, as you say. Why haven't you and the sheriff arrested him? Well, mail robbery's a government offense. Me and the sheriff ain't got no call to meddle. Well, Big Mike is a murderer, too. He killed a mail guard. Missouri isn't the kind of a sheriff to let a killer go free. Maybe he figured you'd be coming down from the county seat to make the arrest anyway, Marshal. I wish Missouri was here. I'd like to ask him a few questions. You're too bad he was called out of town to fetch you back that horse thief. He'd be plumb glad to see you. There is a new deputy, eh? Yep. Outlaws drilled the last one. It's a good thing I ran into you. I never have located Big Mike's hideout myself. Glad to be of help, Marshal. And we've almost reached the pass. Yeah. Won't be long now. You're the only person I've talked to who's seen Big Mike without his mask. What's he look like? Who's seen is where at the pass, I'll tell you. He's got black hair, bushy eyebrows, bullet scar on his left cheek. Bullet scar? Well, that description fits you. Yeah. Matter of fact, Marshal, I'm a dead ringer for Big Mike. I even carry my hardware the way he does in my hands. I don't understand. Your man hunts over, Marshal. Big Mike. Take a good look. It's your last. Over the green prairie grass of Mustang Mang's Lazy J Ranch, race an all-white colt with young Dan Reed, the lone ranger's nephew, has stride his back. Days of constant riding and taming the son of the great horse Silver, without breaking his fiery spirit, and now free of the corral and plunging and pitching, with which he had attempted to dislodge the young stranger who was so determined to master him, the coal in his rider seemed to blend as one as they streaked across the ranch land. Watching Dan as he proudly reigned in the horse with a lone ranger, Tonto, Mustang Mag, and Missouri, the excitable, talkative old sheriff of Trigger Bend. Hold it boy, hold it. Oh son, you've got the makings of a real horseman sure as I'm standing here. Golly, you really think so? Ah, you ride plenty fine. Yes sir, he couldn't ride that there, can you spare him yourself? Why, you spab and stoving old moth horn, if it wasn't for them bull-legs or yours, you couldn't even stay on a horse. That's a dead-rusted lie. Don't go on it, Mag, you've got more ways of getting under a man's skin than any petticoat in this year's county. You've come a long way, Dan, but there are still several things about a horse you must know. I know, I've still got a lot to learn. Most of them you'll learn as we ride together. Ah, you'll find out plenty soon. Gosh, I hope you'll let me ride with you soon. Do you think you can take your horse over that fence now? I'll try. Fence jump is mighty important when you're riding the range, young'un. Well, I remember once when I was just... I'm sorry, you're a loud talking old fool. Pay no attention to the old coop, Dan. Thunderation! Man can't say nothing. Get up there, boy. Racing toward the rail fence like an arrow shot from a bow, the cold thunder down the grassy stretch with his young rider hunched tensely in the saddle for the jump. Come on, boy. Gathering his hooves, the son of Silver seemed about to thrust himself toward the barrier. Then he shied away with a suddenness that hurled Dan over his head and over the fence. Oh, Glory Bee! Did you hurt yourself, son? There, let me help you. Oh, golly, I'm all right. I guess I'll need a lot of practice for I'll be any good at fence jumping though. Ah, white horse Victor again. You were off balance, Dan. A horse knows when he isn't being properly ridden. Besides, you should steady your mouth before the jump. Ah, that's why him shy at fence. Well, next time... Thunderation, Mag. Here comes Mayor Squibbs. Oh, that scheming old skin-print. What's he doing on my land? Hey, I thought I'd find you here, Chef. Racing the people's money when you ought to be out chasing crooks. Hey, thunder, Squibbs, them's fighting words. You double-dealing land grabbing old skin-print. Who gave you permission to traipse your ugly old caucus in my property? Get out of here before I lose my temper. Ah, don't do anything you regret, Mag. I'm here in official business. The United States Marshal's been murdered. Marshal Carter? That's so honey. Him and the Sheriff's new deputy went out to put his guards to bring in Big Mike for the meal, Robert. Why wasn't I notified of the Marshal's coming? There wasn't no words to be seen. The Marshal didn't want to waste the time looking for you. Seems to me, Bat Hogan, that new deputy of mine, is taking a lot on himself. Going in for your job, that's what he is, Missouri. Likely as not. His honor, the mayor here, made Bat Deputy. So it was a run against you in the election. I ain't the only one who thinks trigger-band needs a new sheriff. If you're scheming tax-grabbing coyote, if it was election time for a new mayor, you'd be voted clean out of the county. Who killed the Marshal? Well, I don't know for certain. Him and Bat split up, so it was a scout for clues. The last Bat saw him alive, he was heading in the notch for Putters Gulch. Oh? Bat heard the shots and whipped right back. But the Marshal was dead and his horse was gone. I see. It looks to me like a clear case, Sheriff. Hey. The Marshal was murdered at Putters Gulch, wasn't he? That means a big-bending thriller. Them renegades who live there did. That's an underhanded eye, squibs. They're decent, honest, self-respecting people who settled in the Gulch. They wouldn't murder nobody. Big Mike could have been one of them without their knowing. Everybody's ever seen him without a mask. Who are these people? They're tax-cheating law-breakers. That's who they are. They hate the law. Now, just as likely, shoot down the United States Marshal as a sheriff for upholding it. Are you such a milley mouth, you crook? I know them people. They hate the law because you hid behind it to raise their taxes and grab their land while they couldn't pay. Is that true, squib? Hey, hey. You're going toon is true. Two years ago, squibs taxed us town folks as a whole parcel cleared out with what few belongs he left them and settled in Putters Gulch. Squibs can't touch them there. And now that Thieve and Paul catch put through a new tax bill, doubling what we'll have to pay. Public improvements require new taxes. Public improvements? Why, the only improvements this town's seen since you was elected mayor blasts a day is in the size of your pocketbook. Yeah, my dear woman. Don't, dear woman, me, you low-down skunk. By Josephette, I've had all of you acting stomach. Sir, give me a gun. What's it? Oh, dance, dog-gun, you hide. Dance, ugly caucus, off my legs. Get him. Get him. Stop that. Oh, that's the improvement. Just kill me, get him. What's that? There's so much noise I can't hear. Some time later, while Dan remained in the corral with his new horse, the Lone Ranger, Tonto and Missouri, elbowed through an angry crowd outside the coroner's office in Trigger Bend, where the murdered Marshal had been brought. Yeah, make way, it's the sheriff. The Lone Ranger and the engines with him. We want action, Missouri. You want to hang out with our sheriff, star? Bring back the killers. I'd like to leave it a few days off. We aim for either revenge on Marshal or hot a new charge. I'll kill you. Gordon, might think I wanted the killer to go free to hear him carry on. The webs has stirred the crowd against you, Missouri. And maybe Deputy helped him. I wouldn't put it past them, ordinary skunks. Let's see if we can learn anything from the body. Marshal get two bullets in head. Strange. What is it, mask man? Powder burns. Whoever fired those shots was as close to the Marshal as I am to you. Ah, but how murder come that close? I don't know. Must have got the drop on the Marshal when the youngster least expected it. Kimosabi. What is it, tunnel? Him ride paint horse. Yes. Horse have brown patch on left side, white patch on right. Dog gone if that ain't the truth. His horse hairs rubbed off on the inside the Marshal's pants legs. We may need that information to trap the killer. We go hunt him now? Yes, Kimosabi. We ride the putter's goat. From his office across the street, Mayor Squibbs and Bat Hogan, the sheriff's deputy, watched the mask man, the Indian in Missouri, mount their horses and turn them toward the distant hills. He he he. Crowd's too wild to be true. Listen to him. Yeah, you stirred him up plenty, Squibbs. If it wasn't for the lone ranger, you'd be elected sheriff easier. Because he would never tie up the Marshal's murder to his own deputy. Maybe so, but that mask critters likely do anything. That's why we ain't taking chances. After today, the lone ranger will be out of our way. Missouri too. Then you're a cinch to be sheriff, Bat. Bat Hogan. Is there any bed for a new handle? Big Mike was getting the might too hot for comfort with that Marshal on my trail. Did you send his horse through the pass? Yeah, just like you told me. Good. That's all we need to pin the Marshal's murder on them. Tax-cheating squatters hold up on the goats. I don't savvy. Well, everybody knows they went to putter's goats to escape the law. They hate the sight of it. When the Marshal's horse is found in their possession, folks will just naturally figure there was law-hating tax-delinquents killed him. That's why you were so all-fired anxious for the murder to take place at the pass, huh? That's why you've got to shoot the lone ranger in Missouri there too. Then when you're a sheriff, you can blame all the killings on them cutters at the gulch. Riding slowly, the lone ranger, Tonto, and Missouri appeared intently at the rocky trail for a clue to the Marshal's killer. Directly ahead was the narrow gorge, which led into Potter's gulch. Drapped this confounded shill, came for a nary hoof print where the Marshal passed. Ah, rock, not so trace. Squibbs hid the Marshal and Bat Hogan separated before the murder. Isn't that right? Let me not find place. All right, Tonto. I wonder... The trail's changing. That sand up ahead. Ah, now maybe we find clue. We're almost at the pass. Somewhere along here is a spot where the Marshal was killed. You think Big Mike was a yellow-libered coyote who ambushed him? Well, do you suppose it was one of them lawless spies and critters in the gulch? I don't know, Missouri. Oh, Silver, come on. Oh, Tonto. Oh, look, Tonto. Ah, two horses leave prints and sand. Them dance round. Seem plenty excited. Juniper, this must be the murder spot. Yes, I... Leap and catfish outlaws. Ah, and then mass. It's Big Mike's gang. Close in on a boy's red lump. Head for the pass. Come on, Silver. No, we can't do that. Folks in Potter's gulch hate lawmen worse than mobbers. They'll only escape. Hurry, get them up to the top. Guns, we're jumping from the fray and panning to the fire. Get up, coyotes. Come on, Silver. They're heading for the pass. No, no. Riddle them to get away. There ain't no escape, boys. They'll be drilled full of holes while they get through the guards. That's the last of the Lone Ranger and the injured. The curtain falls on the first act of tonight's Lone Ranger story. Before the next exciting scenes, please permit us to pause for just a few moments to continue our story. As the Lone Ranger, Tondo and Missouri, raced through the narrow crevasse away from the outlaws who sought to ambush them, they were met by a fusillator's shots and saw that their new assailants were the settlers of Potter's gulch. Hoselom, Hoselom, Hoselom! Mr. Lawman! We've no quarrel with you. Speak for yourself, mister. We're Potter's gulch people, and we have plenty of quarrel about with anybody that represents the law. That's a ticket, Jeff. What's the point in pull-over'ing? Let them have it. Yeah. May a squib send them here to collect them back taxes. No, wait. No one sent us here. We were ambushed by outlaws. That's right. Don't go on it, boys. You'll remember old Missouri. We don't hold any grudge against you, Missouri. But you're the law. And we swore to get even with the law wherever we found it for robinous for our land and our homes. I'm killing all three of them critters right now. Don't try that again. Lashing out with their fists, the Lone Ranger, Tonto and Missouri fought stubbornly against the onslaught of the settlers. Their smashing blows took ahead a toll, but the odds were too great. And soon the angry squatters had bound their wrists with raw hide taken from the gun belts and jerked them roughly to their feet. You've run this show long enough, mister. I don't know who you are, but I'm aiming to find out. Don't put that mask on. Jeff, what happened? This is no place for you, Amy. Go on back to the house. Who is this man? We'll soon know. No, Jeff, don't. What? A masked man, a white horse, and let me see his gun. I don't say, Amy. Please, Jeff, don't for bullets. He's the Lone Ranger. You're darn tootin', he's the Lone Ranger. And this here is Tonto, a sidekick. I've heard of you, mister. You're a lawman, too. Oh, you're wrong. You make it your job to uphold the laws. And the laws are just? Yes. Don't you see, Jeff, the Lone Ranger wants to help? No, I don't see. All lawmen are alike. They don't care if they trample people's rights and break up their homes as long as it's legal. Well, we make our own laws here. Let's see how they like being on the receiving end. Jeff, what are you going to do with them? We'll decide that tonight. That night, the masked man, the Indian, and the sheriff sat with their hands bound behind them on the floor of Jeff Colbin's barn. A murmur of voices from the house told him that the meeting to decide their fate was in progress. Suddenly a new sound caught their ears, a faint rustling in the dark. Then a match was struck, a candle lighted, revealing Amy's frightened, earnest face. You mustn't make a sound, any of you. I brought a knife to cut the raw hide around your wrist. Then you can get away. Has Jeff decided what to do with us, Amy? Not yet, but he's so bitter, and the men are talking so wild. I was afraid of what they might do, and that's why I've come. I see. Jeff isn't the same person he used to be. Losing our ranch to mere squibs has made him hard and... and revengeful. He's always skunk. I'd like to tar and feather him with his own tax papers and run him out of trigger-bend on a rail. It wouldn't be an easy life for any of you living in putters couched like this. It's awful. I'd give anything to go back to town, but Jeff's so proud, and none of us folks can pay our back taxes and have enough to live on, too. Perhaps we can arrange for you to go back to trigger-bend, Amy. Do you really think you could? There, you're all free. We'll need our guns. I put them over here by the window. Follow me. Wait. Let me have that candle. Here. It's a paint horse. A brown patch on his left side and a white patch on his right. And look on the floor. Saddlebags. Stamped with the United States government seal. Who owns that horse, Amy? Why, it's Jeff's. Is anything wrong? Where did Jeff get the horse? From me. You? Yes, I was near the pass this morning when I heard gunshots from outside the gulch. Then I saw the paint running toward me. Jumping juniper. What else did you see? I saw a man whip the horse and wave his arms to make him enter the pass. What'd he look like? He was heavy set with black hair and he looked like he was wearing a badge. Something on his vest flashed in the sun. Great day. Did you hear? That's the spittin' image of Pat Hogan. Are you sure? Well, I should hope to smile. That explains how killer get close to Marshall and make powder burns. Yes, it explains several things, Tutto. Couple dealin' pole cat thinks he can hide behind the badge of my office, does he? I'm sure he'll think hanging's too good for him. Wait, Missouri. Yeah? Where we go? To see Jeff and the others who are meeting in the house. No, no, you mustn't. They might shoot you. We'll take that chance, Amy. Come on. Get this loose. Get your guns, boys. Leave your guns alone. You better do what he says, boys. The Lone Ranger's grease lightin' with the six shooters. All of you, please listen. The Lone Ranger wants to help you. Amy, you let the prisoners free. Yes, I did. You've all let your bitterness and hatred for crooked law blind you to the fine and decent things the law represents. The Lone Ranger stands for a square deal. If you'll only listen... Now listen to me. You men are cowards. You can't call us that. I don't care who you are. You chose to run instead of fighting to put the crook who cheated you behind bars. Mayor Scripps made the laws to suit himself. The only way to fight him was to break him. And we did that same by refusing to pay his crooked taxes. Yeah, till he moved in and took our homes and lives, Doc, for not abiding by the laws. Now wait. As one law even Scripps can't hide behind. What's that? The penalty for murder. Murder? The mashed man must be local. The mayor ain't got the nerve to kill a chicken. Both Scripps is guilty of murder. What's it to do with us? He planned to blame the crime on all of you. Oh no, that calls for proof. The proof is in your own barn. A paint horse and government saddlebags. Both belonging to a United States Marshal who was murdered. So that's why the man made the horse run through the path. Why that low-down skunk, I see it now. He and his crooked laws couldn't touch us here in Potter's Gulch. But with proof on Murray, he could have us wiped out. That's just right. Are we going to let that yellow liver coyote get away with that? Well, what can we do about it? Go back and fight. How? With your help, we can trap Squibbs. Say you'll do it, Jeff. It's the chance we've been waiting for, Jeff. Yeah. The chance to settle old scores with Mayor Squibbs and get free of Potter's Gulch. Well, the lone rangers got my vote. All right. When do we start? That's right. The following night, Bat Hogan and Mayor Squibbs conferred on their plans for the election in the sheriff's office. Bat settled himself comfortably in Missouri's squeaky old office chair and propped a poster on the worn old desk. Vote for Bat Hogan for sheriff. People's protector. You know, there's mighty fine words, Squibbs. We'll tag them posters all over town. Run a banner across Main Street. You'll be a cinch to win the election. You know, there ain't nobody else running against me. Unless it's Missouri's ghost. Don't say them things. Why, nervous? Well, that'd feel a lot easier if you'd taken care of the lone ranger, Missouri, yourself. Are you sure the Potter's Gulch crowd drilled them? The way them squatters were sent and led down in that pass, they couldn't miss. Quit worrying, Squibbs. Somebody to see you, Mayor Squibbs. Who is it? Jeff Colburn from Potter's Gulch. Jeff Colburn. That young squirt's the leader of the Potter's Gulch crowd. Wonder what he wants. Sure, man. We'll find out. You've got your men posted around the jail, ain't you bad? Sure, I could worry. All right, Jeff. Go on in. Well, Jeff, this is kind of a surprise. Never thought I'd see you in town again. Never expected to come, Squibbs. Well, the folks voted to return here to live. Is that so? Well, it'll take more in votes for them to come. It'll take a tidy sum and back taxes. Yes, I know that. I've got the tax money in the central. $10,000. You mean to say you got $10,000 in that bag? Took nearly every cent the folks could raise. But it'll pay off the claims you've got against their homes and stocks. Yes. Let me see that statue, Jeff. Here. $10,000. What do you know? Now, if you'll just give me a receipt, Mayor Squibbs, so the folks can claim the land. Here's your receipt. So that's your game. Keep it in the leather, I'll tell you. Why, you low-down skunks. This $10,000 will look mighty handsome in the treasury, Jeff. But it wouldn't begin to pay for all them lands I confiscated. You won't get away with it? Everybody in Potter's Gulch will know. Everybody in Potter's Gulch will know you're a murderer, same as everybody else. Murderer? You killed the United States Marshal, Jeff. We've got evidence against you to prove it. You're framing me. You killed the Marshal. Sure we did. Squibbs planned the murder, and me, Big Mike, I drilled him down. But who's to know that? You're a big lunatic. Talk to my bat. You talk too much. Just enough to arrest you both for murder. Bat, it's a long major. It can't be. He's dead. Take charge of your prisoners, Sheriff. Yes, let me at him. That's all I asked. The double deal of low-down murdering skunks. Mr. Lee, too. Bat, you've ruined everything. Not yet, I eat. I'll get the boys. Squibbs, the men you've posted outside have all been taken care of. But the people of Potter's Gulch, the people you dispossessed. Everyone of them heard your confession. They're just itching to be witnesses, Squibbs. Now get going for that, Sheriff. If fiery all-white coal streaked across the prairie grass of Mustang Man's lazy J Ranch toward a rail fence, the youth who bent so intently over the horse's back seemed to have eyes only for the barrier, but his lips whispered encouragement to the Colt. Come on, boy, we can't let the low ranger down. We've got to make it. The handsome head of the Colt, some of the great horse silver, seemed to toss as if an understanding. His flying feet suddenly gathered for the leap. Then, straight and true, the horse and rider arched through the air as one. Come on, boy. Oh, oh, oh. Sakes alive, he did it. He jumped that fence as pretty as a picture. Underation. Would you like to swallow my Adam's apple when he took off for that leap? Over again, boy. Oh, boy, hold it. I'll jump, Dan. Gosh, thanks. Does that mean we ride together? The three of us? Yes, Dan, together from now on. Colt, not Victor anymore, Dan. You master now. Victor. Eh? Victor, that's it. What? You said when I learned to ride the Colt, I could pick a new name for him. I'd like to call him Victor. It's a fine name, Dan. A name he can be proud of. Ah. Well, thanks for everything, Meg. You've been very kind. Goodbye. Goodbye, Missouri. Goodbye, Paul. Goodbye, Colonel. Take care, you shall. Goodbye. Come on, Silver. Get him up, skunk. Come on, Victor. Well, Silver, boy. I've just heard as a copyrighted feature of the Lone Ranger Incorporated.