 a cloud of dust and a hearty, high old silver, the Lone Ranger. Faithful Indian companion cuddle, the daring and resourceful, mass-brighter 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 hoofbeats of the Great Horse Silver, the Lone Ranger fights again for silver. Ginger and his 14-year-old nephew, Dan Weed, stood beside the Furnace River. Several miles below them, the Moodock Irrigation Dam, a new project, was in operation, backing up the flood-spilling river until it formed a long lake. The masked man had drawn one of his six guns. He was saying, There is tabular in something about marksmanship. Are you really going to let me shoot that gun? Yes. At first I want to fix it in your mind that no gun is a plaything. The deadly weapon which must always be handled with care. I know how careful you are, sir. Now, never draw a gun unless you're prepared to use it. Never point at anything you wouldn't want to shoot. Never shoot unless you have no other choice. Now, take the gun. Gee, guys, but it's heavy. What shall I shoot at? There are a lot of logs in the river, so many in fact that I wonder where they come from. Why aren't that one out there? I'll have to use both hands to cock it. One of the arms companies is now putting out a self-cocking gun. It's called a double-action 38. Pull on the trigger, throws back the hammer and trips it. There, I've got it cocked. Are you ready? Already. Here goes. I shot way over it. Where's the barrel kicked up? I'm going to shoot again. That was better, but you still missed it by a yard. Don't make your trigger finger do all the work. Use your whole hand and squeeze both butt and trigger. I'll try again. I hit it, I hit it, I saw the bark fly. That was good, Dan, you're running fast. The time will come when you'll feel that a gun is part of your hand. The log's gone now, but there comes a small chunk. It's only a few feet out, I'll try for it. Oh, wait, don't shoot, Dan. Put that hammer down gently. Now it's down. What's wrong, sir? That's not a piece of wood. It's a canteen, I'll wait an after. Can you reach it? Yes, I've got it. It's almost new. Where do you suppose it floated from? I have no idea, but there's something inside. Here, listen. Maybe there's some gold nuggets there. I'll let your imagination run away if it's you, Dan. There, I've got the cap off. Now I'll pour out whatever's inside. What are those things? Those pebbles like we're standing on. I wonder. Yes, there's something else in it. A roll paper. Somebody wanted this canteen found and opened. The pebbles were intended to arouse a finder's curiosity. I'll bet that paper is a messie. We'll know in a moment. The paper is wet and I don't want to damage it. There's some writing on it. It's smudge, but I'll try to read it. If this letter is ever found, it is the wish of a dying man that be delivered to Mrs. Ellen Norwood in MoDoc City. My dear wife and darling daughter. Are you going to read the rest? I'd like to, but the writing may disappear after the paper fall apart. We should know the content. That's what I think, sir. The letter goes on. Jim Stark and I were ambushed the 27th of May on the frontest river near Squall Creek. Jim was killed. I was shot in the back and left for dead. When I came to, I was paralyzed from the waist down. The horses are gone. I can't live much longer. Tell the sheriff that... Tell him what? That's the end of the letter. Either the writer couldn't go on, or the writing is faded out. You suppose there's a chance of finding the man alive? You must be presumed dead. The 27th was three weeks ago. No badly wounded man could live that long without food, shelter, or medical attention. I'm going back to camp. I see Toto waiting for us. I haven't time to eat now, Toto. Here's Silver. Here you go, Kim Sully. To MoDoc City to deliver a letter. Dan will explain, steady Silver. Mo Sully! That evening, two ranchers leaned against an isolated hit track in MoDoc City. They were Tim Higgins and Leigh Hayes, both from the lower valley of the Furnace River. Keeping a sharp watch around them, they talked in low voices. Hayes was saying, Tim, I wish you hadn't a plug nor wooden stock. Me pulling the trigger around them doesn't mess you up. You were there helping me roll logs into the river to wreck their irrigation dam. I was there again today and the bodies are gone. What of it? The high water probably carried them off. And they'll turn up sooner or later. Oh, we should have buried them. Wasn't time for that. When Indians always prowl around those parts, I suppose those fellas are found. And it comes out that they were drilled with 38 caliber slugs. That new double-action gun of yours is the only 38 around and everybody knows it. Sheriff's too dumb to think about the size of the bullets. Yeah. Well, he's not too dumb to know that you and I and all the other ranchers in the lower valley had it in for Norwood, because he was superintendent of the irrigation dam and for stock because he was Norwood's helper. Why shouldn't we have had it in for them? Unless we'd get rid of that compounded dam, the lower valley will be full of ditches and two-bit homesteaders in a few months. They'll be growing onions where we're running low horns now and the dam is still standing. All those logs we sent drifting down against it never hurt it a bit. I figured that they'd plugged the spillways and that the whole thing would give way or wash out during the high water. And you better figure out now a way of keeping us from being charged with murder. You better figure right. I hear Norwood's woman is faster than the sheriff to look for him in stock. Maybe the Indians will get the blame. Wait a minute. You're a friend of the sheriff's? Why'd you start him thinking about redskins? Yeah. I'll go and talk to him right now. See you later, Lane. A few minutes later, the Americans was in the jail office with Sheriff Ben Robbins. There was a thoughtful look on the grizzled lawman's face as he said. You're the first fellow who's complained about the Indians in their long spares. I tell you, they rustled at least 50 head of cattle from a herd I had running on the high range. Well, I'll get me a party and have a look around Chief Long Ranch's village. I can be looking for Dick Norwood and Jim Stark along the way. Norwood and Stark? There's Mrs. Norwood now. Howdy, ma'am. This here is Tim Higgins. How are you? How do you do? Have you hurt your husband yet? I just received a message from you. Oh, I'm right glad to hear that. Sheriff, you don't understand. He... He's dead. Here. Take this chair, ma'am. You're kind of beside yourself. Thank you, Sheriff. They... They're... No, lookie. How could he be dead if you got away from him? Here. Is it better? It'll tell you. It's kind of scary, but I can read it. See, Tim, they're poor, the ladies in water. Sure, sure. There you are. Thank you. Sheriff, you look mighty puzzler, ma'am. What's in that letter? It appears like Norwood and Stark got bushwagged up by score quicks. But Norwood lived long enough to read a few letters. Well, I don't see how... How what? How the letter got here. It floated down the river and my husband's canteen. Did he say who shot him? Nope. But the rick and he knew who did. The letter breaks off right where he was going to tell. Oh, that's too bad. And there, ma'am, you feel up to answer some questions. I'll try. How come your husband and Stark went up the river when it's their business to look after the dam? They wanted to find out why so many logs drifted down against the dam. Did he suspicion that somebody put them in the river to rake it? I don't know. Tim, do you know anything about it? Are you accusing me? No. But you fairly ranches fought hard against that dam being built? We did our fight in court. And when we got licked, we gave up, even though it meant losing our holdings. I wish we'd want to smash the dam. What about the Indians? They backed water up on their land and made them move their village. See, that's cool. And come to think of it, the Indians had been known to smash bridges by fluking logs against them in flood times. But Sheriff Ma'am liked the Indians, and they liked him. Why, why they called him Big Beaver because of the dam? The engine never drew breath at like a white man. Well, what's more, the bushwhack is right near Long Lancer's village. Yep, yep, Tim's right, Mrs. Norwood. Everything points to the Indians. Now, who was it brought in this year's canteen? What? A man who wore a mask. A mask? And he had the nerve to come out into town? He appeared at my home just after dark. He was very sympathetic and promised to help see the justice of the sun. He did, eh? Where'd he go? I don't know. But what difference does it make? He certainly didn't kill Dick and Jim. I reckon that... I want the killers calling. We'll get them. Tomorrow morning I'll call him every fellow around who can ride and shoot. Then we'll go after the Indians. Meanwhile, the Lone Ranger had stood outside the window of the jail office listening to all that was said. As Mrs. Norwood left, he hurried to a nearby alley while he had left Silver. Mouted and rode hard to camp. They only reported what he had heard to Tahoe and Dan. Tahoe shook his head. Indians not kill them men, Kim and Suppy? Norwood never lived to write letter. If Indians shouldn't. Mrs. Norwood said he was friendly with Lone Lansing and his people. Look like Higgins gonna try to cover up for Kettleman. You bear watching. We have no time for that now. Lone Lansing's whole tribe are in danger. Why you say that? The Sheriff is a good man. He won't be able to control the kind of mob he plans to lead against the Indians. We don't want American civilization disgraced by another Sand Creek massacre. And what we do? We'll go to Lone Lansing's village and have a talk with him. On the way, we'll look for the scene of the shooting. May I go with you? No, Dan. I want you to go to Mordak City and stay at the hotel. Yes, sir. I'll call for you later. Be ready, Kim and Suppy. Is he steady, big fella? How are you, Stan? How are you, Stan? I'm good. It was late the next morning when the masked man and Tahoe reached the vicinity of Lone Lansing's village. They rode slowly, examining the banks of the river for a considerable distance. Then who reigned? Those are the guns, aren't they? They're the big ones. I know there's nothing around here that tells what's happened. Even the bodies are gone. Ah. And me not savvy that. The killers may have returned and disposed of them. Here, Indian trail. It might be used. I could lead to village. All right. We'll follow it. Monson work. I'm upstuck. The curtain falls on the first act of our Lone Ranger adventure. Before the next exciting scene, please permit us to pause for just a few moments. We took the Lone Ranger and Tahoe into a valley where the village stood. As they near the large circle of keepies from the east, knowing that the entrance would open toward the rising sun, Tahoe's eyes narrowed. Kim and Suppy, nobody around. The village has been warned of our approach. Not good. One is opening. The chief and a medicine man are coming out in ceremonial dress. Take the peace sign and act as though we hadn't noticed anything unusual. We better take host of horses. We shall. Well, up and will his mouth. Host of horses. Easy, brother. Pollute the chief in his own town, fellow city boy. Host of me. Ah, slow-mo. Now, can you tell him we friends. Him offered double handshake with crossed arms. Not like that. The highest Indian honor. It would be dangerous to refuse it. Give the medicine man your hand and I'll give mine to the chief. As the forearms crossed and the forehands met, the Lone Ranger and Tahoe felt the fingers of long lance on the medicine man, tightened into restless holes. Before they could break the grips, the chief yelled in order, Oh my god, take it. Out of the keepies, one scores of warriors. The masked man and Tahoe went down under a tango of bronze bodies, cruising their weapons for clawing hands. They fought desperately, but were soon exhausted in the struggle. Passing from the unequal fight, the Lone Ranger and Tahoe were pulled to their feet and firmly held by a long-land spoke. There's not much I can do about it. Indians who were reaching for the mask were halted by a sudden cry from the nearest TP. The Lone Ranger and Tahoe turned in that direction and saw a white man approaching with uneven steps. He was haggard and unchavened. He wore only a breech cloth and the poses of leaves was attached to his back. One engine ran to meet him, threw his blanket over the white man's shoulders and steadied his steps. Look, he must have eaten. He's white. Okay, you're out! How are you? Listen to me. Your arquego, your fellow big beaver. Oh! Chief Column Brothers, big beaver. That's the name Indians gave Dick Norwood. You've got women back. Is your name Norwood? Yes. But how is it that you know my name, and why you were wearing a mask? Oh, let my mask disturb you. I know your name because I found your letter in the canteen. You did? Yes, we came here hoping to learn something of your fate in the tactics. Chief Longland thought you were the ones who shot me. We didn't. That's what I told the chief. What did you do with the letter you found in the canteen? I took it to your wife. Oh, poor Ella. She and my little daughter. Oh, how did you happen to be here? In as few words as possible, the superintendent of the irrigation dam explained that he had been lying in the TP, path crunches for weeks, and had just found the strength and clarity of mind to get out. Yes. He went on. Chief Longland found me the day after I was shot. Also, poor Stark. He buried Stark under a pile of rocks and brought me here. You were fortunate. Somehow the Indians got this bullet out of my back and relieved the pressure that had paralyzed me. As you see, they hung the bullet around my neck as a medicine charm. That was fired from a .38. I've seen a man who carried such a gun and an open holster. Did you see who shot you? No. But there were two of them. Jim and I had found their footprints on the riverbank where they'd roll logs into the water. Of course, they were cattlemen who wanted to destroy the dam. The Indians are being blamed for the shooting. Unless we can do something to forestall it, this village will be raided by a mob of civilians. You know what that means. I know. I know. Can't the village be moved? The trail could be easily followed. You tell the chief. He wouldn't believe me. All right. Yuga. Formositami. Salo. Madeba. Bano. Uma de kimosi. He asks what he should do. Tell him I want him to go to Modak's city with me. He may have to surrender himself as a hostage until we find the real killers. Yuga. Manic de olo. Cidu. Kanaka. Moni. Pu. Dareba. Dareba. Muro. Sego. Kebano. Minopero. He's calling for a pony in the capital. He doesn't expect a return. Norwood, do you think you're able to ride? Yes. Can I take it easy? The chief and I will ride fast. Follow us to the town jail. My friend Toto will ride with you. Very well. I may have that bullock. Sir, here it is. Thanks. Easy to be fun. Longland's is ready to ride. They are chanting his death song. OK. As the lone ranger and chief Longland's all differences of creed and color forgotten in the comradeship of the brave reached out of the village. Modak's city swarmed with armed and excited men in the jail office where Higgins and his shared the company of some of the more level-headed citizens. A worried sheriff paced the floor. He was saying, Higgins, you took me into the scene. How can I call you though? You can, sheriff. Hey, we're going to turn that local turn. We should even take rules. Listen to him. You've got to let them shoot up the Indians or they'll shoot up the towers. Maybe that would be better. Several hours later, the jail began to fill with refugees from the gun-crazy mob. Mrs. Norwood was there with her baby as were several other mothers. Shivering half-breeds and Mexicans sought safety in the cells. From the street came yells for the sheriff. The old lawman chewed the ends of his horseshoe moustache and groaned. Well, what am I going to do with Higgins? Guess what you're planning to do and you better do it mighty quick. Yeah, I'll work it out. I'm Dan Reed, chef. Some of your volunteers are gathering around the hotel. They say they're going to march on the Indians without you. Hey, can't hear what you're saying. All they can do is protect the folks in here. You'd better stay. I think I'll move you up to the hotel myself. Come on, Lance. Oh, just a second. Yeah, it seems like the mob is quite a down-sudden leg. Look out the window. Hey, buddy, the star is a ticket. It's a mask man. And he's got an engine chief. That's a long length himself. The mask man is covering the Higgins with two sticks guns. They're giving them a wide pass. He's bringing the chief here. Maybe they'll hold the mob away, Lance. Or maybe he'll get lynched. Sheriff, the chief is here at the hostage for the protection of his people. I'm protecting him. Who might you be? Well, that's not important. Well, whoever you are, you sure did me a favor by bringing him in. What if I can see how you knew about the fix I'm in or how you got him to come? You brought the trouble on yourself. Yes, maybe so. But I figure that the chief knows who the killers are. And I aim to make him tell. He doesn't understand English. Well, got over it. Right? Everybody's closing in on the chief. Hey, that's but a good tool, isn't it? You've got to let them have the right skin. They'll kill us all if you don't. I'll talk to them. Here comes that mask man. Keep your hands frozen and listen to me. They're women and children in the jail. You can't use them to shield that red skin for me. Where the hell it is? Then you'll do it over my body and empty guns. Stand back for all fire. Men, the killers aren't Indians. They are men you all know. And would be willing to give a fair trial. Chief Long lands as a witness against them. Another witness is on the way here. But in an hour or so, I promise you the surprise of your lives. Just wait. That's what he says. That's what he says. All right, mask man. We'll give you an hour to deliver your surprise. All the red skin. One hour. One hour. Chief, one hour. What did you mean by saying everybody knew they're killers? Just that. I'm getting out of here before the mob gets hostile again. Come on, ladies. There you are. Sheriff, who's running this jail? You or him? Well, it appears like he's doing a pretty good job. You'll hear about this next election day. As slow minutes dragged on toward an hour, the mob again grew restive. Again, there were threats. Then the back door opened. Framed against the gathering shadows was the cadaverous, figureable man who had come back from the dead. He advanced slowly, followed by Tuttle. The shadows jaw sagged. Tim Higgins eyes turned glassy. Leafy's was the first to speak and his voice was a horse whisper. Norwood! Then Norwood's wife threw herself into his arms. She was sobbing. Tim, I told you. He hasn't even looked at it. Sheriff, the man who wounded Dick Norwood and killed Jim Stark are in this office. Guard the door. Very sure will. One of them is Tim Higgins. What way are you? Can't prove it. Ask Norwood if he can identify me. He can't, but I have something that can. It has no voice, but it speaks louder than words. There's nothing written on it, but it bears your name. What are you talking about? I'll tell you in a minute. Sheriff, what kind of a gun do you carry? Indeed. Well, I've got a Colt Nady model. It seems everyone else around here. Is there anyone here with a new Colt? The kind that takes a self-exploding contract. What do you mean? Any of you know of anyone who has a new model Colt? 38 caliber. Now, now, hold on. Wait a minute. I own a new gun, and it's a 38, just like you said. But that's no proof that I shot Dick Norwood. Here's the bullet that was taken from Dick Norwood's wife. That bullet? There's only one gun in town that fires this kind of bullet. Higgins, sir. Higgins, I'm taking your gun. You'll take a bullet. Ow, it's my arm. It's broken. It will heal before you hang. You can't hang me. Didn't get all the shooting. I'll talk. I'll tell everything. It was all in the kind of that irrigation dam. Yes, I know. I know, too, that other ranchers are sharing your guilt to some degree. You, Catamom, believe that you own the West. But it doesn't belong to any group. It belongs to the people of the United States. Your fate should be a warning to those who put themselves above the law and oppose progress with our guns. Why was it that Higgins didn't hit you when he fired first? That, then, continues your call on. You won't know. Go up and sail off. Long land say, heart heavy. Cut him clay, kill it. Tell the great chief that he's a brave man and that we bury him no ill will. Give him this for his medicine bag. Here. Long land, humor, lomago, fauna. Goila, mochi. Taro, Dan, come on. Good. The mask man and his friends are going. Sure, who is the mask man? Well, I couldn't have rightly said until I saw him give chief long land. She's so lovely. Now I know. Easy. Low ranger. Low ranger incorporated. Created by George W. Trenville. Produced by Trenville Campbell Enterprises. Directed by Charles D. Livingston. And edited by Fran Stryker. The part of a lone ranger.