Lone Ranger, The (Disney Junior Novel (ebook))

by Elizabeth Rudnick Disney Book Group

  Addressing the crowd of newspapermen who had gathered, Cole spoke. “When I was a surveyor just starting out in this business, I was lost in the desert, left for dead. It was there that God appeared before me and told me to build this great railroad. To unite this great country, so no man could ever tear it asunder.” He paused, letting his words sink in. “Let the Comanche make no mistake! We will NOT be dissuaded from our task. From here on, all treaties with the Indian Nation are null and void. We will be in Promontory Summit ahead of schedule. Three days from today.”

  With a wave, Cole made his way through the cheering crowd and headed toward the construction. He stopped to sign documents, inspect blueprints, and talk with some of the foremen. Finally, he came upon a covered wagon. Pulling back the tarp, he looked inside. Dozens of cases marked HIGHLY VOLATILE were nestled inside.

  “Arrived last night,” said Cole’s assistant, Wendell, joining him. He nodded at the nitrate explosives.

  “Put it somewhere safe,” Cole said, dropping the tarp back in place. Pulling out his watch, he flipped it open just as the sound of fifty horsemen echoed through the construction site.

  The Seventh Cavalry, led by Captain J. Fuller, had arrived. At Fuller’s side was a Tonkawa scout wearing a cavalry uniform. “I understand you have an Indian problem,” Fuller said in way of greeting.

  Flipping his watch closed, Cole looked at the captain and nodded. “About time.”

  Things had definitely gotten worse for the Lone Ranger. After being stitched up by a dodgy needle, he had been dragged unceremoniously out of his cage and into a huge teepee. He had been brought to the fire and then forced to his knees in front of Chief Big Bear and his elders. Red Knee, a great Comanche warrior, stood nearby, his cold eyes trained on the two prisoners.

  The Lone Ranger swallowed nervously. Then he did what he did whenever he didn’t know what else to do—he began to talk. “My name’s John Reid. I know you didn’t attack those settlements. If you let me go, I can prove it. There doesn’t have to be a war. Understand?” Squinting, he peered through the smoke-filled air to see if the chief or elders had understood. But each man’s face was stonier than the last.

  “I come in peace,” he went on, holding his hands to his heart. Then he began walking his fingers through the sand. “Me, Spirit Walker. From great beyond.” He drew back an imaginary bow. “Hunter of Windigo…and other things.”

  Chief Big Bear turned to Red Knee and raised an eyebrow. “Sunstroke?” he asked in their native tongue.

  Red Knee shrugged. “Or his mind is poisoned with whiskey.”

  Turning back to the Lone Ranger, Chief Big Bear spoke again, this time in English. “He told you to wear the mask,” the chief said, referring to Tonto. The Lone Ranger nodded and Chief Big Bear burst into laughter. The rest of the elders did the same.

  “That’s funny?” the Lone Ranger asked, confused.

  “Very funny,” Chief Big Bear and Red Knee said at the same time, still laughing.

  “Tonto is Comanche,” the Lone Ranger protested. “One of you.”

  Getting himself under control, Chief Big Bear shook his head. “No more.” Putting on a pair of wire-framed glasses, he pulled out a knife. The Lone Ranger shrank back. But instead of using it on him, the chief used it to open Tonto’s pocket watch. “His mind is broken. He is…a band apart.”

  As the chief stared at the watch, the fire seemed to fade away and the Lone Ranger found himself listening to a story from a different time.

  “Many moons ago, a boy found two white men in the desert.” As the chief spoke, the Lone Ranger imagined a young Comanche boy coming upon two men, their skin cracked and blistered from the sun. “He brought them to his village to be healed. When they found silver in the river, they asked the boy where it came from.”

  In his head, the Lone Ranger saw the naive young boy pointing up the river, eager to impress the white men. One of them pulled out a watch and magically flipped it open as the boy spoke. In exchange for the cheap pocket watch, the boy agreed to bring the men to the source of the silver—a mountain shaped like a sleeping man. From high on the mountain, water fell into a river filled with more silver than any white man had ever seen or could imagine.

  Chief Big Bear went on. “They took what they could carry. But they wanted to keep the place a secret so they could one day return.” Once more an image flashed through the Lone Ranger’s mind: the young Comanche boy walking through bodies strewn everywhere, his heart breaking. The river running red with blood. “The boy could not live with what he’d done. So he decided the men were possessed by evil spirits in the silver. Called it Windigo, like the ghost stories we tell our children to make them sleep. And he made a vow. When he found these two men, he would drain their blood into the soil of his ancestors so he could return to the tribe.”

  The chief’s voice trailed off and the Lone Ranger shook his head, trying to clear the gruesome images from his mind. “The boy,” the Lone Ranger began. “He was Tonto?”

  Snapping shut the pocket watch, the chief nodded and picked up another item. It was Dan’s totem. “And you are John Reid. Brother of Dan?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” the Lone Ranger replied.

  The chief looked at him thoughtfully. “By this totem, your brother swore if we kept the peace, he would protect our land. Now the cavalry cut down our children. Like all white men, your brother lied.”

  “No!” the Lone Ranger shouted. Catching himself, he lowered his voice. “Dan was murdered. Let me go and I’ll keep his promises.”

  Chief Big Bear held up the totem, studying it in the flickering firelight. The Lone Ranger watched. The silence stretched on. Finally, the Lone Ranger couldn’t take it anymore. “So, do we have a deal?” he asked.

  The chief paused and the Lone Ranger felt a surge of hope. But it was short-lived. “Not so much,” Chief Big Bear answered.

  A short time later, the Lone Ranger found himself buried up to his neck in the warm desert sand. Tonto was beside him, also buried. As they watched, the Comanche warriors mounted their horses. Their faces were painted and their weapons were sharpened. From a ridge, a Comanche scout signaled as, behind him, a cloud of dust rose in the air. The enemy was approaching. It was time for war.

  “My name come up?” Tonto asked out of the corner of his mouth as a horse walked past, nearly trampling him.

  The Lone Ranger rolled his eyes. Seeing the chief approaching, the Lone Ranger called out. “Please!” he begged. “This is a mistake. There doesn’t need to be a war.”

  Astride his horse, Chief Big Bear looked even bigger and more imposing than he had on the ground. He looked at the two men and then down at the watch and totem in his hand. “Makes no difference,” he said, tossing the items to the ground. “We are already ghosts.”

  Then, as the Lone Ranger and Tonto watched helplessly, the Comanche galloped off, the sounds of the war whoops and yells quickly fading. Buried in the ground, with no chance of escape, the Lone Ranger let out a sigh. He couldn’t begin to guess what would come next. But something told him he wouldn’t like it.

  As the dust cleared and silence fell upon the abandoned Comanche camp, the Lone Ranger and Tonto ignored each other. The Lone Ranger was still reeling from the story he had heard, while Tonto was aware something had been said to make him look bad. And both were rather unhappy to be buried up to their necks in dirt.

  Just when the silence seemed like it had stretched on forever, the ground began to shake. Then in the distance came the faint sound of a trumpet. Twisting his head as far as he could, Tonto narrowed his eyes. “Cavalry,” he said.

  “Thank God,” the Lone Ranger said, breathing a sigh of relief.

  But no sooner were the words out of his mouth than the cavalry appeared, racing through the empty camp. Men shot their guns into the air as their horses raced right into teepees, trampling them to the ground.

  “Over here!” the Lone Ranger shouted. “Help!”

  The cavalry continued coming—but no
w they were coming right at them! In all the chaos, they couldn’t see the two buried men. They were going to be trampled! Under the dirt, the Lone Ranger struggled to move his arms, but it was to no avail. As the horses pounded closer and closer, he closed his eyes. This was the end.…

  Slowly, the Lone Ranger opened his eyes. The sound of the cavalry was fading, and each of the men’s faces was covered in a thick layer of dirt. “Perhaps they didn’t see us,” the Lone Ranger suggested after a moment.

  “Probably double back any minute,” Tonto agreed. “Could be worse.”

  The Lone Ranger raised one eyebrow. “Worse?” he repeated. “How could it possibly be worse?”

  “We have each other,” Tonto replied flatly.

  “I’m not talking to you anymore,” the Lone Ranger said, turning his head. But the silent treatment didn’t last long. Hearing something, he raised his head in alarm. “What is that?”

  “You hear it too?” Tonto asked.

  Both men grew silent, straining to make sense of the strange noise that was coming from nearby. It sounded almost like something was scratching its way out of the sand. Then, mere inches from their faces, the pocket watch and totem began to vibrate. To their horror, a large scorpion appeared, its tail raised.

  “I was hoping it was in my head,” Tonto said, eyeing the insect nervously. Six more scorpions dug their way out and began crawling toward the helpless men. “Nature is indeed—”

  “Don’t say it,” the Lone Ranger hissed.

  One of the larger scorpions had made it up to Tonto’s face. Slowly, it began to crawl toward his nose. Beside him, the Lone Ranger blew frantically, trying to knock the scorpion loose. But it was no use. The creature’s tail pulled back and…

  A shadow fell over the trapped men, and the Lone Ranger yelped. It was the white spirit horse! Leaning down, the big animal snapped the scorpion up with its teeth and then bit down. It reached for another as the rest of the scorpions burrowed back into the safety of the dirt.

  “Yes!” the Lone Ranger cried. “That a boy!”

  The horse nodded its head as if to say You’re welcome. Then it flipped its head up and down, causing the reins to fall beside the Lone Ranger. Grabbing the reins in its teeth, the horse slowly began to back up, pulling the Lone Ranger free of the dirt.

  For a moment, the Lone Ranger just lay there, taking in deep breaths of air and moving his arms and legs to regain feeling. Then he got to his feet and swung up and onto the horse’s back.

  Still buried, Tonto looked up. “Going, Kemosabe?”

  “Yes, I am,” the Lone Ranger replied. He knew that he should free Tonto. That he had never intentionally tried to harm him. But still, it would probably be easier to ride alone.

  “To find Rebecca and Danny?” Tonto went on. The Lone Ranger nodded. “To capture Cavendish where the river begins?”

  “Exactly,” the Lone Ranger replied.

  Tonto nodded thoughtfully. Then he simply said, “It’s a good day to die.”

  “Yes, well, same to you.” Kicking his horse, the Lone Ranger cantered off. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Tonto’s head grow smaller and smaller. He sighed. He shouldn’t feel bad. He had to do what was right. He had to save Rebecca and Danny and he had to find Cavendish.…

  With a groan, the Lone Ranger pulled up his horse. He had just realized he couldn’t leave without Tonto. Spurring the horse, he raced back into the camp. The Comanche looked up at him as though he had expected him to return. “Where the river begins,” the Lone Ranger said. “You know where that is, don’t you?”

  Tonto nodded.

  The Lone Ranger sighed. It looked like they were sticking together for a little while longer.

  Tonto held the totem that Dan Reid used to wear around his neck, and inspected it. While others saw this as just an ornate charm, Tonto saw it for what it really was: a map to the Sleeping Man. Tonto studied the totem and led the Lone Ranger through the rocky terrain until, finally, they were at their destination.

  The Sleeping Man rose out of the desert, casting long shadows on sand and dirt below. Around its peak, birds circled, searching for prey, while on the ground animals scurried between the sparse shrubbery. But over the sounds of bird and animal calls came the distinct noise of man.

  Near the top of the mountain, a mine had been dug, its various entrances now alive with activity. Workers made their way in and out of the main mine shaft, pushing carts along a track, while others carried baskets that dripped mud. Nearby, more workers stood at sorting tables, picking out silver from the harvested rocks. It was an efficient operation and it had been going on continuously for a long time.

  In the middle of it all sat Butch Cavendish. He was holding a rock of silver up to the sun as Skinny nervously shaved the leader’s face. At the sound of shouting, Skinny’s hand slipped and the razor nicked Cavendish.

  Lightning fast, Cavendish snatched Skinny’s wrist, gripping it hard. “Was an accident, Butch,” Skinny said, trying to pull his hand free. “Didn’t mean it.”

  There was a beat as Cavendish pondered what to do. Finally, he let go. “What is that god-awful noise?”

  Near the main mine shaft, Ray, another one of Cavendish’s men, was negotiating with a group of workers. The men looked frightened and were gesturing wildly. They pointed to the mine and then at each other. Walking over, Ray ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry, Butch,” he said. “Say they won’t go inside no more. Indian spirits, or something. Say they causing the cave-ins.”

  Cavendish narrowed his gaze at one of the workers who stood apart from the others. “He the one doing the talking?”

  “That’s right,” Ray said, nodding.

  Without another word, Cavendish stood up, walked over to the man, and shot him. The other workers fell silent. “Anybody else wanna negotiate?” Cavendish asked, holding up his gun. When no one said anything, he turned to Frank. “Now go show ’em there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  Frank hesitated. “I’ve been thinking, Butch,” he said, his voice weak. “Maybe we should just take what we can carry and get out of here. We already rich, right?”

  A dangerous look flashed in Cavendish’s eye. He had been waiting twenty years to get his hands on the silver in Sleeping Man. He was not about to give up just because a few workers were scared of ghosts. Picking up a piece of silver, he began to hit Frank until the man lost his footing and fell to the ground. Cavendish drew his gun.

  “We’re taking all of it,” he snarled at the cowering Frank. “Every single piece. Now get in there before I put a hole in you.”

  Scrambling to his feet, Frank dashed into the mine, more scared of Cavendish than the ghosts.

  Unbeknownst to Cavendish or his men, there was something other than silver in the mine. The Lone Ranger and Tonto had made their way inside under cover of dark and had been waiting for their moment to strike. The moment had arrived.

  From the shadows, Tonto watched as Frank tentatively made his way into the tunnel. He stepped closer, his face illuminated by the lantern. And then Tonto blew the light out.

  Outside, Cavendish and his men heard an ear-piercing shriek. “Frank?” Cavendish called out. No reply. He nodded at Ray and Skinny to go after him.

  Ray grabbed a lantern while Skinny loaded his gun with fresh ammunition. They made their way into the tunnel. As their eyes adjusted to the dark, they could make out cave paintings, the images eerie in the flickering lantern light.

  CAW!

  Out of nowhere came the sound of a crow. Skinny spun on his heel, firing blindly. The flash from the gun illuminated the mine for just a moment. But in that moment, Skinny saw the black feathers of a bird—and then the flash of a knife. Behind him, Ray had only a second to register a pair of eyes behind a mask before a shovel swung out of the dark, knocking him out.

  Once more, the mine fell dark as the Lone Ranger and Tonto shared a smile. Three down. Just a few more to go.…

  “Ray? Skinny?” Cavendish called out. The mine had been quie
t for too long. Walking up to the main shaft, the outlaw leaned forward and peered into the darkness. Nothing. He drew his gun and fired several rounds. But the only thing he heard was the echo of the shots on the rock walls.

  Suddenly, he heard the sound of metal on metal—squeak…squeak…squeak—and then a mining cart appeared, its wheels slowly turning on the metal tracks. Cavendish and his men opened fire. In front of them, the metal cart rocked as bullets riddled its side. Still, it kept coming. And the men kept firing until the cart finally came to a stop—right in front of them.

  Cavendish held up a hand. The men stopped firing. They waited to see if anyone or anything would peer out of the cart, but when nothing happened, the men made their way closer. As Cavendish peered over the side, his eyes grew wide. There, sitting just like a passenger in a train car, was a vial of nitrate! And attached to it was a burning fuse!

  KA-BOOM!

  The nitrate exploded, sending metal, dirt, rock, and silver flying everywhere. The men went flying, too. Cavendish was hurled a dozen feet back.

  When the smoke cleared, Butch Cavendish lay on the ground, blood coming from his ears. Looking up, he saw two silhouettes appear through the dust. Butch couldn’t believe his eyes. “Can’t be,” he said as he made out the glint of a silver star. There really were ghosts in the mine!

  And then one of the ghosts spoke. “Where are they?”

  “You’re dead,” Cavendish said in disbelief.

  Reaching down, the man grabbed Cavendish by the collar. “If you hurt them, I swear to God I’ll make you pay!”

  As the man’s face came out of the shadows, Cavendish could make out the mask. Slowly, realization dawned. “‘To the full extent of the law,’” he said. “I’ll be damned. The lawyer and the crazy Indian.”

  The Lone Ranger cocked his pistol and held it to Cavendish’s head. “Tell me!”