by Fran Striker
Chapter X
THE LONE RANGER
It was daybreak when the man in the cave wakened in surprise to findthat he had slept the night through. A fragrant aroma of coffee andbacon crisping on a fire made him realize that he was ready for a solidmeal. Tonto looked up from his cooking and grinned. The Texan felt ofhis wounded shoulder. He was amazed at the way the swelling hadcompletely disappeared. He could even move his arm without too muchpain. He felt alive this morning. He stood. He was a bit unsteady, buthis wounded foot would bear his weight, thanks to the manner in whichTonto had bandaged it.
Sunlight streamed past the opening of the cave and turned the Gap brightand cheerful. Cold water dashed into his face made the Rangerwide-awake. He felt of his three-day growth of beard and turned toTonto. "I must look like a desert rat," he said ruefully.
"That easy to fix. How you feel?"
"First-rate, Tonto, thanks to you."
Tonto beamed and dished up fresh eggs with the bacon. "Today," he said,"you get plenty well."
Food never tasted finer than that breakfast did. When it was finished,the Indian produced the Ranger's duffle, which included, not onlyshaving materials, but fresh clothing. While the Texan pulled off themud- and blood-stained remnants of the clothing he'd been wearing, andbathed in the cool stream, the Indian told how he had buried the men inthe canyon during the night. He explained that he'd made six freshgraves, though only five men were dead. Whoever visited the scene ofbattle, and no one from the Basin had yet done so, might wonder who haddone the burying, but the impression would be given that all six of theRangers had died. The trail would clearly show that but six men hadridden there and six lay buried. There would be no search for a survivorwho might carry back to town the news of the massacre. The farsightedIndian had destroyed the trail made by the one who lived as he had creptfrom the scene.
The identity of the wounded man was buried in an empty grave. The Rangersaw the wisdom in Tonto's scheme. So far he had no idea who the killerswere. If they knew he had survived, they would hunt him down while hehad no conception of their identity. With the killers misguided intofalse security, he would be left unmolested as long as he wasn'trecognized as a Texas Ranger.
When he had finished dressing in the clean clothes and boots that Tontohad brought, the Texan sat beside the stream to think. Tonto busiedhimself about the cave, showing a tact and understanding that was rarein any man. The Indian seemed to know that the Texan wanted to be leftalone. He waited to answer what questions might be asked.
The Texan's eyes fell upon a small black book that was on the gravel athis side. It lay open to the flyleaf, and there was an inscriptionpenned in the fine handwriting that engravers try so hard to copy. Theman picked up the Bible and looked at his mother's words: "To my son,with all my love and a prayer that he will carry with him always thelessons we studied together."
He remembered candle-lit evenings at his mother's side in a pioneerhome. He recalled the time when he had memorized the Ten Commandments,reciting them, then listening to his father's interpretation of theoriginal laws of living as applied to life in the new West. Those lawshad seemed so simple, yet so all-embracing. His father had said thatlife was supposed to be simple and that only man-made laws complicatedthings.
Man-made laws failed so often. As a Texas Ranger he had seen richmurderers freed by juries while poor men were jailed interminably forstealing food to ward off the death of their starving children. Man-madelaw couldn't be relied upon to serve the highest form of justice. Hethought of his five comrades, now buried in an isolated gap. What lawcould punish their murderers? How could he find those murderers, andhaving found them, what proof would there be against them? "Thou ShaltNot Kill." That was the law. Yet who was there to find and punish thosewho had already killed five brave men? He knew something of theCavendish clan. In the Basin there were men who would probably givefalse testimony. There was unlimited money to be spent in bribes ifneeded. There was Bryant Cavendish, a law unto himself. Against theseforces he stood alone, and practically helpless.
In spite of the odds against his success, the Texan found himselfbreathing a silent pledge to the souls of his friends. "I'll find theones who did it," he whispered, "and I'll see them made to pay in full."
Even as he spoke he knew of another pledge he'd made. A pledge to hismother that he'd mind the precepts he had learned. One of these was"Thou Shalt Not Kill."
While pledged not to kill, he must confront hard men to whom murder wasa mere detail in a day's work. When and if the showdown came, after hehad found the murderers he sought, it would probably be a case of killor be killed. He didn't mind dying if it would serve his ends, but hisown death would in no way avenge the lives of his friends. Neither wouldit serve the cause of justice by ridding the country of ingloriousravagers.
He found himself considering the things in his favor. The fact that hehad survived the fight was known only to himself and Tonto. He would notbe recognized because of his horse. The only other men who knew thatwhite stallion were dead. He could change his appearance by disguise, ifnecessary. He wondered if these last few days hadn't already changedhis looks. He felt he must have aged considerably. His outlook on lifewas certainly changed. He no longer felt like the carefree Ranger. Hefelt older, more serious, more grim.
He rose to his feet and called, "Tonto."
The Indian advanced. In his hand there were guns, holsters, and a heavycartridge belt. "Maybe now," he said, "you look at guns."
The Texan recognized the brace of perfectly matched and balancedrevolvers. "My own!"
Tonto nodded. "After you fall, other Ranger take guns. Tonto find nearfight."
The weight of the belt on his hips was good. It gave the man a feelingof competence. He drew the guns and spun them by the trigger guard.Reflected light splashed off the spinning weapons. Then the buttsdropped in his palms, and the guns were steady. With those weapons theRanger had ridden a fast horse at top speed and kept a tin can bouncingahead of him with bullets. He could--and frequently he had doneit--restrain his draw until fast gun-slingers had their own weapons freeof the holster, and still get the drop on them.
He "broke" one of the guns and dumped the cartridges into the palm ofhis hand. "You loaded them, eh?"
Tonto nodded.
There was something about the cartridges--they gleamed brilliantly. Hestudied them a moment, and looked questioningly at the Indian.
"Those bullet," Tonto said, "are silver." It was true. The bullets inthe cartridges were hard, solid silver. The Texan looked puzzled. "Thatmakes pretty high-priced shooting," he said.
"You not shoot much," Tonto replied. Then he explained how the preciousmetal for the bullets had come from the Texan's own silver mine. Tontohimself had cast the metal.
The white man marveled at the complete knowledge Tonto had of him and ofhis affairs.
Then Tonto brought a mask from beneath his buckskin shirt. It was black,and fashioned to cover the entire upper part of a man's face,effectively concealing all identity.
"Wear this," Tonto said.
The white man hesitated. "If I go about wearing a mask, the law will bein full chase in no time," he said.
Tonto nodded. "You hunt-um outlaw!"
Birds of a feather! By concealing his identity with the mask, hisdisguise would serve a second purpose. It would mark him in such a waythat outlaws might welcome his company and thus put him in possession ofinformation otherwise impossible to secure.
"Other Ranger all dead," said Tonto, as the white man tried the mask andfound it a perfect fit. "You only Ranger now. You all alone."
"All alone," repeated the other softly. "Except for you, Tonto. It seemsthat it's your plan for us to travel together."
Tonto nodded slowly, soberly. He held out his brown hand again. In thepalm there was a metal badge. The Texas Ranger's badge. The white mantook it, looked at it, then closed his fist about it tightly. "TheTexas Rangers," he said softly, "are dead. All six of them have gone. Intheir place there's just
one man. The lone Ranger." He put the badgedeep in his pocket and murmured again, "The Lone Ranger."