“Oh, we get those occasionally,” Red replied, unaware of how her words stabbed at John. She went on. “Had themselves an argument. About something they found in the desert. Paid me with this.” Reaching over, she dumped a rock of silver onto the table in front of her.
Tonto jumped back as though burned. “Don’t touch it! Cursed!”
Rolling his eyes, the Lone Ranger picked it up. Instantly, it felt as though he had been hit by a bolt of lightning. A series of sights and sounds flashed before him. Water running over silver; Comanche Indian symbols on a cave wall; the sound of women and children screaming…
The Lone Ranger dropped the silver back on the table and the images disappeared. He shook his head. That had been…different. Noticing the man’s reaction, Tonto raised an eyebrow.
Unaware of the Lone Ranger’s vision, Red poured two stiff drinks. “Indian’s right. It’s worthless around here,” she said, nodding at the silver and handing the Lone Ranger a glass. “Get it to San Francisco, they’d pay a thousand dollars cash. Maybe I’ll be on the first train west. Retire.”
As she spoke, Tonto poked the silver. Nothing happened. He picked it up. Still nothing. He squeezed it. Still absolutely nothing. What had John seen? And why couldn’t he see it? Frustrated, Tonto dumped the silver back on the table.
Just then, there was a knock at the door and Homer poked his head in. “We got trouble,” he announced.
Red looked through a peephole and saw that an angry mob of people had gathered. “I’m afraid we’ll have to bring our little visit to a close,” she said, turning back and eyeing Tonto. “Some of my clientele don’t take kindly to an Indian on the premises.”
“He has as much right to be here as anyone else,” the Lone Ranger protested. “That’s the law.”
Red shook her head. “Not since the Comanche violated the treaty,” she pointed out.
“The treaty?” the Lone Ranger repeated, confused. When had they violated the treaty?
“Didn’t you hear?” Red replied. “They been raiding settlements up and down the river.”
The Lone Ranger’s eyes grew wide as his heart began to race. “My God,” he whispered. “Rebecca…” They had to get out of there—now!
“Better go out the back,” Red suggested, seeing the fear in the Lone Ranger’s eyes. She sat down and stretched out on a divan, her ivory leg—and the secret gun—pointed right at the door.
Making his way to the back of the room, the Lone Ranger looked up and saw a painting of Red as a young dancer. In it, she had both her legs. “How do I thank you?” the Lone Ranger asked.
Red smiled. “Just make sure that animal pays for what he took from me,” she answered.
The Lone Ranger nodded. The beast had taken Red’s leg and his brother’s life and turned Collins into a monster. Yes, he would be happy to make Butch Cavendish pay. Very happy. But first they had to get out of there—and fast.
As soon as Red had announced that the angry mob was after him, Tonto hightailed it out the back door. But before he left, he took a moment to sample some of the whiskey Red had so graciously poured—for the Lone Ranger. Satisfied, he once again made for the back door.
On the other side was a rickety set of stairs leading down. Weaving slightly, Tonto made his way out of Red’s place, only to find himself on a side porch. In front of him stood the Lone Ranger’s spirit horse. As Tonto watched, the beautiful creature leaned down and picked up a bottle of beer in his teeth. Then, just as Tonto had done moments before, the horse tilted his big head back and drank deeply.
“Nature is indeed out of balance,” Tonto muttered under his breath.
Tonto could hear the sound of the mob growing closer. Turning back to the white horse, Tonto grabbed its reins and clucked. “We go,” Tonto commanded. The horse didn’t move. Tonto pulled on the reins harder. Still the horse did not budge. “Stubborn beast!”
Just then, there was a shout from around the corner. A moment later, another mob that had gathered appeared. They were shouting and waving their fists angrily. Throwing the reins down, Tonto began to run, the mob close behind.
Behind him, the Lone Ranger appeared at the top of the stairs. Putting two fingers in his mouth, he let out a piercing whistle. Below, the white horse raised his head and trotted to the bottom of the stairs. The Lone Ranger jumped on the banister and slid down, landing rather awkwardly in his saddle. Scrambling into position, he kicked the horse forward. The mob that had been inside Red’s saw the Lone Ranger galloping off and gave chase.
The Lone Ranger and his horse raced down one alley and up another, the mob staying close on their heels. Urging the horse faster and faster, the Lone Ranger tried to find a way out of the godforsaken town of sin. But everywhere he turned there was another alley or another obstacle in his way. Finally, he and his horse careered around a corner. In front of him, he saw Tonto running wildly, his arms flapping and the feathers on his head flying. “YA!” The Lone Ranger spurred his horse on faster, catching up with Tonto. “Come on!” he said, leaning down and holding out his hand.
Tonto looked up, his eyes wild. Grabbing the Lone Ranger’s hand, he swung up behind him. Aiming the horse straight ahead, the Lone Ranger and Tonto raced away from Red’s and into the desert night. Behind them, the angry mobs collided and turned on each other, forgetting their original target altogether.
Looking back at the mobs, Tonto sighed. “Nature is, indeed, out of balance.”
At the Reid farm, Danny was unaware of his father’s death and his uncle’s new identity. In the late afternoon sun, he played a game of fetch with his dog, while in a nearby pasture, his mother hammered another post into the ground. The farm required constant work, and with the absence of her husband, most of the responsibility had fallen on Rebecca’s small shoulders. She had wanted to get as much of the pasture fence fixed as possible before nightfall, but seeing the tired look on her farmhand’s face, she put down her tools.
“Let’s call it a night, Joe,” she said to the exhausted farmhand.
The weathered old man nodded and headed back to his quarters, lugging various tools. For a moment, Rebecca stood still, enjoying the peace of the late afternoon. She glanced over and saw Danny and his dog and smiled. It was rare to be able to stop for even a moment. But then a noise from across the river interrupted the calm. Looking over, Rebecca saw a Comanche Indian sitting atop his horse. His dark eyes were trained on her. After a moment, he turned and rode away, disappearing from sight.
“Come on, Danny!” Rebecca called, trying to keep the fear out of her voice.
The young boy raced over and together they began to walk toward the farmhouse. As they did so, Rebecca couldn’t help noticing that the usually incessant drone of insects had gone quiet. Suddenly, the dogs began to bark. Rebecca grabbed Danny’s hand as she picked up the pace.
Rushing into the farmhouse, Rebecca turned and slid the heavy wooden bolt across the door. “Pilar,” she said to their young Mexican maid, “get the shutters.”
As Pilar began to close the heavy shutters over the windows, Rebecca walked to the fireplace. Above the mantel hung one of Dan’s old rifles. With shaking fingers, Rebecca pulled it down and began to load it, trying hard not to drop it to the ground.
Behind her, Danny looked on, his eyes wide. He had never seen his mother scared before. Something bad must be coming.
Just then, the sound of gunfire rang out. Rebecca raced to one of the windows and raised the shutter slightly, giving herself a small peephole. On another wall, Danny peered out a knothole in the wood.
Out in the farmyard, a group of Comanche riders appeared, guns drawn, and they began to shoot at the harmless livestock and unsuspecting farmhands. Rebecca watched as Joe raced into the yard and began firing his pistol. But he was outnumbered. In moments, he was cut down. One of the intruders jumped down from his horse and walked over to Joe, a knife raised high. He sank to his knees beside Joe and lowered his hand.
Danny reared back from the knothole as his mother
began firing her gun. But he knew it was no use. They were in serious trouble.…
The Lone Ranger and Tonto had raced as fast as they could toward the Reid farm. Arriving at a vista overlooking the farm below, the Lone Ranger felt his heart drop. The farm was in ruins. Fires still burned where the Indians had set buildings ablaze. Dead animals and men were strewn across the yard, and in the distance, the Lone Ranger could make out the neighboring farm, fires burning through its barns and house.
“We’re too late,” he said, his voice full of emotion. Spurring his horse forward, he galloped down to the farm, Tonto following.
Inside the farmhouse, chairs were overturned and picture frames were charred from fire. The body of Joe, the farmhand, lay in the middle of the floor, where he had been dragged at some point. Reaching down, the Lone Ranger picked up the remains of a photograph. It was a picture of him and his brother. Rebecca stood in the middle, smiling, while the brothers tried to look serious. How could he have let this happen? First his brother, now his brother’s family? He had failed them all.
Suddenly, the Lone Ranger felt a hand on his shoulder. He jumped, but it was only Tonto. The Comanche looked as unhappy as John felt. “They took them alive,” he said softly.
“Indian savages,” the Lone Ranger hissed.
Leaning down, Tonto took a ring from Joe’s finger. “Wasn’t Indians,” he said.
“What are you talking about?” the Lone Ranger asked, cocking his head.
Before answering, Tonto gently laid a feather on Joe’s body. “Indians make trade,” he said after a moment.
“Leave him alone,” the Lone Ranger said, his tone growing cold. He had known Joe all his life. He hadn’t deserved to die this way, and he definitely didn’t deserve to be pawed at by this crazy bird-feeding man.
Tonto ignored him and continued going through Joe’s pockets. It was too much. With a cry of rage, the Lone Ranger charged at Tonto. Ducking to one side, Tonto dodged the charge and then, in one swift move, picked up the Lone Ranger and flipped him over on his back. He leaned down, a knife to the masked man’s throat. “The Indian is like the coyote and leaves nothing to waste,” Tonto said, his breathing steady. “Tell me, Kemosabe, why does the white man prefer killing for killing’s sake?”
Before the Lone Ranger could reply, a scream pierced the air. It was coming from the barn. Withdrawing his knife, Tonto stood up and headed for the door. The Lone Ranger followed, but not before grabbing the pistol out of Joe’s lifeless hand. His days of not carrying a weapon were over.
As quietly as possible, the Lone Ranger and Tonto made their way to the barn. Peering through the open door, they saw the Reid maid, Pilar, sitting on a hay bale. She was shaking like a leaf, her eyes full of fear as she stared at someone sitting in front of her. As the Lone Ranger followed Pilar’s gaze, his eyes went cold. Frank, one of Cavendish’s men, was sitting on another hay bale. He was dressed like a Comanche Indian. At his feet was a trunk full of women’s clothing.
“This one’s nice, innit?” Frank said, picking a dress out of the trunk. Standing up, he clumsily wrapped the dress around Pilar’s neck.
Sitting on the hay, Pilar continued to shake. Suddenly, she noticed the Lone Ranger and Tonto in the doorway. Following her gaze, Frank saw the two men as well. He reached for his gun as Pilar ran out of the room.
The Lone Ranger’s silver badge flashed as he entered the barn. “Rebecca and Danny,” he said to the outlaw. “Where are they?”
Seeing the barely contained fury in the Lone Ranger’s eyes, Frank took a step back.
“Tell me where they are or I let the Indian do what he wants to you,” the Lone Ranger said, nodding to Tonto.
Frank looked at the Lone Ranger and then at Tonto, who held up a rabbit’s foot he had “borrowed” from Red’s. Frank shivered. “What does he want to do?” he asked in a whisper.
“Use your imagination,” the Lone Ranger replied.
BANG! BANG!
At the sound of the gunshots, the Lone Ranger and Tonto turned. What was going on now? A moment later, horses thundered into the yard and a voice called out, “Where are you, Frank?”
Taking advantage of the distraction, Frank darted for one of the barn’s windows and jumped through it, shattering the glass and spooking the horses outside. He landed in front of Barret and Jesus, who were both astride their horses, still wearing the Comanche clothes from their earlier raid. As they eyed the other man, they passed a bottle between themselves.
“What’s going on?” Barret demanded, taking a swig.
“Ra-ra-ranger,” Frank stammered, pointing over his shoulder into the barn.
“What are you talking about?” Jesus said. There were no rangers. They had killed them all back in the canyon.
Frank shook his head. “Wearing some kind of mask!”
Barret had heard enough. Frank was a little loopy. They all knew that. But better to be safe than sorry. He took out his pistol and fired at an old oil lantern hanging in the barn’s doorway. Then Jesus lit a torch and threw it right on the spilled oil. The barn erupted in flames. “Shoot anything that comes out,” Barret said, taking another swallow from the bottle.
Now they just had to sit and wait. If the ranger was in there, he would be dead the moment he stepped outside. And if he didn’t, he’d be dead anyway. Barret smiled. He liked those odds.
Inside the barn, the Lone Ranger and Tonto exchanged worried glances. The flames were spreading fast and if they didn’t get out of there soon, they would suffocate or burn. And neither man wanted to die that way.
“Go for horses, Kemosabe,” Tonto said. “I cover you.”
“Why me?” the Lone Ranger asked, hopping as a trail of fire began to lick at his toes.
“You have been to the other side,” Tonto replied. “Spirit Walker cannot be killed.”
The Lone Ranger looked at Tonto, then at the door, then at the flames growing higher and higher, and then finally back at Tonto. Spirit Walker or not, they couldn’t just stand here and wait to die. Someone had to do something. And it looked like it was going to be him. Taking out his badge, he stepped closer to the window Frank had flown through a few minutes before. “Texas Ranger,” he called out. “Put down your weapons and step forward with your hands up!”
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! A series of gunshots splintered the wood all around the Lone Ranger. Darting back, he frantically patted his own body, feeling for wounds. But miraculously, he was unscathed.
“It is as I said—Spirit Walker,” Tonto said in awe. It seemed he had been right. Which was, in hindsight, a good thing for the Lone Ranger.
But either way, they were still in trouble. The flames were growing higher and getting hotter. Outside, they could hear the outlaws reloading. Smoke was filling the air and the Lone Ranger and Tonto began to cough.
Suddenly, there was a clattering on the roof of the barn, as though something big was walking around. Tonto walked over to the large furnace used by the blacksmith, and peered in and up. His eyes grew wide. Far above, flashing bright in the moonlight, was the big white horse. Seeing Tonto, the horse bared its teeth and then let out a loud whinny. Pulling back, Tonto shook his head.
Noticing Tonto’s expression, the Lone Ranger moved a step closer. “What is it?”
Gulping, Tonto told him what he had seen. For a moment, the Lone Ranger looked disbelieving. But then he shook his head. Stranger things had happened to him. Well, at least recently, stranger things had happened. So why not a horse on a roof? With a nod, the Lone Ranger made his way over to the ladder that led to the hayloft. He quickly climbed up it and then out onto the roof through a small hatch. Bursting into the fresh air, he came face-to-face with the white horse.
“Hi…uh, thanks for coming,” the Lone Ranger said. Behind him, Tonto climbed out onto the roof. “So, the horse? It can fly?”
“Don’t be stupid,” Tonto replied. Horses could talk, true. But fly? That was plain silly.
As the barn began to shudder, the Lone Ranger and To
nto hopped onto the animal’s back. Turning the horse, the Lone Ranger steered him to the far end of the roof. He took a deep breath and then…“YAAAA!” With a cry, he kicked the animal forward. The horse’s hooves echoed in the night as it galloped toward the edge of the barn. When it reached the edge, the horse reared back, and with a mighty surge of its powerful hindquarters, it jumped. The Lone Ranger and Tonto sailed over the outlaws’ heads, landing silently a few feet beyond them.
In front of the barn, Barret and Jesus passed their bottle as they watched the flames consume everything. No one had come out. And no one could have survived that inferno. It looked like they were in the clear.
“Turn around,” a voice said behind them. “Real slow.”
Barret and Jesus did as they were told. They found themselves looking down the barrel of the Lone Ranger’s gun. Beside him, Tonto weaved his knife back and forth. In the background, the white horse snorted and pawed the ground.
“Rebecca and Danny,” the Lone Ranger said, his voice icy. “Where are they?”
“Comanche don’t take prisoners,” Barret sneered, revealing foul, rotten teeth.
Jesus nodded. “Just scalps,” he added, and the two men began to laugh.
The Lone Ranger was not amused. “Feathers and war paint. You insult the Comanche name,” he said, nodding at their outfits.
Beside him, Tonto nodded.
Then the Lone Ranger went on. “For they may be a simple, backward people…”
Tonto turned and raised an eyebrow. Now hold on just one minute. That was uncalled for.
“…slave to superstition, the worship of birds and talking animals,” the Lone Ranger continued, ignoring Tonto’s glare. “They may live in trees, bathe in their own waste, oblivious to the assault on our olfactory senses. But I tell you this…” He paused and nodded in Tonto’s direction. “That noble savage is a better man than any of you.” Proud of his speech, the Lone Ranger turned to Tonto.
Lone Ranger, The (Disney Junior Novel (ebook)) Page 5
