“If I wanted that known, Yuma, I wouldn’t be masked.”
Yuma spoke slowly. “When I took ahold of yer shirt, I felt somethin’ in yer pocket. It was shaped mighty like a Ranger’s badge. I been wonderin’ if maybe you ain’t a Texas Ranger, an’ if so, why the mask?”
“Perhaps I used to belong to the Texas Rangers, Yuma.”
“Well—” Yuma paused. “Look here, I can’t go on callin’ yuh ‘stranger’; jest what should I call yuh?”
“My closest friend,” the masked man said, “calls me ‘The Lone Ranger.’” He heeled Silver, and the stallion lunged forward. Yuma had to cling to keep from spilling. “Hi-Yo Silver, Away-y-y-y,” the Lone Ranger shouted.
Such speed in a horse was new to Yuma. He gasped at the power in the long, driving legs of white.
“G-g-gosh,” he said against the wind, “this is shore ’nuff a ridin’ hoss! I sort o’ like that name ‘Lone Ranger,’ too!”
CHAPTER XXIV
BRYANT GOES HOME
Bryant Cavendish, sitting in the cave, felt curiously at ease. His wound was almost superficial and, because of the first aid which his masked abductor had applied, caused him no discomfort whatsoever. His only inconvenience was the lashings about his wrists and ankles that made him helpless. Yet it was this helplessness that gave him the odd feeling of being relaxed. For the first time that he could remember, there was not a thing that he felt he should be doing or supervising. With nothing that could be done, he felt no pangs in idleness. He had been furiously angry at first when he realized that he’d been carried away bodily. It was a bitter blow to his pride. The trip from Red Oak had been humiliating as well as exhausting, but now the iron-jawed old man almost gloried in his helplessness.
He sat trying to recall vague moments in the past half day. He could remember little after the shot in his hotel room. He must have been unconscious during most of the trip from Red Oak to the Gap. The masked man was in the Gap when Bryant recovered his senses, and explained in a soft voice exactly where the two were going. Then there had been a session in the cave when the first aid was administered by candlelight. Darkness again, and a resonant, kindly voice that said, “You’ll be all right here for the time being. I’m going to ride out again, but I’ll be here when you waken at daybreak.” Bryant had slept after that, and wakened to find the masked man’s promise fulfilled. The stranger was with him, but not for long. He rode off on the horse called Silver.
Shortly after daybreak Bryant had heard a team and wagon coming close. His shouts were answered when the wagon stopped and an Indian scaled the ledge and entered the cave. Bryant had demanded that the Indian release him, but there had been no sign that the newcomer could understand the white man’s tongue. Bryant resented the manner in which he had been inspected by the redskin, the way the ropes and their knots were critically examined; then the way his bandage was removed, the wound studied carefully and then redressed. The Indian had made no comment whatsoever. He finished his investigation and then left the cave. After a lapse of several moments the team and buckboard moved away. Bryant had noted that the outfit came from the Basin and headed in the opposite direction.
Another hour elapsed, then Yuma came. And when the cowboy came he made it known. His entrance was accompanied by a shout. “You—” he bellowed, “yuh damned dirty schemin’ crook yuh, I had tuh come here an’ tell yuh what I think!”
Bryant looked up with his jaw set in its customary stubborn way.
“Tuh think,” roared Yuma, “that I took cash money from you an’ worked on that murder ranch o’ yores. Thinkin’ o’ that makes me turn green inside. If I had any o’ that cash left I’d ram it down yer gullet an’ hope it’d strangle yuh. Why, you—” Yuma launched into some of the most colorful expressions the Lone Ranger, still outside the cave, had ever heard. “Yuh tried tuh drill me,” he went on. “Fer that I got every right tuh put a bullet through yer gizzard, but I ain’t agoin’ tuh do that. Shootin’ you would be too damned easy fer you. Yore headin’ fer somethin’ aplenty worse than bein’ kilt. Why, yuh even tried tuh double-cross Miss Penny, an’, by damn, that’s goin’ too doggoned far. If yuh knowed the way that purty girl stood up in yore defense an’ sassed right back at anyone that had anything tuh say ag’in yuh—but, shucks, loyalty O’ that sort is somethin’ yore kind wouldn’t savvy.”
“Yuma!” shouted the Lone Ranger from outside. “That will do.”
The masked man entered the cave, and Yuma, turning, noticed that he held a folded paper in his hand. “I told you that you’d stop here just long enough to get a horse, then head for town.”
“Aw-w, I know,” said Yuma apologetically. “I seen this old crook, though, an’ I jest couldn’t help poppin’ off an’ lettin’ him know what I thought o’ him.”
“Well, you’ve said enough. Now take the horse and get started.”
Yuma nodded and passed his masked ally. He dropped over the ledge and checked the cinch on a big bay that stood near Silver. It was a horse that the Lone Ranger had provided. Before he rested in the cave, after his arrival there with Bryant, he had gone to the Basin, found the animal, then saddled it and brought it here. His intention had been to use it for Bryant when the two left their cavern hideout. Now, however, Yuma needed the horse, so the masked man and Bryant would both ride Silver.
Yuma mounted and called, “I’m on my way.” In another moment the cowpuncher was gone. Then the Lone Ranger moved close to Bryant. He spoke softly, “Is there anything you’d care to say to me now?”
Bryant made no reply. He simply stared unblinkingly at the mask.
“Yuma was pretty hard on you,” the Lone Ranger said. “I’m sorry that he acted as he did, but there is still a lot that you don’t understand. Do you feel strong enough to leave here?”
Bryant snarled, “I’m strong enough tuh do anything you do!”
“Good. We are going to your home in the Basin.”
“Sort of nervy, ain’t yuh?”
“Why?”
“Yuh won’t live ten minutes after I git there amongst my men.”
“We’ll see about that. There are some things that I want to tell you. We’ll talk about them as we ride.”
“I ain’t ridin’ in there hog-tied.”
“I’m going to untie you.” It was but the work of a moment to free the old man; then the Lone Ranger aided him to his feet. Bryant tried to push away the masked man’s help, but found himself unable to stand without some aid. Grumbling something about “bein’ weak from loss of blood,” Bryant permitted himself to be helped down the ledge and to the saddle. The Lone Ranger leaped behind him, and the two were on their way.
Wallie was sitting idly on the front porch of the house when the two arrived. He leaped to his feet at the sight of Bryant riding with the masked man. The Lone Ranger already had a gun in readiness, and spoke quite casually when he saw Wallie reaching for a weapon. “I wouldn’t if I were you.”
Wallie’s hand froze to the gun butt. He didn’t draw. “Where did you come from?” he demanded. Then to his uncle he said in a more fawning tone, “Uncle Bryant, I been worried sick about yuh ever since last night when yuh was shot at.”
“The hell you have,” snarled Bryant. “Yuh didn’t stick around town very long tuh see what happened to me.”
“But there wasn’t any use hangin’ around there,” explained the well-dressed one. “We all seen yuh carried off on that white hoss. Right after yuh left, we found that it was Mort that that stranger killed.”
“Mort?” snapped Bryant. “Is he dead?”
Wallie explained the events of the previous night while he helped to ease Bryant Cavendish from the saddle to the ground. The Lone Ranger stood slightly back, letting Wallie help his uncle. His keen eyes shot quick glances in all directions.
The Lone Ranger saw men going casually about their various tasks, but he also saw men who seemed to h
ave no tasks. At least six of these stood idly about, each one, he knew, watching him intently, waiting for a signal from Bryant Cavendish. His life wouldn’t be worth much if the command to capture him were given. He dared not relax his vigilance for a split second.
“We’ll go into the house,” he told Wallie. “I’ll follow you to Bryant’s own bedroom. Get him into bed; he’s pretty tired. I’ll take care of him when he’s there.”
Wallie started to object, but Bryant cut him off shortly. “Do what he says!”
The three crossed the porch and entered the large living room. The masked man noticed that the cordwood, the chair, and the table still made a brace between the beam of the ceiling and the trapdoor in the floor. Bryant asked about the room’s upset condition. Wallie said, “I’ll tell yuh about that later, Uncle Bryant. First of all we want tuh get yuh in bed where yuh c’n rest up.”
“You’ll tell me now,” barked Bryant. “I want tuh know what’s been done tuh this yere room.”
The Lone Ranger stood at the closed door while Wallie told, as briefly as possible, about the capture of the outlaws by the masked man and their subsequent guarding by Tonto. He explained that he had found the Indian on guard when he came in, and that between Tonto and Penelope he had been told the entire story. “I didn’t have any idea,” he said, “that we had killers on the payroll here. I never had much to do with the runnin’ of things, you know.”
“Yuh would have,” retorted Bryant, “if yuh spent more time here an’ less time in Red Oak saloons.”
“I guess it must have been Vince an’ Mort that hired those men,” continued Wallie in a placating manner, “but we’ll see that they’re taken care of, now that we know who they are.”
Bryant Cavendish “h’mphed,” then demanded, “where’s Penny?”
“Oh, I told you last night, Uncle Bryant, that she was to go to Red Oak with the kids an’ stay with that woman I lined up there.”
“I didn’t say it’d be all right fer her tuh go. I told yuh tuh find some female that’d come here an’ take care of the kids!”
“But I thought—”
“Never mind what yuh thought. How’d Penny get tuh Red Oak?”
“Well, she seemed to put a lot o’ trust in that Indian, an’ he was willin’ to drive her there with the buckboard, so I let him do it. They left at daybreak, takin’ the kids with ’em.”
Wallie looked at Bryant as if anticipating an outburst because he’d permitted the girl to leave the Basin in an Indian’s care, but Bryant simply nodded. “I reckon,” he said softly, “Penelope must have passed right by me. Wonder why she didn’t say somethin’ when I yelled. The redskin heard me; why didn’t Penelope?”
His question was not answered. He leaned heavily on the railing of the staircase while Wallie walked beside him with the masked man close behind.
A window in the hallway on the second floor looked out toward the corral. The Lone Ranger glanced in that direction and saw the cowhands, their work ignored, converging on the ranch house. He noticed also that their hands were on the butts of their holstered six-guns. He had noticed something else that didn’t diminish his apprehension. The furniture and firewood that he had placed to block any attempt to leave the cellar vault had been moved since his last visit. True, the table still rested on the trapdoor, but in a slightly different position.
When Bryant finally entered his bedroom, the Lone Ranger closed the door and stood just to one side.
He studied every detail of the big room while Wallie helped old Bryant get into the heavy oak bed at the far wall. The room was well equipped with furniture. There were three large comfortable-looking chairs, a big round table in the center of the room, a desk against one wall, and the usual bedroom equipment of commode, pitcher, and basin. The desk was something to behold. It seemed to have half a hundred pigeonholes, each one of which bulged to the bursting point with folded papers. There was a curious thing about it: in some of the small compartments the papers were tucked in neatly, while in others the assorted documents were jammed in with what appeared to be a careless haste. Another point was that the sloppy-looking pigeonholes were all at one end of the desk. The masked man made a mental note to have a closer look at the desk at his earliest opportunity.
Wallie pulled a counterpane from the foot of the bed and covered Bryant. “Reckon you’ll be all right now, Uncle,” he said consolingly. “If there’s anything more that I c’n do—”
“There ain’t,” barked Bryant.
Wallie looked at the tall man with the mask. “I’ll speak to you in the hall,” the Lone Ranger said.
Willie said, “Right.”
“You lead the way.”
Wallie opened the door and went out with the masked man close behind.
“There are a lot of things,” the Lone Ranger said when the door had been closed, “that I must explain to you, Cavendish. You’re no doubt wondering about the mask I’m wearing. I’ll tell you this much about who I am. I’m a friend of the Indian you found here.”
“I know that much,” said Wallie.
“I came here to find out who directed the murder of those Texas Rangers who were killed in the Gap. You probably have heard that someone wearing moccasins attended to their burial.” The other nodded. “You’ve probably guessed by this time that the man who buried them was that same Indian. Well, that’s the truth. Those men I locked in the basement of this house, of course, had a hand in the massacre, but there was someone who gave them their instructions.”
“Might have been Mort or Vince,” suggested Wallie.
“It might have been, yes, but I doubt it. They wouldn’t run things in such a high-handed way without being told to do so by the boss of the outfit.”
“You mean Uncle Bryant?”
“He’s the owner of this ranch, and all the different brands that are used here are recorded in his name. I understand that he isn’t the type to let someone else boss anything he owns.”
Wallie mused for a moment. “But Bryant ain’t—” He didn’t finish his remark.
“Wasn’t it Bryant himself who helped your brother escape from jail last night in Red Oak?”
“Why should he?” argued the other. “He’s the one that turned Mort over to the law.”
“He turned him over to the law, because Mort was a murderer and Yuma knew it. That act on Bryant’s part would remove him from suspicion. Yet someone helped Mort escape!”
Wallie said, “All this is sure surprisin’ news to me, stranger. I don’t know just what to think about it.”
“I’m telling you,” continued the Lone Ranger, “so you can be ready to tell anything you know when the law men come.”
“Law men?”
“Yuma is bringing them. He’s also bringing a warrant for the arrest of Bryant Cavendish.”
“Arrest? He can’t be arrested on suspicions like yours! No law man would jail an old man on anything as flimsy as that!”
“I didn’t explain,” said the masked man slowly. “Yuma is charging Bryant with attempted murder! That will be enough to jail him! In the meantime, you’ll do well to get your own story straight!”
“Me?”
“You!”
“B-but, stranger,” faltered Wallie, “I—I don’t know anything about the things that go on around here. I’m hardly ever here myself. I don’t like the place. I spend as much time in Red Oak as I can.”
The masked man gripped the other’s upper arm. He was a little bit surprised to find the muscles beneath the fine shirt hard and firm, not flabby as Wallie’s disposition and habits indicated. “Just remember this,” he said: “the mere fact that men like Sawtell, Lonergan, Rangoon, and Lombard are working here is going to call for a lot of explanation. Every one of those four has a substantial reward on his head. You’d better be ready to tell all you know. It will take a lot from you to convince the law men you ar
en’t associated with this gang.”
“I’ve got nothin’ to hide,” said Wallie. “I’ll tell all I know, but that ain’t much. Vince may know a few things, but me, I never hang around the Basin.”
The Lone Ranger nodded. “Very well, then, but remember what I told you.” He was about to re-enter Bryant’s room, but Wallie halted him.
“What do you want?” asked the Ranger.
“You said somethin’ about cattle-stealin’ around here.”
“A lot of cattle has been stolen from ranches around this part of the country.” The masked man explained the means that had been used to rebrand the stolen cattle in the Basin, give the burns a chance to heal, then sell the stock with brands that suited bills of sale. He told of the trail down Thunder Mountain that had been used for shuttling cattle into and out of the Basin. Wallie seemed genuinely amazed to learn that things of this sort had gone on beneath his unsuspecting nose.
“You plan to stay here until the law men come, is that it?” asked Wallie when the masked man finished.
“Yes. I want to have a talk with Bryant. Perhaps I can persuade him to tell all he knows. It will save him a lot of trouble to talk first.”
“He won’t talk,” replied Wallie.
“I don’t know about that.”
“I never knew a more close-lipped, stubborn man in my life. No amount of threatenin’ could loosen his tongue. He’d put up with all the torture an Apache could concoct an’ never say a word.”
“Nevertheless, he’s not a fool. He’s a shrewd man, and his whole life has been made up of weighing the odds, then playing his cards. I have a hunch that he’ll realize the advantage of telling all he can.”
“Why?”
“If he doesn’t, he’ll be in no position to compromise with the law and he’ll spend the rest of his life in jail for trying to murder Yuma. If he’s willing to talk, he might get off scot-free and be allowed to guide the future of his niece.”
Wallie nodded slowly. “Maybe,” he said, “you’re right. I’ll be downstairs to see that those crooks don’t get out of the vault. If there’s anything you want, just holler.”
The Pulp Hero Page 30
