The Lone Ranger Rides

by Fran Striker

  Chapter XXV

  WHO IS ANDREW MUNSON?

  The masked man paused at the door until he heard Wallie reach the firstfloor of the big house. He waited another moment, listening intently,but heard nothing. He wondered where the men were whom he'd seenapproach the house with guns drawn, and what they were doing at themoment. Then he closed the door and would have locked it, but he foundno key.

  Bryant Cavendish lay on the bed, flat on his back. His mouth washalf-open and his eyes were closed. He slept noisily, breathing with athroaty sound. The old man had been through a strenuous ordeal. The LoneRanger stepped to the bed and placed sensitive fingers on the pulse inBryant's wrist. The heartbeat was firm and steady. The sleep,apparently, was normal sleep brought on by sheer exhaustion, notabnormal unconsciousness.

  "Just as well," the masked man muttered. "If he'll stay asleep for alittle while I'll have a look at that desk."

  The desk was old and rather battered. It was a huge affair of oak withmany drawers beneath the two-inch-thick top. Rising from the back of thedesk there was a section divided into many squares. Filled with papers,as these pigeonholes were, it closely resembled an overworked postoffice. The sections on the right were neatly ordered, the papers foldedevenly and tucked in edgewise.

  The masked man glanced about the room. Meticulous order was apparenteverywhere. On the dresser a brush, comb, a large knife and a smallerknife, and a razor were neatly arranged. A shelf above the washstandheld a shaving mug. The brush, instead of being in the mug in sloppyfashion, had been rinsed, and stood on end. The rest of the room wasequally neat. The ordered compartments of the desk were, then, as Bryanthad fixed them. The lefthand pigeonholes were otherwise.

  Papers were jammed in these without regard for order. Some were folded,others just stuffed in; some compartments bulged, while others werebarely half-filled; some papers were on edge, some lay flat. Thecondition of things told a story of a search that had been started atthe extreme left and continued methodically, one compartment at a time,until the object of the search was found. The Lone Ranger reasoned thatthe object, whatever it was, had been in the last disorderedpigeonhole.

  He glanced at Bryant and found him still asleep and snoring. He pulledpapers from the pigeonhole and spread them on the desk top. A fewreceipts of recent date; an envelope with a penciled address on it; abill of sale for twenty head of cattle; a clipping from a St. "Jo" paperthat dealt with a railroad that was contemplated in the West; a pamphletwhich described in glowing terms the curative qualities of DoctorBlaine's Golden Tonic; a sheet of heavy paper, folded twice across, andlabeled, "Bryant Cavendish, His Last Will and Testament."

  The Lone Ranger replaced everything else, then drew another legaldocument from the pocket of his shirt. He unfolded this, and laid it bythe will. The writing in the two was identical; Lonergan's handwriting.The masked man had known there would have to be a will of some sort toaccompany the agreement which the natural heirs had signed forswearingtheir rights to the Cavendish property. He had been anxious to know thename of the individual chosen as heir.

  Penelope and her cousins were mentioned in the will. Each was to receiveten dollars in cash. A lawyer's foresight had, doubtless, dictated themention of them, so that there would be no complaint that Bryant hadforgotten relatives in preparing the will. The balance of the estate,after all just obligations had been paid, was to go to a man namedAndrew Munson. The document described Andrew Munson as a man to whomBryant felt a heavy obligation. It told how Munson must be identified,and omitted no detail. Bryant Cavendish had signed his name at thebottom, and in the proper places there were signatures of witnesses.Until such time as Andrew Munson could be found, the Basin ranch was tobe managed by Bryant's four nephews or, if all four were not alive, bythe survivors.

  "Who," the masked man asked himself, "is Andrew Munson?" He had neverheard the name before. There might be some reference to Munson in thepapers in the desk, but the search through these would have to waituntil a later time. There was something far more urgent that must bedone at once.

  It took several minutes to waken old Bryant Cavendish. When he was fullyawake and growling his complaints at being roused, the Lone Ranger satbeside him on the bed. "Get fully awake, Cavendish," he said.

  Bryant squinted in the light that came from the windows. "Hurts myeyes," he complained in a somewhat sleepy voice.

  The masked man crossed the room and drew the heavy draperies together,cutting out most of the light and making the room quite dim. "Better?"

  "I heard your voice before," Bryant said. "Who are yuh?"

  "We rode from Red Oak together last night, Cavendish. I was with you ina cave until this morning--don't you remember?"

  "I seem tuh. How long I been sleepin'?"

  "Only about half an hour. I'll get you a drink of water. You've got toget wide-awake and listen to me!"

  "I've listened aplenty. I'm done with it. Now get the hell out of here,an' lemme alone. Where is Penelope?"

  The masked man poured water from the pitcher and held it to the oldman's lips while he explained, "Penelope is in Red Oak. She went therethis morning with the children. My friend, the Indian, went with her."

  Bryant drank half the water, then pushed the cup aside. He rubbed hiseyes, then studied the masked man, squinting slightly. "I reckon," hesaid, "I remember things now. So damn much has happened in the pastcouple o' days I can't somehow keep things straight."

  "Are you wide-awake now, Bryant?"

  "Course I am," retorted the old man in a nettled voice. "What d'youwant?"

  "I took your will from the desk. I want you to take a look at it." Apaper was extended toward Bryant. "Is there enough light in here for youto see it?"

  "I don't need tuh see it, I know what's in it!"

  "Examine it anyway."

  "Fer what?"

  "See if it's just the way you want it!"

  "I've got fed up with all these fool stunts of yores, stranger. Now, forthe last time, will yuh leave me be?"

  The Lone Ranger found it difficult to control his anger. Before him,sitting upright in the bed, was the man who was indirectly responsiblefor the murder of those Texas Rangers, whose graves were in the Gap; forBecky's death; the stabbing of Gimlet; possibly even of Rangoon andMort. And this man was asking to be left alone! The masked man'sclenched fists trembled while he fought for self-control. He must, aboveall, keep his voice down. He leaned forward.

  "I want to know," he said softly as he put the will in his pocket, "whoAndrew Munson is."

  Bryant said, "Who?"

  The Lone Ranger repeated the name.

  Cavendish pondered. His eyes held a faraway expression as he gazed at acorner of the ceiling.

  "Answer me, Cavendish--who is Andrew Munson?"

  Bryant turned slowly, and looked at the mask. His frown was deep, andhis voice without emotion. "I never heard the name before."

  The Lone Ranger felt something in him snap. It seemed as if thisstubbornness in Bryant was more than he could bear without an outburst!The strain of the past few days; the fight against his wounds, againstfatigue and pain; the bitterness of seeing good friends die ... all ofthese things seemed to roll together in a choking bitter mass that madehim speechless. His hands reached out and gripped Cavendish. "You," hewhispered in a hoarse, tense voice, "must be shown!"

  With strength born of desperation, the Lone Ranger lifted Bryant as ifhe weighed nothing, and hauled him from the bed. His unanswered questionwas ringing in his brain.

  "Who is Andrew Munson!"