This one is dedicated, respectfully, to Cheri.

LUNCHDATE AT THE O.K. CORRAL

by

Owlcroft

Judge Hardcastle looked at the younger man suspiciously. "I don't trust you, McCormick."

"Judge! Come on!" Mark laughed. "When have I ever lied to you?"

Hardcastle squinted at him derisively. "Sit down. The list'll take a while."

"Okay, okay. Maybe once," Mark replied. "Or," in response to a snort, "maybe even twice. But I promise, cross-my-heart, swear on a Bible, this is not a surprise party. It's just a place I want to take you for lunch. And besides, your birthday's not until tomorrow, anyway. Honestly, what a guy has to go through to buy you lunch!"

"Well . . ." The judge realized maybe he had been a little unappreciative of the offer. "That's really nice. But why a place in Calabasas? Why not a place on the pier or Barney's Beanery or something?"

McCormick was finding the judge's cowboy hat on the shelf in the closet. "Because we're meeting somebody that lives in Calabasas, all right? There, the secret's out. You tortured me until I gave up. I want you to meet somebody special and I wanted it to be a surprise, but you wouldn't quit, would you, Hardcase? Now, here, put this on. It's cowboy country out there and we want to blend in."

"So, where'd you meet this one?" The judge was settling his hat just so and re-checking his bolo tie. "And that's why you got me all dressed up, huh?"

"Yes, that's why I got you all dressed up and if we don't get started now, we're gonna be late. Come on, come on, come on." Mark acted like a hen with one chick, shooing the judge out the door and into the Coyote.

"So how come you're not all fancied up? It's your date." Hardcastle held onto his hat as the car turned onto the PCH.

"Oh, no." Mark shot one quick glance at him. "No more questions. You've already ruined the surprise." He moved into the fast lane and continued, "Listen. About tomorrow. I thought maybe we could go to the Heritage Square Museum and then catch a ballgame. The Giants are in town and it's Hershiser against Krukow tomorrow night. What do you think? I mean, it's your birthday. Does that sound good?"

Hardcastle nodded. "Sure. Sounds great. We could have some hot dogs at the game, maybe catch a foul ball."

McCormick turned left onto a road running east toward Calabasas. "Or there's the William S. Hart Ranch. I know you've wanted to go there. I looked it up on the map and it's only about an hour's drive. Wanna do that?"

"That would be terrific. Catch a little lunch somewhere and head out to Santa Clarita."

"Or we could go up to the lake and do some fishing." Mark kept glancing at the judge. "Or how about dinner at Louie's? You said you wanted to check out the jazz band there."

Hardcastle smiled. "Look, kid. Stop trying so hard. Whatever we end up doing, it'll be fine. I thought you were all over what happened last year."

McCormick bit his lip. "I don't think you ever get over something like that. You just get used to it. I mean, you live with it, you know? It's over and you go on, but it hap-pened and . . . you don't forget about it. You just don't think about it as often."

"No, you don't forget it." Hardcastle was holding into the brim of his hat to keep it from flying off. "But you do have to stop feeling guilty about it. Or whatever it is that you're feeling. It's not like you have to make this year extra-special to compensate for last year. Anything you've got planned will be okay with me." He turned his head toward McCormick. "Except a surprise party." he said firmly.

Mark laughed and shook his head. "I don't believe you! For the last time, Judge, there is no surprise party. At least, I haven't planned one and if somebody else did, they didn't invite me. And if I do ever throw you a surprise party, I'll tell you about it first, okay?"

"Well, that means it wouldn't be a surprise, would it?" Hardcastle was smiling into the wind.

"Yeah, but that's just the kind of surprise I'd pull."

ooooo

The Coyote pulled up in front of a terraced brick restaurant called The Squash Blossom.

"This is the place?" said the judge curiously. "Never heard of it." Realizing that might sound ungrateful, he added, "But it looks real nice."

"Well," Mark had climbed out and was waiting for him, "it was recommended by the person we're meeting. I made a reservation for a table outside. Is that okay? You think it might be too cool?"

Hardcastle grimaced. "Are you trying to make me feel old? Knock it off already."

As they entered the restaurant, Mark looked around and then approached the hostess. "My name's McCormick. We have a reservation for an outside table?"

"Yes, Mr. McCormick. We'll have your table ready in just moment. Would you like to wait at the bar?"

"Yeah, that'll be fine." He looked around again and turned to the older man. "Uh, Judge. I'm just gonna hit the men's room real quick. I'll meet you in the bar, okay?"

The judge waved a hand, "Fine," and followed the hostess to a room filled with small tables and Western decor. There were Remington prints on the wall, serapes on the tables, and a large photograph behind the bar itself that drew him like a magnet. He leaned on the polished mahogany, admiring the photo of The Lone Ranger on a rearing Silver.

"I was a lot younger then," said a deep, husky voice from behind him. "But I guess we all were."

Hardcastle was in frozen in place.

That distinctive, unforgettable voice continued, "You must be Milt Hardcastle. Your . . . sidekick . . . back there told me a lot about you."

The judge finally managed to turn around. He stood drinking in the sight of the man in front of him; a man about his own age, wearing a white cowboy hat, and smiling at him.

"I don't believe this." Hardcastle shook his head gently. "I really just don't believe it."

The other man extended a hand. "Happy birthday, Milt. Can I call you Milt? I think we have a lot in common from all I've heard about you."

The two men shook and the judge's trance eased enough for him to notice Mark off in a corner with a beer, grinning maniacally.

"You've heard about me?" Hardcastle didn't know what to say.

"Yep. Quite a bit. In fact, I'd heard of your . . . well, your quest for justice even before Mark contacted me. When he explained how you've always tried to live your life by the Lone Ranger Creed, I just had to meet you and tell you what a fan I am."

"You had to tell me?" The judge was past flabbergasted and well on the way to stunned.

"Look, Milt." Hardcastle was being gently led to a table. "I'm an actor. Yes, I've tried to live the way the Ranger should, to be the Lone Ranger, but you're an actual servant of justice. You protect the good folks and round up the bad ones in real life. That makes you a hero in my book. I would consider it quite an honor to buy you lunch."

Judge Hardcastle was grinning rather maniacally himself by now. "And that damn kid set this up. For my birthday."

Mark lifted his mug of beer to the two men at the table and strolled out into the restaurant.

"Yes, he did. And I've got a good two hours before I'm due at an autograph session. What do you say we spend them re-living 'those thrilling days of yesteryear'?"

ooooo

Judge Hardcastle just couldn't stop smiling. Or looking at the autographed silver bullet. "That was one hell of a present, kiddo. You're never gonna top that, not if I live to be a hundred."

"Well, I hope you do, Judge. But you'd have a better chance if you'd put that thing away. It's reflecting the sun right at me." Mark was smiling almost as broadly as the judge.

"I still really can't believe he wanted to meet me. He's such a great guy. Ya know, he really does try to live by the Lone Ranger's Creed."

"I know, I know. That was one of the big reasons he wanted to meet you. He said there aren't too many people who have the whole thing memorized." Mark flipped on his right turn signal as they approached the PCH. "He was really nice about everything and talked to me on the phone for a long time."

Hardcastle shaded his eyes from the sun. "Yeah, he's a helluva guy. And he told me about how you tracked him down. You must've put in a long time on this."

"Nah. I got contacts in the law, ya know," Mark said lightly. "So, was this better than a surprise party?"

"Hah!" The judge threw back his head. "I'll never forget this birthday, I can tell ya that! Incredible!" He sat and smiled and remembered the past three hours until the Coyote passed under the Gull's Way arch. "You don't know the Ranger's Creed, do ya, kiddo?"

Mark shook his head. "Nope." He parked right in front of the steps to the main house.

Judge Hardcastle climbed out of the car and turned to look at Mark. "You oughta know the first line, though." He was still smiling, but more affectionately than gleefully.

"Okay, what is it?" Mark joined him at the steps.

"'To have a friend, a man must be one.'"