LR01-The Summer of '78
by VStarTraveler
Summary: While cleaning out the attic following the death of his mother, a man discovers a packet of documents that reveals his late father's long-hidden secret from a summer long ago. Chapter 1 is my entry in the WA Alternate Format Challenge.
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction, written entirely for fun and not for profit, which is meant to fit into the 1940s-1950s version of The Lone Ranger TV show, starring Clayton Moore as our masked hero and Jay Silverheels as his trusty companion. This interpretation of that particular version of The Lone Ranger, and any other properties that may be mentioned, is entirely my own, and The Lone Ranger, all of its various components, and any other works remain the property of their respective owners.
A brief Lone Ranger fandom primer:
Six Texas Rangers led by Ranger Dan Reid were chasing the members of the Butch Cavendish Gang when they were ambushed in a box canyon and all were killed; however, an American Indian named Tonto found the bodies only to discover that one, Reid's younger brother and Tonto's own blood brother from their teenage years, still clung to life.
When finally nursed back to health, the surviving Ranger decided to remain "dead" by digging a sixth grave in order to be able to pursue the Cavendish Gang without endangering his family or friends. Using a black mask cut from his late brother Dan's vest, the surviving Ranger took on the identity of the "Lone Ranger." Determined to capture criminals and let the law mete out justice, he used his great intelligence, excellent hand-to-hand fighting skills, and superior gunfighting ability to shoot to disable or wound rather than kill. The Lone Ranger also used bullets cast from silver mined from his family's mine by retired Ranger Jim Blaine, the only other person who knew his true identity. The silver bullets were a constant reminder to him of the sanctity of life and came to be a way of identifying him to those throughout the West.
Astride their great horses Silver and Scout, the Lone Ranger and Tonto eventually tracked down and captured all of the members of the Cavendish Gang. They then spent years traveling the American West and helping those in need where often the law could or would not go, usually tracking down and capturing criminals but sometimes helping in other ways.
Approximately 13 years after taking the mask, the Lone Ranger discovered his nephew Dan and took responsibility for the boy following the death of Grandma Frisby. She had raised the boy since he was a baby following his mother's death. She was killed in an attack on a wagon train while on her way to join her husband in Texas at about the same time Dan Senior was killed in the canyon. Young Dan would spend the school year in the East getting the best education possible but would journey to the West each year with his horse Victor, Silver's son, to spend part of the summer with his uncle and Tonto in their pursuit of justice.
The adventures of the Lone Ranger and Tonto, and on occasion, young Dan, played out over years of radio episodes, movie serials, 221 TV episodes, and 2 feature films. Since then, there have been two other feature films, a TV pilot, and 26 episodes of a Saturday morning animated TV series.
If you're interested in reading more about the Lone Ranger's origin, I recommend Fanfiction author Closet Scrawler's excellent work entitled "The Lone Ranger."
As was sometimes said in the lead in to the show, return with us now to those thrilling days of yesteryear. The Lone Ranger rides again!
Chapter 1: The Discovery
The Daily Sentinel, page 1, above the fold, March 5th edition:
...spent her later years following her husband's passing as one of the city's leading philanthropists. In addition to several nieces and nephews, she is survived by her son Britt, current owner and publisher of this newspaper, his wife Lenore (Case), grandson Britt, Jr., and granddaughter Diana. Services will be held at…
~LR~
Last Will and Testament:
...Finally, I leave to my son Britt my home and all other worldly possessions not heretofore dispensed in this will.
~LR~
Later that summer, sign in front of a largish bungalow on a quiet street in the city's Belle Isle district:
Grifford Realty
HOME FOR SALE
2,900 SF—Immaculate!
For more information, call
Robert Grifford
555-7942
~LR~
Phone message in very neat handwriting dated Tuesday, October 2nd:
From: Bob Grifford
Message: Closing next Thursday, 10/11. Everything OUT of the attic! PLEASE! Will call Mon. w/ more details.
A second note in his secretary's hurriedly-scrawled handwriting added: This is the third time Mr. Grifford has called. You can't keep avoiding him or this. I'm putting him through if he calls again!
~LR~
Saturday, 10/6, 9:07 AM:
Swaying gently in the cool wind, the Grifford Realty sign had an "UNDER CONTRACT" placard hanging under it on a pair of hooks when the black car pulled into the driveway.
The man got out of the car and gathered several empty boxes from the back seat. Walking up the steps to the wrap-around porch, Britt Reid opened the front door of the house with his key and then proceeded up the stairs to the attic to finish cutting the final connection with his childhood.
~LR~
10:49 AM:
Five boxes marked "Trash" were stacked by the curb. Britt placed a second box marked "Donate" in the trunk of the car first along with a single box marked "Keep." Then he went up the steps and back inside to look in one last box he'd found tucked away in the very back corner of the attic.
~LR~
Very old box marked "Dan's College Papers":
The box was heavy, filled to the brim with papers. A quick glance revealed that most were old and faded almost to the point of illegibility. Britt was about to toss the entire thing but while digging down at one end of the box, he stopped when his hand touched something unexpected near the bottom. Somewhat frustrated at the discovery, he shifted the stack to free the item. Pulling it out, he saw a leather pouch bound with a rawhide thong; it looked strangely rustic in comparison to everything else he'd seen that morning.
The thong broke in a puff of dust as he tried to untie it. Opening the flap, he found an oilskin-wrapped packet tied with a second cord. He cut this one and unfolded the old cloth to find a leather-bound book that seemed to bulge at the center. Turning it, he saw there were papers of various sizes tucked inside. He carefully opened the book and just inside the front cover found a yellowed envelope addressed to:
Master Dan Reid, Jr.
Harvard College General Delivery
Cambridge, Massachusetts
~LR~
Letter dated April 9, 1878:
My dear nephew,
It was with great delight that I received your reply of February 27 of this year. Congratulations on being accepted into the law school; I understand why you decided to wait to choose whether law was really your ultimate profession. Hopefully the experiences you've gained in your years at our alma mater have led you through and past the doubts you expressed in our campfire discussions over the years. I wish only the best for you in whatever profession you ultimately follow.
Your understanding of my situation and reasoning on not being able to provide a letter of endorsement for your application is greatly appreciated. With your outstanding underclass achievements, I hardly felt such an endorsement by my hand would have been very helpful anyway, but considering your law school admission essay, Professor Rotier or one of the other members from the Committee might possibly have remembered me from our very lively classroom debates. This could potentially endanger the good works that we are attempting to accomplish...
As far as Britt knew, his father had only one uncle, John. From a couple of trips to the elderly man's home in Texas during his childhood, Britt's Great Uncle John had been a lawman before becoming a local judge, which seemed to be appropriate for what the letter said. He read through several more paragraphs discussing personal issues when he read this:
...very glad that you will be able to join us again this summer during your break prior to matriculating in the fall. The past six summers you have spent with us have been among the most rewarding since we started our efforts; to see your progress at these stages as I have done would thrill your father and mother as well as your Grandma Frisby if they still survived. Jim B. has made a recent deposit to your account (see enclosed receipt) so you will have adequate funds to arrange your travels as well as covering your fees for the coming school year and beyond. We will meet you on Wednesday, June 12th at the
Britt turned the page but saw the remainder of the letter appeared to be missing.
He knew his father had graduated from Harvard with a law degree before getting the urge to first become a corresponding reporter and later found his own very successful newspaper that Britt had run for the past twenty years. Father had always wanted to right wrongs and shine a cleansing light on the dark dealings of corrupt politicians and criminals.
He carefully refolded the paper, put it back in the envelope, and restored it to its original position before turning to the first page of the book.
~LR~
Monday, 10 June 1878:
Based on my trips from the Boston station by various routes through the north and into the west over the past few years, it appears that train travel is now much more convenient and efficient. Uncle J. always says to be prepared for anything, leaving a couple of extra days built into the schedule when traveling for the inevitable breakdown or track washout or bridge collapse. I laugh when he mentions that last one since only he would even consider that as a real possibility.
However, T. always says that Uncle J. always thinks of everything and that's why he's so successful at what he does. I've seen it, too; when we sometimes play chess during our evenings around the campfire, he's always thinking so many moves ahead. When one has to go up against some of the worst elements in the West, his forethought is often the only thing that keeps him alive.
Tuesday, 11 June 1878:
Just as I suspected yesterday, the railroad actually kept the schedule and I've arrived in Corbin, Texas, a full day ahead of our planned meeting date. Victor was so glad when I walked him down that ramp from the livestock car. I'm in my room in the hotel now dropping things off before I take him on the ride I promised. He needs the exercise after the past few days of traveling, as well as a second apple. We're going to take a good ride a short distance out of town but avoid the spot where we're to meet Uncle J. and T. tomorrow since he's always told me not to telegraph my upcoming moves to anyone who may be watching. Doing so might endanger not only me, but also him and his work.
I'm going to visit the general store this afternoon and pick up some supplies that I suspect they'll greatly appreciate. I'm looking forward to seeing what Uncle J. and T are working on now and hope that I'll be able to really contribute this summer. I've kept up my physical regimen, and Victor's, as well as my regular practice with all the many tricks Uncle J. has taught me. I'm looking forward to showing him my new Colt .45 Army, too. It's not fancy like his, though I did choose the stag horn stock option. I've been practicing with it all winter and spring so I hope he thinks I'm good enough. Really, though, I hope I don't have to use it.
~LR~
Britt paused. Colt Single Action Army, .45 caliber, commonly known as the Peacemaker. Extremely effective weapon in the right hands. Dad carried one? He had mentioned being in that posse once, but his only interaction with firearms during Britt's youth was when they went target shooting and later deer hunting with rifles. Personally, Britt preferred an M1911 semi-automatic or, on occasion, the Thompson kept in the secret compartment in the trunk of Black Beauty. Same basic caliber, but much higher firepower.
He smiled as he turned the page and continued.
~LR~
9:45 PM: I was in the general store late this afternoon picking up the supplies when I heard gunfire a little way down the street. I ran to the front door and peeked out (Uncle J. says never run blindly into a situation if you can avoid it) while the shopkeeper was slamming the inside shutters. He told me "In or out" when he got to the door, so I stepped out just after I saw four men gallop by on their horses, heading out of town to the northwest. One of them was a big burly man with a broad Mexican-style sombrero. He was wearing a bandana as a mask over the lower part of his face but his eyes seemed to light up when he saw me in that doorway and his head swiveled around toward me as if he recognized me. I wasn't sure but I could have sworn I recognized him, too. I didn't believe it was possible at the time.
I ran up the street to find the town marshal organizing a posse to chase the four, who had just robbed the bank. I tried to give the marshal their description, but he told me not to bother since it was the Cardoza Gang that had pulled the heist.
For someone who tries to be so measured in my endeavors at school, I must have looked like a wreck since the marshal asked me if something was wrong.
I told him, "The Cardoza Gang? Sir, that can't be, at least not the same old Cardoza Gang. I know for a fact that Juan Pedro Cardoza was sent to prison three summers ago."
I didn't bother adding that his gang had captured me while I was trying to keep them away from the badly wounded Ranger Barnett, but with some help from Uncle J. and T., I was able to turn the tables on him while they captured the rest of the gang.
~LR~
Britt laughed at the thought of his father capturing a real, live, wild west bad guy. This was the start of a novel! It had to be! He'd always known of his dad's excellent writing ability, but he'd never known that his father also had a penchant for fiction, especially placing himself into the work as the hero. Controlling his laughter, he continued.
~LR~
The marshal, a man named Frances, shook his head and told me, "New and different Cardoza gang but the same old nasty Juan Pedro Cardoza. He escaped from the state prison in Huntsville three months ago and has put together a new gang. This is at least the fourth bank they've robbed crossing Texas as they've made their way north."
So many bad memories flooded my mind of how that man had almost killed me after his henchmen had captured me leading them away from Ranger Barnett. The nightmares of the torture I endured at his hand still wake me from time to time.
Marshal Frances didn't have time to deal with a daydreaming college kid as I tried to put thoughts of my encounter with Cardoza out of my mind, so he told me there were some recently received Wanted posters on the wall at the jail. I went over to look. The guy in the poster was definitely the same Cardoza, and I'm pretty sure that was him wearing the sombrero and looking at me. I took one of the copies with me to show Uncle J. The posse thundered out of town after the robbers, but most of them came back around dark, saying they'd lost the trail...
Faded, folded paper, tucked in the pages of the book:
WANTED!
DEAD OR ALIVE!
JUAN PEDRO CARDOZA
Leader of the infamous Cardoza Gang
for bank robbery, prison break, and other crimes.
Armed and Dangerous!
$2,500 REWARD!
~LR~
The image on the paper was faded like the print, but it did look surprisingly authentic. Britt began to wonder if perhaps he was missing something.
~LR~
Wednesday, 12 June 1878:
The first day back with Uncle J. and T. is always so exciting and this was no exception. I met them at noon as planned and told them about the bank robbery yesterday. Somehow, T. had already found out about it and I was even more surprised when Uncle J. said they'd been tracking the new Cardoza gang for over two weeks. He was worried that he was going to have to send word to me of a change in plans and then meet me elsewhere, but then the bandits headed this way.
~LR~
Britt's interest intensified. So was this what his father had meant about that posse? He continued reading.
~LR~
After our initial greetings and discussions, Uncle J. became more serious.
He said, "Dan, Tonto and I chase down and capture criminals because it's what we've devoted our lives to doing. We put our lives on the line every time we go after outlaws and bring them in for justice so someday the 'wild west' will be tamed and suitable for people to walk down the street without the fear of being shot down in their tracks."
It's always hard to tell what he's thinking behind that mask, with only his eyes to give away his feelings, but I could tell that something was bothering him as he paused for a moment before continuing.
"I know that it was quite a scare the last time you met Cardoza. The man was threatening you, he and his men beat you really badly, and they could have killed you at any time if you'd told them Ranger Barnett's location or if he'd just decided to forget about him. It would be natural for you to have bad memories of that event, or even nightmares, but that's not the end of it."
Grandma Frisby taught me not to lie and Uncle J. and T. reinforced that over the years, but this was one time when, once I realized where the discussion was going, I lied through my teeth. "Uncle John, it's okay. I haven't had anything like that and I understand the danger now. I'm here to help."
He shook his head slowly and replied, "Dan, we love having you here to visit with us and to help us; you've faced danger with us a number of times before, but this is different. Cardoza may have it in for you since you captured him last time, and he may not hesitate to kill you immediately if he gets the chance. I—"
He paused, as if choked up, but covering it well just as the mask conceals his identity and his emotions. It took him a moment before he continued, saying, "I want to send you somewhere safe and meet you afterward. I don't want to put you in such danger, or to put the responsibility for your safety on Tonto's head, and I don't know if I could live with myself if I let something happen to you."
I stepped forward and clasped his hand as I replied, "Uncle J., I'm old enough now to make my own decision on this. I choose to help and I'm going to. If you waste time trying to send me away, I'll just come back. I told you I'm here to help. I'm going to help."
He pulled me in tight and gave me a hug. There was a whispered, "I'm proud of you, Dan, and I love you."
I couldn't see them but I know he had tears in his eyes since I had them in mine.
~LR~
Britt Reid was confused as he read the page. This wasn't like his father, the mild mannered man who only became a lion in the publisher's office or at the editor's desk. This man about whom he was reading was much more like himself than his father...except for the tears. He turned the page...
~LR~
Friday, 14 June 1878:
It's been a hard two and a half days of riding. We stopped late last night and I fell asleep right after a quick dinner. We were up before dawn and back on the trail this morning. Since we never located their tracks, we can only hope we're on the right trail. Both Uncle J. and T. can track anything better than any two men in the West, but when Tonto says there's nothing to track like now, there's generally nothing that can be done. However, Uncle J. often seems to be able to predict their basic plan even before they actually do it which seems to give him a pretty good idea of their ultimate destination.
That's the thing about Uncle J.: he catches criminals. At Harvard College, the professors tell us we should always say "the accused" until the person is found guilty. While that's true, many of the people that Uncle J. chases and catches are escaped criminals like Juan Pedro Cardoza who've already been convicted. In addition, of those he's caught following current crimes, I think they've always been convicted, so he knows a lot about the criminal mind, what they want, and how they think. The only time I've ever seen Uncle J. get a little bit mad at T. was when he was talking about this very thing.
T. told Uncle J. that "he would make the best criminal in the West if he ever decided to become one" (that's my translation of my recollection of what T. said. His English has continued to improve over the years, but he's still not that good!). Uncle J. told him that wasn't funny and that there were no 'best criminals'. My laughter probably didn't help matters.
Uncle J. just told me I better get to sleep. He said we have another hard day ahead tomorrow and then decisions to make. I'm not sure what he means.
Saturday, 15 June 1878:
I remember that first summer following Grandma Frisby's death when I joined Uncle J. in the West for the first time. I had just turned 14 years old and barely knew him. He'd sent me to a boarding school in Connecticut for some education the previous fall after she'd told him who I was and he'd revealed himself to her as my late father's younger brother. Grandma told me that I could trust him, that he would take care of me, and then the only mother I'd ever known died. She told me this and then he sent me away. That hurt so much and I thought I, a 13 year old kid, was being abandoned forever. I really never expected to see or even hear from him again, but, to my surprise, he stayed in touch with regular letters, telegrams, and even occasional gifts. By mid-winter, he was already making arrangements for my first visit during the summer break.
While I'd grown up on Grandma's farm and had spent most of a year at the boarding school (which went a lot better than I could have ever envisioned), I thought I knew a lot, but it turned out that I was greener than grass as she would say. Uncle J. and T. welcomed me and then spent most of two months teaching me everything from trailcraft to camp lore to wrestling and some really basic fighting techniques. They taught me how to really ride a horse and to rope, but most importantly, to think. When it was time to go back East after about two months together, Uncle J. gave me a little book in which he must have spent hours (days?) writing extra lessons and assignments for that school year. I remember some of them to this day, but the most memorable ones were while sitting around the campfire that first summer.
Uncle J. would take the most common sights and turn them into great lessons that I hope I'll be able to share with my kids someday, if I'm ever blessed with any. One of the first (and most memorable) was the fly and the cracker tin.
"Dan," he said, "you've swatted at that fly four times in the last two minutes. Take this cracker tin and catch it without hurting it."
He handed me the empty tin and gave me an expectant look as if it should be the easiest thing in the world.
T. was nodding as he did it, and I thought I heard him say, "Right good lesson, Kemosabe."
Trying to even see that fly in the dim light of the campfire, I thought they were both crazy. Still, I got up and gave it a "right good" try, chasing that fly (or one of his countless relatives) around for several minutes.
"Time!" said Uncle J., as he sometimes did when I was trying various tasks. When he looked in the tin, of course it was empty, since I hadn't even remembered to put the top on it. He handed it to T. and said, "Tonto, can you demonstrate another method?"
T. reached into the supplies, pulled out something I couldn't see, and then stuck his hand down in the tin. He set the tin down over to the side, and didn't even get up. Uncle J. called "Time!" a couple of minutes later and T. put the top on the tin.
Close to the fire so we could see, Uncle J. let me watch as he pulled the top off. Down in the bottom were three flies, which promptly flew away.
"Dan, when dealing with flies, it's easier to catch them when you smear a little honey in the trap than it is to chase them all over the countryside. We often find that criminals are a bit like flies. End of lesson."
He never spent another moment explaining that lesson, but I've thought a lot about the sense it made over the years, particularly after watching him in action that summer.
Tonight, while studying his map next to the campfire, he pointed to Jeffersonville, a little town about 30 miles to the northwest and said, "This looks like a good spot to spread a little honey."
~LR~
Sunday, 16 June, through Tuesday, 18 June 1878:
The past three days have been so hectic that I haven't had time to write until now and I'm so tired I can't remember much less record it all at the moment. We got up early on Sunday the 16th and rode hard for the little town of Jeffersonville, Texas. I think it was about 40 or 45 miles by trail versus the 30 miles or so on Uncle J.'s map. Victor was about spent (thank goodness for Uncle J. sending me that conditioning regimen for him a couple of months back; without it he wouldn't have made it, even as strong as he is!), while Silver and Scout looked like they could have gone that much further. We got there just before the morning service was over and Uncle J. entered town in disguise to go talk to the sheriff and the bank president when they came out of the church building. Tonto set up camp outside of town while I went to the telegraph office to send a message to our old friend Ranger Roy Barnett.
Oh, I can't keep my eyes open. I'm going to leave a space and try to record the rest of this tomorrow night.
~LR~
The rest of that page and the next two pages were blank, but there were several things tucked into the fold. Britt pulled out the first one.
~LR~
Body of an untitled newspaper clipping with a handwritten note: "from the Jeffersonville Chronicle, June 19":
There was great excitement in the fair city of Jeffersonville, Texas, on Tuesday as the notorious Cardoza Gang came to town with evil intent. Led by a convict recently escaped from the Texas State Penitentiary in Huntsville, the infamous Juan Pedro Cardoza, the newly reconstituted outlaw gang thought to rob the Bank of Jeffersonville soon after the arrival of a major gold shipment said to be for financing construction of the railroad spur from Corbin. What Señor Cardoza and the members of his gang didn't know was that word of the gold shipment, which appeared in the announcements in this paper on Monday, was fake, being spread by Jeffersonville sheriff Robert "Hondo" Tanner at the behest of an unidentified but "great friend of law enforcement."
With the Cardoza Gang having already robbed four banks in cities across Texas and known to be in the area and headed toward our good city, Mrs. Willard Purdom, owner and president of the Bank of Jeffersonville following the recent passing of her husband, the bank founder, agreed to the plan to offer what seemed to be easy pickings to the gang in return for enhanced security and the chance of permanently putting the gang members behind bars.
The bank shut down at noon on Tuesday and the purported gold shipment arrived at the bank by wagon just minutes later. It was quickly taken inside by a somewhat elderly driver, his assistant on shotgun, another man identified as an Indian, and a young hireling. It was not immediately apparent if anyone noticed when only the driver left the bank and drove the wagon away. The bank reopened a short time later.
The five members of the Cardoza Gang reined their horses to a stop just outside the bank at about 2 PM during the sweltering heat of the day. They rushed inside, pulling their revolvers as they did so, to commit their foul deed; however, they were surprised on entering to find Mrs. Purdom and several armed men, including a masked man, waiting for them. The masked man, who Mrs. Purdom identified as the elderly wagon driver, had reentered the bank disguised as a customer before switching into his regular clothing.
On seeing the armed robbers, Mrs. Purdom screamed and dropped behind the bank teller's counter as the masked man fired two shots, amazingly knocking the guns out of two robbers' hands. Disarmed, injured, and unable to even pick up their weapons, they both surrendered immediately. Texas Ranger Roy Barnett, who had arrived in town just hours earlier and who had been on shotgun in the wagon, and the unidentified Indian fought with two of the other robbers while the supposedly fearless leader, Señor Cardoza, turned to flee, only to be tripped by the young hireling. Cardoza dropped his gun in the process.
Mrs. Purdom, who said that she was now looking over the counter, reported that Cardoza jumped back to his feet and was charging the young man to tackle him when the lithe fellow sidestepped the Mexican toro's charge and got a couple of good punches in on him. The much larger Cardoza seemed to recognize his thin opponent and roared in anger as he turned and charged again.
~LR~
The words in the journal were almost surreal, as if from a dime novel, but the published description of the fight took him aback. Dan Reid, Jr., Britt's father, had really been involved in a fight with a criminal? This wasn't just the plot for a book his dad had been writing while on vacation with his uncle? Britt remembered any number of fights during his former nights out with Kato that could have been described somewhat similarly, but that his father was involved in such a manner was more of a surprise with each passing line. The article continued.
~LR~
"The outlaw chief was very upset at the young man for some reason," reported Mrs. Purdom, "but the young fellow stood his ground and punched back when Cardoza swung at him." Mrs. Purdom also said that Cardoza must have been trying to trick the youngster, since he turned and dived for his gun when he was close enough to it. However, as he was bringing it around, the young man was able to pull his own pistol and aim it right at him, telling him to stop. "He told him 'I don't want to shoot you, but I'm not afraid to do it if you keep moving,'" claimed Mrs. Purdom. "Señor Cardoza hesitated for a second and then started laughing as he must have realized the young man was deadly serious." Cardoza surrendered to the young man and Sheriff Tanner arrived a few moments later with seven armed townsmen to haul the whole gang off to the Jeffersonville jail where they are being kept while awaiting trial.
When asked the identity of the men who assisted with the capture, Ranger Barnett said, "Three of a lawman's best friends." Ranger Barnett refused to elaborate, and neither Sheriff Tanner nor Mrs. Purdom would comment further about them. The Chronicle will bring word on the attempted robbery or those who foiled it to the good citizens of Jeffersonville as more information becomes available.
~LR~
Barely legible hand-written letter dated June 24, 1878:
Dan,
Greetings. Thank you again for the alert that allowed me to get to Jeffersonville in time to be in on the capture. The look on Cardoza's face when he saw both of us was well worth the saddle sores from that long hard ride getting there. I still have to swap out a couple of horses to get my Johnny-boy back.
We had the trial in Corbin today for the bank robbery here after they've already been convicted of the attempted robbery in Jeffersonville. All of the members of the Cardoza gang, including the ever blustery Juan Pedro himself, were found guilty as sin and sentenced to 15 to 20 years in the state pen. We're taking them to stand trial for the other three robberies in turn before hauling them down to Huntsville. Once he's there, with the added time for the robberies and the escape, Cardoza won't even think of getting out again until he's around 100 years old. Of course, if that poor man he shot in the second robbery has died, Cardoza could get the rope right there instead of the return trip to the pen.
Enclosed is a copy of the article from the Jeffersonville Chronicle's edition of the 19th that I clipped for you since I thought you might find it interesting.
Forever in your debt,
Roy Barnett,
Texas Ranger
~LR~
The journal, entry following the blank pages, entitled Tuesday, June 18, continued:
Note: I'm writing this a couple of days later and still hope to fill in the rest of the story soon, but Uncle J. has us on the run looking for a couple of highwaymen who've been robbing travelers in the area.
18th: I've spent so much time over the past few years reliving that awful experience with Juan Pedro Cardoza that I was surprised at how calm I was after I got through the initial fear. I'm really glad I didn't have to shoot him, but I'm pretty sure I would have done it if he'd made me. Fortunately, I didn't have to find out.
With Cardoza and his men in jail, we got ready to leave Jeffersonville since Uncle J. never likes to deal with the inevitable thanks that come his way. He likes nothing better than to slip away as discreetly as he came on the scene, but this time I almost laughed as we ran into Ranger Barnett, Sheriff Tanner, and Mrs. Purdom from the bank coming back with the local prosecutor to see the prisoners since she could identify them and would be the best witness against them. After all, she'd spent most of the fight peeking over the counter watching it. Uncle J. and T. sidestepped and went on by them but Mrs. Purdom caught my arm and thanked me profusely. I told her she was welcome but "It's just what we do to try to help make the West safer for everyone."
Cardoza, in his cell, must have overheard me say this because he came to the bars and started bellowing as he is wont to do. I would think the man must not like me very much since this is the second time I've put him in jail, but he seems to at least have some respect for me. He started talking about me having the heart of a mountain lion. I almost laughed since he said I fought like one last time; maybe I've moved up a bit in his eyes?
I, too, slipped on by then and was heading through the door when Mrs. Purdom exclaimed that she hadn't gotten to thank the masked man and the Indian and that she didn't even know their names.
I was untying Victor and getting ready to ride after T. & Uncle J., but before the door swung closed, I heard Ranger Barnett tell her, "Ma'am, they're just like the kid. They don't ask for rewards or even thanks; they give freely to those in need. They're Tonto and the Lone Ranger!"
~LR~
Saturday, 10/6, 11:42 AM:
Over the initial shock that the story was apparently real, Britt Reid was smiling as he glanced at his wristwatch and slowly closed the book. There were many more pages that he looked forward to reading later.
As he picked up the box of papers with the book on top and walked down the steps out of the attic, he thought back to shortly before his father's passing when he revealed his own late-night activities as the crime fighting vigilante Green Hornet to his dad.
His father had been very upset at first, but then calmed and told Britt that he actually understood in a way since he had once ridden with a "vigilante ancestor" in the old west. Britt had always taken that to mean in a posse, but now he knew at least a bit of the truth. Dan Reid, Jr., never told his son any more about his experiences in the west and had passed away a short time later.
Why, Dad, why didn't you tell me more? Why didn't you share this with me?
Looking down at the paper stuffed book, Britt suddenly understood that Dan Reid had shared it with him, but in his own way, in his own time. His father could have tossed that box and that book at any time in the almost sixty years before his passing but he hadn't. Hidden as it was, Britt knew that his dad had left it there for him to find someday.
Locking the front door for the last time, Britt went down the steps toward his car. He also realized, in a way, that his father had most likely long kept the secret of his youthful crime fighting activities to avoid encouraging Britt to do even more with the secret identity of his own.
~LR~
Follow-up Notes:
Thanks so much for reading my story. Your comments or reviews will be greatly appreciated, too, as I consider continuing the Lone Ranger's adventures in this story.
Lone Ranger fans and those knowledgeable of radio shows from the 1930s & 40s may have recognized Dan Reid's son Britt from his own adventures as the late-night vigilante crimefighter the Green Hornet right from the start of the story, but I hope that the additional snippets added at Scroll Keeper's suggestion prior to the challenge deadline have helped those who didn't (thanks, Scroll Keeper!). The timeline and references used here are based on the original "The Lone Ranger" and "The Green Hornet" radio shows and the 1949-1957 "The Lone Ranger" TV show starring Clayton Moore and Jay Silverheels (and, yes, John Hart for one season), with Chuck Courtney portraying Dan Reid in 14 episodes over Seasons 1 through 4.
Nestor Paiva portrayed Juan Pedro Cardoza and John Stephenson played Texas Ranger Roy Barnett in the Lone Ranger Season 4:11 episode entitled "Dan Reid's Fight for Life."
Britt's portion of this story takes place in 1951 when Britt would have been in his early to mid 50s with his own late-night crime fighting days largely behind him. Due to the timeline and the original radio adventures, I prefer to think of the 1966-67 TV show "The Green Hornet" as profiling the adventures of Britt, Jr., and Kato, Jr. The disclaimer in the author's note in the beginning also applies to the Green Hornet.
Finally, for those completely unfamiliar with the Green Hornet, I leave you with this short note from Wikipedia as a fandom blind primer: Though various incarnations sometimes change details, in most versions the Green Hornet is the alter ego of Britt Reid, wealthy young publisher of the Daily Sentinel newspaper by day. But by night Reid dons the long green overcoat, green fedora hat and green mask of the mysterious "Green Hornet" to fight crime as a vigilante. Reid is accompanied by his loyal and similarly masked partner and confidant, Kato, who drives their technologically advanced car, the "Black Beauty". Though both the police and the general public believe the Hornet to be a criminal, Reid uses that perception to help him infiltrate the underworld, leaving behind for the police the criminals and any incriminating evidence he has found.