SEPTEMEBER 11, 1861

The "Devil" Texan
by Michael Quebec
Original characters created by Ella Davis and Michael Quebec
Alias Smith and Jones and related characters were created by Glen Larson
The Lone Ranger and related characters were created by
Fran Striker and George W. Trendle

The Masked Man's wrists began to tear as he felt the cold steel of the iron shackles grate against his skin.

But he could also feel the linkages of iron chain begin to separate. The Masked Man calmed his mind and focused his "chi", the inner strength that he had learned to harness from the brutal martial arts "lessons" obtained from the Tong "highbinders" of San Francisco's Chinatown.

The Masked Man's midsection expanded and contracted in slow, steady rhythms as he forced air into his stomach. The Masked Man could feel the stretching in his midsection, then the burning sensation, coming from within, making his skin hot.

"Focus", he thought to himself. "Focus my strength, the way sifu told me to. Iron body technique. Just keep on yakkin' away Cavendish and give me time to loosen this linkage!"

Indeed, Cavendish continued to talk, to boast, as if to accommodate the Masked Man's need for time.

Pointing to a mirror on the wall, the madman Cavendish boasted, "Behold, Detective!  Upon my telivisor screen!  The folly of those who would dare oppose my rightful rule!"

The mirror's reflection of the inner quarters began to fade and in it's place, the fate of Sim, about to be executed, the guard's sword raised ominously, ready to cut into the thin miner's neck, along with the fates of the other rebel miners, could be seen.

"Shall I send the order for them to be spared?"

"Mercy, coming from the 'man of iron' as you call yourself, Cavendish?"

"Not for any of your sympathetic bleeding heart reasons, Detective. It's your weakness, you know. Actually, I was thinking more for practical reasons. Good help is so hard to find these days."

"You're a fool, Cavendish! Gloating over helpless prisoners is a sign of weakness, not strength!"

The madman slowly turned to the Masked Man, his eyes blazing like flaming embers.  "Mind your tongue, Detective!"

"Use your head, Cavendish! You're so desperate for power that you've turned a blind eye to what your inventions could accomplish! Your technology is years ahead of its time!  You could work with us, instead of trying to set yourself up as some two-bit Napoleon!  Mankind could benefit from your work and you could also make millions in the process."

"How little you know about me, Detective! You think I want mere monetary gain? Nor do I care about the insignificant insects that would occupy this country!"

The Masked Man smirked. "They rejected you, didn't they? You did bring your inventions to the government, but they dismissed you as a madman, didn't they?"

"Small minds cannot see beyond their own fat faces! They had their chance! Now they will pay!"

"Same old dream, Cavendish. Alexander, Caesar, Genghis Kahn, Napoleon . . . I'm sure history will be just as willing to remember another, grand failure."

Cavendish turned red with blazing anger. Then just as quickly, Cavendish regained his composure.

"You persist in trying to goad me, Detective. Much in the same way as another old enemy of mine once did . . . years ago . . . during the end of General Taylor's Mexican Campaign."

Again, the Masked Man's eyes began to burst forth through the eyelets of his black mask.

Cavendish had hit a nerve and intended to drive home the secret that he kept within him . . . into the heart of the Masked Man . . . like a razor sharp dagger.

"The young officer, Daniel Reid, stood in my way. He was the one responsible for my court-martial following the Battle at Churubusco! Atrocities, he called it! Weakness! I vowed revenge against that weakling! No matter how long it would take!"

Now the full truth was revealed. The ambush in Texas. It was not just about Ranger Dan Reid's investigations into Cavendish's activities. It was revenge. It was simple murder.  The Masked Man now had rage to add to his inner strength. He could feel the chains stretch and open as his writs pulled with super-human effort.

However, just then Cavendish let loose with his trump card.

"The only mistake I made that day in Palo Duro Canyon . . . was to let you live . . . JOHN REID."

The Masked Man stopped his effort to free himself just then. Wide-eyed and open-mouthed, he uttered, "How long have you known?"

"Does it matter? Still, I see you persist in your efforts to free yourself. Allow me one final gesture of honor . . . before your demise."

Cavendish pulled a lever on the wall and instantly, a slight humming was heard in the room. The Masked Man could feel a buzzing, tingling sensation on his skin . . . before the loud "snap!" of his shackles breaking apart, freeing his wrists, as they clanged on the floor.

"Magnetic disruption, Detective. A weapon of defense against firearms should any interlopers make it this far to attack me."

"Big deal! You knew I was almost about to break free! So you had to make your grandstand play to save your enormous ego!"

"And you, Detective, do you wish to save your friends below, or the cavalry and savage tribes that will soon annihilate one another?"

"What kind of question is that, Cavendish?"

"I still have one more of my little toys to show you, Detective!"

Cavendish pressed a button on the mirror/televisor screen and the miners and guards disappeared. In their place was Cavendish's reactor.

"This is the power center that you visited earlier, where you were captured. What you don't know is that it is powered by a source that is at least a century beyond anything that's being used now. It is not mere steam, or coal, but it is a working, thermo-nuclear reactor! Yes detective, I have harnessed the power of the sun itself and soon, that power shall be welded to bring both the Union and the Confederacy to their very knees!"

Cavendish then paused.

"Unless of course, you can stop me."

"Alright, madman. You want to play games; you think that lives of millions of people are just chess pieces for you to toy with in your hands, fine. I'll face you. And afterwards, I'll find a nice padded room for you at Bellevue when I'm done with you!"

Cavendish went to the fighting irons, two ominous iron hooks with a small shield at their ends that hung upon the wall next to the entrance.

"Defiant to the end, eh Detective? How fitting!"

Cavendish tossed one of the irons to the Masked Man, who caught it in his right hand.

"For, my dear detective . . . this will be your end!"

With fighting irons in hand, the two men, the dark avenger of justice on the Great Plains and a madman who's genius is second to his insanity, faced off . . . the fate of millions hanging in the balance!

*****

The Kiowa Tonto raced his pony, Scout, hard, putting his knees into the pony's sides, gently, yet firmly, edging the pony forward.

Tonto felt the muscles of Scout heave and surge beneath his legs, rolling into his knees.  The pony's skin was hot from the gallop and the Kiowa knew that Scout was near exhaustion.

The warrior had no choice. Lives were in the balance. Tonto strained his eyes in the darkness to see exactly what he was looking for.

He found what he was looking for. Ahead in the dark distance were two horses, one with an Army saddle and one barebacked, waiting near the entrance to a cave.

Tonto could see, even in the night darkness, that the bare horse had painted markings on it, the way a Plains Indian warrior would decorate his horse.

Tonto pulled on the reins of Scout, slowing the pony down.

"Now brother," he whispered to the pony, "we must be silent."

A small fire lit the inside of the cave a bright yellow-orange. The sergeant was there.

Tonto, who had hidden himself near the entrance could see the "man who walks two worlds" clearly, his face lit up by the fire, the shadows making the sergeant's face appear to Tonto to be like a skull.

There was another Indian in the cave talking to the sergeant. He was a small man wearing a leather breechcloth and bare-chested. The Indian had his back to the entrance and in the shadowy fire-lit darkness, Tonto couldn't recognize this Indian.

Not yet.

"The guns you need are being delivered to the camp by our Arikara scouts, brother."

"And you will get the white man's yellow metal from our Black Hills, Man Who Walks Two Worlds, when we finally drive the blue coats from our land."

Tonto looked on, straining his eyes against both the darkness and the orange-yellow light to see who the other Indian was.

His curiosity got the better of him. Tonto had his left hand against the mouth of the cave and pressing his weight forward to get a better look at the Indian, he accidentally loosened a rock.

The piece of stone hit the dirt with a crack, crumbling into pieces as it rolled around the ground.

The Indian turned around.

It was Little Big Man.

"Traitor!" shouted Tonto.

Little Big Man ran towards the entrance. Tonto was about to stop him, but then felt the crushing weight of the sergeant, ramming his shoulder into Tonto's side, tackling him to the ground.

Struggling, the sergeant pulled out a knife and was about to drive it overhead, into Tonto's heart.

Tonto seized the knife with his left hand. The sergeant was heavy and Tonto hadn't the leverage to push him off. Within seconds, the knife was sure to push its way into his chest.

Tonto then did the only thing he could to save his own life. He bit into the sergeant’s right hand.

The sergeant let out a scream and when Tonto felt his weight loosen, he let loose with a right hook that smashed into the sergeant's jaw, knocking the half-breed off of him.

Dazed, the sergeant, back up on his knees, went for his side arm, his pistol. He would have shot Tonto earlier, except that Little Big Man would've been hit and for now at least, he needed Little Big Man alive.

Tonto was upon the kneeling sergeant. He kicked the gun out of the sergeant's hand. A second kick knocked the kneeling sergeant onto his back.

Angrily, Tonto grabbed the sergeant by the collar and pulled him up.

"So this is what it's all about? A war between the Sioux and the soldiers while Cavendish mops up the pieces?!" accused Tonto.

Dazed and bleeding from the lip, the sergeant said in broken gasps, "What do...you care?  You're Kiowa...not Sioux. You’re enemies . . . they're your enemies."

"What would you know about my people and our tribal enemies?"

"Because I am . . . one of those enemies."

"Sioux, you're a Sioux."

"Half of me . . . is. Mother . . . driven from Red Cloud's camp . . . after having me . . . by a white soldier. They're all going to die. Red . . . white . . . all . . . die."

The sergeant then slumped into unconsciousness.

Tonto knew he had to get word to the Sioux and the soldiers before they annihilated each other.

Most importantly, he had to find his "brother", the Masked Man.

*****

Butch Cavendish's underground headquarters

"Clang!" The sharp clash of cold steel against steel echoed throughout the underground lair of the madman Cavendish.

White sparks shot from the impact of the fighting irons and the Masked Man felt the impact go through his wrists.

Cavendish raised his iron over head, bringing the hook down, threatening to puncture the top of the Masked Man's head.

Sensing that the shackles had weakened the Masked Man's hands and that his opponent had not yet fully recovered from the beating received during the fight in the reactor room, Cavendish gloated, "Come now detective. Don't fall apart on me yet. You must make this somewhat sporting for me!"

Falling back upon a wall, the Masked Man looked as if he would indeed be parted by Cavendish's fighting iron.

Whoosh! Cavendish swung so hard that his iron whistled in the air. The Masked Man moved his head just so slightly. The hook missed its mark but scraped the side of the Masked Man's right cheek.

The Masked Man felt the cold, sharp metal tear into his skin. His ear rang out as the metal imbedded itself into the wall, the impact of metal against marble clanging into his eardrum.

The Masked Man slammed his right elbow into Cavendish jaw. The madman could feel his bottom teeth crack under the pressure and the warm blood gushed from his mouth. 

Cavendish quickly loosed his grip on his iron, which was now embedded into the wall.

Raising his right knee high, the Masked Man drove his right foot into the chest of Cavendish, sending the madman reeling backwards towards the entrance as the air was cruelly driven from his body.

"Whoomph!" was all the madman could say as he crashed into the floor near the doorway.

"That sporting enough for you, Cavendish?"

Spitting out the blood from his mouth, Cavendish smirked and said, "Catch me if you can, detective."

The madman ran out the door.

Brushing aside the pain and exhaustion, the Masked Man followed after the madman, Cavendish.

*****

Inside the "town of logs" that was Fort Laramie, the small contingent of soldiers readied themselves for the raid upon the Sioux camp of Sitting Bull.

The blue-coated Union soldiers had their breech loading repeating rifles, newly arrived from back East, cleaned and loaded. Their horses were saddled, their sabers polished, and as was the custom of the period, the "blue coats" were in their finest and cleanest military uniforms.

The mood of the camp was not one of fear or anticipation. Most of the soldiers were in fact, "itching for a fight."

One young private, scrubbing down his horse, said to his buddy who was strapping down his horse's saddle, "'Bout time we get to see some action. I joined the army to fight Johnny Reb, not to be stuck out here in the middle of nowhere, lording it over a buncha half naked savages."

The private's buddy said, "I hear ya. Back East is where history's bein' made. But I figure Reds'll do just as well as Rebs. Hell, with eighty men, we could ride through the whole Sioux nation."

"You men, look alive there!" came a shout from the post commander. "Riders coming in!"

Soldiers who had been cleaning their rifles, sheathing their sabers, and tending to their horses now snapped to attention and readied themselves for battle.

Quickly, the various soldiers grabbed their rifles and ran up the stairs to the top platform of the front wall.

The soldiers lined the wall, their rifles pointing downward, ready to shoot down on any potential threat.

Two men came riding up in the distance.

One looked like a soldier and he was clearly tied up and laid across the back of his horse.

The other was obviously an Indian. The Indian was in the front, leading the tied up man and his horse up.

The second in command of the fort, a young lieutenant, was behind the men lining the top of the fort's wall. He raised his hand and said, "Obviously a Sioux coming in with a hostage for a parlay! We're not going to give him the chance, men!  Take aim!"

"Hold it!" came a command from behind.

Walking up from the stairway came the post commander, Carrington, along with Joshua Smith.

"We're not going to fire until we see what that man came for!" commanded Carrington.

"With all due respect, sir, that Sioux down there is coming in with a white hostage. They we're going to attack and he's obviously here to bide time, so his camp can get away."

"I'm in command of this post, lieutenant! No actions will be taken unless I give the order!"

"Yes, sir." The lieutenant backed off.

Carrington looked to Joshua.

Joshua said, "You better have your lieutenant there brush up on his Indians. That's no Sioux. I know it's dark and as far as he's concerned, 'all Indians look alike', but I think that man's with us."

Carrington took out his binoculars and strained his eyes to see who the Indian was in the black night.

"Tonto", said Carrington with recognition. "Open the gates!"

Carrington strode towards the stairs. Before following after him, Joshua looked to the lieutenant.

"I hope your aim is better than your judgment."

The wooden gates were open and Tonto and the trussed up sergeant of Cavendish's guard, the "man who walks two worlds", came riding in. Man Who Walks Two Worlds was still unconscious and still tied up over his horse.

The post guards took the half-breed sergeant as Tonto dismounted from Scout and came over to Joshua and Carrington.

"Who do you have gift wrapped for us, Tonto?" asked Joshua.

"Cavendish's man. He's been supplying the Sioux with breach loaders." Tonto then addressed Carrington. "Colonel Carrington, Cavendish has been playing the Sioux and your soldiers against each other."

"What should we do?" asked Carrington.

"Hold off on your attack. I've got the proof and I know who that man has been dealing with within the Sioux camp. I need time to convince the Sioux to stand down."

Carrington replied, "This fort is still on alert. IF the Indians should still attack-."

"I'll do what I can to make them see the truth. In the meantime, my white brother is still held captive in Cavendish's fort near the mines. Cavendish is the key to ending this war."

Joshua said, "I'll find the Lone Ranger for you, Tonto."

"We don't have much time," said Carrington. "I'll keep my men here, but if you can't stop the Sioux from attacking-."

"Understood," said Joshua.

With that, Joshua mounted his horse and Tonto mounted Scout. They both rode out of the fort in opposite directions . . . towards their grim, desperate missions.

"God speed to both of you," said Carrington to himself.