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

Cavendish sat in his chair, the seat turned backwards, so that the back of the chair provided a rest for the evil mastermind's folded arms.

Cavendish glared into the eyes of the Masked Man…

"You and I are much alike, detective. It would pain me to have to destroy one whose greatness is second only to my own."

The wrist shackles that bound the Masked Man's hands behind him, rubbed into the skin.  The sharp metal of the shackles' edges scraped at the Masked Man's wrists, with constant pain that grew in increasing severity.

The Masked Man did his best to focus, to put the pain aside.

"I can see you've grown soft and cuddly from the milk of human kindness, Cavendish!  You'd make a great Santa Claus at the annual San Quentin Christmas show!"

Cavendish smirked. "You have not lost your defiant flippancy, detective.  Most excellent."

Cavendish stood up from his chair.

"However, you must understand that such lack of respect towards a superior intellect cannot be tolerated. I am in a generous mood. I shall satisfy myself with a mild rebuff...such as this!"

The back of Cavendish's left hand slammed into the Masked Man's mouth with a loud "smack!"

The Masked Man, his hands still shackled behind him, collided into the floor. He thought he felt his right shoulder snap as the weight of his body squeezed all feeling from his right side.

Looking up from the floor, the Masked Man shouted in defiance, "You'll pay for that, Cavendish!"

Cavendish stood over the prostrate form of the Lone Ranger. His pistol was

drawn menacingly. The insanity burned within Cavendish's eyes. "You are wrong, detective! My days of suffering are over!"

The fire then subsided from Cavendish's eyes. He calmly took his seat, while still brandishing his pistol.

"I remember a time, however, not too long ago, when I had nothing.  When I was as helpless as you are before me now."

Cavendish started to drift, his mind slowly taking him to another place, another time.  The Masked Man saw that Cavendish was distracted. 

The Masked Man would have leaped at the chance to jump the villain and take the pistol from him...but his right shoulder burned as he started to lift himself up from the floor.

"I know what you were thinking, detective. You saw my mind drift and wished you could have leaped at me with the cat like grace that many of your enemies know only too well.  But I'm afraid in your condition, it would be nothing but suicide. I, however, am at the top of my form."

Cavendish took careful aim with the pistol and cocked the hammer with his thumb. The loud click signaled death within an instant.

"Well, go on. Do it!"

Cavendish lowered his pistol. "No. No, that would be too quick. One such as you deserves a much more fitting end."

Cavendish holstered the pistol. "You are potentially, a valuable resource, detective. One not to be wasted...if possible."

Cavendish's mind began drifting again, his eyes looking in the general direction of the Masked Man, but not really seeing him.

"I had seen so many 'good' men, talented men, needlessly wasted at Bull Run, Shiloh, Gettysburg...for the glory of those incompetents in Washington! All such good, idealistic, foolish men."

"Is that how you see the fighting back east, Cavendish? Foolish? Men are willing to give their lives, so that other men can be free!"

"You are even more naive than those young, so-called 'heroes' in blue, joyously marching to their deaths...like sheep before the slaughter."

The Masked Man slowly, painfully picked himself up from the floor, made his way back to his seat.

Cavendish continued his tirade. "Do you actually believe that Lincoln cares for the Negroes? That backwoods hick lawyer would ship those poor childlike souls back to Africa if slavery were abolished! And as for McLellan-."

"That how it started for you, Cavendish? I know you were an officer on McLellan's staff."

"A lower officer under McLellan! That coward! Handing victory after victory to the damned Rebels! No one would listen to me. Do you know why, detective?"

To himself, the Masked Man said, "Because you're insane?"

Not hearing the response, Cavendish continued, "Because that fraternity of officers is an exclusive clique! It doesn't matter if I had the superior ability! It doesn't matter that I also graduated at the top of my class at West Point! I refused to coddle to any man who was not at my level of ability, superior officer or not! I told them the truth! I warned McLellan about the possibility of Lee's surprise attack during The Seven Day's Campaign! But he and the other officers refused to listen! The fools! They let their pride turn their victory into a defeat! I could have captured Lee's entire army if only they had promoted me to command! But no!"

Cavendish's anger then dimmed. "When I was at West Point, my battle tactics were compared to Napoleon's."

The Masked Man plotted to himself. "These shackles are cutting into my wrists. And I might've dislocated my shoulder when Cavendish belted me. But during my stay in San Francisco's Chinatown, Master Lee taught me Chinese bone dislocating techniques that could enable a man to slip free of these shackles.  Painful techniques, but I've to chance it! I just need the time! Time to focus and to give my shoulder a chance to recover. I've got to stall, keep Cavendish talking."

The Masked Man then said to Cavendish, "Napoleon, huh? Which number are you, Butch? There's plenty of 'Napoleons' over at the Cloverdale funny farm!"

Cavendish grabbed the Masked Man by the shirt and picked up the shackled avenger from off of the chair holding him.

"Is this how the 'superior intellect' reacts? Maybe that's why they didn't listen to you, Cavendish. You're too used to barking out your suggestions. Don't expect everyone to just fall down on their knees and bow to you, just because you think you're 'superior!' Or are you just afraid of arguing out your case...like a civilized man?"

Cavendish smiled. He let go of the Masked Man, allowing his adversary to sit back down on the chair, his wrists still shackled behind him. 

"Excellent," said Cavendish, complementing the Masked Man on his calm reaction. "I've never been afraid of anything, detective. I see no reason to debate with inferiors."

The Masked Man said to himself, "Uh oh. Not good. I've got to goad Cavendish, strike at his ego." 

The Masked Man then jabbed at Cavendish's pride. "I thought you'd chicken out!  Anyway, I'm not interested in true confessions, Butch. Nor in listening to you whine about how unfair your early years were! What happened to you? Maybe your mother forgot to buy your favorite pony for Christmas?" The insulting laughter from the Masked Man that followed the tirade struck deep into Cavendish's monumental pride.

Cavendish's voice trembled with anger. "Men have died for speaking thus to me, detective!"

"I'm tired of your threats, Cavendish! You say you want me on your side? Yet, you're not even man enough to give me a reason! Go ahead then. Finish me off!"

Cavendish eyed the Masked Man. The silence was so thick, that the Masked Man thought he could feel it press upon his skin.

Cavendish slowly nodded. "I will tell you everything about me, detective...secure in the knowledge that if you don't join...you'll never be able to repeat my story."

The Masked Man then plotted to himself. "Good, keep yakking away, you maniac. It'll just might give me enough time to focus and break free of these shackles. If only my shoulder would stop burning!"