(NOTE: This is the fifth part in a serial-type story about the origin of the Lone Ranger. In the last part, Butch Cavendish overheard the Reid brothers talking about their discovery of silver in an old cave.)
Flashback
The Lone Ranger slowly climbed to his feet. He instinctively felt for his guns, forgetting that he lost them in the struggle with Butch Cavendish. One had fallen over the cliff and the other was several feet behind his nemesis, well out of reach.
Cavendish, who was unaware of the gun’s location and having lost his own sidearm, drew a knife from his boot.
“I don’t know who you are mister, or why you have it out for me, but you’re surely gonna pay for wreckin’ my life and sending me to rot behind bars. If it weren’t for you, I’d be living a dream. Now you’re gonna pay with your life,” sneered Cavendish.
“Wrecked YOUR life!” the Lone Ranger shouted with incredulity. “You killed my brother and my friends. I should have killed you when I had the chance, but I’m not like you. I value human life. I believe every man deserves a fair chance in life. You led that cowardly ambush on the Rangers. It was you who attacked us for no reason!”
Cavendish paused, the Ranger’s words echoing in his mind. “Brother? Us?” he thought. “What is he talking about? There’s no way anyone could know what happened down in the canyon below unless …”
“Who ARE you!” demanded Cavendish. “How do you know about the the Rangers?”
“I was there, Butch. I survived.”
At that the Lone Ranger reached up and untied the red scarf around his neck. Pulling it away, he revealed a nasty scar on his neck. The dim light of recognition began to form on Cavendish’s face.
Then the Lone Ranger reached behind his head and untied the strings to his mask, slowly pulling it off his face. Across the bridge of his nose was a scarred gouge.
“You did this to me 13 years ago,” he said.
“Reid!” Cavendish blurted. “It ain’t possible! You’re dead. I killed you myself.”
Both men could clearly envision the events that played out 13 years earlier in the canyon below. A group of six Texas Rangers, led by Capt. Dan Reid, trailed an outlaw by the name of Collins into the narrow canyon at Bryant’s Gap. Once the men were inside the narrow canyon, a hoard of outlaws appeared on the ridge and began shooting at the Rangers like so many fish in a barrel. Men and horses tumbled. A few of the Rangers were able to return fire, but their efforts were futile.
When all movement stopped on the canyon floor, Cavendish called a halt to the assault and led his men down into the heart of the carnage. The coppery smell of blood was overwhelming. Dead men and horses littered the ground. Collins came riding back and met up with the others as they surveyed the damage.
“Looks like you got ’em, boss,” Collins said. “Ain’t a one of ’em left alive, not even their mounts.”
Cavendish strode over to where two familiar figures lay. Even through the blood he could make out the faces of the brothers he used to call friends. All the Rangers had long, scruffy beards, as was the style and tradition of the lawmen. But what stood out the most was the mole on the bridge of John Reid’s nose. The mole always bothered Cavendish, but he never said anything about it. It made for immediate identification when he came upon the bodies.
“They’re not all dead,” Cavendish said as he eyed the rise and fall of John Reid’s chest.
Reid’s eyelids fluttered open and he gazed hazily at Cavendish. He tried to say the words, “Butch, why?” but nothing came out.
Taking careful aim with his rifle, Cavendish took a clean shot at the mole on Reid’s nose.
“Let’s see him breath through that,” he said as blood oozed from the new wound and the eyes closed.
Reid’s breathing became shallower, but did not stop.
“I’ll be danged if he ain’t still hangin’ in there,” said one of Cavendish’s men after a few moments of watching Reid’s bullet-riddled body.
“This’ll do it,” Cavendish said as he once again pointed his rifle at the dying Ranger.
He squeezed the trigger and a bullet tore through the beard and grazed across Reid’s throat.
“That’ll finish him,” he said.
Someone noticed a lone figure riding into the canyon from the far end. Before the rider could get close, Cavendish and his men made a hasty retreat before they could be recognized.
(Copyright 2010, Joe Southern)
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