The Lone Ranger Rides. Striker Fran

another strength than his. He recalled the gentle touch and the deep, kindly voice of the man who had bathed his wounds.

      He took a few steps toward the recent scene of battle where the two men stood, still watching him. The terrible weapon that had killed the buffalo was quiet now. Some strong force drew Silver nearer. He was tense, ready to turn and flee forever from creatures in the form of men if the thundering machine of Death was fired again, but there was only silence. The touch of the man's hand was so like the soft caress of Moussa—Silver wanted more of it. The voice of the man was good to hear. It was rich, friendly. Silver went still closer, still tense, ready to bolt. And then he was at the side of the tall man who had saved his life. He touched his sensitive nostrils to the brown hand and a new emotion was born in the heart of the horse. A love of beast for man.

      The Texan found it hard to restrain his excitement. "The finest horse I've ever seen," he told the Indian beside him. "Look at him, Tonto! These muscles, and the eyes! The tail and mane are like silk! Look at his coat, how it glistens in the sun. I'm going to ride this horse. He came back after he'd left us. I'm going to ride him. And his name shall be Silver."

      The horse stood quietly while the tall man with the deep voice and gentle touch mounted his bare back.

      "You, Silver—" the man said, "—we're going to be friends, aren't we, old boy?" A gentle caress on the white neck. To show his happiness and demonstrate the fact that he was strong again, the white horse rose high on his hind legs, then came down without a jar. He would prove to this white man who had defended him that he was glad to have a friend.

      "High, Silver!" the man cried out. "High up again!"

      Trying to understand what the man on his back wanted, Silver repeated his rearing action. He heard the happy laugh of his rider.

      "Now, big fellow," the man called out, "let's travel. Away there, Silver." For a moment the white horse couldn't comprehend. Then he felt a nudge from the heels of the man on his back.

      "Hi there you, Silver horse, away!" Silver moved ahead, carrying his master. He was desperately anxious to do what this man wanted. Eager to show his happiness at the finding of a friend. As he moved, he heard shouts of encouragement.

      "That's it, Silver! Hi you, Silver, away!"

      The horse moved faster. Another shout, this time contracted.

      "Hi-Yo' Silver, Away!"

      Silver broke into a run. Now he knew what the master wanted. At the next shout, the big stallion gave all his strength in a burst of speed that made his snowy figure like a flash of light across the open plains. The shout was one that later rang throughout the West—the clarion call—the tocsin of a mystery rider who wore a mask.

      "Hi-Yo Silver, Away-y-y-y."