Shotgun's Secret
a fan fiction by
Valentina Michelle Smith

Shotgun McCain gripped the reins tightly as he snapped his whip. He was desperately trying to drive the four horses to outrun his pursuers.

Two men on horseback chased the stagecoach, firing their pistols into the air. They had little hope of actually hitting the coach while riding. On the other hand, the coach had just as much hope of outrunning the highwaymen.

McCain turned to seize the shotgun that gave him his name. The driver had been hit by a lucky shot and could barely hold the reins as Shotgun aimed. He let loose with a blast on full choke. It wasn't exactly deadly, but he put enough buckshot into the air to stop the pursuing bandits. He turned around, smiling, and took the reins back from the stricken driver. That was when he noticed the four riders waiting on the trail with guns drawn.

Shotgun had little choice but to bring the team to a stop. They were tired and sweaty from their exertions. As the coach came to a halt, one of the highwaymen spoke from behind the scarf obscuring his features.

“Put your hands up where I can see 'em, and don't even think of goin' for that gun or I'll plug you.”

Shotgun raised his hands. “All right, no funny stuff. Just take what you want and we'll be on our way.”

The men chuckled. “Oh, we'll take what we want, all right. Now throw down the strongbox. And everybody in the coach had better get out.”

The two passengers emerged. The first, a tall man in a suit and a fine Stetson hat, helped the second passenger get down. She was a young woman, a lady dressed modestly. At the sight of her the outlaws began making cat-calls.

“If any of you lay a hand on her,” the man began, but never finished. One of the outlaws fired at the man's foot, making him jump.

“We'll do as we please, dude,” the outlaw said. “and there ain't a damn thing you can do about it!”

Just then, shots rang out, and the four men's guns went flying. Somebody had shot the pistols right out of their hands! But who could have done that?

The answer came swiftly as two riders galloped toward the stagecoach, guns blazing. The outlaws showed their true colors and ran.

The two riders reined up next to the stagecoach. One of them, an Indian dismounted from a paint, while the second, a tall masked man, jumped down from a white stallion. “Tonto,” he called, “see to the driver. I'll check the passengers.”

The woman was frightened. “What is this? Are we now to be robbed by another set of highwaymen?”

“I'm no outlaw, ma'am,” the masked man replied. “I'm a friend here to help you.”

“If you're not an outlaw, why do you wear a mask?”

“I have good reasons to conceal my identity,” the masked man replied. “Think of my mask as you would think of a badge worn by a sheriff or a marshal. It's on the side of the law, and it always will be.

“Perhaps this might explain.” the masked man continued, and he removed a bullet from his gun belt. The woman took it, looked at it, and handed it to her traveling companion. The man examined it and smiled.

“We can trust this man, Miss Coogan,” the gentleman said. “This bullet is a symbol, a constant reminder of the high value he places on life. As you can see, it's made of silver.”

They were interrupted by Tonto. “Keemo Sabe,” he said, addressing the masked man, “I've treated the driver's wound. It's a flesh wound, but he has lost a bit of blood. We need to get him into town and under a physician's care as quickly as possible.”

Miss Coogan was surprised. “My goodness, an educated Indian! Mission school?”

Tonto smiled. “Princeton,” he replied, and mounted his horse.

The woman looked at the masked man in astonishment. “Don't hold Tonto's education against him, ma'am,” the masked man said. “I'm a Yale man, myself.”

He turned to Shotgun. “We'll ride with you to town to make certain those hooligans don't get any ideas about trying to attack a second time. We ought to get going if we hope to make it by sunset.”

“I'm grateful for your help, my friend,” Shotgun replied. “And thanks for patching up Jerry. Now let's get going.”

The passengers boarded the stage and with a snap of his whip, Shotgun drove the team toward town.

The sun was getting low and the shadows had grown long when the stage pulled into the town of Cooper's Well. The General Store was closing, but the saloon was just warming up for the night, and Mama Fletcher's restaurant was lighting its lamps in anticipation of hungry townspeople.

Tonto helped Shotgun lift the driver from the stagecoach and carried him over to Doc Hennessey's office. The masked man helped Miss Coogan and her companion, Charles Campbell, to exit the coach.

“Does Miss Coogan have a place to stay?” the masked man asked.

“I've secured a room for her at Mrs. Logan's house,” Campbell replied. “She is here on business and will be staying for a while.”

“Will you be staying here?” Miss Coogan asked the masked man.

“Perhaps,” he replied. “Tonto and I have some business nearby that will need our attention. Perhaps we might see you again.”

Tonto and Shotgun returned. “The driver will be fine,” Tonto said. “Doctor Hennessey removed the bullet and stitched up the wound. In a few weeks he can drive again.”

“That's wonderful,” Miss Coogan said.

“Excellent,” said the masked man. “Now if you will excuse us, Tonto and I will be on our way.” And with that, the two men mounted their horses and rode off.

“Well, that was strange,” Miss Coogan remarked. “I thought he would at least stay for dinner.”

“Those are two busy hombres,” Shotgun remarked. “They don't stick around after the job is done.”

“Speaking of dinner, “ Campbell said, “I'm quite famished. Miss Coogan, would you care to dine with me at Mama Fletcher's this evening?” He proferred his arm.

“I would be delighted,” Miss Coogan said as she took it. “Oh, Mr. McCain, would you care to join us?”

Shotgun knew when three was a crowd. “No, that's all right,” he said. “Driving horses is dry, thirsty work. I'm just gonna get a beer at the saloon. Evening, ma'am.” He tipped his hat and sauntered off to the bar.

* * * * *

Caesar Johnson was not a happy man.

“You incompetents!” he shouted at the six men in his spartan mine office. “All I ask of you is to get one woman and one man from the afternoon stage, and what do I get? Two of you are picking buckshot out of your faces, and the other four are nursing bullet wounds in your hands. IN YOUR HANDS!”

“Boss, you don't understand, this masked man...”

“I had a sweet plan. We would eliminate Coogan and her lawyer Campbell and make it look like it was just a robbery gone bad. We even had the perfect cover. That strongbox had the payroll for the copper mine. That gold would have been pure gravy. And what happens to you fools?”

“Boss, the masked man...”

“He shot the guns out of your hands. While riding a horse. NOBODY can shoot like that! Just HOW the HELL did you idiots REALLY manage to get shot up like that!”

“Boss, it was the masked man...”

“I don't want to hear about the masked man. All I want you to do is listen. You know how to listen, don't you?”

“Yeah, boss.”

“Good, because we still have a chance of pulling this off. Now Coogan has to stay here for at least a week...”

Johnson outlined his new plan, hoping to God that his henchmen would not foul up a second time.

* * * * *

It was early morning when Miss Cynthia Coogan called at the law office of Charles Campbell, Esq. Campbell greeted her and had her sit.

“I confess, Mr. Campbell,” said Miss Coogan, “I am quite curious as to the mysterious nature of our business. Your correspondence was not forthcoming in details.”

“My apologies, Miss Coogan, but I am acting under instructions on behalf of my client. As I mentioned, it involves an inheritance, and the amount is quite substantial.”

“But why must I travel so far to conclude this business? Could it not have been accomplished satisfactorily in Harrisburg? And who is my mysterious benefactor?”

“All will be answered shortly, Miss Coogan.” Campbell arose and opened the door to his office, admitting a short, slight, grizzled cowpoke. It was Shotgun McCain.

“Miss Coogan,” said Campbell, “I believe you know Mr. McCain. He has some business to discuss with you.”

McCain removed his sombrero to reveal a crop of graying hair frazzled from long exposure to the elements. He hung the sombrero on a hat-rack and seated himself. He then reached into a battered leather satchel and produced a large envelope. “Miss Coogan, I've been entrusted with delivering this to you.”

Cynthia Coogan looked at the little man wearing jeans, a plaid shirt, and cowhide vest. He looked quite the character, as though he had stepped from the pages of a pulp adventure magazine. She then opened the envelope to find a letter and a document. The document appeared to be a mine claim. The letter was from her mother.

“How did you get this!” she asked. Cynthia was shocked, having recently learned that the woman who raised her as her mother was, in fact, her aunt, and that her real mother had left her over twenty years ago.

“I'm not allowed to say, ma'am.” replied Shotgun. “The lady insisted that I deliver this to you, and that I needed a lawyer to make the claim legal. She asked me to keep her whereabouts secret, and I have to respect her wishes, ma'am.”

Cynthia opened the letter and began to read.

My dearest daughter,
I would beg your forgiveness for abandoning you so many years ago, but I know that I do not deserve it. I can only say in my defense that I knew the stigma of being born out of wedlock would unfairly follow you, so I chose to allow my sister Dorothy and her husband to raise you as her own. I have kept in touch with Dorothy and I know she loved you as much as she loved the children of her own body.

I regret that I was unable to care for you or show you the love a child deserves. I shall always regret not watching you grow, never seeing you take your first steps or speak your first words. I have often dreamed of meeting you and being the mother I should have been. But it is far too late for that. I can only hope to make some small amends.

The mine claim I have enclosed is yours. It is a legal claim to a rich vein of silver, possibly the richest in the state. It shall provide a comfortable income for you for the rest of your life.
I have entrusted the location of the claim with Shotgun McCain. He is an honorable man. You may rely upon him. He will take you to the mine and assist you with taking actual possession of the claim.

I realize that this gesture will not replace the years we have lost, nor is it an adequate substitute for a mother's love. But please know that not a day has gone by when I did not think of you, and wish that fate had allowed a different destiny for both of us.

With eternal love,

Janet Barstow

Your birth mother.

Cynthia realized that tears had welled up in her eyes. It had only been a few months since the woman she had known as her mother for all of her life had passed away from the flux. And then she discovered that this woman was not her real mother, but her aunt, and that her birth mother had left her as an infant. She was thoroughly prepared to hate this Janet Barstow. But having read the letter, her anger was tempered with pity.

Cynthia looked up at Shotgun. “Mr. McCain,” she said, “may I assume that you have met my mother?”

“I have,” he replied. “She's a fine lady. She is very proud of you.”

“Could you tell me anything about her?”

“She asked me to tell you not to go lookin' for her. She only wanted me to make certain you got this here mine claim. Honestly, ma'am, I wouldn't know how to find her if I tried.”

“I see,” Cynthia answered. “But what about this mine claim?”

“Now that I can tell you about,” Shotgun said. “That there claim is legal title to one of the richest silver mines in Texas. The assay indicates it ought to be worth at least half a million, possibly more.”

“But how could I possibly dig that silver?” she said.

“You won't have to,” Campbell interjected. “I've contacted a mining company and they are very interested. They are prepared to make a substantial offer for the rights to work that claim, including a percentage of the gross output. Miss Coogan, you might possibly be one of the richest women in the state.”

Cynthia was overwhelmed. “Oh, my goodness! Mr. McCain, Mr. Campbell, how can I ever thank you?”

Shotgun said, “I don't know that we're the people you ought to thank, but you still need to take care of one little matter. In order for the claim to be legal, you have to work it.”

“What do you mean, work it?”

“What Shotgun means,” said Campbell, “is that in order to properly claim title, you will need to live on the site for at least one week and take some silver from the mine. The sample ore is taken to the assay office to register and the claim will be yours free and clear.”

“So I must actually go to the mine?”

“Yes, ma'am,” said Shotgun.

“And where is the mine located? Do you have a map?”

“Don't need no map,” Shotgun said, tapping his head, “I know just where it is, and I can take you there.”

Campbell said, “I will be going with you, of course. I took the liberty of obtaining horses and provisions for our journey. It will be a difficult week, but well worth the effort.”

“Very well,” Cynthia said, “when do we leave?”

“Tomorrow morning, crack o' dawn,” Shotgun said.

“Very well, gentlemen, tomorrow it shall be.”

Escorted by Charles Campbell, Cynthia Coogan left the office and returned to her boarding house. Neither of them noticed the dark man with the slouch hat observing their movements. He followed them to the boarding house and then waited in the shadows for a few hours before finally leaving.

* * * * *

The sun had barely peeked over the horizon when the three assembled at the livery stable. Cynthia Coogan's attire was considerably different from the modest lady's dress she had worn yesterday. She now sported jeans, boots, and a denim shirt. Her look was completed with a serviceable broad-brimmed hat.

Shotgun grinned when he saw her. “Well I declare, if you don't look every inch a cowpoke, Miss Coogan!”

“Why thank you, Shotgun,” Cynthia replied. “I must admit, this is a far cry from the riding habit I wore back east.”

“So you've ridden before?” Shotgun asked.

“Yes, but I used English tack. These saddles of yours seem much heavier.”

“That they are, ma'am,” Shotgun said, “but they have to do a heavy days' work. You'll see when we hit the trail.”

He showed Cynthia to a chestnut mare that was to be her mount. She checked the harness, put her foot in the stirrup, and swung herself lightly into the saddle.

Shotgun checked the load on their pack mule as Charles Campbell mounted his horse, an Appaloosa stallion. Shotgun preferred his black gelding. He checked to see that his trusty shotgun was in its saddle holster, then swung himself into the saddle. With the pack mule following, he led the party out of town and into the nearby hills.

They had ridden for most of the day, stopping to rest their mounts, eat, and refresh themselves. It was late when Shotgun called a halt to the party. “This is it,” he said. “Let's set up camp and get ready for a good day's work tomorrow.”

The party set up two tents, one for Cynthia and one for Charles. Shotgun declined the offer to share a tent with Campbell, setting his bedroll outside. “I like sleepin' under the stars,” he said. “Makes a man think about life and count his blessings.”

They had a simple meal of beans and bacon. Shotgun entertained them with some stories of his days in the Pony Express. Campbell had brought along a harmonica and was surprisingly quite good with it. Finally it was time to bed down. Shotgun took the first watch, alternating with Campbell throughout the night.

They arose at sunrise. Breakfast was beans and bacon, just like supper. Cynthia had a feeling she would grow very tired of this western staple by the end of the week. Under Shotgun's guidance they set to work picking the silver ore from the mountain. It was hard, dirty work. By afternoon they were ready for lunch and some rest, and had no complaints about the beans and bacon.

Sometime in the afternoon, Cynthia heard a shot. She and Charles emerged from the mine to investigate. They found Shotgun carrying some rabbits.

“I spotted them and thought you might like somethin' different for supper. There's some wild onions nearby, and I fetched along some taters. We'll have us a nice stew tonight.”

The stew was simple and the meat a bit gamey, but Cynthia was grateful for it none the less. After a steady diet of beans, the rabbit seemed like the ambrosia from Mount Olympus.

“We have plenty of ore for the assay office,” said Shotgun as he rolled himself a smoke. He put a stick into the fire to get a light. “We can take it easy fer the rest of the week, just enjoy livin' outdoors.”

“I'm certainly glad of that,” said Campbell, “the life of a silver miner doesn't seem all that attractive just now.”

“Agreed,” said Cynthia, “I don't think I could grow used to such intense labor.”

“It's all what you get used to,” said Shotgun. “Sometimes prospectin' seems a right easy way for a man to earn a livin'. Why I can remember ridin' the Pony Express...”

Shotgun started into another tale of his colorful past, keeping his two companions amused long into the night.

* * * * *

It was past noon on their last day when Caesar Johnson showed up at the camp.

Johnson rode up with three seedy-looking men. He was met by Campbell and Cynthia Coogan.

“Afternoon, folks,” he began. “I'm Caesar Johnson from Bowie Mining. I understand you've gotten yourselves a bit of luck.”

“News travels fast in these parts,” Campbell said. “How did you come to hear about it?”

“I have friends in the business,” said Johnson, “and some are a bit, shall we say, talkative.”

“Well seeing how it's our business and none of yours,” Cynthia replied, “perhaps you should be on your way.”

“Perhaps, ma'am, my men and I should stick around, seeing as how you two are all alone. You never know what sort of unsavory character might come riding along.”

“Couldn't be much worse than you pole-cats!” said a voice from behind. They turned to find McCain leveling his shotgun at them.

“You can't take us all out by yourself, McCain,” Johnson said.

“Maybe not all of you, but at least two, and buckshot will kill a man at this range. So which two want to die first?”

Johnson scowled. “All right, boys, let's get going. But you tinhorns ain't heard the last of it.”

He turned and rode off with his companions following. McCain kept his gun pointed at them until they disappeared. Then he relaxed.

Cynthia ran over to him. “I can't believe the way you stood up to them!” she said.

“Well it ain't over yet,” said Shotgun. “Those Jaspers are goin' to be comin back to get the drop on us, I can guarantee!”

“What can we do?” she asked.

“Keep a careful watch, and never go anyplace unarmed. Miss Coogan, have you ever used a gun?”

“Why, no.”

“How about you, Campbell?”

Campbell replied, “I'm a fair shot with a rifle and I know how to handle a pistol.”

“You have your piece with you?”

“My rifle and my 45, yes.”

“Good. I have two Winchester's in the provisions and I suggest we load 'em and carry 'em with us. And from now on one of us is always on watch, day or night. We still need to get back to town tomorrow, and there's no tellin' when those snakes might strike.”

The company spent a restless night. Cynthia kept the unfamiliar Winchester next to her bedroll, ready to grab if disturbed during the night. Campbell and McCain alternated the watch, but neither one got much sleep. Campbell now wore his gun belt and carried his rifle at his side. McCain slung his trusty shotgun across his back, ready to grab, and cradled a Winchester in his arms. Both were ready to fight.

They struck camp quickly at dawn, loading the pack mules with their ore and leaving the tents behind. They had ridden about an hour when the outlaws struck.

Johnson and his gang opened fire on the party as they rode past a rocky embankment. The first shot caught McCain in the shoulder and he went down. They quickly dismounted and took shelter behind the rocks, dragging Shotgun with them.

Campbell tried not to let his anxiety show, but it was difficult. McCain was losing blood and would soon lose consciousness. They managed to put a compress on the wound, but he needed medical attention. Then Johnson called out.

“You folks might as well give up. We got you outgunned and outnumbered. Come on out where we can see you.”

Campbell replied with an expletive he immediately regretted using in the presence of a lady.

“Okay, if that's the way you want it!” And the outlaws opened fire.

Campbell and Cynthia tried to return fire, but they were in a hopeless position, and Cynthia's inexperience with firearms was telling. She fired hesitantly, fearful of the retort of her rifle.

“Miss Coogan,” said Campbell, “I'm sorry I led you into this. If only I...” He never got to finish the sentence. He was interrupted by gunfire from another direction.

It was directed toward Johnson and his men.

Campbell and Cynthia listened as several men cried out and their guns went silent. What was going on? Then the shooting stopped.

The silence was pierced by a deep, resonant voice. “Miss Coogan, Mr. Campbell, you can come out now. I have Johnson covered.”

It was the masked man!

Cynthia and Campbell slowly raised their heads above the rocks and beheld an amazing sight. The masked man and his Indian companion had their guns pointed at Johnson and his gang, who were cowering with their hands raised.

“Mr. Campbell,” the masked man said, “if you could oblige me, I'd appreciate it if you could tie up these gentlemen.”

Campbell grabbed a coil of rope from one of the pack mules and bound all of his former assailants, now sporting fresh wounds in their hands. Cynthia then said, “You have to help Mr. McCain, he's been shot and he's bleeding badly.

Tonto went to McCain's side and examined the wound. By this time Shotgun was unconscious. “He's lost a lot of blood. I need to get that bullet out before we can move him. Miss Coogan, would you please help me? We need to boil some water.”

Tonto removed what appeared to be surgical instruments from his saddlebag and went to work.

* * * * *

It was dark and a campfire was burning when Shotgun McCain finally woke up. His right shoulder hurt him like all the demons of hell. What happened?

“Then he realized where he was, and tried to get up, only to be restrained by Tonto. “Take it easy, Shotgun, you need to rest. You've lost a lot of blood, amigo.”

“Shotgun felt himself with his left hand and realized he had been undressed. He was covered with a loose blanket. Oh, my God, that meant...

“You know!” he said.

“Yes, I couldn't help but notice. I had to get the shirt off you so I could take out the bullet, and then I had to remove the binders. I left your trousers on. Once I saw your breasts I didn't need to see much more.

“It had to be hard keeping a secret like that all of these years, Shotgun.”

“It's Janet,” said Shotgun. “That's my real name, Janet Barstow. I'm a woman.”

“Your secret is safe with me, Janet. Or Shotgun. Names don't really matter that much.”

Tears began to well up in Shotgun's eyes, as though a dam long straining finally had given way. “God, it's been a burden, never being able to tell anybody the truth. And maybe I just didn't want to admit it, not even to myself.”

He hesitated, and then began to talk. “You would never know it to see me now, but I was a pretty little thing back east. Only I hated being a pretty little thing.

“Mother always dressed me in frills and lace, and I always managed to ruin them chasing frogs and playin' with the boys. I don't think I was ever really convinced I was a girl. At least not until I met Jeffrey Clayton.

“Oh, he was a smooth operator, handsome, educated, well-to-do. I was charmed by his attentions. I was a foolish young girl of seventeen, and for the first time in my life I was happy to be a girl. He made me feel that way. And I succumbed to his charms. I became pregnant with his child.

“I was naive. I thought that he would greet the news with the same joy that I felt, and we would spend our days as husband and wife. But Jeffrey did not share my joy. Oh, he said he would do the right thing by me, but he lied. He left town for parts unknown, never to be seen again. And I was left with no husband and a child on the way.

“I suppose it could have been worse. Father wanted to disown me and put me out on the street, but Mother intervened. We would tell everyone that I was going on an extended holiday to our cousins in the South. In truth I was sent to a home for young girls like myself. I would have the baby and it would be raised by my married sister, Dorothy Coogan.

“At first this arrangement worked well. I would stay with Dorothy and help with the domestic chores. But I was heartbroken. I could not hold my daughter, nor console her, nor give her the love of a mother. I could only watch as another held her and cuddled her.

“And so I left to make my own way in the world. I went West. But I vowed that I would never be weak or helpless again. I cut my hair, wore male clothing, and passed myself off as a young orphan boy. I soon got a job riding for the Pony Express, mostly because they asked no questions. I learned to ride, to handle a gun, and to take care of myself. And when I got older I worked for the stagecoach lines riding shotgun.

“Thanks to my sister Dorothy I was able to follow Cynthia's progress. I knew when she started school, when she learned to ride and to play the piano, when she took her first steps. Dorothy was a wonderful sister. You don't know how sad I was when I learned she died.

“Last year I won the location to the silver mine in a poker game. I worked it for a few weeks and then took the ore in to the assay office. Just imagine how surprised I was when I learned I had the richest mine in the state. I knew what I had to do.

“That's why I contacted Cynthia. If I couldn't give her my love, at least I could give her my wealth. I could make sure that she would never have to depend upon any man to make her way in this world. And perhaps I could spare her from the cruelty of poverty, and give her an easier life.”

Tonto looked at McCain. “You just rest easy now, Shotgun. We'll get you to town in the morning and take care of everything.”

Shotgun closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

Nearby, Cynthia Coogan cried. She had heard every word.

* * * * *

When Shotgun woke up again, he was in a bed with clean sheets. Sunlight streamed into the room. And waiting in the room was Cynthia Coogan and Charles Campbell.

“Glad to see you awake,” Cynthia said. “For a while we thought we might lose you.”

“What...where am I? What is this place?” Shotgun asked.

“You're in Mrs. Logan's boarding house,” Campbell said. “We got back to town three days ago. Now don't worry, Johnson and his cronies are all in jail, and we filed the claim at the assay office.”

There was a knock at the door. Campbell opened it, and a familiar Indian entered, followed by his masked friend. “So how's the patient?” Tonto asked.

“Doctor Hennessey said he's doing just fine,” said Campbell. “He'll be back up and riding shotgun on the stagecoach in a few weeks.”

“Before you go back to work, Mr. McCain,” said Cynthia, “I would like to ask you a favor.”

“What would that be, miss?” said Shotgun.

“I would like you to consider moving in with me and living as you really are, as my mother.”

McCain was stunned, too stunned to interrupt as Cynthia continued. “I overheard you talking with Tonto by the campfire. I want you to know that I was prepared to hate you for abandoning me. But you are no coward, as you demonstrated this past week. I know now what courage it took for you to give me up and to strike out on your own. I know how deeply you loved me, because you kept in touch with Mother, I mean, with your sister over the years. And when you finally struck it rich, you want to give it all to me. How could I possibly hate you?”

Shotgun thought for a few minutes. “Thank you. That's more than I ever dared to hope for over these many years. But it's too late. I couldn't go back to feminine finery, dresses and petticoats, lace and ruffles, bonnets and bustles and fancy hats and high-tone shoes. And especially not corsets and stays. No, I've been a man in a man's world for too long. Truth is, I was never cut out to be a woman. The only good thing I ever did as a woman was bring you into this world.

“Thank you, my lovely, darling daughter, but I can't give up being a man. I'm Shotgun McCain. That's how I lived, and that's how I aim to die.”

A tear trickled down Cynthia's cheek. “I think I understand,” she said. “But at least, if you won't be my mother, stay and live with us. We'll make a place for you on whatever spread we get for ourselves, a place of your own where you can live the comfortable life of a western gentleman.”

“We?” asked Shotgun.

“Yes. Charles has asked for my hand, and I have consented. We will be wed this fall, right here in Cooper's Well. And Shotgun, I would be most pleased if you would walk me down the aisle when I meet my groom.”

It was Shotgun's turn to cry. “I would be honored. You won't be disappointed, I clean up right nice.”

“I'm certain,” said Cynthia. She turned. “And of course, you two will be invited...”

But the masked man and the Indian were no longer in the room. They had slipped away unnoticed.

“They're gone!” Cynthia said. “And I wanted to thank them.”

“They don't hang around for thanks,” said Shotgun. “Their thanks is knowin' that justice has been served.”

“But I don't even know his name!” she said.

“His name ain't important.” said Shotgun. “Not nearly as important as the legend he's carving. And it's a mighty one, right up there with King Arthur, Robin Hood, and Paul Bunyan. We'll be long in the grave, our names all but forgotten, and they'll still be talking about his legend. Our grandchildren, and their grandchildren will remember it.

“You see,” said Shotgun, “he's the Lone Ranger.”

With his faithful Indian companion, Tonto, the daring and resourceful masked rider of the plains led the fight for law and order in the early west. Nowhere in the pages of history will you find a greater champion of justice. Return with us now to those thrilling days of yesteryear. From out of the past come the thundering hoof beats of the great white horse, Silver. The Lone Ranger rides again!

 © 2007 Valentina Michelle Smith

The Lone Ranger, Tonto, Silver, and all associated materials were created for radio by George W. Trendle and developed by Fran Striker. Episodes aired between 1933 and 1954. A television series based on the radio adventures aired from 1949 through 1957. Two Republic Serials and three feature films were also produced. This story is fan fiction, and was not written with the permission of the current copyright holders.