Wallie was sitting idly on the front porch of the house when the two arrived. He leaped to his feet at the sight of Bryant riding with the masked man. The Lone Ranger already had a gun in readiness, and spoke quite casually when he saw Wallie reaching for a weapon. "I wouldn't if I were you."
Wallie's hand froze to the gun butt. He didn't draw. "Where did you come from?" he demanded. Then to his uncle he said in a more fawning tone, "Uncle Bryant, I been worried sick about yuh ever since last night when yuh was shot at."
"The hell you have," snarled Bryant. "Yuh didn't stick around town very long tuh see what happened to me."
"But there wasn't any use hangin' around there," explained the well-dressed one. "We all seen yuh carried off on that white hoss. Right after yuh left, we found that it was Mort that that stranger killed."
"Mort?" snapped Bryant. "Is he dead?"
Wallie explained the events of the previous night while he helped to ease Bryant Cavendish from the saddle to the ground. The Lone Ranger stood slightly back, letting Wallie help his uncle. His keen eyes shot quick glances in all directions.
The Lone Ranger saw men going casually about their various tasks, but he also saw men who seemed to have no tasks. At least six of these stood idly about, each one, he knew, watching him intently, waiting for a signal from Bryant Cavendish. His life wouldn't be worth much if the command to capture him were given. He dared not relax his vigilance for a split second.
"We'll go into the house," he told Wallie. "I'll follow you to Bryant's own bedroom. Get him into bed; he's pretty tired. I'll take care of him when he's there."
Wallie started to object, but Bryant cut him off shortly. "Do what he says!"