BILLY STEELE: KID RANGER

As the three-year-old baby screamed for his parents, the outlaw-army laughed with sadistic delight, while Robert and Melissa silently begged the Holy Ghost to see to it that their youngest son, still hidden in their steel strongbox, a metal womb, remained free from the outlaws abduction.

In a last ditch effort to save his family Robert spotted his rifle sprawled in the angry dust. He valiantly lunged for the Winchester 73, but he heard the maniacal laughter from The Dark Skull.

"We are the angels of death," The Dark Skull screamed as a torrent of gunfire from a barrage of bullets from the outlaws Colt 45s cracked the skies like ominous thunder. Before he could reach his rifle, Roberts body was riddled with the outlaws bullets.

Melissa cried in sheer horror as she ran to the bullet ridden, blood soaked body of her lover. Roberts blood splattered her creamy, white arm as she caressed the corpses head. The three-year old boy lunged towards the motionless body of his father. But his Dark Skull captor held him breathlessly away from his dead parent. As the baby cried, the Dark Skull laughed more cruelly.

"She will be my prize," The Wolf Man shouted as he dismounted and forced the still screaming Melissa to the desert dust.

She desperately tried to gouge the eyes of the masked animal man, and as they struggled in the dust, she attempted to grab his gun. But the evil strength of the half man, half beast was too much for the distraught damsel as he forced the barrel into her chest and clamped her delicate fingers to squeeze the trigger. A deafening crack was heard! And Melissa joined her beloved husband in the land of angels. All the while, the steel strongbox containing the couples two-year-old-son remained deathly quiet.

Not knowing that the Knoxs two-year-old son was still hiding in the steel strongbox, the trinity of terror, now in possession of the black coin and the couples three-year-old-son, planned to eradicate all evidence of their evil.

"Pile the dead bodies in the wagon and torch everything," Don Diablo malevolently cried, "Theres a steep cliff leading to a box canyon," he continued, "It will be a fitting grave for them!" The henchmen then threw the Knoxs corpses into the wagon and lit a fire stick with wicked sneers on their lips.

"Hey, they got a strongbox," a hooded horseman shouted, "Lets check it for gold and drinking money." As the trinity of terror approached the steel strongbox, still silent and giving no clue to its infant contents, a masked minion saw what appeared to be a troop of US cavalry soldiers crossing the canyon, their sabers shone through the dusk.

"Range warriors, ho," were the stalwart sounding words that echoed through the canyons by the troops leader, words that struck a chill through the collective spines of the legion of the lawless.

These words belonged to Col. Tim Holt, leader of Holts Rangers, an elite group of US cavalrymen, and protectors of the great territories.

Tall, muscular and square jawed, but with a smile as broad as the plains he has sworn to protect, the blue and gold uniformed Col. Tim drew his sleek saber and led his mighty mount, a chocolate brown steed, in the charge to capture the Wests most wanted desperadoes. The troops glorious red, white and blue flag waved like a crusading wind.

Behind the Col. were his hand picked unit of super troopers: Sgt. "Big Boy" Haliday, a six foot, seven inch, three hundred pound giant of a man, but he could nurse a pony back to health with his tenderness alone as easily as carry a stallion across his shoulders. The jovial giants best friend was at his side. Cpl.