News came to the young vigilante that El Lobo Blanco—the White Wolf —was on the warpath again and leading his fanatical followers against his old enemies. What had caused the Apache Nation's most bloodthirsty secret society to revive their vendetta against the Texans—and where had so many warriors come from?? And why had they kidnapped Tex Brady's beautiful young wife? The Masked Buckaroo meant to find out—even if it meant chasing some fanatical religious fundamentalist gents to the very gates of Hell—and beyond!

A GRIPPING YARN OF BAD MEN, BAD LANDS AND BAD BLOOD

AS THE STRANGE albino lifted the war-lance to strike, the Masked Buckaroo pushed Jenny behind him and lifted one gloved hand.

From somewhere high above came the familiar notes of a Texan Cavalry cornet calling a complicated 'Alert'. The sound seemed to go on forever and the young vigilante looked on in astonishment as the silver-faced warrior threw back his long head, the white hair cascading and curling about his shoulders, to howl in sudden, impossible unison with the bugle's call.

Next, the black blade itself began to vibrate and moan. It issued that hideous crooning sound others had reported, making it almost impossible to hold down the contents of the stomach. Yet gradually the pitch changed until it, too, sang in unison with the other voices.

It was as if Pale Wolf had planned everything for this moment.

From out of the shadows now came a small, crooked individual, carrying a great jewelled chalice which, once the light from above touched it, also began to vibrate and sing in harmony with the bugle, the sword and the man.

From somewhere above a voice was calling—perhaps a warning—but those in the canyon did not hear. Their attention was on the scene taking place under that concentrated beam of sunlight where a bizarre silver-skinned warrior in the full war-gear of a Kakatanawa Apache raised his voice in unnatural, inhuman music, performing a ritual which none doubted to be of the darkest, most powerful magic. Then, as the echo of the bugle began to fade, the albino brought the great, black blade down into the rock at his feet, his voice rising in hideous crescendo as the chalice held by the dwarf seemed to swell and shatter and the blade bit down into the ground, splitting it wide and revealing a great opening in the darkness, a natural stairway leading into the unknown.

And out of this sudden fissure came a deep, suffering groan, as if Mother Earth herself stirred in her sleep, dreaming of all the evil her children had done. And none there dared imagine what kind of creature bore such pain or uttered such sounds.

IT WAS SIR Seaton Begg who took the initiative. He stepped to the opening and stared down into it, frowning.

Behind him, Pale Wolf smiled. "So you have lost none of your courage, old enemy."

"Should I be afraid?" Sir Seaton looked up and met the Apache leader's strange eyes directly.

Pale Wolf shrugged. "I suppose not."

"I must credit you with excellent strategy," Begg said. "You have completely outmaneuvered us in the best traditions of Apache generals! You guessed how young Tex here would act and think. You put yourself in his shoes, how he would cover all possible eventualities, leaving as little as possible to chance—because his wife's very soul could be at stake. You knew he would find a way to get the army here and that's exactly what he did..."

Pale Wolf reached into his breech-clout and removed a compact silver case. From this he took a small, brown cigarette and placed it between his lips. He lit it with a match and drew deeply of the dark smoke. He appeared to have nothing to do in the world, but listen in a relaxed, easy posture, as Sir Seaton Begg continued:

"You didn't want Jenny Brady or Don Lorenzo or even Tex himself. You were using Tex's brains to make sure the army would be here at a certain moment. And you didn't really want the army. You wanted the army trumpeteer, that wonderful cornet which, of all the armies in the world, only the Texas Cavalry boasts. You did not really want the trumpeteer. You wanted his cornet. Or rather, you wanted a particular sequence of notes on that cornet, which occurs in the formal 'Alert' blown by Texas's bravest. And it had to sound at a particular moment, when the light fell in a certain way and when man, chalice and blade could give voice together, casting the great spell which would open the doorway you needed into the Realm Below."

At this, the albino's eyes narrowed. His handsome features seem to contain a strange, bitter amusement. His long-fingered hands, the colour of bone, played with the ornate red shaft of the lance. "I believe I have underestimated you, however, Seaton Begg. For I did not anticipate your presence here. Neither did I prepare for it. Neither was I aware of your knowledge."

"Acquired in the course of a long investigation," murmured the detective. "I have been seeking you and the chalice for some while. Since you stole it from Sir John Soanes' Museum three years ago. The Museum of which my brother-in-law is director."

The albino seemed surprised and made as if to deny the charge, then shrugged and pulled deeply on his aromatic cigarette.

"Well, Sir Seaton, you could easily have thwarted me, it seems. Yet you did not. Why so?"

Begg pursed his lips and frowned, as if he had not considered the question before. At length he said: "Curiosity, I suppose. Which is, after all, my abiding and defining vice."

"Then I am obliged to you," said the albino, swinging the now dormant blade onto his back and signalling to the people in the shadows.

Now, as they emerged, Tex saw that they were emaciated creatures, pale from every deprivation. Tex thought one thing when he saw them—'Reservation Indian'. Their undernourished bodies spoke of terrible hardship. Only their eyes were vital and, as they began to ride and walk slowly down the causeway into the earth, they bore themselves with a strange, new self-respect. Men, women and children, waggons and horses, moved slowly down into the darkness, their voices ringing with wonder and fresh confidence so that those above ground almost felt envious of them and what they were seeing.

"You mean, Pale Wolf, that you made such an elaborate plan simply in order to save those poor creatures?" gasped Jenny.

"I am not so altruistic, Mrs Brady," said the albino with an ironic glint in his strange, red eyes. "But I guessed my self-interest would combine with theirs to our mutual benefit and so it proved."

"Where are they going?" Don Lorenzo asked.

"Home," said the albino tossing the remains of his cigarette into the shadows. "Home to the land of lost nations, of recollected pride and purpose. Home to the Reforgotten. Home to the Realm Below." His eyes met those of his old adversary. "Would you deny them that peace of mind, Seaton Begg? That pride?"

The English detective took an interest in his pipe. "My question has always been, your highness, whether you would deny me my peace of mind in achieving yours. It is the great fundamental debate. How do we achieve satisfactory compromise?"

"They intend you no harm," insisted the albino. "And as for myself, I believe you know how deeply uninterested I am in your race and its ambitions. As long as I am left alone."

"Left alone to murder and steal, sir." Sir Seaton Begg reminded the strange creature. "Why, you have killed half the British parliament! Lady Rhatchet herself dropped dead merely at the sight of you! While this made you something of a popular hero, you are still guilty. You have stolen one of our great treasures and apparently destroyed it. You have put everyone, moreover, to a considerable outlay of time, concern and money which could have been better spent elsewhere. Sir, the rogue wolf is left alone only when he hunts in his own territory. I cannot believe you to be unaware of the fallacious nature of your arguments. You have not left us alone, sir."

At which a deep sigh escaped the albino's lips and he glared around impatiently. "Am I to be forever plagued by dullards and fools splitting hairs in abstract arguments? I am tired of the abstract, gentlemen. How I long for the concrete."

"I can offer you as much concrete, sir, as you please," said Sir Seaton Begg. "Her Majesty's prisons consist of little else."

The albino turned brooding eyes upward, studying the tiny figures who now rimmed the canyon. He spoke dreamily. "Did you bring the entire Texas army here, Mr Brady? I am flattered. Please give Captain Gideon my compliments and tell him I shall have to meet him another time."

With that he had mounted his pony and, without looking back, urged it at a rapid trot down into the fissure.

A few moments later they heard his laughter issue from the echoing depths. The caverns enlarged and expanded it, giving it a rich, eternal bitterness so that it seemed Satan himself addressed them in tones full of tormented melancholy and longing.

"Farewell, old friend! We shall meet soon enough, no doubt, in the Realm Below."

And then he was gone.