The Lone Ranger and Tonto (13 page)

Pete, judging correctly that the menace of Higgy's gun was far less than the danger of refusing to obey, came from his hiding place with a haunted look. "Take that gun," repeated Mag, "an' see that he don't git it back till he's learned not to shoot it so promiscuous."

"Y-y-yes'm," murmured Pete.

Higgy permitted the hotel proprietor to take the gun and then rose slowly to his feet, ready to dodge if Mag saw fit to swing the broom again.

"Wha-what did you want to shoot the redskin for?" asked Pete.

"He tried tuh kill me. He come tuh my room an' slung a knife right at me. I could feel it go past me, an' it stuck in the bed not half an inch from where my head was!" Higgy had the good sense to tell Mag that he was sorry for the destruction his wanton shooting had caused and promised to pay for the damage. "After I git Delaney," he added.

"Steve Delaney?" It was Pete who spoke.

"None else. He's the one sent that Injun tuh git me, the ornery double-crossin' buzzard. He owes me a heap of cash an' he figured that if I was dead, he wouldn't have tuh pay it up. That's why he wanted me dead. It's all as plain as day now. He's the one sent me tuh spend the night here, an' told me tuh stay in the room till he sent fer me. He didn't say that when he sent, it'd be an Injun with a knife tuh kill me."

Pete shook his head in disbelief. "That don't sound like Mister Delaney."

"Don't yuh tell me what it sounds like," roared Higgy. "I'm tellin' yuh what it
is
, not what it sounds like."

"But gosh, Mister Higgy," Pete said in an apologetic voice, "Mister Delaney is a fine gent. He's never been knowed tuh try an' hurt anyone. Why when Ma Prindle was killed, it was Mister Delaney who brought in the killer, an' it was him that was tuh see the killer was brought tuh the hangman fer his murder. Mister Delaney has supported poor old Ma Prindle fer a good many years. That don't sound like the sort of man that'd send a redskin tuh knife yuh."

Higgy's eyes flamed in rage, "That Injun told me Steve sent him. Now if yore aimin' tuh argue the point with me—"

"An' if he
does
aim tuh argue the point," interposed Mag, "what d'you figure to do about it?"

Higgy turned and saw the woman gripping the broom in readiness. He stepped back a pace but she followed closely. "Are you tryin' to call my husband a liar?"

"No… no, ma'am," replied Higgy. "But it cain't be no one else but Delaney, there ain't nobody else would want tuh kill me."

"Oh, there ain't, eh?" retorted Mag Loomis. "Well, you shell out cash to pay fer the damage you done or I'll show you here an' now that there's others besides Steve Delaney that'd like to do fer you."

Higgy emptied his pockets. "It ain't much," he said, "I tried tuh tell Delaney that I was flat broke an' he promised me some cash tuhday. I had a few dollars that I didn't tell him about, but that's all I got."

"Then you see to it that you git the rest before the day's over with or I'll make yuh wish you'd never set foot in Snake River."

Higgy had never before faced an angry woman whose weapon was a broom and he was actually tamed by Mag. He promised that he would get the cash, and he intended to do it In getting that cash, he'd also settle several points with Steve Delaney.

Pete looked at his wife in admiration. "I-I never seen yuh so grand," he said, "an' yuh never before had anything kind tuh say about my friend Steve Delaney."

"Humph," snorted Mag.

"It's true," said Pete. "An' the way yuh was ready tuh battle this gent fer callin' me the same as a liar."

"Don't git the wrong notions about that," warned Mag. "It ain't that I think any more of Steve Delaney or you than I ever did. It's just that this baboon has riled me an' I'm ag'in him no matter what he does. First, he comes here an' gits you up in the middle of the night, then he shoots out the doors an' windows, an' then as if that wasn't enough tuh rile a woman, he starts a fight right here in the middle of the floor I just finished sweepin'."

Higgy asked for and received his six-gun after promising not to use it in the hotel again. Then he went up the stairs and back to his bedroom to get the rest of his belongings. He was in a peculiar spot. He couldn't explain why Delaney desired him dead, without admitting his alliance with the gambler. He had no recourse at law for the attempt on his life, so he would have to solve his problems personally. One thing seemed dead certain to him. He would have to kill Delaney, or Delaney would kill him. In Higgy's mind, he was alive only because the Indian's knife had missed its mark. The next attempt on his life might be more effective. Steve Delaney had tipped his hand.

Higgy closed the door of his room, then pulled the knife from where it had stuck. He sat down on the edge of the bed to examine it. "Dirty double-crosser," he muttered with reference to Steve Delaney. "Told me he hadn't any of Langford's cash. He had it all right, an' he wasn't robbed at all. He jest didn't figger it'd be necessary to give me my honest share of it. Stalled me off till he could git a man tuh kill me." With an imprecation, Higgy threw the knife away from him. Then he pulled on his boots. "I won't hire no one tuh do my killin'," he vowed softly. "I'll handle it myself an' then I'll be sure it's done right. I'll call on Delaney fer a showdown an' this time I won't let that smooth-talkin' way of his persuade me tuh go somewhere an' wait till I git killed."

Higgy pulled on his vest and coat and buckled his cartridge belt in place. He examined his gun, replaced the exploded cartridges with fresh ones and jammed it back into the holster. Higgy was certainly not a coward. He was slow-thinking and dull-witted, stupid perhaps, with little strength of character, but he was not cowardly. It was nothing against his courage that he had given ground before the broom Mag Loomis wielded so efficiently. He could not shoot a woman. But he
could
and would bring his gun into play when he met Steve Delaney.

Before he left the room, he went to the dirty window and looked out. A sloping roof fell back from the window, starting about a foot below the lower sill. This was the roof of the lean-to kitchen that seemed to have been added to the hotel as an afterthought. Higgy thought that Delaney might be setting a trap to get him as he left the hotel. This window and the roof offered a safer way of exit than the front door.

He managed to get the window open, and then climbed cautiously out upon the roof. Easing his way down to the lower edge he found it was but a six-foot jump to the ground. He sprawled clumsily on the grass behind the hotel but got up again quickly.

Higgy kept behind the row of buildings until he had gone several hundred feet from the hotel. Then he came along the side of one of them to the road. He looked both ways cautiously before venturing to cross, and when he did cross the street, he did so at the end of the row of buildings where he was least likely to be observed. On the same side of the street as the Royal Flush, he paused to think things over. He didn't want to act too hastily.

His first thought had been to locate Steve Delaney and open fire on him. Then he reconsidered. He wanted to talk with the gambler before he fired. But this would be risky. Delaney was a good shot and a fast one, and Higgy didn't want to take unnecessary risks. Neither did he want to kill the gambler while there still remained a chance to get cash from him. He had already realized a large sum through his association with Delaney, and there should be more forthcoming. Delaney dead would be quite useless to him.

He wondered if, after all, there might not have been some mistake. Was it possible that someone other than the gambler had sent the Indian to his room with the knife? Someone, perhaps, who wanted to place the blame on Steve Delaney?

Higgy looked about him. He noticed the ground, which clearly showed the signs of a recent scuffle. The nearest house was far more tidy than the other places in the community and was surrounded by flower gardens. After a moment, the signs of the fight registered on Higgy's brain. He looked at a window of the house where the glass had been smashed out and this recalled Mag Loomis and her broom. "Can't blame me fer that one, anyhow," he reflected.

Then Higgy saw a man approaching. Snow-white hair was brushed straight back from a fine, high forehead, and an aristocratic-looking nose was surmounted by gold-rimmed glasses. Though well along in years, the man stood quite straight and held his head high. Seeing Higgy, the stranger stopped. In his hand he held a pitcher. He smiled at Higgy and in a pleasant voice said, "Good morning."

Higgy managed to stammer a reply.

"Were you looking for me?" asked the white-haired man.

Higgy's mind was such that any break in his line of thought made him confused. "I-uh-that is, I dunno," he stammered. "Who are yuh?"

A somewhat amused smile showed on the gentleman's face. It was a tired, tolerant smile that only brought out the sadness of his face. "My name is John Langford."

For a few seconds the name didn't penetrate the inner working parts of Higgy's brain. Then suddenly he blurted, "
Who
?"

"John Langford."

The apelike man showed genuine surprise. His small eyes opened wide, then his face hardened and he jerked his gun to bear upon the thin man. "So," he snapped, "you're Langford!"

The smile vanished and Langford's white bushy eyebrows came close together in a frown. "I am John Langford. Is that any reason to point a gun at me?"

"I dunno yet," growled Higgy, "but I aim tuh have a talk with you. Is that the place where you live?"

Langford said it was.

"Then get goin' into the house, I reckon we can talk lots better inside there. Here's where I git tuh find out just what Delaney has been gettin'!"

At the mention of the gambler's name John Langford tried to speak, but Higgy silenced him with a jab of the gun and the question, "Where's your wife?"

"She's in the house. She isn't well and so has remained in her room. If you want to talk with me, please don't disturb her."

"I don' hanker tuh disturb her, but bein' as she is in the house where she c'n overhear what's said, we'll be better off if we go tuh the shed out in the rear. Now march."

Langford obeyed silently and Higgy walked close behind him as they headed toward a woodshed in the rear of the neat little home. Higgy did the talking on the way. "I was figurin' on lookin' up Steve Delaney, but I'm downright glad that I seen you first." Langford opened the shed's door and went inside. Higgy spilled some logs from the carefully piled up firewood, and gestured toward one of these with his gun. "You sit down there," he commanded as he closed the door of the place. "I'm hankerin' fer a lot of information an' I figure on gettin' that same from you."

After Tonto left the Lone Ranger seated at the table in the Royal Flush, the mystery man in disguise as Steve Delaney lingered for a few moments. Then he rose and made his way to the door in the rear of the café. A key from one of the pockets of the fancy vest unlocked the door. Watched by Baldy, the barman, the Lone Ranger entered Steve Delaney's living quarters, locking the door behind him.

Delaney was sprawled on the bed with his hands and legs lashed tightly and a gag across his mouth. He glared at the man who so closely resembled him, with hatred showing in his dark piercing eyes. The Lone Ranger ignored the gambler while he went to the mirror to inspect his disguise. He gave special attention to the false sideburns and moustache. He checked these to make certain they would not come unfastened in a scuffle. Then he studied the stain on his face and neck, the meticulous style of brushing the hair that Steve Delaney affected, and the set of the gambler's high hat. Satisfied that he had done his best to represent the gambler, he turned toward the bed.

"I'm going to remove that gag for a few minutes," he told Steve Delaney, "so you can rest the muscles of your mouth. I warn you, though, that if you attempt to make an outcry, I'll take it and ram it down your throat."

Delaney knew the tall man meant what he said. He fully realized that it was simply an act of mercy on the part of the Lone Ranger, and that his best course, for the present at least, was to obey the commands of the disguised man. When the gag was removed, the Lone Ranger offered Delaney a glass of water which the gambler drank eagerly.

"If you've changed your mind about talking," the Lone Ranger said, "you have the chance now. Is there anything you care to confess to me?"

"No," muttered Delaney in a hoarse voice. "I've got just one thing to tell you, and you'd better listen closely."

The Lone Ranger nodded, leaning over the bed. It was obvious that speaking was an effort for the gambler. His throat was parched, and his jaw and throat muscles ached from the gag that he'd been forced to endure for so long. "You're making a big mistake," he whispered. "If you'll let me go, I'll give you my word you can get out of town alive, and as long as you stay away from Snake River you'll have nothing to worry about."

"And if I don't let you loose?" asked the Lone Ranger.

"Then you'll have to take what comes. I've given you the last chance you're going to get. Sooner or later my friends will find me here and then you'll be captured. I swear, if that happens, you'll hang."

"I doubt if it will happen," the Lone Ranger retorted.

"We'll see," replied the gambler confidently.

"Perhaps you would be less confident, Delaney, if you knew that my friend has already gone to the hotel to take care of Higgy."

The gambler's face showed no change of expression, but the Lone Ranger felt sure that this news surprised him. "If it is Higgy you're counting on," the mystery man continued, "you're making a mistake. Now do you want to talk?"

Delaney shook his head.

"Very well then, you'll have to take what comes." With deft hands the Lone Ranger replaced the gag. Then he left the room to return to the restaurant where he was to wait for Tonto.

Baldy appeared to be very much preoccupied with the glassware behind the bar when the Lone Ranger, still looking very much like Steve Delaney, returned to his usual table. Jeb Larkspur, who was still thought by most people to be the owner of the Royal Flush, had not yet put in an appearance. Baldy knew that Jeb was late, and knew further that Steve Delaney, the new owner of the place, was generally annoyed at such tardiness. Though every piece of glassware on the shelf behind the bar was gleaming with spotless lustre, Baldy continued to work on it. He adjusted the pyramids of tumblers, removing one to wipe off a tiny bit of lint. He replaced it with the care of a man whose very life might depend upon having the pile of tumblers precise to the last degree.