The Lone Ranger and Tonto (7 page)

Over half the men in town had grown tired of waiting for the Sheriff to return from the manhunt. They were ready to go to their respective homes. Then Langford had raised the alarm and the masked man had raced through the town on Jake Lane's mustang. This sudden development gave everyone renewed interest in events. Another manhunt got under way at once.

Though the Sheriff and his men were somewhere on the plains hunting for the friend who had taken Dave Walters from the jail, Eph Summers swore that the masked man the lawmen sought was close at hand. He vowed that the man who borrowed Jake's horse to escape was the one who, earlier in the day, had ridden away on the big white stallion.

The mustang was found a couple of miles outside the town, and found without a rider. It was obvious that the masked man had leaped from the saddle and was at that very moment in hiding near by. The townsmen spread in all directions to conduct an intensive search, but the manhunt was a wholly disorganized one. Each individual felt that one of the others would locate the masked man with the result that no one person took his part in the search very seriously.

Men would start out from town with loud threats and boasts to hunt the mysterious figure, but none of them would venture far away. They did not want to take the risk of meeting the masked rider alone, or of being away when someone else brought him in a captive.

The Lone Ranger, while the hunt went on, lay unconscious in the old arroyo. Finally he opened his eyes and blinked a few times at the stars. He found himself flat on his back. His mind was whirling as he tried to remember what had happened. The last thing he remembered was a note he had sent to Tonto. He turned slightly to locate the moon, and from its position judged that he had been unconscious for about an hour. Every fibre of his being ached when he moved, and when he tried to sit up, he felt throbbing pain like sharp lances piercing his head.

"Can't stay here," he muttered softly, "must get up. Must get away from here." He pressed his hands against his throbbing temples. This seemed to help a little. The ringing in his ears subsided, and in a few moments he could think more clearly.

The grass was moist with dew. He removed his neckerchief and wiped it through the tall blades until it was quite moist. Then he wiped his face and neck. Though the moisture would remove the stain he used as part of his disguise, the coolness was refreshing and helped considerably in clearing his head. Still sitting on the ground, the masked man turned to view the row of buildings. They rose in square, dark blocks against the lights in the street beyond. He could hear the voices of men who still loitered around the cafés and realized that he was in a dangerous place.

He rose to his feet, and once more his head seemed to ring, but the sensation soon passed. Standing there in the light of the moon, the Lone Ranger worked his arms, bent his knees and flexed his muscles. In his splendid physical condition, he found the stiffness and lameness disappearing as if by magic, after several minutes of simple exercising. Then he climbed up the bank of the arroyo. It was fortunate that he looked to his left as he came to the level ground. If he hadn't, the chances are he would have been seen by the approaching men before he sighted them. As it was, he caught a glimpse of dark forms coming toward him and quickly dropped flat on the ground.

The grass concealed the masked man quite effectively. He parted the growth just enough to give him a view of the oncoming men. One of the men was tall and lanky with trousers that were inches too short. He wore a limp-brimmed hat and walked with something of a shuffle. The other man was in direct contrast, and his outline was an amazing one. He might easily have been mistaken for some kind of gigantic ape. Though he was quite short in comparison to the thin man, he had shoulders of tremendous breadth, powerful arms swung low from his shoulders, and his hands came almost to his knees. He was the sort of man who would be dangerous in any fight and particularly in a free-for-all struggle. The Lone Ranger, watching him, did not doubt for a moment that those long arms could snap a man's backbone in a bear-hug grip. The strange man's head seemed small in proportion to the rest of him, and looked as if it rose from the shoulders without benefit of a neck.

As the two came nearer, the Lone Ranger pressed close to the ground. They were going to pass within a few feet of him. Swiftly, he snaked one of his six-guns from a holster and brought it close to his eyes to have it ready in the event of discovery. But the two men seemed engrossed in conversation. "Don' git me wrong," the tall man was saying, "fo' bits is fo' bits shore 'nuff an' I'm downright anxious tuh git the same. I'll keep my word an' point out tuh you whar Steve Delaney lives an' you'll pay me fo' bits fo' that info'mation."

"That was the agreement," growled the stocky man in a throaty, husky voice. "Now how'd you like to git an extra four bits?"

"Sho' nuff ah would!" replied the tall man enthusiastically.

"Good enough. I'll pay yuh one dollar, which is eight bits all told, if you can just forget you ever seen me around Snake River."

"Pahdnuh, already yo' an' me is total an' complete strangers. Ah nevah seen no sign of yo'."

"And if anyone asks you if you've seen any strangers, you just tell 'em no."

"Sho'nuff."

"What's more, don't let Steve Delaney know that anyone has been askin' about him."

"Ah won't, suh, now what about them eight bits?"

"You'll get it," said the husky voice, "when you've shown me the rear of Delaney's place."

"Yo' stop right heah," the tall man. said. The Lone Ranger saw the two men stop less than twenty yards away, between him and the row of buildings.

"We-uns has arrived, so perduce that thar cart-wheel an' I'll go on about mah business o' fergit-tin' all about yo'!"

The short man drew something from his pocket and handed it to the tall, lean individual. This worthy bit it with his teeth, then muttered, "Thanks," and shuffled on in the direction he had been going.

One of the apelike arms shot out and grabbed the skinny arm of the guide. "Hold on, you," the man growled, "you ain't done yet. I want to know where Steve Delaney lives."

"Reckon ah fo'got tuh state that yore standin' right behind his place this instant."

"What're you tryin' tuh put over on me? That's a saloon."

"Jest so it is pahdnuh, an' a saloon is where Delaney makes his home. You can take that as a fact or leave it, but it sho' nuff is the truth."

"Yer certain of that?"

"Dead sure. Fact is, he owns that pertickler place o' recreation an' refreshment. He won it from Jeb Larkspur in a game o' stud poker, an' it's all his, lock, stock an' barrel. Jeb Larkspur has stayed right on, sort of managin' the place fer Delaney an' they ain't many folks knows that Delaney owns it, but he sure does. Yuh c'n take my word fer it."

"And Delaney lives there?"

"Got a couple o' rooms in the back. Them rooms that has the two winders in 'em. They ain't many gents knows he lives there neither."

The Lone Ranger could hear every word of the conversation.
Another man hunting Steve Delaney
, he thought.
I hope he doesn't gun me before I can have a talk with him
.

He heard the stocky apelike individual remind the other man that he was to say nothing about this meeting; heard the tall man renew his promise; and then saw the gangling fellow move away. The short man plumped his big bulk to the ground and sat there waiting.

This was a turn of events the Lone Ranger hadn't counted on. He dared not leave his place of concealment while the other man remained there. He did not want to start another furor of excitement by engaging the fellow in a fight. Any noise would bring dozens of men rushing from the street beyond. The only alternative, if the Lone Ranger hoped to move away from that particular location, was to attack the short man and bind and gag him before he could cry out.

The masked man hesitated. He did not like to attack from the rear. It would give him an unfair advantage. Yet, he knew his strength had been almost exhausted a short time ago, and he doubted his ability to overpower the heavily built fellow. He could remain where he was and wait to see what the short man wanted of Delaney. He pondered this for a moment. The human gorilla's voice had had a certain quality that boded ill for Steve Delaney. If Delaney were killed, the whole night's work would go for nothing and the masked man might never learn the truth about Dave Walters.

Who was there to count on if Steve Delaney could not be forced to give some information that might establish Dave's innocence? Who had Dave Walters mentioned in his story?

His parents of course, but they could not be found. The friend in New Orleans who had first suggested robbery as a means of sudden riches—Dave hadn't given the young, false friend's name; the men on the railroad gang where he had worked, but here again, no names had been mentioned. The masked man tried to remember some part of Dave's story that might give him a lead to follow. What was the name of the fellow to whom Dave had given the note confessing his crime? "Higgy"—that was it—simply "Higgy"—not much to go on there.

The Lone Ranger had no choice. He would have to confront the stocky fellow in the damp grass between himself and the living quarters of Steve Delaney. He would have to subdue him and keep him back until—but then all plans were discarded. Lights flared in the windows where Delaney was said to live. Then the short man rose to his feet and headed directly for the windows.

A small door at the side of the saloon near the rear gave Steve Delaney access to his rooms without having to go through the front part of the place. The squatty man went straight to the door and jerked it open without ceremony.

The Lone Ranger was too advanced. He saw Delaney in one of the rooms, saw the gambler turn quickly as the door burst open, and saw the surprise on Delaney's face as he stared into the ugly muzzle of a heavy gun.

The Lone Ranger covered the remaining distance to the house in a few quick strides and crouched beneath the window with gun drawn. He was determined that Steve should not be killed. Too much depended upon his questioning of the gambler. For some reason, he seemed to feel that Delaney could play an important part in proving Dave Walters's innocence. And he proposed to see that Delaney
did
play that important part.

The gambler recovered his composure quickly after the first shock of seeing the bull-headed, ugly-faced man. He leaned easily against a dresser in his room and there was the trace of a smile on his lips.

The gambler's voice was quite distinct. "This is a surprise," he said, "what are you doing here, Higgy?"

"Higgy!" the name of the one to whom Dave Walters had given his confession. Could this be the same individual? It was certainly an odd name. The chances were strongly against there being two men in the West with such a name. The Lone Ranger pressed closer to the window, watching each move and straining to hear every word.

When the squat man saw that Delaney had no intention of making a sudden move to draw a gun, he relaxed slightly. The atmosphere of the room seemed tense—charged with an electric pulsation that might at any moment bring the pair to death grips. Higgy spoke slowly, "I reckon you must've forgot that I had somethin' comin' to me. Of course, Steve, it was just a little oversight on your part. An oversight that I can overlook as long as you pay me up now. You were goin' to send me somethin', weren't you?"

"Yes, I was," replied Delaney. "I've been pretty busy for the past few days but I was going to take a trip over to Coon Hollow and see you personally."

Higgy nodded his head. His grin was an ugly one that exposed yellow, malformed teeth. "Sure I know, Delaney, you've just been busy." There was mockery in his voice. "A man like you has a lot of affairs that need his attention an' you wouldn't want to trust anyone else to fetch a package to me at Coon Hollow. You think so much of me, you wanted to bring it personal just so's you'd have the chance to say 'howdy' to me."

Delaney looked uneasy as the other spoke. Higgy appeared to be enjoying the situation. He had complete domination of Steve Delaney and he knew it. He kept his gun level while he spoke. "You an' me have been such good pals that you just couldn't bear tuh miss the chance tuh see me, could you?"

The Lone Ranger noticed a peculiar discord in Higgy's personality. He looked like the sort of man who would shoot first and talk afterwards. He did not give the impression of being the type who toyed with words to play on the nerves and emotions of an opponent. Yet that was just what he was doing. He seemed to take genuine delight in seeing Delaney's discomfiture. He chose his words carefully and spoke slowly, almost as one would speak to a wayward child.

Delaney said, "Put away the gun, Higgy, you know you don't need to hold a gun on me."

"Now, Steve, of course I know I don't need to hold a gun on you. I could put the gun away, an' take a shot in the back, if I had a mind tuh. But yuh see, Steve, I hanker to go on livin' fer a time and enjoyin' the easy money that I've waited all my life to get. Now as to what I got comin'—"

"You'll get it," snapped the gambler.

"Oh, sure, sure thing, son. I'll get it all right. I know I'll get it. Wouldn't I have been the fool to have come all the way here from Coon Hollow without figurin' to get it?" He chuckled as if the thought struck him funny. "That would be a darned fool thing to do, now wouldn't it?"

Delaney's patience was exhausted. "Stop this foolishness, you addle-headed ape. You don't dare pull that trigger and you know it. You wouldn't get two yards from that door before someone came in and drilled you. I've listened to you long enough. If you want your share of the loot, put down the gun and I'll get it for you. If you don't want to believe that I've been on the level with you, you can believe whatever you please."

"Now, now, Steve," admonished Higgy, "that ain't no way fer you to talk to sech a good friend as you claim me tuh be."

"Rot!" snapped Steve Delaney. "If it hadn't been for me, you—"

"Yuh know what I think," interrupted Higgy, "I think maybe you figgered I'd be scared away when the kid headed intuh Snake River. Yuh thought I wouldn't dare tuh show myself around here tuh git what's rightfully mine."