The Lone Ranger and Tonto

by Fran Striker; Francis Hamilton Striker

  Steve Delaney obeyed the command.

  "All right," he said, "you've got the drop on me. I suppose you want to take that stuff on the floor along with you?"

  "I want to talk to you first."

  "About what?"

  "I want to know who killed Mrs. Prindle!"

  Delaney didn't show any sign of surprise at the statement, but he did wait several seconds before making a reply. "What makes you think Dave Walters didn't kill her?"

  "You know as well as I do that Walters hadn't any hand in the murder. You're the one who described him to the Sheriff and brought about his arrest as soon as he arrived in Snake River. I want to know just exactly why you did that."

  Again the gambler paused. "I told the law," he said "that I'd seen Walters in the vicinity of Mrs. Prindle's home. He was picked up by the Sheriff on suspicion. Cash was found in his pocket and that's all there is to it."

  "You're wrong," contradicted the Lone Ranger. "That's not all there is to it, by any means. There's the matter of lynching, which was suggested by you. There's the meeting you had with John Langford tonight. He gave you something, which you carried away from his home, and then as soon as you'd left he started shooting his pistols and yelling that he'd been robbed."

  The Lone Ranger advanced closer to Steve Delaney and with one hand grasped the gambler's shirt. "I want," he said in a voice that rang with determination, "to have a full accounting for all those things. Why did Langford lie about the robbery? Why did you want Dave Walters lynched before he had a chance to be tried? Why?"

  "I've got nothing to say," retorted the gambler. "So what are you going to do about it?"

  The Lone Ranger jerked Delaney from the chair.

  "You'll tell me what I want to know, or take the consequences! I promise you, Delaney, you'll not like those consequences!"

  "I'll take that chance."

  The Lone Ranger found himself in a peculiar situation. It was against his code to use any of the familiar means of making an unwilling man talk. Even though Dave Walters's life depended on what the gambler might reveal, the masked man found himself incapable of resorting to physical torture. As the seconds passed, Delaney sensed what was going through the masked man's mind. He waited, his lips forming a thin line, while the masked man held a firm grip on his shirt.

  Suddenly the Lone Ranger gave the gambler a violent shove. "All right," he snapped as Steve Delaney staggered back and sprawled upon the bed. "You have made your choice and you'll have to take what comes." He returned his second gun to the holster and tore a blanket from the bed. Strong hands ripped this into narrow strips while the gambler lay there watching.

  "I'm going to tie and gag you, Delaney, and hold you here."

  A sneer crossed the other's face. "How long do you think you can get away with that sort of thing?" he asked.

  "As long as I'll need to. Right now there are a lot of people hunting for me and I need a place to stay. This room of yours will be ideal for the purpose."

  "Stay… stay here?" asked the unbelieving Delaney.

  "Right!" The masked man whipped a length of blanket about the gambler's ankles without being too gentle about it. Meanwhile he kept a watchful eye on Delaney to make sure there would be no attempt to grab a gun.

  "You're not going to take the jewelry and escape?"

  "No."

  This was certainly good news for the gambler. If only he could keep the masked man close by, he reasoned, someone would come to his aid. He felt reasonably certain that Higgy would return sometime the next day, if he didn't go to the hotel. If Higgy failed to come back, the barmen in the café would miss him and come to investigate his living quarters. Or, if not the barmen, certainly the manager of the saloon, its former owner, would be around.

  When the masked man finished lashing Steve Delaney's feet, he turned the gambler over on his stomach. He pulled the hands together, crossing them at the wrists and with another length torn from the blanket made a firm lashing. "You still have time enough to talk," he said, "and if you don't, I'll put a gag over your mouth."

  "I'm not talking," replied the gambler stubbornly.

  The tall masked man nodded and proceeded to gag the man on the bed.

  He stood back, surveying the gambler who watched each move the Lone Ranger made. Satisfied that Steve would be quiet and safe, for the time being at least; he restored the jewelry to its hiding place beneath the floor and then replaced the floor board.

  He picked up the knife, which Delaney had dropped, and, leaning over the gambler, cut a lock from his jet black hair. "I'll have to have a black moustache like yours," he said more to himself than to Delaney. "I can borrow your coat and vest and top hat. Then, I think that with a little change in hair comb, I can pass quite well as you."

  This was a development the gambler hadn't counted on. It showed in his face. If this tall stranger were to be seen about town in such a disguise, no one would know that Steve himself was in difficulty. It might be days before help came to him. He inwardly cursed his habit of keeping people at their distance; of going for days on end without bothering to exchange a cordial word with anyone. The townsmen, he knew, would just assume that Steve was in one of his periodic moods, and leave him quite alone.

  He watched the tall man as he removed his vest and hat. The stranger's back was to the bed when he removed the mask. From a pocket in his shirt, he took small bits of gummy substance and fashioned a moustache, a duplicate of the gambler's, and the bushy eyebrows that were one of Steve Delaney's outstanding characteristics.

  When the Lone Ranger once more faced the bed, Delaney was astounded at the transformation. It gave him a peculiar feeling, as if he were at a distance, looking at himself. The tall man even walked in the haughty manner of the gambler when he crossed the room to take the coat and vest from the wall hooks. In some manner the stranger had effected the same deep creases from each side of his nose to the corners of his mouth. He had copied faithfully each detail that made up the gambler's countenance.

  Even his voice resembled that of Steve Delaney when he said, "Now I think I'm ready to leave you alone for a little while. You still have the chance to save yourself a lot of trouble by telling me what I want to know. Do you want to do so?"

  Delaney shook his head.

  "Very well." Then, the Lone Ranger, disguised as Steve Delaney, left the room and closed the door behind him.

  Chapter IX

  TONTO RIDES TO TOWN

  Tonto had a knack of sleeping so lightly that the slightest change in conditions around him brought him to instant wakefulness. He would then open his eyes ever so slightly while he remained motionless to study the situation. This ability had saved his life on many occasions when prowlers approached his camps.

  The faithful Indian companion of the Lone Ranger could also waken at any time he specified to himself before falling asleep. When the Lone Ranger rode away from Stony Butte, leaving Tonto in charge of Dave Walters, the redskinned scout determined that he would rouse himself at half-hour intervals to make sure Dave Walters was all right and that there was no sign of approaching lawmen.

  Scout, the Indian's paint horse, would doubtless signal the approach of any horseman, but Tonto preferred to take no chances. Several times during these waking periods the Indian had an uneasy sensation that told him the masked man was in danger. He was tempted many times to leave Dave Walters and ride to town to offer his aid to the Lone Ranger. But each time he rejected the idea when he remembered the specific instructions he had been given.

  Dave Walters lay in the deep sleep of utter exhaustion. Each time the Indian looked toward the thin-faced lad, he realized how young and very helpless he was to have tried to combat the hard life of the West alone. He determined to let Dave sleep as long as possible before starting out for the new camp where the Lone Ranger would look for them before the next sundown.

  It was about two hours after midnight, judging from the moon's position, that Tonto wakened to the gentle nuzzling of his horse—the alar
m! Scout had heard, seen, or sensed something that Tonto should know about.

  Tonto remained on the ground, his back against the base of the huge black rock. He gave no sign that he had wakened, but his eyes were alert and penetrating as he scanned the moonlit plain in the direction of Snake River. Then he saw the figure. It was a horse approaching Stony Butte at top speed. Tonto was on his feet, ready for whatever might be coming. He could not tell at that distance whether there was a man in the saddle or not. Whichever the case might be the approach of the horse meant a summons to action. If the Lone Ranger were returning at that speed, there would be need for quick packing and an instant departure from the location. If the horse was Silver, and he was coming in riderless, there might be even more need for fast action. It might mean that the Lone Ranger had been shot or captured. And if the horse was not Silver, the approach would mean that the hide-out had been discovered by someone in town.

  Tonto wakened Dave Walters by shaking him gently. "Get-um up," he said as soon as he saw Dave's eyes open.

  "Wha-what's the matter?" mumbled Dave Walters sleepily. "Is there something wrong?"

  "Get-um up quick," replied the Indian.

  Dave now wide-awake, leaped to his feet and gripped the Indian's arm. "What's that comin'?" he said. "It looks like a horse. Have we been found out?"

  "Not know-um yet," replied Tonto. "We wait, watch-um horse."

  For several moments the two stood there at the base of Stony Butte watching the rise and fall of the big white horse that charged across the plains at breakneck speed. Presently Tonto said, "That Silver all right. No other horse so fast." A moment later he observed that the horse was without a rider. A worried expression crossed his face. "Something maybe happen," he said. "Why Lone Ranger not in saddle?"

  "Gosh!" whispered Dave Walters, "if somethin' has happened to him, it will be because he tried to help me. I-I don't know what I'd do if it was through me that somethin' happened to that man."

  "We soon see," replied Tonto, picking up his saddle and tossing it over the back of Scout.

  "It seems like I'm just a jinx for everyone that has anything to do with me," moaned Dave. "I reckon it would be best for everyone concerned if I were to be strung up and finished with."

  Tonto noted the despair in the boy's voice. "You help-um Tonto," he said. "We cinch up. Get ready. Mebbe ride plenty soon."

  "Sure, I'll help," said Dave eagerly.

  Tonto pointed to the cinch. "Pull," he said shortly. Dave was glad of the chance to be active. Silver by this time was less than a hundred yards away. In a few seconds the big white stallion came to a halt at Tonto's side. The moonlight revealed the utter disregard the white horse had had for his own welfare in his haste to reach the side of the redman. The stallion's mouth and neck were flecked with foam, and the great sides heaved as Silver fought to get more air into his big lungs. He was badly winded, and obviously he had taken advantage of a short cut by crossing Snake River twice instead of following a meander.

  The damp silky white coat was wet with mud where dust had flown from beneath the pounding silver-shod hoofs. Tonto noted with relief that there was a bit of white paper fastened to one of the saddle strings. That meant a message from the Lone Ranger. At least, the Indian thought, he was able to send a message. He had not been dragged or shot from the saddle.

  Dave crowded close to Tonto as he unfolded the paper and held it to catch the moonlight. It took Tonto several minutes to make out the message in the uncertain light. When he had finished reading, he turned to Dave. "We leave-um here now," he said.

  "You must have known that beforehand, if you had me saddle Scout," replied Dave.

  "We ride to new camp. Tonto take you there. You stay and wait. Tonto go away."

  "Right now?"

  Tonto nodded. "Go now, take you to cave, then Tonto ride alone."

  Dave started to protest that if the masked man needed Tonto, he should go at once rather than concern himself with a fugitive from the law, but Tonto shook his head. "We do what Lone Ranger say."

  In short stilted sentences the Indian made Dave Walters understand that the Lone Ranger's message was a combination of the white man's way of writing and the Indian's picture writing. Many of the masked man's thoughts and suggestions had been abbreviated in a way that only Tonto would understand. If anyone had intercepted the message it would have been totally without meaning.

  The Lone Ranger, it seems, wanted Tonto to take Dave Walters to a cave that held a cache of supplies. Dave was to remain there, while Tonto loaded some necessities on Silver and rode into Snake River leading the white stallion. Little attention would be paid to an Indian who came to town in the morning. None of the townsmen had had the chance to see the face of Tonto, and Silver with the plastering of mud would scarcely be recognized.

  As the two left the camp near Stony Butte, Dave Walters rode on Silver, Tonto, of course, rode Scout and in this manner they followed a devious course in a generally northeast direction. Tonto took the lead and had Dave follow close behind. He picked his course carefully, following ground that was least likely to leave hoofmarks that could be followed by lawmen.

  By the time that the gray mist of an early dawn surrounded them, the two had left the plains behind and were breaking through timber. Dave had no idea where he was. He knew where the east lay when he saw the sun coming up, but the country was totally unfamiliar to him. Beyond the wooded area the two horsemen came upon Snake River many miles above the town that had taken the river's name. Following this they presently found themselves in a canyon where sheer walls rose on each side of a river bed about twenty yards across. The ground was covered with stones and gravel for a space of about five yards on each side of the river itself. Tonto chose to keep the horses in the water, where there was no possibility of a trail being left.

  The Indian kept watching the cliff, never taking his eyes off the wall. Suddenly Tonto changed the course and headed directly toward the wall. Dave looked, but saw no sign of an opening there.

  It was not until they were within ten yards of the cliff that he saw a rock, which blended so well with the cliff itself that the wall's face seemed unbroken. Behind the rock, however, there was a cave, the opening of which was large enough for a man to enter on horseback.

  Tonto halted, and without command, Silver stopped beside the white horse of the Indian. "You get-um down here," suggested Tonto. Dave swung from the saddle.

  "What am I to do?"

  "You stay here. Bimeby maybe, we come back for you."

  "Isn't there something I can do to help?"

  "You stay here."

  Tonto was inside the cave in a moment, and in another he returned to the Lone Ranger's horse with his arms loaded with a blanket, a tarpaulin, a slicker, and a couple of empty cases.

  Dave looked inside the cave and saw that it was a cache for supplies, where the masked mystery rider and his Indian companion might go to replenish provisions, or use as a hiding place.

  The white lad watched Tonto throw a diamond hitch to hold the case in place on Silver's back. The blanket, slicker, and tarpaulin came next and were fixed carefully, but with every appearance of carelessness. When he finished his work, Tonto stood back and examined the powerful Silver.

  The light but cumbersome load might have been the entire worldly goods of a redskin who was moving to new hunting grounds. There might be some who would wonder at an Indian using such a fine stallion as pack mule, but men were loath to question the coming and going of an Indian. Tonto felt sure he would be able to go, unmolested and unquestioned, into Snake River.

  "You stay here," he told Dave Walters when he was at last ready to set out from the cave. Dave felt useless and said so. He didn't want to sit and wait, while others risked their lives in his behalf. But Tonto made him understand that there was to be no argument about it. No matter what Dave wanted or did not want, the matter was now quite out of his hands and he could help most by obeying orders without question or discussion. Dave agreed. He had no
choice.

  Tonto mounted Scout and picked up a guide rope attached to the reins of Silver. In this fashion he left the cave and started for Snake River.

  The Indian, of course, had no way of knowing what had developed after the Lone Ranger had written the note. He could not have known that since the writing of it, the masked man had seen Higgy, and watched the discussion between this newcomer in town and Steve Delaney. He didn't know that the Lone Ranger was at that very moment traveling in a disguise that so closely resembled the gambler that a casual observer would have been convinced it was Delaney.

  It took practically the entire forenoon for Tonto to make the trip to town. He didn't take quite so devious a route as he had used in approaching the cave, because there was no necessity for returning to Stony Butte. But neither did he go directly into town. He chose a route where the hoofmarks would not be seen and took every precaution not to leave a back trail.

  He had to pause once, to readjust the load on Silver's back. It would have been a simple matter to have packed the supplies if it had not been for the saddle, but he wanted the saddle left in place so that it would be ready when the masked man needed it. Furthermore, he wanted to be sure the load concealed the fact that the horse was saddled. The sun, blazing down from a copper-colored sky, had just about reached the zenith when Tonto finally rode into town.

  Just as he entered the town a couple of men approached and stopped him. They wore badges signifying that they were deputies to the Sheriff. They wanted to know if the wandering Indian had seen any sign of the masked man. Tonto pretended that he did not understand them very well through his limited knowledge of the white man's tongue. He made them repeat their queries several times until they finally gave up in disgust and rode away. But before they left, the canny Tonto learned from what they said that the lawmen during the night had found no sign of any trail. They did, however, find a trail in the course of the morning. A trail that Tonto and Dave had made beyond Stony Butte, but this had been lost and had not been picked up again.

  Tonto found it hard to suppress a slight grin when the lawmen left him. If they only knew, he thought, that the Indian they questioned was one of the men they sought! But they did not know, and Tonto moved on toward the heart of town. The meeting with the deputies had established one point to Tonto's satisfaction. The Lone Ranger was still free, uncaptured.