The Lone Ranger and Tonto

by Fran Striker; Francis Hamilton Striker

  This was quite a complicated bit of reasoning for the slow-witted Higgy to follow. "Wait," he said to Langford. He mulled it over in his mind for a moment, squinting his eyes and wrinkling his brow in the process of concentrated thought. His face darkened when he finally realized that what John Langford said was true.

  "So you see," Langford said, "this is all rather foolish. Now why don't you take that gun and ask Steve Delaney for the information you want?"

  "I guess," growled Higgy, "that's what I should o' done in the first place. I would o' done that, if I hadn't happened tuh meet up with you."

  That accidental meeting almost ruined the carefully made plans of the Lone Ranger. He still waited for Higgy to come demanding a showdown with the gambler whom he thought had double-crossed him.

  Higgy rose from his uncomfortable seat and jammed his gun into his holster as he prepared to leave. With his hand on the door, he turned back to John Langford. "Look here, Langford," he said, "you don't know who I am."

  John Langford shook his head. "I don't care much," he said.

  "You had a son when you was in New Orleans," Higgy moved away from the door and closer to John Langford as he saw the wrinkled face light up with interest. "You ain't seen that boy fer a good many years, have you?"

  Langford rose to his feet and shot out a blue-veined hand. He grabbed at Higgy's shirt despite the threat of the stockily built man's gun. His voice trembled with emotion when he spoke. "What do you know about my son? Tell me! Tell me what you know about him!"

  "N-now wait a second," replied Higgy somewhat taken aback at the reaction to his words.

  "Wait, wait," said Langford, "I've been waiting for years. Tell me."

  "I-I will, but doggone it, leggo my shirt."

  Langford dropped his hand. Higgy said, "Yer kid robbed a bank where he worked an' he wrote a letter confessin' the crime."

  "Where is the letter?" asked Langford hoarsely. "Where is it now?"

  "It's in a safe place," replied Higgy. "Yer kid was kilt an' left that letter fer you. But you didn't git it. Instead someone else got it an' they threatened tuh show it tuh yore wife, if yuh didn't pay 'em tuh keep 'em quiet. Ain't that so?"

  "Yes, it is true," said Langford. "Steve Delaney is the man I have been paying. He keeps promising to give me back the letter, but he never keeps his word. I don't know who you are or how you learned about the letter, but what you have said is true. My wife has been ill for years. We lost what we had in the East and all she has now are memories, happy memories of her son, our son."

  Langford sighed deeply, and reseated himself on the log. Higgy felt uneasy and showed it in the way he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. But he waited for John Langford to proceed.

  "When we got word that David had died, I lied to her. I tried to make the blow bearable by telling her that he had died heroically, to save the life of another man. She was proud of him, proud of David because she never knew the truth about him. Now she still holds to the belief that her son was fine and good. It would kill her, if she learned the truth."

  It might be said to Higgy's credit that he felt guilty and somewhat ashamed as he listened to Langford's pathetic story. Langford went on.

  "This man Delaney came to me with a copy of my son's confession. It wasn't the original, nothing but a copy, but I knew that it was true, every word of it. I learned in the East that David had stolen money, and I paid it back for him. This man didn't know that. I tried to buy the original letter from him, as he thought I wanted it to keep my son from jail. But I knew David was dead. I simply wanted to get hold of it so the fiend couldn't show it to my wife. The blow…" Langford paused, lowering his voice as he thought about the frail little white-haired lady in the house. "Now I have given Delaney everything. There is nothing more, not even jewelry. I don't know what he will do."

  "Yuh moved around considerable, didn't yuh?" said Higgy.

  Langford nodded. "We did, but Delaney followed us wherever we went."

  "Yuh mean tuh say yuh gave him jewelry as well as cash?"

  "I had to. We ran out of cash. Martha, my wife, thought I was selling the jewelry. The truth of the matter was that Steve Delaney got it."

  Higgy nodded. He already knew most of what John Langford had told him, but he hadn't been told by Delaney that jewelry as well as cash had been handed over by the man from New Orleans.

  "When was the last time you gave him anything?" said Higgy.

  "Last night. He kept demanding more and more, and finally last night I gave him the last treasure my wife had. It was a necklace that was given to her years ago by my mother. A necklace that had been in the family for a good many generations."

  Higgy showed genuine interest in that statement. "You gave it to him last night?" he repeated. Langford nodded. "But wasn't there a robbery last night?"

  "No, I arranged with this gambler to make everyone think there was a robbery. Martha would have preferred starvation to parting with the necklace. I couldn't have told her I sold it. I had to make her think that someone robbed me."

  "Wal, I'll be hanged," said Higgy fervently. "So there wasn't a robbery at all."

  Langford shook his head. "It just happened that there was a manhunt for the killer of a woman named Mrs. Prindle going on, and there were a lot of strangers in town. Some one of these rode away from near my home and he was mistaken for the thief."

  "But there wasn't a real robbery?"

  "No."

  "Yer dead sure Steve Delaney got that necklace yuh mentioned?"

  Langford nodded, and Higgy muttered beneath his breath. "How much d'you figger yuh paid him all told, in cash an' jewelry?" he asked.

  "There must have been over ten thousand dollars worth of jewelry and several thousand dollars in cash. I might as well tell you that now, as long as I have told you everything else."

  "Thousands of dollars," roared Higgy. "Why the dirty, double-crossin' snake! That polecat!" Langford's eyes went wide at the black fury that shook Higgy. Higgy's next words were even more astounding. "Steve promised me half of all he got from you an' he's paid me less than one hundred dollars all told."

  "You?" cried Langford.

  "Yes, me! I was the one who got the letter in the first place. It was me who told him about it, an' showed him my idea fer collectin' cash from you. He said he'd handle it for me, bein' as he could talk slicker than I could. So I was blame fool enough tuh let him do it figurin' that he'd deal square with me. Why that ornery buzzard never dealt square with anybody in his life."

  During the recital by Higgy, Langford had become increasingly frantic. His face went red, then bloodless, when the ugly-faced man confessed his part in the rotten deal that had made Langford's life almost unbearable for the past months. Fire that had been smouldering in Langford's mind for years flashed from his eyes. He grabbed Higgy's powerful arms in both his hands and tried to shake the heavy man. "You, you did that!" His voice rose higher. "You got my boy's letter. You knew all about him. Where is the letter now? In the name of Heaven, where is it? I've paid for it a dozen times over. Give it to me. Destroy it. Burn it. Do anything, only let me know that it has been done away with so I can face my wife without fearing every day may bring a shock that will kill her."

  "Take yer hands away," bellowed Higgy, shaking himself free of the old man's futile grip. "I've heard about all I need tuh hear from you. It's a good thing I met yuh. That skunk tried tuh kill me a little while ago, an' now I'm headin' fer him tuh call his hand. I wasn't dead sure where I stood with him before, but I am now."

  "Wait," called Langford as Higgy snatched the door open, "the letter."

  "I can't be bothered with yore problems now," bellowed Higgy over his shoulder, "I'm headin' fer a showdown."

  Chapter XVIII

  CALM BEFORE THE STORM

  When Higgy rushed from the woodshed at the rear of Langford's little home, the white-haired man from New Orleans started after him, but his aged legs could not match the short-legged run of the powerfully bui
lt individual. Nevertheless, he might have continued in pursuit, had it not been for the voice of his wife who called from a window at the front of the house.

  Langford halted and retraced his steps at the sound of his wife's voice. As he approached the open window, she said, "John, what was all the loud talking I heard?"

  Langford made some meaningless reply.

  "But I did hear you. There was another man with you in the rear of the house. Is there anything wrong?"

  "No, no there's nothing wrong, my dear," replied John Langford. "Nothing to worry about." He ascended the low porch and entered the house where Martha met him with worried lines showing in her forehead.

  "Are you sure there's nothing wrong?" she asked. "I thought I heard a man shouting. He sounded angry, terribly angry."

  "You couldn't hear what he said, could you, my dear?"

  "No, but I was sure that he was furious. What was it about? Who was the man?"

  Langford took his wife's hand in his. "You'd better go back to bed, my dear, you know what the doctor said. You must save your strength. There was a man in back of the house, but he was looking for Mister Delaney. He seemed to be quite angry with the gambler."

  Martha Langford looked at her husband and he turned slightly to one side. "Are you telling me everything, John? So many times of late, you've acted as if you were holding something back from me."

  Langford took his wife's arm and guided her to the bedroom. "You must rest," he told her. "It's just your nerves that make you think such strange things about me."

  Martha got into her bed and her husband gently tucked the counterpane around her shoulders.

  "Is there any news about the necklace, John?" Langford shook his head. "Are the lawmen trying to find the thief?" asked Martha.

  "Yes, dear, they are looking for him."

  For several minutes there was silence between the two. Langford thought his wife was asleep, she lay so long with her eyes closed. He was about to tiptoe from the bedroom when she called to him. "I want to speak to you, John," she said.

  "Yes, my dear," replied John Langford returning to the chair beside the bed.

  "Do you know, John, for the past few days I've had the strangest feeling. It seems to be a little voice away down deep inside me."

  Langford looked at the old lady with a trace of alarm in his face. "What do you mean, Martha?" he asked.

  "I-I don't know how to explain it. You said that David was dead, didn't you?"

  The man nodded.

  "Are you sure of that?"

  "What makes you think otherwise, Martha?"

  "I-I don't know. I told you I couldn't explain my feeling but there is something that keeps telling me that David is still alive, that he is not dead. I-I feel as if I were going to see our boy again, and soon."

  Could this be one of the signs of approaching death? Was his wife trying to tell him that she would soon cross that last threshold into a happier world where she would be reunited with David?

  "Come now, dear," he said patiently, "you're going to get well and strong again. The doctor said you would, if you would just remain in bed and get lots and lots of rest."

  Martha Langford smiled at her husband. "I know I am," she said. "I'm quite sure of it, just as I am sure that David is going to be with us."

  "I-I hope you're right, Martha." The man stroked Martha's forehead softly, as she closed her eyes with a trace of a smile on her pale lips. There was an expression of confidence in her face that Langford had not seen for years. She seemed so sure that David and she would be together that it made the man tremble. He rose softly, and moved to look out of the window.

  For several minutes, he stood looking out across the neat little flower garden and the town beyond it. There was a stillness in the town, a stillness that portended important things to come, gave promise of excitement, like the eerie calm that precedes a hurricane.

  He opened the window high, to let in the soft afternoon breeze, then took his seat beside the window, while he watched the slow rise and fall of the counterpane that covered his sleeping wife. The afternoon advanced. How long Langford sat there, he did not know. Perhaps he dozed a little. His mind was filled with thoughts of his odd visitor, and what the man had said; the double cross by the gambler, and the news that Higgy had been the one to whom Dave had given his confession. But all these things seemed trivial now. Langford felt that his wife was soon to slip into the other world where Dave would greet her. What else could her premonition mean? Langford waited, waited patiently while the shadows lengthened. There was nothing else that he could do.

  The Lone Ranger could not understand why Higgy had not put in an appearance. If Tonto had carried out his part of the plan, and he said that he had, Higgy should have been storming into Delaney's quarters some time ago. Something must have gone wrong.

  There was another detail, though, that had to be taken care of. Baldy was no longer in attendance at the bar. Men might come in demanding service and, in their curiosity, come prowling to investigate the rear rooms. The Lone Ranger opened the door, but closed it instantly. Jeb Larkspur had arrived and, thinking perhaps that Baldy was sleeping late, had taken over the duties behind the polished counter. That was at least one thing, the Lone Ranger thought, that he could forget about for the time being. But his concern about Higgy increased with each passing moment.

  If the Sheriff and his men took a well-known short cut, they might be back with Dave that very evening, and before Dave came into the town, there were a lot of things to be cleared up. If Dave came in before Higgy and Steve could have a showdown, the boy would be no better off than he had been before. Perhaps worse, because now Steve Delaney's enmity would have reached a new peak and he would demand a hanging to recompense him for the hours of torture in the gags and lashings.

  The masked man glanced at Tonto. The Indian sat stolid, his face without expression. Baldy and Steve glared from hateful eyes at every move the masked man made. Finally the Lone Ranger spoke to Tonto. "Watch them," he said, "and if Higgy comes, be sure that I know it. I'm going out to the horses."

  "What you do there?" inquired the Indian.

  "We may have to leave here in a hurry. I'm going to saddle the horses and be ready."

  "Tonto help?"

  The masked man shook his head. "There's no need for you to help," he said. "It will be better if you wait here and keep an eye on these two. I don't want Higgy to kill the gambler." He did not say that he wanted to be alone to think, to try to reason out why Higgy had not put in an appearance.

  His long strides carried him to the saddle shed behind the buildings, where Silver whinnied a soft welcome. He stroked the long silky white nose of the big stallion and whispered in the horse's ear. "If they bring Dave in and we haven't been able to do what I hoped," he said, "there will be only one thing left for us to do. We'll have to take Dave away from the lawman a second time. But this time we will have to let him go out on his own, a fugitive from the law. I don't want to do that, Silver."

  The horse nuzzled his master's sleeve.

  Then the Lone Ranger tossed the saddles on both Silver and Scout, and cinched them tight. He went through all the duffel Tonto had brought with him, and discarded most of it. The essentials he stowed in a firm roll, a sort of sugan, and lashed this in place behind the saddles. Both horses were ready for the trail, ready to travel at their utmost speed, and still there was no sign of Higgy.

  Higgy had been delayed after leaving John Langford's home. He had started out for the meeting with Delaney, determined to throw caution to the winds and come in shooting. There was no longer any doubt in his mind that he had been double-crossed. But as he came nearer to the Royal Flush, his steps were slower. Higgy was, after all, no fool. As the first burning rage subsided, he realized that he was about to match his shooting skill against one of the coldest, most deliberate shots in the entire region. He wanted to get Delaney, but he wanted to stay alive to enjoy the loot he was determined to make the gambler hand over before the shooti
ng. Moreover, he knew that Steve Delaney had the support of practically everyone in town. If he shot Delaney, the odds would be a hundred to one against his getting out of town alive.

  These thoughts robbed him of a large measure of his enthusiasm. He decided he would have to play the game carefully. He must make no mistake because the slightest mistake on his part would be fatal.

  Before going to the Royal Flush, Higgy went south of the town to where his horse had been tethered the night before. He pawed through his saddlebags until he found a small but ugly-looking knife. He slipped this inside his shirt sleeve and fastened it light with a bit of hemp. Now if he was disarmed of his six-gun, he would still have the knife with which to fight. But Higgy didn't stop with that. He dug deeper into the saddlebag and found a small box of white power. He grinned evilly at the sight of it. "Never figgered I'd be usin' this rat pizon tuh git a human rat," he muttered as he took the lid off the box and examined the contents. "I reckon a little o' this stuff dropped intuh that coyote's coffee will do fer him in short order."

  Poison seemed to Higgy to be the ideal method. He would time his approach so that he would be with the gambler about suppertime. He would feign friendship, and when he had the chance, drop the rat poison into the gambler's strong black coffee. A single swallow would be all that was required. Then, while Delaney gasped from the effects of the deadly stuff, Higgy would reveal what he had done, call the gambler all the black names he could think of, and then leave town quietly with the loot.

  There was no doubt in his mind that he could find the jewelry Delaney had taken from John Langford. The gambler would keep it near him, somewhere in his living quarters. Higgy would find it all right, and by the time the gambler's body was found the next morning, Higgy would be miles away—and safe. "Poison's the thing," he muttered, "a darn sight better'n a six-gun, or a knife. I'll jest have them two in case he starts gittin' rough. I'll let him take my shootin' iron, an' think he's got me disarmed, then I'll pull the knife when he ain't lookin'."