The Lone Ranger and Tonto (12 page)

A long porch extended across the entire front of the hotel and there had once been a fancy railing and a wide flight of steps. But this was a grandeur of another day. The steps had broken down and had been repaired with odds and ends of any wood available. The railing had been removed in.its entirety at some time or another, and several windows in the front had paper pasted over them to cover up the holes in the glass.

Pete Loomis had bought the hotel from the bankrupt builder. Pete, however, had no illusions about getting rich. To him it simply represented a home with some extra rooms from which he might derive a little cash from time to time.

Having taken over the hotel, Pete installed his wife in a kitchen in the lean-to behind the hotel, then parked his skinny figure behind the desk in the lobby and stayed there, quite content to call it a "job." Sometimes a traveling salesman spent a night beneath the hotel roof, and occasionally when the weather was too bad to sleep beneath the stars, ranch hands in town for a spree would stop there. Pete Loomis realized enough from these guests to supply his wife and himself with food, and so he felt at peace with the world.

Tonto ascended the flight of crudely repaired steps in two strides and crossed the porch. Two battered chairs were placed there and the Indian could barely suppress a grin as he noticed the sign above them that said Keep Off, Reserved For Paying Guests. He knew of one particular paying guest in the hotel, and doubted that this individual would make use of the chairs in the light of day.

As he pushed through the doors that still held multi-colored glass windows, a cloud of dust enveloped him. Mag Loomis was applying a broom with much vigor to the threadbare red carpet of the hall. The dust she stirred up with her daily sweeping simply settled in new places, but Mag felt that she was doing her duty and was satisfied.

Pete Loomis was perched on his favorite stool behind the desk. He lifted his lean chin from his cupped hands at the sight of Tonto and studied the Indian with pale, watery eyes. Mag glanced up, but continued her sweeping. "Injuns," said Loomis, "pay cash money in advance if yuh want a room."

"Me not want-um room," replied Tonto, "me got-um business with feller here."

Mag stopped sweeping. "What," she demanded, "was that you said about business? Any business you got, you can deal with me, an' when cash is paid in advance, it's me that it gits paid to. Now what d'you want?"

"Now, Mag—" began Pete.

"You shut up," snapped the woman. "When you git yer hands on cash you can't rest till you've blowed it over to the Royal Flush. First thing I know you'll be up to your neck in gamblin' debts to Steve Delaney an' then he'll git a mortgage on this hotel the same as he's got on everything else in town." Turning to Tonto the brawny woman said, "What d'you want?"

"Me come," replied the Indian, "to have talk with feller name Higgy. Him here now?" Tonto knew very well that Higgy had not left the hotel. The Lone Ranger had told him so, but he fancied this was the best way to handle the situation.

"Higgy?" inquired Mrs. Loomis. "Who's he?"

"Him come here before sunup," said Tonto.

Turning to her husband, the woman said, "What do you know about someone named Higgy? We ain't had no one come here of late, have we?"

Pete nodded slowly and squirmed uneasily. "Y-yere, Mag," he faltered, "the ornery crittur come here before daybreak an' got me out o' bed tuh let him in. He ain't had no teachin' in the right way of doin' things. I dunno why he couldn't o' sat on the porch till mornin' instead of gittin' a man outen his bed in the middle of the night. He ain't fitten fer a fine woman like you tuh meet, Mag, he's jest plain ignerant an'—"

"Never mind that," interrupted Mag, leaning her broom against the desk and going around it to the inner side. "Did he pay cash in advance! That's what I aim to know." She jerked open a drawer in the desk and looked at an empty cigar box. "I don't see no cash here. How about that?"

"W-well, Mag, he did pay in advance. That's one of the rules of the hotel here, but I—"

"You
what
?" demanded Mag Loomis. She looked menacingly at her lean husband as she stood there with her hands on broad hips waiting for his reply.

"W-well, it was too late to go back tuh bed after he got me up tuh let him in, an' it was too doggone early tuh sit here an' wait fer customers, an' there was still a lot of folks from out of town hangin' around the cafés, an' I figgered to try an' drum up a little business…"

"So you went to a couple of the cafés an' spent what this crittur paid fer his room! Is that it?"

Pete had no reply. Tonto broke in at that point with the words "Me see Higgy with plenty important message."

"Oh, you still here?" said Mag. "What's the message? Who's it from?"

Tonto pointed through the window at the man who leaned against the front of the Royal Flush. Pete followed the direction with his eyes and saw a tall figure wearing a silk hat. "Steve Delaney, eh? You mean to say he is sendin' a message to our guest?"

Tonto nodded.

"Judgin' from the snorin' that come from his room when I was outside the door half an hour ago," Pete said, "I'd suspect he ain't goin' tuh be awake fer some time to come."

"What's more," said Mag, "if that message you got is anything that is goin' to interfere with this Higgy crittur buyin' his breakfast from me, you better save it fer a time."

"Me see him now," said Tonto flatly without moving from where he stood.

"Reckon we better let the Injun go upstairs if it's Delaney that sent him," suggested Pete. "It ain't good judgment to offend a man like Steve Delaney."

"You ain't owin' him cash, are yuh?" said Mag suspiciously.

"No, of course I ain't," replied Pete with an offended air, "but just the same I—"

"Oh, do what you blame please, it don't matter to me. I'm at my wits' end tryin' to make somethin' of this place in spite of you." Mag grabbed her broom and applied it once more to the carpet to make new clouds rise up.

"The man you're lookin' for is in room Number Seven," Pete told the Indian. "I reckon you c'n find it fer yourself without too much trouble. It's the last room on the left-hand side of the hall after yuh git up them stairs. I'd go an' show you where it is, but my rheumatics have been botherin' me of late."

"Rheumatics!" snorted Mag with a great sweep of the broom. "My eye! Plain good-fer-nothin' laziness."

Tonto crossed the hall and started up the long flight of stairs. His moccasined feet made no sound despite the fact that the stairs were without carpeting of any sort. A shrewd observer might have thought it odd that Tonto ignored the bannister and walked up the stairs as close to the wall as possible. This was a trick frequently used when one wanted to avoid squeaking steps that might betray one's approach. The Indian was playing the role outlined by the Lone Ranger, and wanted, if possible, to gain access to the room, which Higgy occupied, without awakening him.

The corridor on the second floor was carpeted like the first. The once-gay pattern of flowers was barely visible after the years of wear. What pattern there was in the carpet was made by the brown scars of carelessly dropped cigarettes. The optimistic builder of the hotel had made half a dozen rooms on each side of the corridor. Some of the doors still had numbers and on others the numbers had disappeared. Number Seven, as Pete Loomis had said, was the last door on the left.

Tonto crouched for a moment with one ear close to the door. He heard the regular deep breathing of a heavy sleeper. Satisfied that Higgy had not awakened, the Indian straightened and drew a knife with a six-inch blade from his belt. He tested the point of the blade on the ball of his thumb. His lips compressed to a thin line and his face became stern and cold. Holding the gleaming blade in one hand, the Indian gripped the doorknob with the other and slowly opened the door. The hinges were rusty and inclined to squeak, but Tonto moved the door an imperceptible fraction of an inch at a time. He moved it slowly, so slowly that it took a full three minutes before the opening was wide enough for the Indian to pass through.

A fetid wave of hot air struck Tonto in the face. The one small window on Tonto's right was tightly closed and the sun streamed through the dirty glass and beat upon the floor. The atmosphere was stale and unbearably hot. Tonto marveled that a man could sleep here.

Only the top of Higgy's head was visible above the edge of the patchwork quilt that rose and fell with each deep, wheezy breath. Tonto paused long enough to survey the room. He saw the heavy boots of the man on the floor beside the bed. Coat, vest, and necktie were tossed in a careless heap on the one chair in the room. A well-filled cartridge belt hung from the back of the chair, but the holster was empty. Tonto surmised that Higgy slept with his gun beneath his pillow. A cracked mirror hung from the wall above an oak washstand. The floor of the bedroom was uncarpeted.

Tonto took great pains to close the door as silently as he had opened it. Then he transferred his knife to his right hand and studied the high oak backboard of the bed. He carefully noted a particular spot on the wood above the head of Higgy and gauged the distance carefully. The spot had become a bull's eye for Tonto. The crucial moment in the carefully planned scheme of the Lone Ranger was at hand. Tonto had to play the game carefully and according to the minute directions he had been given.

He held the knife by the end of the blade in a position for throwing and then spoke softly. The figure in the bed stirred slightly and Tonto spoke again. "You wake up," he said in a slightly louder voice than before.

Higgy groaned and turned over in the bed. Tonto waited a moment, then spoke a third time. "Wake up, quick!" His voice though still quite soft, was emphatic and brought the desired result. Higgy's huge hairy hands appeared above the quilt, pushed the heavy covering away and brought his face to light. The man's small eyes blinked open and he complained about being disturbed in a voice that was thick with sleep.

"This way," said Tonto.

Higgy blinked a couple of times and then his gaze centered on the tall form of the Indian just inside the door. His mouth dropped open and he stared in surprise. His right hand made a sudden move but halted at Tonto's command. "You stay still," said the Indian in his most menacing voice.

"Wha-wha-what d'you want?" said the confused man in the bed.

"You listen what me say," replied Tonto. "Me come here, Steve say me kill you plenty quick. Me not like to kill man who sleep. Now you wake!"

"What're you talkin' about?" said Higgy who was now fully awakened. "Yuh can't kill me! I ain't done nothin' tuh nobody."

Tonto's face showed no sign of hatred for Higgy, but it did show a grim determination to carry out instructions. "Me sorry," replied the Indian. "Me take order from Steve. Him say come throw knife. Me do."

"Wait!" screamed Higgy. He saw the gleaming knife in Tonto's upraised hand. "Don't throw that knife! Wait! Listen to me."

Tonto's arm flashed out and the knife whizzed across the room. Its keen point hit the headboard of the bed about a foot above the man's head and stuck there. Terrified, Higgy let out a bloodcurdling scream of abject fear. The instant that the knife left his hand, Tonto swung the door open and fled down the corridor for the stairs.

Frantic cries of "Help" and "Murder" rang in the Indian's ears as he reached the top of the flight. He made a leap, launching his lithe form into space, landed lightly at the bottom and raced for the door past the astonished Pete Loomis and the red-faced fury of Mag. Pete yelled, "Stop that Injun." Mag threw her broom in front of the fleeing Tonto. But Tonto was nimble and quick as he avoided the broom and slammed the door of the hotel behind him.

No sooner had the door slammed behind Tonto as he left the hotel on the run then a roar of gunfire fairly shook the flimsy building. It was Higgy, firing blindly from the top of the stairs. His loud voice rose above the blasts of his heavy gun. "Whar's that killer? Git that Injun!" he bellowed. Mag screamed and ducked for cover. Pete disappeared behind the desk.

Higgy ran down the stairs in his stockinged feet like a huge ape gone berserk. His eyes were bloodshot with sleep and rage, and his face was livid. He had not taken the time to buckle his cartridge belt in place. Instead he had draped it around his neck. The last shot in his gun crashed through the glass of the front door and found an echo in the shrill cries of anger from Mag. With feet widespread, in the middle of the hall, Higgy "broke" his gun and dumped the empty shells upon the floor. While his heavy fingers jammed fresh cartridges into the cylinder, he shouted livid curses for the world to hear. "Whar'd the redskin go? Who sent him up tuh my room? I'll have the hearts of some of yuh fer this."

"P-p-please," begged Pete Loomis without showing himself. "Please, Mister Higgy, I ain't got no Injun here, I didn't know he was figurin' on killin' yuh."

"I'll git him," bellowed Higgy, "Him an' Delaney as well." Once more his six-gun barked and jumped, and the one window in the front of the hotel that had survived until the present moment went out in a shower of glass. A second shot knocked plaster from the ceiling and the white shower covered several square feet on the newly swept carpet. This was more than Mag could stand.

She came to the attack with her broom upraised and brought it down with stunning and confusing force on Higgy's head. "I'll show yuh," she screamed in the high voice of an infuriated woman. "Shoot up this place, will yuh?" Once more the broom descended, and Higgy sat down on the floor suddenly and hard.

He looked up at the fiery woman from where he sat. His expression was dazed and confused. He forgot all about his six-gun, and raised his hands above his head to ward off a third blow of the broom that seemed about to come. "What," shrilled mad Mag Loomis, "d'you mean by shootin' out our windows, an' shootin' up our ceilin', an' dirtyin' up our carpet? Come out from behind there, Pete Loomis, if you got the spunk of a coyote. Come out an' take this crittur's gun away from him before he makes a total an' complete wreck of this place."