The Lone Ranger and Tonto (15 page)

Baldy howled in rage at the attack. He tried to bring his gun around, but a grip of steel enclosed his wrist. He was a heavily built man and a dangerous one in a rough and tumble fight. Sprawling and squirming on the floor the barman kicked out with both feet in an effort to shake off his attacker. He got over on his stomach, facing the floor with the Lone Ranger half straddling him, still gripping his right wrist. Baldy arched his back, and spun at the same time, and nearly dislodged the tall man.

The Lone Ranger's left arm circled Baldy's head, the forearm across the barman's mouth.

Baldy opened his mouth wide and gripped the hard-muscled forearm in his small, firm teeth. He bit with all his strength and the Lone Ranger felt intense pain shoot from wrist to shoulder. He was compelled to release the barman's gun hand for a moment while he released the animal like grip of the other's teeth. This was a style of fighting that was unfamiliar to the Lone Ranger. It was a battle to death where anything was allowed. He felt the barman's teeth tearing at his flesh and had to break that bulldog grip. He put his right hand across the face of Baldy, his fingers hooked on the side of the bartender's nose. Then he pulled with slow but steady force. Baldy had to loosen that grip with his teeth to stop the torturous pressure on his nose. He turned his head suddenly, bringing up his now free gun hand as he did so.

His left hand free, but almost useless, the Lone Ranger leaped aside as the barman brought his gun to bear. Both still sprawled on the café floor and both breathed heavily from their exertions. Baldy's .44 came up while his finger tightened on the trigger. But he wasn't quite fast enough. The Lone Ranger brought his right hand around in a short arc and hammered his fist hard against the barman's unguarded jaw. Baldy's head snapped back and struck the pine floor with a resounding whack. His gun dropped from limp fingers and with something of a sigh the stocky bartender went limp.

The Lone Ranger rose unsteadily to his feet.

His left arm pained him frightfully where Baldy had bitten him. He found that he could move it, however, and decided that for the time, he must ignore the pain. Too much depended upon his safety. He stopped and took the gun from Baldy's hand. Then he made a cursory examination of the bartender and found that his heart throbbed steadily and his breathing was quite regular. Deciding that his adversary was simply stunned, he picked him up in his arms and carried him to the door at the rear of the café.

He had to lower the heavy form, while he took the key from the pocket of the vest he wore and opened the door. Then he carried Baldy across the threshold and once more made sure the door was locked. Gasping for breath, the Lone Ranger dropped the still-unconscious bartender on the bed. Delaney watched every move the tall man made.

New strips were torn from the already shredded blanket and with these the Lone Ranger bound the barman in the same way Steve Delaney had been bound. This done, he removed Delaney's clothes and put them on hooks. He splashed water from the pitcher into a large basin, and thoroughly laved his face and neck to remove the stain. His hair came next. It took some time to rinse out the dye, but eventually this was accomplished. He had to be careful while he washed to stand in a position that the gambler on the bed would not see his unmasked face, either directly, or by the reflected image from the mirror. From time to time, he had to adjust a hurriedly devised bandage on his wounded forearm.

By the time the Lone Ranger finished, Baldy was showing signs of recovering consciousness.

But the Lone Ranger ignored the barman, knowing that he was bound in such a way that escape was impossible.

For a moment the Lone Ranger stood with his back to the bed, his face washed clean, and without his mask. Had anyone been there at that instant, they would have seen a remarkably clean-cut face—a face with a finely shaped nose and mouth, deep-set intelligent eyes that could be friendly or cold and steely, depending on the man's mood, a broad forehead, and a general expression of refinement and culture combined with the grimness that characterized most men whose life depended upon their constant vigilance.

Then the mask concealed the upper half of the tall man's face. His shirt and neckerchief were quickly donned and last of all the hat and gunbelt. Now he was once more the familiar Lone Ranger. He turned to face the bed.

Steve Delaney was glaring above the gag with venomous eyes that had the dark, beady stare of a deadly serpent.

A slight tap sounded on the door. The Lone Ranger opened it to admit his faithful Indian companion. Tonto entered the room, closing the door behind him. For half a moment the Indian stood surveying the scene, his sharp eyes missing no detail. Near the foot of the bed, on the floor, there was a small pile of brilliantly sparkling jewelry. Tonto's glance fell on this, then he looked at the man in the mask.

"Delaney had that hidden beneath the floor," said the Lone Ranger in reply to Tonto's unvoiced question. "You were a long time getting here, Tonto. Did something happen that we didn't count on?"

Tonto shook his head. "Tonto do what you tell," he said flatly. "Me throw knife. Miss-um feller in bed by small space. Then Tonto run fast. Leave hotel. Circle wide. Then come here."

The Lone Ranger nodded. "You gave Higgy to understand it was Steve Delaney who sent you there to throw the knife at him?"

The Indian nodded emphatically.

"Then why hasn't he come here?"

"Me not know."

"I figured that as soon as he could get away from the hotel, he would come here to deal with the men whom he thought tried to have him killed. I waited in the front, disguised as Delaney, in case Higgy came through that way, and I listened for some sign that he had come through the rear of this building and found Delaney there on the bed. But he hasn't put in an appearance."

"Who that?" asked Tonto, pointing to the trussed up bartender.

"That's Baldy, the barman, who saw through the disguise. He had to be brought here so he couldn't let anyone else know about it."

Tonto nodded. Then he noticed the manner in which the Lone Ranger held his left arm and insisted upon examining the wound. The Lone Ranger let the Indian examine the ugly gash with critical eyes, then waited patiently while Tonto washed it once again, and applied a fresh bandage.

Baldy was fully conscious by this time, and like Steve Delaney, hung on every word that passed between the Lone Ranger and Tonto. "I was sure," the masked man said, "that Higgy would confront Steve Delaney and that there would be some sort of a showdown. If only those two can be made to talk, I think there will be a lot of facts brought to light. And I'm sure that one of those facts will explain the murder of Mrs. Prindle, and the position Dave Walters occupies. They wanted to frame him for some very definite reason. Perhaps they simply felt that the murder would be closed, with the hanging of Dave, but there may have been a further reason. Another thing I'd like to know. Why was Mrs. Prindle murdered? Did she know something that Delaney was afraid she would tell? Is there a connection between that poor old lady and the robberies that have been going on at John Langford's home? Why was Langford made to hand over his wife's jewelry, then lie about a robbery? What hold has Steve Delaney over that poor old man? What hold has Higgy on Delaney? There are so many things that must be answered, and I feel somehow that Steve and Higgy can supply everyone of the answers."

Tonto listened and nodded while the masked man spoke.

The Lone Ranger turned to the gambler. "Delaney," he said, "you have heard what we said here. You must realize by this time that Higgy thinks you planned to kill him so you wouldn't have to split the cash or jewelry with him. He'll come gunning for you. Even though you meet him with your hands untied, your muscles will be lame and stiff from being bound. You'll have no chance against him in a gunfight. Do you want to save your life by talking and answering all the questions I've just asked, or do you want to face the man who thinks you tried to murder him?"

Delaney glared at the masked man.

"You can answer me by nodding or shaking your head. Do you want to talk?"

Delaney's black eyes flashed defiance as he shook his head.

The Lone Ranger said, "Very well, Delaney, you'll just have to take what comes." But in his heart he knew he could not leave Delaney to be murdered. He wondered where Higgy was. The odd-looking man should have been here some time ago. The masked man, of course, had no way of knowing that fate had brought about a meeting between Higgy and John Langford and that the two were housed in Langford's woodshed at that very moment.

For the first time in countless dreary weeks, Dave Walters felt the strange sensation of absolute security. He felt confident that the tall, strong, masked man and the stolid but pleasant Indian would in some way aid him in his difficulty. The cave to which they had brought him seemed a haven where nothing could interfere with his comfort and safety. Sitting at the mouth of the cave in the hot sun of Snake River Canyon, he wished that he were not so helpless, but there was nothing he could do to help the masked man and Tonto.

They had given him definite instructions to stay there and wait for them. They made him understand that there was not a thing he could do in his own behalf, and that he would simply add to their danger if he did not obey their commands. Having been convinced that he could be of no help, he was quite willing to remain there, resting, after the months on the trail.

The rest of the preceding night was refreshing, but it would take many, many nights of rest unbroken by the perils of the past to restore his lost weight and courage.

Behind him in the cave there were reserve supplies, the property of his new-found friends. Extra blankets, countless cans of food, boxes of cartridges, clothing, saddle equipment, a couple of short rifles of the finest manufacture, and moulds for making the Lone Ranger's silver bullets. There was also a keg of gunpowder, a supply of rope, and materials for reshoeing the hoofs of the great horse Silver.

Dave felt that he had been given a trust in guarding these things, an almost sacred trust. He had heard many stories about the Lone Ranger but had never dared hope for the thrilling experience of meeting the heroic figure face to face. Now he was in the Lone Ranger's cave, guarding the masked rider's property. He did not know that this was but one of many such caches scattered at convenient points throughout the region. For all Dave Walters knew, the stores in the cave represented all the masked man's worldly goods, and he was determined that come what might, no one would enter that cave while he was alive.

Yet there seemed no cause for alarm. The cave was certainly in an obscure place, and one could come within a few yards of its opening without realizing that it existed. Dave stretched himself luxuriously, enjoying to the utmost the experience of sitting in the warmth without expecting to be driven away at any instant. Also, the new sensation of having had sufficient food to satisfy him was pleasant.

There was nothing he could do in his own behalf right now. The problem of evading the lynch mob and the law in Snake River had been taken over by his friends, so his thoughts reverted to the main objective of his trip into the Southwest Territory, He had heard that a couple by the name of Langford lived in Snake River. It was this information that had brought the lad to the town where the law had met him with murder charges. He wondered if, by some strange chance, this family could be his own parents. He doubted it. He had followed up so many false leads that actually finding those he loved seemed a remote possibility. Yet he couldn't rest until they had been found alive, or he had proof of their death.

He was glad that he had traveled under the name of Walters, now that this disgrace had fallen on him. If his mother
did
live in Snake River and heard that her son was charged with murder, it would be unbearable for her. It was bad enough, he felt, for her to know that he had robbed. But did she know? He couldn't be sure of it. He knew his mother's strength was feeble, and that his father would do all in his power to shield from her the news that her son had taken money from the bank.

Dave dozed with his back propped against the side of the cave's entrance. When he wakened, he noted that the shadows were considerably lengthened and judged that it must be late afternoon. He took a refreshing plunge into the water of Snake River, then when he had replaced his tattered clothes, he made a meal of tinned food and hard biscuits. He thought it best not to build a fire since it might attract attention to his hiding place.

He had no idea how long he was expected to wait here for the return of the Lone Ranger and Tonto. They had not said when they would return. They would hardly be back before the following morning, and perhaps not for several days. But it didn't particularly matter. The food was sufficient to sustain a man indefinitely. Dave's only concern was for the safety of his friends, and investigating the family by the name of Langford.

Suddenly Dave froze and listened attentively. The distant clump of a horse's hoof on rock reached his ears. He looked out, his eyes scanning the canyon in both directions. He heard another clump, then others, which indicated that at least two horses were approaching, perhaps more. It could hardly be the Lone Ranger and Tonto returning. They could never have made the town and back by this time. Who else would be in this forsaken part of the country? Whoever it was was still out of sight beyond the bend in the canyon. Dave waited apprehensively for the appearance of the oncoming riders.

There was a steady rhythm of hoofbeats now. Men were riding with a definite purpose, not merely wandering or laboriously following a trail. The fugitive crept forward on a flat slab of rock and lay flat on his stomach to make himself as obscure as possible. Then the horsemen rounded the bend and came into full view. There were eight of them, well mounted and heavily armed with carbines in saddle holsters and six-guns in their cartridge belts. And worst of all, the Sheriff himself was in the lead!