"
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."
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 built 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 shooting. 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'."
Fair play was a thing unknown to Higgy. To the ruthless, conscienceless killer, anything was all right so long as he came out on top. What other type of man could be so heartless that he would cause suffering and misery to the old Langford people, or betray the boy who had entrusted him with his confession? Higgy actually gloated over his plans. He felt proud of himself for remembering the poison in the saddlebag.
He scanned the shadows, and judged that he still had plenty of time to kill before sundown and the evening meal with Steve Delaney, so he sprawled on the grass near his horse and waited. It was a long afternoon, a dragging one, not only for Higgy, but for the Lone Ranger who waited for him. Minutes seemed like hours to the Lone Ranger and Tonto, also to Delaney and the barman who were most uncomfortable. And the time dragged for poor old John Langford, who kept a vigil in the room where his wife slept.
To Dave Walters, who rode with the lawmen on the trail toward town, time passed all too quickly. It seemed to him that this would be his last day of life, but to everyone else it was a long, long afternoon. A quiet afternoon, with tension building up toward some great climax.
John Langford was the first to notice from his wife's bedroom window the rider who broke the stillness of the late afternoon. He awakened from a reverie to the sound of approaching hoofs. Judging from the hoofbeats, the rider was pushing his mount to the utmost. Langford saw a great cloud of dust surrounding the oncoming man.